Depraved Difference (A Detective Shakespeare Mystery Book #1) Read online

  He spotted an open door on an abandoned warehouse and pointed. “Looks like the winos are busy again.” Richards nodded, pulling the patrol car up to the warehouse. They climbed out and trotted over to the entrance, weapons drawn. The sheets of rain prompted Scaramell to shoulder the door open and rush in quicker than his training dictated, leaving him to be first to spot a pile of clothing laying nearby on the floor. “Oh great, a fuckin' naked wino.” He hated dealing with drunks; they usually wanted to be your friend then puked on your shoes.

  “Look.” Richards pointed to the other end of the warehouse where someone lay on a mattress and another on the floor, near a toppled over chair. He holstered his weapon and Scaramell followed suit. “Looks like a 10-64,” said Richards as he walked toward the pair. Scaramell quickly flipped through his mental file of codes. Quality of Life. A little disappointed the call had become completely routine, he followed his TO.

  “Okay, wakey, wakey!” called Richards as he approached the man snoring on the mattress. No response. Scaramell gave a gentle kick to the ass of the one lying near the chair, a woman, probably so strung out on crack she had no idea she had just partied with a bum who hadn’t seen a shower since the administration changed. Still no response. Richards booted the mattress, unwilling to touch the near naked man.

  “Wake up!” The man stirred, looked up and rubbed the sleep from his eyes.

  “Whaddya want?” he demanded before realizing it was a cop. He struggled to his feet, nearly losing his balance as he rocked on the soft mattress. The man’s tired bones cracked, making Richards cringe, the foul stench of body jam occupying every orifice so overpowering, it caused him to gag. “Oh, sorry, officer. H-how may I be of s-shervice to you?” He cocked his head to the right. “Shuddup, I'll handle this.” He hiccupped then farted.

  Scaramell watched the walking petri dish for a moment, then turned his attention to the hooker. His jaw dropped as he saw the bullet hole in her forehead. “Holy shit!” He yelled as he drew his weapon and spun toward the wino. Richards snapped his head around, looking at him then the girl. “She's dead!”

  “What?” Richards drew his weapon and spun full circle, his trained eye searching the warehouse’s every corner. Scaramell continued to cover the wino while his TO scanned the warehouse. Richards turned his weapon on the wino. “Call it in!”

  Scaramell grabbed his mike and radioed for backup, his heart thumping against his chest at the excitement of his first homicide.

  “I told you we shouldn't have stayed here!” said the wino. He shook his head. “No, you shut-up!”

  “Who the hell are you talking to?” Richards approached the man cautiously, his weapon aimed at the man’s chest.

  “N-nobody,” replied the man who lowered his chin and whispered, “Get out of here while you still can, they can't see you!”

  “The guy's nuts. Better search him.”

  “Fuck that, rookie, I ain't touchin' him,” replied Richards. “You have at it.”

  Scaramell holstered his weapon and looked the man over. He wore only underwear, but unless he had a package that would make a porn star proud, he definitely carried something in his shorts. Scaramell pointed. “Empty it out.”

  “Empty what out?”

  Scaramell pulled out his Tazer. “Do you really want me to use this?”

  The wino raised his hands. “J-just a second.” He inched his hands lower, his eyes never leaving the Tazer. With his left hand he pulled his underwear out by the elastic, stretching the threadbare material, exposing a tear in the front from which a watch clasp dangled out. His right hand shook as he pulled at the gold clasp, freeing the watch and a testicle. Scaramell groaned and almost squeezed the trigger. The man looked at the officers, sheepishly tucked his shame back in and turned slightly to the right, hiding the hole from view. He emptied out the remaining contents of his underwear onto the mattress. Scaramell motioned for him to back up as he snapped on a pair of latex gloves and examined the stash. Credit cards, cash, jewelry, and a driver’s license. He retrieved the license and read the name to his partner.

  “Tammera Coverdale.”

  Merissa came to in a blinding orange haze and excruciating pain, lying in a heap on the hard, dirt floor she had grown accustomed to over the past several weeks. Her entire head roared as if on fire, the pain so intense she didn’t know where it hurt most. She gingerly touched her face and winced as she explored the split lower lip. A trickle of blood ran down her finger, skirted her palm then continued down her raised arm. She gently pushed on the lip to try and stop the bleeding and was rewarded with a gush of blood. It was split in two, her finger merely occupying the empty area where her lip should be. She moved her hand up to her nose and pinched it slightly. She gasped at the sharp pain then again at the pain in her chest. She remembered some of the blows missing her face and landing on her chest and collarbone. She took another breath and shooting pains coursed through her entire upper body. Something’s broken. She tried to steady her breaths, making them as shallow and regular as she could. The pain subsided somewhat after she regained control and she returned to her self-assessment. She touched her eyes, the lids and surrounding area protruding at least an inch, and determined the orange haze was the light shining through the lids of her swollen shut eyes.

  Overhead she heard the familiar sound of footsteps then the chain rattling as the platform lowered. She didn’t feel much like eating, she was in so much pain, she didn’t know if she even could, however rather than risk another beating, she decided she better get whatever today’s offering might be. The platform hit the floor and she crawled toward the sound, her head throbbing now that she was leaning forward on hands and knees, each movement of her body sending shooting pains from her broken clavicle. She found the platform and reached further in. Her hand grasped a piece of wet cloth which after a moment turned ice cold. She jerked back then tentatively reached forward again, gently felt the cool, wet cloth and concluded it was an ice pack. She picked it up and before she could explore the remainder of the platform, she heard the chain rattle as her captor grabbed it to haul the platform back up. I guess that's it.

  She crawled back to the wall, made more difficult this time by her free hand now holding the ice pack. The effort left her breathless, her gasps triggered spasms of pain. She sat against the wall and took as long, shallow breaths as she could, until she finally had regained control. After a few minutes the pain in her chest subsided, and she turned her attention to the icepack. She placed it on her eyes and after several minutes of gently applying the cool ice to each, the swelling eased enough for her to see again. Nothing had changed in her surroundings. The lone light illuminated what she now knew was definitely a basement in a home, having just experienced the upstairs. Her split lip throbbed for attention. She pressed the ice pack against it and winced, her eyes tearing. She pulled the cloth away, the slowly melting ice mixing with the blood and flowing down her hand and arm.

  I can't let this go on.

  She held the icepack to her left eye and rested her head against the dirt wall. It has to stop. She knew it had to stop. She wasn’t willing to be the victim any longer. How many more beatings would she have to endure? How many more attempted rapes? How many more days of being treated like an animal? Staying alive was one thing, but this wasn’t life. This was existence. This had to stop. This will stop. Decision made. But as she thought about it, she realized as soon as it stopped for her, it would most likely start for someone else. She had to somehow help them with what she had learned. But how? What had she learned that may help someone else? She knew he drugged the food. She knew he was trying to rape her when she was drugged and it was happening upstairs. How could she let someone know this so they might use it to their advantage? She knew she wouldn’t be able to trick him again. This knowledge would be of no use to her, but to someone else it might just let them escape.

  But how can I get a message to them without him knowing?

  She examined her surroundings. She could
n’t carve it into the floor or walls, he would see any message immediately, and she couldn’t reach the ceiling, it was too high. She growled in frustration then took a breath, reviewing each item available to her. She eyed the water hole and smiled as the solution dawned on her. It might take a few days, but it would work.

  It has to work.

  “Miss Kai?”

  Aynslee raised her head off her desk with a start, not certain what had woken her. She rubbed her hand across her chin, wiping off a spot of drool. She reached for a Kleenex to wipe up the more embarrassing puddle on her mouse pad when she heard someone clear their throat. Her hand flew to her chest as she jumped in her chair, shocked to see someone standing at the entrance to her cubicle. A quick glance at the clock on her desk confirmed she had slept for several hours after pulling an all-nighter editing a report for the 6 am broadcast. The voice that had woken her belonged to a tall, lean man in his mid-thirties. He wore a tailored suit cut to hide what was clearly a very athletic frame, his square jaw, pronounced cheekbones and slightly protruding Adam's apple revealed no hint of excess body fat. His short, dirty-blonde hair had a functional style, clearly a barbershop cut rather than a salon, and his clean shaven face revealed no scars or blemishes. She found herself assessing him in Hollywood terms, her old beat taking over. A young Tom Selleck without the porn star mustache. Tall, dark and handsome. Who are you and where have you been all my life?

  “Sorry to startle you,” he said, his voice, not too deep but not too high either, drew her in. Its sincere quality made her feel like he was truly sorry. She wasn’t sure what swooning was, but was certain she was doing it right now.

  “That's okay,” she replied as she yanked herself from her fantasy. “How may I help you?”

  He reached into his suit pocket and pulled out a wallet, flipping it open to reveal a gold shield. “I'm Detective Hayden Eldridge, I'm investigating the murders of Tammera Coverdale and two John Does. Do you have time for some questions?”

  “Yes, yes I do.” She stood, straightened out her skirt and blouse, ran her fingers through her hair, giving it a toss, then motioned down the hall, hoping her makeup wasn’t smeared down one side of her face. “Perhaps we should do this in the conference room?”

  “That would be fine.”

  She snatched her purse and led the detective down the hall as she surreptitiously fished a small makeup mirror from her purse, quickly making sure she didn’t have a Tammy Faye outbreak, or worse, the imprint of the mouse pad running down her cheek. In the clear, she returned the mirror to her purse and when they reached the conference room, held the door open for her guest. She closed it behind them and motioned to a seat across the table from where she then sat down. The detective removed his jacket and draped it across the back of his chair before sitting.

  “Now, how can I help you Detective, Eldridge, was it?”

  He nodded as he pulled out his note pad and pen, swirling it to get the ink flowing. “When did you receive the first video depicting the murder of Tammera Coverdale?”

  “A couple of nights ago, Wednesday I guess, while I was heading home on the subway. Actually, that's not right. I guess I received it just before I left. The email arrived before I left but I didn't bother checking it.” She leaned forward on the conference table. “You see, it had been a late night and normally I work the entertainment beat so I figured any email at that time of night could wait.”

  “Yes, I've seen your reports on the news.”

  Aynslee smiled, about to twirl her long brown hair, when she caught herself. What am I, fourteen? “Oh, you have?” She wasn’t sure she sounded disinterested enough.

  “So the email arrived Wednesday evening,” prompted Eldridge, evidently choosing to ignore the flirtatious note in her voice.

  “Just before midnight.”

  Eldridge jotted this down. “And you actually read it when?”

  “Maybe fifteen minutes later. I read it on my BlackBerry and immediately came back to the office.”

  “And that's when you notified the police?”

  “Well, no, I called my news director.”

  Eldridge looked up. “And then he called the police?”

  “Well, no, he called a production meeting, and our lawyers, who then made contact with your department the next morning, after we aired the story.”

  “And it never occurred to you to contact us immediately?”

  Aynslee blushed. “Well, of course it occurred to me, however Legal said we were within our rights to hold off until it aired.”

  Eldridge grunted and returned his attention to his pad. “And you received the second email when exactly?”

  “Early yesterday evening, maybe eight o'clock. I was editing my piece for the eleven o'clock news when it arrived.”

  “And you notified us …”

  She looked down at her hands sheepishly. “After the broadcast.”

  “Uh huh. And you have no idea who is sending you these emails?”

  “No, none, and our geeks can't trace the emails either.”

  “Yeah, we have our own techs looking into that as well. It seems they are recorded on a cell phone and then the suspect uploads them using a hijacked residential wireless connection.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, I’m not a techie, but our resident geeks explained it to me. Apparently if you don't secure your wireless network at home, anyone can piggyback on it and surf the Internet, send email, pretty much anything they want.”

  “And that's how he did this?”

  “Yes, we've traced the two emails to completely different parts of the city.”

  “Really.” Her voice trailed off, her mind spinning, already wondering how to work this into her next broadcast.

  “Did you recognize any of the victims?”

  It took a moment for her to notice he had spoken. “No, no I didn't,” she said, shaking her head.

  Eldridge folded his notebook and returned it and the pen to his shirt pocket. “Okay, I guess that about does it for now.” He stood and put his jacket back on, extending his hand to Aynslee who joined him at the door. “Thank you for your time and I'll contact you if I have any more questions.”

  “You're quite welcome.” She shook his hand, his grip firm and, most important, dry, immediately telling her she was dealing with confidence. She stole a quick glance at the other hand. No ring! “Do you have a card in case I need to reach you?” Clever girl!

  “Of course.” He handed her a business card from the inside pocket of his sport coat then headed toward the elevator. He paused and turned back to face her. “And Miss Kai?”

  Her heart skipped a beat. “Yes?”

  “Next time you get an email from a killer, call the police immediately.”

  She blushed. “Yes, Detective.” What, you thought he was going to ask you out?

  Shaw glared as what was obviously a detective left that little bitch's office. Steal a story from me? He was pissed. He was the lead crime reporter. If there was a crime, he got first dibs, no one else. If he wasn’t interested then it was up to him to kick it to one of the more junior reporters. And never in a million years would he pass something on to a walking set of tits far younger than he was when he got his first break. The pencil in his hand snapped, startling him from his mental tirade. He looked around to make sure nobody had noticed and turned to his computer, wondering how to get her emails forwarded to him without her knowing. Looking up from the computer in frustration, he saw the geek lurking about and waved him over.

  “Yes, Mr. Shaw?”

  Man, I used to pummel kids like this in high school. “Reggie, my boy, have a seat!” He motioned toward an uncomfortable chair facing his desk and leaned forward, lowering his voice. “Reggie, is there any way to get somebody's email forwarded to another person without them knowing?” He knew from the rapid flushing of Reggie’s cheeks he was taken aback by the question, almost as if caught with his hand in the cookie jar. The little shit’s probably reading ever
ybody’s email.

  “Wh-why? Do you think someone is looking at your emails?” Reggie squirmed in the chair, gripping the arms, the cheap plastic shining with the sweat pouring from his palms.

  Yahtzee! Shaw shook his head and leaned in closer still. “No. I want you to forward someone's emails to me without their knowing.”

  Reggie's jaw dropped. “I-I can't do that!” The glare from Shaw caused him to lower his voice. “I would need management's permission.”

  “Listen, kid, I can make your life here a living hell, or I can make it very pleasant.” Shaw leaned back in his chair and drummed his fingers on his desktop. “Which is it going to be?”

  Reggie gulped.

  “Tick-tock, kid.”

  Reggie looked at the floor. “Wh-who's email do you want forwarded?”

  Shaw grinned. On the inside. Fucking wimp! “Aynslee Kai.”

  Merissa sat huddled in the corner as she came to terms with the decision she had made. She saw no other alternative; she was going to die, she could do nothing about that now. The question was what to do about it. It had taken hours to decide, but she knew she had only one choice. She pushed herself forward on her knees, clasped her hands and looked toward heaven. She wasn’t a religious person, she hadn’t attended church since she was a child, she wasn’t even sure how to do it. She had prayed while trapped here, more to comfort herself than anything else, but this time, based upon what she had decided to do, she figured it was best to pray formally. Dear God, I know suicide is supposed to be a sin, but I have no choice. I know he is going to kill me, but if I die on my own terms, maybe I can save the next person he takes. Please forgive me. She made the sign of the cross and collapsed forward, her shoulders shaking as the torrent of emotions spilled out. Her chest filled with despair, her mind with the questions she had asked for weeks. Why me? What did I do to deserve this? Her inner strength broken, she questioned her decision. Perhaps she could escape?