Murder! Too Close To Home Read Free Page B

busting at the seams, wanting to tell of his exploits.
    Being a stock boy at the local Save-A-Bunch was a good cover for the “Ghost”, he thought to himself. No one would be looking here for the most famous killer to come along since Jeffrey Dahmer.
    He could feel his heart rate increasing, a film of sweat forming on his upper lip as his eye slowly started to twitch. He looked around himself quickly to make sure no one was looking; then slowly reached into his pocket. Finding the item with his fingers, he started rubbing it, instantly calming his racing heart. His mentor would certainly not approve of his actions; “leave and take nothing,” he heard repeated in his head over and over again.
    He couldn’t help himself though, all the great ones took mementos as reminders of their feats, and he would be the greatest of them all.
     
    Chapter 6
    February 17, 1997
     
    Sheriff McHenry had been at it for thirty six hours straight, and he was ready to drop. Whoever had perpetrated this murder had been good, very good. Scant clues had been discovered by either his deputies or forensics. The strange card had yielded no clues to date either. He had people trying to track the printer of the cards; somebody undoubtedly should remember printing a card like that.
    There was no sign of prints, hair or fibers. Even if he had access to DNA testing, there was no trace of any body fluids or skin cells. There were no shell casings at the scene, so he probably had used a revolver.
    So far they had been able to keep the murder out of the media, releasing a story of a two-car crash with fatalities. He had decided to use the offered help of the fire department, using the firemen to direct traffic and the big trucks to block the view of the crime scene from prying eyes. He had personally sworn each man to secrecy himself, but he knew was only delaying the inevitable leak.
    The get-away vehicle, recently reported as stolen, had been found down on Langdon Creek the next morning. Hidden from view by the overgrown conditions, he or she had apparently had another car stashed there.
    The K9 units had also been a bust, only finding the short trail between cars at both locations.
    The sheriff finished his cup of coffee. He had long ago lost track of how many he had consumed since this whole thing had started. The cold liquid drained from his cup left with a sour taste in his mouth that would probably follow him to the grave. Pulling a cigarette from behind his ear, he looked around for somebody to yell at.
    His tired eyes met only the fourteen or so men who had been up as long as he, each one looking worse than the next. There was no doubt about it, they had hit a wall. He had to get some of these men home for a few hours of shuteye or they might all keel over from exhaustion.
    Calling over his chief deputy, they worked out a scheduled rotation to get the men rested but back for their regular shifts.
    “OK, listen up,” the sheriff yelled, “We need to get you men some sleep and home time. Jason has the rotation and will let you know the schedule. We’ve hit it hard boys, but there is no use killing ourselves with the small quantity of clues we have on hand. We need some fresh eyes looking at this; we’ll catch a break tomorrow.”
    “Dismissed,” the sheriff barked as he turned from his men, ending any discussion as he crushed his unlit cigarette between his fingers before pulling out a fresh one from the pack as he walked.
    He made his way to his office and sat down with a grunt, one more thing to finish before he too could head to the house. He picked up the receiver and dialed the number, rolling back in his chair to wait for someone to pick up while fondling the cigarette between his fingers.
    “Pain in the ass,” he mumbled under his breath as the other party picked up, announcing themselves in an overly professional manner.
    “Prosecutors office.”
     
    Chapter 7
    February 17, 1997
     
    Frank and I had taken up station in the