The City PI and the Country Cop Read online

  The City PI and the Country Cop

  By Edward Kendrick

  Published by JMS Books LLC at Smashwords

  Visit jms-books.com for more information.

  Copyright 2015 Edward Kendrick

  ISBN 9781611527513

  * * * *

  Cover Design: Written Ink Designs | written-ink.com

  Image(s) used under a Standard Royalty-Free License.

  All rights reserved.

  WARNING: This book is not transferable. It is for your own personal use. If it is sold, shared, or given away, it is an infringement of the copyright of this work and violators will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law.

  No portion of this book may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission in writing from the publisher, with the exception of brief excerpts used for the purposes of review.

  This book is for ADULT AUDIENCES ONLY. It may contain sexually explicit scenes and graphic language which might be considered offensive by some readers. Please store your files where they cannot be accessed by minors.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are solely the product of the author’s imagination and/or are used fictitiously, though reference may be made to actual historical events or existing locations. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Published in the United States of America.

  * * * *

  The City PI and the Country Cop

  By Edward Kendrick

  Chapter 1

  “My best friend when I was in high school died when he was seventeen,” Teague Donovan said pensively, rolling his bottle of beer between his hands. “No, not died. He was killed. Murdered.” He raised his head, his deep blue eyes—above a thin nose and well-defined lips—meeting those of the man he considered his second in command.

  “Damn, Teague. Did they catch the bastard?” Jake asked.

  “Nope. Hell, for the longest time everyone thought he—his name was Chris. They thought he’d run away again. He just…disappeared. I was probably the last one in town to see him. It was the day after I graduated.” Teague took a drink before continuing. “Anyway, like I said, he was seventeen and didn’t have anyone other than his three brothers—and me. His mom died in a car accident a couple of years before. Oh, there were relatives, and the boys were farmed out to them, all around the country. Chris ran from his uncle’s home as soon as he could, coming back to our town where his oldest brother lived with an aunt. She rather reluctantly let Chris stay. Well, until she found out he wasn’t the type of kid she was willing to have around.”

  Jake tilted his head in question.

  “Chris was gay,” Teague told him. “Not what a devoted church-going lady wanted in her house, so she kicked him out. It was almost the end of the school year and my folks told him he could stay with us until then. The morning after I graduated, I drove him to the bus station while trying to convince him to stick around.” Teague shrugged. “He didn’t. They found his body five months later, but no one knew it was him. He was listed by the cops as an unidentified male, 15 to 18 years old. It wasn’t until two years ago that the cops finally put a name to his body.”

  “How come so long?”

  “All they had was his fingerprints but back when he was murdered fingerprint databases weren’t very extensive. And DNA? Using it was still in its infancy in ‘87. So his identity remained a mystery until a police detective opened the cold case on a serial killer who had murdered two other boys the same way Chris was killed. He was the third—the unidentified victim. The cop decided to run Chris’s prints again. This time they came back with a name because Chris had once been arrested for a minor felony.”

  “They never found the killer?”

  “I told you they didn’t,” Teague said sourly.

  “So why are you telling me this?”

  “Because the guy, the killer, appears to have surfaced again.”

  Jake shook his head. “Three guesses. You want us to try to catch him.”

  “Yeah.” Teague finished his beer and set the bottle down—hard—on the coffee table in his den. “If it wasn’t for me, Chris’s aunt wouldn’t have found out he was gay and he wouldn’t have left town. So I owe him. Finding his killer is the only way I can repay that debt.”

  Jake looked at Teague in shock. “You told her?”

  Teague shook his head. “She caught us out back in the barn. We weren’t doing anything but kissing and a bit of playing around but—” he spread his hands, “—she got the message loud and clear.”

  “Shit, Teague.”

  Teague smiled dryly. “Yep. It hit the fan. My folks knew about me, which is why they were willing to let Chris stay with us, as long as he and I behaved. We did, which didn’t sit well with him. He told me he was getting out of town the day after school ended for the year, and nothing I could say would change his mind.”

  “Okay, so if this killer’s starting up again, why aren’t the cops on top of it? And how do you figure we stand a better chance of stopping him than they do?”

  “I’m not certain we stand a better change, but for me at least it’s personal. For them it’s just another case. Sure, they want to catch the bastard, but they’ve got dozens of other things on their agenda as well.”

  “We’re not exactly sitting around twiddling our thumbs, as much as my wife might disagree at times,” Jake pointed out.

  “True, but you can handle what we have going at the moment.”

  “Uh-huh. Now I see where this is heading. I do all the day-to-day work, while you spend every waking moment trying to track down a shadow. An old one since it’s been well over twenty years since he killed those boys.”

  “Twenty-seven years at this point.” Teague barely smiled, adding, “Stop grousing. You have the rest of the team to help you.”

  “Yeah, but you’re the brains. The organizer. It’s your agency. I’m just one of the investigators.”

  “The best one, Jake. If you weren’t I wouldn’t be telling you all this and leaving the agency in your very capable hands until I find the bastard.”

  “It’s not going to be easy, Teague. First off, how do you know this recent killing is the work of the same person who murdered those boys twenty-seven years ago? It could be a copycat, or a coincidence. The original killer would have to be what, at least in his early fifties by now?”

  Teague chuckled ruefully as he got up to get another beer from the fridge in the corner of the den. “From my vantage point, at forty-five, fifty isn’t that old.” He looked questioningly at Jake and handed him a fresh beer when he nodded.

  After taking it, Jake asked, “How did you find out about Chris being identified?”

  “I’ve kept in touch with Chris’s brother, Mike. He called me after the cops notified him. Chris had been buried in an unmarked grave in the Collingswood cemetery. That’s the town where he was murdered. Mike claimed Chris’s remains, had them cremated and brought the ashes home with him. They’re in the family plot now.”

  “That’s the memorial you went out of town for a couple of years ago?”

  “Yeah,” Teague replied, remembering.

  * * * *

  “Mike.” Teague hugged Chris’s brother briefly once they were inside Mike’s house. “I’m…”

  “Sorry?” Mike smiled tightly. “If nothing else, now we know what happened to him. But damn.” He sighed as he led Teague into the living room. “Thanks for coming.”

  “It was the least I could do since it was my—”

  “It wasn’t your fault, Teague. Even if Aunt Belle hadn’t caught the two of you together, he still would have left. He wasn’
t any happier here than he had been with Uncle Tom, when it came right down to it. You’re the only reason he stuck around until the end of the school year.”

  “I suppose.” Teague looked at the woman who had just entered the room.

  “Teague, this is my wife, Alice,” Mike said by way of introduction.

  Teague smiled, saying, “It’s nice to meet you. Mike’s told me…well not a lot but some about you.”

  “That puts us in the same boat,” she replied. “I know something about you, too. Like the fact you were Chris’s best friend.”

  Nodding, Teague told her, “Not that it did any good at the end. I couldn’t convince him not to leave. If I had he’d still be alive.”

  “You don’t know that,” Mike put in. “He was always a restless kid with a big wanderlust.”

  “Mike’s right,” a man who vaguely resembled Mike said as he and a second man came into the room. “You probably don’t recognize us anymore. I’m Steve and this is Paul. We’re Mike, and Chris’s, younger brothers, although I suspect you’re aware of that.”

  When Steve held out his hand, Teague shook it, replying, “You’re right, I don’t really remember you except as kids before your mom died.”

  “Yeah,” Paul said tightly. “You were only interested in Chris from what I recall.”

  Teague winced. “Yeah, I guess I was.”

  “If it hadn’t been for you…”

  “Enough,” Mike said sharply. “What happened, happened, and it was not Teague’s fault. We’ve already discussed this, Paul.”

  Scowling, Paul started toward one of the chairs opposite the sofa then obviously changed his mind and left the room.

  “Sorry about that,” Mike said. “I’m afraid Paul takes after Aunt Belle in some ways.”

  “In other words he’s got no use for anyone who’s gay,” Teague replied.

  “Pretty much. Whether you realized it at the time or not, he adored Chris when we were kids. Then after mom died and we were separated, he got sent to live with our other aunt.” Mike grimaced. “She made Aunt Belle look like a flag-waver for gay rights. And then, when he found out that Chris was gay…”

  “Oh boy. Okay, I’ll steer clear of Paul as best I can while I’m here. That shouldn’t be too hard since the memorial service is tomorrow morning.”

  “I for one am glad you came,” Steve said. “At least it means there’ll be someone at it besides us and the few ghouls who will show up because of the way Chris died.”

  “That was horrible,” Alice murmured.

  “Calling them ghouls?” Steve asked.

  “No. The way he was killed.” She shuddered.

  All the men nodded sadly. According to what Mike had told Teague when he asked, the coroner had determined that each victim had been sodomized repeatedly with a foreign object and then strangled, while hogtied, in such a way that their deaths were very slow and painful.

  * * * *

  “And now someone is doing it again,” Teague said, only realizing he spoken aloud when Jake asked what he meant. He explained the details of how the serial killer had murdered the three boys almost thirty years ago.

  “Damn.”

  “Yeah. I can’t begin to imagine what they went through at the hands of that son-of-a-bitch.”

  “There was nothing to give the cops at the time any clue who it might have been?’’

  “Not that I know about. But then, as the detective pointed out, I’m not a cop so he wasn’t about to reveal details even though they are cold cases.”

  “You talked to him?”

  “Two years ago. Right after I got back from the memorial service. Mike gave me his name. Detective Slater. He sounded like a decent man but not about to give out information despite my telling him that I’d gotten his name from Mike, I had known Chris, and I ran my own private detective agency.”

  Jake chuckled. “That last probably turned him off big time.”

  “Actually it didn’t seem to bother him in the least, but then I wasn’t there watching him talk. His body language could have told a totally different story and he was just being polite.”

  “Did the murders all take place in or around Collingswood?”

  “They were all in Grande County, but that covers a large area—partly mountain, partly flatland. Collingswood is the county seat.”

  “When and where was this newest killing?”

  “Two days ago, in Faircrest. It’s about four hundred miles south and west of Collingswood, on the other side of the Continental Divide. Here, let me show you.” Teague got his laptop from his desk, setting it on the coffee table so they could both see the screen. Then he booted it up and went online to a map site.

  “Halfway across the country from here,” Jake commented, studying the map.

  “Not quite that bad. It’s around eight hundred and—” Teague used the directions function to check, “—fifty miles. And Collingswood is closer. Only six-fifty.”

  “Can you fly into both cities?”

  “Fly or drive. I haven’t decided which yet. “

  “But you are going out there. I suspect you’ll want to have a face-to-face with Detective Slater before you do anything else.”

  “Definitely.”

  “What about reciprocity? Will your Missouri license be accepted there?”

  “Colorado doesn’t require a PI to be licensed so I’ll be good in that respect.”

  “Interesting. Lucky for you.”

  “No kidding.”

  “When are you leaving?”

  “Yesterday?” Teague replied with a small smile. “No, actually I was thinking Thursday. That will give us time to make certain we have all the bases covered on the cases I was working on and,” he smiled dryly, “for me to decide if I do want to drive.”

  “It will give you more freedom and it’s cheaper than renting a car after you get there. When you’ve talked to the detective you might find you want to visit the other towns where the original killings occurred.”

  “Very good point. Guess I’d better take the Trek into the garage in the morning to check the brakes and tires.”

  * * * *

  Chapter 2

  Teague spent Wednesday with his team, going over everything that needed to done at the agency. He put Jake in charge during his absence, which went over well with the other investigators. Jake was not only competent but well-liked, even by the old-timers who worked for Teague.

  With that accomplished, Teague picked up his car, which had needed new tires, and went home to pack. After a good night’s sleep, he took off on Thursday morning, heading to Collingswood. Just over eight hours later he was checking in at a national chain motel.

  When he got to his room, the first thing he did was call Detective Slater at the police station. The man wasn’t there so Teague left a brief message asking him to return his call, telling him it was related to the murder of Chris Frye.

  Fifteen minutes later, while he was still unpacking, Detective Slater called back.

  “How can I help you, Mr. Donovan?” Slater asked.

  “We spoke approximately two years ago about the serial killings involving Chris Frye. It was soon after his remains had been identified and given to his brother.”

  Slater paused, and Teague had the feeling he was trying to remember the call. Then the man said, “Yes, I recall the conversation. You wanted to know the details.”

  “I still do.”

  “Why?”

  Surprised at the question, Teague replied, “I gather you’re not aware that there was another killing, four days ago on the other side of the state, which closely resembles the MO of your serial killer.”

  “Yes, I’ve heard about it. But there are a couple of differences.”

  “Such as?”

  Slater chuckled. “You should know how we work. We hold back information and to be honest I see no reason to tell you, even though you are a PI, if I remember correctly.”

  “I am.” Teague drummed his fingers on his thigh. �
�Would it be possible for us to talk in person sometime tomorrow?”

  “I take it from that statement you’re in town?”

  “Yes. I’m at the Courtyard.”

  There was another pause before Slater said, “Come in at nine. Do you know where the precinct house is?”

  “No, but I can Google it.”

  Slater laughed. “How about I give you the address. We’re not that far from where you’re staying.” He did, then without further ado said that he’d see Teague in the morning and hung up.

  At least he didn’t shut me down. Now the question, how much can, or more to the point, will he be willing to tell me.

  * * * *

  Teague asked the same question of the detective once they were seated in one of the interrogation rooms Friday morning. They were using it because it was the only private place available at the moment.

  “How much will I tell you about the cases? That’s debatable. Why should I reveal anything?”

  “Good question,” Teague replied with a small smile. “First off, I knew Chris Frye before his death. We were good friends and I feel somewhat responsible for what happened to him.”

  “How so?”

  Teague explained and when he finished Slater said, “From the sound of it, he would have left town even if his aunt hadn’t found out about him. Sure, maybe you were complicit in that but I doubt you could have changed his mind.”

  “I know I couldn’t have,” Teague told him dryly. “I tried hard enough, though.”

  “So you said.” Slater leaned back, studying him. “If I tell you what we know, what do you plan on doing with the information?”

  “Honest answer? Compare it with whatever I can get the detective in Faircrest to tell me about his case, and go from there.”

  “Don’t you think I’ve already done that,” Slater said with some asperity.

  “I’m sure you have, but sometimes it takes a fresh set of eyes to see how things might mesh. From what you told me when we talked two years ago you were living and breathing the cases even though you knew they were cold. I suspect you still are or you wouldn’t have agreed to talk with me.”