Carter's Cases Read online

  Carter’s Cases

  Copyright © 2018 Tom Heaven

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  ISBN (Print Edition): 978-1-54394-412-9

  ISBN (eBook Edition): 978-1-54394-413-6

  To my wife Jeanne who has been the wind beneath my wings for fifty three years.

  Table of Contents

  Case I – The Assassin – Part I

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Case II – El Asesino de Turista (The Tourist Killer)

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Case III – The Atlas Killer

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Case I – The Assassin - Part II

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Case IV – The Vengeance Killer

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Chapter 60

  Chapter 61

  Chapter 62

  Chapter 63

  Chapter 64

  Chapter 65

  Chapter 66

  Chapter 67

  Chapter 68

  Chapter 69

  Chapter 70

  Chapter 71

  Chapter 72

  Chapter 73

  Chapter 74

  Chapter 75

  Chapter 76

  Chapter 77

  Chapter 78

  Chapter 79

  Chapter 80

  Chapter 81

  Chapter 82

  Chapter 83

  Chapter 84

  Chapter 85

  Chapter 86

  Chapter 87

  Chapter 88

  Chapter 89

  Prologue

  Case I – The Assassin – Part I

  Chapter 1

  John Casciani and his brother, Sonny lived in San Diego by the good graces of the U.S. Marshal’s Victim Witness Protection Program. They testified against their crime bosses in Chicago last year. That testimony had gotten their Don, and two of his lieutenants, life sentences in a federal prison, and the brothers a home in America’s finest city.

  Since arriving at their new home, Johnny made a habit of following the sidewalk winding along the beach by Mission Bay, and sitting on a bench overlooking the ocean, to watch the sunset. He could not recall any time in his life when he had been happier or more at peace with himself.

  While sitting comfortably on his bench, and inhaling the clean, salt air, he was not troubled by the faces of the numerous lives he had taken during his criminal life. His victims no longer haunted him as he felt the warm breeze on his arms and listened to the screeching of the sea gulls. He watched a palette of orange, pink, and purple, develop across the center of the horizon, intensifying as the sun began to set.

  Perhaps it was not true justice for his victims, that Johnny should be so peaceful and content when the bullet from The Assassin’s 30-06 rifle exploded his skull, but at least the world had one less monster to contend with.

  Chapter 2

  Chief of Detectives, Dan Carter said, “It was an ice pick she put in his brain.”

  “No, it wasn’t, she shot him with a nail gun.” said his partner, detective Frank Rawlings.

  “I’ll bet you lunch at Poki’s. You go get the case file and you’ll see it was an ice pick.”

  “No, you go get the case file, and you’ll see it was a nail gun she used on him. Remember, he had been remodeling the kitchen, so all those power tools were just laying around.”

  Detective Karen Kretzky handed Dan a cup of coffee and said, “Since both of you are too lazy to go get the case file, I’m guessing this issue is not going to be settled. At least not today.”

  She was Dan’s girlfriend, but not his errand girl. A cup of coffee was one thing, going into the file room to recover an ancient case file, so they could settle a ridiculous dispute, was quite another.

  Jerry Hamilton, the fourth homicide detective of the team, stuck his head in the doorway and said, “Hey guys, the chief is in the conference room, ready to start morning brief.”

  Karen said, “If you two have finally given up on the ‘ice pick versus nail gun’ controversy, we should probably join the others.”

  Morning brief was for the uniformed officers, and the plain clothes, homicide detectives that made up the Central Division of the San Diego Police Department.

  Chief C.G. Gates had been on the force for eighteen years and had been the chief for the last five. When he cleared his throat, the diverse conversations filling the room with chatter, stopped abruptly, and there was silence in the room.

  “Good morning everyone. First off, I wanna’ thank all you uniformed officers for making me look good. Your arrest numbers were up by ten per-cent this last quarter.”

  One of the rookies in the back of the room raised his hand.

  “Yes Kowalski?”

  “If we’re the ones making the arrests, how come you’re the one looking good?”

  “Well, my young rookie, it works this way. When you screw up, I’m the one who takes the crap. So, when you do something right, I’m the one who gets the credit. Got it?”

  “Yes sir, Chief!”

  “Next item. We seem to have a new serial killer in town. Interagency reports from across the U.S. have shown a series of killings with the same M.O. and a similarity among the victims. The killer uses a sniper rifle from a vantage point and the entry wound is always the head. Sometimes in the forehead and sometimes in the back of the head. There is no indication he has ever missed. According to witnesses, there has never been more than one shot fired.

  The victims have all been associates of organized crime figures or someone who owes more in debt to their bookies than they will ever be able to pay. For that reason, we believe we are looking for a contract killer. The media have picked up on this guy and have dubbed him “The Assassin.”

  Dan could feel his heart start to beat faster and a warm sensation envelop his entire body. He tried not to let an unprofessional smile dominate his facial expression, but this was the first serial killer that had struck San Diego in a very long time. Tracking serial killers was his specialty. More of an obsession, actually. He raised his hand.

  “Yes Dan?”

  “
How many vics so far Chief?”

  “Last official count was six. One in Las Vegas, two in Chicago, one in New Jersey, one in New York and, so far, one in San Diego. Dan, you and Frank will work the one in town, but be very careful. The Marshals have told us that our victim, Johnny Casciani and his brother, Sonny were both in the Witness Protection Program for ratting out one of the big crime bosses back east. Sonny is the one who actually testified in court. The killer will most likely be sticking around to take him out as well.

  Okay, that’s all I got this morning. Your partner list and vehicle assignments are on the board as usual. Get out there, serve and protect!”

  Chapter 3

  Two more unlikely partners within the San Diego Police Force could not be imagined. Dan was six feet, two inches tall with blond hair. His muscular physique looked the same today as it did in those old pictures of him and his Navy Seal buddies playing volleyball in Iraq, twelve years ago. He had a college degree and was very rich, having made a killing in the real estate market.

  His house on Mission Bay reflected his wealth. The two-story mansion fronted on Crown Point Drive, the back door opened on to a short walkway which was almost hidden by Oleander bushes on two sides and a cast iron gate on the beach end. The first floor contained the kitchen, dining room, two bedrooms, a small gym, and an indoor jacuzzi. The second floor contained two large bedroom suites. One of the suites opened on to a large patio which overlooked the beach and could be accessed by a stairway on the side of the house

  The suits he wore were made in London at a cost of five hundred pounds, sterling. His made-to-order shoes were from Harrods Shoe Salon, costing more than the roundtrip airline ticket to purchase them. His cashmere blended wool Hoxton fedora from Baileys of Hollywood had become his trademark. If he didn’t have it on he was in bed, in the shower or getting his hair cut.

  The pursuit of murderers was Dan’s solitary goal in life. Nothing gave him greater satisfaction than hearing a jury declare “guilty as charged” when one of his collars was tried.

  Frank, on the other hand was more of a home-grown casual dresser. He wore faded Hawaiian shirts, shorts and beach shoes. His dark curly hair sat five feet, six inches above the floor, astride a perpetually tanned forehead, which, in turn overlooked two smiling gray eyes.

  He lived on Mission Boulevard, and his house was small enough for him to barely afford on a city detective’s salary. It sported one bedroom, a small kitchen, one bath, a front porch wide enough to hold his surf board, and a sandy path that went to the beach in one direction, and to the pedestrian sidewalk by the street in the other.

  This improbable pair were currently at the crime scene examining the bench where the body had been discovered. Blood spatter was consistent with a bullet wound to the back of the head. Dan sat down on the bench next to where the victim had been shot.

  “It’s hard to imagine an act of violence like this taking place in such a peaceful environment.”

  His partner and best friend said, “Yeah, I’ll probably never make out on this bench again.”

  The killer had taken his shot from the roof of a nearby apartment complex. The detectives went there next.

  Although the forensics team had retrieved a spent 30-06 casing from the roof, Dan and Frank meticulously scoured that surface again without finding another shred of evidence.

  Dan said “Uniformed officers have already taken statements from all of the occupants. Let’s head back and go over them.”

  ***

  When they were back in Dan’s office at the station, they reviewed the witness reports the officers had taken that morning.

  “None of these show any promise, do they?” said Dan.

  “Nope, nothing more than, ‘I heard a shot.’”

  At six o’clock Jerry and Karen entered the office. Karen asked Dan, “You ready to call it a day?”

  “Yeah hon, I just want a quick look at those homicide reports from out of state. I’ll meet you at the car.”

  While Jerry and Karen walked to their cars, Jerry said, “So, how’s it goin’ with you and the big guy?”

  “It’s going great actually. He may be big, but he’s tender and he’s been really nice to me.”

  “He was some kinda’ special forces guy, wasn’t he?”

  “Yeah, Navy Seal. He got tired of killing in foreign countries and decided he would rather catch killers in San Diego.”

  “I hope I don’t come across as bein’ too nosy, but where did he get his dough? I mean he’s richer than a rock star.”

  “You are being nosy, but I’ll tell you anyway. His folks left him a pretty good bundle of cash to start. Then he used some of it to buy a couple ‘fix-er-uppers’, remodeled them, and sold them for at least five times what he paid. He kept buying more and flippin’ them. That was back when the housing market was workin’ on building ‘the bubble’. He was smart enough to see it comin’ and sold them all before the bubble burst. The last six he sold were for more than a mil each.”

  “Je-sus, I knew he was smart, but I didn’t know he was a goddam genius. You think he might give me some investment advice?”

  “No man, in fact you better not let him know I told you about this. He’s sensitive about it and doesn’t want everyone knowin’ his business.”

  When they got to Jerry’s car he said “Okay, see you tomorrow,” and his gaze followed longingly as Karen walked away.

  When Dan got back to his car, Karen was sitting in the passenger seat, listening to music from her cell phone, through the car speakers. The song playing was “Sweet Dreams Are Made of This” by the JX Ryders.

  Dan said, “Did you know this one is the number one dance song right now?”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, how would you like to go to Fluxx tonight and see how it is to dance to?”

  “Well I don’t know; I think I may have a quilting club meeting tonight. I’ll have to check my calendar.”

  “I’ll take that as a yes and pick you up at eight.”

  Chapter 4

  Karen was putting the finishing touches on her makeup, when she heard a strange rumble outside her window.

  When she opened the door for Dan, she could see a very sporty black car idling at the curb behind him.

  “Is that our carriage for this evening?”

  “Yes, it is, and the 887 horses pulling it are collectively known as the 918 Porsche Spider. This carriage is guaranteed to get us any place we want to go, on time, even if we start 10 minutes after we were supposed to be there. The real selling point for me though, was the fact that the roof doesn’t crush my fedora when I get in the captain’s seat.”

  Karen chuckled at the absurdity of the statement, and Dan said, “I love your laugh.”

  “Careful, you don’t want to get in the habit of using the ‘L’ word too often. You might slip and use it in the wrong context.”

  “What ‘laugh’? That’s not a very scary word.”

  Karen chuckled again.

  “So, we are going to Fluxx tonight?”

  “Yes, if that’s okay. I really like the light show they put on there, and the music is loud enough to drown out my singing along with whatever the d.j. plays.”

  “You really are in a good mood tonight, aren’t you?”

  “Always when I’m with you.”

  Dan opened her door and Karen got in the car.

  As they were driving to the night club, Dan said, “You know, I am at an excellent place in my life right now.”

  “I bet I know why.”

  “You think so? Okay why do you think Miss Analyst?”

  “Cuz we got a new serial killer to track. You are always happiest when you are tracking down and locking up one of those evil bastards.

  “You know there is a reason for my obsessing over serial killers. I am going to share something with you that I usuall
y do not tell other people. I would appreciate it if you didn’t tell the other guys in the department.”

  “Of course, Dan, if you tell me, my lips are sealed.”

  “I don’t think I ever mentioned that I had a sister.”

  “No.”

  “Her name was Sheila. When I was eight years old, she was twelve.

  My folks were pretty good parents, but they were strict about some things. Like the whole family had to be at the dinner table, with their hands washed, and ready to eat, at exactly six o’clock every evening. If you showed up later than five minutes after six, you might as well go straight to your room, because that is where you were spending the rest of the night, without anything to eat.

  On this one school night in November of that year, Sheila was late. At a quarter after six, my dad got up from the table, put his coat on, and went to go look for her. He didn’t get home ‘til midnight and told us he couldn’t find her, but the police were now looking for her.

  They found her body in a field near our house, two days later. She had been beaten, raped and strangled to death. Two other girls were murdered under the same circumstances in nearby towns that Fall. Their killer had never been caught

  Although I get a great deal of satisfaction when I arrest a solo murderer, I have made it my life’s work to bring every serial killer to justice that I possibly can during my lifetime. I took abnormal psychology in college to understand how their sick minds worked and joined the Navy Seals to learn how to take them down physically.

  Since joining the San Diego P.D., I have collared three and shot one.

  That is why I love my job. I also love living in San Diego with the beautiful weather and beaches, and I love life in general.”

  “There you go with that ‘L’ word again.”

  “Oh look! We are almost there.”

  “Saved by our arrival.”

  He found a parking spot within two blocks of the club and they walked to the front of the line waiting to get in the door. The large security guard opened the velvet covered gate and let them right in.

  “Good evening Detective Dan. Good evening Detective Karen.”

  They both said, “Hey James.” and entered the club to the sound of ‘Closer’ by D.J. Snake