Deadly Obsession Part 1

Deadly Obsession by Patricia A. Rasey.

Acknowledgments.

I would first like to thank Officer and Evidence Technician Mark T. Miller of the Fairview Park Police Department who shared his knowledge and experti se, and as a brother, lent me his shoulder.

Thanks, also, goes to Dr. Michael Dean Carpenter who answered my questions concerning forensic dentistry, Terry Bartels, and to Serita Stevens who t ook time to answer my last minute questions.

Any mistakes in this book are my own and are in no way the fault of those w ho lent their hand.

A special thanks goes out to Tina Haack, a.k.a. Tina St. John. What a bles sing from G.o.d you have been to me. And to Terry Herbin and Paulette Brewst er, a.k.a. Melody Morgan, for your support. Without Paulette's suggestion that I write something darker, Deadly Obsession might not have been born. And of course, to my editor Michele Bardsley, but more than that my frien d. Thanks for the wonderful job you did with Deadly Obsession's edits and thanks for the many, many laughs we've shared. Looking forward to many m ore to come! I'll even let you borrow my coffee mug should you need it.

Dedication.

To Ruth "Gram" Baldwin. You are my grandmother by marriage, but more im portantly, my grandmother by heart.

To my very own hero, my heart, my husband, Mark. Without your love and s upport, I would have never realized my dream.

"I used to fancy that life was a positive and perpetual ent.i.ty, and that by c onsuming a mult.i.tude of living things, no matter how low on the scale of creat ion, one might indefinitely prolong life. At times I held the belief so strong ly that I actually tried to take human life..."

-Bram Stoker's Dracula

Prologue.

Blood. Thehands , face, and shirt are soaked with it. The heart pumps the hot liquid through arteries and veins; the tortured soul stops it. G.o.d creates lif e and Satan destroys it.

"Dear G.o.d," the anguished soul cries to the blackened heavens, offering taint ed hands, falling to its knees. The heels of the palms shield the torment in its dark eyes; the stench of life's vital fluids permeates the air. A m.u.f.fled query is heard. "Why have you forsaken me?"

But the soul knows it will strike again. The hunger for spilled blood is too in tense. Another life will be taken. And they will be too ignorant to stop it.

Rising on shaken limbs, the virulent figure flees from the shadows and into the darkened night.

Chapter 1.

Cole Kincaid sat up abruptly. His breath came in short, shallow pants, his h eart hammered in his chest. The air hung heavy with humidity, but that was n ot what dotted his brow with sweat or caused his skin to cling to the sheets of his bed. His conscience granted him no respite, terrorizing him in the form of a reoccurring nightmare.

"d.a.m.n," he cursed aloud, though no one was there to hear. Aloneness had become his companion as of late.

He ran rough hands down his unshaven face, wiping away the perspiration. He exhaled through pursed lips, willing away the all too vivid images that re mained from the dream. The phone jangled and Cole jumped, his heart lurchin g in his chest. He glared at the ebony phone sitting on the bedside table a s though his mere wish could stop it from ringing again. Another shrill sou nd split the dead calm; he glanced at the alarm clock glowing green in the darkness. Two o'clock in the morning.

Cole s.n.a.t.c.hed up the receiver and growled into it, "This better be good."

"Sorry, Cole, Jack Douglas here...seems a body has been discovered in Bain Park near Coe Ditch. White female, possible murder." Silence followed as Cole digested the information. This was Fairview Park, for crissake. These things simply did not happen here-ever. He had done his homework well; Fa irview Park had only two murders in the last thirty-five years. Three year s prior, Cole packed all his belongings and left Cleveland far behind him to avoid just such occurrences. "Two units have been dispatched to the sce ne."

"Who?" Cole asked, clenching his jaw. The ache traveled to his temples, endi ng with a ring in his ears.

"O'Riley and Cooper."

"O'Riley? s.h.i.t!" Cole jumped to the floor in search of his jeans, haphazard ly discarded the night before. "Radio Cooper, tell him to secure the area an d put O'Riley in charge of crowd control before he walks all over my evidenc e. Call the chief and apprise him of the situation."

"Right away, Cole."

If Jack Douglas had any more to say, Cole didn't hear it as he slammed the r eceiver onto the base and went in search of a T-shirt-preferably a clean one .

A red haze from the after effects of the nightmare seemed to distort his vie w of the night as he pulled a shirt over his head. Cole mentally shrugged of f the remaining images of the dream, going off to find the keys to his Ford Ranger. Now was not a time to dwell on his awry misconceptions of life.

By the sofa in the living room, he stepped over a pair of discarded jeans, a ripped T-shirt, a woman's skirt, and silk blouse. More clothes trailed to t he apartment's second bedroom where a male's m.u.f.fled voice and a woman's sof t moan filtered into the living room. Cole chuckled. His roommate, Damien, h ad to be the luckiest son of a gun alive. Cole was definitely in the wrong l ine of business. Groupies flocked to rock singers like flies to fly paper.

Cole spotted his keys on the breakfast bar, separating the kitchen from the l iving room. Shoving his bare feet into a pair of worn Nikes, he stuffed the keys into his pocket, and grabbed his Cleveland Indians ball cap, placing it o n his head backwards. Not exactly appropriate attire, but at this time of nig ht, who the h.e.l.l would care?

Moments later, his black Ranger was traveling northeast on Lorain Road head ing for the station. Guns n' Roses, "Welcome to the Jungle," filled the air waves. How appropriate, Cole scoffed, thinking of the irony.

He would have to stock his car with the necessary evidence collection kits be fore heading to the scene. The detectives' cars didn't remain stocked at all times, simply because things like this just did not happen here.

The night was quiet as usual with very few cars on the road. Cole noted each pa.s.serby as though already searching for his perpetrator. h.e.l.l, he had not even been to the crime scene and he was already trying to get into the mind of the a.s.sailant. Christ, would he never quit?

He pulled into the parking lot, jumped from the cab of his truck, and jogged up to the door leading into the back of the station. Jack Douglas was waiti ng. He shoved a piece of paper with the specifics of the location into Cole'

s hands and followed Cole to the locker room.

Cole threw open his locker; the metal door clanged loudly against the neigh boring one. He took his Smith and Wesson nine-millimeter from where he had stuffed it in the top of his jeans, snapped in a magazine, tucked his panca ke holster into his Levi's, then sheathed his gun.

"What time did the call come in?"

"One forty-five."

Cole looked at his watch. "d.a.m.n," he cursed. Forty-five minutes had already pa.s.sed.

"I've stocked your car," Douglas said as though he had read Cole's mind an d handed him a thirty-five millimeter camera. "You're ready to go."

Cole took his hat from his head and hung it in his locker, raking his fingers through his disheveled hair. Then he withdrew a worn blue blazer from the lo cker and hastily shoved his arms into the sleeves as he returned to the back of the station.

"I'll call in with any findings," he said over his shoulder. He took a set of keys from the hooks by the back door and left.

Cole opened the trunk to check for the kits. Satisfied, he slammed down the lid, then climbed into his car, not wanting to waste another moment.

He drove around a slight bend in South Park Road minutes later when he spot ted the flashers of the white cruisers about four hundred feet away. As he pulled up behind the last car, he noted curious neighbors and media mongrel s had already gathered.

"O'Riley," Cole called out, spotting one of the uniforms. "Control this situ ation and get these people the h.e.l.l out of here. This isn't a media circus. W here the h.e.l.l is Cooper?" O'Riley pointed between two of the three houses on the north side of the ro ad, then placed his hands in front of him as though he meant to bodily remo ve each and every person from the crowd. By the size of him, the idea was n ot preposterous or improbable.

Cole walked between the houses to a section shrouded by trees. Stepping into the dense covering, he spotted one of the station's evidence technicians, F rank Cooper, standing several feet away from the covered victim, lying on th e south side of the ditch.

Too-raw flesh, feces, urine, and blood permeated the air. The smell alone would have attracted attention. A slight sheen covered Cooper's upper lip.

Cole recognized the use of Vicks VapoRub ointment; the camphor and mentho l ingredients overpowered the smell of the decomposing body. He had witnes sed one too many such situations and knew that within three minutes the ol factory nerves in his nose would go numb, no longer able to detect the vil e odors.

Cole withdrew his notebook from the pocket of his blazer. "Who phoned this in?"

"Sarah Jones. We've placed her in a cruiser. She's agreed to go down to the station," Cooper replied as he stood with his hands behind his back, careful not to move.

"Who's been in this area?"

"Just Miss Jones, O'Riley, and me."

"How did she find the body?" Cole asked.

"Said she couldn't sleep, went for a walk. The smell caught her attention-sh e vomited by the ditch." He pointed to a spot slightly northeast of where th ey were standing.

"Did anyone touch the body?" Cole stopped writing and looked up. He watched Cooper shuffle from one foot to the other, peering at a spot over Cole's s houlder. He clenched his jaw, fearing his teeth might just crack under the pressure. "O'Riley?"

Cooper's gaze snapped back to Cole's. "He lifted the head, sir. Her throat wa s slit-d.a.m.n near from ear to ear."

"Didn't he learn anything at the academy?" Cole shook his head in disgust.

He slipped the strap of a thirty-five millimeter camera from his shoulder an d snapped pictures of the victim and the surrounding area. He took a pair of rubber gloves from the inside breast pocket of his blazer, slipped them on, then knelt beside the body and lifted the corner of the blanket.

"Who covered the victim?" Cole asked.

"That's the way we found it."

"Go tell O'Riley to note the license plates in the vicinity, though I doubt it will do much good. By the looks of things, this one's been dead a couple of d ays." Maggots crawled in and around the ears and over the body as beetles feasted on the skin. Cole replaced the blanket, again covering the victim's head.

"Call the coroner's office, have them send someone to pick up the body. We need to establish a time of death. Be careful where you step, Cooper. I don 't want you messing up my crime scene. Get the kits from my car." He tossed the keys at the officer. "Seal off the area. The son of a b.i.t.c.h had to lea ve footprints somewhere out here. We'll take some soil samples from around the body, secure the hands for traces of the perp's skin and blood, and pro tect the neck wound. I don't want anything left undone." He paused, looking at the unmoving officer. "What the h.e.l.l are you waiting for, Christmas?"

Cooper turned and carefully stepped his way toward the houses. Even if the y took every precaution in gathering evidence, Cole knew he would find not hing of importance. This body had been dumped here. They'd find no signs o f struggle, no blood, nothing.

"d.a.m.n." Cole's curse was the only sound amidst the distant murmurs of the crowd of neighbors and media. Even the animals seemed to have gone silent over the evil that had been played out.

Cole knelt beside the body again and lifted the corner of the blanket. The vi ctim was a white female, seeming to be in her late teens to early twenties. A ccording to her state of dress, she appeared to have been a prost.i.tute. From his years on the force, he could easily spot a hooker with their thigh high b oots, too short skirts and a top that barely covered their cleavage. She lay face down in the dirt, arms out to the side, legs askew. Not the way she died , Cole thought. Postmortem lividity clearly showed she lain on her back for s everal hours after her death. Rigor mortis had already left her body. But bec ause of the elevated temperature of the last couple of days and her slight bu ild, rigor probably lasted no more than twenty-four hours.

After disposing the body, the perp used a blanket to cover the victim. Hidi ng her from view? More likely, he was ashamed of what he did. While working as a detective in Cleveland, Cole learned about profiling criminals from F BI agents called in from time to time to help solve impossible cases. He wa s sure they were looking for a white male. This kind of murder rarely cross ed racial lines.

A chill ran down Cole's spine. Intuition told him the murderer would strike again. Though the a.s.sailant was ashamed of his deeds, the bite marks on th e side of the neck and around the wound showed that he acted out of a pa.s.si on for blood. The lab would check to see if the victim had been raped, but Cole would lay odds she hadn't been. The s.e.xual draw was related to taking blood from the victim. The nature of biting, of taking blood from a human, was an intimate act. s.e.xual almost. Any s.e.xual angle would be related to th e bloodletting not to physical intercourse.

If anything, he would m.a.s.t.u.r.b.a.t.e following the crime. They were dealing with one sick son of a b.i.t.c.h. But then again, weren't all murderers?

Find the unknown subject and match his teeth marks to the wounds surroundin g the neck. Cole exhaled the breath he held, let the blanket fall into plac e, and stood. He took off his gloves and picked up his notebook and pencil and began a sketching the area. Cooper returned and cordoned off the scene, then both Cole and Cooper measured and triangulated the body. The head lay four feet from the ditch, the feet, nine and a half.

The victim's hands were sealed in paper bags as were several dirt samples, each one marked with evidence tags. The area was searched; no weapon was fo und, no usable shoe prints. All in all, they had very little to go on. They had a body and they had Sarah Jones, whom a uniform had taken to the stati on.

The coroner's a.s.sistant arrived and supervised the body's removal. Sealed in a black body bag, it was taken away on a stretcher. Another statistic.

Five hours later, tired and frustrated from searching for more clues and cou ntless interviews from neighbors, Cole walked toward his vehicle. "O'Riley,"

he called to the uniform still guarding the area like a sheepdog tending hi s herd, "when relief arrives, tell them to make sure the scene stays secured . I want to come back later to make sure I didn't miss anything."

"No problem, Lieutenant."

h.e.l.l, by the looks of O'Riley, one would never know he just spent the last five hours standing in one spot. Cole would have chuckled had he not felt s o d.a.m.n distraught. As he reached his car, Cole leaned against it, his hands deep into the pockets of his jeans and his gaze trained on nothing in part icular. Chances were, their unknown subject was hundreds of miles away. He'

d check with law enforcement in the surrounding areas to see if any crimes matched the modus operandi or signature of his case. The MO might change, b ut the perp's signature, his taste for blood, would remain a constant.

Rubbing a palm over his whiskered jaw, Cole debated about going home. What he needed most now was sleep, though he'd likely not get rest anytime soo n. He pulled off his blue blazer and tossed it into the pa.s.senger seat thr ough the open window of his car. He grabbed the handle to the door.

"Excuse me, Detective Kincaid?"

Cole startled, unaware anyone had approached. He spun around. A woman of s light build and height stood near. She wore her deep auburn hair in a seve re knot at the base of her neck and stared at him unblinking through large doe eyes.

"Detective? Any word for the press?"

"I have no comment at this time." He dismissed her, opening the door to hi s car. But before he entered, she placed a well-manicured hand on the fram e, drawing his attention and noting the absence of a wedding ring. She was pretty-he would give her that much. "Look, Miss-" "Michaels," she said, holding out her hand. "Laurie Michaels. I'm with the newspaper, Westlife . What's your a.s.sessment of the situation?"

"Talk to Officer O'Riley." Ignoring her hand, his gaze traveled to the large man standing on the freshly cut lawn, arms crossed over his chest, his expr ession bored.

"I already did, Detective. I want to talk to you."

Her lower cinnamon-painted lip protruded slightly farther than the upper. Co le thought she had a s.e.xy pout, and only imagined how sweet it would taste h ad he the notion to draw it between his own lips. His gaze traveled back to hers and by the flush of her cheeks, he could tell she knew exactly the type of thoughts he entertained.

He looked at the notebook and pen she clutched in her free hand. Cole frown ed. "You made an unwise choice, Miss Michaels. I don't talk to journalists.