More Myth Murders (A Sheffield and Black Mystery)

By Charles Alan Long

Their nightmare has begun again. When Detectives Vivienne Sheffield and Dylan Black find themselves standing over a dead woman—snake skins in her hair, tusks glued to her severed head, and a toga wrapped around her body—the similarities to their last serial killer case are undeniable and disturbing.

Once the DNA results are back, the truth is revealed: ex-college professor Sheldon Radford has returned to Normandy to pick up where his brother, Fenrir the Wolf, left off. Before long he has raped and murdered two women and posed them like mythical characters. However, Radford is no Fenrir, as is evident by two failed abductions that follow.

An incompetent and frustrated killer, Radford is still highly dangerous, and Sheffield and Black know they must stop him before he racks up a body count equal to his brother's. This time, however, it’s Sheffield who is carrying on a secret relationship that just might alter the killer’s plans.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Charles Alan Long
• Release date: Oct 13, 2012
• ISBN: 9781301701599

Charles Alan Long

Charles Alan Long works full-time at a university and spends much of his free time writing novels, short stories, and poems. He’s published more than a dozen tales—from spy thrillers to superhero adventures—in a variety of anthologies. His first novel, The God Killer, marries his love of detective stories and mythology, and gave him the opportunity to create a gay detective. He has written three novels in the Sheffield and Black detective series.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Tired and grieving, the lonely detective shuffled down the long terminal of the Columbus Airport. A rambunctious, towheaded toddler crossed in front of her, snapping her back to the present.

CJ, come here, the little boy’s mother called, swooping toward him.

Hi, Sheffield said to the precocious munchkin.

The boy giggled as if the detective had blown raspberries.

I'm so sorry, the mother said.

No problem. Sheffield leaned forward and asked the boy, How are you?

The child reached for her blond locks, which were uncharacteristically free of a ponytail or braid. She’d recently cut five inches off her hair and now spent her time off the clock with it dancing in the wind, something she hadn’t done since her college days when she’d suffered through a year with an unfortunate perm.

She patted the child's head and waved as his mother picked him up and walked away.

Despite her tribulations, she smiled as she resumed her journey toward her destination. Less than two weeks prior, the detective had buried her dad. In October she’d visited her ailing father in Florida, just to return in late February to bury him. She had no siblings and wasn’t close to her aunts and uncles, so her mother was the last family she had. Though she’d tried her best, she couldn't convince her mother to leave Florida and move to Ohio. Having plenty of friends in her community, Lois Sheffield was perfectly content to live out her remaining days away from the snow and ice, not to mention the bone-chilling cold, of Ohio winters.

Actually, her mother wasn't the detective’s biggest concern. The truth was that Vivienne Sheffield worried more about herself than her aging mother. After 40 good years with her husband, Lois Sheffield had no regrets. Denny Sheffield’s suffering was finally over, and Lois’s cherished memories would sustain her through her bereavement. Lois had told her daughter that she looked forward to spending more time with friends, pursuing hobbies, and catching up on reading, and she was perfectly content to stay in Boca Raton. Vivienne realized she would likely never have 40 good years with any man, or even a series of good men. Her track record with relationships was abysmal, and she was married to the job. The previous year, she’d accepted an offer to live with a man named Viktor just to watch their relationship dissolve before moving so much as a single pair of shoes to his place. Viktor had been her most serious and adult relationship, but she just didn’t love him as much as she thought she should. Shortly after the break up, she tried dating again, which, at the age of 37, had proven challenging. She’d managed to discover a pool of sad, pathetic, immature men, which led to a string of one-time dates. She’d considered becoming permanently celibate, but sometimes a woman had needs. She may not be good at relationship, but that didn’t mean she had to take sex off the table entirely. Nor did she want to.

Complicating her life even more were those pesky feelings she had for her partner, Dylan Black.

However, recently things had taken an unexpected turn in the relationship department. She’d been dating someone who just might turn out to be a keeper, so maybe her love life was finally turning a corner. Time would tell if this man would stay around, if he could make her happy, if they could sustain their passion, and if she could allow him into her life and into her heart.

Crossing through the airport exit, she spotted a familiar face, and a rush of emotions surprised her. Chief among them were joy, relief, and desire.

Hey, babe, the tall blond man said in the smooth voice of television announcer.

Nervous, she glanced around. Sheffield wasn't ready for their relationship to go public for several reasons: First, because he was a fellow officer, which was made only slightly better by the fact that he wasn’t a detective. Second, because the relationship was barely a month old and still could easily crash and burn. Third, because she was a relatively private person and didn’t want people knowing her personal business.

Realizing they were in Columbus, an hour away from Normandy, she let go of her fears and let the man’s warm embrace comfort her.

I missed you, he said into her hair.

Damn he smells good, she thought. Me, too, she responded.

Though she was notoriously a control freak, he threw caution to the wind and lifted her off the ground. She found herself actually laughing for the first time in too long. It was good to date a man who was taller and didn’t make her feel like an amazon. She was, after all, a woman of above average height with curves and muscles, not a scrawny Next Top Model contestant.

You wanna stay at my place tonight? she asked.

Fine by me. Let's get your bags.

Sheffield felt Ari Davis take her hand and lead her toward the luggage carousels. Their relationship worked because he didn't mind her being tough as nails, in charge, even domineering, but he also seemed to know that today, under special circumstances, he could take control, hold the reins, and lead her.

How are the cats? she asked.

Louis’s maudlin and Lestat’s imperious.

Cute and funny. This just might work.

* * *

Returning from the kitchen, Trevor was overcome by the cuteness in front of him. His big, tough boyfriend, Dylan Black, sat in the middle of the couch with five-year-old Rosamaria Perez to his left and four-year-old Carlos Perez to his right. Beneath them on the floor lay Ashur, the dutiful Siberian Husky pup.

You don't understand a word, do you? Trevor asked.

Maybe every hundredth word, Black responded.

The Princess and the Frog played on the TV in Spanish.

Rosa, you wanted strawberries on yours?

Yeah. The little girl reached for the bowl of frozen yogurt covered with strawberries and chocolate sprinkles.

And, Carlos, you wanted blueberries?

"Si," the boy blurted. During his time in the Black house, Carlos had made a joke of speaking in Spanish and then translating himself. He sat up and gleefully accepted the dessert bowl.

I didn't forget you, Ashur. Hearing his name, the dog perked up as Trevor tossed a Milk-Bone his way. Ashur caught it like a pro and crawled to the corner to chew on the biscuit in peace.

What about me? Black asked.

"I didn't forget you. Strawberries and blueberries."

And sprinkles?

Trevor smiled. And sprinkles.

While Black and the kids enjoyed the movie and their treats, Trevor snuck his camera from the bag and snapped a picture. That one could go in my next show. Though his major was psychology, Trevor was also an art minor, and his exhibition of photographs, called Recovery, was going on display in a downtown gallery in the upcoming weeks.

Ha ha. And ruin my rep as a tough homicide detective?

Trevor placed his camera on the shelf and sat on the floor between his boyfriend's legs.

Uncle Trevor, I'm going to be a princess, Rosa said.

You are?

Uh-huh.

And I'm gonna be a racecar driver, Carlos added enthusiastically in Spanish and then English.

Maybe your mom and dad will call tonight, Trevor said.

Officer Amadeo Perez and his wife, Olivia, were in Spain to celebrate the end of Olivia’s breast cancer treatments.

Umm, I think they’re having too much fun, so I don’t think they’ll call tonight, Rosa stated, her expression serious.

You do? Trevor almost laughed out loud. Hey, after the movie, maybe Uncle Dylan will sing you a song.

Black's no response was drowned out by the kids' yeses. Trevor gave a pouty look.

Maybe one song, the detective acquiesced. Then your Uncle Trevor can read you a story.

The four sat in silence watching the Disney film. The clink of dessert spoons and the dog's gnawing were the only stray noises.

After finishing his last bite, Black looked over at Carlos and said, What’s she saying?

To which the four-year-old launched into an explanation. Well, she was telling the frog—

* * *

The woman had been almost ordinary looking in life, but after the abuse and mutilation, she was hideous in death. Now that the blood had drained from her face, her skin looked blotchy, and the wound was horrific and unsightly. The ax had really made a mess of her. At least her tits still looked spectacular.

I’d fuck her dead corpse if she still had her head, but all that blood and goo is about to make me hurl, her killer thought

She had been alive when he’d raped her, but now her naked body was already growing cold. Her disarticulated head was turned to the side, casting a dead stare toward the door as if waiting for someone to arrive and help her. Unlike his brother, the killer wasn’t into the gore. Violence was okay. Viscera, not so much. No fucking way was he going to use a hack saw to fight through muscle and bone to remove her head. Too time consuming and way too messy. In truth, if he’d removed her head with a saw, he might have actually blown chunks. The detectives—Tweedledee and Tweedledum, as he called them—would not be impressed by his handiwork if he upchucked all over the crime scene. They’d know he wasn’t as competent a killer as his brother. So instead he’d brought an ax to do the beheading. Two mighty swings with his eyes closed and the job was done. The grotesque thud it made upon contact was sickening, and something wet had splashed onto his face. Thankfully, the task was over in mere moments.

This was only his second kill. Well, besides his parents. But that was so long ago it didn’t really count in his mind. That was almost a necessity, not a whim.

Maybe he’d get better at homicide with practice. His last victim was a teenage girl in Mexico, but he hadn’t posed the body or performed any ritual. And he didn’t need to rape her since she was a whore. That murder had been achieved quickly by strangulation with his bare hands. The child was only 100 pounds soaking wet, and he’d bulked up to a solid 185, so her resistance was futile. When her body stopped flailing and her dead eyes stared up at him, he was both freaked out and exhilarated. That’s when he knew he could return to Normandy to pick up where his brother had left off and exact his own revenge.

In truth, he didn’t want to be a killer. He simply wanted to punish the individuals responsible for destroying his former life in Normandy. The goddamn fat prick reporter, Agatha Rhodes; the Bulgarian bitch Medical Examiner, Nikolina Petkov; the know-it-all buttfucker, Trevor McDaniel; but mostly Tweedledee and Tweedledum, Dylan Black and Vivienne Sheffield. More than anything in the world he wanted to control Sheffield, to dominate her, to make her his sex slave. He’d fuck her in doggie; he’d fuck her prone on the bed; he’d strangle her with his bare hands while he pounded her in missionary position. He’d violate her in every way while she cried out. Despite herself, she’d love it so much that she’d climax. Then she’d beg for more even though he’d abused her like a dirty little slut.

Vivienne Sheffield wasn’t an airbrushed Twiggy from the cover of Vogue. No, she was tall, robust, shapely, with round tits and a plump ass. Every time he’d seen her, a stern look upon her face, he wanted to grab her and throw her on the ground and have his way. She was beautiful in an unconventional manner. Though he’d never seen her dolled up in dresses or painted like a harlot, at least she wasn’t a mannish ballbuster, like most bulldyke cops. No, she was all woman, and he’d love to fuck that tough-as-nails attitude right out of her. Once she got a taste of his power, she’d beg to run away with him and be his lover forever.

Who am I kidding? She probably is a dyke, or she was fucking her partner until he turned out to be gay.

One thing was certain: When Detective Sheffield stood in this room over this coke whore’s body, she’d certainly know he had returned and was coming for her. Yes, this was his grand announcement. Motherfuckers, I’m back and I’m as dangerous as my brother.

He’d already arranged the snake skins through her black hair. He would’ve used real snakes but that would’ve been way too impractical. He wasn’t worried about using the same heavy-handed symbolism that his brother employed. He just needed a little something to let the cops know it was him. Although, he did like the idea of being a god. Or better yet, a god killer. That’s one thing Toby had gotten right—power over everyone, especially power over the gods, was a turn on. That’s why he’d begun to think of himself as Zeus; Jupiter as the Romans called him. He preferred Roman names but realized most people were more familiar with the Greek appellations. And the Romans had basically co-opted the Greek pantheon and grafted it onto their religion. Their will-to-power and imperial nature were two of the things that fascinated him most about the Romans. Well, that and crazy ass nut jobs like Nero and Caligula.

From his coat pocket he pulled out two fake plastic tusks. After much effort, he gave up trying to drive them through the skin of the coke whore’s lower lip. The flesh stretched but never tore, and he realized too late that he should have attached the tusks before beheading her. Luckily, he’d brought superglue. First the right tusk, then the left. They weren’t positioned evenly, but they were at least curving up from her lower jaw like the tusks of the mythical being she represented.

When the slut had exited the bar alone, he knew he’d found his victim. She was drunk, and he offered her a bump, showing her a small vial of white powder. Like a good floozy, she climbed in his car and invited him back to her place to get high and fuck like pigs in rut.

He had a master plan to implement so he was careful not to take chances. In fact, he hadn’t even been inside the bar to avoid anyone seeing him. Instead, the whore had found him in the parking lot leaning up against his red truck puffing on a cigarette and looking as cool as James Dean. She’d started flirting as soon as she’d spotted him standing there. There were no security cameras outside the dive so there was no chance of being caught on video. Once he’d flicked the cigarette, offered her a crooked smile, and showed the vial of blow, the coke whore couldn’t jump in his truck quick enough, and the two were gone in a hot minute. It had all gone as planned, and no one saw them together.

She couldn’t even wait to get to her place to snort the powder up her snozz so she was already feeling good when they arrived. She lived alone in a house, not an apartment which was fortuitous for him. It was as if the gods wanted him to ice her.

When she’d pointed out her place, a dilapidated 1950’s bungalow, he drove past it, winked at her, and rounded the block so he could park in the alley. He made some lame-ass joke about not having the neighbor’s eyes on him when he did the walk of shame after their hot night together. She giggled and grabbed his dick, and he licked the excess coke from her finger. In case anyone was peeking out their windows, he pulled the hoodie over his head before exiting the truck. She liked his hoodie, thought it made him look a little dangerous. The bitch had no clue.

It had begun. The first murder was a success. After she’d hoovered the remaining coke up her nose, he’d fucked her hard while pressing her face into the bed. The more she fought, the hotter it was. Once her protests got louder and she started fighting, he stuffed her panties into her mouth to muffle her screams and then finished the deed. Once he’d shot his load, he'd killed her by holding her face into a pillow until she’d suffocated.

He put the last few pieces in place. Prepping the scene went quickly though that was definitely his least favorite part.

Looking back he felt a frisson.

Within hours, the detectives would know he was here.

Let the games begin, motherfuckers.

Prepping the scene went quickly, though that was definitely his least favorite part.

Within hours, the detectives would know who had been here. Let the games begin, motherfuckers.

Chapter 2

When’d you get back in town? Black pushed back from his desk and stood to greet his partner.

Yesterday.Sheffield knew she looked different—shorter haircut, a bit of a tan, no dark circles under her eyes, and a new kickass Ralph Lauren outfit that her mom insisted on buying for her.

I can't believe your hair’s down.

Yeah, well don't get used to it. I'm still going to keep it up on the job.

So you're not working today?

Why? You need me?

Nah. He turned back to his desk and rearranged a folder. The act wasn't fooling anyone. He’d missed his partner.

Got a juicy case you're working on? She ran her fingers through her hair.

You kinda looked like Lindsay Wagner when you did that.

The bionic woman?

Yeah. My first TV crush.

Well, look where that got you.

Yep, he’d missed her snark. And he was finally getting used to her jokes about his sexuality.

Perez back? she asked as she turned on her computer and then rifled through a pile of papers on her desk.

Nope. Not for another three days.

How the hell did you ever survive without either one of us here?

I guess I’m just that good.

You still got the kids?

Trevor’s been watching them while I’m at work.

Domestic bliss. How cute, she quipped.

Extra snarky. He ignored her while reaching for a paper clip

After logging into email, she grabbed a Payday from her desk drawer and bit in, savoring its nutty goodness. While in Florida, she’d hidden her tendency to snack from her mother, who didn’t keep any goodies around the house, so she’d been dying for some junk food.

You don't have a computer at home? Black asked. Or did you just come here to bug me?

She smiled, mischievous. Any new cases I should know about?

Nah. Debating whether to be serious or sarcastic, he studied her for a minute. Opting for the former, he asked, So how'd it go?

What?

Florida. The funeral.

Oh, that. Fine. She took another big bite of her candy bar.

How’s your mom?

Fine. She's got lots of friends down there so she’s going to stay.

That's good. Isn’t it?

I suppose. Distracted by an Internet ad, she clicked on the link and looked at some stylish woven leather placemats. If she bought them, they’d put her mismatched dishes to shame, so she closed the browser window.

This way she won’t put a crimp in your love life.

Her eyes darted in his direction and, for the briefest moment, revealed her fear. Realizing her partner was probably only making an off-the-cuff remark, she returned to her email without responding.

Though she’d recovered quickly from her panic, Black knew his partner well enough to pick up on it. Knowing he was onto something, he asked, matter-of-fact, So who’re you dating?

Sheffield's head snapped in his direction. A thousand synapses fired in her brain as question after question rose in her mind: Did Black really know something? Had Davis told everyone? If so, why would he do that? Did the whole station know? Had they been talking about her while she was gone? Not even her mom knew about her friends-with-benefits relationship with the sexy, tall, blond officer, so how the hell did her partner figure it out?

She was speechless.

So there is someone? Black was unusually excited. The tables were turned. Not long ago he’d been hiding his relationship with Trevor, but now it was his partner who was having a secret affair.

What are you talking about?

Don't deny it. You panicked. I knew you seemed extra chipper before your dad took a turn for the worse. Then, just now, when I made that comment about your mom putting a damper on your love life, I saw it in your eyes.

Chipper? You need a new brain, Junior. She closed her email and reached for the other half of her Payday. I’m outta here. See you tomorrow.

Who is he? Why’re you hiding him?

For a moment she considered flipping him the bird. Instead, she rolled her eyes and said, Get a life.

He jumped up to follow her. Is he old? Is he deformed? Does he have six toes? Is he a figment of your imagination? Is his name Christian Grey?

Her pinched expression told him he was pissing her off. I’m asking for a new partner, she responded.

Is he a woman?

Her chuckle was sardonic. What are you? Straight now?

Come on, tell me, Sheff.

Before she could