The Murder Channel

By CK Brooks

Kayla is enjoying her life near the Truckee River, which runs near her apartment in Reno, Nevada. Her life takes a sudden turn when she reports a murder.
Explaining that she didn’t know it was a murder when she witnessed it on her television; she is written off as a nut case until a body matching the details in her statement is discovered.
Detective Cooper must determine if she is an accomplice or a witness and finds himself believing her without solid facts. His cop-radar is puzzled by her nervous behavior around him, but he becomes convinced that one of Kayla’s neighbors is a serial killer.
Kayla is terrified of Detective Cooper, seeing him as a ‘wolf in detective clothing’. So, why does she keep agreeing to see him? Is it for protection from the killer, or something else?
Official Police protection is denied. When her dog is found beaten and she’s reported missing, police rally to find her, but can they find her in time?

• Language: English
• Publisher: CK Brooks
• Release date: Nov 5, 2012
• ISBN: 9781301269761

CK Brooks

Brooks’ currently lives the live of a workamper. She and her husband of 42 years and small black pooch named Shadow call their 37' Simba motorhome their home. From May through October of 2013, home is parked at Moonshine Creek Campground in NC. November find them in Ga, but where they go after that is still a mystery. They left boon-docking in the desert, and using solar power to juice laptops and furnace fans blowing for the time being. All the trees and rain has been a culture shock, but Brooks is adapting, and finds rock hounding and shadow walking is a good excuse to stretch your legs. Brooks resigned from the ‘Bill Allen fitness program’ which involved dressing warmly, installing chains on her bus tires and handling thousands of pounds of luggage on a regular basis. She gave up Bill's fitness but now has keys to her own bus, the Simba. Writing began as an escape from BA’s fitness program and a wild adventure that keeps the mind healthy and very active. ADJ is the second novel to be published with The Murder Channel the third. Brooks’ welcomes your comments and question at http://ckaybrooks.com/blog

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The Murder Channel

~~A novel by CK Brooks~~

SMASHWORDS EDITION

* * * * *

PUBLISHED BY:

CK Brooks on Smashwords

The Murder Channel

Copyright © 2012 by CKay Brooks

Cover image courtesy of Travis Manley, Ostill and Canstockphoto

Cover design by Joleene Naylor

Cover Concept by Colin Hult

ISBN: 9781301269761

Smashwords Edition License Notes

This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author's work.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I want to express a huge thank you to my Finished Manuscript critique partners, Jacci, Patti, Ken and Jay. Your insight and suggestions gave me confidence and encouragement. Let me know if I can return the favor as you journey through your own writing adventures.

To my editors Carol Purroy and Ruth Ann Hixson, you are the best! Carol’s words are true for all of us. You’ve got a good story, but editing will make it better.

Thanks to the real Kayla, Eamon and Jerramy and other co-workers, who cheered and teased me. Writing this novel has been so much fun. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

A special hug and kiss go to my husband, David. Thank you for everything.

CHAPTER ONE

Kayla started her bath water before wandering to her living room to turn off the old sit-com re-run on her big screen. Curious, she hit the search button to look for the odd porn channel that had unsettled her earlier. Eric had promised to set-up her defaults and preferences on her new TV, but one thing after another delayed his visit. When he could work it into his schedule, she wanted to be sure he blocked the channel she’d stumbled across to avoid a repeat of tonight’s viewing.

The remote buttons gave her no answers about the channel she’d found so disturbing. Silence pulled her eyes away from the remote to the full screen view of a shadowy static view of a room. Her thumb hovered, ready to push SEEK, but something stopped her cold. What was so familiar about this room? She was drawn in for a closer look. Her hair stood on end; a tingling feeling of dread coursed through her body. The televised room eerily resembled her room – this very room. She twisted in place as if to reassure herself of where she stood before looking back at the screen.

The built-in cabinets and fireplace were the same in both rooms, but framed photos crowded the mantle in the dimly lit room. Her own mantle sported pine cones from Lake Tahoe.

The sound of running water broke through her distraction. She dropped the remote on the kitchen bar and raced to shut off her bath water before the tub overflowed. The steamy room and its lavender scent welcomed her. She stripped and eased her tired body into relaxing bliss.

The heat of the water cooled as tensions floated away. She told herself she should get out and try for sleep, but she procrastinated, enjoying the soothing water a little longer.

A sudden blast of music blared from her living room, jolting her into a sitting position. Scrambling to get out of the tub, she recognized the familiar jingle of a radio station’s call letters. Her thoughts raced as she wrapped a towel around her wet body.

The music was way too loud for this time of the morning and she didn’t need complaints from neighbors. When she yanked the door open, cold air chilled her wet body. Steam clung to her as she hurried toward the stereo’s controls. One hand clutched her towel while the other found the volume control and began pushing but the volume didn’t diminish. The vibration from her speakers gave her cooling skin goose-bumps. Her insides began to churn. Panic washed over her along with the awareness of flickering light from her television screen.

The silent twin to her apartment taunted her, held her frozen as the vibrations of the music ravaged her. The DJ’s voice broke the spell, allowing her to break away and reach for the television remote. The volume dropped as her thumb pressed the button, but the pain in her chest screamed in alarm. Gasping to breathe, she gulped for air. Had she been holding her breath? What was going on in her apartment?

Cool air from the vent chilled her body as she stood paralyzed by the scene on the screen. The doppelganger room was now a dim background to jean-clad legs and scuffed boots walking across a tarp on the floor. The crackling of the tarp could be heard over the music with each step of the boots. The legs kneeled; hairy arms came into view as they carefully laid the woman on it. It was the same woman she’d seen before. She still wore jeans, which now looked darker and clung to her like a second skin. Drops of water rolled across her bare midriff and dripped on the tarp. Her wet hair clung to her face.

His hands slipped around the woman, doing something hidden from the camera. His repositioning gave Kayla a clear view of his hands pushing the woman’s hair from her face. The woman stared after him, but something was peculiar about her eyes. Was she too frightened to fend him off?

His voice rumbled in a cadence of conversation, but his words were lost to the music and then he stepped off camera.

Did the woman’s chest move? Is she breathing? If she’s supposed to be dead, they’ll have to cut out those frames, Kayla idly thought. The woman’s skin looked rosy. The special effects in this part of the film were better, more realistic and higher quality compared to what took place earlier. Maybe the guy doing special effects was better at his job than the director.

Kayla shivered; leaving the room she pulled her towel closer. Moments later, she returned wearing night clothes. She intended to turn off the television to put an end to her speculation about the offbeat movie, but her footsteps halted when she saw the new action on the screen.

Masculine hands in tight blue disposable latex gloves pulled at the tarp, which was now wrapped snuggly around the woman. The blue hands smoothed silver duct tape over the tarp’s edges. One hand disappeared off-camera and brought back a heavy felt tip marker and wrote on the tarp and tape.

Unable to tear her eyes away from the television screen, she read the words as he wrote. It was the love poem he’d recited earlier. There was something else familiar about it, a rhythm she seemed to anticipate. She closed her eyes and tried to think. Her fingers rubbed her temples but the memory was elusive. She began jotting down his exact words on the back of her supper receipt.

The hand on the screen discarded the marker and began folding the tarp tighter.

Oh, this is just sick! she groaned. With a push of the remote button to end it all, she watched the screen go black and felt a sense of relief. There was no good reason to fold a human being up in a tarp unless she was supposed to be dead!

Kayla read the poem written in her own handwriting and felt her stomach churn with visions of the woman’s depicted death. Why would anyone want to illustrate such a despicable act? With a deep breath to calm herself, she left the room.

With her toothbrush loaded with gel, she brushed her teeth aggressively as if to erase the memory, but she couldn’t get the disturbing movie out of her head. Her task done and towel in hand she caught her own gaze in the mirror.

She took a deep breath and drew strength from her inner self. She wiped the moisture from her face and stood straighter, filled with resolve. She tossed the towel on the counter to return to her living room.

With a quick flick of her thumb on the remote, the unit crackled back to life. Impatiently, she waited to catch the closing credits or some explanation of the bazaar film.

She gasped in recognition at the now silent room. Why was she surprised? Had she thought it was all her imagination? The camera frame slowly zoomed in on yellow tape over the woman’s mouth and eyes. The same heavy marker strokes of the poem made carefully squared x’s to cover the tape across her mouth. The camera unhurriedly panned from the x’s to the neatly tucked and taped tarp that surrounded the victim’s head.

It zoomed in on the rope tied around the tarp documenting the intricate knots that formed what looked like a handle, then zoomed out to show the tarp-wrapped package with only the woman’s face visible. Then it stopped.

Kayla studied the screen in an attempt to guess at what was supposed to come next. The ripping sound of duct tape being torn from a roll came from her speakers.

Where’s the climatic music? Even the radio music is gone. This movie had to be a really low budget flick and definitely qualified for a bad taste award! Surveillance footage, that’s what this reminds me of, but with color. It couldn’t be a surveillance camera! No way, that would mean … no, this can’t be real!

A local DJ began his spiel. Kayla’s head jerked toward her stereo controls before she remembered the radio couldn’t play while the television was on, yet happy radio music bounced from her speakers.

Her eyes burned. She blinked several times before she could hold them open to stare at the scene as it unfolded before her. From off-camera, blue hands appeared to pull the last fold over the woman’s face. After securely placing tape over the fold, a hand drew a valentine heart over the fold and tape with the marker. The tarp crackled when the hands brought more rope around the package and synched it tight with a knot.

She punched the remote control button to return to the list of programs. The menu highlighted Channel 7 with programing TBA--To Be Announced. The music turned to static hiss and the tiny picture became snowy buzz.

She blinked and looked at the remote in her hand. Her thumb pushed buttons as she looked for an explanation, but she found nothing but the ‘Veg-o-Matic’ infomercial and a re-run of Star Trek. With a shiver and a shrug she turned off the set.

She moved to her entrance hall to double-check her door locks. I can’t procrastinate any longer. I need Eric to program that thing. I sure don’t want a repeat of tonight’s ‘entertainment’. Maybe a dinner date so I can meet his fiancée would seal the deal.

Resolved to make the date definite, she felt better. Their days off together were rare so she’d need to check their work schedule calendar. If they couldn’t arrange a time soon, she’d ask him to recommend someone who could set up her preferences because she did not want to stumble onto another bizarre snuff flick. For her, hands in blue gloves would never again seem innocent.

Last season, she remembered a CSI show with snuff films as part of the storyline. It was the first time she’d heard the term or learned about the underworld of porn actors. But if it was a real snuff film, the girl should be dead. Wasn’t the point of snuff films to catch the moment of actual death? In tonight’s film, death was implied, but there was no actual death moment, or blood, or visible injury.

She set the remote near the TV and stared at the big screen. Well, the director missed the boat on that one. She tentatively touched the screen with the tips of her fingers.

What did I expect, some Spock-like mind meld to learn answers? All the electronics are shut down. It’s nothing but plastic and glass, stupid. She shook her head and laughed at herself before she turned off the last light and walked through the dark apartment. It was just a sick amateur classroom assignment! she repeated, with the fervent hope the film didn’t give her nightmares.

CHAPTER TWO

Below her drapes, bright sunlight drew a line across the carpet. The need to sleep in the daytime had been an adjustment, but Kayla enjoyed her job and loved the Reno community. Even the weather, mountain air and the mountains surrounding the Truckee Meadows welcomed her. The change from her life in Sacramento was drastic, but it had been worth it to put distance between her and two-timing Gary Scumbag. A beam of light reflected by the full length mirror on her open closet door made Kayla squint and cover her eyes. While rubbing her eyes, her first conscious thought was her weird dream of witnessing a murder.

After the first rumors about Gary’s cheating, she’d had nightmares and weird dreams about ways to murder and torture him until she managed to completely cut him out of her life. Dealing with Gary’s betrayal and deceit had become a rite of passage saga in her life and with time, the dreams diminished and faded into oblivion. What happened to cause her to have such a weird dream last night?

That does it, Kayla, no more burgers before bedtime, she mumbled as she headed to the bathroom. Eric’s lectures to convince her to change her unhealthy, late night eating habits played in her head. Last night’s nightmare just might make a believer out of her.

Rehashing the dream brought her to the memory of her hand’s attempt to mind meld with her television. Jerking to look at her now quiet TV screen, she suddenly knew it hadn’t been a nightmare. She’d eaten a hamburger and seen a bad movie, but she’d slept okay.

Her appetite evaporated. Pushing the cereal bowl aside, she opened a drawer and rummaged for a postage stamp for her cousin’s birthday card. Maybe fresh air and sunshine would help clear her mind. She needed to post the card and check her mail, anyway.

Blinded by the early afternoon sun, she turned her back to the light to close and lock her door. Through peripheral vision she became aware of a dark shape hovering at her side. All conscious breathing stopped, her body turned rigid. Hair follicles tingled with a wave of goose- bumps. She shuddered. Barely turning her head, afraid of what she might see, she collapsed against her door when she recognized her young neighbor, ten year old Halla.

Heaving a sigh of relief, she tried to relax and slow her pounding heart. Halla, what are you doing here! You gave me a fright! Kayla exclaimed, clutching her chest, trying to control her erratic breathing.

The child looked as surprised as Kayla felt. I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were home. It’s shady here. Mom isn’t feeling good and said not to wander. She fumbled with a book.

Kayla slipped her door key in her pocket and pressed her shaking hand to her body, hoping Halla didn’t notice. Forcing a smile and keeping her voice light, she offered, You’re welcome to enjoy my bench. You just startled me, that’s all. What are you reading?

The kid flipped the book over for Kayla to see the cover.

Kayla’s smile became more genuine when she saw the Harry Potter graphics. Picking up a tease from an earlier conversation with the girl, she cheerfully said, Okay, La-la girl, watch the fort and I’ll see ya later, al-la-gator.

Halla’s giggles followed her, causing her smile to widen as she bounced down the stairs and cut across the courtyard to the mailboxes near the parking lot. Kayla missed being around kids and hearing their laughter. Living away from family and friends, her crazy work schedule was turning her world into adult everything. Halla and her parents had moved in a month ago. Stepping around a coiled garden hose, she chided herself for procrastinating about meeting Halla’s mother, but if the woman wasn’t feeling well; her visit might not be welcome. Halla’s dad was in and out and had been distracted when she’d welcomed them to the neighborhood.

She dropped the greeting card in the out-going mail slot before taking the few steps to her mailbox and inserting her key to retrieve her mail. Thinking she was alone, she was startled and looked up when she heard a male voice.

Do you know Martha Townsend?

Hi, Ricky! No, I don’t know her. Why?

I keep getting her mail.

Is it your address on the envelope?

Yeah.

Use that pencil stuck over your ear to draw a line through the address and put it in the out-going mail slot, she murmured, taking a moment to evaluate the intent of the shy maintenance man. She rarely saw his face under the ball cap he kept pulled down, but it was even rarer for him to actually speak to her. Today, she got a good look at his Reno Aces hat and wondered what was on his mind.

You workin’ nights again, Miss Kayla? Ricky asked.

Yep, rotating fun called a job. I shouldn’t complain, with this current economy, she answered, dumping advertisements in the trash can.

Yep, a job is good. You be careful, now, he softy spoke before shuffling away.

I try my best, Ricky. Try not to work too hard! she called as she heard his retreating steps and soft chuckle. Ricky was an odd duck. He often seemed to appear out of thin air and was painfully shy. He had shown up with maintenance work-orders for her apartment repairs shortly after she moved in. After the beginning awkwardness, he was helpful and thoughtful and seemed to find excuses to come to her apartment or speak to her, making her wonder if her friendliness to him was a novelty, or if there might be another reason.

He didn’t make her uncomfortable, though she wondered about him, but didn’t want to ask too many questions.

A big blue dually truck turned the corner, traveling too fast through the parking lot. Kayla turned at the sound of the reverberating diesel and waved. It was the truck that usually parked on the other side of the sprawling complex. Turning back toward her apartment, she looked for Ricky, but he was nowhere in sight. He lived on the grounds somewhere, but she wasn’t sure where. With a shrug, she headed back up the stairs. Halla was still sitting on her bench.

Wow, you get a lot of mail! exclaimed Halla, wide eyed.

I’ve missed checking it for a few days, but it’s mostly bills, Kayla answered, opening her door.

That’s what my dad says, too, the child groaned as she slumped against the bench toying with her book. When Kayla’s door didn’t swing closed, Halla moved to stand in the doorway, peeking inside.

Aren’t you working today? she craned her neck to see more. Wow that’s a big TV!

Kayla tossed her mail on the counter before returning to close her