Albatross The Detective Macaulay Homicide Trilogy #3

By Ruby Binns-Cagney

****The FBI and NYPD's hunt for Bo Harknett intensifies to its thrilling climax. ******

One life hangs in the balance.
One chance.
Time is running out.

Will Detective Macaulay get there in time to capture Harknett?

The pursuit of Harknett takes Macaulay into uncomfortable territory which shocks her to the core.

Edge of your seat intrigue as the mystery unfolds does not fail to deliver a thrilling conclusion.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BinnsCagneyPublishing Co
• Release date: Jun 9, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301137855

Ruby Binns-Cagney

Keep in touch - sign up for new releases and save on publication day:http://books2read.com/author/ruby-binns-cagney/subscribe/1/41373/Ruby Binns-Cagney is a successful independently published Author who writes women's fiction (chick-lit) and American-based crime thrillers.Ruby's 'Detective Macaulay' crime series has a following on Twitter https://www.twitter.com/detmacaulay (@DetMacaulay)Ruby has a website and blog - read more details of her publishing services.Through her publishing company - BinnsCagneyPublishing Co - Ruby empowers others to become self-published Authors, and her Team also mentor new Authors.Free Marketing Help Signup:http://eepurl.com/3IsJPAdd her to your Google+ Circles https://plus.google.com/+RubyBinnsCagney/postsPlease visit her website:http://author-tales-of-self-publishing-books.blogspot.co.uk

Book preview

ALBATROSS

THE DETECTIVE MACAULAY MURDERS TRILOGY #3

Ruby Binns-Cagney

©Copyright BinnsCagneyPublishing Co 2013

This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only.

This book is fictional. Any resemblance to actual people living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental. Neither the author nor publisher shall be held liable for any actions you may take as a result of reading this book. Names, characters, places and incidents are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

Cover design ©BinnsCagneyDesign Co 2013

Table of Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

About The Author

Further Reading

Chapter One

Water, water, everywhere,

Nor any drop to drink.

At length did cross an Albatross:

Thorough the fog it came;

As if it had been a Christian soul,

We hailed it in God's name.

- The Rime of the Ancient Mariner, Samuel Taylor Coleridge

Excuse me, Sir? the tall blond man said, reaching into his left inside jacket pocket and pulling out a bi-fold wallet. The man flashed an FBI badge in Bo Harknett’s face which made Harknett’s body go rigid with fear; and which saw him gripping even more tightly onto the long handled brush he had been using to sweep the University’s grounds. Harknett concentrated on trying not to give a reaction.

FBI Special Agent Ben Thomas. Could you show me where the University’s administration offices are, please? he said.

At the same time, the tall thin blonde woman with him flashed her badge, and Harknett saw that she was also an FBI Agent. Her hand was not as steady as S.A. Thomas’s and she was visibly perspiring. Was she nervous of him? Harknett stifled a smile at that thought.

Sure, it’s just behind me, on the left here, Harknett said in a crisp polished accent.

Thank you, Sir, Agent Diane Hepworth said, and the two Agents walked towards the administration building. Harknett watched them walk away and noted that the woman was several inches shorter than the man. He looked at her feet as she walked away. She wore three-inch-high-heeled black shoes, which were buffed to a high shine. Her panty hose swished loudly between her thighs as she walked.

She was recoiled. Harknett thought about how he would break her, given the chance. Her perfect regulation above-the-knee-length skirt did its best to make her look as professional as possible. Harknett noticed the way S.A.Thomas walked slightly behind her as though he was her protector. A close look at Hepworth’s hair had told Harknett that she was a natural blonde, which was rare.

Harknett’s mother was the only woman he knew who had natural blonde hair. Most women he’d observed over the years had dyed their hair blonde, often with disastrous looking results. Mismatched, brassy or orange slightly-blonde tones on top of darker hair roots. Distasteful personal presentation in women was one of the traits Harknett abhorred, and he had delighted in punishing women for it.

As soon as the Agents entered the University administration building, Harknett let out his breath in one rush with relief. He hunched his torso forwards, and placed his hands on his knees. He felt nauseous; as though he was almost capable of vomiting onto the shaky ground before him.

He tried to focus his thoughts. What could the FBI want at the administration building? His need for control in every situation kicked into overdrive.

Was he beaten this time?

Harknett was about to find out.

The circular door at the entrance to the University administration building revolved so slowly that Agent Hepworth had enough time to witness Harknett standing hunched over. Holding onto his thighs like he was going to vomit onto the ground before the doors completed the one revolution to allow her into the building. Hepworth had also noticed how the man had avoided making any eye contact with them, focussing instead on their FBI badges, and staring at the broom head held between his feet. Hepworth kept walking in place as the doors spun around slowly to allow her into the building.

At the administration building’s front desk a brunette, overweight older woman was talking on a telephone whilst reading out loud from a computer screen she was looking at. As the two Agents approached the desk and held up their FBI identifications, she abruptly ended the call. The look on her face let the Agents know that she was aware they were looking for something of significance. Their serious faces did not betray them.

Ma’am, FBI Special Agents Ben Thomas, and Agent Diane Hepworth, he said, indicating with his left hand towards Diane. We’re here on official business. We’d like to see the Yearbooks for 1968 to 1971, please, he said.

What is this regarding? the woman asked, standing up at her desk and then leaning towards a white telephone on the far right corner, and began punching in some numbers.

I’m not at liberty to say, Ma’am, Ben said, and listened while the woman spoke quietly on the white telephone. She was asking permission to release the Yearbooks to the FBI for something important. Ben looked at Diane, and she rolled her eyes in a sarcastic way.

The administration building was a circular glass bowl of a building with four exits at the extreme right and left sides of the building. There were offices arranged in horizontal tiers all around the structure in layers which reached the ceiling. Either offices laboratories or classrooms, Diane could not know for sure without a close up look. Staring up at the ceiling for so long was making Diane feel a little dizzy. An older, white haired, wiry-looking man was approaching the reception desk. Ben noted that he was wearing a pair of lime green Gucci loafers with grey suit pants, and a lime green sweater with a black shirt with some small silver check patterned detailing.

Antonio Buchanan, Dean of the University, the wiry thin man with white hair said, and extended his right hand for Ben to shake it. Ben declined. He needed to keep his focus, and shaking hands with anyone right now would cause his senses to shift.

Special Agent Ben Thomas, and Agent Diane Hepworth. Sir, we’re here on an FBI matter. We request access to the yearbooks for 1968 to 1971, please, Ben said, flashing his identity badge one more time. We have reason to believe that the suspect in our case attended the University. We have a warrant, if you’d care to take a look, he added.

A warrant won’t be necessary - you have our full co-operation. We archive the yearbooks in the basement, Antonio said, raising his half-moon-shaped spectacles higher up the bridge of his nose. We moved them all there, a few years ago now. I’ll show you the way. Please, come with me, he added.

The short walk down the steps to the basement level and sight of the long corridor stretching ahead of them made Diane feel uneasy. It wasn’t because the basement was dark, or that it smelt like damp leaves. There was something about the entire facility, which was making her feel unsettled.

Walking a few paces behind Antonio, Diane noted that he smelt like a heady mixture of patchouli oil and cigarettes - menthol Blue Kools in particular. As they reached the basement level, Diane gradually felt more at ease. The lights were all on and were incredibly bright in the windowless enclosure. The air smelt like there was some dampness in the facility, or there was a water source running beneath the foundations, which was seeping into the enclosure.

Just go all the way to the end of this aisle, turn to the right and you should find what you’re looking for, Antonio said. If you need copies of anything please ask Brenda at the reception desk where you just came from, he said, with a flourish of his hands, before leaving them to process the entire Yearbook archives.

As soon as Antonio had left the Agents, they started walking towards the end of the long aisle. The sheer size of the structure gave the impression that it ran the length and width of the entire administration building. Within a couple of minutes the lights went out, and the entire basement was immediately plunged into complete darkness. Clearly the basement’s lighting system operated on a timer basis. Ben thought about how much time would pass before the lights would come back on.

Diane reached into the waistband at the back of her skirt for her pencil-thin flashlight, which was tucked in there. It was so silent in the basement that Diane could hear her watch ticking as she held the flashlight up against her face. Ben spoke first.

It’s alright, I’m here, he said, and reached for her elbow to reassure her. Diane was feeling jumpy, seeing shadows morphing into distinctive spectres and vivid images before her eyes, but felt better once she felt his hand against her elbow. She shone