The Drifter

By Valerie Bowen

When the mutilated body of a young man is discovered on the side of the road near an abandoned house Sheriff Eric Miller is sent into an emotional tailspin. Lack of evidence and the nature of the crime, force the sheriff to call in a special K-9 unit.

Fingers are immediately pointed to the only logical person who could have committed the crimes...the drifter.

Peter Thomas, the drifter, is far from the friendliest person roaming the small town of Easton Kansas. Wrongfully accused of murder, Peter lost eight years of freedom after being sent to prison for crime he didn't commit. Pent up anger feeds his determination to find his accuser and make the liar pay...one way or another.

More heinous murders send law enforcement into an emotional tailspin, as they gather evidence and frantically search for the butcher responsible before more lives are lost.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Valerie Bowen
• Release date: Jun 25, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301666010

Valerie Bowen

About the author Valerie is originally from the beautiful state of Maine, where she lived until she was ten. Being young when she lived there she never appreciated the absolute beauty of the rocky coastline. Although she never live in Camden, she did have a very dear cousin that lived there and they would spend many hours in downtown Camden. When she decided to write For the Sake of Amelia she tried to imagine a great setting for the book. she thought of many places in Connecticut (where she reside now) but kept going back to her childhood and the many fond memories she held in her mind of Camden.

Book preview

Prologue

Peter Thomas was sentenced to fifty years in a maximum-security prison for a crime he swore he didn’t commit. Eight years after the conviction of bludgeoning a woman to death with a hatchet, he still proclaimed his innocence.

He lay on his bunk; arms folded behind his head, and dreamed of gaining his freedom. His one desire in life was to find the real murderer. He was determined the guilty party would pay for the crime he'd been condemned for.

Fifty fucking years I have to spend in this hellhole, he thought. I hope I’ll still be alive to find that little shit and then that asshole will pay! Peter decided he would never befriend another person again. The one person he'd trusted, his friend, set him up to take the fall for the crime his friend had committed. Peter became a loner in every sense of the word. He kept to himself and never spoke a word to the guards or other inmates. The other inmates within the prison shied away from him. His face displayed a scar that ran from his left ear to the center of his chin, given by an inmate who to this day sits in a wheelchair after suffering from a beating he received from Peter’s bare hands. Other inmates soon realized Peter was not the type of man to befriend. Even the cruelest of prisoners kept their distance from the man they knew would just as soon kill them as look at them.

The sound of heavy footsteps echoed in the hallway outside Peter's cell, but he refused to look at the heavily barred wall. The barrier reminded him of caged rats, stripped of freedom.

The footsteps ceased and a man spoke in a gruff tone. Inmate Thomas, the warden would like to have a few minutes of your time.

Peter stared at the ceiling. What the fuck does that asshole want with me? I haven’t done anything to warrant that man’s attention.

Peter heard the guard speak into his radio, Open cell twenty-six. A loud metallic click sounded just before the cell door slid open. I suggest you get off your ass and take a walk with me. You have to see the warden…like it or not you’re going.

Peter rose to his feet, turned away from the guard and placed his hands behind his back.

The guard stepped into the cell and quickly cuffed the inmate’s hands. He grabbed Peter’s muscular bicep. I want you to know, if you disrespect the warden, I’ll personally see to it you pay. The guard guided him to the end of the cellblock, and spoke into his radio. Open cellblock B.

They waited while the large gate with thick metal bars squealed open and banged when it halted. The metallic echo caused the other inmates to peer at them from behind their bared walls. A few inmates hooted, taunting Peter and the guard. Once the door slid to a stop, the guard and Peter stepped across the threshold and waited until they heard the clank of the lock. The guard stared into Peter’s cold black eyes. Don’t get used to being on this side of the fence. Believe me you’ll be back in your cell before you know it.

Make no mistake, I never get comfortable on this side of the fence…I know I’m here for a good long time.

Not long enough as far as I’m concerned. As a matter of fact, I think they should’ve fried your ass as soon as they convicted you.

Peter scoffed but didn’t say a word. The guard led him to a large conference room, guided him to a chair, removed the cuffs from his right arm, and secured his left arm to the chair's thick metal armrest. He then reached behind his back, removed another set of cuffs and secured Peter's right arm to the chair. He growled, The warden will be here in a minute. I suggest you mind your manners.

The warden walked in a few moments later with a file folder clasped under his arm. He scanned Peter and noticed he was cuffed to the chair. He turned to the guard. Why is this man secured to the chair?

Protocol sir…all prisoners are secured in the same manner.

Did I tell you to secure the inmate?

No sir, I was just following routine.

The warden met Peter's eyes, then returned his glare to the guard and growled, Remove the cuffs.

But sir…

Remove the cuffs…now!

After the guard removed the cuffs, the warden dismissed him. As soon as the warden and Peter were alone, he sat in the chair across from him. We’re just waiting for your attorney so we can get this meeting moving. He should be here momentarily.

Can I ask what this is about?

Let’s just wait for your attorney. I’m sure he’d like to be present when the news is delivered.

Peter rested his forearms on the wooden table, laced his fingers and stared down. He bounced his right leg nervously as he waited.

Ten minutes after the guard departed the room, the warden and Peter heard a soft knock on the door. The warden smiled, rose to his feet and swung the door open. He extended his hand. Attorney Lyons, I’m so glad you could make it.

Attorney Lyons took the warden’s hand and replied, Warden Riker, let me just say, I wouldn’t miss this for anything. I just hope all the paperwork is in order.

It’s ready and waiting to be signed. The warden motioned toward the chair beside Peter. Take a seat. I’m sure Mr. Thomas is wondering what the hell’s going on.

Attorney Lyons sat beside the inmate. I’m sure your curiosity is getting the better of you.

Peter gritted his teeth and nodded; the tension he felt nearly consumed him. He wondered why his attorney and the warden were smiling. He nervously tapped a finger on the table. I’m curious.

The attorney placed his briefcase on the table, snapped the locks open, and removed a thick file folder held together with two large elastic bands. He carefully set the folder on the table, snapped the locks closed and placed the briefcase on the floor beside him. He met Peter’s confused gaze. As you know, I have been working for a long time to prove your innocence. Peter gave a slight nod and peered at the warden out of the corner of his eyes. His attorney continued, Well, Peter, let me be the first to tell you, new evidence has surfaced that proves beyond a doubt you had nothing to do with the murder of Mrs. Susan Peals.

A wide smile crossed Peter’s lips. Are you serious? I hope you’re not just telling me this to…damn it, finally proof!

The warden watched while the otherwise somber man finally showed emotion. Yes Peter, you only have to sign these papers…then you’ll be a free man.

Once the paperwork was signed, Peter received a check for his wrongful imprisonment. His personal items were returned, and he was escorted to the exterior of the prison walls. When he finally stood on the side of the road, he realized that for the first time in years, he was a free man. He'd dreamt of the day he would walk free, and what he would do. Revenge immediately entered his mind. He knew exactly where he was heading. Peter turned west, slung his pack over his shoulder and started walking.

Chapter 1

Peter wandered into the small town of Easton, Kansas just after sunset. He was tired, thirsty and in a foul mood. All he wanted was a quick meal and a strong drink. After reading the menu posted on a large plate glass window, he entered a small bar.

A bell chimed as soon as he pushed the front door open. Peter paused for a brief moment in the entrance while he scanned the small room. On the left were booths and tabletops lined the wall. The Formica tops were gray with gold and black speckles. The stiff vinyl covering the seats was secured to the frame with brass upholstery nails. The tattered appearance of the benches gave Peter the impression they were the original seats. Two customers sitting in the first booth looked up when they heard the bell ring. Peter scowled when he noticed the couple eyeing him. Slowly he approached the bar and pulled out a stool.

The dimly lit bar area was accentuated by a red neon sign on the wall that read Smithy’s. On the wall hung a large mirror, and shelves displaying various bottles of spirits. Peter grabbed a menu from between the stainless steel napkin holder and a pair of salt and pepper shakers. He scanned it while he waited for service.

The barkeep approached him cautiously. He stood six feet tall, rail thin, and sported a neatly trimmed goatee. He wiped a white towel across the bar. What can I get for you?

Peter glanced up from the menu. For starters I’ll have a whiskey…ah, make that a double. He gave the barkeep a hard stare. I don’t want any watered down shit. Peter frowned as the bartender nodded, turned toward the shelves behind him and grabbed a bottle of mid-grade whiskey.

The bartender poured the whiskey into a two-ounce glass and returned the bottle to the shelf. As he turned he noticed Peter’s scowl. He set the glass in front of his intimidating customer. Can I get you anything else?

Peter picked up the glass, inhaled the pungent aroma, and tossed the drink back without shuddering as the burning liquid slid down his throat. He thumped the empty glass on the bar and shoved it toward the man. I’ll have another. The man grasped the glass and Peter wrapped his calloused hand around the bartender’s wrist. This time you’d better give me something with a little more bite.

The bartender nodded and turned to refill the glass. Clearly tired of Peter's attitude, he absentmindedly reached for the same bottle, filled the glass and placed it on the bar.

Peter growled. I thought I told you to give me something with a little more bite!

The bartender stared down at the glass, and lied. I did pour you a stronger whiskey.

Peter rose to his feet and grabbed the man by the collar. I’m not fucking stupid! He shoved the man away, and sneered as he slapped a ten on the counter. You are an incompetent fool. He turned and walked toward the door, ignoring the fearful stares of the couple sitting in the booth. Peter grasped the door handle then paused. He turned his head and stared menacingly at the young couple. What the fuck are you looking at?

The young man shook his head and immediately stared down at the table.

As Peter started to walk out the door, he heard the young man laugh. Enraged, he halted in his tracks. While holding the door open, Peter slowly memorized the faces of the three individuals in the room. Then he stepped through the door into the night.

Chapter 2

The young couple, Carla and Sean, sat in the booth after Peter left. Sean had plans to meet up with his friends, have a few drinks, and play a friendly game of poker.

Sean kissed Carla gently. Drive safe.

Carla wrapped her arms around him and laid her head on his chest. Are you sure you don’t want me to come back later to pick you up?

No, just go home and get some rest…you have that interview in the morning. I’ll just walk the few blocks home. Besides, the guys are coming and I don’t know how late we’ll be playing.

Sean walked out of Smithy’s at two fifteen in the morning, and turned up the music in his headphones, ignoring the world around him. He walked and bobbed his head to the rhythm of the heavy metal song. Suddenly someone stepped out of the shadows and placed a rag saturated with chloroform over his nose and mouth. Sean went limp. The person lifted and hefted him over a shoulder.

Carrying the victim, the assailant scanned the secluded parking lot for a vehicle that would be easy to steal. After a few moments the antagonist found an old beat-up Chevy that had the windows rolled down. After placing the young man on the ground, the attacker reached into the car with gloved hands and popped the trunk. After returning to the victim, and hefted the unconscious body into the trunk. Rushing to the driver’s side, the assailant yanked open the door and climbed in. There were no keys in the car's interior, so the attacker grabbed the wire harness from beneath the dash, hotwired the car and started the engine.

After driving into the driveway of an abandoned farm, the antagonist lifted the young man’s body from the trunk, walked to the house and kicked in the door. Splinters of dried wood from the frame sprayed them as the door slammed against the inner wall. The perpetrator tossed the victim onto the floor and waited for the young man to regain consciousness. The perpetrator wondered if the boy would recognize his attacker, then shrugged. It made no difference…the boy would be dead before he knew it.

While sitting on the floor, waiting for the victim to awaken, the deviant kidnapper bent and rifled through a canvas bag, removed a weapon and placed it on the floor.

An hour after being drugged, Sean started to stir and his eyes popped open. The foul taste of a chemical was in his mouth and his head pounded. He sat up in a panic and scanned his unfamiliar surroundings. When he spied the dark frame of an individual looming in the room, he nervously rose to his feet. Who are you?

The shadow stood in silence, waiting for Sean's first move.

Sean backed away, his eyes darting from side to side, stumbled over a small pile of debris and nearly fell on his ass. He reached to brace himself against a wall. His heart thumped erratically and he trembled as he examined the dimly lit room for an exit. He spied an open door about five feet away and tried to run for it.

Before Sean could take another step he felt the excruciating pain of an object hitting him in the center of his back. He screamed and stumbled forward. He felt the hard body of his assailant tackle him to the floor. The horrific pain of another punishing blow stabbed through Sean, and he contorted as blood spewed from his wounds. He tried to turn and face his attacker, but something hacked his arm, severing it at the elbow. Blood sprayed in every direction. Sean scrambled to escape his assailant; adrenaline and the strong desire to live was the only thing keeping him going.

Another strike hit him on the back of the head. Sean heard a growl as his assailant lifted the weapon and slammed it down onto his back. Blood flowed from the new wound; Sean felt himself weakening and the pain started to dull. He slumped, helpless, in the pool of his own blood, realizing one more strike would end his life. He felt his attacker yank the weapon from his back. I love you, Mom, Sean thought. Then, it was finally over.

The assailant continued to brutalize the corpse as if possessed. Blow after blow the young man’s blood arced and splashed the on ceiling and walls of the dark room with every swing of the menacing weapon.

This is what you get! The butcher brought the weapon down and nearly severed the head from the corpse.

Sitting in a pool of warm crimson blood, the assassin relaxed on the floor, stared at the lifeless body and smiled. It had felt good to teach the young man a lesson. The slayer sloshed through the pool of blood on the floor, and slung the body over a shoulder. Then the perpetrator walked out of the house and dropped the remains in the dry weeds on the side of the road. After returning to the house, the killer removed the blood-drenched clothes, placed them in a plastic trash bag, then washed the blood away with a gallon of water and a few rags. After pulling on clean clothes, the murderer stepped through the door and pulled it closed.

Before driving away from the crime scene, the executioner parked the car beside the