Phantom Killer

By Jessica Hunter

Ray is a struggling sports writer who spends his time thinking about women and only dreams about being a real writer. He moves to St. Louis in the hopes that he can have an opportunity to cover local sports but he gets swept up in the media buzz about a serial killer on the loose; a killer who preys on single women and their children. He's out there and Ray can't seem to let it go. On his journey he meets Abby, a gorgeous long-legged psychologist-in-training who is classier than any women he has ever been with, but he doesn't date classy women. He and Abby start a friendship and an adventure as they begin to put the clues together. The police can't figure it out but a sports writer and his friend are starting to catch on to The Phantom Killer.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jessica Hunter
• Release date: Aug 17, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301078202

Jessica Hunter

Jessica O. Hunter, Psy.D. is a licensed clinical psychologist who is also a mom to three-year old twins. She currently lives and practices in Northern Virginia where she lives with her husband, two children and two cats. She enjoys escaping into the world of the deranged mind and writing mystery and suspense.

Book preview

Phantom Killer

By Jessica Orenstein Hunter

Copyright 2013 Jessica Orenstein Hunter

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

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Prologue

August 2007

The scene was somehow familiar. A dead family; a mother and one child. The child was brutally killed first and then a few days later, when no one was looking, he raped and killed the mother. He had to take more. He viciously and carefully killed two innocent people. It was scorching outside, and dangerously humid. St. Louis was breaking records both for heat and humidity and we were warned to stay inside but should have been told to stay inside for more reasons than just the dangerous heat. We were in the 100 degree range and expected to hit 104 degrees today. The air was thick and it hung but you could not escape it and you could not escape him. I checked my laptop and re-read the story and knew it was familiar, and I thought to myself, but where have I seen this before? I could not place it. Or could I? I could not be right and I could not be the only one to notice this. The police must be on to this, this trend this pattern, this slaughtering butcher.

I scanned the research and notes I compiled for days and months on the monster called the ‘Phantom Killer’. There were my thoughts and outlandish ideas in writing and in front of me; the newspaper article and my notes. In March of 1999, there was the brutal slaying of an innocent blond-haired beautiful six-year old girl and her mother. It was on the news daily, day and night people watched to see that this murderer was found. They waited, watched and in the end there was nothing. No one brought to justice, no one found guilty, and eventually, no one to blame.

That was in 1999, eight years ago. Eight years ago forgotten. So many lives lost and who knows how many others are going to be lost and also forgotten. They lay in the ground and on the pages on a police report. Both buried; filed below a deep pile of other cold cases. And now, eight years later, another clue, but why now? Why did this monster, this phantom wait eight years to come out, to strike again? The bigger question is, will anyone take notice…

Chapter One

It was March 1999 when I first heard the news of my internship and inevitable disappointment. I had applied and expected to be matched with a literary internship somewhere in the state of my choice. I applied to Massachusetts, Washington, DC, and hell, I even tried for North Carolina but nothing came through as expected. I had only decided the previous year I would try to follow my passion; to work toward becoming a journalist.

June 1998

A year earlier after several attempts at getting a full-time job as a writer in the Washington, DC area, I gave up and began working at a local pub in the area serving drinks and gathering ideas for stories I someday planned to write. I spent most of my days waking up a slightly before noon to the barking of a dog who lived across the street. He would bark and cry for hours, making us all feel much like he did, trapped and unheard. I felt badly for the poor dog and some days, after making my third cup of coffee, I sat in the window of my place and searched for the dog whose cries I could hear so clearly.

Most of my college buddies moved out of the area or got real jobs. I could sense they were starting to struggle to come up with new and original excuses as to why hanging out with a writer turned bartender didn’t fit with their new and shiny careers. I didn’t hold it against them. I gave up trying and found new friends like Mugs and Barry at the pub. Mugs, Barry and I spent several nights a week after closing either shooting pool, playing darts and laughed at the stiffs who came in from Capital Hill. We called them pretenders. Those nights when the stiffs came into the pub pretending to be low-life’s were the best of nights for us. Mugs, Barry and I spent our energy trying to piss off the adult fraternity boys by getting their drink orders wrong and get their ladies’ numbers. Our pranks passed the time and often got us action.

July 1998

By July of that summer the pub scene got a bit tiresome even for me. It felt like the same people came in and out every night and even though the names and faces changed, I felt dull and uninspired. I realized that even though I was not a professional writer, I felt myself to be a writer at heart and needed to follow that feeling no matter what the price. This feeling led me to begin applying to various internships that paid shit. Some of them didn’t even pay shit at all but they expected a desperate writer to live off of passion and the desire to write. It was all bullshit, but I figured it was better than passing the time filling beer mugs for a bunch of assholes.

By August 1 I was on my way spending a few hours a day in the library downtown, hopping myself up on coffee and researching internships that would send me on my way to fame. In total I think I gathered information on twelve internships that would put me on the map or at least get me out of my current place in life.

After applying to six of them I was done, finito as my Uncle Charlie would say. I figured if the literary world wanted me, then one of six fucking internships would have to let me know. So I waited.

I decided to leave the pub for good and Mugs, Barry and I said our goodbyes. I moved up in life but didn’t get too far. I needed to make something pay the bills so started working at a local tavern as a waiter, not a bartender, and even wore the absurd required outfit of black pants, a white shirt and black tie. I made tips on good looks and on minding my own business. It paid the bills and kept me out of trouble while I waited to start my life.

Late September 1998

Summer turned into early Fall at the tavern and in the local Washington DC area that brings in the smell of leaves and fireplaces. As well the trend was that most people disappeared into new relationships to take them through the long, unbearable winter months when it was too arctic to carouse the bar scene. So I did my part to try to join in.

One Thursday night a groups of girls were seated at my table and hoping for a few extras bucks to get me through the week, I straightened my tie and popped in a piece of gum before heading to their table. I had a past working as a bartender, I knew how to work a table, especially a table of high class girls out on the town in the Georgetown area. They were coming in after work and after each of them ordered a drink so I knew it was on. Out of a table of eight girls, one of them would most likely be plastered in the next two hours before closing. My plan hadn’t worked as well as I had hoped and by ten o’clock there were only four girls left. Two of which I was pretty sure were going home with each other, one of whom was making eyes at another guy across the room and the last would never have glanced at me twice.

I made sure to let the girls know the tavern would be closing in the next half hour but insisted that they stay. I emphasized that the bar area would continue to be open and could continue to serve if the right crowd was up for it. Two of the girls sat and spoke so closely I even paused and turned back around as I walked away to see if they would accidentally kiss. The third girl had already gotten up out of her seat and was sauntering toward the bar with a glass in her hand; the beer in her glass was splashing to and fro as she stumbled across the room. The only one left at the table was a gorgeous girl sitting in a chair at the end.

This girl didn’t appear to be interested in me but there was something about her that captured my attention. Maybe it was her long legs and how she wrapped them around each other like a praying mantis. Perhaps it was her ‘who gives a shit attitude’. I wasn’t sure what it was that I liked but when she finally glanced at me I thought maybe I had a chance with her and decided to take it. I hadn’t been laid in nearly a month and things were finally looking up. However, within the first five minutes of our actual interaction I knew my dry streak would if fact be continuing and there were no prospects in the immediate future; especially not this chick.

Can I get you ladies anything else tonight? Perhaps a shot to take the edge off? That line usually worked for me. Perhaps this good looking chick will even consider me tonight.

The two female lovebirds paused from their enveloped conversation and looked up at me. I noticed that one was blushing and the other continued to look at the other partner as she answered my offer for another shot.

Yeah, the red-haired one replied with a smile. She swung her long red hair to one side and continued to speak to me while looking at her new friend. "I think that we could use a shot or two, Abby, how about you?’ she glanced at her friend with the long legs. I figured her for a non taker, yet she surprised me.

Sure, yeah, bring me one of whatever my friends are having, she replied as she stared right at me. Nothing. There was nothing in her eyes and nothing giving me a hint of whether or not she was open to a hook up. I pondered to myself, am I losing my game? Was I losing the ability to read these women? It was not possible at such a young age, I was in the prime of my life.

That sounds good to me, are you ladies up for some hard stuff tonight? I asked and noticed that the two girls had gone back to their intense conversation and I was left with the cold gorgeous one.

That sounds great, the long-legged girl named Abby answered for them, they probably don’t give a shit what you bring and I will drink anything but tequila so it’s up to you.

It’s up to me, oh I like the sound of that, I smiled at her and tried to get some kind of reaction, nothing. She had already turned her head to see who was shouting at the front door of the bar and I was out of her range. I turned to get the drinks and my attention was also drawn to the front door of the tavern. A group of rowdy guys came in through the door and from the looks of it, our tavern was at the end of a long list of places they had been to that night. They were looking for some drunken girls to get with at the end of the night. I was not one to get in their way as long as they didn’t get in mine.

I headed to the bar and put in an order and noticed the place was more crowded by the bar where the dick squad had entered. The third girl from my table had been drawn into their group. I noticed the guys appeared to be a bunch of the usual hard-ons coming from work to happy hour in their suits and ties; they usually continued to wear their work attire throughout the night. This was done as a means of convincing drunk women that they were good investments because they had a good job. It was a standard scene but it always managed to get under my skin.

I grabbed shots in both hands and brought an extra one along for me. I plopped the drinks down on the table and got the girls’ attention.

Oh yeah, here we go! the red haired girl swung her hair around to my attention and began clapping her hands and licking her lips at the sight of some hard alcohol. What did you order Abby? piped in one of the lovebirds. She was drawn out of her intense love stare.

I didn’t order anything and I told the waiter to get what he wanted, she replied to her friend, as it wasn’t tequila.

Wow Abby, you let the waiter-guy decide?! Look at you!

So what did you bring us? the short haired broad leaned past her to her red- haired friend to grab her drink. These ladies were heading toward being tanked and I loved it. The one of the end, Abby was her name, finally decided to join the party and moved over toward me. I took my cue.

I thought I would take the liberty of ordering you ladies an old favorite of mine and since you left it up to me, I used my bartender-esque experience and ordered you ladies a round of Cock-sucking Cowboys.

Woohoo! the red-haired girl hollered, Oh yeah!

I knew that the three ladies would like this one, and it was usually a crowd pleaser. I was even able to crack a smile from long-legged Abby. "What’s in it, waiter-guy?" two of the ladies asked at the same time.

Each grabbed her drink right as yells came from the bar area and the girls turned to look. I continued to watch Abby and she looked almost as disgusted as I felt watching the scene. She might be a cool girl if she would loosen up.

Hold on, hold on!’ the read haired one took control. She looked like she would be a wild one. I have a great idea! Here’s to the ones that we love and here’s to the ones that love us…" she smiled at she looked to the others at the table to join in.

"BUT the ones that we love aren’t the ones that love us so FUCK the men, here’s to US!" They all laughed, cheered and drank their shots and expected me to join in with mine. They even got the attention of two of guys in suits at the bar and they started on their way over to their table and brought beers in hand.

Before knew it I was surrounded by suit-wearing dicks. The guys were getting out of hand and two of them started arguing about a recent game and a bet gone bad. I caught a glance of Abby surrounded by sweaty guys and she looked uncomfortable yet remained sophisticated. I made my way back over to the bar and noticed Abby look over at me. Moments later someone shoved someone else and then a glass hit the floor. We were in for a full on brawl.

One of the girls at the table screamed and there was more pushing and shoving and then a punch was thrown. That’s when Brett and Scott (a couple of guys from the bar) and I headed over to stop things. It was already out of hand and there were more than a couple of guys involved at this point. The girls were in the middle of things and I noticed that although the red haired one had made her way out, the short haired one was still ducking and covering her head in self-protection.

The guys in suits were oblivious to the fact that they were in a public place and not in their old fraternity houses. They were also clueless to the fact that there were women sitting next to them who likely would not want to get involved in a bar fight. I struggled to see Abby but I could not and she was caught in the middle of things that were already under way. I saw a guy hit the floor and another few drinks fell and threw beer all across the floor. At that point the pub manager came out to see what the hell was going on.

I ran toward the commotion and grabbed one of the guys from behind and held onto his arms as he continued to try to get out of my grips. That’s one thing about drunken guys; they just don’t have the awareness that the fight has to come to an end.

Out of the corner of my eye I spotted Abby and noticed she was muscled into the middle of a beer between two guys. She was attempting to get out of things when she stepped right into the middle of them.

I was holding back another sweaty drunk when I saw Abby get elbowed in the eye and stumble backward into a chair at the next table. I lost sight of her then and let go of the guy I was holding who without hesitation he dove right back into the fight like I had never tried to stop him.

I heard sirens outside as they rushed to the scene. The rest of the crowd by the bar scurried toward the door when they realized the sirens were headed toward us. I was left searching a glass filled floor for Abby after her friends left her to fend for herself. I found her huddled out of sight on the floor next to a table near the wall; she was holding her eye. She appeared so vulnerable sitting there with her long legs pulled up to her chest, trying to stay of sight and of the line of fire.

Abby, is that your name? Abby, are you okay? I asked and she held both hands to her right eye and looked up at me. She appeared to respond her name but she appeared shell shocked. Is that you waiter guy, so sorry that I don’t know your name, I noticed a tear slowly roll down from her right eye and I wasn’t sure if it was from the pain of the blow to her eye or the upsetting nature of the situation. I let it slide.

Ray, my name is Ray, I’m waiter-guy, I laughed out of nervousness. The cops were pulling up to the front of the restaurant and most of the drunk guys ran out the front or side of the building but some still held onto their fight, undeterred from their goal.

Sorry, she repeated, My friends, uh I don’t know, I think they left… her words trailed off and I noticed that her left eye welled up with tears, it’s okay, come with me, I need to get you out of here. I pulled her up off of the floor and supported her with my arms under hers. She continued to cover her eye and I noticed she