Knife Lines

By Rich Adams

Jerzey Swift, beautiful detective on the Carteret County Sheriff's Department in North Carolina, finds herself investigating the murders of aged campers in an RV park. The trail of clues, replete with surprises, leads her and her partner into danger as they travel from North Carolina, Tennessee and Illinois.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Indigo Sea Press
• Release date: Dec 4, 2013
• ISBN: 9781938101120

Rich Adams

Rich Adams is a new and creative author in the world of romance and erotica. His stories are a must-read for every adult!

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Knife Lines

By

Rich Adams

Savage Books

Published by Second Wind Publishing, LLC.

Kernersville

Savage Books

Second Wind Publishing, LLC

931-B South Main Street, Box 145

Kernersville, NC 27284

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, locations and events are either a product of the author’s imagination, fictitious or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to any event, locale or person, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Copyright 2013 by Rich Adams

All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or part in any format.

First Savage Books edition published

July 2013.

Savage Books, Running Angel, and all production design are trademarks of Second Wind Publishing, used under license.

For information regarding bulk purchases of this book, digital purchase and special discounts, please contact the publisher at www.secondwindpublishing.com

Cover design by Tracy Beltran

Manufactured in the United States of America

ISBN 978-1-938110-12-0

For my wife, Marilyn, who continues to amaze.

ACKNOWLEGEMENTS

My thanks to these generous folks who made my job so much easier and enjoyable: Kathy Jester, breast cancer survivor, for educating me in the treatments of breast cancer and the patient aspect of survival; Joel Fish, Captain of the Investigations Division of the Catawba County Sheriff’s Department for his unselfish sharing of police procedures; Marilyn Adams for her manuscript critiquing, answering my many grammar questions, helping to clarify ideas, and turning my manuscript into understandable English; the Blood To Ink Writers Group for their suggestions and patience in reading the manuscript in its raw form; Chris McCall, RN, for her help in understanding state-licensed senior care facilities; Bill King for his help with the soaring aspects; Jerry Supple for introducing me to the Remos Sports Airplane and explaining its possibilities and limitations; Jake Vitak, Park Ranger, Hammocks-Beach State Park for all things coastal; also the many RV park people along the way who have added to my knowledge of this favorite pastime of an increasing number of Road Warriors. Huge thanks to my son William Wrentmore for his tireless and unselfish help in breathing new life into my computer and his manuscript formatting efforts; and last, but certainly not least, my thanks to Librarians Richard Griffin and Sandy Cooke for locating many obscure resources throughout my research.

"Murder may pass unpunished for a time,

But tardy justice will o’ertake the crime."

THE COCK AND THE FOX DRYDEN

ONE

I want him dead! Bloodless like this black night. Why won’t he die? I’m thinking, moving quickly, silently down the two-lane blacktop road. The RVs are lined up side-by-each along the drive like dead fish at a market. It’s three AM, a slivered moon. Good, just enough light to pick out my target. Here we go. I’ll get into the shadow of his ageing silver Airstream camper. The bastard was flaunting it at me … right down Front Street in broad daylight. The prick even stopped for ice cream. Well, we’ll see how he likes the taste of this.

How does this happen? I thought I’d rid myself of them when I moved. Uh-oh, I’ll have to watch so I don’t trip over the tongue when I leave. Here’s the door. Which pocket has the picks? Let’s see if they are as good as advertised. Ah, yes, easy as they promised. Damned unusual. Quiet now and inside we go. Onions for dinner? At least they cleaned up after themselves. That’s a change. Dark as a hangman’s soul. Now where’s the bedroom? Have to feel my way. The glow of a small light. Quiet. How the hell did they find me? It couldn’t have been easy. I’m a thousand miles away. Here’s the head … a night light. Moonlight in the bedroom. Enough to see by, though.

Okay, Charlie, here you go. Aw, look at that … sound asleep.Can’t have any noise. Bet they never thought of this use when they invented duct tape. Over the mouth we go and then a quick slice through her neck. Oh, yeah. Now we’ll have silence for playtime. He’s sleeping naked these days? How sweet. Tape on the mouth. Blade down the belly. Hello. Awake now, are we? What—surprised to see me after all these years? It’s payback time, you son-of-a-bitch. First a stab in the liver, then more, then again, then again. Up one side … and down the other. Stop? You, you … want me to stop? You never did, uh, did you? Uh…uh… Don’t roll away from me! You want it up the ass? How reminiscent. Well, ah, look here … untouched flesh. How, uh, nice, uh, of, uh, you, uh. Is … that … my … hand rising and … falling, rising … and falling? The place looks red. My God, I’m sweating! Can’t breathe, can’t breathe. What’s wrong? Hand slippery. Have a film over my eyes? Everything red. Heart pounding. I see the knife cut across the belly now. It’s red with blood, too. Yes, yesssss. Ah, feels good, you heartless bastard. I’ve waited so long for this. Why am I crying … crying? Payback’s hell, eh? Damn, my hand aches. One more in the neck … and I’ll leave … you alone. Lot of work. Feels great. Wipe the blade on the blanket. Had to, had to. Ah … agh … down the hall. Balance. Why am I staggering? Can’t trust anyone else. Do it yourself. I feel great. Yes, I do. Yes, I do. You don’t … threaten me … any … more. You … will never again. Thank God it’s over, over, over … safe now … safe now. From dark to dark. Like the dark. Hiding dark. The prick is finally dead … dead … bloodless. Get out of here, Charlie. Sshh. Quick. Quiet. Dark.

Folks are out early this time of year. Dogs are being walked for their grass-killing, ultimately-fertilizing, gifts. A skanky, old blue pickup rolls by, pausing to pick up plastic bags of yesterday’s trash in front of each RV.

Maud Ripley is making morning coffee at her kitchen sink. She glances outside, assessing the day. She calls to Harry, Hon, the Cappellis’ doors are open. Did you see them when you took Rascal out?

No, I didn’t. They’re usually out and about later than we are, though. Do you see them now on the road?

No, I don’t. Their truck is still there. I wonder if everything is all right with them.

The call came in at seven forty-five. Jerzey had just poured her brew and was waking up at her desk. Becky said, Call for you on two.

Call for me on two, my ass, she muttered. I’m just the only one in the office at this hour, as usual. She brushed blond hair back from her forehead. Sergeant Swift, she said into the receiver.

We need you out here as soon as you can make it. We’ve had some bad trouble out here. Bad trouble.

And what is your name?

Oh, ok, sorry. I’m Darrell Blake, manager of Beach View RV Park.

Yeah, I know it, and what’s the trouble?

We got two dead people. It ain’t pretty. Our residents are very shook up. His voice isn’t too steady, either, Jerzey thought.

Right. Let me have your number. You didn’t call 911?

No, I wasn’t thinking. I just called you guys. Is there a problem?

No, we’ll take care of it. We’ll be on our way shortly. You are sure they are dead?

"I’m sure, Sergeant. Actually, I guess there’s no real

rush. Just get here as soon as you can. I’ll be in the office."

Jerzey hung up the phone as Ray Cleveland sat his coffee on his desk and looked at her questioningly. What’s up? he said.

Looks like we have our second and third homicides of the year. Not bad … it’s already June.

Really? Where?

Beach View Park.

The RV Park? That’s unusual. We’ve never had any problems out there … quiet retirees for the most part.

You ain’t wrong there. Let’s go have a look-see. She shoved a stick of Beechnut in her mouth. I’ll have Becky call the ME, the EMS, the CSI guys, and get our support team moving. The guy called here directly, not 911, she said by way of explanation.

On their way out of the door, Ray said, Maybe someone got the ‘seniors’ blues’ and it’s a murder-suicide.

We should be so lucky. We’ll know soon enough.

TWO

Jerzey drove. The morning was warm and sunny. They left the Beaufort, N.C., Sheriff’s Department, turning left onto Craven Street.

Ray, you got an anniversary this month, don’t you?

Yep. Ten years on the twenty-fifth. I can’t believe it’s been that long.

Time flies, etcetera, etcetera, Jerzey commented dryly. Ray watched her work the gum with her mouth open. She was chewing and cracking it as she repeatedly opened and clenched her fingers on the wheel. She turned right on Mulberry.

A little wound up this morning, aren’t you? Ray said.

Lack of sleep and too much caffeine. I’m reading a really good ‘Who Done It’ and read hours past my bedtime last night.

Ah.

We go all the way on Mulberry, right?

Yeah. It’s out at the end of the peninsula.

They rode in silence. Both preferred the windows open. A sea breeze was blowing, and the scent of the bay was strong on the air this morning. Jerzey’s shoulder-length blond hair was pulled back so the wind didn’t bother her driving.

They passed the regional fire station. Jerzey slowed as they approached the park entrance. There was a gatehouse. When he saw her badge, the guard raised the bar and waved them through. To the left was the office building. The Cape Cod styling was inviting. It housed the administration offices and a combination gift shop and small grocery section. Jerzey swung the car around the large central circular area with its fluttering flags and clanking lanyards. She parked at the front of the building. They went up a wide wooden staircase into the reservation area. Sandy got up and met them at the counter. How may I help you two? she asked.

Jerzey showed her badge again and said, We’re here in response to Darrell Blake’s call.

Oh, of course. I’ll let him know you are here. A nasty business, this.

Darrell strode rapidly out of his office and down the hall. Darrell Blake, he said, extending his hand. Thanks for getting here so quickly. I’ll drive us to the site.

Thanks, Ray said, but we’ll follow you in our car. Before we go, could I see their registration slip?

Yeah, sure. Sandy, let me have the Cappellis’ registration slip, please. Here you go. he said, handing the slip to Ray.

Darrell held the door for them, and they walked to their car. He jumped into his golf cart, and Ray and Jerzey followed him to RV site G74. The site backed up to a road fronting on the beach. It was a pull-through lot. Ray noticed a fire-pit, a wooden picnic table, and the utility hook-ups next to the concrete parking pad. Along this section of beach there were no obstructing barrier dunes. The view swept out to the islands and was wide and soothing. The sun glittered off tiny wavelets, a net of golden shimmer. The unit they stopped in front of was a shiny, aluminum-clad, thirty-foot long Airstream Flying Cloud. It had been pulled in so that the rear windows overlooked the water view.

The bedroom must look out onto the beach, Ray said.

The door was standing open. Several neighbors clustered together in the road. A sheriff’s car pulled in behind their unit, and Danny Malm got out with a roll of yellow plastic crime scene tape in his hand. By the time Jerzey and Ray were finished, he would have the area taped off.

Jerzey said, Danny, make sure to tape off the whole parking site. We don’t want to miss anything.

Darrell, would you do us a favor and go back to the office. Tell the EMS and the Medical Examiner, when he arrives, how to get back here? Ray said

Yeah, I’ll be glad to get out of here, but I’ll do better than that. I’ll guide them back here myself.

Wait, Ray said. Who found the bodies?

Harry Ripley. He pointed to the RV next door and headed for his cart.

Ok. Thanks.

Jerzey and Ray entered the Airstream. Ray noted blood smeared on the door and the jamb. Inside to the right were two recliners under a wide window. To the right of the chairs across from the door was the dinette. Then they passed the refrigerator and bath. On the way back to the bedroom, along the left wall, was the kitchen area, then a wardrobe and a separate shower room. They saw several smears of blood along the cabinet fronts. It was as if the perp had felt his way out in the dark.

Come on, Ray said. Let’s get started.

Yeah, she said. "I want to see what we have here.

Here’s the bedroom … Oh, shit, will you look at this!" She had stopped suddenly, blocking the entrance, and Ray had to ease her out of the way.

The bedroom occupied the entire rear of the unit. Centered under the large rear window was a queen-sized bed, flanked by small, built-in night cabinets. Light was pouring in from two large side windows and the wide picture window looking out at the water. The smell of the metallic signature of blood defined the room. There was plenty of it. Jersey shoved another stick of gum into her mouth.

Now this is a crime scene, Ray said. Both bodies spread out on the bed. Both gagged with duct tape over the mouth and the man … he’s a mess … naked. I don’t see any PJs around. They must have slept in the buff.

Ray, this is way beyond my experience, Jerzey said, pulling on latex gloves.

Well, I’ve seen almost as bad once or twice at drug related murders when I was working Baltimore. They could be vicious when they were sending a message, but never quite like this. Look at the blood spatter, the cast-off on the ceiling, and the number of stab wounds on the male victim. And those are only the ones we can see. At first glance I’m tempted to say this was a crime of passion. We need to be careful where we step.

Yeah, ok. From what I’ve read and heard over the years, I‘m inclined to agree with you on that. Take a look at that abdominal cut line … not necessary to kill him. This looks like uncontrolled rage to me. She was chewing nervously.

Ray pulled on gloves and picked up a wallet from the side table. Same name as on the registration slip, he said. The wife looks like she didn’t move a muscle; but the guy, well, with all those wounds, he looks like the target. And with all the blood, he must have been alive through most of it. We’ll wait for the ME’s decision, but this looks to me like torture before the final kill.

Yeah. The wife is hardly touched. Just one slice through the throat. She must have been first. Any money in that wallet?

I count three hundred and sixty in hundreds and twenties, plus change. There’s also a wad of travelers’ checks. I guess we can rule out robbery. She still has her rings. Nothing else seems out of place. That gives more strength to the personal grudge motive. Driver’s license says they are … were from Knoxville. His birthdate is August 20, 1940. That’d make him almost seventy-one.

Hello, where are you? the Medical Examiner said into the Airstream.

In the back, Norman, in the bedroom, Ray said.

Dr. Norman Radcliffe stepped into the room. What a mess! he said, looking at the bed and the blood splatter on the walls and ceiling. He slipped a black leather duffle off his shoulder. Let’s have a closer look. Norman was five feet eight and weighed in at two hundred pounds. At sixty-two he still had a full head of curly, snow white hair. Ray noticed he still wore his perpetual smile, as if his world was a huge joke. Ray suspected it was a shield against the unpleasantness of his job.

I see you are still keeping the ‘Men’s Warehouse’ in business, Ray said. Norman was always meticulously groomed. He wore tailored suits. He thought they helped his profile.

Whoa! Norman said, Look at this. He pointed to the man’s naked torso. This is quite an incision. he said, indicating the gaping wound across the stomach. That would take one really sharp weapon.

Look at all the cast-off on the walls and ceiling, Doc. We are thinking rage rather than a random killing.

The CSI team will be here shortly. Let’s see what the liver temperature tells us, he said, pulling on surgical gloves. At that, he pushed the gauge into the wife’s liver. Looks like they were killed early this morning, maybe around two or three o’clock. You know, this perp might be Asian.

Why do you say that? Ray asked.

The method reminds me of ‘Ling Chi,’ the Chinese ‘Death of a Thousand Cuts.’ It was outlawed in 1905 but is still in the murderer’s lexicon. It is known also as ‘slow slicing.’

Never heard of it, Jerzey said.

I have, Ray said. "It’s described in detail in the biography of Genghis Khan. It was ‘additional reading’ at the academy … originally an extreme action of familial anger and degradation against the parents. I believe in Asian culture that cutting of the body means the victim’s body will