Signature

By Theodore Draper, Sr

Spencer Coleman is a man with a gift--or a curse. Spencer has the ability to read a person's 'Signature', which is their heat pattern left behind when they leave an area. Upon entering a diner one sunny day in March, he is witness to a horrific murder. Was he there by accident or did he know of the impending event? Spencer uses his ability to help the police track down a killer and he reconnects with a long lost love along the way.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Theodore Draper, Sr
• Release date: Dec 19, 2013
• ISBN: 9781310076930

Theodore Draper, Sr

I am a late bloomer. I will be publishing my first novel on January 1st at the ripe age of 50. I love writing and have two other books on tap. I have a fiance', Helen, who I absolutely adore and a son, Tj who is the love of my life. I golf, play paintball and hike in my spare time. I enjoy the gym also.I believe you're never too old to begin something new.

Book preview

Spencer Coleman arrived at The Victory Diner at 6:55 on a beautiful spring morning. The sun was shining brightly, not a cloud in the sky. The temperature was already approaching eighty. It was only mid-April, but it seemed like summer had arrived months ago. In fact, the whole country had experienced an early thaw. March saw average temperatures of sixty degrees, thirty degrees higher than normal. Was this global warming? If it wasn't, he didn't know what it could be. The apple and cherry trees had already blossomed. The maple trees were already alive. Their leaves acting like sails, capturing the warm summer-like breezes. All the foliage displayed was in full summer bloom. If Spencer were to look at the calendar without knowing which month it was, he would guess it was early June. Summers in upstate New York were always pleasant; they just didn't last too long. Spencer looked around, surveying the scene before turning the handle of the door and entering the diner.

The Victory Diner was an old place. On the outside, it had been meticulously maintained. The diner was built after the Korean War, 1957 to be exact. Jim Baker, Jimbo to his friends, was a war veteran who decided to come back to his hometown and gave starting his own restaurant a go of it. He was a grunt for four years in the army, cooking meals for hundreds of GI's each day. He figured it couldn't be too tough to cook for twenty or thirty people each day. He was right. His diner flourished and Jim lived comfortably. Jim not only ran the diner but he was the master carpenter, plumber and mason. He figured, why pay someone to do something he could do himself? Hard work never scared old Jimbo.

Looking at The Victory Diner was like looking back in time. While other stores and restaurants came and went, The Victory Diner traversed time itself. It looked exactly as it did when Jim first had it built. The face of the town had changed many times over the years, but the diner was a constant. It had the feeling of home to its patrons.

The Victory Diner resided in a small town called Medina, population ten thousand. It sat just off of Main Street but it was in a great location. Medina was a small town with a couple traffic lights, but with a lot of specialty stores. Many of the small store’s lights had dimmed with the arrival of the big box store. People weren't happy to see the new store come to town. Many warned of the dangers of letting them come in. They'll suck all the life out of our town! and What about the little guy? How is he supposed to survive? These questions were asked of the town committee but what the town’s folks didn't know was that many on the town board were already in the back pocket of the big box store. They had planted their evil seed money several months before anyone even knew they were coming.

Spencer entered the diner; his senses were immediately overwhelmed by the smells of breakfast: pancakes and sausage, eggs and bacon. His stomach growled in anticipation.

Easy tiger, Spencer said, you’ll be filled soon enough.

He closed his eyes, putting his nose to work. Ahh, he sighed. Time to find a seat, he thought.

The diner was like a time machine. History hung on the walls. There were pictures of famous battles of Korea. There were pictures of Jim and his platoon. Many of the boys that he had feed and fought beside in the war were probably dead.

Spencer chose a booth, sat down and immediately sunk into the booth's seat.

Gee, I think these benches have been around since the fifties, Spencer said, trying to find a comfortable place where his ass wasn't hitting a board.

The table had a lot of character. The Formica top was worn through in several spots. There were countless cigarette burns and scratches: some accidental, some intentional. He learned that Craig loved Judy in 1964. TL4 ever was carved under their names. Their love was immortalized in the worn tabletop. He wondered to himself if Craig and Judy were still together or like other young love, it had burned brightly and fizzled away just as fast as it begun? There was a mini jukebox located at each booth. Upon further inspection, Spencer was surprised to see the one in his booth still worked.

I'll be dammed, only a dime for a song? This place really is living history, Spencer thought, digging some change from his pockets. Let's see what we've got, Spencer said as he leaned closer to read the artist names in the play list.

Hi, my name is Patti and I'm going to take care of you today, the waitress said, flashing him a quick thin smile. She placed a paper placemat in front of him along with a set of silverware. What can I get you, hun, she asked, but her mind didn't seem to be on the task at hand.

Her hand was poised, ready to write down his order, but her eyes were focused on the booth next to him. The booth was empty but the way her eyes had glazed over, it was almost as if she were replaying a scene in her mind. She was watching a movie that only she could see. Her foot tapped, as if the mental movie she watched had an upbeat soundtrack attached to it. Spencer took her moment of distraction to study her features. Patti was tall as women go. He figured she had to be at least 5'9. She had an athletic build, flat stomach, thin but muscular legs. Her hair was hidden by a silly paper, triangular hat that said, The Victory Diner". Her brunette hair was in a bun but the bun was big. He guessed her hair had to be shoulder length but Spencer thought it was much longer than that. His eyes wandered from her hair to her breasts. They were standing at attention, poking slightly out of the top of low cut blouse.

I bet she makes some good tips showing those, Spencer thought. A smile unconsciously began spreading across his face.

As if on cue, Patti's eyes flashed back to Spencer, the distraction was gone from her mind. Spencer felt like a deer in the headlights. He had been caught staring directly at Patti's cleavage. Beads of sweat immediately popped out on Spencer's forehead. He remembered a scene from an old comedy named Seinfeld. One of the characters, George Costanza was caught by the father of a young woman whose cleavage he had been staring directly into.

Get a good look Costanza? the father said threateningly. As the father stormed off, Jerry spoke up and said, You're not suppose to look directly at the cleavage, you peak, you never stare!

Spencer knew exactly how George felt at that moment.

Umm…I’ll start with a cup of coffee please. Two eggs over easy and two slices of sour dough toast with sausage links, he said.

She scribbled down his order and said, You got it, putting the pad in her apron and walked toward the kitchen.

Spencer's attention returned to the mini jukebox on his table. He read the play list. It read like a who's who of the 50's. Many of the stars who filled the jukebox may have gotten their start in the 50's but their music was timeless: Perry Como, Bing Crosby, Johnny Cash, Hank Williams, Dean Martin and Sammie Davis Jr. No Frank Sinatra though, the rat pack was incomplete.

Ahh, Spencer thought, here is a classic I hadn't heard in years, La Bamba by the late Richie Valens. Spencer reached into his pocket, felt for change and placed it on the table. He saw that he had a couple dimes, grabbed one and started to put the dime in the coin slot.

Spencer paused, is it too early for La Bamba? he thought, Is it ever too early for La Bamba?? He decided it wasn't and slid a dime into the slot.

At first nothing happened but then, after 15 seconds, he could hear the machine coming to life.

How long had it been since anyone used one of these jukeboxes? he thought to himself.

The gears were turning inside. The lights on the front of the machine began to blink. It was like a miniature robot coming back to life after years of neglect. A small metal arm grabbed a 45 and placed it on the spindle, an arm lowered. How many years had it been since the last 45 vinyl record was pressed by a music company? Twenty years? The compact disc made vinyl records obsolete but don't tell that to the true audiophiles. Many experts agree that vinyl produced the most authentic sound. Although compact discs are easier to manufacture and produce, they could never reproduce the sound quality of the vinyl record. As the needle of the jukebox settled into the grooves of the record, the first hints of static scratched out of the little speaker. La La La La La Bamba Richie Valens busted out, the song filling Spencer's booth. His feet began tapping in perfect rhythm to the song.

Spencer shifted his gaze from the mini jukebox to his booth's window. There were a few cars driving past the diner, but it certainly wasn't the bustle of a city. It was now 7:30 and already the sky was a vibrant rainbow of colors.

A beautiful day for some, but not everyone, he said quietly to himself, his words disappearing in the air.

Across the street he could see someone, a man for sure, but it was hard to tell how tall he was from the distance. The man's features were obscured by the sunlight shining in his window. The windows didn't have blinds so Spencer put his hand up to block the sun. The man was leaning against a light post, staring intently into the diner.

Is he looking at me? Spencer thought.

As if on cue, the man directed his gaze away from the diner and down to his feet. Spencer's brow furled as he tried to get a better look at the man. Could this be the man he was here to stop? He wasn't sure. His gut told him there was something wrong with the man. Something about the man gave Spencer the creeps. His arms were covered in goose-flesh. It was in that moment Spencer knew why he was the diner for breakfast. He knew now what he must do. He had to act before it was too late. Spencer began to get up when Patti returned.

Patti placed the coffee on the table beside him. Steam was rising from the porcelain cup.

Your eggs will be up in a minute. Do you need cream for your coffee? she said, her gaze going from Spencer to the window beside him.

Spencer looked at her and said, Patti you have to, his words trailing off.

The thin smile on Patti’s face had disappeared. It was replaced by a look of horror. Her eyes were thrown open wide, looking like small cup saucers.

Her voice trembled, What’s he doing here? Oh no…NO NO NO!! Patti screamed.

Spencer turned his head to see what had alarmed the woman. The man he had seen across the street only moments ago was now standing directly outside the window. In his hand, he held a very gun large. The gun was silver and gleamed like a razor in the bright sunlight. The man’s eyes were squinted and focused directly on Patti. The look on the man's face was filled with hatred and what else, rage? Yes, his face was full of rage. His lips were pulled back in a snarl. His jaw was clenched and his body appeared to be vibrating. His eyes had the look of someone who had completely lost their mind.

It's him, Spencer thought and before he could utter a sound, the world slowed to a ridiculous slow-motioned pace. A scene erupted that Spencer would remember his entire life.

Richie Valens, who was still happily belting out the biggest hit of his career, sounding like someone had set him from 45 to 33 1/3. La Bamba became Laaaa Baambaaaa...Spencer turned his head to Patti with the intent of telling her to get down. Before Patti could turn, run or dive for cover, the window erupted in shards of glass. Spencer instinctively sought shelter. He lay on the bench seat, the smell of the faux leather assaulting his nose. Patti disappeared for a moment from his sight as the table blocked his vision. Once his head was on the bench seat, she was back in full view. The first shot, which shattered the glass, went into Patti’s left shoulder. The shot sounded like an explosion in his left ear. The force of the first shot pushed her back against the counter. If it had knocked her down, her life may have been saved, but Patti hit the counter hard enough to force the breath from her lungs, bending her over backwards. She reached out to her left shoulder with her right hand. Blood pulsed through the fingers with each beat of her heart. Her face was full of pain, shock and surprise. Spencer’s reached out to her, but she might as well have been a mile away. Their eyes locked for what seemed like an eternity. Her green eyes, which reminded him of jade pools, were already losing their brightness. Now, they were glazing over. Another shot rang out, followed by another and another. Each bullet ripped into Patti’s body: chest, neck and face. She didn’t have time to scream or cry. The shot that hit her in the chest blew straight through her, creating a large exit wound out her back, painting the mirror behind the countertop with goblets of blood and pieces of her lung. Part of her neck disappeared; a large gaping hole replaced the flesh just above the collarbone. Her hand, which had been covering the hole made from the first shot, slide down the front of her blouse, leaving a red swatch. It looked like a painting by a three year old with finger-paints. The last shot hit Patti in the bottom of her jaw. Bone and teeth flew from her mouth in jagged, red pieces. The back half of her head lay open, exposing part of her brain. She was dead before her body fell to the floor. Blood was flowing freely out of Patti’s gunshot wounds. Her brunette hair, which was shiny and full, was now streaked with red blotches and gray matter. The paper hat, which looked so silly on her head, was laying on the floor beside her, soaking up the blood that was pooling there. Her eyes were now blank, open and haunted. Her green eyes were now the color of eternal sleep.

Tears filled Spencer’s eyes, I couldn’t stop it, he began to cry; I couldn’t stop it.

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Chapter Two

The morning, which had started with so much promise, was melting away in the howling of sirens and screams of other diner patrons. Spencer sat up and stared out the hole where the window had been only moments before. The shooter was gone. He could see some spent shell casings lying on the sidewalk. What caught him by surprise was how quiet it was. Besides the warble of the approaching police sirens, the world was just as it was before the shooting started. The sun was still shining; he could hear the song of a robin somewhere in a nearby maple tree. This particular moment of time was just that, a fleeting moment. As Patti's life was being taken by some lunatic and Spencer lay down fearing for his own life, the world had moved on. It continued to turn as if nothing had happened. As if to accent the point, Spencer noticed his coffee was still steaming with heat. The events of a moment ago, which had felt like a lifetime to him, had happened so quickly that his coffee didn't have a chance to cool.

The left side of Spencer’s face burned like he had been stung by a swarm of bees. He knew he had bits of broken glass in his face.

He started to get up and go check Patti for a pulse but he thought, what’s the use? There is no way she can be alive after that. The coldness of his own thought caused him to shiver.

Two village police officers had entered the scene and were creating a parameter around the front of the diner. They wouldn't enter the diner. A crime of this magnitude would be handled by the county Sheriffs or the State Police. Spencer knew because he had been a resident of Medina for most of his life. It was where he grew up and went to school. In all that time, he couldn't remember any violent crimes ever happening in town. Oh, there was the occasional drug bust or burglary, but nothing involving guns. It just didn't happen here. What exactly was going on? Was this a domestic disturbance? Maybe the man who had taken Patti's life was an ex-boyfriend or husband?

Patti had recognized the assailant was when she yelled out, What's he doing here?!

Was the guy across the street stalking her? Spencer thought, already knowing that was partially true. He didn't know it immediately, but he did have a