Night Freeze

By Lee Emory

A chance for a new start...

Phoenix Police Detective Niall Malone accepts a job to head up a task force hunting down a serial killer in another state. When at last he reports on the job, after spending some time in a Phoenix hospital, he walks smack into a wall of bigoted feelings toward his outsider status.

The defilement of a proud symbol...

The killer’s main target points to Medical Examiner, Dr. Shyla Clifford. She receives gruesome, butchered pieces of the bodies to identify, usually frozen. The butcher leaves a unique marker on each body part that has everyone in law enforcement and the military deeply disturbed as chaos and the murders reign.
A doctor marked for death!

Shyla Clifford finds herself fighting to keep her family safe and maintain her new career now that she’s retired from the Navy. When pieces of her loved ones keep showing up on her doorstep, among other places, she suffers the kind of fear few ever experience.

A detective assigned to head up the task force appears to make little progress in the case as people continue to disappear.
Shyla’s desperation and anguish grows to the point her professionalism suffers and she struggles to hold fast to her very sanity. Now it’s up to her to find the key to the grisly murders; the race is on to find it before everyone in her family is brutally
murdered....

And before she becomes the only one left to run for her life.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lee Emory
• Release date: Mar 20, 2011
• ISBN: 9781452489940

Lee Emory

Lee Emory is the former owner of Treble Heart Books, Sundowners, MountainView Publishing and WhoooDoo Mysteries. Many, many books were published by Lee over the last 13 years. Shewill always treasure her years at the helm andis so sad to turn loose of her many fine authors.

Book preview

Night Freeze

By

Lee Emory

Copyright

Night Freeze

Smashwords Edition Copyright 2011 Lee Emory

All rights reserved.

Cover Art and Layout

Copyright 2008 by Lee Emory

All rights reserved.

WhoooDoo Mysteries

a division of

Treble Heart Books

Sierra Vista AZ

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

The characters and events in this ebook are fictional and any resemblance to persons, whether living or dead, is strictly coincidental.

Ebook ISBN: 978-1-936127-46-7

1-936127-46-6

Table of Contents

Foreword

Acknowledgements

Dedication

About the Author

Prologue

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

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty One

Chapter Twenty Two

Chapter Twenty Three

Chapter Twenty Four

Chapter Twenty Five

Chapter Twenty Six

Chapter Twenty Seven

Chapter Twenty Eight

Chapter Twenty Nine

Chapter Thirty

Epilogue

Foreword

Thank you for your interest in Night Freeze. Before you read this book, it is my sincerest wish to express to every reader how very much I respect and admire the U. S. Marine Corps as well as all our United States Armed Forces. It is important that you understand this book is not about them, specifically, but about a serial killer. No disrespect to the Marines is intended in the telling of this story and I hope readers will understand and simply enjoy this chilling tale of obsession and rage, and of the hard-working desperate professionals who try to make sense of it all.

Acknowledgements

Endless gratitude goes to Mr. Joe Bickelmeyer and family, owner of the real Bickelmeyer’s Meat store in Kansas City, Kansas, their packing plant, slaughter house and ranch. He was most generous with his time when I requested an interview and he included a tour of his facility. The information he imparted is vital to this story and its setting. I can’t thank him and his crew enough for their time, friendliness and generosity. With his permission I have used the his name, and store, but fictionalized the rear building and all other events and characters in this story.

Many thanks to the Kansas City, Missouri Police Department for allowing me to interview their officers and pester them with so many questions as I first developed Night Freeze.

Thanks also to Dr. Young, a Medical examiner in Kansas City, Missouri for giving me what time he could in a phone interview. He had seven autopsies to perform that day, and thus has my deepest respect for handling a demanding schedule with such patience and kindness when yours truly called seeking forensic information.

Last but not least, I would be remiss if I left out Detective Sergeant Jim Adams, Sierra Vista, AZ Police Department forgiving up a good portion of his busy schedule to answer many questions regarding police procedures and more.

Dedication

To my Writers Express Group for putting up with my angst all during the writing of this book, and for cheering me on even though they shivered mightily over my grisly storyline. Thanks guys and gals. I might never have been able to finish this without you.

Prologue

Kansas City, Missouri

July

He felt at home with blood all over his white coat and the heavy smell of it in his nostrils. He hefted a quarter to hang it on the wicked meat hook, one of the many rows of hooks attached to rollers on a track above him. When he pushed the piece forward he grabbed another from the cart, feeling his muscles strain against his long sleeves from the weight. On the job only three weeks and already he knew this was going to be his ultimate place of employment. Talk about getting lucky. The labor was hard; it was cold work most of the time, but it paid a living wage and kept his muscles in condition. He was right where he needed to be. The bitch is not far away.

His breath streamed out in huge foggy clouds as he worked and found his familiar rhythm. But instead of seeing quarters of beef hanging on the rolling hooks, visions of blondes, brunettes and redheads impaled through their necks rolled by him. In his fantasy the women dangled from the hooks, bleeding and naked, their eyes, once bulging in fear, now dead, dark hollows.

He smiled.

Got to keep working. Lots of meat to hang before shift change. He wanted to get it done so he could take a good look at an old compressor in the back locker no longer used to hang game animals, pork or beef. Regulations didn't allow game meat to be butchered and packed in the same place as beef cattle or hogs; those had to be cut and wrapped in another building. The regulations probably changed before he was born, though he wasn't sure. The meat packing plant where he worked, though old, family owned, remained in good repair. Most of it, anyway. In the rear of the plant, another building, sat abandoned and in need of remodeling. In the 50s it suffered a flood that nearly put the family completely out of business when the river overflowed. He doubted it would ever happen again. In his opinion the older section of the plant seemed too dilapidated to make major repairs practical.

He felt confident he could fix the rusted old compressor and make it run. He'd trained himself to be handy with mechanical things. The locker itself appeared in fair shape, though its stench was disgusting. All it needed was a working refrigeration/freezer system. Nobody went in there anymore. The locker was a perfect place to do his thing. It'd been too long since his plan came to fruition in his min and it was time to make it happen.

While in Leavenworth, he spent plenty of time thinking about new ways to do things after his release. Most especially after they... Well, he didn’t want to go there again. He could do nothing except keep taking his meds. Anyway, the old ways didn't work and had nearly earned him death row. He got himself this respectable job in a place that suited his new plans to a T. A man ought not to let himself stagnate. Got to keep up with the times, got to move on and do what a man had to do.

He looked up again at the rows of hanging meat about to be packed and shipped across the country.

His smile widened.

Mmmm...rows and rows of ladies, all sizes and shapes. Now that is a sight.

Yo, there! the man two rows over shouted. What'cha grinnin' about?

He laughed at being caught daydreaming. Wouldn't you like to know? But he didn't say that. Nothin' much, he replied to his coworker.

As soon as he got the compressor running and freezer up to snuff, he'd make a test run. The old bag who lived down the street from the bitch would do, unless she had her own freezer. His apartment freezer was full, had to get rid of the stuff in it pretty damned quick. He'd either take it all to a dumpster or leave it somewhere obvious, an idea he liked even better. Better to have a man's handiwork investigated. Have to give that some thought. Let the bastards chase their tails trying to figure out whodunit, why, or even who was the victim of his creative achievements.

Chapter One

Phoenix, Arizona

September

Niall Malone watched as the moving van turned the corner out of sight. He tossed his car keys in the air and caught them, nodding with satisfaction, then got into his car. He thought about stopping at the department headquarters to say a final goodbye to everyone but decided against it. He didn't feel particularly close to them. Face it. His former peers wouldn't give a damn one way or the other. His boss wished him luck when Malone handed in his resignation. He was the one person who openly respected and admired Malone for his expertise, but Malone formed no close friendships with his superiors or his peers. He preferred things that way.

While married, Karen dubbed him socially detached. Maybe she was right, but it always worked for him.

He headed out, planning to take I-17 north until he could catch I-40 and from there drive across New Mexico.

Monday morning rush hour was horrific as usual and he got caught at a long red light. Cars whizzed by him on the left in the opposite direction. His jaw dropped as he saw a fancy white pickup with a Hispanic man standing up through a sun roof. The man, rifle in hand, shot at every other car stopped at the light. Bullets thundered into cars ahead of Niall's. The gunman skipped the vehicle immediately ahead of his.

Oh, shit!

His safety windshield exploded, shattering, sagging toward him. Hot fire burst into his left shoulder, spattering blood outward.

Horns honked. Tires squealed in the oncoming lanes. The pickup roared away.

Malone grabbed his shoulder trying to staunch the blood flow, but the effort did little good. Through a haze of dizzying pain he glanced around him and saw several drivers in the middle lane with cell phones glued to their ears. The whites of their eyes showing in terror.

...Someone's calling the cops. How many shots fired? How many drivers waiting in this lane are dead?

He couldn't quite remember the number of shots fired. For some incomprehensible reason the shooting happened too fast for his mind to grasp. The scene tried to replay through his brain, but refused to coalesce. Bits and pieces of his thoughts leaked away with the flow of his life force.

Blood ran through his fingers, soaking his shirt. His head swam as thoughts succumbed, unraveled. His steering wheel seemed to dash toward him at a hundred miles an hour.

* * *

Foul fog swirled over, around and even under Malone, the scent of it medicinal and sharp. Tired. He was so tired. In his hand, a letter indicated Kansas City, Kansas and Kansas City, Missouri recently acquired critical problems with a random killer who liked to stamp his victims with the U.S. Marines insignia. The victims, or parts of them, were found frozen or just beginning to thaw.

Interesting. Wait, am I dreaming? Do I have a letter?

The back of a huge moving van thundered down the street away from him and he knew somehow the contents of that truck were his. A new life? A new job? ...Why can’t I remember?

Niall sat in his living room staring down at the letter from Police Headquarters in K.C. No music played, the TV remained off. The apartment was so silent he heard his own breathing, increasing now due to a hint of excitement he felt as he read the letter again within his pristine, still, surroundings.

At this same confusing moment his body felt strange, numb in places, yet he felt crushing pain on his left side. He felt cold, as if he’d been put inside a refrigerator. Got to adjust the air conditioning...

More fog and nausea swirled around and through him again, yet here he sat in his living room, intrigued with the idea of leaving Phoenix. Both marriage and fatherhood were history. Hadn’t even talked with Karen in months, not since the divorce. They could barely stand the sight of each other anymore. Too many memories.

Niall gazed at the picture of his nine-year-old son Jason, which sat on the polished end table in a silver frame. Looking at his bright boy’s innocent face still took his breath away. Over and over he saw, in his mind, the news films of the school bus crashing through the barriers and vaulting the overpass, the bus cut off by the reckless driver of a semi. A father could never forget the graphic films taken by an air traffic helicopter flying over the area at the exact time of the accident. The bus crashed onto the I-10 freeway below, killing the bus driver along with seventeen children and critically injuring five more. The horrific scene made national and international news.

Niall picked up the letter, again, blinking hard.

He remembered thinking: Jason will be with me wherever I go. Guess there’s no need to stay here just to visit the cemetery. Money KC PD offered is better than I'll ever make here. They must want me pretty bad.

His thoughts split then coalesced once more as he recalled packing, preparing to leave. Am I dreaming this? No, I kind of...think I really am leaving. Seem to be having trouble thinking. He tried to frown. So tired.

His head spun and he felt colder than ever. No telling real from memory, nor could he comprehend what he must do. Oh, yeah, I’m moving, leaving Phoenix.

Change of scene, change of authority might not be a bad thing, but was he ready for such a drastic move? Yeah...yeah, maybe this is a good time to get the hell out.

He felt himself swirling toward Jason’s picture, picked it up with a heart still so heavy it hurt. He watched himself saying, What do you say, son? You ready to move on with your old man?

The phone rang, jarring him away from the photograph.

Hey, Niall. It’s me.

Karen, this is a surprise.

I need to ask a favor.

"Now I am surprised. What’s up?"

Could you meet me at the cemetery?

The fog again blanketed him and turned to black. Only black.

* * *

10:20 a.m.

Malone woke up to a bright light piercing his eyes. It took a few minutes to realize he lay in a hospital recovery room.

Hey, Officer Malone, wakey, wakey. Knew you could do it. We're taking you up to a room now where you can sleep off the anesthetic and start healing. We got the bullet out. Had to pin a piece of your scapula back together the EMTs found on your car seat, but you should be good to go before you know it.

Parker, fancy meeting you here, he slurred groggily. And for your information, I'm not part of the Phoenix PD anymore. On my way to Kansas City to a new job.

Not today, big guy. You've got some healing to do before you're goin' anywhere.

Another nurse hove into view near his feet. He felt the bed or gurney or whatever it was move and it made his stomach roll and his eyeballs seemed to suck out of their drug saturated sockets.

No way. Gotta leave. Have to report. Five days. Long drive...Kansas City.

She chuckled. Well now, that's just too bad, Nurse Parker said. I'm afraid that new job of yours will have to wait a few weeks.

They must be wheeling him at eighty MPH down the hall. He felt so dizzy he wanted to puke. His head felt as if it weighed a hundred pounds.

The gurney made a hard left turn, the ceiling above him spun. Then the fog in his brain began to clear and his tongue felt dry as sand, but at least it worked, if only with fair flexibility. You have no mercy, Parker. I always knew you were mean and controlling. Do you treat all your patients this badly?

Pretty much. Don't worry. You'll get over it.

Getting out tomorrow, Parker. Can't keep me here.

And just how do you expect to drive all that way with only one good arm?

Nothing wrong with my arm. Bastard shot me in the shoulder.

So you think they aren't connected? Go ahead, big shot. Move that left arm.

He didn't like the evil grin on Parker's plain, fiftyish face. When he attempted to lift his arm to show her he could do it, pain shot through him like a bolt of lightning. Son'bitch! he spewed through gritted teeth. Another wave of nausea hit him and his eyes refused to focus for a few seconds.

On my count: one, two three. Parker and the other nurse slid his big carcass over onto a waiting bed with practiced efficiency. The bed felt icy as hell on his bare backside.

Damn...cold.

Parker chuckled. Mmm-hmm. Now, you gonna drive one-handed all the way to Kansas City, or you gonna use your head for something besides a hat rack?

His fat tongue began to loosen just a little. Smart ass. I'll get there one way or another. Not losing out on new promotion to star detective. B'sides, all my household stuff left Phoenix in a van. I think.

You think? Then I suggest you talk to the doctor who's in charge of your case. Maybe he'll let you fly out there.

Won't work. Need my car.

Much as I enjoyed our little chat, Malone, I've got other patients to torture, so kindly get some rest and I'll tell the doctor you want to see him.

Poor devils. His tongue felt like a water balloon.

You got five minutes and not a second longer. He needs to sleep, Niall heard Parker say to someone. As the nurse left, a dark haired man peered around the door of his room.

Hey, Malone. We all heard what happened. Thought I'd drop by and see if there's anything I can do for you.

Cortez? It felt as if it took him an hour to get his words out. Thanks for coming. Here to get a report on the shooter?

Somebody else is in charge of that, but if there's anything I can do for you, I'll be happy to help.

Thanks, but unless you can convince the doctor to let me out of here so I can get on my way to Missouri in the morning, there isn't much to do. Nice of you to stop by, though.

Don Cortez shrugged as he strode inside. The other bed in the room lay empty, so they were alone. Don't suppose I'd have much influence with your doctor. I hear they had to dig a bullet out of you and the shot wasn't too clean. You were a lucky, man.

If you want to call getting shot lucky just as I'm leaving town to start a new job. He knew how caustic that must sound, but he was pissed off in a major way and didn't much care if Officer Cortez knew it. His head swam for want of sleep. The drugs were taking over again and he fought to hold them back.

I hear you. Damned lousy luck, no doubt about it. I take it your doctor won't let you leave very soon?

Haven't seen him since I came to. I intend to raise hell if he plans to keep me longer than overnight. Somewhere in the depths of his drug fogged brain he thought it odd that Cortez came to visit him. Malone didn't know the young officer well, though he seemed to be an okay guy, always polite. In fact, he recalled hearing Cortez saying if there was anything he could do... Officer Cortez...the bus accident. That was it.

Cortez looked thoughtful and kept silent for a time as he slowly drew up a chair beside the bed. At last he said, Listen, I can't stay and you need to sleep off the surgery juice. I realize we don't know each other all that well, but I am serious about helping if I can. The Marines stick together, eh? It so happens I have family in Kansas City--my father and mother, big sister Rosalita, little brother Juan--and some vacation time coming. If you need someone to drive your car for you, I'd be willing if you'll pay my airfare back to Phoenix.

He couldn't believe his ears. You serious? Chances of getting released tomorrow might be a lot better if the doc knows I won't be driving myself to Missouri. Why?

Damn right I’m serious.

Niall couldn’t understand why Cortez was so anxious to help him. They weren’t buddies. He didn’t even recall hearing Cortez had been in the Marines.

They didn’t work in the same departments. Malone was a detective, and Cortez a street cruiser. But Cortez was on the scene where Jason died. A foggy recollection of Cortez coming up to him when Niall emerged from the morgue after identifying Jason’s body, flashed then dissolved in his mind, a fleeting sensation of a man’s strong arm around his shoulders." Did that really happen?

Cortez shrugged. "Like I said, I have family in KC, and I’d like a good excuse to go and see them. So how ‘bout it? Could you use a little friendly help?

By the way, Malone, we towed your car down to the garage and replaced the windshield and side window--after we photographed and collected the evidence--then detailed it as best we could. You'll need a body shop to plug the bullet holes, but other than that, your wheels look okay. The guys and gals wanted to do it for you. Figured it was the least we could do. We're all sorry to see you go, but glad you got a better offer. You deserve it. Kind of inspired a lot of us to work harder and smarter. Cortez shrugged. I guess you aren't the social type, but you set a good example for us on the job.

Malone felt himself frowning, fading fast, had no idea the men and women he worked with ever thought about him one way or another. For an instant he regretted not getting to know some of them a little better. Then again, maybe they felt sorry for him because of Jason. Pity was the last thing he needed.

Damned if I know what to say, he slurred. Thanks to all of you. Didn't have to do that, but I'm grateful. Let me try to call Chief Hanchett in KC and see if he's willing to take on a wounded man. My plans...meaningless if he can't use me. Damn...my furniture's already...

"Oh-oh. Nightie-night, amigo.

The officer’s voice sounded a hundred miles away as Malone sank back into oblivion.

* * *

7:00 p.m.

Damn, I'm sorry to hear this, Malone Chief Hanchett said. I need you bad. How long you gonna be laid up?"

I'm trying to get the hospital to release me tomorrow. A fellow officer offered to drive my car out there for me. No reason I can't perform my new duties even though I have one arm in a sling for a few weeks.

Well, I ain't too sure about that. I'd have to insist on a medical-okay here in KC before I can even let you sit behind a desk.

I understand, sir, and I'm willing to do whatever it takes to start the job. My surgery was no big deal. He hoped it wasn’t a lie. I'd want to get started as soon as possible, if you're still willing.

He heard the chief heave a deep sigh over the phone. He sensed Hanchett’s unhappiness about the news and was struggling with a decision.

I'm your man, I'm your man. Don't say no. Now he’d made the decision to leave his former life behind him, he couldn’t get out of Phoenix fast enough. He wrestled with his anger, wanted to sink his teeth into the new job with relentless determination. Bad enough a serial sicko was mutilating people, the bastard implicated the U.S. Marines. Unacceptable. Part of him felt as if he’d never stopped being a Marine.

Sitting in the chair next to his bed, Officer Don Cortez met Niall's gaze, obviously waiting for the verdict with considerable interest. He'd returned during regular visiting hours. Good man, Cortez. Good of him to volunteer.

Hanchett came back with, You're paperwork says you aren't married. You've got nobody to help you at home, right?

Not a problem, sir. I can do pretty much anything I need to do. It's a little awkward getting dressed, but I can manage just fine. I'm not helpless.

Well, still, I don't know....

Damn.

Cortez, Malone said, "how much vacation have you