Triple Murder

By J.C. Quinn

Triple Murder is three action-packed stories of murder and intrigue.

An international assassin arrives in Naples, Florida, to fulfill a murder contract on a beautiful twenty-six-year-old school teacher from Buffalo, New York. Will the hired killer be able to fulfill the contract? Or will the would-be target be his undoing?

Tent City is where society's underclass fights for everyday existence. A man called Boxer confronts the violence and danger of Tent City in his pursuit of the big Jamaican. Witness the final confrontation which will decide who rules Tent City.

A serial killer is at work in Chicago's world famous Lincoln Park Rose Garden. Meet the suspects along with the police detective investigating the murders. Who is the killer? The ending might surprise you.

• Language: English
• Publisher: J.C. Quinn
• Release date: Feb 27, 2014
• ISBN: 9781938135903

J.C. Quinn

J. C. Quinn is a retired homicide detective who has worked more than one thousand murder and death investigation cases in his career, including many involving serial killers. He presently resides in southwest Florida where he is a member of theGulf Coast Writer's Association. Quinn says, "The characters in my books are genuine. The plots concern good vs. evil. They reflect the world in which we live."

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Triple Murder

BY

J.C. Quinn

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events or locales is entirely coincidental.

Triple Murder

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Copyright © 2012 J.C. Quinn. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof, in any form. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical without the express written permission of the author. The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials.

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ISBN: 978-1-938135-90-3 (eBook)

Version 2014.03.10

Table of Contents

The Hit

The Boxer

The Rose Garden Murders

Preview of To Kill A Fox, a novel by J.C. Quinn

County Sligo, Ireland 1973

Chapter 1- Belfast, Northern Ireland

Chapter 2 - Chicago, Illinois

Chapter 3

"And a sword will pierce through your own soul,

that the thoughts out of many hearts may be revealed."

–St. Luke 2: 35

This book is dedicated to:

Our Lady of Sorrows

Triple Murder

A Murder Trilogy By The Author Of To Kill A Fox

The Hit

It was going to be an easy hit. He would need no more than two days, then on to Brussels for a bigger contract. Two hundred and fifty thousand euros was not chickenfeed, but the Brussels hit would be worth ten times it. No, this job would be a combination of work and relaxation. It was the reason he took the assignment in the first place. London in January was always cold and rainy while Naples, Florida, oppositely, warm and sunny. He smiled behind a pair of dark sunglasses as he drove the rental, a red mustang convertible, southbound on I-75 toward Naples. His beautifully chiseled, handsome face appeared deeply suntanned after having spent long hours under hot lights in a London tanning salon. He would blend in perfectly with the Florida beach set crowd appearing as just another tourist escaping the cold weather.

No one would suspect him to be Condor—contract killer for hire and international assassin wanted in more than a dozen countries. He drove the red mustang onto the Naples exit, and then headed west toward the beach. His hotel booking had been advertised as a seventh floor suite, which included an enclosed balcony with a picturesque view of the Gulf of Mexico. Adding to the suite’s appeal was the fact that his target would be occupying the apartment next door.

Condor could not have been more pleased with his accommodations. He took another sip of Johnnie Walker Scotch from a clear glass, savoring it, as he looked out on the Gulf of Mexico. The bluish-green water stretched to the horizon while the white sand beach beneath his balcony seemed grossly infested with barely clad people. He watched as some of them ran in and out of the water. Others seemed content to lie motionless on the beach under a hot blazing afternoon sun.

He put down his glass of scotch in order to pick up the pair of high-powered binoculars sitting on the chair next to him. Yes, she was still there. She was lying on her stomach with strands of long blond hair pulled up to expose a smooth suntanned back. The bra strings of her top were untied and resting next to her. Tight red shorts clung snugly to the young woman’s rounded buttocks, while Condor’s eyes fastened on two beautifully formed legs, richly suntanned, extending beyond the blue blanket that the young woman was lying on. And she was sweating heavily under the hot sun. Beads of perspiration covered her exposed body, while the tight red shorts appeared dark, stained across the buttocks.

Why would someone pay to have such an exquisite creature killed? Condor asked himself. It seemed such a waste. He placed the binoculars back on the chair before retrieving his glass of scotch. Quickly, he walked through the suite finding his way to the bedroom. Photos of the young woman, along with her case history, were lying on the bed where he had left them. He picked up each document looking for something he might have overlooked in the countless looks he had already given them. Condor could find nothing. The target’s profile had become a part of him.

Meredith Lemrise, 25-years-old, 5’6"; slight build, blond hair, sixth grade public school teacher from Buffalo, New York, lived with her parents up until one year ago when she moved in with her boyfriend, Robert Delichio, a commodities trader. She broke up with Delichio two months ago and was now living alone in a rented apartment. Her hobbies centered on reading, jogging, hiking, and other outdoor activities. Favorite food: anything Italian, sautéed fish lightly breaded, chicken casserole with mushrooms, and her mother’s homemade chicken dumpling soup. Drinks red wine moderately. Has been drinking more since break-up with the boyfriend. Currently spending five days in Naples over school break. Death must appear accidental.

Condor looked down at the target’s smiling face in the photo. An anonymous party had wired the money into his account for the contract hit. Probably the boyfriend, he thought. She broke up with Prince Charming and now it was payback time. Well that is the way the world’s cookies crumble Meredith Lemrise. Robert wants you dead and I have two hundred and fifty thousand euros in my Cayman Islands account that says you will end up that way. But not today. Tomorrow. By then I will have watched you and when the time is right I will … Condor kissed the photo of Meredith Lemrise before placing it back on the bed. Then he stretched out across the bed and fell asleep.

The opening of her suite door awakened him. He sat up on the edge of the bed rubbing the grogginess out of his face. The sun was nearly down. She would likely shower, dress, and then head out for a night on the town. Condor would do the same. Thirty minutes later he was dressed and waiting in his own suite’s hallway. He stood there listening, anticipating the opening of the target’s door signaling her departure. Condor was wearing an open neck ivory shirt, black dress slacks, and black leather loafers. The expensive gold chain around his neck nestled nicely against a smooth, suntanned, hairless chest. Condor observed in the hallway mirror a pearly white smile that contrasted nicely with his dark handsome face. He responded by running a right hand slowly through waves of thick black hair. The man was thirty-eight years old but appeared to be ten years younger. His body was lean, hard-muscled, with a firm neck and broad shoulders. First glance revealed a man who kept himself in top physical condition. Condor was able to do so by working out every day except when on assignment.

The target’s suite door suddenly opened and then closed. Its sound drew Condor’s attention away from the mirror. The target was leaving; that meant he would be leaving too. He waited exactly one minute before stepping out his hotel room door and heading for the stairs.

He spotted her outside the hotel entrance. She was walking in the direction of the long string of tiki bars that operated down along the beach. He followed while careful to keep someone in front of him in case she should glance back. The beach area was crowded with a festive, party atmosphere. A younger crowd, mostly in their twenties, laughing loudly, danced to the beat of three squatting Jamaican bongo players. The smiling Jamaicans had a red blanket spread out in front of them with dollar bills strewn across it. Condor walked past the bongo players with the casualness of a tourist who had only time to kill.

He followed her from one tiki bar to another and it was always the same. She would be sitting alone at the bar drinking a glass of red wine when unexpectedly she would get up and walk away leaving behind a partially filled glass. She would then move on to the next tiki bar and repeat the same scenario over again. Men were hitting on her at every stop. The target would smile, say something, and then ignore their advances. Condor was puzzled by her, but intrigued as well.

He had two opportunities to kill her. Both times she was alone and separated from the crowd. He could have knocked her unconscious, carried her to the water, and then drowned her. It would have been simple. The police report would have read she had been drinking and had gone for a swim in the Gulf. The coroner would have registered her cause of death as drowning due to accident. But Condor for some reason had decided against it; he was not exactly sure why. He told himself that he had plenty of time to kill her, but his indecision bothered him. Calling it a night, he started the return walk to his hotel suite before looking back momentarily to observe her one last time. The target was sporting the same tight green dress but for some reason had decided to go shoeless. She was holding a white sandal in each hand and walking barefoot to the next tiki