Murder! Too Close To Home

By J.T. Lewis

We both leaned against the old house, peeling paint digging into my arms as I a glanced into the window.

She was there!

Raising her gun toward the Sheriff, she took careful aim as a maniacal sneer formed on her lips.

“You disgust me,” she snarled with unbounded rage. Throwing her head back suddenly, she let loose a loud, evil laugh, straight from the bowels of hell.

“At least this way, I get to personally witness your last breath,” she grinned as she cocked her gun. “Quite the consolation prize, I assure you.”

I glanced over at Frank, who nodded as he tensed himself to break through the door. Cocking my own weapon, I knew that this was the moment...capture or kill, this all ended now.

“I damn you to Hell Sheriff,” she shouted next, “You should feel right at home there.”

Frank burst through the door with me close behind...I had no way of knowing that this would be the moment that changed my life...forever!

J.T. Lewis is the author of the Adventures of Gabriel Celtic series, which includes Murder! Too Close To Home, Gabriel’s Revenge, In Case of Death, and The Book of Gabriel. Watch for the release of Murmansk, coming the summer of 2015!

And check out J.T. Lewis’ newest series...The Nick Behr mysteries!

Being Crazy is all fun and games...until somebody dies!

Includes previews of: In Case of Death and The Artifact Hunter!

• Language: English
• Publisher: J.T. Lewis
• Release date: Mar 5, 2014
• ISBN: 9781310371400

J.T. Lewis

Mystery abounds in the books of Amazon Best Selling Author J.T. Lewis.Living in Southeast Indiana with his wife, J.T. has always loved a mystery. Striving to bring readers a story packed full of action, adventure, and suspense has led to his current selection of titles.His first full length novel, Murder! Too Close To Home, was the beginning of the acclaimed Adventures of Gabriel Celtic series, and was voted #1 on Goodreads Best Debut Mystery Series list. The thriller/adventure series continued with Gabriel's Revenge,followed closely by In Case of Death as well as The Book of Gabriel in 2014. The Adventures of Gabriel Celtic is as series about the life of Gabriel Celtic...an ordinary man caught up in extraordinary adventures!Another new series, The Nick Behr Mysteries, starts with the story Kidnap Inc., where we get to meet Nick Behr...as well as all of the people that have crowded into his head! Fighting against the craziness of his life while trying to solve the murders of the current case sometimes leads the story to veer off-kilter a little. This unexpected result has caused the story to be labeled, "One of the funnest mysteries I've read in quite some time!"Also added to J.T. Lewis' series list this year...The Artifact Hunter! Jesse Flanagan is just a guy who enjoys making a profit from the antiquities he buys and sells. When one of his discoveries suddenly puts him in the cross-hairs of assassins, he must change his whole life as he goes underground to try and reclaim his life!An electrician by trade, at night JT Lewis morphs into a fictional detective with a keyboard, a transition that suits his need for creating exciting stories for his ever-growing audience.Find and follow JT Lewis @:http://jt-lewis.blogspot.com/https://www.facebook.com/JTLewis.Authorhttps://twitter.com/JTLewis_Bookshttp://www.wattpad.com/user/JTLewisAuthorhttp://pinterest.com/jtlewisbooks/https://www.facebook.com/Murdr.Too.Close.To.Homehttps://www.facebook.com/gabriels.revengehttps://www.facebook.com/ThePepperAndLongstreetMysterySeries

Book preview

Prologue

February 15, 1997

The rain was coming down in sheets as the man pulled the car over to the side of the semi-deserted road and turned on the emergency flashers. Sitting back anxiously to wait, he wondered how long it would take on a night with this much rain. He didn’t have long to linger, however, when an old pickup pulled off the road in front of him. His right eye started twitching quickly, as it always did when he got excited or nervous.

Pulling up the hood of his sweatshirt, he opened the door and entered the storm, running quickly up to the driver’s door of the truck. Rolling the window down, the driver asked if he needed a ride somewhere. Opening his mouth to accept the offer, the man caught a glimpse of a shotgun in the back window. Uncertainty quickly enveloped him as he glanced back towards his car…an armed man may be a greater challenge then he was prepared for.

As he mulled over his options, another car pulled in behind the one he had been driving, the shadows created by a passing motorist revealing two occupants in the front seat.

Quickly making a decision, he thanked the first driver and told him his friends had just arrived. The truck’s driver shrugged his shoulders as he shifted into gear and drove off. The man now ran back to the newly arrived auto as the driver was rolling down his window.

Need a lift? this new driver questioned as the hooded man reached the door.

I could sure make use of a phone if you have one, replied the now soaking-wet man.

Sure, hop in the back out of this rain, the driver grinned as he reached back to un-latch the door.

Sliding in behind the driver, the hooded man pulled the door closed and sat back in the warm seat of the car. I really appreciate this, the man exclaimed as he took the offered phone. Looking back through the rear window to check on any approaching traffic, he then dialed the memorized number, the other party picking up after one ring.

Yes? the person on the other end of the call answered in a raspy whisper, Are you in position?

The man replied that he was, stating that a lovely couple had allowed him to use their phone as well as giving him shelter in their back seat.

Well then, the person on the other end of the call stated, Show me what you got.

Reaching into his pocket, the man pulled out a gun. Casually, he first shot the husband, followed by the screaming woman a moment later, a shiver of exhilaration running down his spine as he watched the bodies slump forward into the dash.

Chapter 1

April 17, 1997

My name is Gabriel Celtic, an investigator for the county prosecutor, and currently living a hell like none I’ve ever faced. Although I have been to war, shot three times and stabbed once, I thought of these last few months as being worse than any of that. But even as bad as that time had been, that little bit of hell had wound itself up in a gigantic ball of crap and spewed itself out, intertwining my wife and I in its clutches.

I had apparently dozed off, awakening to the now familiar beep, beep of the life support system, the machine now keeping my wife alive. Worry racked my heart as I looked upon my beautiful bride of nine years.

"She should not be here, this is a mistake," I thought momentarily. My rational mind then interjected its own line of reasoning. It had been her decision I reminded myself, there was nothing to be done to change that now.

This had been my home day and night for two weeks, watching over my love, praying to anyone that would listen to bring her back to me. She had been shot, and while those wounds had been repaired, the outcome of the act was still less than certain.

Swelling in the brain had left her in a coma, the result of the fall down into the basement of the old house after the shooting. I sighed in despair and got up to go to the bathroom and get some more coffee.

It was after midnight and the cafeteria was mostly empty. Celia was there at the cash register, as usual. It seemed like she must work here every night. She smiled her sad smile that I thought she reserved just for me and asked me about the status of Betty.

No change, I mumbled for the hundredth time as I filled my new cup with the hospital-grade brew, a recipe I’m now certain that included old dish rags and used coffee grounds.

I’m so sorry, she replied in her now familiar British accent, not knowing what else to say I suppose. I just know in my heart Betty will make it, she’s always been so strong, she added with a hopeful look.

I walked up to pay and Celia stated that the dark liquid in question was the end of the pot and that I should just take it. She would get busy making a new pot straight away.

I smiled at Celia’s excuse for keeping me in coffee, thanked her, and headed back to the room.

Walking slowly from a combination of exhaustion and worry, I once again mentally clicked through the facts that had led to my soul mate lying in a hospital bed. This inevitably led to thinking back on our life together, and to my life as a whole that had brought me to experience this painful point in my existence. If I could have changed any one of a thousand things, I might have been able to keep my love out of danger.

I put on my game face before I entered the room, convinced that Betty knew when I was there and could probably pick up on my mood. She had always been able to read my mind.

I checked on her condition, leaned over and kissed her forehead, then sat back in the chair they would probably have to replace when I was done with it. Laying my head back against the cushion, I once again went over the case that Betty and I had helped to solve, the case that had put her in this place by her throwing herself in harm’s way to save another.

Yet she wouldn’t be here now if I hadn’t had a theory, a theory that had led us to the old farm house where she had met her fate. I would give anything to have been wrong. I would give everything…

My eyes grew heavy and soon I was drifting off, now reliving in my mind life’s events leading to this moment. Even as one nightmare was over, another had taken its place, leaving me feeling helpless and alone.

Being Gabriel Celtic on this day meant being powerless…useless. It was not a good feeling.

***

Fully asleep, I found myself in the now familiar room: fire blazing in the fireplace, a steaming cup of coffee, and a chess board with a game in process.

I sat down in the comfortable chair, and then hefted the coffee while looking over the board. I smiled at the most recent move of my opponent. Obviously he had been brushing up on his game.

I heard a creak in the floor behind me, knowing there would be no one there but turning to look anyway. As before the room was empty, but the feeling that someone was coming grew stronger with every visit to the room. I was hopeful that someday someone would reveal to me the mystery of the strange but comfortable room.

That’s the story of my life, always another mystery to sort out.

Chapter 2

February 15, 1997

Reaching into his other pocket, the man pulled out a card with a single word on it. His mentor would not be happy about leaving evidence, but he couldn’t help himself; he had to let them know he was the one responsible.

Blood spattered the now shattered windshield, the holes evident where the bullets had exited the car. Both bodies were now slumped forward, looking like rag dolls, waiting their turn on the shelf for the next kid to choose them to play with. Another shiver ran down the man’s spine…he had done it! And it had been so easy. He couldn’t believe he had been nervous about it.

The man dropped the card to the floor as he pocketed the revolver with his gloved hand. Exiting the car on the passenger side and running up to his own vehicle, he quickly slid into it. Turning off the flashers, he pulled into the road and casually accelerated to the speed limit.

After five miles, he pulled off of the road again, turning onto a one-lane gravel road. Traveling for a hundred yards he then stopped, exiting the car before entering a black SUV. Driving this out to the highway once again, he turned back the way he had come, soon approaching the scene he had so recently left.

A patrol car had just pulled up behind the couple’s car and had turned on its beacons.

I’d love to see his face when he sees what’s in there, the man beamed. Looking forward again, he moved on past the police car and continued toward his destination.

Pulling into the deserted city park, he eased the SUV into a dark corner of the parking lot, throwing the keys into some bushes as he exited the vehicle. With his hoody already up, he stuck his hands into his pockets and started the long walk home. His instructions were to lay low for a couple of weeks and not do anything out of the ordinary; he would be contacted when the time was right.

Barely able to contain his excitement, the man desperately wanted to stop at his favorite bar to celebrate. Thinking again of his mentor’s warning, he decided against that plan, opting instead to continue home and start on that twelve-pack he had stored in the refrigerator.

He knew if he went to the bar he would want to spout off after a few drinks, and he also realized that he could not afford to do that. He would wait, knowing someday he would be able to share his exploits. People would listen and admire his courage; the Ghost would be famous.

***

The lights of the patrol car were flashing off of the windshield of the darkened truck, mixing with the water droplets as they ran down the glass in an eerie display of shimmering color.

The Mentor was observing the cop as he discovered the carnage within the car. Since the dark truck the Mentor was using blended easily into the shadows of the stormy night, the hooded figure felt safe from observation even as the excitement built from deep within.

Finally seeing enough and not wanting to be accidentally discovered, the person known only as the Mentor slowly did a u-turn on the otherwise deserted road, turning on the lights only when out of sight of the flashing beacons.

Smiling at how beautifully the plan had come together, the Mentor mentally started working on details of the next step. Rolling down the window as the truck entered the city limits; the Mentor threw the cell phone out the window when the truck crossed the bridge into town.

The man had done as he promised; he had executed the plan…and the driver! The added bonus of an extra victim was just icing on the cake.

That should get the ball rolling, the Mentor mumbled as the truck continued on through the town, heading towards home to get some sleep.

Tomorrow would be a busy day.

Chapter 3

February 15, 1997

"All hell is breaking loose," thought Tucker as he observed the seemingly hundreds of strobing lights surrounding the site. First on the scene, Deputy Tucker Vance had been unprepared for what he had found.

Walking up to the car, he had initially knocked on the window and waited for the window to be lowered, the beating rain drowning out any noise. Getting no reaction, he shifted his flashlight into the car, at first not understanding what he was looking at.

When the realization came, it had hit like a sledge hammer to his gut. Suddenly he found himself on his knees, expelling seemingly everything he had eaten for the last three days. When he finally felt some control return, he ran to the other side of the car and checked on the passenger.

27 to base, he spat out quickly into the mic of his radio.

Base, the dispatcher replied dully.

10-54, three miles west of town on US 50, I repeat, 10-54, I need all units immediately.

Silence followed for a few seconds before the dispatcher returned, the voice now clipped with excitement.

27, go to channel 2.

Switching his radio, he heard Tucker? What’s up?

Taking a deep breath, Tucker then described what he had found and reiterated that he needed help…now!

Roger, Tucker, help is en-route.

He had started hearing the mournful wails within moments, and it seemed not to have stopped since. This was not something that happened in this county, and everybody was going to want to be involved.

Sheriff McHenry was already here, and he never came out at night. Barking orders like he was still the army sergeant he used to be, the sheriff took control of the scene as soon as he arrived. Tucker was glad to be relieved of that duty; this was way above his pay grade.

The sheriff called Tucker over when he had the scene secured to his satisfaction. Tucker, did you see anybody around when you pulled up, see another car leaving or anything of that nature?

No sheriff, just the taillights of the car; I thought they were in need of assistance. When I saw what was inside, I’m sorry, but I lost it for a minute. I’ve never seen anything like it.

Don’t worry about that son, you did great considering. You did everything you were supposed to do. No one can know how they will handle their first murder scene.

Sheriff Austin Lean McHenry had been around it plenty.

Long ago losing the thinness leading to his nickname, he had first put in his twenty with the US Army, doing three tours of duty in Vietnam.

Afterwards he had moved home and joined the state police, staying there for fourteen years until his election to sheriff last year. Being sheriff of the quiet county had, up to that point in time anyway, been a lot like retirement. But he had quickly reverted back on his extensive training when the call had come in this night.

This was what he had trained for, and his heart was pumping strong in his chest. He hadn’t felt that excitement for awhile; it felt good.

He reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out the ever-present pack of cigarettes. Remembering his promise to his wife to quit, he nevertheless took out a fag and stuck it in his mouth, leaving his old Zippo lighter in his pocket.

Glancing back at the sound of additional sirens approaching, he grabbed the nearest deputy’s arm and yelled, Keep those God-damned fire trucks back; there’s no reason for them to be here.

"It’s like a damned circus," he thought to himself.

How long on the crime scene guys? he growled at another deputy, who said he would check.

Tucker, the sheriff yelled, see if you can get the K9 unit from Allenville PD here, ASAP.

Yes sir, Tucker answered, heading toward his cruiser to get in touch with dispatch.

A single red bubble-light on the dash of an approaching car caught his eye. He groaned inwardly at the sight, murmuring under his breath

"What the hell is he doing here?"

Allen Vanguard was going to grace them with his presence, and the sheriff had little patience with the young prosecutor. Although acknowledging that he was good at what he did, the sheriff bristled at his attempts to be involved in things he had no business being involved in.

Walking up and standing beside the sheriff, Allen waited for an opening before he spoke.

Sheriff, he mumbled in greeting.

Allen, Sheriff McHenry acknowledged stiffly, Mighty early for the prosecutor ain’t it?

Allen Vanguard took in the grisly scene for a long moment before speaking.

Well Lean, just trying to get a feel for probably the most brutal crime this county has seen since the horse and buggy days. The people in that car deserve justice, and it’s never too early to start on that.

Do we know the identity of the murdered couple? he continued.

The sheriff grunted, putting his cigarette behind his ear as he reached into his shirt pocket, grabbing his notebook and flipping it open in a huff.

Abby and Tyler Lettermen, drivers’ licenses say they are from Cairo, Illinois. They were shot execution style, back of the head for both. We are doing a background check to make sure they have no criminal involvement in anything that might lead to this kind of a retaliation, but it would seem to be just a crime of opportunity; wrong place at the wrong time.

We don’t know if they had a passenger before they stopped… maybe the guy in the back seat just went berserk. Maybe they just stopped to help someone with a broken down vehicle, getting shot for their trouble. Either way, we got a real crazy on our hands. I don’t have to tell you how scary that would be for the folks of our little county.

The K9 unit is on its way, the sheriff continued with a grumble as he put away his notebook. They may be able to tell us which way the perp went from here, if the rain doesn’t wash away the scent before then.

If the second scenario proves to be the case, this was planned out, the sheriff continued with a look of concern on his face. Whoever did this would have gone to a hell of a lot of trouble to stage a trap for someone.

Sheriff McHenry again reached into his shirt pocket, pulling out a small evidence bag with a business card inside.

Found this on the floor in the back. We assume the doer left it, but we haven’t tested it yet. Forensics is on the way. We should know more soon.

Taking the bag, the prosecutor eyed the simple white business card. There appeared to be no identifying marks, save for the one word spelled out in plain block letters: Ghost.

Chapter 4

February 16, 1997

Allen had immediately called Frank and me into his office the next morning. We had by that time of course both heard what had happened and were chomping at the bit to get working on the murders. Allen had apparently been up all night, exhibiting pronounced bags under his eyes even as he exuded the substantial energy typical of his term as prosecutor.

I’m sure you guys have heard about the murders last night, he started. I’ve had Ellen compile a list of the clues collected by the Sheriff’s department up to this point, which are few.

Handing us both a single sheet of paper each, I was taken aback by just how little in the way of information was listed.

Last night, he summarized, one Abby and Tyler Lettermen, man and wife, were shot in their own car west of town. Background checks on the couple reveal no previous criminal activity or trouble. It looks like it could be some sort of pre-planned, execution style murder. We are going on the assumption for now that the victims were random.

We think the perp used a stolen car as a decoy to lure the couple into helping a broken down motorist. He or she apparently got in the back seat, pulled out a gun, and shot them point blank in the back of the head. With the rain we had last night, we were lucky the K9 unit could find anything at all, but they did pick up the scent of someone starting at the vivtims’car and going about thirty feet west.

We also found an abandoned car this morning about five miles away on Langdon Creek Road. The K9 units returned and they again found a scent, once again tracking another thirty or forty feet where the scent again disappeared. Apparently another vehicle was stashed there, although we have no idea what it was. The gravel road yielded no tire treads.

We’re at a dead end on that for now, Allen continued, And there were no hair, fibers or prints left in the car. The doer must have been wearing gloves and a hat of some sort. Also, there were no shell casings to test, either he policed the brass or a revolver was used. The size of the holes indicates that it was probably a .357, we’ll know more when we find the slugs.

There were only two real clues of any merit, but they aren’t much. There was a minute amount of soil in the back of the victims’ car, which was otherwise spotless, and we have sent that off to the state to analyze.

Turning to the evidence list in the back of the file, he handed us another sheet of paper.

The other piece of evidence is copied there.

Looking at the second sheet, I found what appeared to be a copy of a business card. The single word in block letters in my mind immediately indicated an amateur’s attempt at attention. A professional wouldn’t be bragging about his identity.

Ghost, I read out loud, not liking the direction the investigation was already taking. A perp throwing out a name to us like this showed bravado…or stupidity. Neither one were a good thing where peoples lives were at stake.

What will be our part in the investigation? I asked, knowing the Sheriff’s department usually took the lead. Allen rose from his chair, walking a few steps to stand in front of the window with his back now toward us.

I’ll be activating the new Major Crimes Taskforce for this case. As you know, we’ve been working out the logistics of it for the last six months. We’re ready now, and this is exactly the type of case we have set this up for. We’ll have the best of the available talent working together as one unit, an impressive amount of talent. Gabriel, you’ll be taking the lead with the unit, handle the day to day decisions.

Thanks I thought, but kept my thoughts to myself.

The Major crimes taskforce had been one of the hallmark points of action for Allen Vanguard’s second run for office. The main strength of the idea was having people from both of the policing agencies in the county as well as investigators from the prosecutor’s office working together on larger or more serious crimes, all overseen by Allen himself.

Negotiating with the other agencies had turned out to be the major hindrance to completing the task force, as each in turn dug in their heels at what they saw as an intrusion on their turf. Allen being no slouch when it comes to digging in when he thinks something is right, finally overcame their objections with sound reasoning and assurances that he wasn’t trying to replace their authority.

We are of course hoping something breaks soon, Allen continued as he turned from the window. We are concerned with the public’s reaction to these murders, so we have opted to keep the facts close to our vest for now. So far we have been able to keep this out of the news, releasing it as a two-car crash with fatalities from out of town. As of now that story is holding. I’m concerned that this may be the start of something, although maybe I’m just being paranoid.

It definitely has the earmarks of someone with a plan, I said, It seems too exact for someone on a lark. Dropping that card in the car like that…someone is trying to make a name for himself. Maybe we should check other departments in the tri-state, see if the word Ghost has ever come up in another murder, or any crime for that matter?

Allen walked back to his desk, making a note on his ever-present file card. Looking up at Frank, he asked if he could get on that right away. Frank nodded, always ready to dig into a clue.

We disbanded and headed toward our individual desks to get a start on the case.

Although murder is never a good thing to have on the table, I did not like the sound of this particular one at all.

Chapter 5

February 16, 1997

Morning came and the man reported for work as usual. He knew he had to keep to his ordinary schedule to avoid any kind of suspicion, but he was bursting at the seams, wanting to tell of his exploits.

Being a stock boy at the local Save-A-Bunch was a good cover for the Ghost, he thought to himself. No one would be looking here for the most famous killer to come along since Jeffrey Dahmer.

He could feel his heart rate increasing, a film of sweat forming on his upper lip as his eye slowly started to twitch. He looked around himself quickly to make sure no one was looking; then slowly reached into his pocket. Finding the item with his fingers, he started rubbing it, instantly calming his racing heart. His mentor would certainly not approve of his actions; leave and take nothing, he heard repeated in his head over and over again.

He couldn’t help himself though. All the great ones took mementos as reminders of their feats, and he would be the greatest of them all.

Chapter 6

February 17, 1997

Sheriff McHenry had been at it for thirty six hours straight, and he was ready to drop. Whoever had perpetrated this murder had been good, very good. Scant clues had been discovered by either his deputies or forensics. The strange card had yielded no clues to date either. He had people trying to track the printer of the cards; somebody undoubtedly should remember printing a card like that.

There was no sign of prints, hair or fibers. Even if he had access to DNA testing, there was no trace of any body fluids or skin cells. There were no shell casings at the scene, so he probably had used a revolver.

So far they had been able to keep the murder out of the media, releasing a story of a two-car crash with fatalities. He had decided to use the offered help of the fire department, using the firemen to direct traffic and the big trucks to block the view of the crime scene from prying eyes. He had personally sworn each man to secrecy himself, but he knew he was only delaying the inevitable leak.

The get-away vehicle, recently reported as stolen, had been found down on Langdon Creek the next morning. Hidden from view by the overgrown conditions, he or she had apparently had another car stashed there.

The K9 units had also been a bust, only finding the short trail between cars at both locations.

The sheriff finished his cup of coffee. He had long ago lost track of how many he had consumed since this whole thing had started. The cold liquid drained from his cup left him with a sour taste in his mouth that would probably follow him to the grave. Pulling a cigarette from behind his ear, he looked around for somebody to yell at.

His tired eyes met only the fourteen men who had been up as long as he, each one looking worse than the