Class Reunion: Kathy Sear & Greg Hawkins Series, Vol. 3

By Michael E. Field

Ten years later the friends that pulled the prank start to die in unusual and unexpected ways. Are the deaths all a coincidence or part of a plan of ultimate revenge?

Pineview detectives Greg Hawkins and Kathy Sear don’t believe in coincidences and their investigation confirms their suspicions as they relentlessly pursue the truth.

The detectives quickly find themselves in a race to solve the murders before the killer finishes the list of victims.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Write Words Inc.
• Release date: Jun 8, 2013
• ISBN: 9781613861035

Book preview

Prologue

Ten Years Ago

For Robert Welch the ultimate dream had, in the blink of an eye, turned into a terrifying nightmare. For two weeks Robert had walked on cloud nine, his most daring act had paid off and an unbelievable wish had come true.

Even though he had thought long and hard about it, he couldn’t come up with a period in his life, no matter how long or how short, where he had experienced such joy and pleasure.

Two weeks prior David had slain Goliath. He had built up his courage over the prior month, biding his time until the stars had aligned themselves just right. If he waited too long or moved too soon all would be ruined and his planning would all be for naught.

When the time was right he approached his version of a Goddess, Mary Brooks, and asked her to the upcoming Homecoming dance. When he uttered the words Robert expected her to reject him without batting an eye but he hoped it would be in the nicest way possible.

At first she seemed stunned into silence and when she did speak she didn’t reject his request on the spot. Instead, she asked for his phone number and said she would call that evening with her answer. And miracles of miracles, at twenty minutes after eight that night, she called and said she would be his date.

Even though Mary easily fit into the designated popular kid group at Pineview East High School, she didn’t have the mean and nasty streak of the others in her circle of friends. To them, if you weren’t in their group you were unimportant and worthless. Unless of course if you needed help with a Biology report or a Trigonometry exam. Then you were more valuable than gold to them but only until the report had been turned in or the test taken.

But Mary always had a kind word for those outside her group, never made a snide remark or looked down at her nose at those less popular; less pretty; or less athletically gifted. It’s for those reasons Mary found herself as the realistic fantasy of every pimpled-faced nerdy boy in school. They viewed her as one of the girls that could, given the right circumstances, actually fall for one of the nerdy boys like they do in all the popular teenage movies.

Since then Robert walked around feeling a little taller; his chest out a few inches; and an air of confidence he never had before. A cloud of air served as the soles of his shoes, quickly becoming the object of admiration and honorary status among the other nerds at school. Robert Welch, the nerd that bagged Mary Brooks.

In lightning speed, the two weeks between when he asked and the evening of the event passed. Robert drove to Mary’s house after making sure everything was perfect and he had left enough time for traffic or any other realistic event possible, arriving two minutes prior to the predetermined time of six-thirty. He climbed out of the late model (used) car he spent hours washing, detailing, and waxing before he practically floated to the front door.

He popped a breath mint right before pressing the door bell and noticed how dry his mouth was and how nervous he felt. His hand shook so much the corsage he held shook like a flower buffeted in a strong storm but he managed to keep from dropping it or causing it to fall to pieces.

When Mary answered the door she looked like an angel had come down from Heaven. Her hair shined in the light; her skin smooth and flawless; and the dress she wore…was not the color she said she would be wearing.

Instead of the light blue shade she described she now wore a deep red dress that clashed with the flower he held. Movement over her shoulder caught his attention and he quickly identified a half dozen or so giggling members of the in-crowd.

He spotted Holly Fisher and Cindy O’Dell, the head cheerleader and leader of the Pom-Pom girl unit making no effort to hide their amusement and laughter. Their dates and the other three or four couples present let loose with unbridled laughter as Robert turned back toward Mary, his mouth agape not understanding what was unfolding in front of him.

Mary gave him a smirk before opening the door completely to reveal Barry Hall, the star running back and linebacker from the football team. He stood there, his face not showing any amusement and he flexed his hands into fists before relaxing them.

"Who do you think you are, asking out my girlfriend to the Homecoming dance?" Barry snarled. Then, before Robert even had a chance to answer, Barry shot forward, quick as a snake, and jammed both his fists into Robert’s chest.

The force knocked Robert off his feet; off the front porch; into and through the three-foot bushes that lined the front porch and sidewalk. When he came to a stop on the grass Robert thought his ribs were broken as he struggled to catch a breath. The wind had been knocked out of him and as he raised himself onto his elbows his eyes began to fill with liquid. He looked toward the front door and through the tears he could make three or four blurry figures standing in the doorway, loudly laughing and pointing at him.

Robert ignored the actions of most of the figures but the one he could hear the laughter the loudest came from the red dress. He could still hear her laughter after she closed the door with a thud.

Feeling something beyond humiliation; beyond sorrow; Robert picked himself off the ground and slowly made his way to his car. His legs never felt so wobbly and he felt like he was about to throw up as he extended his arms out to the sides, trying to grab onto something that would help steady his gait. His corsage lay on the grass, forgotten and crushed, ruined beyond recognition.

Eventually Robert made his way to the car, using the side of the car as a brace, working his way around to the driver’s side. He kept his face downcast, hoping that none of the neighbors had been looking out their windows and saw his humiliation.

Through streaming tears he opened the door, slid behind the wheel, and managed to start the engine. After pulling away from the curb he drove aimlessly for hours, wondering how he could ever show his face in public again and how he wished the sun would never come up again.

Chapter 1

The old building looked its age, complete with chipped and faded paint on the exterior. In fact, the last time the brick and metal exterior had felt the caress of a paint bush was when Carter was President and there were lines of cars bumper to bumper waiting to gain access to the gas pumps.

The pumps were removed soon after the first Bush took office and the service station transformed solely into a mechanics garage. There were three bays with up and down sliding doors dominating the front of the building, with the rest of the front devoted to a small office on the left.

On any given day, except for Sunday and holidays, there was at least one car in the air, raised by hydraulic lifts that allowed free access to the undercarriage of the car being worked on. In the holding spaces to the side another car or two would be parked, waiting to be worked on or already repaired.

Fancy signs and other window dressing were unnecessary as the business was built through word of mouth. After a while the reputation spread and first time customers became repeat customers. If the business didn’t do good work, the word got out and the business eventually would go belly up.

The inside of the building had that old fashioned grease and oil smell associated with a neighborhood garage, not the franchised in-and-out oil change places that had gained popularity the last few years.

Years and years of grime and dirt had worked its way into the cement floor never to be removed regardless of the amount of scrubbing or power washing. Even though the floor looked slick safety dictated maintaining a firm footing no matter where you stepped.

Exhaust fumes, normal wear and tear, and the simple aging process permanently darkened the walls; shelves epitomized the word clutter; loaded with a wide array of items, looked as if total chaos reigned. But the owner knew where every piece and part could be located and its proper use.

Today the owner found himself under one of the cars but things were not as they had been for the previous months and years he had owned the establishment. Instead, Barry Hall wished the ringing in his ears would stop. And if someone could turn off the carousel so the spinning would stop he would really appreciate it.

The last thing he remembered after climbing out from under one of the car some time ago happened to be a giant flashbulb that went off behind his eye balls. After that, a gradual awakening from a foggy stupor that reminded him of some of the hardest hits he had taken on the football field.

He would have called for one of his co-workers but there weren’t any. Two weeks after he graduated from high school Barry officially started working with his father at their family garage, making the name of their shop Hall & Son while doing something he enjoyed. He had worked off and on during grade and high school but his father insisted he made his studies and sports a higher priority than work. Actually, his mother is the one that stressed the academic aspect but that was beside the point. In the eyes of his father, there would be many years to concentrate on working after the sports ended.

Two years ago his dad retired and at twenty-six, Barry became the sole proprietor of his own small business, making a nice living doing oil changes, tune-ups, engine rebuilds, and just about any other engine or transmission repair possible.

Because he did good work Barry usually had two or more cars waiting to be worked on so his business volume would have allowed him to hire a helper but his father never did so why should he start now? Besides, he would rather do the work himself and not be distracted with checking the quality of another mechanic’s work.

He had started doing an initial examination of a radiator (he didn’t bother raising the car on the lift when using a simple dolly would accomplish the same thing only quicker) when he heard someone walk into the garage.

Barry had the radio turned up loud enough for him to listen but not loud enough to block out the ringing sound of the telephone. He yelled for the customer that he’d be with them in a minute before rolling out from under the car. Once he started to stand up a quick movement caught his attention a split second before his head exploded and blackness closed in around him.

As he started to come around he felt confined and restricted. He couldn’t figure out why even after his vision started to clear and the bells in his ears stopped ringing. His head felt as if it was wrapped in a thick pile of cotton but in an uncomfortable way. Then he finally realized he was under a car, tied to his dolly. When he tried to move he found the engine block resting on his chest to the extent he doubted he could have moved even if his hands and feet were free.

As he tried to struggle and free himself, Barry heard the sound of hissing air being let out of a tire. After hundreds if not thousands of tire changes, he immediately recognized the sound and located it coming from the front right tire. Twisting his head, he saw a pair of feet standing by that tire.

Hey, can you get me out of here? he called out over the hissing sound that intensified with each moment. A quick glance and Barry saw the tire valve on the floor and felt a marked increase in the pressure on the right side of his chest as the force the air rushed out of the tire.

He watched as the person’s feet as they moved to the other tire and repeated the same procedure. Barry tried to twist free from the heavy weight sitting on his chest; he soon became light-headed, and could not take a deep breath due to the constriction placed on his rib cage and sternum.

Barry let his head drop back as he tried to make sense of what was happening. Someone had walked into his garage this morning and hit him on the head, knocking him out. Now they had him tied to the dolly and used the engine block to securely pin him down.

He kept some cash in the office for those customers that didn’t use checks, debit, or credit cards. He kept that locked when he wasn’t at the desk but if that’s what they wanted why would they go through all the extra stuff? They could have as easily tied him up and tossed him into the back storage room.

Suddenly, the sound of the front hood being disengaged and the springs howled in protest as the hood flew open. Initially he was blinded by the overhead lights as he squinted to shield his eyes and allow his vision to adjust to the brightness. The sudden beam of light also triggered a sharp headache from the earlier strike on his head.

After a few seconds he opened his eyes enough to make out the figure staring down at him through an open space. Gradually the figure came into focus and he tried to figure out the identity of the person staring at him.

There seemed to be something familiar about the face looking back at him, perhaps in the eyes, or the nose, or the shape of the face. For a few seconds recognition seemed to dance around a campfire, a little outside the light of the fire while clinging to the shadow of secrecy.

Suddenly, the face he looked at paired up with another from his past, different in many ways but similar enough to trigger recognition. He knew the face but he couldn’t place the name.

Barry shouted, I know you, don’t I? Now tell me what the hell is going on here, right now.

The face looking back at him smiled. Remember Senior Homecoming? the face asked, waiting only the briefest of seconds after Barry finally put all the pieces together. Once he did, the realization spread across his face with the slightest hint of fear creeping into the edge of his eyes.

Only then did the person step to the side and depress the release button on the hydraulic jack and lowering the car in the blink of an eye.

As the engine block dropped onto two flat front tires, the heavy metal compressed and crushed Barry’s chest. He felt a surge of pain beyond description as bones broke, ligaments and muscles tore, and his lungs and chest cavity burst like a water balloon.

Barry screamed, shattering the air around him, before the rapid loss of blood caused him to lose consciousness a brief second before his heart ceased beating. His arms and legs shuttered with a series of brief convulsions as his nervous system shifted into overload, the involuntary movements happening after all forms of life were extinguished.

Only then did a pen light click on, illuminating his blood splattered face and his wide open eyes. The light flicked on and off his eyes to see if the pupils registered any changes to the light.

After confirming that Barry was as dead as the engine block imbedded in his chest cavity, the hood of the car slammed shut and was wiped down with a cotton cloth. This procedure was repeated on any other surface the intruder touched or could have touched since entering the garage earlier.

Before leaving, the intruder turned off the overhead lights, unplugged the radio, and locked the front door, bathing the garage and Barry’s body in deathly silence.

Chapter 2

Detective Sergeant Greg Hawkins squatted by the front of the car, trying to get a clear image of the carnage underneath. He had arrived at the scene less than ten minutes prior and, after a quick briefing by the responding patrolman, he started his visual examination.

As per his usual method of conducting an investigation, Greg would do a walk-through of the scene if possible before the Crime Scene Investigation department of the Pineview Police Department could disturb it. Once he completed that task the scene would be processed, photographs and measurements taken, and the nitty-gritty of the investigation would start.

He would do an initial walk around the crime scene, if circumstances allowed, to get a fresh first look at everything. Then he would try and mentally insert himself into what he saw in an attempt to get a perspective from the victim as well as the perpetrator’s point of view. By doing this exercise he got into the mind of the criminal and give himself a slight advantage down the road of the investigation.

As a detective of his stature within the department and being the most senior investigator, Greg would be afforded a certain level of respect and deference other members of the squad might not receive. His history of solving the difficult cases was well known in the city as well as surrounding departments but most important his refusal to allow his status to go to his head endeared him to the police department as a whole.

Standing a shade over six foot tall and weighing a little north of two-hundred pounds, Greg did not appear overly big like some of the gym rats working patrol, but he did present a strong physical presence. Part of it could be attributed to his steely gaze that intimidated men much larger and more physically powerful than he. Something about the way he looked at, or as some said, through you, conveyed the determination and single mindedness he possessed once he settled on the mission at hand.

His partner, Detective Kathy Sear, stood ten feet behind and to the side as he concluded his walk around. Even though Greg was the Dean of Detectives (as one patrolman called him), Kathy also knew he was human and could make mistakes or miss something. That finding wasn’t from her observations but rather Greg’s own words.

He preferred to have Kathy give the crime scene a visual examination as he conducted his walk around. If she saw something he missed or came away with a different impression he wanted, if not demanded, she shared that information with him.

Once Greg finished his initial examination and gave a small nod to the CSI technician, that had arrived a few minutes before he finished his walk around, the scene was all his. He walked over to the side and pulled out a notebook to record his thoughts.

Kathy on the other hand made her notes as Greg progressed through his examination. She believed more strongly in hard facts as an initial impression and didn’t try to get ‘in the mind’ of the criminal at this stage of the investigation. Only later after she had more information to work with would she take that approach.

She stood almost five inches shorter and weighed about ninety pounds less than Greg. Her dark hair and mixed Spanish/Oriental heritage drew on the best features of each, resulting in many members of the opposite sex turning to take a second and third glance when she walked past them. She had been partnered with Greg since joining the Detective Division, excluding a short span when they both recovered from service related injuries, and it was starting to get to the point they could almost finish the sentence of the other.

What do you think? Kathy asked as Greg finished jotting his notes.

"Someone really didn’t like this guy. Besides the fact that they went to the effort to kill him, the way it was done gives me the impression they weren’t on each other’s Christmas card list. They might have been before but not right now. So, we’ll look for someone that had a recent falling out with Mr. Hall.

"Also, from what I can tell he was positioned under the car before it was dropped onto him. From the look on his face, if you look under by the front left tire, you can see it appears he was probably alive and conscious when he got killed.

"His hands and feet are tied to that sled mechanics use to get under cars so he was a sitting duck when the car dropped. Also, the tires in the front don’t have any air in them so that lowered the engine block low enough to crush him.

How they got him into a position where they could tie him down and keep him in position is beyond me at this point. He looks kind of big so something we can only speculate on at this point forced him to allow himself to be tied and put into position.

Maybe they held a gun to his head, she suggested.

Greg thought about that for a few second. Sure, that could be an explanation. But if that’s the case then I’m thinking we might be looking for two people. Like I said, he’s a big guy and if you’re going to tie him to the sled like he is, you would have to get real close to attach the bindings. I know if you’re tying me down and get within reach I doubt I’d go like a lamb. And from what I can see, there aren’t any signs of him thrashing or twisting to get away. That’s one thing that seems a little off to me.

Kathy glanced over at the legs sticking out from under the front of the car and frowned. She moved a little to one side and then another before putting her hands on her hips. You know, I’m thinking if I’m under a car and someone either is letting out the air in the tires I’d want to move away from the engine. But from what I can see, his feet didn’t make any marks on the ground, as she pointed toward the pair of work boots. His upper legs are tied but you would think he would at least try and wiggle his feet, maybe dig in his heels and try to slide to one side or the other. The hard rubber soles would at least make a smudge on the floor or grime on top of it.

Greg turned and looked where she was pointing then they appeared to engage in a ballerina dance as they jockeyed around each other to get different viewpoints of the ground. A smudge visible from one angle might not be seen from another.

After a fruitless search Greg walked over to the CSI technician and explained what they were looking for; this was met with a nod and thumbs up. Greg retraced his steps back to Kathy and explained they would run a test and take photographs.

So, what do we know about the victim? Greg asked.

She dug out her notebook and began to recite her notes. "Barry Hall, owner and sole employee of ‘Hall & Son’ garage. Apparently he is the son part since dad retired and the name has been around long enough it would be considered sacrilegious to change it. Twenty-eight years old, five-ten; two-twenty if his driver’s license is to be believed. No criminal record and no outstanding driving or parking tickets.

"No signs of forced entry or robbery. The cash drawer is filled with cash and nothing in the office seems disturbed. Motive remains an unknown at this point.

A business neighbor, the manager at the camera store across the street, said he isn’t married and he isn’t sure if he’s seeing anyone socially. He did have a long-term girlfriend up until about a year ago. The manager said Barry told him about the break-up but never explained why.

Kathy flipped her note pad and continued. "If you ignore the way the building looks, especially from the outside, the business apparently was doing well. There would always be at least a few cars brought in for servicing every day and the garage would always have at least one car being worked on.

"He would come in on Saturday mornings to put in a few hours, even during football season but he would make sure to close the doors before kick-off. Apparently, the victim was a pretty good high school player but decided to go the blue-collar route rather than college. No idea if it was due to lack of skill or brains to