The Carl Stanxton Murders

By Jane L. North

Bad boy Carl Stanxton, blue collar wanna-be : but born into the decadent world of the wealthy, super rich, hates money and has been in and out of jail , scoffing at the law to prove it. But...is he the East Boy serial killer of the fifty-five, poor, destitute children? He says no, been framed. But someone has to pay for the brutal bloody killing of the innocent. Carl says he did not do it! Carl’s powerful scandalously rich father is the only one who ever loved him and believed in him but he is now in a coma and expected to die. Who’ll help Carl Stanxton now? Certainly not his greedy, entitled, privileged brother Ian or his adopted sister Lawrence. They hate Carl and stand to gain the family billions if Carl is convicted of these heinous crimes. Someone is trying to frame Carl Stanxton for murders he did not commit!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jane L. North
• Release date: Jun 12, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311278333

Jane L. North

Writer, French tutor and animal lover. Participates in German Shepherd and horse rescue. Favorite breed of horse is the Akhal-Teke.

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The Carl Stanxton Murders

Jane L. North

Published by Jane L. North at Smashwords

Copyright 2014 Jane L. North

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’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

The Carl Stanxton Murders is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, places, organizations, or persons, living or dead is entirely coincidental and beyond the author’s intent.

1 Timothy 6:10: For the love of money is the root of all kinds of evil.

Prologue

No one had ever come close to getting away before. Grace pretended that the slap had knocked her unconscious but as soon as he brought the SUV to a stop beneath a grove of evergreens she flung the door open and sprinted into the night. She remembered what her dad told her about playing tag and running. If you didn’t want to get caught you had to zig and zag, go in different directions but don’t ever run in a straight line, especially if you’re smaller and the kid chasing you is big. Well she wasn’t being chased by a kid, she was being chased by a man but Grace thought the logic still applied. Her legs were short and the man’s legs were long. If she ran in a straight line he would catch her but if she zigged and zagged and switched directions he’d probably have trouble keeping up. Grace zigged and zagged and as she’d hoped, he couldn’t keep up with her. Grace ran through some bushes and they scratched her arms but she didn’t slow down. She knew she had to keep going. If she stopped she wouldn’t see her ninth birthday that was coming up next Wednesday. She knew this man was going to kill her just as he’d killed all the others that they talked about on the news. She never got to watch the news and see what everything was about because her parents always turned the station when she came into the living room but between the sparse bits of television that she saw and the playground conversations she’d heard between her teachers she knew, she knew.

Grace climbed over a hollowed out log that stood between her and the open field. Splinters dug into her fingers and her sweater got snagged on a branch. He was coming, rushing up behind her. She could hear his heavy breathing and the swearing. He was angry. Grace struggled to untangle her sweater and as she fought to break free she thought about her dad. She wished he was here to grab this man, beat him up and stop him from hurting her. But Dad was sitting in the school auditorium waiting for her to step onto the stage and recite the lines that Mom had rehearsed with her. Grace wished that Mom was here. Mom would know what to do. She always knew what to do, but Mom was in the auditorium too. Neither of them knew that she had been snatched from a dressing room and dragged away. No one knew that she needed help. Grace pulled her sweater over her head and the cold wind stung her bare arms and back that was covered by a thin, sleeveless, little t-shirt. She left her sweater behind and sprinted into the field one second before he could get his hands on her. The field was open and wide and Grace was so tired. Her legs felt like lead but she started to zig and zag again.

Chapter One

So what you need to do is look inside of yourself. You need to try to assess your life and in many ways become your own pillar of strength. I tapped my pen against my notebook and emphasized this crucial point. I prayed that Geneve understood. She had been coming into my office three times a week for the past two years. We were trying to deal with issues surrounding self-worth. Geneve was aware that her unemployed husband was cheating with three different women yet she allowed him to live off of her money, and share it with his mistresses. The man was spending well over one hundred thousand dollars a month. Geneve was in quite a situation and I somehow foresaw her having trouble paying my costly fee in the future months.

That's what I'm going to do then. Geneve blinked her sad bloodshot eyes and tugged on her dark brown turtleneck. Then she pushed her thick framed glasses up onto her long nose. She was fumbling and doing anything that she could, to avoid crying. But everything was wasted. I could see a tiny tear in the corner of her eye. It escaped her lid and rolled down her cherub like cheek.

Geneve, I don't want to rush you. In fact we should talk about your plans in our next session. That way we can review any details that you are unclear on. And you can tell me what you would like to do. Because, naturally, I can't force you to do anything. I'm just here to offer assistance, not orders.

Oh, I know. Geneve nodded in her meek and mild manner and I tried to keep thoughts of Ian at bay. We had had a very disturbing conversation during lunch and it was still troubling me. I was irritated because we hadn't finished what was supposed to be discussed and I was annoyed because Ian had been too irate to explain himself. He simply shook his head in that disapproving way and kept clenching and unclenching his jaw. Then he left his white wine untouched. The wine was cast to the wind and the food treated the same. Ian's disposition had been so awful that the waiter asked if there was anything that could be done, twice. Lunch had just been forgettable and I left Chateau Rouge early to avoid any other miserable vibes.

I could only assume that Ian's fury had something to do with his brother Carl. And that could have been a sordid story that I wasn't ready to hear about, because Carl was always doing something to get under Ian's skin. Carl strove to be the anti-Ian. And for that reason, the siblings were always at odds. The two never got along and I could attest to that because I had known both of them for my entire life. Ian and I went to school together: Lockton Academy Elementary, Highton Academy High school, and eventually Harvard University. Ian was the promising one--

...And I feel that you really understand me Dr. Candor. Geneve interrupted my thoughts. She clutched her large, tweed handbag and wiped her eyes. But I'm sure you don't have the type of problems that I have.

Pardon?

Well, you're a lovely woman and I don't think that anyone would ever treat you the way that I've been treated and---

Geneve, no human being deserves to be abused the way you have been. But as you can see our session is over, but next time we can talk about this dilemma that you have. Rest assured, we will come to a solution. I hated having to tell patients when there time was over. Because a person paying eight hundred dollars an hour automatically commanded a more courteous dismissal. But I had no other option. I could see the tortoise phone on my mahogany desk. One of the lights was flashing, indicating that I had received a message during this hour. I knew it was Ian and I was waiting for him to get back with me. I knew that he would apologize for his terrible behavior and then we would be best friends again. That was the way we worked. We always did that to each other after a disagreement, although they were rare.

I'll be seeing you then. Geneve waved weakly and desperately squeezed her handbag.

Of course, and remember to respect yourself and your mind. I quoted the line that I used throughout my third bestseller book. It was the last edition to the personal guidance collection. Of course, I thought using my own quote was pretentious and hollow. But twelve million copies sold seemed to say that people enjoyed the phrase. And the fact that my patients had been hearing those words for some time and offered no complaints encouraged my indulgence. But I would certainly put an end to my pearls of wisdom if a cantankerous client made such a request.

Dr. Candor?

Yes Geneve? What can I do for you? I leaned into my antique, leather chair and patiently folded my hands in my lap.

Would it be possible to move my next session up by two hours? Geneve nervously touched her brown hair that was twisted into a huge, bun that seemed to be breathing.

Of course, anything is possible. Just speak with my secretary and she will look into that. After I smiled Geneve bustled out of the office. Her ankle length, brown, corduroy skirt nipped the tops of her soft, fuzzy, cream ankle boots that looked like they belonged on a toddler, not an adult. I watched Geneve's frumpy body shuffling along and I thought about her husband and his affairs. Yes, her dowdy looks definitely prompted the infidelity but incorrect was just that, incorrect. There was no way of dodging the label. Her husband was wrong. If he wanted a beautiful woman he should have married one rather than marrying Geneve just because she was rich.

Once I was my only company I rested in my chair and noticed the time on my watch. It was a quarter until eight. I needed to get outside before the rain started. I looked to the window. Judging by the heavy overcast, I had roughly five minutes. Since my umbrella was in the car I had five minutes before I was soaked to the bone. Five minutes before my freshly trimmed bob lost its sleek, appearance and morphed into a flat stringy mess. Five minutes before general disorder and I got acquainted.

The sharp ring of my personal line beckoned to me and I answered. Lawrence Candor.

It's me. Ian spoke in a calm tone and I knew that an apology was seconds away. I'm so sorry about lunch. If you only knew what I had been going through.

"Going through?'' This sounded serious and I leaned forward and braced myself for the story.

Yes, while you were in Los Angeles something terrible, horrible, vile and unforgettable happened to me. It was cruel and unbelievable and absolutely--- This man could certainly begin a story, especially a story where he was the victim. That idea in itself was rare because Ian was the type of person that many called a 'winner', not a 'victim'. He excelled in life, was handsome, incredibly approachable, and had a personality that screamed champion. He really was a genuine winner. The both of us were winners and in some cases carried each other to great victories. When one of us was weak or incapable the stronger one would take control and assure success. We never let each other lose. And because of that past, I was concerned for Ian. Lawrence, I just don't know what to do.

Tell me. What is it Ian? I had to know what had happened in the three days that I had been away. Ian hadn't told me during lunch and I was confused. I was confused when I probably should have been mortified. Ian's tone suggested that something mortifying had happened. Well for heaven’s sake, tell me what it is. I was starting to sound like my devotedly Protestant, Grandmother Lorraine.

I'm really sending you back there aren't I? Ian managed to comment over my archaic phrase but his voice quickly became troubled again. Well, you have a reason to be that worried Lawrence. If I had thought of that expression I would have used it too but my mind is clouded. I'm practically sick with outrage and disgust.

Well, over what?

I can't talk about it over the phone but-

Is it about Carl?

Yes. It has everything to do with Carl Stanxton. And it also involves my father, that hypocritical scumbag.

Ian? Calm down. I was so shocked. Ian had never spoken about his father in such a harsh way. The men had their differences but this was outrageous yet probably warranted. The elderly Patrick Stanxton favored Carl over Ian. It wasn't fair or right. Ian was the intelligent and remarkable son. He effortlessly made all A's from the very moment that he started school. Ian was the one who brought all of the trophies and prizes home. Ian was the one who graduated two years early, like myself. Ian was far better than Carl hands down, undisputed. But for some reason Patrick always favored that complacent, unsuccessful Carl and it ate away at Ian.

Ian, what's happening? Why aren't you talking to me? We always talk. Don't be silent. Ian was deathly silent but I could hear his agitated breathing over the phone. It was rapid and hard. What has happened?

I can't tell you right now. I'm waiting for one of my patients to leave the hall.

I thought you stopped seeing patients after six.

I made an exception today. I couldn't go home. So I thought I would listen to other people's problems and hopefully make myself feel better. Worthless idea though. Ian sighed over the energy that he lost with his psychiatric work and I pitied him. I knew the way this profession could be at times. Sometimes doctors gave so much of themselves to patients and got precious little back, especially when they were burdened with a patient who was profoundly stupid or unreceptive to guidance. Good, I'm alone now. I'll tell you some of what’s happened but afterwards, could you meet me at my house? I'll leave the gates open.

Should I bring dinner over? I can stop at that exclusive new restaurant you were talking about the other day, and get something prepared for the two of us. I have my silly, little, celebrity privilege pass, so I can get right in and come out.

Thank you, but no. I just need to talk to someone that will understand me. I need to be around a person that I trust. Lawrence, can you come? I need you right now.

That desperate tone tugged on my heart strings. Ian, I'm on my way. I could hear the rain that had begun to fall from the sky and mercilessly pound everything in its path. I wondered if it was raining as heavily on Ian's end.

Wait, that rain is really coming down Lawrence. Maybe I should come and get you. Then we could go to my house.

That gallant offer was so typically Ian. He was always concerned about my well-being and willing to overextend himself if it would benefit me. ''No, I have my car here and I don't want to leave it behind."

''Nothing will happen to it."

I can weather the storm. I’ll reach you in one piece. I started to pull the phone from my ear but stopped when Ian started to speak again.

Then you'll be here Lawrence? Nothing will stop you?

I’m coming right now. And then you're going to tell me about this terrible thing that has happened to you. You're going to tell me everything and I'm going to listen.

My father had a stroke, he blurted. And you won't believe what's going to happen because of it. Ian almost growled those words and I was completely stunned.

Patrick had a stroke? Ian, I’m so sorr---

Whatever. Now a team of doctors are struggling to keep a few breaths of life in his stingy, twisted, seventy-two year old, corpse of a body. Ian slammed the phone down and I was left with questions and astonishment. If my father were still living I would have been devastated over a stroke. Unfortunately I would never have the luxury of worrying about a sick aging parent. My kind, loving, good natured father was killed in a grizzly car wreck when I was five years old. I would have liked to have had my father for twenty-nine years, like Ian but my wish was a futile one. And my wish was unfair because it implied that Ian was ungrateful and needlessly bitter towards his father when that wasn’t the case. Ian’s anger towards Patrick was perfectly reasonable. Patrick was an incredibly divisive, judgmental parent and in many ways he created this hostility and rage that swirled around Ian right now.

Puddles formed along the roadside and I watched the rain drops smear across my windshield. A serious storm was building and the traffic was slow and heavy. This weather was forcing me to see Ian later than planned and that worried me. Ian needed me right now and I couldn’t get to him. He was so angry over the problem that he had and as I thought about him and smelled the scent of rain I was taken back into my memories. I was taken back to that rainy November.

*

A shout broke through the cool drizzle. I won! We won! Ian waved an envelope and ran across the lawn as I sat in his mother’s red Mercedes. I loved to listen to the radio and lie across the front seats. It wasn't so much the act as it was the car. I loved the car. It was appealing, sexy and stylish; nothing like my grandmother’s dark oppressive cars. This sporty, red beauty was everything that a sixteen year old girl could want. This car was Vada Stanxton's; the stylish, sexy, woman who wore wide brim hats over her natural platinum blonde hair that was always in a crisp pageboy. She drove fast cars, draped herself in diamonds, destroyed people for fun, and projected wholesomeness to everyone at her church, where she always held center stage as the city's leading Protestant. But most of all, Vada loved her son Ian. She adored Ian and she adored me. She was proud of us for making the highest marks and being praised by everyone. She called the two of us her good children and I loved her for that. Vada was everything that I could have wanted in a mother. And I was everything that she desired in a daughter. She cherished and watched over me because I never had a mother. Mine was taken during childbirth and I was stuck with a stern, dominating grandmother. For this reason, Vada held me dear and insisted that I hang around the house to visit her and Ian. She said that having me around was a dream. And she even insisted that I call her Mother or Vada. And Ian agreed with her. He said that it would be perfect to have me as a sister. That lovely title was given to me when I was seven years old, back when I spent practically every night at the Stanxton estate. I had been Ian’s sister and Vada’s daughter for nine years.

We won! Ian waved the envelope back and forth.

Won what? I sat up and looked through the light drizzle that was creating a greyish mist across the sprawling acreage of the Stanxton estate.

The contest, they sent us notification today. Ian opened the car door and pulled me out. Look at this! We won! You and I won the Sir and Lady Virtue competition!

We did? I couldn't believe that Ian and I had won.

Because of this victory we would receive extra prestige on campus and appear on television to promote abstinence and in doing that, we would be seen as scrupulous youths. Then we would have a piece written on each of us in Esteemed Minds of Tomorrow, the number one youth based magazine on the East Coast. But the best prize was the new position Ian and I secured. We had taken the coveted position of leading representatives in our entire school. And that meant everything. Highton Academy was one of the nation’s most prestigious preparatory schools. And now Ian and I would be known all over the place, even more than we already were. We danced around because we had what we wanted: more prestige and more power.

Do you know what this means? Ian squeezed me and we swayed like branches in the wind. We made our way to the middle of the yard and rain was now pouring over us in sheets. My pink wrap dress clung to my skin.

Yes! I was out of breath and my bangs were clouding my vision.

This puts us ahead of everyone at our school. We have achieved more than anyone else now, and we are the undisputed leading representatives. No one can tie with us or touch us because this is the last legitimate competition of the season. Everything that we want is ours for the taking. Honors are ours Lawrence. We had the headmaster’s eye before, but now we keep it. Ian threw his hands in the air and laughed like a lunatic. We’re the best! he yelled. I thought we were going to fall behind those holy rollers, the impact pair. He was talking about Bobby Thomas and Gina Grey, the popular couple whose popularity was based on a flimsy near death experience. They managed to survive a high impact car accident. Their car skidded off of a cliff the night of the pep rally, rolled down a hillside, and crashed into a grove of trees, before catching fire. The two gave a teary testimony about survival afterwards and hobbled around the school flaunting their broken legs, ribs, arms, and whatever else they happened to break open. Bobby and Gina didn't have the brick wall of straight A's that Ian and I had or the undying adoration of teachers and staff. They didn't have either of those things but they harnessed the power of pity and used it to their advantage. That force was definitely strong enough to carry them to the top, or so I thought. But as it turned out, academic achievement and virtue held greater weight.

I’m so happy we’re the winners. We're the ones Ian! We came out on top! I raked my fingers through his thick, rich, head of dark hair and playfully tilted his head back and forth. We should go and tell Vada! I gripped Ian's hand in mine and together we raced for the house. But in all of the magical excitement Ian lifted me off of the ground and gripped the envelope in his teeth. I wrapped my legs around his slim waist and held onto his shoulders. Then we raced on with pure speed and wild screaming.

By the time we tore through the front doors our joyful bubble was burst. Carl was standing in the black and white foyer critically eyeing us. His hands were crossed over his crumpled, blue t-shirt and his grimy, blue jeans were wrinkled. Carl wore his typical disagreeable expression and something was in his mouth because he was chewing rapidly. Hey swamp eyes, why so much racket? He swallowed and scratched his head that wore a low buzz cut. I hated the way he called Ian swamp eyes. Carl only did it because Ian's eyes were an odd shade of green. They were an unusual shade of spruce green in the center and the outer portion was extremely pale green with greenish metallic flecks. This uncommon feature welcomed taunts like, 'swamp eyes', 'envy eye' or a maliciously uttered, 'dead stare'. Carl was somehow convinced that Ian’s eyes looked predatory and belonged to some type of cold blooded animal, not a human being. Carl was just full of foolish insults and cruelty. He was one year older than Ian but didn't have an ounce of maturity or grace. He was nothing like Ian. Well, Snake Pit, why don't you put your babe down and answer me.

Carl, why don't you say something nice for a change, I muttered and climbed off of Ian. I stood up straight and Ian adjusted his mocha sweater and tan pants that were covered in rain. He brushed a hand over the damp clothes that hung on his slender frame but quickly realized who he was actually trying to appeal to and stopped.

Carl, where is Mother? Ian questioned impatiently and returned his brother’s dark glare with an equally caustic stare.

"What for?'' Carl pried and sucked what seemed to be chocolate from his fingertips.

You mean why? Well because I would like to show her something. I want her to see one of my many accomplishments and celebrate with me. I want to give her a reason to be proud of me aside from just 'being her first born'. Unlike you I can't claim that meaningless event as an achievement. Ian drove his stake into Carl and the older boy seemed appropriately angered.

Listen prep school, I don't have to--

But you will, Ian said snidely. I laughed to myself over Ian’s quick reply and I walked through the foyer. I knew that both of them could bicker for days about going to school. Ian had enjoyed exclusive private schooling all of his life while Carl decided to attend a lesser school after the fourth grade. His contrary attitude was a mystery to me though; especially considering that Mr. Stanxton owned the largest diamond company in the world and also made a fortune from oil. He could certainly afford to send both children to the best schools. You know, you're just very ungrateful, I heard Ian say in the background.

How about you're just greedy and selfish? Mr. Ninety -Thousand Dollars a semester. Do you really think that your snobby school makes you any better than me or anyone else?

No, it just offers me a more quality education and in the future, a chance to offer you a job scrubbing toilets with benefits as opposed to a job scrubbing toilets without benefits.

Watch out swamp eyes. I can kick those front teeth in and put you in a coma in like three seconds flat.

I feel sorry for you and your violence Carl.

And I feel sorry for your forever preaching and phony attitude. It's always, 'yes Mother, yes Father.' But the thing is that, you never follow through unless they're watching you. You pretend to be perfect while people watch you. You're just a fake. You're like a piece of plastic. But you know what? Dad knows it, Carl spouted.

Mr. Stanxton was Carl's best piece of artillery. He loved Carl no matter what he did or failed to do. Carl performed poorly in school; he only brought home D's and a few C's from time to time, yet he received praise and kindness. Carl wouldn't accept any of the luxuries that his wealth afforded him yet Mr. Stanxton never rebuked the ungrateful streak. Mr. Stanxton was apt to snap at Ian for the occasional smirk, while Carl got away with being substandard and slovenly. But at least Vada loved Ian. She adored him.

Ian tightened his lips and stood rigid. Say what you want Carl, but I'm the piece of plastic that won the virtue competition and---

You've got to be kidding me, Carl interrupted and burst into full belly laughter. He could barely breathe and fell against the wall. I saw you carrying Lawrence with her legs wrapped around you and her body pressed against your junk and all the accidental on purpose strategic bouncing and friction that you obviously got off on. I didn't see any virtue in that! Maybe they need to change the meaning of the word virtue since you're a part of it.

You're clearly delusional and jealous of me Carl. I pity that.

No. I'm used to seeing you get everything. You get it from cheating, studying, whatever. But this is new. Documented virtue? How many extra people did you have to fool to get this holy man virtue prize?

First of all, I don't cheat and if you're trying to say that anything is between Lawrence and I, you're wrong.

Well I wasn't saying that there was anything between you. I was saying that there wasn't.

I cringed over Carl's vulgarity and he saw me. He looked slightly embarrassed and apologetic. I had never actually said anything cruel to Carl and I believed he remembered that. I always stayed out of the way and let Ian and Carl have their own battles since they were personal and clearly justified. I shook my head and ignored Carl's remorse before walking away.

Well I hope you’re satisfied. You offended Lawrence, Ian rebuked.

By mentioning what I saw you doing? Carl defended.

"You are such a reprobate Carl. You see perversion in everything, even the most innocent things. And it’s because you spend all your time reading those trashy Ultimate Robust Bust magazines and ogling those scummy looking bottle blonde hags with the ridiculous breast implants and revolting butt cheek implants. Those disgusting magazines have corrupted your reality and warped your outlook on life. Why don't you pull your mind out of those magazines and find some class, or at least some dignity?"

I could hear Ian's voice as I walked back to the drawing room. I considered calling my grandmother to share my good news. But she was sleeping at this hour. It was after seven.

Hey Pretty. Vada breezed out of a corridor and gave her sassy, red lipped, smile. Her presence warmed

Reviews for The Carl Stanxton Murders

[Sailing4ward · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

very exciting. I'm always on the hunt for a serious thriller and this one did not fail to keep me turning those pages. I loved it and list it with my favorites