A Puff of Death (A Detective Wade Cutter Mystery)

By Jefferson Windorf

When the most ruthless and savage killers strike, when multiple victims are killed, when murders seem unsolvable, that's when the LAPD's Homicide Special Section is called. And when those crimes are the most heinous, most vicious; crimes done by monsters--that's when they call Detective Wade Cutter.

Hunting serial killers is Cutter's passion, catching them is his obsession, and putting them away--either in prison or the grave, that's his promise.

Being the LAPD's top closer makes Cutter his commander's natural choice when a bizarre death is reported.

Sent to a crime-scene on the roof of a seedy hotel in Hollywood, Cutter learns a teenage girl has been reduced to a puddle of pink goop; his only clue--a mysterious cigarette butt.

This has got to be hoax, Cutter thinks, until three ICE agents show up and use National Security as an excuse to power grab the case away.

Leave it alone, he's warned. The Feds will Patriot Act your ass into a deep dark hole if you don't give it up.

But Wade Cutter doesn't give up easy. When he secretly continues to pursue the young girl's death, the body count begins to rise. If they had any connection to the hotel crime-scene, they're targets--the witnesses, technicians, patrolmen, and Cutter.

After receiving the cryptic message, "Don't trust anyone who smokes," Cutter feels like one man against the world. The only aid he can count on is from an ex-wife he still loves and a white tomcat named Friday.

Covert assassins run amok in the city of Los Angeles and begin slaughtering the detective's friends and coworkers. After numerous attempts on Cutter's life, he discovers a conspiracy going back thousands of years and involving the highest levels of government. A conspiracy that killers from another world will stop at nothing to prevent Cutter from discovering.

Ride along on this mystery thrill ride.

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Author Jefferson Windorf is an Air Force veteran and retired police officer. He's an FBI trained hostage negotiator, interrogation specialist, and behavioral science profiler. He's a master interpreter of criminal statistical trends. An avid historian, Jeff has been published in numerous national magazines and has written regular editorials in some of the country's top newspapers. Jeff currently lives in Southern California with his wife and three children...well, they're really cats...but to him, they're his children. His actual human children are grown and have moved out of his house, if not his wallet.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jefferson Windorf
• Release date: Jul 28, 2014
• ISBN: 9781310344282

Jefferson Windorf

Author Jefferson Windorf is an Air Force veteran and retired police officer. He's an FBI trained hostage negotiator, interrogation specialist, and behavioral science profiler of criminal statistical trends. An avid historian, Jeff has been published in numerous national magazines and has written regular editorials in some of the country's top newspapers. Jeff currently lives in Southern California with his wife and three children...well, they're really cats...but to him, they're his children. His actual "human" children are grown and have left his house, if not his wallet.

Book preview

PROLOGUE: Messenger of the Gods

The Plains of North America - Long, Long Ago

*****

The Ghost Walker: The cruelty of time had sapped his strength, brittled his bones, and leeched the last wisps of color from his thin white hair. The old man plodded on, his bare feet callused and unfeeling as he made his way through the blades of dry prairie grass. Naked, but for a soiled loincloth, he had left his pride many thousands of footsteps back.

It was the season of the long sun, and the heat only added to his increasing weakness. His skin had reddened with blisters, and for the last five turnings he had only traveled in the coolness of night, finding shade where he could during the blaze of day. Hunger clinched his stomach and thirst left his tongue a swollen knot. His last meal had been two days ago, a half handful of pemmican, a dried meat paste he had gulped down with a final few swallows of brackish pond water.

These were the last days of the old man's life, and Xutikiani looked up into the pale yellow face of the full moon and cursed the gods. It was a horrible trick to play on a man of dreams, to take them away with age, unfulfilled.

His beloved wife and two adult sons had gone on to the spirit world before him, and all the great things he had wished to accomplish in this life had gone undone. On full reflection of his existence, Xutikiani saw only a meaningless empty time on earth--wasted. He hung his head in shame.

Before setting forth, he had quietly given away all of his possessions and told his few remaining friends he was embarking, late in life, on a Vision Quest. But all knew the reality; Xutikiani was making his Ghost Walk--walking into the wilderness as far as he could go before succumbing to starvation, the elements, or becoming a meal for a predatory beast. He was already a dead man in his own mind. It was the only honorable choice he had left, not wanting to become a burden to his people.

So on he trudged, a bent and stooped figure, step-by-step, into the darkness, awaiting the inevitable. He could no longer remember how many suns he had journeyed, a moon's worth, two, more? He didn't care, for the end was near.

He had traveled through many lands, encountered many peoples, some the natural enemies of his own. But all had left him unmolested for they recognized what he was, a Ghost Walker.

Xutikiani suddenly felt a stirring in the air, and what was a bright night, now turned pitch-black.

Overhead, clouds had moved rapidly across the heavens and blocked out the moon and the stars. His ears rang with a loud humming sound and he smelled the odor of and molten rock. Xutikiani became afraid and fell to his knees.

In quaking terror, he finally dared to look above his head. Something big, very big, flew across the sky. As it came nearer to where Xutikiani knelt, he could gradually make out the edge of a dimly glowing giant disk.

The object halted directly above where the old man trembled with fear, when from its belly a beam stabbed down and encircled him with white light.

Blinded, Xutikiani used one frail hand to shield his eyes as he looked into the source of the light.

Xutikiani, a voice said.

One moment the being wasn't there and then he was, appearing a few yards from the old man. He was very tall, taller than any human Xutikiani had ever come across. He skin was bronze tinted and his clothes the silvery color of river fish. The strange creature's booted feet seemed to float in the air, brushing the tops of the ankle-high grass.

The old man threw himself to the ground and buried his face in the grass.

Stand, Xutikiani. You are our chosen messenger, the creature said. His voice was powerful and rang like thunder. Each spoken word was curt, crisp, cut off, and independent of each of the others.

Slowly the old man forced himself to stand on shaky legs. Are you a god? he whispered, knowing the answer as he asked it.

Yes, to you I am a god. One of many, as we are a race of gods.

A whole race of gods? he thought to himself. How could there be such a thing?

What do you want with me? he rasped.

You have a mission. You will travel these lands and be our messenger.

But I am an old man. Weak and feeble, Xutikiani cried.

No longer. Though it is true you stand on the brink of death, for your labors on our behalf we grant you renewed life, a life with purpose.

The god then reached into the folds of his strange garment and removed a handful of small blue pellets. Take one of these under the light of each new moon and you will be younger, stronger, and experience no more pain.

Truly? Can I take one now? he asked, eagerly.

Yes, you must. Place it in your mouth and consume it whole, do not chew it.

Xutikiani swallowed one of the pellets and expected it to get caught in his dry throat. But, surprisingly it went down smoothly. Then something miraculous happened. The old man felt old no longer. He was neither hungry nor thirsty, and he felt as if he had the strength of many. He was invincible.

Yes, Xutikiani. You are young again, the god said, as if reading the old man's mind.

Xutikiani looked at his hands and down upon his new body. It was true; he was no longer bent and stooped. No longer a wrinkled husk of a man. He was young again. Xutikiani wanted to yell and jump into the air with joy, but he did neither for fear of offending the god.

Thank you for this gift. I will not waste it. I will do anything you command, Great One, he declared, with deep emotion.

The deity again reached into his silver garment, felt around a moment, and pulled out a large leather pouch. "These are the seeds of a plant called Tobac. It is sacred to our kind and those who use it shall be blessed and deemed holy. You shall travel these lands teaching, and spreading its use among the nomad tribes. They must use its dried leaves in their rituals, smoke them in their pipes, shredded and rolled. This is our message. This is your life. This is your purpose."

I will do as you say, Great One. I will obey, he pledged, touching his hand to his chest.

The god nodded once, then disappeared into the darkness of night along with his strange craft.

Xutikiani grinned. His life now had purpose, and the young man wept with happiness.

CHAPTER ONE

Sunset Boulevard, Los Angeles - A rainy night in June

*****

Raindrops fell like tears. The stoic face of the wood-carved mahogany Indian looked on dispassionately as the two teenagers passed by his eternal place of duty--in front of Jesup's Cigar Store.

Seventeen-year-old Jonah Katts ignored the wooden figure as the youth tried vainly to keep up with his fellow runaway, Heidi. Indifferent to her friend's concern, the buoyant young blonde skipped from puddle to puddle, reveling in the downpour.

You're crazy, Heidi. You're going to catch pneumonia, you ain't careful, he admonished.

She twirled in the rain, arms upraised, tasting the popcorn-size droplets on her tongue. Heidi McCaffrey was sixteen going on twenty-six. The young girl had a woman's curves and Movie Star beauty, and knew it. To her these were lethal weapons in her arsenal of ways to control men, and she used them to her advantage.

You know something, Joanie, you can be a real downer sometimes.

"Jonah! I told you I don't like being called Joanie."

Yeah, I know. Your mom named you after some guy in the Bible who got spit up by a whale. She should have named you hairball, she said, pleased at her own joke. It's time to grow a pair and forget that bitch.

Jonah scowled. He was tall, lanky, and teenager insecure about his manhood. He loved Heidi more than anything in the world, but he also didn't like her trash talking his mom.

It's getting late. We're going to have to find a place to crash, Jonah said.

We got time. Any dough left? she asked.

The young man reached into his pocket and pulled out a few crumpled bills. As he counted, which didn't take long, as there were only three one dollar bills to count, he said, Probably enough for a couple of cheap burgers and a coke. You hungry?

Heidi did another twirl, Nah, I was thinking more like a pack of coffin nails. I'm having one hell of a nicky-fit.

Sheesh, Heidi, we'll starve to death trying to feed your nicotine habit.

Hey, chillax, Joanie. I was just yanking your chain. When was the last time you saw me spring for my own cigarettes?"

The rain let up a bit, and the two teenagers continued down Sunset Boulevard. When Heidi spotted the neon Budweiser light in the dusty window of a dreary downtown bar, she grabbed Jonah's hand and led him in that direction.

This way, she said.

O'Shady's Bar was the kind of business that catered to the unemployed crowd, down-and-outers, guys who paid for their drinks with handfuls of change--men so far gone they didn't care that O'Shady's practice of watering down the drinks only improved them.

Heidi put a hand on the bar's greened-brass door handle, Let's see if I can bum a smoke in here.

Jonah looked dubiously at the filthy trash-strewn doorway, I don't know about this, Heidi.

The young girl didn't wait; she entered with a reluctant Jonah following.

The interior of O'Shady's was as seedy as its exterior; paint-chipped brick walls and dirty floor. It was dark and smelled of stale beer and sweaty men. A couple of loners occupied separate tables while a half dozen born losers bellied-up to the bar. It was a real mob for this joint. All the patrons were male, dressed in thrift shop shirts and dirty jeans. A burly bartender in a yellowed sleeveless wife-beater, faded tattoos running up both arms, flipped through a porn magazine, purposely oblivious to his surroundings.

Heidi stood in the entrance and shook the rain out of her hair in that sexy Baywatch kind of way. The move didn't go unnoticed by the bar's patrons and the testosterone level in the dive skyrocketed.

She went into full flirt-mode and approached a couple of bowl-cut types nursing Buds out of longneck bottles.

In her pretend cutesy-pie voice, Hey, guys. You know where a girl can score a cigarette?

The two men looked her up and down, and liked what they saw.

Sure, sweet-cheeks, said the bigger of the two. He patted his pockets. Hell, I must have left them out in my truck. Why don't we step outside and get them? It will only take a minute.

Jonah was about to step in to protect Heidi, effectively committing suicide, but he realized he didn't have to. Heidi was too street-wise for these guys.

Why don't you go get 'em, Cowboy? I'll wait for ya here.

This gave the second crud a chance to pipe in, "Sure, Jack, go ahead. We'll wait for you here." He then took the opportunity to put his arm around Heidi's shoulders and try to cop a feel. However, when she did a little pirouette he was left grasping air.

She turned her fury loose, Hands off, Beergut! I yell rape and you and your butthole buddy are gonna take a bust for child molestation. I hear they like your kind in prison. Really like them!

Both guys got suddenly serious. The one she called Beergut turned to the bartender, What's this Crap, Cecil? The cops know you're letting jailbait turn tricks in this dump?

That got the bartender's attention. He put down his magazine and glared at the young couple.

You kids get your Asses outta here! he snarled.

Jonah tried to pull Heidi toward the door, but she resisted. She whiffed the air and smelled smoke. And she knew, where there's smoke there must be cigarettes...and blissful nicotine. She paused a moment and looked around the bar. She zeroed in on a target. A man she hadn't noticed before, an accountant type in a dark suit, sat alone at one of the tables smoking. The girl immediately spotted the pack of cigarettes lying next to a full ashtray. This dude's one heavy-duty smoker, she thought to herself. My kind of people.

She moved to the man's table. Can you borrow me one of those, Handsome, she asked, with a wink and a smile.

The Smoker raised his eyes and cast her a bloodshot look of pure contempt. Leave me alone, Cunt! he roared.

Heidi, for once in her life, was shocked into silence.

The bartender had had enough. He came from behind the bar brandishing a sawed-off baseball bat. I ain't gonna tell you kids again, he warned, slapping the bat loudly against the palm of his left hand for emphasis.

Without warning, Heidi quickly grabbed the Smoker's pack of cigarettes and made a beeline for the door. Eat SHIT, you FUCKING REDNECK NAZI BASTARDS! she screamed. Then to Jonah, Let's bounce, Dude!

They ran for the door, Jonah already ahead of her. The bartender made a grab for her arm, but missed. Across the room the Smoker jumped to his feet and tried to give chase, except, he tripped over the bartender and they both went sprawling on the dirty floor.

The bar erupted in applause, whistles, and catcalls.

The two teenagers burst out of O'Shady's and before running down the boulevard, Jonah grabbed a trashcan and propped it under the bar's door handle. They then ran, hand-in-hand, laughing like a couple of maniacs.

Jonah had to stop to catch his breath. That wasn't funny, Heidi, he scolded.

Then what were you laughing at, Dickhead?

Jonah grinned. You called them Nazis!

I called them FUCKING REDNECK NAZI BASTARDS! And they are. Bunch of FUCKING REDNECK NAZIS! she screamed back toward the bar.

She sounded angry, but she was smiling. She clutched the pack of cigarettes in her hand and rejoiced in her victory. Jonah looked into her face and couldn't help himself; he chuckled.

Okay, maybe it was a little bit funny. But you almost got us busted back there, Heidi. Or worse.

Before Heidi could reply they heard the sound of shattering glass. When they looked to where the sound came from, they saw it was O'Shady's. The Smoker had just crashed through the bar's plate glass window. The man pulled himself up out of the broken shards, shook himself off, glared at them, and began running in their direction.

Run! Jonah screamed. Fucker's after us!

"I'll kill you! Give me those smokes back!" the man bellowed at them.

The couple fled down Sunset, and then made their way over to Hollywood Boulevard. After half a block, the pair made a quick dash into a darkened alleyway. They quickly dove behind a dumpster and huddled together. Neither one could see anything, but soon heard running feet come their way and pass by.

They hesitated, looked at each other, and then emerged from their hiding place. They saw the Smoker silhouetted by streetlights at the far end; his back was to them as he scanned both directions of the street perpendicular to the alley.

Jonah took Heidi's hand and they ran back the way they came.

Let's move it. That Crunk's nuts, Jonah said.

No Shit, Sherlock. What was your first clue?

The Smoker heard them, turned, and let out a primal scream as he resumed the chase.

The runaways raced across the rain-slick street, Heidi slipped, almost fell, but Jonah steadied her and they made it to the other side.

Hurry, Heidi!

Too late, the Smoker ran into the street and was gaining. WHAM! A transit bus hit him full on. The bus slid, tires squealing and skid-smoke billowing up, as the driver slammed on the brakes. The Smoker was thrown in the air and landed in a heap twenty yards away. He lay still and unmoving, not much more than a limp rag doll.

The teenagers stopped and looked back in disbelief.

Think he's dead? Jonah asked.

I wish, Heidi replied.

Then to their horror, the Smoker slowly got to his feet.

Holy Shit! Time to book, Heidi! Jonah said. And the couple began running again.

The shaken bus driver hurried to the Smoker's aid. You okay, Mister. You need an ambulance or something? the heavyset black woman asked, concerned.

The Smoker batted the woman out of his way with a powerful sweep of one arm. The driver hit the side of her bus headfirst with an audible thunk, broke her neck, and slumped to the ground, obviously dead.

The Smoker continued his pursuit.

A ways ahead, Jonah and Heidi ran to the front of a six-story fleabag known as the Peabody Hotel, notoriously known in the area as the Pisspot Hotel.

They made their way to the side of the building and began climbing the rusted fire escape, landing-by-landing, to the rooftop. They climbed over the edge and onto the asphalt shingled roof. The two teenagers carefully were making their way through a jumble of fan vents and air conditioning ducts when they heard a clanking sound from the alley below. They realized immediately that the Smoker knew where they were and was making his way up the fire escape.

Heidi looked for a place to hide as Jonah ran to the far edge of the roof and saw there was no way down. The girl moved to his side and pushed him out of the way. She too looked down and then over to the neighboring building. She saw what Jonah saw, no fire escape on that side and a building thirty yards away.

What are we going to do now? Jonah asked, fear in his voice.

Heidi spotted a drainpipe leading from the roof and stopping halfway to the alley below.

Follow me, she ordered, as she proceeded to climb down the pipe.

Jonah hesitated. It doesn't go all the way to the ground, he complained.

I know. You can either shag your ass down here or stay up there and explain it to the creep. We'll just have to hang on and hope he doesn't see us.

The teenage boy tentatively followed the girl down the pipe. When they came to the end, her head at his feet, they braced themselves by holding on to the pipe's wall fasteners. They waited. A torrent of rainwater gushed out of the spout below them.

They had taken their refuge not a second too soon. The couple heard someone running toward the edge above them and pick up speed. They looked up and saw the impossible; the Smoker took a flying leap from their building to the one thirty yards away. He made the jump easily and though they could no longer see him, they heard him run on.

They waited in stunned silence, both trying to grasp what they just saw.

Did you see that? Freak just jumped fucking farther than Michael Jordan ever did, he whispered.

Shhh, she warned.

More minutes passed. I can't hold on much longer, Heidi, Jonah complained, as his knuckles turned white and one of his hands slipped.

Okay, I think he's gone. Go ahead and climb up.

With a lot of effort, Jonah