Common Enemy: The Common Denominator, #1

By Richard David Bach

Another young woman has gone missing from one of Camelot Cruise Line's luxury cruise ships and its publicity-adverse billionaire owner is desperate to stop the serial killer who is stalking the decks of the love boat–but without giving Nancy Grace a bone to chew on. Company lawyer Raam (rhymes with bomb) Commoner, just back from a tour of duty in Afghanistan and wanting nothing more than to check out the student body at Commoner College (where beautiful young women go for undergraduate degrees in unrequited love) is coerced into a covert search for the psychopath who is throwing cruise ship passengers overboard and taunting Camelot with convoluted riddles.

Kayman Karl, an independent private investigator struggling with the loss of her Marine Corps husband in Iraq and not at all interested in a replacement part, has been hired by a distraught father to investigate the disappearance of his daughter from a Camelot cruise ship. She and her client would love to have Sixty Minutes on the case.

Raam and Kayman are on a collision course, and their first meeting leads to instant dislike, but a murderous shipboard encounter throws them together in a race to decipher the killer's clues before he kills again. Proximity leads to familiarity, active libidos eventually attract, and Raam is prepared to waive Kayman's entrance exam for Commoner College–until they realize that Kayman fits the profile of previous victims and they must double their efforts to fend off a common enemy.

COMMON ENEMY is Book #1 in Richard David Bach's Common Denominator Series of erotic thrillers in which recovering lawyer and former womanizer Raam Commoner narrates the captivating stories of love, life and adventure with his partner, the smart, sexy and deadly Kayman Karl.

Praise for Common Enemy:


Portland Book Review says:

"Richard David Bach's Common Enemy is fast-paced and fun. Readers who cruise will no doubt enjoy this mystery on the high seas."



"This thriller is the start of a promising new series. . .Very interesting story with many plot twists."

–James A. Anderson, Author, *****Amazon Reviews

"Once I started the book I couldn't put it down. Terrific combo of feisty female, sexy male and a clever villain all folded together in a great plot that keeps you on the edge of your seat."

–Barbara, *****Amazon Reviews

". . . a fast paced read that had it all. Action, sex, mystery….I would definitely recommend it."

–Laina, *****Amazon Reviews

"It has all the elements of a page-turner — thrills, terror, sex, suspense — and it's suffused with light-hearted humor."

–Summer Vacation Reader, *****Amazon Reviews

• Language: English
• Publisher: Richard David Bach
• Release date: Mar 8, 2012
• ISBN: 9781301503810

Richard David Bach

Author Richard David Bach was born in New York City, was raised with a younger brother by a widowed mother on the south shore of Long Island, and sleepwalked his way through an uneventful but stable and happy childhood wondering when life would begin. For Richard, life began at 17 when, in a post-war America obsessed with modern technology, he left home for Troy, New York, to pursue a Civil Engineering degree from Rensselaer Polytechnic Institute and an ROTC commission as a second lieutenant in the U.S. Air Force. It was the time of the Korean War, and while the mechanical engineers from RPI were building weapons, the civil engineering students were preparing to build targets. College was a hint of freedom from the stifling confines of a structured upbringing, and a two-year active duty tour in the Air Force overseeing design and construction of anti-missile radar sites in the Arctic followed by an uninspiring job as a highway design engineer made him yearn for more adventures. The Pursuit of Adventure: Oregon or Bust That pursuit of adventure began unexpectedly during an accidental migration to Portland, Oregon. An old friend asked Richard to drive him from New York to Portland where the friend–a recent medical school graduate–was to begin an internship. Richard took his two-week vacation and a week's leave of absence from his job and drove across country camping out and sightseeing along the way, planning to turn around and head back to NY once he had dropped off his friend. That never happened. Richard fell in love with Portland, called to extend his leave of absence (which he may still be on) and kept putting off going home until his family stopped asking when he'd come back. Years of self-introspection and therapy led him to the realization that he had probably never intended to return. Once in Portland he continued to work as an engineer, first for the Portland Development Commission designing Portland's first urban renewal project, and then for Pacific Power & Light Company as a right-of-way-agent, where one of the power company's attorneys encouraged Richard to try studying law. He enrolled in the Northwestern School of Law of Lewis & Clark College's night-school program, excelled in his studies, and (despite working full time for the power company and trying to help his wife raise their two small children) loved every minute of law school. After passing the Oregon Bar, Richard joined Stoel,...

Book preview

PROLOGUE

The seagoing phase of his career began suddenly, unexpectedly, the moment she came on to him. Her first words, in stark contrast to his dark mood and the depressing moan of a foghorn somewhere off in the distance, sparked his senses into full alert.

This isn’t your first cruise, is it? Her smile was seductive, inviting. She was tall, tanned, hard-edged attractive, and she bested him by a good five or six inches. Her height ignited his highly flammable suspicions, always alert for affront. Tall women avoided him, ignored him, dismissed him, and he hated that. There were many things he hated.

Actually, it is. I won this cruise in a raffle. Despite his disgust for having allowed himself to be seduced into an ocean voyage, he decided to smile in response - to signal he would be receptive. He had no trouble guessing what she was - and he chose to play. He assumed she had no idea what he was - but it was too late. She was already in the game. Pros were easy - they never suspected.

I thought so, she said. You’re standing here at the bow, looking out to sea. Newbies always do. Experienced cruisers look back towards the shore. Don’t ask me why, they just do.

He smiled inwardly, knowing she would have said I didn’t think so, if he had said no. He found her mind game entertaining, a classic application of the ‘vanishing negative’ - an old psychic’s trick. He briefly wondered where she learned the tactic but dismissed it as one more device she would have developed and cultivated in a long career on her back. She cocked a knee and slouched slightly, lowering her eye level more towards his, and that amused him. Her body language drenched him in flattery, and he admired her artifice. Her eyes were pale grey, and vacuous, which he took to suggest protracted use of mind-altering substances. He would refuse if she offered him any - his opiate came in different form.

My name’s Sandy. What’s yours?

Michelangelo

Ooh, like the artist. He suspected that she considered herself an intellectual although he was sure that her knowledge of Renaissance artists took up little space in her cerebral cortex. Are you an artist? she cooed.

Of a sort. He congratulated himself on his wit and contemplated this new canvas for his artistry, weighing the challenges as he focused on the woman’s spectacular bosom, a view that competed admirably with the spectacular view of the Olympic Range lying dead ahead as the cruise ship slid through the choppy waters out into Puget Sound. He shifted perspective and his mood brightened as he began to consider the intriguing prospect she presented, and he promptly donned a disarming personality - one that would sound no alarms. A familiar beginning to a familiar process - but with a difference. This was a closed environment with a finite number of suspects, presenting a challenging opportunity for a new venue -with added points for difficulty.

Do you cruise much? he asked. He doubted she would catch the double entendre; but if she did, it would move things along.

Three or four a year, she answered with a seductive pelvic twist that let him know that she did. I love the water and I adore the interesting people I meet on board. So many single guys out for an adventure, and I love to give them some memories to take home with them. How about you, Mike? Interested in making some memories to start out the twenty-first century?

Why not? Your cabin or mine? I might be interested in company for the whole trip if the price is right.

Oh, Mike, she purred with an impossible attempt at being coy. He dismissed her as too old and too edgy to be kittenish, but some part of him understood that some part of her still lived back in those days when she had been cute.

C’mon back to my cabin and we’ll talk about the boring stuff later, after you’ve sampled the goods.

She squeezed his arm and led him away from the railing. A familiar arousal accompanied his anticipation of the moment as he allowed himself to be guided back to her cabin, sunset and the Olympic Mountains behind them, and he was fully committed by the time they reached her cabin door. She slid her key card from the rear pocket of her too-tight mini-skirt and scanned the card through the reader slot until the lock flashed green.

He was full of expectation - at first. But then he saw her room and angry envy flared. He had been promised a luxury cabin as part of his prize, but her accommodations were nicer than his. Larger, more well-appointed, with a balcony out to the sea. His anticipatory pleasure turned rancid and his lust curdled to hate, and he smiled at her as she stretched out on her larger-than-his bed, her skirt inched up enough to deny the presence of undergarments, and her top slid down enough to affirm augmentation.

What do you say, Mike? Ready for your best time ever?

He dropped his pants, but the arousal was gone. She gave him a smile of mock pity, slid off the bed, sank to her knees in front of him and ran her tongue around her lips. She looked up at him. Come on, little feller, let me help you get it up.

That was not the right thing to have said. As she grasped his buttocks and pulled him towards her mouth, he palmed the ballpoint pen picked up from her bedside table and drove it through her ear into her brain.

His erection returned with her last spasm, and he took her then, carefully using the condom he pried out of her clenched fingers. And once he finished pumping his hatred and draining his lust into her, he dragged her out to the balcony, levered her dead weight over the railing, and dropped her cooling body into the frigid waters of the Strait of Juan de Fuca - followed by the condom, weighted down with a knife and fork from the room service tray. The image of her shocked surprise would be his souvenir, and he knew that for a long time afterwards he would be able to revel in the recollection and masturbate to the memory. Number sixty-seven, he thought. One step closer.

He cleaned himself, carefully scrubbing off her corruption - pocketing the wash cloth - and wiping off any places in her cabin he may have touched. Once that was done he carefully and meticulously planned his cover. First, he mussed her room. Then, twice each day for the remainder of the cruise he would again rumple her bed and strew clothes all over the furniture in her room so no unsuspecting housekeeper or room steward would doubt the room was indeed occupied - and in frequent use. Carefully avoiding being seen, he would have meals delivered and eaten. Her supply of condoms - with a wide selection of size, color and protuberances - would be employed in the deception by a few opened wrappers left lying around. Her stash of marijuana would be burned a little at a time for aroma, and just before they docked, he would clear her cabin of all her belongings and walk off the ship with her things in his suitcase.

Those things, save perhaps one item to be retained as a memento, would eventually find their way into a Goodwill drop box after having been stripped of all labels, and days later, when her friends noticed no one had seen her in a while, all would assume she had gone missing after disembarking. After all, she would not have left anything behind on the cruise ship.

And then, confident that he had not overlooked anything and with a grand sense of accomplishment, he returned to his own cabin and showered, admiring the enhancement provided by one of Sandy’s little blue Viagra pills as the soap and warm water transformed his fist into the mouth of the prostitute in Chicago who had been Number fifty-two on his burgeoning scorecard.

Afterwards he changed to a polo shirt, chinos, Topsiders and a NY Yankees baseball cap, and rode the elevator up two decks to dinner, all the time daydreaming the confirmation of his genius that would follow a series of cruise ship triumphs.

"Yes," he told himself, I shall do this again.

CHAPTER 1

Sit. Viktor Viken’s imperious wave ended with a finger pointed at a straight-back chair precisely centered in front of his massive Louis XVI desk. Most people, myself included, dreaded that chair. Stiff and uncomfortable, Viktor’s chair conjured up visions of the principal’s office, and past experience had taught me that a session in that chair could be every bit as emasculating as Delilah’s scissors. I stayed standing.

Sit, he ordered for a second time. I have a job for you.

No: ‘welcome home, Raam.’ No: ‘nice to see you, Raam.’ No: ‘how how did it go in Afghanistan, Raam?’ He didn’t even make his usual snide remark about ‘Raam, the Bomb.’ This was the first time Viktor Viken had seen me in two years, and all he could think about was one of his dirty jobs. I wasn’t surprised - he wasn’t known for social graces, but it still pissed me off and I wasn’t about to sit at his command or in that chair. One reason being that I had been sitting in the backseat of his limousine squeezed between two of his ex-KGB bodyguards for the past hour and a half.

Grisha and Arkady, both huge, bald and surly, had barged into my apartment and roused me from the couch, which is as far as I had gotten before twenty-four hours of no sleep on Air Force cargo planes from Kabul to California had caught up with me and put me out. Neither of Viktor’s goons would tell me why Viktor had summoned me, and neither was particularly talkative, which was just as well because it gave me time to try to convince myself I would not let Viktor Viken intimidate me again.

I tried to be sarcastic, even though I knew it would be futile. Hi, Viktor. Nice to see you, too. Sarcasm usually flew right over Viktor’s head and I could only assume that the massive shock of white hair covering most of his scalp acted like an insulator. How did you manage to stay out of jail while I was away saving western civilization from al-Qaeda?

He came to his feet, hands spread in an apologetic gesture and mouth stretched in an embarrassed grin. I am sorry, my boy. Yes, yes. He gave me a mock bow.

Welcome home, Captain Commoner. You must forgive me. I have a lot on my mind. But I am glad to have you back … Now I won’t have to deal with that schmuck Bartholomew you left in charge of my legal affairs while you were away. Get rid of him. He sucks up too much and he gives me heartburn. You’re my lawyer and I do not want anyone else.

Viktor Viken stood erect, the tall, slim body still fit from daily workouts even at eighty, but with some noticeable deterioration in the two years since I was last here. He came around from behind his desk, walked over to where I was still standing, and hugged me. That did surprise me. I’d known Viktor Viken for twenty years, and I’d been sanitizing his messes for about five of those years, and never once had he ever hugged me before. Either he bought himself a personality transplant while I was gone or his PR people persuaded him to go to charm school. Either way, I wasn’t about to let myself be charmed. I knew him too well. I pried myself loose and pushed him away.

Look, Viktor. I got home this morning after two shitty years handling shitty courts-martials and handing out shitty reparations to the families of Afghanis who got in the way of our missiles and bombs. I don’t want to go back to work yet and I especially don’t want another one of your shitty jobs.

I could have kept you from going over there. You wouldn’t let me.

Of course he could have. Viktor Viken had connections everywhere. With one telephone call he could have gotten me assigned to weekend calisthenics in Cucamonga while the rest of my unit went into harm’s way. My life has been slightly bent at times, but my father’s imprinted sense of duty trumped any leanings towards self-preservation and made the decision easy. Besides, I figured a tour in Afghanistan would get me away from Viktor for a while. Of course, I wouldn’t tell him about the nights in Kabul with mortar rounds going off all around when I questioned the wisdom of my noble gesture.

C’mon, Viktor. I told you then and I’m telling you now. They activated my reserve unit after 9/11, and I had to go.

Viktor’s grin widened to a smile and once again I wondered why, with all his money, he didn’t get his teeth fixed or get a haircut. He shrugged and motioned across the room to where Cliff Murray was sitting quietly on the couch on the far side of Viktor’s office. A little paunchier than when I had last seen him, Cliff and I had exchanged waves when I first walked in. He shook his head and tossed me a look that clearly said ‘Don’t look at me … this wasn’t my idea,’ but his presence let me know that Viktor’s job for me had something to do with security at Camelot Cruise Lines - Viktor Viken’s pride and joy and the iconic centerpiece of the far-flung business empire that made him one of the richest and most powerful men in the world. Cliff Murray was Camelot’s Vice President for Personnel and Security. I had always thought pretty highly of him. A former mid-western county sheriff, smart, competent, good cop instincts.

Viktor reached up, put a hand on my arm and turned me to face Cliff. That is why I love this boy, said Viktor with a fatherly pride. He gives me no respect. Only my wife and my mistress talk to me that way. His daddy was the same way. Best damn pilot I ever had. Danny Commoner should still be flying me around in my Gulfstream.

Viktor turned back to me. How old is he now, Raam, and how is his heart?

He’s seventy-two. And as far as I know, the transplant’s holding and he’s getting back to normal. I haven’t seen him in two years, Viktor. I was planning on going to see my folks as soon as I had a nap. But then your two goons woke me up and dragged me down here.

Again, Raam, I am sorry for that, but this is important. Please tell your father that I’ve missed him.

And I’m sure he misses you as much as I did. Again the sarcasm flew by him without making any impression, and I suppressed the urge to tell him the only good thing about being in Afghanistan was the seven thousand seven hundred miles of ocean, desert and mountains between him and me; at least until one of his companies showed up in Kabul as a civilian contractor - bodyguards to U.S. trade missions - with instructions to look me up if they had any problems with the military.

Give him my best. And your mother, too, said Viktor. Then he turned serious, and faced me with his hands outstretched. Raam, please. I need you. I didn’t remember ever hearing him say ‘please’ either.

I was dog-tired and wanted nothing more than to go back to bed, either alone or, preferably, next to a warm soft body if any of my old girlfriends were still around, but this uncharacteristic vulnerability was finding a chink in my resolve. Like the tongue that’s drawn to the sore tooth, years of experience with this man drew me right to the most probable question: What fine mess have you gotten yourself into this time?

I sucked it up, found the chink and stuck my finger in. Can’t it wait, Viktor? I haven’t had a day off in over a year, and I’m looking forward to some down time. I might even take a cruise. I nodded towards the huge plate-glass window that opened one whole wall of his penthouse office atop Camelot Tower to a breathtaking view of Long Beach Harbor and the Pacific Ocean, offering an unrestricted look out at Excelsior Queen tied up to a nearby dock while she was being prepped for her inaugural cruise.

Two years in the deserts of Afghanistan sucked all the moisture out of me. I’m a Pisces and I need water.

I’ll buy you a hot tub. I need you now. He waved towards his CSO. Clifford. Show Raam the video.

Viktor’s wave freed Cliff Murray from the couch. In Viktor Viken’s office one did not speak or move about without his permission, but once Cliff had that permission he stood, came over to where I was still standing in front of Viktor’s desk, and shook my hand. Nice to see you again, Raam.

He set a laptop on the desk and rotated the screen in my direction. Four or five mouse clicks brought up a video. Watch this. He clicked on ‘play.’

Shadows darkened the face and blurred the image on the screen. Probably a male voice, but obviously run through a filter and distorted. The words and message, on the other hand, couldn’t have been more clear.

"Good day, Mr. Viken. Permit me to introduce myself. You may call me Mr. Dinia. My existence will come to ride your nightmares when you recognize that ego has expanded my name."

What was that? Some kind of riddle? I looked at Cliff for some understanding, but he just shrugged and the video continued.

"My lineage and my fame will destroy you, Mr. Viken, but you need not fear for the moment because my fame would necessarily herald the end of my career and I am not prepared to end my career quite yet ... at least not until I have achieved my goal."

The distortion in his voice made rumbling sounds as if he were gargling, but an icy menace coated every word. I shivered.

"But for the time being it is sufficient that you know that I am what the media and law enforcement pundits would refer to as a ‘serial killer.’ A gross understatement, of course. My accomplishments guarantee me an honored place in the Serial Killers’ Hall of Fame, and when the time comes I will claim recognition as the most imaginative and prolific serial killer of our time. Imaginative because only I could conceive and implement a series of undetected murders on cruise ships; and prolific because I am currently responsible for a record setting total of eighty-nine unsolved murders and disappearances, on land and sea, now including nine from your cruise ships over the past three years. Prior to today, two of my favorite treats were Sandy Kramer and Carolyn Bookman. I would love doing Carolyn again."

Right up until he said ‘prior to today’ I figured someone was playing some kind of sick joke, and I was about to suggest that to Cliff when I heard the rest of the sentence and suddenly had proof of the old cliché about hairs on the back of your neck.

"Don’t bother to waste your time searching for Miranda Briggs. Even as you watch this, her smooth firm young body, which I so lovingly caressed and fondled as her eyes pleaded with me to stop, is providing sustenance to a multitude of marine organisms somewhere between St. Thomas and St. Kitts. There will be more, and my tenth will be an exceptional pleasure because I will have told you where and when I will strike and I will snatch my victim out from under your protection ... should you be clever enough to decipher my clues."

A long pause, and when the voice came back the words had been dipped in hatred. You and I, Mr. Viken, have much in common. Soon, Mr. Viken, very soon, you will pay.

CHAPTER 2

The video ended and snow replaced the shadowed figure. The nasty hostility in that voice held me in its grip for a moment, but as soon as Cliff shut down his laptop I dropped into the chair, forgetting for a moment its normally paralytic properties.

My god, Cliff. Where did you get this?

Cliff Murray looked at Viktor Viken for approval to continue, and when he got it he pulled up another chair and turned back to me. "This came as an attachment to an email sent to Mr. Viken’s home computer at 1:23 AM yesterday morning. By the time he got up, read his emails and called me, I had already received a radio message from Herbie Sawyer, my chief security officer on Lady of the Lake, to tell me a passenger by the name of Miranda Briggs was reported to have gone missing about the time Lady was docking at Antigua."

So? I shrugged. As soon as you knew she’d been murdered and not just missing, why didn’t you just lock the boat down and interrogate everyone on board until you found the killer? You’ve got this audio for voice analysis.

"Ship, Raam … not boat, and you don’t lock down a ship without a body and lots of blood. Besides, we were too late. Lady of the Lake had already docked. All the passengers and some of the crew had already disembarked for a day of shopping and sightseeing on the island. This guy’s timing was perfect. He sent the video after it was too late for us to do anything."

Viktor remained uncharacteristically quiet at the desk behind which he had retreated, content for the moment to let his chief security officer do the briefing. I looked at him, and then back to Cliff.

Let me guess. Miranda Briggs wasn’t the only person who didn’t show up when your bo … ship was ready to leave Antigua?

Cliff nodded. Three, actually. A Taiwanese deck hand, a Filipino steward, and a busboy from Yemen. Turns out all three were remarkably similar in appearance, and all three had phony IDs. We have no way of tracing them.

Viktor had been quiescent for as long as he could hold it, but it just wasn’t in his nature to allow failure to pass without recrimination. His mood shifted and he slapped his palm on the desk. How could you let that happen? I should fire you and your whole incompetent department. The Russian accent thickened with anger.

Cliff raised a hand in defense. I’ve already admitted the mistake, Mr. Viken, and I take the blame. It shouldn’t have happened and I’ve already taken steps to tighten up our hiring practices. It won’t happen again.

Cliff Murray was a professional and didn’t need to be embarrassed in front of others. I tried to get him off the hook.

Is it usual to have crew members jump ship like that?

Nah, Cliff answered. Pretty rare.

So the killer most likely is one of the three who didn’t show up, right? Or could they have been working together? I was thinking out loud then, but the second premise didn’t fit. I shook my head as I followed that line of thought.

I did some research on serial killer psychology a few years ago, and from everything I learned, serial killers are mostly loners … so I doubt three of them would’ve been working together. More likely our perp would’ve gotten rid of the other two just to throw us off the track.

Cliff was dubious. Wouldn’t he have needed to find two other crew members with forged papers?

I dunno, I said. Maybe he hired two illegals and supplied them with phony papers. Why don’t you run all three sets of papers through forensics. Look for commonalities.

Cliff would be able to figure that out - he was probably already running tests. I didn’t need to hear any more, and the last thing I wanted was a run-in with a sicko. I stood back up and faced Viktor.

You don’t need me. This is a police matter. Cliff can handle it. I want to take a vacation and catch up on my CLE. I haven’t even told my partners I’m back.

Actually, I wasn’t sure my partners would be all that happy to see me back. Especially Tony Bartholomew. Steele & Rivers served, to the envy of every other firm in town, as sole counsel to all of Viktor Viken’s multitudinous business and personal affairs, and I made partner earlier than most in large part as a reward for the many services I performed for the firm’s patron, or perhaps at his suggestion. Tony Bartholomew was acting account manager for Viken Enterprises while I was out of the country, and he’d sell his first child to get rid of the ‘acting.’ My partners liked my ties to Viktor, but disapproved of what I did to maintain those ties. They never invited me to serve on any firm management committees, or to join in their social functions. I was the crazy cousin - kept out of sight and tolerated only because he was heir to the family fortune. If anything ever happened to Viktor Viken, I was toast. In more ways than one - I needed the firm as much as they needed me because it was only Steele & River’s clout in this town that shielded me from a number of ethics complaints. Raam’s Rescue Service had pushed the boundaries at times.

Viktor stood and leaned across the desk towards me. "You can take a vacation later, when all this is over. I will give you a free penthouse cruise on Excelsior Queen out there. But right now, today, I want you."

Why?

Because we can’t go to the police.

I sat back down. Viktor was making me uncomfortable. I had a hunch where this was going, and I didn’t like it. Why not?

Because publicity about a serial killer on our cruise ships would ruin me. It is bad enough that Nancy Grace rants and raves every time there is a disappearance. And think of all the lawsuits. That should not be allowed to happen.

The prospect of lawsuits would delight the litigation partners at Steele Rivers, but a cover-up could get us all disbarred. Get real, Viktor. Would you rather lose some cruise business for a while or go to jail for obstruction of justice? Which is what’ll happen if you don’t turn that video over to the police. Cliff … you know that.

We will, at the appropriate time, he said. First I want to have our IT people authenticate it and try to trace the sender. I know what we have to do. I was a cop too long to countenance interference with an ongoing criminal investigation.

Cliff Murray should have been a lawyer. He parsed his words carefully, disingenuously avoiding the fact that there were no ongoing criminal investigations - yet.

OK, I said to Viktor. But what could I do that Cliff and his whole security apparatus can’t do?

Viktor waved Cliff off and took over again. "You can find this Mr.