Sacrifice of Innocence: A Stan Brookshire Novel, #1

By Allison Cosgrove

A cult has been killing children for its rituals and only one cop knows who they are. Detective Stan Brookshire knows but his past keeps people from believing in him. Can he rise above the stigma that shrouds his past and stop a cult from taking yet another innocent child from her mother’s arms before it’s too late?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Allison Cosgrove
• Release date: Jan 30, 2013
• ISBN: 9781524221256

Allison Cosgrove

Allison Cosgrove was born and raised in a suburb of Toronto, Ontario. A married mother of three daughters, she runs her own business by day and creates her own worlds by night. She enjoys spending time with her husband and daughters hiking in the woods or sitting by the fire reading a good book. She has had the love of reading and writing detective mysteries from the age of twelve but it has only been since the birth of her youngest that she has gotten serious about crafting some of her own works for others to enjoy. She credits her family and friends with being the driving force that has given her the strength to breathe life into her books.

Book preview

For my Husband, my Daughters, my Family and Friends

This has been one hell of a ride.

Thank you.

Prologue

The man in the corner listened in the darkness, the wind whistling through the crack in the window frame, billowing his hair around him. The child in the room with him was invisible in the darkness. Even the power of the sun, let alone the light from the full moon, could not dampen the gloom hidden behind the boarded windows.

Hearing a sound, the man stiffened. It was the child; the sweet, young child.

Very soon, my precious, very soon, Joseph whispered, his breath coming in short gasps. Excitement filled his belly; time was drawing closer for the boy.

Footsteps in the hallway caused the boy to whimper in fear, lighting the man's loins on fire. Desperately wanting the forbidden, to touch and to play with the boy, he tried to force the urge back down. He wasn't allowed that pleasure, yet. The priests would come soon and the boy would have to be pure. The man's needs would have to wait. The boy would have to wait.

Dreaming of the day he would finally be able to have his way with the boy, the man fixed the delicious whimpers in his memory. The boy would no longer be able to cry and plea.

It was coming soon. So close now.

On the other side of the room, he heard the ominous creak of the door opening. Blinding light silhouetted a figure dressed in long robes.

He hurried over and retrieved his boy-child, his breath coming in gasps so ragged that he thought his lungs would cease to function.

A whimper was all that escaped the gag when the boy tried to scream. Cringing at the man's touch, he fought against the bonds, causing the man's groin to harden once more.

The man smiled. He tightened his grip upon the boy as he tried to wiggle free. The door stood open, waiting for him and the boy.

Suddenly, the door swung closed behind him, plunging the room into darkness once again.

––––––––

Early morning light crept through the window, waking Stan from the sleep he needed more than anything. Willing himself to go back to sleep, he closed his eyes, fighting the urge to drown himself in a pot of coffee. It can't be any later than eight-thirty, he thought. Damn it.

He had planned to spend his first day off in months passed out in his bed, not even rising to answer the telephone, but his internal alarm clock had gone off at five-thirty. He spent the rest of the morning tossing and turning, trying to find a way to go back to sleep. Friday, he thought, letting his eyes drift closed for a moment.

After rolling over, he propped himself on the edge of his bed and sat rubbing his face with his hands, his head pounding like he'd spent the last week drinking with his buddies. He stared at the bare, dark, hardwood dresser that dominated one wall. It had become a rack for both clean clothes from the cleaners and the dirty ones that needed to be shipped out. The clean pile was dwindling while the dirty pile had partially toppled off onto the floor. Aside from the dresser, the room was almost bare: a bed, a night table, and the bleak off-white walls.

The last few months had been brutal and draining. The latest murder in a case that spanned at least five years had been tossed to Stan and his partner. After endless hours of studying the file, they began to see the makings of a serial killer. Since then he and Jane have been running on a twenty-four hour clock; stopping to rest was not in the schedule. Stan caught naps when and where he could - the car or the diner down the street from the office.

It was a lifestyle he wasn't used to. Before his accident he was next in line to be the head of the organized crime unit. A few more months of waiting on that whack-job Morris to wuss out and the job would have been his. Stan was the youngest person ever considered for the position, and he would have had it too, if not for the accident. Just being considered was a testament to the hard work and contributions he had made in the department and the community. But, he never made it there. Neither had his old partner. Both were stopped just short of the top.

It all happened on a crisp, cool, sunny afternoon. A routine bust on one of the local drug houses had gone bad. Everything was going as planned until a group of armed men with sub-machine guns came out of nowhere, firing off rounds like they were in the middle of a war. Stan watched in horror as his partner, Bill Matheson, was gunned down in a hail of bullets, almost claiming his life as well.

Stan shuddered remembering the scene. Every time he let his mind wander in that direction, he couldn't help but feel guilty. Could he have saved Bill? If he had only paid more attention to his surroundings, maybe things would be different and Bill would still be alive. Maybe...

After recovering from his physical wounds, he tried to return to his job, but while he was recuperating they had given all his active cases away and left him with a desk job. His position on the force had even been filled. He understood; it was the way things were. The case had generated too much publicity, his partner had died, and his own life had hung in the balance. He was almost useless in the field. Everyone knew who he was. Any chance he had of undercover work was gone.

After a month of pushing pencils at his desk, his superiors decided to transfer him over to homicide. Although he knew at heart that it was done with the best of intentions, and to help him get back out in the field where he worked best, he couldn't help but feel that the unit considered him a liability.

It took months before he was able to see the transfer any differently. In those few short months, he lost everything that mattered to him. His wife left him one night, saying only that he had changed and was no longer the man she married. Drinking didn't solve anything but he did it anyway. Two different partners left him in that first year, before he was placed with Jane Trinity. The little vixen had brought him out of the downward spiral and the bottle. Stan was grateful to her for all she did. In the two years since being partnered with Jane, he became the best detective in the unit and was always so busy that he never had time to dwell in the past.

With the palm of his hand, he rubbed at his eyes, trying to wipe away the memories he refused to relive. After relieving himself in his tiny bathroom, he headed for the kitchen.

The mess from his bedroom followed him into the kitchen, causing him to groan at its sight. Dishes were piled in the double sink, along with take-out boxes and coffee cups. Others trailed out of the sink and across the counter, creating what looked like the day after a meal for fifteen, complete with dessert and iced tea. He looked at the still heated coffee pot, trying to figure out when he'd percolated that batch. Was it last night or the night before? Without further thought he rinsed out a mug and poured himself a healthy dose, not bothering to search out sugar or milk. He stacked the papers strewn haphazardly across the table before sitting down. Most of the pile was his notes on his recent case, but he also found last month's shopping list, his check book registry (which had been lost for six months), and a compilation of phone numbers related to his case.

Last night, he mused, sipping his coffee as he walked out to the front porch to retrieve the morning paper. The usually neat and tidy porch was littered with pages of weather-worn papers from the previous months. A mixture of grass and knee-high weeds grew on his front lawn and the hedges looked more like a porcupine on a bad day. All he had time for was a roll of his eyes and a shake of his head. This case was taking up more time than he had realized. Grabbing what seemed to be the latest edition of the local news, judging on how neat its pages were, he made a mental note to clean up his front lawn just as soon as he finished his coffee.

Back in the kitchen, he turned on the small television he kept on the counter. He had to move a few coffee mugs and an empty take-out box before he could switch channels. A short frumpy woman with a crooked smile and teeth too big for her face was talking about a hurricane somewhere over the Atlantic. It was heading straight for Florida.

Poor old saps, he thought to himself, so much for retiring in paradise. When he retired from the force he wasn't going anywhere near that damn state. He'd head up to North Dakota or somewhere he could lose himself in a forest and not be found again.

Like that would happen, he chuckled. They'd never let him retire. He'd be stuck with this badge until the day he died.

The weather-lady rounded out the day's forecast, partly cloudy with a thirty percent chance of rain, and the traffic report was up next. Stan hit the mute button on the remote as he pulled the front section out of the bundled up paper and started skimming the headlines.

A picture of the police chief and Stan's partner, Jane, covered the front page. The picture had been taken at the press conference the previous evening. Details of the case were reiterated in the article that followed. He scanned it, noting the way the press tended to embellish what little information they were given, just to fill a page and grab the general publics' attention.

After a shake of his head, he took another sip of his coffee and glanced at the television. A clip of the press conference filled the screen. Stan hit the volume key and watched with interest.

...We believe that we have apprehended the individual responsible for the kidnapping, rape and torture of several area children, Jane said.

Is the individual being held in connection with the case Joseph Watkins? a tall, slender reporter with bright-red hair asked.

Stan recoiled when the camera zoomed out to fit the reporter along with the images of Jane and the chief of police standing behind the podium. Bright-red hair and an orange power suit assaulted his eyes. He wasn't much for fashion but he knew those two colors didn't work together.

Yes, that is the person we have detained pending further investigation, Chief Tony Di Organza answered stiffly. If Stan were to ask Tony the worst part of his job, he knew the answer would be the press conferences. He wasn't comfortable in front of all those cameras.

Detective Trinity, is it true that the police found a number of pornographic items relating to the missing children in the suspect's home? another reporter asked. Stan recognized this one. She wasn't very tall, perhaps five feet, and her brown hair was cut short. Debra Caren worked for The Mirror. She was a ruthless reporter with little feeling for anything but her career.

I can confirm such evidence was found. However, we cannot confirm that it is directly related to the case at this point in our investigation. Our lab techs are still going over every scrap, trying to substantiate it thoroughly before we release our findings.

Chief Di Organza, is it true...

The latter half of the question was drowned out by Stan's cellular phone ringing. Before even looking at the phone, Stan knew it was Jane. Her husband, the tech geek, set a distinctive ringtone for Jane. He hit the mute button on his remote, grabbed his phone and pressed the talk button.

Yeah, I'm awake. What do you want? he said into the phone.

Nice to know you are in a good mood, Jane answered sarcastically. She was as close to Stan as a sister. People who didn't know them well often looked at them like they were worst enemies but Stan wouldn't trade her thick derision and sense of humor for anything. It brightened his life and made it worth living. 

Yeah, well, the one day I wanted to sleep in, I couldn't. So what did you expect - me to be happy about it?

Oh, did I wake the sleeping giant? she asked innocently.

No, I've been awake since five-thirty, but up since eight-thirty. Been catching the local news. You looked good on it yesterday, by the way.

Yeah, sure. I looked like hell.

You looked a hell of a lot better than I would have standing there beside the chief. After the first three questions, I would have probably told them to screw off and wait for the trial and you know it.

True, she laughed. However, I wish I'd been in your shoes. You got to go home and start to unwind. I had to be in the center of a three-ring circus.

Yeah, but you looked good doing it.

Whatever! Look, I got a call from the chief about twenty minutes ago. He wants us in his office ASAP.

Oh, come on! Stan groaned, rubbing at the sleep that still crusted his eyes. This was supposed to be my day off.

It was my day off too, remember? But duty calls. At least you don't have to explain to your sons that you can’t take them to the zoo today like you promised, because you have to work once again. You only have Sammy to worry about and believe me, as long as he gets fed, he doesn't care if you are there or not.

Yeah, well-

"Don't ‘yeah well’ me. If I have to, I will come down there and drag you out of your house to the station in your housecoat and slippers," Jane threatened teasingly.

I don't own a housecoat, or slippers for that matter, Stan informed her.

Better still. I'll haul you in wearing nothing but your underwear, so get your ass moving before the chief has both of our heads.

Alright! Alright! I'm coming, just let me grab a shower and I'll be there in an hour.

See you there and don't be late, she said, hanging up the phone without waiting for a goodbye from him.

Regretfully, he dumped what was left of his coffee down the sink. He really needed to get his house back in order. But, like Jane said, duty called so he headed for a quick shower. Fifteen minutes later he was somewhat presentable.

On his way to the door, he opened a can of cat food for Sammy and refilled the water dish. As he opened the door to leave, a fat, orange tabby scurried through the doorway and around his legs.

How did you get out there? Stan asked the cat. I don't remember letting you out last night. Oh well, whatever, eh? Just don't claw up the furniture while I'm gone, all right?

Sammy looked up at him as if to say, Who me? then went back to his food.

Stan didn't see the man come out of his living room after he had closed the front door and locked it. He didn't realize how close he had been to losing his life right then and there. The man looked down at the cat who was staring at him with a baleful look on his face.

I am sorry, but your owner might not be around for that much longer. I can't have him interfering in my plans anymore.

He left out the same door as Stan had only a few minutes earlier. He knew he had to get going. He knew also that if he didn't keep up his facade that they would surely be caught, and the High Priestess would not like that at all.

No, he had to get where he was going. He walked down the street to where he had parked the car he had borrowed for the evening and drove off. 

Stan was the last person to arrive, just after another of the detectives on the case, Jimmy Messina, in the conference room that the task force had renamed the War Room. The walls were covered with photos of the crime scenes, suspects, and evidence. There were three dry-erase boards on wheels that had been set up in a semi-circle at the head of the room depicting the time-line over the last few months, from the very first kidnapping to the arrest made the day before.

The entire joint task force was seated around a huge conference table in the center of the room, which itself was covered with stacks of file folders, evidence bags, and littered with coffee cups, some still full.

Nice of you to join us, Stan, Chief Di Organza said as Stan took a seat between Jane and another detective.

I told you to hurry! Jane whispered teasingly. You know how the boss-man is around cases like this.

Yeah, well, I did hurry, answered Stan. If I hadn't, I would still be sitting at my kitchen table finishing my coffee. I didn't even get a chance to clean up my porch, which I might add looks worse than a junkie's stairwell. The least he could have done was spring for donuts.  I haven't even eaten breakfast yet.

Excuse me, Detective Brookshire, Detective Trinity? Are you two finished? Because if you are done with your nonsense there are some of us who would like to get this meeting started so we can move on with the rest of our day.

Does that mean I get to go home after this? Stan whispered innocently to Jane.

"Stan! Jane hissed, Enough!"

Sorry, Stan said, slouching a bit like a scolded child into his chair.

Stan knew he had pushed it a little too far when he caught the look the chief shot him. Tony was usually tolerant of the jokes he shared with his partner, but maybe today wasn't a good day for it.

The chief cleared his throat and began. As you all know, yesterday morning we arrested a person we believe to be the main suspect in our ongoing investigation. A man named Joseph Watkins. He fits the pattern and the evidence fits. Although we have yet to process all of the evidence we uncovered at the suspect’s place of residence, we have strong reason to believe that it may include pictures of the deceased. Everything seems to point us all in the same direction-

Okay, so why are we all here then? asked Jimmy who was now seated across the table from Stan.

Well, Detective Messina, if you would allow me to continue, I would be able to get to the point of calling you in here on your day off.

Sorry, sir.

Thank you. Now, like I was saying, the reason I called you all in here on your day off is because there has been a report of another kidnapping that fits the victims' profiles as well as the circumstances. Either we have a copycat, we haven't got the right guy, or there are multiple suspects.

Okay, a detective from the next county over started, but back in the beginning, when we were questioning witnesses surrounding the first two or three kidnappings, the most they said about our suspect was that it was a single male who had approached the victims. There was no one else around, not driving the car, nothing. So, where would these other suspects fit in?

I never said that was the case at all, Detective Blake. I said it is a possibility, one that we may have dismissed too soon. Couple that with the idea that there might be a copycat and we have our work cut out for us. All that being said, I want each and every one of you to go back over all of your notes, re-interview people you have already talked to, see if they change their story. Review all evidence. I want to be absolutely sure that Joseph Watkins is our man.

The chief paused, giving everyone a moment to grasp what he was asking of them before he continued. I have never doubted any of you before, don't give me a reason to start now. As soon as this latest kidnapping hits the news, everyone is going to be looking at us like we don’t know what we’re doing. I want something to tell them and I want the proof to back it up.

What about the pictures we found in the perp's home? When are we supposed to be getting the findings back on those? Jane asked.

As soon as we are finished here, I am going to be putting a call into our lab and will find out what the ETA is for them. Hopefully, I'll be able to put a little pressure on them to get the results to us by the afternoon.

Alright, who is taking which angle and who gets the fun job of reviewing these lovely stacks of files and evidence baggies? Stan asked, waving his hand over the pile of folders.

Well, Detective, if I had my way, it would be you. However, I presently require your talents elsewhere. I'll need you and Jane to head over to the latest victim's house and interview the parents. I need you guys to ascertain whether this is the real deal. I'll leave the files to Lieutenants Jones and Morales to handle.

Taking that as their cue, the two young lieutenants each grabbed a stack of files and went off to start reviewing them.

"Alright, the rest of you retrace your steps, re-interview anyone and everyone. Don't leave any stone unturned. I don't just want answers, people, I