Lack of Restraint: A Ryan Jones Novel

By Chris Adams

Detective Ryan Jones is trying to put his life back together after the brutal conclusion of his last serial murder case. Two years later he continues to be lauded as a hero for saving the governor's niece and stopping the senseless hunting and murder of children. Now living a peaceful life detective Jones is suddenly being taunted by a copycat killer set on revenge.
As detective Jones hunts for the killer he realizes this suspect knows details of the previous murders that were never released to the public and only someone with ties to the original case could be involved. Not knowing who he can trust leaves detective Jones questioning everything including his own mental stability.
With Jone's ties to the governor's office this serial murder spree has detective Jones second guessing every clue as well as his ability to show restraint and bring this killer to justice.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Sep 6, 2016
• ISBN: 9781483582337

Chris Adams

Chris Adams is IIS Program Manager for Microsoft. Chris spends his time building and reviewing technical content for IIS, working with IIS Most Valuable Professionals (MVP), and spear-heading programs to best reach customers for the IIS team. Chris was formally a Microsoft Product Support Services (PSS) engineer, technical lead, and supportability lead for the IIS product and has deep, technical experience in the usage and functionality of IIS 4.0, 5.0, 5.1, 6.0, and 7.0. Chris is currently Microsoft certified as a MCP, MCSA, and MCSE.

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Acknowledgements

Prologue

Walking out of the abandoned warehouse her tiny frame draped across my arms, a sheet covering her emaciated figure. She has not had anything to eat in over two days, for some reason though the monster was kind enough to leave her several bottles of water.

She is covered in her own urine and feces, not old enough to consider just removing her clothes as she lost control and could not hold it in anymore. As she stayed trapped in that cage. A cage that was barely large enough for her to sit up in, yet not large enough for her to lie down. Stuck in that awkward position for so long, she cannot feel her legs.

Since she cannot walk I am forced to carry her out of this hell she has been trapped in.

Stripped of her soiled clothes, and covered in my jacket, I pulled a sheet off the bed wrapping Lizzy up in order to conceal her identity, not wanting anyone to see her face, no chance of anyone taking a picture and capturing this moment, no chance of her seeing this scene in the future and having to relive this instant.

Her nightmares will be more than enough for her to overcome; she does not need photographic evidence to serve as an unwelcome reminder of these last several days.

The paparazzi are everywhere, news vans are jockeying for position, all fighting to be in front, to be the ones who captured this moment. I am covered in John’s blood, my dress shirt is covering up my blood stained arms and t-shirt. I was smart enough to take off my dress shirt and jacket before things got messy with John. My black slacks sticky from the blood but at least they are hiding some of the gruesomeness.

Her mother and father race towards me, grateful to have her home alive, tears steam down their faces, tears streaming down mine as well. All captured live on camera; the pictures will never let me forget what I did. Ushering everyone to the nearest ambulance, the EMT pushing the photographers out of the way, everyone trying to encapsulate this minute.

In too much of a hurry to get to Lizzy, I could not risk wasting another minute; I could not chance taking the time to change into something different, something not covered in his blood. After what I did to him, the crimes I committed to find her I had to be the one to bring her to safety, to find her alive, my soul needed this moment.

Handing Lizzy off to her mother, the EMS right there to rush them to the hospital; the governor, stepping right in to grab my hand and to raise it in victory for all the media to capture. His niece home safe, and now I am instantly the cover photo, the new poster boy for his reelection campaign.

The media racing towards us, I am surrounded. I have to escape this melee; I have to get back to John. I have to deal with his body before someone else can find it.

One

Two Years Later

Everyone dies someday… my job is to give the loved ones the answers why. That was my mentors answer every time he was asked why he loved this gruesome job, working tirelessly, to the downfall of everything else in his life.

I try to let these words drive me, that’s why I continue to be a homicide detective, albeit now I am only a small county investigator, I am no longer in the big city. The nightmares still come, not as often as they used to, but they will haunt me till the day I die.

My name is Ryan Jones, I am a county investigator by title, by practice, I am a homicide detective. I now work in Williamson County Texas. Williamson County a county in the northern Austin suburbs is home to about four hundred thousand people, covering a little over eleven hundred miles in south central Texas.

I focus on helping the small municipalities’ police forces with homicide investigations. Now living in Round Rock, Texas, with my beautiful wife Cori and three kids Austen, Cooper & Jamie, all boys. I am fortunate enough to spend a good amount of time with my family, now that I am no longer a homicide detective in Dallas County.

These days I spend the majority of my time investigating the causes of death of the elderly. My partner if you can call him that, is Marshall Lock the county pathologist. The serial killers that cause so many deaths in this county are heart disease and cancer.

Not that it makes the notification process to the family any easier, death is still death. But saying I am sorry your loved one was taken by illness, is simpler than explaining how and what we are going to do to hunt down the murderer who caused us to start the conversation.

As a result, Williamson County is considered one of the top five counties in the United States to live. Life is slow around here and that is just fine by me; I can focus on my kids and quietly fight the demons that haunt me.

My wife and my former partner Detective Jim Warren both have suggested on multiple occasions that I should talk to a psychologist about my nightmares, thinking I may suffer from post-traumatic stress disorder otherwise simply known as PTSD.

I refuse, not only out of ego, knowing that a diagnosis of PTSD is not going to help my career, but more importantly, out of respect for the hero’s that defend our country and truly do suffer from this disease when they return from combat.

My nightmares are not a result of a trauma I was forced into, I was not shot at or ever in a situation to fear for my life or that of my loved ones. I put myself in this situation and the only fear I experienced was the knowledge of what I was doing and if my soul would ever recover from what I did.

***

Tuesday

6:17 am

DAD, I CANT FIND MY SHOES, Jamie, my youngest son screams across the house this morning drawing me out of my abyss and back to reality. I climb out of bed and stumble across the house into the playroom looking for the shoes. The world’s greatest detective is on the job. As I am wiping the sleep from my eyes, I step on a goddamn Lego. This is without a doubt the single most painful thing someone can experience. Holy Fuck, I scream out.

My wife Cori, yells out at me to watch my language, she has no idea what pain I just experienced.

Jamie giggling at my language, at least I hope it is the language and he is not laughing because I am in pain.

Well at least I found the shoes, right there in the middle of the room. No wonder he could not find them, they were right there in plain sight.

Now that the shoe mystery has been solved, I guess I need to take a shower and get ready to go out and see what other great mysteries the day will unfold.

***

7:03 am

Standing in the middle of the bathroom, dripping wet from a hot shower. I am leaning on the front of the sink and staring deep into my reflection in the mirror trying to forget what demons brought me to this point in my life.

Two

Exactly Two years earlier…

I stand there with my hands covered in blood, my ears ringing from his screaming, the blood curdling screams, his pleads for me to stop. The coppery smell of his blood filling my nostrils, so much blood I can practically taste it. I don’t think I will ever get this smell out of my head.

His screams for me to stop can be heard for miles I’m sure. As I stand there watching him choke on his own testicles, his eyes bulging out from the duct tape I have placed over his mouth and nose restricting his breathing.

The skin around his mouth and nose is missing from the multiple times I have placed and ripped sections of duct tape off of him throughout this interrogation.

I know he cannot breathe and what I am doing is wrong, but every time I think I need to stop, the visions of those little girls flood my mind and remind me of why I am doing what I am doing.

Why I am torturing this monster. I tell him the pain will stop once he admits where she is. The missing girl, the niece of our governor, She has been gone 4 days now. This piece of shit child molester has been in custody for 2 days and the thought of her being trapped somewhere alone begging for help drives me to continue to punish this monster.

I cannot let him die until he tells me where he has her hidden, and he knows that, as I push him to the brink.

Twice having to use a defibulator to restart his heart.

When I remove the duct tape from his mouth, he spits out one of his testicles the other he swallowed when I repeatedly punched him in the stomach.

Hoping he will finally relent and let me know where I can find her, hoping against hope she is still alive. Chained to a table, his arms handcuffed together under the table. His shoulders practically ripped from their sockets the ways his arms are stretched under the top of the table.

He stares back at me with this demonic stare, I feel the warehouse closing in on me, the realization of what I am doing dragging me into an abyss I am afraid I will never escape.

She is only 6 years old a full life ahead of her, god only knows the psychological problems she will deal with due to this hell she is being put through.

The niece of the governor of Texas, I know no matter what I do to this monster, no one will punish me, and no one will ever even know what I have done, so long as I bring her home alive.

Lizzy Rodgers is the sixth girl we know he has abducted, tortured and raped. Five bodies have been found and he always followed the same schedule, two days after abduction he would mail a locket of their hair in a little pink box with a note saying we had 24 hours to stop him.

Five times we failed, I will not let this be the sixth. I have already castrated him with my pocketknife. I literally poured gasoline and brake cleaner on his balls prior to removing them and shoving them down his throat. He knows my desperation for him to break.

Yet as he sits there he actually laughed at me when I pleaded with him to just let me save her.

Looking down at my shoes, they are covered in blood, sticky arterial blood everywhere. I am at a loss, pushed to my limit while this piece of shit continues mocking me to his dying breath.

Meanwhile, my partner Jim Warren, the smartest guy I know is digging through our suspects place looking for any clue, any sense of where he could be hiding her. Please let her be in hiding and not buried in a shallow grave somewhere like the rest of his victims.

Yes, technically John Wilkins is still just a suspect, but my instincts are screaming at me that he is the killer. The evidence against him is only circumstantial. I am betting my career, hell I am betting my soul that he is the killer.

The governor telling me to do what I have to do, in order to bring his niece home safe. He doesn’t care what regulations I sidestep, what laws I ignore.

I tried appealing to John’s sense of self-preservation; even telling him I will let him go, just tell me where she is.

I have punched him so many times; I have a hard time distinguishing the blood on my hands as his or mine. I have castrated him and even fed him his own testicles. I forced him to swallow one.

I have puked twice in this process. Nothing left in me, going straight for forty-two hours now, thirty-four of which I have been alone in this warehouse with him.

Only my partner knows I am here, no one else. Yet Jim has no idea of the lengths I am going to in order to get this confession.

Not knowing what to do next, I see his eyes, those dark, black soulless eyes looking back at me, I decide I can no longer stand him looking at me. His sneer will haunt me till the day I die.

Fuck it, I know what I have to do, the same thing he did to each of those little girls. It is time to cut out his eyes. At least I know he will never look at another child again.

As I begin to dig out his right eyeball, he breaks. Finally he begs me to stop. He realizes what this means, too stupid to know that no matter what happens. No matter what help he provides, we have gone too far down this road. I cannot let him leave this place alive.

His throat so raw from the gasoline and brake cleaner he has swallowed, and puked back up, the duct tape forcing him to swallow it back down. At this point he can barely speak.

It takes everything he has but John whispers a name, Harry. I ask him to repeat it, to clarify what Harry means. He mumbles Hines.

Harry Hines, the street stretches for miles, there are literally thousands of spots she could be.

Where the hell, give me more specifics. I yell at him.

Three

7:52 am

KNOCK, KNOCK, Ryan you okay? Cori asks.

You have been standing there for 20 minutes not moving. Yeah, Yeah I’m fine I say. She knows I am lying. Today she knows to just let me drift through the day; it has been two years since that day.

Cori knows I crossed a line; but she has no idea how far I left that line behind me. No one knows, not my former partner, not my former captain, not even the governor who placed the medal on my chest.

A hero they call me, unaware of what I did to that bastard, unaware of the laws that I broke. The laws of both god and man.

The boys are at school, Cori is now getting ready for work. I refill my coffee and catch the weather update to try and get an idea how the day will turn out.

In jeans and a t-shirt, my standard work attire. Not being in the big city has given me the casual freedom to dress down. Every time, I think I miss the big city hustle and bustle, I try to focus on how relaxing my work life is now.

Cori gives me a kiss good bye, her hug lasting a little longer today than normal. She knows today being the anniversary of that day causes my demons to haunt me a little more than normal, she just does not know how much those demons are results of my own volition.

***

8:13 am

Walking out through the front door, making sure it locks behind me. I head over to my truck, being a county investigator; I drive an unmarked pickup truck.

The note is covered by the state, the insurance as well, so technically it’s not my vehicle, just one I get the privilege of driving. Since I am on call twenty four, seven, it is the least they can do.

A fully loaded Ford F-150 4x4, it does have red & blue lights hidden in the grill, the front and rear bumpers and the headlights for when I have to rush to a crime scene, and integrated Wi-Fi and a state issued computer system linked directly into state and federal databases for quick access when needed.

The radio is tuned to hair nation on Sirius XM, Tesla is singing about signs. I turn up the radio to try to take my mind off the significance of today and sing along to the song. I head over to Danny T’s on RM 620 here in Round Rock, for breakfast.

They have the best chorizo and egg tacos around. Linda at the front counter greets me good morning like she does almost every day.

Once in a while I will decide to grab a jalapeno sausage kolache from the donut shop down the street instead but my go to breakfast are these tacos.

I am here so often, Linda has my order started when she sees my truck pull into the lot. I grab a bottle of water from the cooler and scope out a seat in the back so I can watch the door, old habits die-hard.

As Juan finishes cooking my tacos, I watch the crowd to see if anyone looks out of the ordinary. Danny’s has a pretty regular crowd and even though Round Rock is a mid-size city in suburban Austin, it has a small town feel.

Outsiders are watched and the locals gossip about everyone. We have been in Round Rock for about eighteen months now. I am finally starting to be accepted into the crowds and not watched like every other stranger who enters.

The regulars recognize me; most know me by name as I have been on the news fairly regularly.

Especially with the fact that the governor uses the pictures of me carrying his niece out of that dungeon whenever he spouts off on his tough stance on crime.

As Linda signals me that my tacos are ready, I head over to pay and grab some fresh salsa from the condiment counter. One thing about Linda is she makes me pay my way just like she does everyone else. No police discounts or freebies for me.

Of course it may just be due to the fact that she believes I am in tight with the governor who she never misses a chance to tell me how she feels about him. Linda claims the governor used dirty politics to beat her father in the city council election several years back.

Knowing Governor Cruz the way I do, I have no doubts that yes he did.

Four

8:45 am

Back in my truck and headed to the station. I office out of the local Round Rock Police station, I technically report to the county sheriff, but due to my relationship with the governor I save myself the thirty minute drive each day and just work out of an empty desk in RRPD.

I know this has not garnered me any favors with the locals, and I try to stay out of their way. They often refer to me as ‘Governor Boy’, not realizing I don’t give a damn what they call me, or how they feel about me. I have way too many other problems to care whether or not they like me.

Respect on the other hand, now that’s something I care about. I treat them with respect and I expect it in return. I help them when I am asked, but don’t offer any advice or opinions unless I am asked.

The RRPD captain, captain Ben Williams has let me know on more than one occasion that his detectives actually look up to me and I am considered a hero for what I have done in the past. Its more than just rescuing Lizzy, I had a pretty illustrious career back in Dallas.

Solving more than one serial case, I gained my rank by my accomplishments, not because I played the politics like so many others.

With budget cuts, I am the only county investigator for Williamson County. With the growth of the cities and increased size of the local departments, my position is not necessarily needed anymore.

The governor keeps me employed as much as a thank you as it is out of fear that I will let others know that he gave me the green light to do whatever necessary to get his niece back. When just two weeks before her disappearance he didn’t seem to care that a fifth little girl had gone missing, except for the press questioning him about our efforts.

***

9:00 am

My cell phone rings, the number on the display is one I know by heart, not that I have ever called it, and I have only been called from it three times before. The call is from the private cell phone of the governor. On the anniversary, I am sure he is just calling to say thanks once again.

Jones, I answer. Ryan, its Terry Cruz he says, as if I didn’t know it was him. Governor I reply, I ask how he is doing, knowing he has a lot of stress, and is considering a run for the White House. It is in his blood he has told me in the past.

He asks about the family, trying to ease the awkwardness of the call. After the pleasantries, and just when I am expected the standard, I cannot thank you enough for saving Lizzy, he throws me a curve ball and says, He needs to see me, ASAP.

How quick can you get down to the governor’s mansion?

I ask, Not the office? He tells me No, in the residence, this meeting needs to be kept under a lid, more so than any of his other meetings. His voice seems to be filled more of fear than of anything else, hesitantly I say okay.

We agree to meet in about 30 minutes. I tried to push off, as I do not want to face him, today of all days. But he says it is urgent and will not take no for an answer.

Having no idea why he wants to meet, I grab my keys and take off, leaving my laptop and bag lying on the desk.

Racing down Old Settlers Road towards Interstate 35, god damn, I hate I35 traffic into Austin, it is probably the worst traffic in the country.

Listening to ESPN sports talk radio, I punch the search button as the radio scrolls through my stations set to memory. Stopping on the eighties station picking the Prince song, Let’s go Crazy, I think I may actually be going crazy, fitting song I say to myself.

Trying to decide if I have time to grab a quick coffee when some asshole decides he is in such a hurry he pulls out in front of me and cuts me off. However, he does not seem to be in enough of a hurry to do the fucking speed limit.

I flip on the light bar and light up his back window, and that gets his attention. I can see him sitting up straighter and trying to display a better image through his back windshield. He looks to be hiding something under his seat.

In too much of a hurry to deal with him now, I cut around him and hit the service road. While his plate is still in my memory, I call in the description and plate to dispatch, and hear an immediate response that patrol car thirty-two is on him.

The Prince song over, I switch over to old school hip-hop and crank the volume while Run DMC rap about Hard Times.

Twenty five minutes later I hit the 12th street exit off I35 in Austin, I catch the light and make a right on 10th street, luckily this is a one way street headed east, I cut in and out of each lane, over to Colorado street. Security at the mansion is aware I am expected and waves me right through.

Five

9:28 am

Cruz is standing outside alone, smoking. He is visibly shaken. I can see that from yards away.

I take a couple of deep breaths before I climb out of the car, knowing whatever he summoned me here for on today of all days, cannot be good. While Lizzie’s family acknowledges today as the day she came home safe, the anniversary is just a bigger reminder of what line I crossed to get her back.

It’s easy to sit back and think that in the same situation you would do the same. The only solace I have is when I let myself think that if it was one of my kids he took, what I did to that monster is nothing compared to what I would do to bring one of them back safe.

Sitting here taking a second to gather my thoughts and try to control the shaking of my hands, I can still smell the copper of his blood, I can taste the fumes of his burning flesh.

BZZZZZ, my cellphone buzzes with a text notification, Cori, just checking in to say hi and that she is thinking about me. How does she always seem to know when I need to hear from her?

Back to reality, I climb out of the truck and head over to see what is so important that the governor called me all the way down here.

Walking up to Cruz, he drops his cigarette under his Luke Oxford shoe and crushes it. As I watch him bend down to pick up the cigarette, not that he does it because he is worried about the liter, but more from fear of being caught by his wife for smoking. This is reinforced by the fact that he tosses the cigarette butt into the bushes next to the pergola he is standing under.

I walk up to him and in greeting I say governor, not extending my hand. Doing my best to mask my contempt for him. Yes, I know it is hypocritical to despise him the way I do. Since he is the reason I got the transfer out of Dallas I asked for and as the budget cuts kept coming to the county, he makes sure I keep my job. But let’s face reality he is doing it so that I will keep his secret.

The governor is a commanding figure at six foot four inches tall and a good two hundred and forty pounds, he is built like a NFL linebacker. The governor’s strong features look a little more worn today than what you normally see of him on television. His hair is a little grayer around the ears, his eyes look more withdrawn, and his skin not so tight. His strong square chin even looks a little less pronounced today.

Today he looks exhausted, worn down, finally putting my finger on it, right now he looks scared.

He looks right at me, but only for a second. I can tell he does not want to have the conversation we are about to have. I tell him to spit it out; I have a desk full of paperwork to get back to I lie.

What happened that night? he asks. Excuse me, I blurt out. Again, he asks, What happened with John, where did you send him off to? What? I say back. Why are you asking me this, why today? You didn’t give a shit then, and I don’t give a shit now. I must know, he repeats.

I say, If I tell you, then three people will know, John, you and myself. I ask him, Do you know the only way to keep a secret between three people? Two of them have to be dead. I say and turn my back to him. If that is all you called me down here for, you are wasting your time. I’m outta here.

Wait he says. Are you saying John is definitely dead? I look at him like he is an idiot, of course he is I reply. Did you really think I let him go? He obviously never went to trial.

I was told he was committed for psychiatric help, Cruz says.

I forgot all about the captain and Dallas District Attorney’s story about how he was sent for evaluation. The press pushed on the story for a few days, but then a local doctor was diagnosed with Ebola while on a mission trip to Africa and the Glass Butterfly Killer was all but forgotten.

No he did not survive the interrogation. I admit reluctantly. Why is it so important to know? I ask.

Shit he says, There are some people inside you need to meet, we may have a copycat. he admits to me.

WHAT the fuck? I shout. Cruz is busy staring at his shoes and refusing to meet my stare. You see the news about the little girl missing from San Marcos last week? he asks.

Yeah, I remember something being mentioned about it at the Amber alert briefing the other day. I say.

Austin PD received a box this morning, it was sent to your attention. Cruz tells me. What was in the box? I ask. Let’s get inside and get you caught up to speed, everyone else is already here waiting on you. He said turning to walk back inside the mansion.

Inside the governor’s mansion on the eastside of the ground floor is a home office and small conference room. His wife Jennifer is supposedly off on another one of her famous European shopping trips. Being funded by