Avenged: An Amber Monroe Crime Thriller, #2

By C.M. Sutter

Crime happens, even in small towns like North Bend, but when Amber Monroe and her fellow detectives from the Washburn County Sheriff’s Office are called to the home of a retired forensic psychiatrist, they find a macabre murder scene that would rival any Halloween horror film.

When a local EMT and a former deputy go missing that same week, law enforcement conclude there has to be a link between the three cases. With no clues to guide them, the detectives are stumped until they begin a search through old court files.

New information emerges that could break the case wide open, but when the names on the perpetrator’s kill list are revealed, apprehending him is all that matters. His intentions have become more than personal and crystal clear. Washburn County’s finest may be next, and they don’t have the luxury of time on their side.

Note:All Amber Monroe books are standalone stories but since characters carry over, they are best read in chronological order.

Series One - Amber Monroe Crime Thriller Series

#1 Greed

#2 Avenged

#3 Vendetta

The Amber Monroe Crime Thriller Series follows on the heels of the conclusion of Malice, Book 5 in the Agent Jade Monroe FBI Thriller Series.

Editorial Review:

“At the sheriff’s office in Washburn County, Wisconsin, newly promoted Detective Amber Monroe and her partner are assigned to investigate a suspected dog-fighting ring, but their work is interrupted by news that a retired forensic psychiatrist has been found brutally murdered. The possible dog-fighting case goes on the back burner, the sheriff’s office watches the body count rise, and their only clues are the threatening letters being mailed to the victims from several states away. C. M. Sutter deftly picks up the pace in this second installment in her Amber Monroe Crime Thriller series, and readers will find themselves racing to keep up with Amber and her fellow officers as this tale hurtles to its pulse-pounding conclusion.” Angela M., Editor, Red Adept Editing

Start at the beginning of the Monroe Sisters' saga with Maniacal. Find all of the books leading up to the Amber Monroe Crime Thriller Series below.

Series One - Detective Jade Monroe Crime Thriller Series

#1 Maniacal

#2 Captive

#3 Fallacy 

#4 Premonition 

#5 Exposed

Note:The Jade Monroe FBI Thriller books follow on the heels of the conclusion of Exposed, Book 5 in the Detective Jade Monroe Crime Thriller Series.

 Series Two – Agent Jade Monroe FBI Thriller Series

#1 Snapped 

#2 Justified

#3 Donors

#4 Leverage

#5 Malice 

• Language: English
• Publisher: C.M. Sutter
• Release date: Mar 6, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386659143

Book preview

Prologue

Eleven years ago

The man pocketed his gloves momentarily and pulled up the collar of his corduroy coat. Then he fastened the button around his neck. The crisp air and strong wind gusts of the late-October night chilled him to the bone. He braced himself against the wind for the last half mile, his eyes watery and his shoulders stiffened. Ever since tucking his car in a dirt turnout, he’d walked the edge of the road in the shadows cast by the full moon.

Kristopher Hadley owned a private hundred-acre estate with a long hidden driveway, perfect for that night. The man inched closer to the two-story Hadley farmhouse with every step. Luckily there wasn’t a dog to interfere with his plans. In twenty minutes, Kristopher and his wife, Jane, would suffer a violent, bloody death.

The side door would be unlocked. It always was—a foolish mistake on their part. The family had a false sense of security about being out in the boondocks like that. Who even knew the farm was there? The intruder smirked confidently as he turned the knob with his hand, now gloved again. He crossed over the threshold. Inside the welcoming home, he slipped off his shoes, socks, and clothing then continued on. Those old wooden floors creaked in the center, but he knew where to step. He passed through the mudroom and continued beyond the butler’s pantry to the kitchen. There, with only a dim nightlight for illumination, he pulled out the largest butcher knife from the block and headed toward the staircase.

His deliberate movements kept him from making noise, as his weight was evenly distributed on the outer edges of each step. He ascended to the second floor and turned right, where Kevin’s room was located. He knew the simpleminded nineteen-year-old slept with his headphones on—he wouldn’t be an issue. The balled-up clothing that always lay on the bedroom floor would come in handy. The man slipped into the room, scooped up the dirty clothes, and returned to the hallway. Wearing Kevin’s loose-fitting pants, T-shirt, and socks, he carried on.

The master suite was at the opposite end of the hallway. The door, half opened, made his entry that much easier. There wouldn’t be squeaky hinges to deal with or the chance of the husband and wife waking to the sound. He knew that Kristopher slept on the side nearest the door. He’d be taken out first to eliminate the largest threat. Jane would be a cakewalk. She was petite—one hundred ten pounds soaking wet. She’d accept her fate without a fight.

He crept closer to the bed. They wouldn’t recognize him in that darkened room, although it wouldn’t matter. They’d be dead within seconds. He stood at the side of the bed, pulled back the knife above his head, and plunged it into Kristopher’s face. An involuntary grunt came from the man’s mouth just before the knife was lifted again and buried in Kristopher’s chest. In a flash, the stranger rounded the bed as Jane sat up. He raised the knife and thrust it forward, catching her below the neck. Two thrusts to her chest, burying the blade to the handle, silenced any scream she might have attempted. A final plunge to the heart of both victims ended any chance of them surviving.

He held the knife carefully. The handle had become slippery and saturated with blood. The blade, pointed downward, dotted the floor with deep-red droplets, and the blood-soaked socks created a convenient trail that led to Kevin’s room. The man entered, peeled off the clothes, and left them at the foot of the bed. He placed the bloody knife beside them. Back downstairs and at the side door, he slipped on his own clothing and pocketed the bloody gloves. He turned the knob with the edge of his coat before walking out into the night.

Chapter 1

Halloween, 11:05 a.m.

The fifteen-hour drive was long and grueling, yet he carried it out religiously—as if he had an ounce of religion in his body. Keith made the trip to Holman Correctional Facility four times a year—Christmas, Easter, Kevin’s birthday in July, and Halloween. It was Keith’s penance in a way, and the trip cleared his mind. Remorse didn’t factor in, and Kevin wasn’t smart enough to realize that his parents’ violent murder eleven years earlier wasn’t his own doing. That was all Keith’s work, and Keith was content with the outcome. It was a means to an end and benefited him quite well financially.

According to the terms of the will, Keith had been named Kevin’s legal guardian once their parents died. The document held up in court even though the younger brother was behind bars in the section of the prison designated for mentally unstable inmates. As long as Kevin was alive, Keith had to jump through a number of hoops to keep the money flowing. He received a monthly salary from the trust to help him keep a watchful eye on his brother, but nobody ever found out about the coins. That was Keith’s fun money, and he’d foolishly wasted it years ago.

News of the trial filled the Washburn County Chronicle for several weeks. Kristopher Hadley, a well-known local veterinarian, and his wife of thirty years had been slaughtered by their own son while they slept.

Lieutenant Chuck Clark of the Washburn County Sheriff’s Office was the lead on the case. He and several deputies testified at the trial along with key experts on Kevin’s condition. The first responder, Tyler Rauch, arrived at the home shortly after the cleaning lady found the mutilated bodies in the master bedroom and called 911. Tyler’s testimony of arriving to find Kevin asleep—and the bloody evidence at the foot of his bed—sealed the teenager’s fate. The evidence was overwhelming, and when the verdict came in, nobody was surprised. Kevin was convicted of killing his parents and sentenced to life in prison. After the trial, Kevin was whisked away, and life in Washburn County continued as before. A new veterinarian bought the practice, and the Hadley name was soon forgotten.

As he drove the last hundred miles, Keith thought about how fast the years had gone by. That day was the ten-year anniversary of Kevin’s being locked up at the Slaughterhouse, a fitting nickname for the notorious Alabama prison where violence among inmates and guards was a daily occurrence.

Memories filled Keith’s mind as they did every time he made that long drive. He recalled the day the murder plan took on a life of its own, the day his father showed him the cache that lay beneath the ground at the far back of the property. The sight of four milk cans with the lids lifted, safely hidden below the grass-covered cinder block vault, made Keith’s head spin. The image of the cans filled with gold and silver coins, and the words his father said, were as ingrained in his mind as if they had been on a movie screen.

Son, there’s over a million dollars in gold and silver in those cans. I want you to know where they are in case something ever happens to your mom and me.

The idea of cutting their lives short began percolating in Keith’s head that day, and he decided his parents had to die. Keith, twenty-five at the time, lived alone in Madison. Drugs and alcohol consumed most of his waking hours, even though his mom and dad thought he was attending graduate school. Actually, he hadn’t walked into a classroom in months. He’d be found out sooner or later, and the gravy train would dry up, but the sight of those coins—and the knowledge that a hefty trust fund had already been set up—was just the push he needed to commit murder.

He rubbed the butter-soft leather seat of his Lexus LS and thought about the good life he had lived those last ten years. He had never been close to his mom or dad. They had been far too busy with their careers to pay much attention to Keith and Kevin. As he grew up, Keith had taken on the parental duties, preparing the meals, washing clothes, and making sure his special needs brother got to school on time every day. He resented it, and it cut into his own life as a teen. On many sleepless nights, Keith wondered how it would feel to be free of his role as primary caregiver for his younger brother. College was his only way out at the time, even though an education meant nothing to him.

But the day he saw the buried treasure, everything changed.

Chapter 2

That Friday afternoon, Keith pulled in behind the line of five cars at the drive-through restaurant. When he finally reached the menu board, he ordered the number two—a double cheeseburger without onions, fries, and a soft drink. He inched ahead and paid for his food, took the bag and soda, then continued on. He glanced at the dashboard’s digital clock as he picked up speed and merged onto the freeway.

It’s nearly one o’clock. I should roll into that hellhole by one thirty.

Keith reached the city limits of Atmore, Alabama, population just over ten thousand, then veered northeast and backtracked on State Highway 21. Reaching the prison on Ross Road took a half hour longer than necessary because there were no exits off I-65.

He followed the road that led into the large, depressing-looking facility and parked. He took in a deep breath and let it out slowly as he climbed out of his car. His eyes darted left and right. Each corner of the prison, beyond the wall and barbed wire, held a tower with armed guards.

Better you than me, little brother. You’re blessed with ignorance. You don’t know the difference, anyway.

His walk to the two-story gated entrance took several minutes. Keith carried a bag of Halloween candy for the guards. Staying in everyone’s good graces would help shorten his wait time to visit with Kevin. Usually, spending an hour each afternoon on a two-day visit with his brother was sufficient until the next visit several months later. As Kevin’s legal guardian, Keith was allowed to visit as much as he wanted. Four times a year was plenty.

He entered the building, signed in, and was fingerprinted. He showed his ID, even though everyone knew him, but that was protocol, and the rules were carried out regardless of who the visitor was. The back of his hand was stamped with a black light stamp, and he went through security. Now he waited in a secondary room while Kevin, as well as every inmate who had a visitor, was strip-searched before being allowed into the visitation room.

Keith checked the time—1:47. He grabbed a magazine and took a seat, expecting the usual fifteen-minute wait. Several visitors who had entered after him had already been shown into the visitation room. He was becoming impatient. A half hour passed, which wasn’t the norm. Keith stood and placed the magazine in the rack.

What’s the holdup? he asked as he walked to the counter.

There seems to be a slight problem, Mr. Hadley.

He cocked his head, suspicious. A problem with what?

The desk clerk pushed back his chair and stood. He pointed toward the group of chairs that lined the wall. Please take your seat. I’ll check on the situation. He turned his back and passed through a security door.

Keith stared through the glass and watched as the clerk rounded the end of the hallway and disappeared from sight. He paced the fifteen-by-fifteen-foot waiting room and checked the time again—2:21. The clerk finally appeared from the end of the hallway. He swiped his badge, and the door that led into his workspace opened. Keith was at the counter seconds later.

What’s going on?

There’s been an incident, Mr. Hadley. The warden would like to speak with you.

What the hell is that supposed to mean?

The clerk pressed a button, and the door slid open. Please follow me.

He led Keith through several corridors and up two flights of stairs, ending next to a solid-steel elevator door. The clerk pressed his thumb against the pad of the fingerprint scanner mounted on the wall next to the door. He tipped his head at the open doors, and Keith stepped in. The elevator took them to the final floor and stopped at the office of the warden.

Right this way, Mr. Hadley. Warden Price is waiting for you. The clerk opened the door that bore a plaque with the warden’s name in gold lettering. Go ahead and have a seat. The warden’s secretary will be right with you. The clerk turned and left the room.

A woman appeared from a door on Keith’s left. Mr. Hadley, I’m Elizabeth Cochran, the warden’s secretary. He’ll be with you in a moment. May I get you some coffee while you wait?

No, thanks. What’s going on?

She smiled. The warden will see you soon. She walked out and closed the door behind her.

Keith continued to wait for ten more minutes. The door finally opened again, and a portly balding man with thick glasses stepped into the waiting area.

A two-hundred-dollar suit is the best you can do on your salary?

Keith stood. Warden Price?

Yes, and I assume you’re Kevin Hadley’s brother and legal guardian, Keith Hadley?

That’s me. What’s going on with all the secrecy, and why haven’t I been able to see my brother yet? Why in the hell am I here, in your office? I’ve already been told several times that there seems to be a problem, so let’s hear what that problem is.

Come in, Mr. Hadley, and have a seat.

I’ve been sitting for fifteen hours. I’m sick of it. Now tell me why I’m standing in your office.

The warden stared at the floor then cleared his throat. There’s seems to have been an—

I want to hear what happened. Just say it.

Your brother is dead.

What! Keith balled up his fists. How in the hell did my brother—who is only thirty years old—die?

I’m sure I know what you’re thinking right now, but you’d be wrong. There wasn’t a fight among inmates. Kevin hung himself a little over an hour ago in his cell. By the time he was discovered, it was too late to revive him. You have my deepest sympathy, Mr. Hadley.

How could he possibly hang himself?

Inmates can be very creative. We have a half dozen suicides a year.

Is that supposed to make me feel better? I’m suing this prison for negligence! Keith pounded the wall with his fist.

I’m sorry, sir, but there is nothing that warrants negligence. We have our own staff of attorneys, and the only suits that ever see a financial award are when inmates kill other inmates. I assure you that didn’t happen. Kevin has been talking to our facility psychiatrist for the last two weeks and has been under the prison doctor’s care. He’s refused to take his antiseizure and antidepression medications. I think the ten-year anniversary of his incarceration was too much for him. I imagine it brought back memories of that gruesome day eleven years ago. Thinking back to the sight of your dead parents’ bodies might have affected his will to live. The warden let out a deep sigh. I’d be more than happy to set up an appointment with one of the doctors and a staff attorney if you’d like. They rotate work schedules on weekends too.

What am I supposed to do with my brother’s body?

You can arrange for Kevin’s remains to be delivered to any funeral home of your choice.

Set up those appointments for tomorrow, but right now I have to think. My phone number is on file with the guards. How do I get out of here? I feel like I’m suffocating.

The warden turned and opened the inner door. Elizabeth, please show Mr. Hadley down to the visitors’ entrance. Again, Mr. Hadley, you have our condolences, and I’ll have Elizabeth text you those appointment times as soon as they’re arranged.

Keith was in disbelief as he pressed the gas pedal and peeled out of the prison’s parking lot. He didn’t know what to do. If he called the executor of the trust, he’d lose everything. If he didn’t, the prison would be compelled to inform the executor, anyway. It was their duty. Either way, Keith knew what Attorney Timothy Link would say, and he didn’t want to hear it. He pulled into the parking lot of the first liquor store he saw as he cruised the streets of Atmore. Inside, he grabbed a pint of whiskey, a pint of brandy, and a two-liter Coke. He headed to the cashier.

The fiftyish-looking bleached blonde gave him a wide smile. Looks like somebody is going to party tonight. Need some company, hon? I get off in a half hour.

Keith gave her a stare, thought about it for a moment too long, then smirked his response. Not in the mood, and I’d be shitty company. Thanks, anyway. He jerked his head at the bottles and tossed a bag of salted peanuts on the counter. How about ringing those up?

Whatever. Your loss.

I’m sure it is. He handed her a ten and a twenty, told her to keep the change, and walked out. With his booze and bottle of Coke on the passenger seat, Keith climbed in behind the wheel, fired up the engine, and headed down the street. He needed to find a motel for the night.

He slowed after the next set of lights. On his right stood a two-story outside-entrance motel that had definitely seen better days. The neon lights flashed only half the words—Atmo In—but what Keith cared about was the sign below that read Vacancy. He pulled in under the portico and parked next to the office.

He walked into the worn-out establishment. A two-year-old calendar hung on the wall behind the counter, looking as if it was designed to camouflage the large diagonal crack in the stucco. A musty odor combined with the smell of day-old trash stung Keith’s nose. His desire to turn around and leave was strong, but the desire to spend as little money as possible was even stronger. He reached out and dinged the bell on the counter. Anyone here? I need a room for the night.

A young man with dark greasy hair, a face reddened by pimples, and a pin reading Mike attached to his T-shirt came out from the back room. What’s up, man? Room for one?

Yeah. Keith pointed a thumb over his shoulder. Nice sign you have out there.

Mike shrugged. It’s been like that for five years. Most people know what it means.

Apparently. I assumed it stood for Atmore Inn.

You’d be correct. With his elbows on the counter, Mike stared at Keith.

Yeah, sure. How much?

Mike tapped his pen on the surface. Depends on how long you’re staying.

One night.

That will be thirty-seven bucks in advance. Cash or credit?

Credit. Keith pulled out the card from his wallet and slid it across the counter. He gave Mike a threatening glare. You better not have a skimmer on that machine.

Seriously, dude. This place doesn’t get enough business to justify buying an illegal skimmer. The BestStay Inn along the interstate might be a different story, though.

Keith placed the credit card back in his wallet and pocketed the key. He returned to his car and drove to room seven. With the brown paper bag of booze in his left hand and the bottle of Coke under his arm, he fished for the key with his right hand and unlocked the door. He flicked on the light and crossed the threshold. He couldn’t hold back the groan as he entered the room. Keith slammed the door behind him and glanced around the sparsely furnished room. That same odor filled his nose. He grabbed a chair and pulled it away from the table then took a seat and, with his head buried in his hands, tried to think of his next move. Keith had no idea how to go forward. His secret windfall had been spent years ago on fast cars, drugs, and booze. Since then, he’d been living on the monthly trust fund allowance for being Kevin’s legal guardian. With Kevin’s death, that money would be gone for good. He remembered hearing about the clause when it was drawn up in his parents’ will years ago. Any money that remained in the account upon Kevin’s death would be donated to a special needs foundation. Kevin had been Keith’s cash cow for eleven years, and now that bovine was dead.

Keith cracked open the whiskey bottle, grabbed a cellophane-wrapped plastic cup from a stack in the room, and filled the cup halfway to the top. He added a splash of Coke, knocked it back, and filled the cup again.

Chapter 3

Keith woke to a throbbing headache and felt his heart beating in his temples. He pressed his palms against the sides of his face, hoping that would alleviate the pain. It didn’t.

I don’t have any