Arrival of a Stranger: Stranger Series, #2

By Shawn Riniti

Have you ever wondered what it would be like to be able to peer inside the mind of a serial killer?

Detective Tom Harris is a seasoned veteran who takes the lead on the case after the first slaying occurs and is in a race against time to track down the demented perpetrator before the next victim is discovered.

Each horrific murder provides a detailed journey and insight of a killer who creates a belief in a psychotic mission that wreaks havoc in the town of Mead Colorado.

Leaving minimal clues and evidence with no apparent pattern or motive will lead him down a trail of brutally mutilated bodies― to an extent he has never encountered in his career.

Will Detective Tom Harris end the chaos that continues to take lives or will he fail in the attempt to save those who come face to face with their gruesome fate?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Shawn Riniti
• Release date: May 15, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386352518

Shawn Riniti

Shawn Riniti resides in Pennsylvania with his wife Ashton and four children. He obtained his B.S. in Elementary Education from Youngstown State University and has been a musician for the better part of his life composing music, lyrics, and poetry. Starting at an early age, he has been enthralled in suspense-thriller and horror novels and movies. After years of contemplation, he decided to combine his abstract imagination and unique visuals to release the stories buried in the depths of his mind. Amongst them, is his debut novel “Secrets of a Stranger.”

Book preview

DEDICATION

For everyone who enjoyed my debut novel Secrets of a Stranger and told me to continue.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I’m grateful for all the people who have supported me throughout the process of writing this book. My wife Ashton had proofread my manuscript many times over and I can’t thank her enough for the encouragement that she has given me and most of all the understanding of the amount time and effort that’s involved with any project.

I’m extremely grateful to the people who contributed to this book:

Blazing Covers for the cover design

I owe a debt of gratitude to friends and family for the encouragement to continue to accomplish this lifelong goal of writing.

I wanted to thank Jenna Dillion for proofreading and Michael Delehanty for his time editing.

There is a dozen more and I thank you all.

CHAPTER 1

The sun was just coming up when he arrived at the crime scene. It was far from being an ordinary start of the day for Detective Tom Harris. At least he was able to get his cup of coffee before getting acquainted with the horrific crime scene at the Vista Motel early Saturday morning.

Tom was still trying to wake up as he asked one of the uniforms already on the scene, What do we have in there?

You might want to get a couple more cups of coffee before you try to go in, the officer responded, watching Tom sip slowly on his small coffee.

In addition to an ambulance parked out front of room 14, Tom noticed the Coroner’s vehicle was present, plus five police cars as well. The forensic team was bringing equipment into the room and Chief Harmon had just arrived.

The Chief approached him. Tom, I need you to get your ass in there and find out what the hell is going on, he demanded.

I am Sir.

Tom walked briskly towards room 14 and that’s when the smell hit him. He remembered what the officer told him and realized he was right about getting more coffee. He paused for a moment to catch his breath and inhaled deeply before entering. When he stepped into the doorway it was not what he expected. 

Pictures were being snapped and the forensic team was buzzing around like a bunch of bees dusting for prints, using the UV light, and examining the body. The Coroner had a confused look on his face as he was speaking with one of the men from forensics. He saw Tom had entered, waved him over, and continued to examine the scene. Tom couldn’t get a good look at the body because of the men bending over discussing it. He glanced around and couldn’t believe how much blood was on the walls and ceiling. Even the carpet below his feet had been soaked with blood, but enough time had passed where he was instructed he was able to walk on it as it was mostly dry. The forensic team had already checked for footprints, took pictures, and covered the floor with plastic to contain the blood that had not dried from getting on their shoes. 

The Coroner finally completed his conversation and walked over to Tom. Good Morning Tom. This is a bad one. I’ll get the body out of here once the team is done and then have the medical examiner give you his conclusions once he’s completed his report.

Tom nodded and finally got a good look at the body over the shoulder of the Coroner. It was a gruesome scene. One he hadn’t seen in a while. The body was a large man strapped to the bed. He laid there, and Tom could see the bruises on the wrists where he was tied to the bed. Each leg was bound as well. It looked as if he had a ball gag of some sort in his mouth to contain his screams. The man had been tortured to death. The most peculiar thing was how he was tortured. He was literally cut open from his abdomen to his upper chest. Tom wondered how someone could possess such a hatred to be willing to gut someone while they were possibly still alive. The man’s intestines were spewed to one side of his body. The blood was so perfused it soaked right through the mattress dripping on the floor underneath the bed. Tom took one step closer to see the man’s sternum was cut in half to expose his heart. Tom had enough exposure to the live autopsy that was performed on this man. He had a job to do and it was to catch a mentally disturbed individual with an apparent obsession with gore. Tom turned and walked out of the room. He had to start the process of interviewing witnesses.

Alright Chief, get me up to speed on what information you have, Tom requested.

We have the manager in his office waiting for you to interview him. Apparently, the deceased is Jack Coleman. He’s a truck driver and went by the nickname Jackknife. He was hauling a load to Denver and was early, so he ended getting a room in our little town of Mead. That’s all we got right now. Maybe you can get something out of the manager.

Any other possible witnesses? Tom asked.

Nothin’ so far. We probably won’t get too much from forensics either. There are too many hair samples and prints, we wouldn’t be able to sort through them all. the Chief answered.

Tom began walking to the office where he could see two officers through the glass with a man Tom assumed to be the manager.

All the officers knew Tom Harris. He was respected throughout the force. He was the perfect stereotype of what a cop looked like, talked like, walked like, and his personality overwhelmingly portrayed the same stereotypical image. He was born and raised in Denver Colorado. His mother was a homemaker, and his father was on the job. He was forty years old, divorced, with no children. Standing six feet tall with an athletic build, he had piercing blue eyes and had his head shaved, which further added to the stereotype.

He met his wife in college and fell in love immediately. His wife Ann was enrolled in the same program but went in a different direction and became one of the top judges in Denver. He played football for four years at The University of Colorado where he studied criminal justice. Tom was a magnificent running back and was even drafted by the Denver Broncos. He accepted the offer, but in his first and only season, he blew out his knee during the first preseason game on the third running play when a 265-pound brick wall of a linebacker also trying to make a name for himself. Unfortunately, this sidelined his career as a professional football player. Once his therapy was complete, he decided to become a cop and follow in his father’s footsteps.

After the police academy, Tom and Ann were married and settled in the city of Mead, which is about thirty-five miles north of Denver. It was a quaint little town with a population of about forty-five hundred and sat off Interstate 25 and Highway 66. Tom was hired on to the police force and he and his wife wanted to start a family right away. His drinking prevented this from happening and he soon found himself in a messy divorce. He did complete rehab that was offered by the Police Department and hadn’t had a drink since. The highlight of Tom’s career came when he was sent to Boulder Colorado to help with the Jon Benet Ramsey case. Even though the case was never solved, he felt it was an honor to be chosen to help with the investigation. Tom continued to live in Mead and had become one of the best detectives in the state.

Tom opened the door to the office and one officer handed him a fresh cup of coffee while taking the empty one from his hand to throw it away.

The officer introduced him, Tom, this is Steve Miles, the manager of the Vista Motel.

Hey, Steve! Looks like we got a little mess in room 14 today, Tom said as he sipped the coffee and winced because it was extremely hot but swallowed it anyway.  

Steve was obviously nervous stuttering as he spoke, Y...Y...Yes. I discovered the body. I...I thought he had checked out already.

Was he with anyone when he checked in?

He pulled his truck in the back as most truckers do and he paid for the room. He was alone as far as I know. It was late, and I was sleeping in the back, so I can’t be sure. He only paid for one night. He said he had arrived earlier than expected and needed to be in Denver on Friday. That was Thursday, late.

How did you come across the body Steve?

Checkout is at 11:00 a.m. and I usually make sure everyone knows that. Then I do my rounds to see which rooms the cleaning staff can start on.

Did anyone stay in room 13 or 15, on either side?

No. We weren’t busy at all. We only had two other rooms occupied the day before and they were down at the other end. Plus, they were gone before he even checked in.

Did the cleaning staff see the body? Tom asked.

No. I came across the body. There was only one guest, so I didn’t have them come in at all. I figured I’d do it myself.

Notice any other vehicles in the parking lot? Tom asked.

Just his truck. That’s all.

Tom knew from his years of experience that Steve had nothing to do with this crime. It was just protocol to interview possible witnesses just in case they had some clue or could remember anything that would lead him to his next move.

Tom handed him a card. Alright Steve, thank you for your time. If you can remember anything, please call me.

Steve nodded, Yes Sir.

Tom walked outside of the office and it was light outside. He looked at his phone and saw it was 7:00 a.m. He looked across the parking lot as screeching air brakes sounded from the bus picking up a lone pedestrian standing at the bus stop. He immediately went back to the office.

Steve, one last question. How often does that bus stop out front?

Steve seemed confused at first but answered, The first stop is at 7:00 a.m. and then every three or four hours after that. It has several stops throughout town, but then goes to Denver and circles back.

Tom had his first lead in the case. He scurried out the door toward the Captain to check in and let him know about the bus route. He explained he was going to the bus authority to see if he could get any answers.

The bus authority was located on the other side of town. It took him longer than usual to get there as the morning traffic was starting to get congested. When he pulled his car into the lot, there was an office located in the front of the building. He parked adjacent to the entrance. He got out of his car and proceeded to the door. He entered and noticed a younger man behind a counter sitting at the desk writing something. The man looked up and noticed Tom standing there.

Hi, can I help you?

Tom showed his badge as he introduced himself, Yes. I’m Detective Tom Harris and I was wondering if you can help answer some questions?

Sure. What can I help with?

First, can I have your name and your position here?

I’m James and I’m the Dispatch Manager. What is this all about?

Early this morning we had a call out at the Vista Motel for a murder and I’m trying to see if I can find out who else was involved. I’m trying to see if they had possibly taken the bus from there. Were you working Thursday night until Friday...afternoon?

Our last bus stop at Vista was around 6:00 p.m. Thursday night. We try to do our last pickup in Denver and sweep around, then through Mead, and back to the garage here, James explained. And Friday morning we usually stop there at 7:00 a.m. and by the time we circle back around it’s close to 10 or 10:30 a.m.

Can you tell me who the driver was Friday morning? Tom asked.

Yeah. Phil has had that route every day for the past ten years.

Is Phil working today?

Yes. I can’t really have him come in because we are on a timed schedule, but you could maybe catch the bus at 10ish to talk to him.

Tom raised his voice, Listen, James. I’m trying to follow up on some leads and I don’t have three to four hours to spare to talk to Paul.

James cut Tom off, Detective! Wait! You can talk to him through our dispatch system.

That’s more like it. Tom barked.

Tom circled around the counter to join James at the dispatch center. The desk was a complete mess. There were empty cups and food containers lying about. It also had a distinct smell reminding him of spoiled protein on a hot summer day.

James grabbed the microphone and pressed the button on the side. Bus three do you copy?

Go ahead for bus three.

Hey Phil, I have a Detective Harris here and wants to ask you some questions about a murd...

Tom grabbed the microphone out of James' hand before he could finish his sentence and asked, Phil, this is Detective Tom Harris. Did you pick anyone up out at the Vista Motel on Thursday night through Friday morning?

I picked up an older gentleman, but he is a regular pickup at my last stop Thursday. Friday, I didn’t pick up anyone in the morning. Not until 11:00 a.m. I probably picked up three or four people, he recalled.

This older guy, where is he from? Tom asked.

Mike lives on the outskirts of Denver. He works as a cook at the restaurant right by the Motel.

That’s all I need for now Phil. Anything out of the ordinary or anyone else you can recall Thursday night?

Oh wait! I did see a hitchhiker when pulling up to the stop in front of the motel. I was waiting for Mike to get on the bus and he was taking his good-old-time and when I looked up into the distance I saw someone down the road getting into a car.

Was it a male or female? Tom asked.

I couldn’t see that far. All I could make out was a silhouette of a figure with their arm out and saw the brake lights stopping to pick them up. I just remembered, because we don’t get too many hitchhikers out here anymore with all the crazy people in the news all the time and I thought it was out of the ordinary.

What kind of car was it? What color? Tom spouted off.

Like I said Detective, I couldn’t see that far. All I know is it was a small car.

Hey, Phil. If you can think of any other details, I’ll leave my number here with James.

Okay Detective, Phil responded.

Tom stood up from his slumped position and stretched his back with a growl.

Tom reached into his wallet. Here’s my card. Please have Phil call me if he remembers anything else.

Will do Detective.

Tom was disappointed in one sense that he really didn’t have too much to go on. A cook that has been taking the bus in a normal everyday pattern and a possible hitchhiker with not one description of the person or vehicle. Tom slipped into the driver’s seat and began heading to his office to check in with the Captain.

LATER THAT NIGHT, DETECTIVE Harris found himself eating at the local restaurant as he usually did. It was the pattern of a lonely man. He didn’t have too many friends nor did he want them. He was a loner and focused only on his job. He didn’t have an interest in any hobbies except catching some football on T.V. from time to time. His interest was being the best detective and that was all. He was good at it and knew his life meant nothing without it. He continued to eat his hot turkey sandwich with mashed potatoes. It wasn’t homemade as he remembered from his childhood. He gazed at the scenery of the small restaurant with its outdated wallpaper covered in a yellowish tint, probably from years of grease permeating the air. He watched the staff as they worked filling the coffee cups of old men who had nothing better to do with their lives than to sit for hours discussing how times had changed and trying to relive the good old days. He watched the cook wipe the sweat from his brow with his forearm and continue to prepare the next order, wondering if any sweat made it to his hot turkey sandwich. The thought of it turned his