The High School Killer: Carole Larsen Mysteries

By charles fisher

Someone is murdering the Bunnell High School class of 1966 in Stratford, Ct., and class member Carole Larsen, now a Detective with the Stratford PD, catches the case. What she encounters will turn into a very long nightmare scenario.

• Language: English
• Publisher: charles fisher
• Release date: May 23, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386930754

Book preview

Table of Contents

The High School Killer

The End | Carole, Katie, and Capri will return in The High School Killer Part Two, Redemption

The High School Killer

Stratford, Connecticut  Police Department

900 Longbrook Avenue

Stratford, Connecticut

March, 1970

––––––––

Here you go, Detective, Captain Jack  Reynolds said. This one is all yours. He threw the file onto her desk. Have fun.

Thanks a lot, Detective Lieutenant Carole Larsen said. I graduated from this school, you know. This hits pretty close to home.

That’s why I’m giving it to you. You got a problem with this case?

Maybe, Carole said, looking outside at the raging rainstorm.

Too bad, Reynolds said. You are the only female Detective we have. And the only Bunnell graduate above the rank of Sergeant. You wanted it, you got it. Do your job, Lieutenant.

You  know, some day I’m going to take you out behind the building and show you what kind of job I can really do, Carole smiled. Would you like that?

Don’t get smart with me, Reynolds said. I’ll write you up for insubordination.

Hard to write with a broken arm, Carole nodded.

You ain’t as tough as you think you are, Reynolds smirked.

Any time, Preppie, Carole  grinned. You and me, and the badges come off.

Do your job, Lieutenant, Reynolds said. You can do your job, can’t you? If you can’t, you let me know and I’ll reassign you to writing traffic tickets.

Great. Then I can pop your mother for peddling Poony at Bonn’s Dock.

One more smart remark out of you, and I’ll.....

You’ll what? Carole said as she came out from behind her desk, her hand on her .45. You want some of me? I’m standing right here.

You got your case. I’m not falling for your crap and your big mouth, you and that .45 you carry. Dirty Harriet, he grinned. That gun ain’t regulation.

Neither am I, Carole smiled. You don’t like my gun? Come take it away from me, girly boy.

You are this close, Reynolds said, holding his fingers two inches apart.

That looks like what your old lady got on her wedding night, Carole snickered. I’ll work the case my way. That means you leave me the hell alone and stay out of my face.

You got it. You step out of line and I’ll have you up on charges.

Bye, Carole smiled as she waved at Reynolds.

After he had gone, Carole went through the file. Sixteen former Bunnell graduates had been murdered in the last six months, several of which had been her classmates. It was as expected; no clues, no evidence, no motive, no suspects. Carole went over to the window and looked out at the raging storm, her tears mixed with the rivulets of rain reflected on the window. She was happy in one respect; nobody could see her cry. She put her hand against the cold glass and fought back her grief.

You belong to me, she whispered through her tears. Whoever you are, wherever you are, your ass is mine.

Stratford, Connecticut  Police Department

900 Longbrook Avenue

Stratford, Connecticut

March, 1970

––––––––

Lieutenant Larsen, Carole said in a bored voice as she gulped some Tylenol and washed it down with black coffee. She looked over at her desk drawer where a bottle of Glenlivet waited her caress, but thought better of it.

Hi, beautiful, the voice whispered. Guess who.

Could be just about anybody who ever saw me, Carole said. Who is this?

You don’t recognize my voice, Cutie?

No. Stop with the games.

Your friendly Yearbook  Editor.

Oh God; not you, Barrett, Carole laughed. I though they locked you up in a mental ward years ago.

They did, but I escaped. My leg hasn’t been right ever since that incident where you wanted me to change the yearbook, and you kept kicking me.

Too bad. Now it matches your brain. What do you want?

I have some information that might help you solve the case you’re working on.

How did you know about that? Carole said suspiciously. I just caught the case yesterday.

The Great One knows all, and sees all. You forget, there are other Bunnell graduates on the force.

Nobody knows I have this case  except me and the Captain.

That’s what you think. You better work fast, because I’m headed for Fort Leonard Wood in October and I’ll be gone for six months.

You should stay there, you big creep, Carole laughed. All you ever did was make fun of me. You called me short, and said I had hairy legs. Why should I believe anything you say?

Because I’m smarter than you, Charles said. And you are short, and you had hairy legs. I have pictures.

Anybody is short compared to you, Jolly Green Giant. Look, I have a lot of work to do. What do you have besides a personality which is a cross between Ayn Rand and Grouch Marx?

Meet me at Maraczi’s for lunch and I’ll.......give it to you.

You wish. I have a boyfriend. 

My condolences to the poor chap. Be there at noon. The line went dead in her hand.

Maraczi’s Drive-In Restaurant

Lordship, Connecticut

March, 1970

––––––––

Charles was leaning against the fender of his new Fathom Blue Chevelle SS454 when Carole pulled in with her plain Gray Ford sedan. She got out and walked over to him. He was wearing a black turtleneck, blue jeans, and a tan suede jacket. A .45  was tucked into his belt where Carole couldn’t see it.

I see you haven’t gotten any shorter, Carole smiled. You better be careful. There are low flying airplanes around here. The airport is right down the street.

And you forgot your step ladder, Shorty. Could you possibly be any more conspicuous? Charles laughed, pointing at her car. What’s with the plain brown wrapper?

I’m a cop. I drive a cop car. And I see you drive one of those drag race cars. How can you afford that on the money you make delivering newspapers?

I have a big.....route, he grinned. Never mind my finances. Let’s get something to eat. I’ll buy.

Now you’re talking, Carole said, rubbing her hands together. I’ll order. They went up to the window; the girl eyed Charles and smiled. Now we can close for the day, she grinned. Mr. Piggy is here.

Very funny, Gilbert, Charles said. Does Ricky know you work here? I’m sure you never bring home a paycheck after all the food deductions.

I’m a good girl, Betty Gilbert pouted. Now shut up and order. Oh, hello, Carole, she smirked. Nice to see you. You didn’t ticket my car, did you?

Not yet, twerp, Carole smiled. Two double bacon cheeseburgers, two dogs with the works, two large orders of fries, two orders of onion rings, two chocolate  shakes, and two large Cokes.

I’ll have the same, Charles smiled as he threw a twenty on the counter.

Whoa! Carole laughed. That was for both of us.

Yeah, right, Betty snickered. With those thighs? Don’t make me laugh.

I’ll make you bleed, Carole smiled. Keep it up, Gilbert. You never liked me anyway, because I was always prettier than you.

Ha, Betty laughed. I had skunks in my back yard that were prettier than you. And they smelled better, too.

That was an accident! Carole yelled. My father bought that stuff to attract deer. I thought it was perfume.

Now girls, Charles sighed. Enough bickering. Hey Gilbert, do you still have those warts?

You shut up, you creep, Betty hissed. That was makeup for a school play.

They got their order and went back to the Chevelle. Charles opened Carole’s door for her.

What, you expecting a leg shot or something? she snickered as she got in.

No. It’s called being a gentleman. I was raised with two sisters, God help me, he sighed. He went over and got in. I hope nobody followed you.

Why would they? Carole said as she attacked a cheeseburger.

You have no idea what you got yourself into by taking this case.

I had no choice. The Captain assigned it to me.

Reynolds? Charles laughed. He got his job because his wife is related to the Town Manager.

What else is new, Carole said as she finished the cheeseburger and started on another.

Eat lately? Charles smiled. Take human bites.

I’m hungry. What do you have that you want to give me? Oh, cripes, I never should have said that to an asshole like you, Carole sighed.

That one was so easy even I wouldn’t bother with it. I have information that will help you solve this case.

Then let’s see it, Carole said. It better be good, too.

Like that’s the first time you ever said that, Charles said as he reached under the seat.

Why do you always pick on me?

Force of habit. That’s what we did when we were kids.

We aren’t kids any more, Carole said, looking out the window of the car. I left my childhood on the front steps of the police station four years ago. I thought it would be a fun job. I started as a secretary, and then I got my badge. It isn’t fun at all.

Then why do you do it?

I have to, Carole said. I have no choice. You wouldn’t understand.

I might, Charles shrugged. You’re right..... we aren’t kids any more. I’m going off to become a Combat Engineer, and you’re a cop. That’s a lot of responsibility for people twenty two years old.

Is that how old we are? Carole said softly. I forgot about that. I feel like I’m a hundred. It’s like I’ve been here forever.  I don’t understand it. Maybe I’m not supposed to.

Is the job that bad? I mean, it’s only Stratford, not the Bronx.

You have no idea what goes on in this town, Carole said as she started in on a hot dog. It is truly disgusting. They cover it up; the creep that runs the town has an in with the Bridgeport Post. They won’t publish the truth about this place. They send some hack reporter around once a week.....we went to school with him. Kotchko is his name. We give him the reports and he hands half of them back to us. Everybody wanders around in a daze, like this is some sort of Utopia.

Tell me what goes on, Charles said.

No. I will not. Give me that information, she said, pointing at the manila envelope in Charles’ hand.

You didn’t get this from me, he said as he handed her the envelope. When I get back from training, I’ll help you. Leave me out of it until then.

Okay, Carole said. She finished her dog, her fries, and her rings. She opened the envelope and looked through the material.

No, she cried. It can’t be.

It is, Charles said.

How did you get this? Carole exclaimed.

Never mind. All you need to know is that it’s true.

I can’t accept this, Carole whispered. It isn’t even remotely possible. You have to tell me why you have this.

One of my best friends was a victim. I want payback.

This......... Carole said, holding up her hands, is bizarre. This cannot be.

Yeah, I heard that before, Charles said. Aren’t you glad you’re a cop? he smiled.

No, Carole cried, putting her face in her hands. I want to die, like all the rest of them did, so I don’t have to deal with this shit any more.

That is not an option for either of us, Charles said. You’d better dig down and see what you’re made of. Things are going to get really nasty when you start to work this case. Some people will stop at nothing. This is one of them.

Carole looked at Charles for a long time. Do you believe in me? she said quietly.

If I didn’t, we wouldn’t be sitting here. Are you going to eat that other dog?

No, Carole said, looking down. I’m not hungry any more.

And they say there’s no God, Charles smiled as he grabbed the dog. Cheer up, kiddo, better days are coming.

When? Carole said, looking out the window.

You’ll see, Charles said. Wait a year. Things will look a lot more clear then.

Barrett Residence

Connor Place

Stratford,  Connecticut

March, 1970

––––––––

It’s for you, Grace Barrett said. It’s the police. Charles looked up from his desk and looked at the clock. 

Uh oh, he said. It’s eleven O’clock. This can’t be good.

What did you do now? Grace laughed.

Nothing. I’m helping a Detective on her murder case. You know, the one where they’re knocking off all the Bunnell kids. Charles got up and went to the phone.

It’s Pat Kennedy, the voice said in a worried tone. They just shot Carole in front of her house. Two guys. She killed one of them and wounded the second man. He got away. We’re looking for him now.

Is she......

No. It’s pretty bad, though. She’s in surgery right now at Bridgeport Hospital. She took three rounds.

I told her to be careful, Charles sighed. Put me on the visitor’s list, okay?

Yeah. The doctors said she won’t be out of the anesthetic until about nine tomorrow morning.

Okay, Pat,  thanks for calling.

What the hell is going on, Chuck? She said to call you if anything happened to her. Why you?

I’m helping her on the Bunnell case. Any ID on the shooter she killed?

Nothing. No prints on file and he had no ID on him. Hold on a minute, okay? Something just came in from Patrol. Kennedy came back a minute later. They got him, he said. He tried to shoot it out with our guys in front of  Stratford Ignition on Barnum. He’s dead. Same bullshit; no ID and a stolen car.

He doesn’t know how lucky he was, Charles said. Call me if......you know.

I will. The line went dead in Charles’ hand.

Bridgeport Hospital

267 Grand Street

Bridgeport,  Connecticut

March, 1970

––––––––

Ten minutes, the floor nurse said. That’s it.

Okay. Charles went into the room; Carole looked like something out of a Frankenstein movie, with all kinds of equipment and IVs hooked up to her. She looked up and smiled weakly.

Hi.

You look like crap, Charles smiled as he pulled up a chair.

You’d look like crap too, if they just dug three bullets out of you.

They should have shot you in the head. That way the bullets wouldn’t have done any damage.

Thanks. Next time drive me home so I can use you for a human shield.

How’s the food in this joint? Charles said.

I get mine through a tube.

You want I should sneak in some cheeseburgers and a pizza?

No. I don’t have much of an appetite. A few inches to the left, and I wouldn’t have to worry about it at all.

I knew I should have hired a better shot, Charles said, snapping his fingers.

The last thing I remember is going down in the front yard, praying that I’d never wake up again.

Don’t think like that. You’ll heal up in a couple of weeks, and you’ll be your old miserable self again. They got the other guy. The dude tried to shoot it out with Patrol. He lost. No ID or prints on file for either man.

They’re French or Corsican, Carole whispered. I heard one of them say something in French.

That fits the profile in one way. They didn’t get the file away from you, did they?

No. That’s in my locker at the P.D.

Good. All we have to do now is figure out how they knew you had the case.

Half the town knows I have the case.

That means the killer probably still lives here.

He won’t be living here for long when I get out of this hospital, Carole said.

Now that’s the Carole I know; dedicated to making men’s lives a living hell. The nurse stuck her head in the door and gave Charles a look. I have to go. You rest up. Then we fix this.

Stratford, Connecticut  Police Department

900 Longbrook Avenue

Stratford,  Connecticut

May, 1970

––––––––

What the hell is this? the Captain said, holding up an arrest warrant. I didn’t authorize this. 

Nobody asked you to, Carole said.

You actually expect me to have this served?

No, I expect somebody else to do it. Go hide under your desk and play with your dolls, you prick.

Don’t smart off with me, the Captain said. Just because you got a commendation doesn’t make you the boss around here.

You serve that warrant, or I will personally stick it up your miserable, worthless, inept ass. I didn’t lay in a hospital bed for three weeks to come back to this.

You’re gonna be sorry you ever became a cop, Larsen.

I’m already sorry. Now get the hell out of my office. I have work to do.

Stratford, Connecticut  Police Department

900 Longbrook Avenue

Stratford,  Connecticut

May, 1970

––––––––

Who’s this creep? Carole said, looking out at the lobby.

Lawyer, the receptionist said as she whacked away at half a pack of Doublemint. You want I should like send him in?

Yeah, like send him in. Who hired you, anyway? You look like Mrs. Wiggins from the Carole Burnett Show.

The Captain like hired me, the girl snapped. You got like a problem with me?

You’re getting there, Carole smiled. Better shut your Valley Girl mouth before I shut it for you.

Hmmph, the girl snorted, and wiggled off to the lobby. The lawyer came in and sat down.

Charles Terry, Attorney at Law. How are you, Carole? he smiled.

You can’t be a lawyer, Carole laughed. You graduated with me. You aren’t old enough.

I skipped a few grades, Terry smiled.

Me too, Carole grinned. They kicked me out of the second grade for...... never mind. What are you doing here?

This, Terry said, holding up the arrest warrant. My client is....... unavailable.

He was available enough to hire you, Carole said, sitting down. Where is he?

I cannot say. Attorney-client privilege.

Listen, Chuckie, you better give it up or you’re going to have my size five shoe planted in your ass.

Five? Terry laughed. More like a nine. You could water ski with those feet.

I don’t have big feet! Carole yelled.

Or a big legal education. I do not know the whereabouts of my client. He must have read about the arrest warrant in the newspaper.

"It wasn’t in the newspaper," Carole snapped.

Either way, my client maintains that he had nothing to do with any of these murders. You, of all people, should know that.

What I know is that your client hired two French speaking hit men to kill me. You know anything about that?

No, Terry said. I do not. What is your evidence concerning this warrant?

I don’t have to show you my evidence, Carole smirked. Your client hasn’t been arrested yet.

Touché. You aren’t as stupid as I always thought you were. Is Betty Gilbert still prettier than you? he smiled.

No, Carole grinned. Not any more. I killed her last week and buried her in a landfill. Where is your client? I’m not going to ask again.

Good. That means I won’t have to repeat myself. Do you have anything else for me?

Yeah, Carole grinned, setting her .45 on the desk. But I can’t...... give it to you here. Maybe some night I will, when you least expect it.

That would be murder, Terry huffed.

No shit. You aren’t as stupid as I always thought you were. I’m giving you 24 hours to produce this asshole. After that, I put out an APB with the armed and dangerous stuff, suspected in the attempted murder of a police officer, etc, shoot to kill. Guess what will happen to him when they find him.

I’ll see what I can do, Terry said.

I thought you would, Carole smiled. Terry got up and headed for the door. Hey Terry. Get a new suit, okay? They leave the Good Will box open in front of Nyden’s. Anything would be an improvement.

Buy some stilts, Terry snickered as he left.

I’m not short! Carole yelled. Bastard.

Stratford, Connecticut  Police Department

900 Longbrook Avenue

Stratford,  Connecticut

Interview Room 3

April, 1970

––––––––

Siddown, Carole said, pointing at a chair. Please try something, she grinned. I’m begging you. 

Pat Kennedy stuck his head in the door. You want protection?

Not for me, Carole said. Maybe for this creep.

Okay, Pat shrugged, and closed the door.

Carole stared at the suspect. Talk, she said.

About what? the man said.

Are you as stupid as you look? Carole said. You think you’re here to discuss where the Easter Bunny is going to look for eggs this month? You have information about this person, she said, holding up the file. I want it. You will either give it up, or you will disappear.

This is police station, the man smirked. I know my rights. You no do this to me.

Rights? Carole laughed. You don’t have any rights. You are not a citizen. You are a piece of shit from a country we bailed out twice in two wars. I no do this to you? You have no idea what I will do to you. Talk, stupid.

Me want lawyer, the man said.

Carole came out from behind her desk and slammed the man in the face with a Billy club. There are your rights, she smiled. How do you like that, asshole?

You hit me! the man shrieked as he picked himself off the floor, blood running down his face.

Yeah, I did, Carole grinned. And that’s only the start of what’s going to happen to you if you don’t tell me what you know.

I know nothing about this! the man roared. Me want lawyer.

You aren’t entitled to a lawyer, because you are not under arrest. You do, however, have the right to have the living shit beat out of you until I say it’s time to stop. And believe me, that’s not going to be any time soon. Carole took off her jacket. Get up and sit down. The man complied Talk. Five, four, three, two.......

I told you I know nothing! the man screamed.

Okay, Carole shrugged. She took a giant rat trap out of her desk and smiled at the man. She pointed at his groin. Still don’t want to talk? she grinned.

You no do this to me! the man shrieked, and launched into a long tirade  in French.

Thank you, Carole said. The men who ambushed me spoke French. You speak French. You know what that means? I’ll tell you what it means. You will either tell me what you know, or you won’t ever have to worry about having kids. She shoved the rat rap at the man’s groin; he recoiled visibly. What, you’re afraid? Carole grinned. "You should