Another Day Dead

By Michael Purdon

Several teenagers are murdered in Fort Lauderdale, Florida. Strange symbols are carved into their necks. The only suspects are their best friends and even they do not know what happened. Ted and Dillon have only recently opened a private investigators agency and are called in by a friend to find the answers before more teens are murdered. This fast-paced mystery is their first case and they discover the truth in their own humorous way.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Sep 13, 2001
• ISBN: 9781462086429

Michael Purdon

Michael Purdon is a Paralegal and Nurse, living in Taylorsville, Ky. He is married and has one teenage son.

Book preview

Contents

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15

CHAPTER 16

CHAPTER 17

CHAPTER 18

CHAPTER 19

CHAPTER 20

CHAPTER 21

CHAPTER 22

CHAPTER 23

CHAPTER 24

CHAPTER 25

CHAPTER 26

CHAPTER 27

CHAPTER 28

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

PROLOGUE

It did not seem like a good night for a killing. Most people living in Ft. Lauderdale didn’t think of such things, until recently.

Jason Madden lived alone with his parents, about ten miles from the roaring blue Atlantic ocean. The same ocean college kids had been coming to for years, for sun, sand and sex, not necessarily in that order. Jason fit into this crowd no better than he did the crowd at his high school. In fact, Jason didn’t comfortably fit in anywhere. He resigned himself to the fact that he would always be a loner, satisfied with nothing exciting ever happening to him. Jason was exactly like his only friend, Tony. They were a perfect match for each other, because Tony was a loner and also thought nothing exciting would ever happen to him. They were both wrong. Tony would be dead wrong.

Jason picked up the phone in his room and called Tony, twirling the phone cord around his fingers while waiting for someone to answer.

Hello, answered Tony.

Tony, what’s up? Jason knew what Tony was doing, they went through this every Friday night, one or the other would call and ask the same question. The only difference this Friday night was that Tony would be killed by his best and only friend Jason, for reasons unknown to everyone, most of all to Jason.

Playing Nintendo with the squirt, answered Tony.

Want to hang out with a movie? asked Jason.

Let’s go cruising for a while, said Tony.

In this heat?

Why not?

You know the air don’t work.

Drop the windows.

I’m not cruising in a rusted out Plymouth.

Come on, implored Tony.

No, I get hassled at school enough.

Oh, like I don’t, Tony replied tersely.

There’s no reason to cause ourselves any more abuse.

All right. I’ll be waiting.

Jason hung up and grabbed his keys off the kitchen counter. He shouted to his mother where he was going and when he would be back. She worried about his driving, so he did what he could to ease some of her fears. Walking out to his car, he stopped to pick off a piece of loose paint before sinking into the driver’s seat. The starter groaned until the old car spit and sputtered to life. Water splashed through the floorboard as the car was driven through a puddle left by the usual summer rains.

The Videodome was about two miles from his home. Jason would stop there and get a movie before heading over to Tony’s.

Pulling into the parking lot, a smile came to his face as he noticed Max was working.

Jason liked Max and looked up to him. Max had been working at the Videodome for the past couple of years, while attending college. He finished college earlier in the year, but was working the rest of the summer, while he decided what to do with his psychology/marketing degree.

Jason liked talking with Max, he was smart and seemed to really take an interest in him. Since receiving his drivers license, Jason had been coming to the store and talking with him. They discussed things in Jason’s personal life that others didn’t care about, except for Tony, but Max was wiser than Tony, and gave better advice.

His steps were lively entering the store, he noticed there were no other customers inside. Hey Max, working hard?

The tall thin man with thick glasses looked up from reading something. No, pretty slow tonight. What are you up to?

Tony and I are going to hang out and watch a movie. Jason stuffed his hands into his low hung baggy shorts.

Same old thing huh. Max knew Tony and Jason’s habits.

Yeah. The answer was drawn out.

Look. I’ve got a special movie for you. I think you two will like it.

Great.

It’s a horror flick, the best I’ve seen in years. I’ve got it back here somewhere.

Jason watched intently as Max reached under the counter to retrieve the tape.

I just watched it yesterday. It’s called A Good Night for a Killing."

Sounds cool. I’ll take it, said Jason.

It doesn’t have any famous actors in it but it’s a good little flick.

Those were words of gold to Jason. He didn’t know why, but he looked up to Max and respected him, probably because he would listen to him and not laugh at his opinions, like everyone at school. He picked up the tape as if it was a delicate treasure.

Looks like a winner, I’m in the mood for a good horror flick, said Jason, or any other movie that Max would recommend.

I knew you liked horror movies, since you’ve only rented about a dozen of them. Let me have your card so I can ring you up.

Jason reached into his wallet for the rental card and handed it to Max.

Now, make sure you watch it tonight, with Tony. I’m anxious to see what you guys think of it. I’m sure Tony will like it too, said Max as matter of factly. After Max rang up the tape and handed the card back, he sat down on a stool that put him at eye level with Jason and began talking. Jason leaned against the counter, taking in every word as if Max was telling him the secret of women. The conversation went on until someone entered the store and Max had to go to work.

Jason left and picked up Tony on his way home.

Max turned me on to this cool horror tape, and said we would like it.

Tony picked up the tape, turned it around and looked at the title. Sounds good, you’ll hold my hand if I get scared won’t you, teased Tony.

Hold your own hand pal.

It was close to eleven before they put the movie into the VCR in Jason’s room and turned out the lights. Jason stretched out on the bed and Tony sat on the floor with his back to the side of the bed.

The movie was about teenagers that joined a cult and as an initiation ritual they had to kill someone to show loyalty to the master. They were ordered to strangle the victim and then take a knife and carve a triangular symbol into the right side of the neck, severing the carotid artery and allowing them to bleed to death. The killers then took the blood of the victim and rubbed it all over themselves, as a cleansing ritual.

The boys watched the first initiation and Tony looked to Jason and said. This is too good. Max was right.

The boys watched as the movie progressed until after the second killing. That was when life started imitating art. Jason wrapped his white pillowcase around Tony’s neck, pulling tight. Tighter. Tony’s hands instinctively went for his throat, desperately trying to loosen Jason’s grip. Trying to turn around and get to his knees. Trying unsuccessfully to shove Jason away. Fighting. They were close to the same build, but Jason was using his leverage to hold Tony down. Tony’s hand groped around, attempting to find anything to use to strike Jason. His attempts were futile so he began punching. Punching. His attempts were only stealing more energy, more air from him.

Tony threw his fists over his head, trying in any way to hit Jason. His left fist struck Jason in the left eye. He shook the pain away. His grip unrelenting. The pillowcase tightened around Tony’s throat. Tighter.

Tony managed to swivel around. Looking into Jason’s contorted face. Trying to find a reason in his raging eyes. Jason’s head came closer. His hot breath mixed with cold sweat on Tony’s face. A sheath of light from the television, exposing Jason’s demonized face. Savage. Jason’s steel blue eyes were attempting to pop out of their sockets. Nose flaring. Sucking in air. Replenishing that lost in the struggle. Mouth twisted, teeth clenched. Salivating. This was not Tony’s best friend. But his lasting image. Burned into his mind as he was dying.

The last of Tony’s oxygen depleted. Oddly, delicious thoughts of him and Jason flashed. Basketball. Laughing. What was going through Jason’s mind? Fishing? Why?

Arms, legs, flailing a few more times. Now stillness. Jason stood over Tony. Turning on the light to observe his handiwork. Satisfied. Tony was dead. It was safe to leave him behind. Jason started the next phase of his attack. Opening the door he walked quietly through the long hall. Past his parents bedroom door. The sound of Jay Leno, introducing his guest for the evening, was coming from his parent’s bedroom, causing him to stop and listen outside their door. Careful. Moving into the kitchen, pulling out a nine inch steak knife from the holder on the counter. Arms down to his side. A ribbon of light glistened on the knife’s steel edge, reflecting onto the wall, drawing disappearing lines as he slowly returned to his bedroom. Gently closing the door behind him.

Jason reached out to grab Tony’s hair. Jerking the head back with his free hand. Pulling off the pillowcase, throwing it to the floor. Tilting Tony’s chin back. Pulling on the hair. The neck was in an awkward position. Vulnerable. Jason brought the knife up to Tony’s neck.

Jabbing into soft neck tissue. Carving a triangle. Deeply. Severing his carotid artery.

Dark red blood flowed. Draining from Tony’s neck. Dripping onto the beige carpet. Making a crimson, obscene pattern. Jason laid the blood-covered knife down on the floor by Tony’s head. Blood from the steel blade joined the pooling blood on the carpet. Dripping. Jason reached down and washed his right hand, then his left, with the fresh warm blood. Raising his hands, he spread it around his now peaceful looking face. Painting. Covering his neck and down the front of his white T-shirt. Turning to look into the dresser mirror, he nodded approval. Then he crawled into bed to sleep. Peacefully.

Natalie Madden went to her son’s room the next morning to see if he and Tony wanted breakfast, after knocking and not receiving an answer, she opened the door. A moment later a frantic call was made to 911.

This was the third time a teenage boy had been murdered by their friend within the past three months in sunny Fort Lauderdale. The first officer on the scene called Detective Fuentes on the Madden’s phone. Fuentes, who had been assigned the other two cases, had ordered a radio blackout. This form of notification was to be used on all future murder scenes matching this M. O. The media, and others, had gotten to the previous murder scenes before him. He received the preliminary details while eating breakfast, amidst the sound of his wife’s voice, scolding their two young boys for playing with their food. Scribbling down the address on the back of a cereal box, his attention was on writing, until the phone cord pulled a jelly-covered slice of toast into his lap.

The facts of this case seemed to follow the pattern found at the other mysterious murders, and no headway had been made in solving them. His wife helped clean the jelly off his pants as he gulped the last of his coffee down and gathered his briefcase, kissed his two boys and wife and headed toward the door. Before turning the doorknob, he paused to drink in the sight of his wife and their two young boys sitting at the table, a smile carried him out the front door.

The Evidence Team was already at the scene and Jason had been taken to jail. Fuentes pulled up behind a police car and paused before going into the Madden’s home, or the crime scene as it would now be called. Thick fingers unwrapped a stick of gum and placed it in his mouth, a refreshing spearmint flavor flooded his taste buds.

Fuentes walked through the open front door and exchanged a soft greeting with a uniformed cop as he looked around. His eyes came to rest on a hysterical Mrs. Madden, sitting at the kitchen table, her husband desperately trying to calm her through his own tears. Coffee was spilled on the table from the cup she was holding in her shaking hands. Talking to them could wait. The bedroom would be the starting place, to make sure he saw as much as possible, in its original state, before it became molested by all of the technicians doing their jobs.

There were a half dozen people, in all different uniforms along the hallway and inside the bedroom.

Fuentes shouted in frustration to no one in particular. Jesus Christ! There’s enough people in here to screw up any evidence that might have been left?

The medical examiner was crouching over Tony’s body. Fuentes bent down beside him, getting his first look at the young boy’s body, the knife that made the triangular cut, and the pool of blood which had dried on top of the carpet.

Do you have a time of death? inquired Fuentes.

Between midnight and two, answered the medical examiner.

With experienced eyes, Fuentes made all of his observations, jotting down notes of everything in the room, drawing on his yellow legal pad a diagram of the layout of the room, body and murder weapon. Flipping through the pages of his notepad he compared this scene with the others. Nothing significantly different was discovered at this time. If this scene was like the other two, there would be no evidence for the half dozen uniforms to screw up. All hair samples, blood types, fingerprints and DNA at the previous scenes belonged to the accused perpetrator and the victim. The crime lab could find nothing to link anyone other than the accused to the respective murder. Thoughts ran through his mind of what evidence all of the shoes milling around was leaving and what they were taking away.

The room was quite, considering the activity which was taking place. Techs moved about, searching, tagging, writing and collecting. A flash of light from a Technician’s camera illuminated the blood on Tony’s neck, causing it to appear to come alive.

Can we bag him? asked the medical examiner.

Yeah, said Fuentes.

The sound of the zipper on the vinyl body bag was loud as the medical examiner and one of the technicians rolled Tony’s body over and placed the lifeless form inside. No matter how many times Fuentes heard and saw the scene repeated, it never ceased to bother him. It doesn’t matter how rich or poor, obscure or famous, this is the disgraceful way all human beings would lose their identity and become equal.

The room became increasingly warmer. The air, stale and heavy with the pungent smell of dried blood, which filled the senses. Fuentes walked out of the room and into the bathroom, removing his gum and rolling it in tissue paper before depositing it in the toilet. The mirror threw his reflection back at him. The facial lines had deepened and multiplied since the first murdered teenager. An attempt to rub them away with his hands only blurred his vision.

After the bodybag was placed on the gurney and wheeled out of the room, Fuentes walked back to the bedroom door. Now that everyone was gone, he was able to fully look at the room. It was neat and clean except the bed area, where the thrashing about of the two boys was now more evident. The carpet drew his attention.

It was now time to talk with the Madden’s. Walking through the hall to the kitchen, a definite change in the air around him was felt. Why little things interrupted his train of thought was a mystery. Memories of the last time he was in a family’s home where their son had murdered surfaced, thinking about the wallpaper in the hallway, comparing it to the paper his wife had picked out for their home. Maybe it helped him clear his mind from the boy’s room. Helping to mentally change from the detached police detective to a person, a husband with his own family, before talking with the grieving parents.

Fuentes walked into the kitchen and felt the sense of hopelessness the grieving parents were experiencing. His presence immediately brought a hush to the mother and father. Joining them at the table, The erie silence in the room was palpable. No one appeared to want to break it. Before any words were spoken, the Madden’s knew and Fuentes knew, that there would not be any rhyme or reason discovered for their son’s actions. No more so than when sitting across the table with the other two parents.

Excuse me. I am Detective Raul Fuentes. He said after letting a rush of air into his lungs.

Mr. and Mrs. Madden’s eyes fixed on his as they silently acknowledged him.

I’m sorry I have to do this but I must ask some questions. Even after years of saying this to grieving parents, he was able to express his sincerity.

We understand, said Mr. Madden.

I’ll be the detective in charge of the investigation. The investigation, he realized how cold the words sounded.

The Madden’s simultaneously nodded their heads.

"Can you tell