The Ice Road Murders Shayde: The Ice Road Murders, #1

By N.J Salupo

Detective Mark Foster is a hard-nosed albeit sometimes corrupt cop looking to solve a case to make his career. He knows that catching the infamous Ice Road Murderer can move him up the ranks. The problem? Foster's life has become one big mess. 

A junkie wife, a rebellious teen and lot lizard hooker turned girlfriend, Selena Kuznetsova, have him grasping at straws to keep it all straight.

Jack "Ice Road" Shayde has been on the prowl, tormenting lot lizard hookers, without notice, until Detective Mark Foster gets hot on his trail. 

Once The Ice Road Murderer finds he has company, he does everything he can to mess with the head of the Dayton Police Department's best and brightest detective. Beginning a wild goose chase straight across North America.

Will Detective Foster put this man away for good or will he be left chasing his tail?

• Language: English
• Publisher: N.J Salupo
• Release date: Aug 27, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386166788

Book preview

Prologue

This case won’t be solved for another twenty-five years or so...if ever. It began with a toy sailboat carrying a pair of women’s panties beneath the bridge the town’s people call Bloody in the Miami Erie Canal. The area’s said to be haunted by ghostly silhouettes, one of which wields an axe off State Route 66 in Spencerville, Ohio.

Legend has it, the area terrified anyone who crossed over the bridge since Bill Jones chopped off the head of Jack Billings with one fell swoop of an axe for stealing the love of his life, Minnie Warren in 1854.

When Bill swung the ax, he didn’t know someone was watching him; someone who was intrigued by his handiwork. The young boy grew up and had children of his own, and his children had children, and so on, until a child more sinister than Mr. Jones graced this place. Some of us called it Earth, but to others, it would become a fiery hell. Beware the man they call Ice Road, they say. One look his way and it might be your last day...

CHAPTER 1

Shayde strolled into the truck stop diner with a camo cap lowered to cover his eyes. He wore camo pants to match the cap and a red and black flannel shirt making him stick out like a sore thumb. His stomach grumbled as he hadn’t eaten, and he hadn’t killed for nearly a week.

He slumped down into a booth his large frame barely fit in and glanced at the chintzy looking menu lying on the table. A heavyset waitress with a motherly look, wearing a name tag saying Gertrude waddled her over to the table.

Hi, darlin’. She tapped her pen on her notepad as she waited for his response.

Hello. He didn’t look away from the menu.

Are you ready to order or do you need a few minutes?

Shayde adjusted his ball cap with one hand, and recited his order, I’ll take the early bird special with sausage links.

Ok, darlin’, I’ll put that in for you. She jotted the order down on a small memo pad. Anything to drink?

Just coffee, please.

Cream and sugar?

Yes, ma’am.

The waitress walked back to the kitchen where Jack could hear pots and pans clanking together as he took in his surroundings. He fidgeted in his seat trying to get comfortable, accidentally knocking his steak knife from the table onto the floor. He bent over to pick it up then he saw her. Selena Kuznetsova.

She sat in a far booth against the back wall of the restaurant. Her long legs crossed beneath the table and her fire engine red hair cascaded over her shoulders. She wore a low-cut pink halter top and large hoop earrings. Everything about her read lot lizard.

Jack Shayde sat clenching the knife and biting his lip, but strangely, for the first time in his life, he lacked the desire to kill the streetwalker. The woman of the night. The lot lizard.

Instead, Shayde averted his eyes toward her tight black leggings, hungry for what was between her thighs. His eyes trailed up her body and rested on her large breasts. Everything about her was beautiful.

He continued to watch as she dangled one of her high-heeled shoes from her perfectly pedicured big toe. Every now and then it would hit the floor before she slid it back onto her foot. It caused Shayde to show off just a hint of a smile. Something he hadn’t done very often in his thirty-seven years on Earth.

Like what you see? questioned the young woman who appeared to be no more than twenty-five. You can join me if you’d like?

Her accent was thick, but Jack couldn’t quite place it. She sounded Eastern European, perhaps from the Ukraine, or somewhere in Russia. Jack set the knife back down on the table and pointed to himself. Me?

Yeah, you. Large man with beard. You join me.

Jack walked to the back of the restaurant and joined the young woman. She was sipping from a large milkshake, and Jack raised his eyebrows at her. What? I love milkshakes any time of the day. You should try it. She slid the almost empty glass toward him.

No, thank you.

Oh, c’mon. This little place has best milkshakes in town.

I’ll take your word for it.

I’m Selena. She offered her hand, looking at him seductively.

Leo. He lied to conceal his identity.

Nice to meet you, Leo. You come here often? I saw you sitting all by your lonesome? I figured you could use some company.

I don’t pay for sex! Shayde snapped.

I not ask you about sex. I was trying to be nice by inviting you over here.

Shayde wasn’t quite sure how to react to the situation. He’d never been asked to join a lot lizard who wasn’t trying to proposition him.

So, they also have the best little blueberry pies here too. She stared at him with sharp eyes, with a just a tint of hazel. The kind of eyes that seemed to look straight into your soul.

Jack didn’t know what to say. He’d never been good with making small talk or flirting with beautiful women. None of them ever seemed to have given him a second look.

The waitress came over to the table. Here you are. I thought you had left out on me.

Jack remained silent as Gertrude sat the plate of food on the table before him. You know...I could go for some sausage, chided Selena. Jack wasn’t amused as he only saw her as some hooker after his wallet.

You have a nice smile, Leo. You should show it off more often.

Gertrude smiled and walked away after making sure that everything looked okay.

How do you know I don’t smile a lot already?

I see guys like you every day. They not smile enough. Life’s too short not to enjoy.

Like me?

I suck dick to make living. Do I enjoy it? I wouldn’t do it if I didn’t.

Her comment only verified Jack’s assumption that she was a hooker, but there was more to her than just being a lot lizard. He wanted to know more about her, where she came from, even if she’d spent ages giving head. He wanted to get to know her on a personal level. Perhaps they could talk again over coffee.

So where are you headed tonight, trucker man?

I’ve got to be on the road to Canada, doll, and I hate Canada.

Nobody hates Canada. They have Niagara Falls and legal prostitution there.

You can have it. I have no desire to go back.

Why? You not like pussy?

Jack guffawed. Selena loved the deep pitch of his laugh.

I never said that.

Of course not. All men like pussy. Especially mine. It’s tasty and sweet. Maybe if you’re lucky you’ll find out someday.

Well, I better be getting on the road. Got to be in Montreal by sundown.

Selena slurped up the last of her milkshake and Jack took the last bite of food from his plate. Selena grabbed her slim leather jacket off the seat of her booth and looked up to Shayde. Time to go to work. Maybe I’ll see you again sometime, trucker man.

CHAPTER 2

"W e’ve got another body !" shouted Officer Ryan Kennedy to Detective Mark Foster, with a look of dismay on his face. The female’s body had been staged. She was bloody, wearing only a pink nightgown, and her panties had been pushed to the side, exposing her genitals. There were signs of sexual assault and ligature marks around her neck. But the officers wouldn’t know the cause of death until the medical examiner had performed an autopsy.

Detective Foster warned other officers not to get too close. He didn’t want them contaminating the crime scene. Heeding his warning, the other officers secured the crime scene with a roll of yellow police tape. Foster’s a tall, physically fit man with slicked back black hair who had been making his way up the ladder in the Dayton, Ohio Police Department.

The body of Jane Doe lay cold in a field not far from the police department. The killer had never placed a body so close to where Detective Foster worked. This made the thirteenth body they’d found with the same signature since Mr. Foster took the lead on the case. All the other bodies had been left in fields, as well in bordering states, Kentucky, West Virginia, and Michigan. That gave officers a reason to believe the killer was mobile. Perhaps worked some sort of transportation job such as a bus driver, delivery man, or truck driver. By the type of clothing found on or near the victims it was evident that they were most likely prostitutes. People nobody would miss.

There’s something in her hand. Detective Foster pointed to his partner.

It’s just a blank piece of paper, expressed Ryan. Nothing of significance.

Oh, no. Everything this guy does has meaning. He’s toying with us.

Nearby a rookie officer was smoking a cigarette. One of the ashes drifted onto the paper. I’m so sorry, Detective. The rookie officer looked at the detective with embarrassment.

Get out of here. Detective Foster’s anger was visible, the vein on the side of his neck throbbed with each beat of his heart.

Letters began to appear one by one, and Detective Foster brought the letter closer to his face. He could see that the cryptic note was addressed to him.

Hey, get back here! shouted Detective Foster. Let me see your lighter. There seems to be something written with some sort of heat reactive ink.

The rookie officer brought the lighter over to Foster as he gently slid what looked to be blank eight by eleven printer paper from the hand of the victim. A victim who was so damaged she was grotesquely disfigured, but to Mark, she was a person. The low-cut clothing, the hoop earrings, and the mini skirt indicated she was a prostitute. Hooker or not, she was someone’s daughter. He had a teenage daughter himself, and he had vowed to fight for the victims the way he would fight for his own family.

What are you doing? Ryan looked at him puzzlement on his face.

This isn’t just a piece of paper. It’s a note written with heat activated ink. When the ink gets hot the message will appear. Detective Foster held the flame near the paper, the words began to appear one by one. It read:

Detective Foster,

You and I aren’t all that much different. I know how you like to tie them up. How you like to put ball gags in their mouths. You too have chains, whips, and handcuffs much like I do. You and I both carry a weapon. That’s right I know all about your affairs. I know how much you adore the BDSM lifestyle. There’s just something so beautiful about a naked woman in restraints, forced to submit to the control of her Master. It is exhilarating isn’t it, Detective?

The only difference is you have yet to cut ties with your affairs. My victims suffer, bleeding out in fields. None of them were good women, no one will miss them. Killing them is my way of cutting the cord. You should learn to do the same.

Lot lizard hookers are the true corruption of society. You should know. You wouldn’t have gotten this far without being part of those sting operations that took down John’s wanting a chance at getting their dicks sucked the same way you love when your mistresses suck on yours. You’re quite the hypocrite, Mr. Foster. That’s right, I know about all of them. What are their names? Charlotte, the blonde, Ariana, the brunette, and Lizzie with her strangely inviting pink hair. You see, Detective, you and I both like variety. So, tell me, Detective, which one of their pussies tastes the best?

It’s clearly not Kerri Lynn’s pussy. You remember her, don’t you? The woman you call your wife. I’ll let her live...for now. That sweet little daughter of yours too. What’s her name? Misty? Does that sweet little fifteen-year-old girl know what her daddy, a said to be upstanding citizen, an officer of the law, is really doing all those times he says he’s at work? Does she know that her daddy is balls deep in some hooker’s pussy? Pardon me if I don’t realize how this seems to be money well spent, Mr. Foster. Money that could be used to send that bright little girl of yours to college.

Stop searching for me, Detective. You’ll never find me. Go home to your family. Show up to your daughter’s school play and fuck your wife already. That pussy is starting to get cobwebs.

Sincerely,

Ice Road

Fuuuuckkk! Detective Foster kicked up dirt in frustration. He handed the paper off to forensics. Get handwriting analysis done on this ASAP. Ryan, he’s a trucker.

How do you know?

He mentions lot lizards. Lot lizards hang out at truck stops and rest areas.

Laced with anger, Detective Foster’s words to a team of officers on the scene got their attention. What’s everyone waiting on? Go get this son of a bitch! Oh, Ryan, not a word to my wife about this.

IN HIS PRIVATE OFFICE, Detective Foster dropped to his knees and fell into deep reflection. Six months ago, he’d met Selena Kuznetsova on an unusually warm day in January. The entire winter had been unequivocally mild for Ohio, and Foster had been assigned to head up a sting operation.

He was lying in bed with the window slightly cracked, allowing the cool breeze to run over his shirtless body. His gun, a Glock 9 mm, sat on the night table next to him. Resting upon his chest, his wife of fifteen years, Kerri Lynn, was in a peaceful slumber. He looked down on her and smiled before kissing the top of her head. When his beeper went off, he tried not to wake his beautiful lover, the mother of his child. Mark reached for the beeper and saw the emergency 911 signal, it was time for work.

He gently slid his arm out from under her warm, slender body but was unsuccessful and for a moment, she woke up and said groggily, You have to go to work again? You just got home.

I know, sweetheart. I love you.

I love you too baby, she said, kissing him on the lips. Please be careful. The night had been a good night. There was no fighting. No arguments. A night better than those of recent memory for Mark. It seemed most days he couldn’t do anything right in Kerri Lynn’s eyes, on that night, things had been different. They had seemed to mend all that was wrong in the relationship, even if it had been for just that one night.

Mark slid on a pair of pants and a shirt, grabbed his badge and gun off the night table and headed out the door. As he did, his cell phone rang. Foster. Go ahead.

His partner was on the other end of the line. You’d better come quick. We’ve got shots fired at the Night Town Inn just off I-75. Possibly one dead. Vic looks to be one of the hookers you’ve been chasing.

I’m on my way.

Foster hung up the phone and got into his undercover car, turning on the siren as he drove fifteen miles down the road to the scene of the crime.

He arrived to see paramedics bringing someone out in a body bag, while other officers detained an African-American man they believed to be her pimp, but most importantly he was the man who had shot and killed her. The girl couldn’t have been more than eighteen and was dead because he hadn’t made it on time. He had gone home earlier in the evening to be with his family while other officers stayed past shift and posed as John’s, running the sting operation he’d started. The young girl’s death was on him, and from then on, he vowed he would protect these girls from the streets and from the man known to the world as Ice Road.

Foster glared at the man they were taking into custody and made a fist and punched his right hand into his left palm. Then he saw her. A woman with her long, fire engine red hair flowing in the wind as she took a drag from a cigarette. She stood nearly about six feet tall and her heels made her taller, so she towered over Mark. He walked over to question her and the three women that were standing nearby.

He