At Arm's Length

By TD Parker

He targets the unfortunates that society has cast away, but this time, he picked the wrong woman.

 

Tim's a streetwise detective, investigating the death of a homeless woman on his turf. Paired with grizzled veteran Gabe, they have to determine if the murder is a one-off, or if something more sinister is afoot. The trouble is, Tim doesn't always play by Gabe's rules.

Nikki's past made her strong. Survival has been her goal since she was a girl, and it's the one thing the killer never counted on. She'll need to use everything she's learned if she doesn't want to become his next victim.

Will the detectives overcome their differences and piece the grim puzzle together? Will Nikki break the sadistic chains that bind her and exact revenge on her abductor? Time will tell. But for now, she'll keep the killer...At Arm's Length.

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: TD Parker
• Release date: Apr 10, 2019
• ISBN: 9781386923619

Book preview

1

Memphis, Tennessee

Present Day

The woman stood in the grassy area near the entrance to a large shopping center. She leaned against a telephone pole, a duffle bag at her feet, a faded baseball cap covered her eyes. Skip drove by her for the third time, getting comfortable with the surroundings.

He couldn’t make out the writing on the piece of cardboard she was holding. But he didn’t have to. It would be like all the others. Telling of hard times, wanting a handout.

He turned into the large parking lot, positioning his car so he could watch the woman. On the horizon, a line of dark clouds were quickly gathering. He would wait for the rain.

He watched as a car came to a stop near the girl. She slowly approached the passenger side, reaching towards the window. A moment later she stepped away, giving the driver a quick wave.

Skip shook his head. Goddam deadbeats.

He leaned back in the seat, watching the girl through half closed eyes. The radio station was playing hits from the 80’s and 90’s. Skip smiled as Eye of the Tiger came on. It was a song his dad would sing along with whenever it came on the radio. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, he could almost smell the aroma of cigarette smoke and aftershave. Memories of his dad, behind the wheel with his sleeves rolled up, singing to the radio came over Skip. It was as if his dad was in the car with him, talking to him, encouraging him. He smiled at the memory of his dad driving with one hand dangling out the window, one hand on the steering wheel, fingers tapping as music played on the radio. 

He felt the car rock under a sudden gust of wind. A moment later, raindrops. Just a few at first, then a hard, steady rain began to fall. The water trickled down the windshield, blurring his view of the girl. Skip rubbed his face, wiping away the memories. Time to focus. He sat upright and turned his attention to the girl.

He turned on the wipers as the rain came down harder. Looking through the beads of rain on the windshield, he saw her reach for the duffle bag at her feet. Best not to wait too long. He put the car in gear and drove out of the lot toward the girl.  

He came to a stop alongside the curb, the rain loud on the roof of his car. She was bent over, pulling a piece of plastic out of the duffle bag.

He rolled the passenger window down, yelling. Hey, can I give you a lift?

She was holding the plastic above her head. No thanks. I’m fine.

Skip tried again. Come on, I’ll take you anywhere you want. Pausing, he added. It’s miserable out here. Hop in, I’ll even throw in five bucks. He thought she might refuse the offer of a ride, but not the money.

He felt the car vibrate as thunder rumbled overhead. A street light nearby flickered. The girl turned her head, looking onto the street, rain already starting to pool on the wet pavement. The piece of plastic she was holding above her head twisted in the wind. The sleeve of her sweatshirt already soaking wet. She turned and stared at the car for a moment, then bent down and picked up the duffle bag. With on hand holding on to the ball cap on her head, she walked towards him.

He watched as she opened the car door, trying to see her face. She tossed the duffle bag on the floor, shook the piece of plastic and shoved it inside her coat. She climbed in the car, rain dripping from the brim of her hat.

As he pulled away from the curb, he looked over at her, trying see her face. A musty smell- a combination of unwashed clothes that were now wet, and body odor had followed her into the car. Bad night to be out. He held his hand out. I’m Skip.

She ignored him and wiped her face with both hands, then pulled the hat down lower on her face. She didn’t look at him as she leaned over, pushing the wet plastic into the duffle bag. She wiped her hands on her jeans, while keeping her head down, she quietly asked, can you drop me downtown?

Okay. 

The rain came down harder. A streak of lightning flashed across the black sky, illuminating the falling rain. Skip turned the wipers on high. It’s really coming down now. Good thing I came along when I did.

The girl didn’t reply. She turned away, staring out the passenger window.

He gripped the steering wheel tighter. Bitch could at least say something.

Wanting to see her face he reached down, opening the console. There should be five or six bucks in there. There’s a light above your head.

She fumbled with the light for a moment then leaned towards the console.

The light allowed him to get a look at her. She had a narrow face, with dark, clear skin. Brown wavy hair curled out from under the ball cap. He smiled to himself, this was better than expected.

She held up a crumpled five-dollar bill. Okay?

Skip looked into her brown eyes, holding her gaze for a moment. Sure, my word is good.

She closed the console, shut off the dome light, and turned back towards the window.

He shifted in the seat, turning towards her. You’re prettier than the last one.

She turned towards him, surprise in her voice. What did you say?

The one side of Skip’s mouth curled. More of a smirk than a smile. I said you’re prettier than the last one.

For a split second, she may have realized what was happening. But it was too late for her to do anything. His fist landed squarely on her left cheek. Her head snapped to the right, hitting the passenger window with a loud thump. The ball cap fell on the floor as she slumped forward. He made a sharp turn at the next corner, causing her to fall back against the car seat.

The heavy rain was making it difficult to drive. He slowed down, heading towards home.

2

Standing over her, he watched her chest rise and fall with each breath. Her left cheek, where he had hit her, was already beginning to bruise.

He reached down and shook her. Come on, wake up!  He saw her eyes open wide and dart back and forth. She blinked several times, then turned to look at him.  

He bent over, moving his face close to hers. Time to wake up. What’s your name?

She didn’t respond, turning her head to avoid his bad breath. She felt an aching pain in both shoulders. Her arms were stretched out away from her body. Brown cords, like shoe strings, tied her wrists to the bed frame. 

He put his hand on her mouth and squeezed, twisting her head to face him. I said, what’s your name?

His breath had a sour, spoiled milk odor. Gagging, she tried to move her face away from him, causing him to squeeze harder. She let out a cry as he tightened his grip.

A moment later, he let go of her, patting her cheek as he did so. It will be better if you don’t fight this.

She stared at him, hardening her eyes as she pressed her lips together.

He smiled. You’ve got some street in you, I can tell. I like that. The others, they cried, and then begged. You don’t strike me as the type that will beg.

He stepped back, staring at her. You will tell me your name. Or, I’ll just make one up for you. 

He turned and walked away. This is your new home now. The sooner you accept it, the better it will be for you.

She lifted her head off the bed, watching him walk through a small wooden door in the corner of the room.

She raised her head as much as she could, trying to look at her surroundings. She was in a small room, the bare walls a drab, off-white color. A cobweb hung from a round light fixture on the ceiling. Dead bugs littered the bottom of the glass fixture.

She was on a narrow bed covered by a green wool blanket that felt rough under her skin. The mattress was thin and lumpy, smelling of urine, and maybe vomit? Next to the bed sat a small table. One of the legs of the table was taped together with duct tape.

He had removed her clothes, leaving only her bra and panties on. Her ankles were fastened to the bottom bed frame.

The side of her face hurt. She moved her jaw from side to side. Not broken, but painful.  She closed her eyes and took several deep breaths, telling herself not to panic.

She tried to move her arms, seeing how much give the cords had. As she moved, the cords cut into her wrists, twisting and pinching the skin. She put her head down and relaxed her arms, slowly opening and closing her hands, hoping to loosen the restraints.

The wooden door banged open, causing her to jump. She strained her neck to see what was happening. She watched him push a small two-wheeled cart into the room. On the cart were two batteries. The batteries looked like car batteries, but

larger. Maybe from a large truck? Black cables that were attached to the batteries hung from the handle of the cart.

He pushed the cart to the foot of her bed, the metal base of the cart scraping against the concrete floor as he stood the cart upright.

He turned and walked back out of the room, returning a moment later with a green plastic bucket. Water splashed out of the bucket as he set it on the floor.

He walked over to the bed and looked down at her. You’ve got an attitude. I need to make sure you understand the seriousness of the situation you’re in. The quicker you adapt the better it will be, for both of us.

He walked over and reached for the cables hanging from the cart handle. At the end of each cable were copper tubes attached to rubber handled clamps. He put the cables down on the mattress next to her legs. Reaching inside the bucket, he brought out a wet towel, and laid it on her thigh, then did the same with her other leg. She could feel the water trickle down the inside of her thighs, soaking into the wool blanket beneath her.

He stood over her. How often we do this will be entirely up to you.

She didn’t like the looks of this. She shook her head from side to side. Please! Please don’t do this.

I’m calling this my behavior modification program. You need to learn that compliance will be in your best interest. I compare this to training a pet. Do as I say, and you will have nothing to fear. If you don’t, you will be punished.

She tried moving, struggling against the cords on her wrists and ankles.

He picked up the cables, holding them by the black rubber clamps, then placed the copper pipe against the wet towel on each leg. 

At first, the feeling was a mild itching, tingling sensation. Then he pushed down harder. The tingling became sharper, then turned into a burning pain that ran

through her entire body. Her hips arched, and her jaw tightened. Her hands curled into tight balls, causing her fingernails to dig into her palms. She cried out, and he pulled the copper tubes away.

She wanted to curl up into a ball. Her shoulders started cramping from the muscle spasms.

He put the cable on the mattress and leaned over her. Do you understand how serious this is?

She tried to speak. Wha- She felt weak, lightheaded.

He leaned towards her. Did you say something? As I said, how often, and how long we do this this will be up to you. He touched the copper to both legs again, not pressing down as hard. The tingling made the muscles in her legs twitch, then tighten. Her feet cramped, curling her toes inward. Abruptly, the pain stopped.

Perspiration covered her face. Her mouth was dry. She was feeling sick.

He looked at her for a moment and picked up the cable. One more time.

He placed the copper tube against her legs. She jerked and let out a yell. Then he leaned forward, pushing hard against both legs.

Her jaw clamped shut, her lips parted, as spit sprayed from between clenched teeth. Her eyes squeezed shut. She had no control over her body. Her hips arched has high as the restraints would allow.

He pulled the copper tube away from both legs. She collapsed on the bed, letting out a moan as she went limp. 

3

Randy Deming stood in front of the desk, staring down at the overweight man sitting in the squeaky chair, rocking back and forth, smoke from his cigarette clouding his round face.

The man leaned back, blowing smoke out of the side of his mouth, watching Randy through eyes squinting from the cigarette smoke. This isn’t a union shop, you know that right? We pay scale, but short on the benefits, that’s the only way we can stay competitive. He watched Randy for a reaction.

Randy nodded, I get it.

A slight smile. Good. We’ve got a big road paving job starting next week, that’s why we need more help. The man glanced down at the papers he was holding. You move around a lot. He looked back up at Randy. So, what is it? You a boozer, running from alimony, bad debts, or, he paused, the law? He tossed the papers he was holding onto the desk and took a drag on the cigarette. Or you got something else going on? Something I should know about before hiring you?

Randy shrugged. I move around a lot simple as that. I’m a good mechanic, been working on cars my whole life. You pay me every week, and I’ll stick around.

The man nodded. Fair enough. You show up for work, and do a good job, and you’ll get paid. I only ask one thing. No bullshit. I won’t stand for any bullshit in the shop.

Randy turned and looked around the large garage, then back at the man now standing in front of him. Looks like we got a deal.

The man nodded, reaching out his hand. Call me Mike. You can start first thing tomorrow. Seven o’clock sharp.

I’ll be here.

4

Tim Morgan watched the detectives enter the large conference room. He sat in the back of the room, his palms leaving a wet imprint on the table in front of him. His feet, crossed at the ankles, steadily moved back and forth. At thirty-three, with eight years’ experience as a patrol officer, he shouldn’t feel nervous. But he did.

It was his first day in the Criminal Investigation Division of the Memphis Police Department, and Tim wasn’t sure if he would make it through the morning briefing. His stomach was churning, nerves agitating his morning breakfast. 

From the corner of his eye, he saw each detective watching him. He knew some of them and they nodded in his direction. He gave a return smile and then looked away. The detectives he didn’t know gave him a blank stare. He could feel the dampness forming under his armpits.

An older detective was walking towards him. He had a blotchy red face, with thinning gray hair, curling over the ears. A large stomach hung over his belt, the weight pulling his shoulders forward. He looked familiar, but Tim couldn’t place him. The detective reached out his hand towards Tim. You must be Tim, I’m Gabe, welcome to the unit.

Tim extended his hand, praying the detective wouldn’t notice his sweaty palms. Blushing, Tim nodded, Thanks. Out of the corner of his eye he watched the detective slide into the chair next to him, letting out a heavy sigh as he slouched forward in the chair.

Tim had a notebook on the table in front of him, ready to take notes. Around him, idle chatter from the detectives filled the room.

The talking stopped when a tall man carrying a three-ring binder entered the room. Captain Jerome Bauman, head of CID, walked towards the podium. Bauman was trim, with broad shoulders, and a thick chest. His hair was close cropped, brown, graying at the temples. He was wearing a dark blue suit, brightly polished shoes, and a blue and red striped tie. A pair of reading glasses balanced on the tip of his nose.

Tim knew of Bauman’s reputation. A tough, by the book CO, demanding professionalism from everyone in the division.  Bauman held morning briefings, with everyone from CID required to attend. Absences were allowed only for official business, such as a court appearance, or an active crime scene.

Bauman believed in discipline, both self, and professional. The morning briefings allowed Bauman to interact with his team, and to keep up with the status of each case the detectives were working.

Today Bauman began the briefing by announcing Tim’s assignment to the unit. As Bauman introduced Tim, those close to him reached over to shake his hand or gave him a pat on the back. Some held up the coffee cup they were holding as a congratulatory toast. Tim felt his face turning red and nodded his thanks.

A moment later, Bauman held up his hand. Okay, listen up, this is important. State Police notified us early today of a body found on Interstate Fifty-Five, just north of the city limits. A maintenance crew found the body near the entrance to a rest stop. This rest stop has video surveillance, and they are reviewing the footage, but where she was found was quite a distance from the camera.

He kept his eyes on the paper in front of him. They identified the victim as Marcie Ann Frederick, white female, age thirty-one. The body appears to have been there for a few days. There were signs of ligature marks on her wrists and ankles. She also had red marks, several inches wide that ran from her stomach down the front of her thighs. There were no abrasions of bruises near these marks. The autopsy will tell us more.

Bauman looked up to make sure he had everyone’s attention, then continued. "State Police notified us because Frederick has a history with us. We arrested her twice last year for shoplifting, and