The Canvas Killer: Chief Detective Stephen Kiss, #1

By WJ Ackermann

Chief Detective Stephen Kiss and his team at the newly formed Specialized Combined Taskforce of the NYPD find themselves thrust in the middle of a case as a lunatic serial killer plagues the art world. His victims are being mutilated in what is clear to Stephen as the killer's twisted renditions of the world's most acclaimed artists' canvases.

The killer's masterpieces are strewn across the city at an alarming rate and it is not long before the media and public realize there is a serial killer at loose in their city. The media fuels the negative perception the public has of the police and names the killer The Canvas Killer in National media. With added pressure from the mayor and his boss, Stephen and the team must find the killer before he strikes again. The case takes an alarming turn when the killer boldly advertises his new exhibition to be a replica of the famous 'Mother with child' portrait, Stephen knows he must stop the deranged killer before he kills again.

When a team member is killed while in pursuit of the killer, the case turns personal to Stephen, and his team and they swear to find the killer who seems to stay one step ahead with every new body that is found.

• Language: English
• Publisher: WJ Ackermann
• Release date: Oct 10, 2019
• ISBN: 9780620841153

Book preview

PROLOGUE

Lisa Sheppard was not a beautiful woman, neither alive nor dead, although death helped with her skin color, giving her skin a smoother white tone. While she was alive, her green eyes and smooth, long black hair were the only two features drawing attention from the occasional male eye.

After too many failed relationships, Lisa gave up on her appearance and one could not help but not notice her beautiful eyes. She weighed at least two hundred and fifty pounds and years of too much Vodka and liver abuse left its mark visible in the offish yellow shade to her skin.

Her killer; his naked toned body gleaming with perspiration from the effort of handling her heavy frame, stands back and looks at her lifeless form; deep in concentration.

Dear Lisa, what to do? he thinks aloud. His voice reverberates from the walls in the empty room, the bright white walls, the only ears to his voice. The naked man keeps circling her, not taking his eyes from her.

Every so often, he stands motionless and becomes transfixed in a specific part of her body, mumbling to himself, getting more frustrated with every cycle. His pace quickens and his hands clench in frustration. His body jerks and he halts abruptly, as if he is walking into an invisible wall. The killer’s face lightens up. He feels the stirring in his groin, his testicles already swelling to the first sign of the revelation coming to him. He stares at Lisa with a new fascination, seeing her for the first time; not as the thirty-year-old, overweight slob, he murdered half an hour ago, but as the beauty, he will create.

In his artist’s mind, the shapes and colors blend, transforming Lisa Sheppard into a masterpiece. He envisions her displayed to the pompous art world, public and critics alike, seeing their faces, in awe of his creation.

The killer walks to a table in the room’s corner, stacked with the paints and brushes he will need to transform the ugly life of Lisa Sheppard into the breathtaking beauty, she deserved to be.

CHAPTER 1

Chief Detective Stephen Kiss opens his eyes, not sure if it was the alarm, his phone, or the snoring person next to him who woke him. His surname was cause for stupid bullying during school, but during his teenage years, he used it to his advantage with an abundance of cheesy pickup lines, the results worth the initial ridicule.

He fumbles on the nightstand in search of the annoying noise, checking the alarm, and finds it was only three in the morning.

He reaches for his phone and checks the screen, twenty messages, but none this morning. Every single message is old and unopened, left by his twin sister, Carol. He loves his twin, and as it often was with twins; they shared an unbreakable bond. Their parents died when they turned nineteen and received a considerable inheritance from their wealthy parents. Although both aged thirty-five, this birthday coming, Carol still takes the role of the responsible adult seriously. The role stuck after their parents’ motor accident. Stephen young and without the discipline his father enforced, albeit lovingly, spent the next two years enjoying his newfound freedom and wealth, much to the concern of his responsible twin sister. Stephen matured and became the man their father would have been proud of, but in his sister’s eye, Stephen will always be the rebel needing constant guidance. This being one reason she left twenty messages on his phone. The other reason being, Carol is a free soul, single and wealthy, and after trebling her share of their inheritance with an online shopping tool, she created, became the world traveler. She sent him daily messages of her travels and most of the messages were ones wherein she announced her traveling plans, telling Stephen where in the world she was, and asking with concern, if everything was okay. Stephen makes a mental note to contact his sister soon.

Not fully awake and not any the wiser what woke him; Stephen slowly raises himself onto one elbow, only to find his throbbing headache would not allow it. He plumbs back onto his cushion glaring at the person next to him, Allen, Alex, or whatever Mr. America’s name was. Mr. America is blissfully unaware of the accusing look Stephen throws at him. Stephen relaxes his face, remembering the night spent with the stranger, deciding to blame the Tequila instead, and to give Mr. America credit for the fun part of the evening.

Chief Detective Stephen Kiss did not see himself as homosexual by any means, nor bisexual, he never gave it any thought or gave a shit. He did not limit himself exclusively to any gender and accepted love or fun from whomever offered it. He was old enough not to have to waste precious years of his life analyzing himself. Neither did he ever try to pinpoint and brand himself with a stereotypical label to fit into society. If he had to label himself, it would be purely sexual.

Alco-sexual, if such a word existed, he thinks to himself. Stephen raises his head once again, this time giving honor to the throbbing pain and doing it slowly, sits upright, takes the whiskey glass from the nightstand, and takes a generous sip from the glass.

Well, only three a.m., but cheers anyhow! Stephen says and salutes the air with his glass. His cell phone rings, glaring at it; he contemplates whether to let it ring.

Allen/Alex/Mr. America stirs and Stephen notices the same accusing glare he gave him minutes earlier, thrown back at him.

Answer it or switch it off, Allen-whatever mumbles, turning his back to Stephen.

Stephen opens his mouth to snub the arrogant little prick, but the ringing gets incisively louder.

Stephen grabs the annoying phone, if only to ease the pain in his head the loud ringtone worsens.

Chief Detective Kiss, he mumbles into the phone, causing Mr. America to bolt upright next to him. Most probably realizing the person next to him was a copper and remembering the shit he smoked, and drank, last night. The look on his face suggests he is seriously considering whether to make a run for it while Stephen was still on the phone.

Okay, pick me up in ten, or twenty, I can’t see the stiff going anywhere soon, Stephen says into the phone, disconnects, and throws it onto the bed.

I guess that’s your cue, Allen. Duty calls and I better shower and go, thanks for a hell of a time, we will do it again soon. Stephen lies easily.

It’s Louis and yes, soon. Mr. America says, leaving Stephen to wonder how he got the name so wrong. Stephen is a gifted detective, and he detects Louis was not considering a repeat of last night with the cop.

Stephen walks naked towards the en-suite shower, wondering if the reason Mr. America was not keen on seconds was that he was a copper.

Must be, he smiles to himself. He stares at his complexion in the wall-sized mirror, satisfied with his body, although he never visited the gym or exercised. His light brown hair is short and his jawline square and through piercing green eyes, he takes a second to admire himself in the mirror.

What else could it be? he asks the face smiling from the mirror and turns around to open the shower door.

Stephen dressed in jeans, V-neck shirt, comfortable shoes and his trademark, never-seen-without French cap, everything in gray, the only color he ever wears, stands in front of his apartment waiting for his lift.

Stephen stays in the eastern side of Branwurth, a neighborhood where drug smugglers, pimps and working girls and most low life pedophiles stays. State law required pedophiles and sex-offenders to register, and the register is available in the public domain. Making it almost impossible for sex-offenders to move into your friendly neighborhood. The friendly neighborhood of Branwurth did not give a shit.

Most of the inhabitants were busy with their own illegal operations and as long as everyone minded their own business, life in the neighborhood was safe and peaceful.

There seemed to be an honor-amongst-thieves-rule and Stephen never bothered locking his door. Another reason he preferred staying in the neighborhood was; he has built a vast network of informants. He could count on his eyes and ears on the ground to give him the information he needed during investigations.

Stephen barely waits for Detective Sally Long to park the black Chevy SUV, newly issued by their equally new department, before he jumps in. This neighborhood was not friendly to outsiders, and Stephen knows Sally was not comfortable in the neighborhood and did not understand why he lived here.

Sally’s SUV is one of many issued to detectives working with the new unit. New York’s honorable mayor and the Metropolitan Police Chief, thought it wise to form an elite police task group comprising ‘New York’s finest in law enforcement.’ That the new department’s birth came during an election year does not surprise Stephen. The department was a new concept opposed to the regular stations scattered over the big city. A regular ‘Walmart’ in policing, where every thinkable specialized field of law enforcement operated within the same building.

Stephen leads the Serious and Serial Crimes division, apart from being a homicide detective; he is a qualified criminologist and specialized in profiling as well. He caught the commissioner’s attention during previous high-profile cases he solved within record time.

Detective Sally Long, Asian and fluent in Chinese, Mandarin ‘or whatever it was Asians speak’, Stephen softly muses, was fluent in twelve other foreign languages, and working with him since day one of the unit’s existence, a little over a year ago. Besides being an asset in translation during interviews (foreigners wanting to be part of the American dream plagued the city, building their own illegal dreams) Detective Long was also one of the most observant people Stephen ever met; her small little eyes missed nothing peering through the thin slits. She may use her observational skills to her advantage during crime scene investigations, but Stephen suspected she was just nosy, ‘a snoop’, Stephen thinks to himself as he buckles the seat belt.

Was it that bad? Sally asks, glancing at the figure rushing from Stephen’s apartment, still trying to get his feet into his shoes. No, maybe he does not take the walk of shame too well, Stephen says and hopes the poor sod had the brains to flag down a cab and get out of this neighborhood before he gets mugged or worse.     

Sally exits the Cull de sac waving at Mr. America, who is standing on the pavement flagging a yellow cab down. Stephen feels relieved he at least had sense. Sally takes a sharp left, driving too fast and Stephen clings to the dashboard, trying not to panic, remembering she completed an advanced defensive driving course and her driving skills were better than his were.

She heads towards Axton, an industrial area close to the neighborhood Stephen lived in. Very few functioning factories remained in the once-booming industrial area.

It becomes apparent the further they advance into the area with more empty, dilapidated buildings cropping up and with fewer working street lamps along the streets, leaving the area almost pitch black. It created an ideal environment wherein the homeless found shelter and unknown characters perform their own unknown activities.

Another two blocks into the darkness, Sally slows down; an old abandoned yard appears to their left. A uniformed officer lifts the crime scene barrier tape high enough for the vehicle to pass under as she drives into the yard. The carcasses of five vehicles lay scattered over the yard.

Soon a homeless person or junkie needing money for his next fix will cut up the remaining steel from the few carcasses and sell the metal to a scrap dealer. Sally drives past the wrecks as a big warehouse, once the office or workshop, comes into view. A yellow crime scene barrier stands erected ten meters from the entrance. The big barn type steel doors are closed. Stephen sees the county coroner’s van parked to the left and three exact replicas of the SUV they were driving, parked to the van’s side. The Forensic department truck is next to the three Chevys, the sides open and four forensic technicians are busy dressing into the green coveralls they must wear at crime scenes. The suits ensure they do not leave their own trace evidence behind and contaminate the scene.

Sally parks the Chevy next to the forensics truck. Blue lights bathe the derelict warehouse, the yard swarming with activity in front and beyond the yellow crime scene barriers. Groups of officers from different departments stand around, speaking in unison; not pleased with someone or something. A person barricading the large doors, preventing anyone from entering, causes the commotion.

Detective Bill Farrell protects the entrance without a word; few would take on a man of his size, even if their mothers were held captive behind those doors.

Bull, Stephen walks past the uniforms and addresses his colleague, as Bull instead of Bill, Are the clowns trying to break into the circus?

More like the Chimps playing with the Lion’s balls, Bull replies. Bill is referring to Dr. Stanley Clifford, the coroner, an eccentric old man who always wears an outfit he must have ordered from a Sherlock Holmes store, and who refused to enter a crime scene unless he was alone and everyone else waiting outside while he was working.

Corr is in there now? Stephen asks.      

Yes, Bull replies with the softest voice Stephen ever heard coming from a man with Bull’s size. At six feet and almost as wide, Bull was a gentle giant.

Sally stands next to Stephen, observing the crowd of curious onlookers forming behind the red tape at the border of the property, on the lookout for odd behavior. Experience taught her the perpetrator could be amongst the onlookers. With the soft-spoken and good manners known by her Asian ancestry, Sally was quiet, but always observing.

His name is Dr. Clifford, Bull says.

Whatever, Cliff, Corr? Stephen mumbles and looks at the disgruntled technicians and crime scene photographer who stands behind the barricade, waiting to enter the warehouse. Names were foreign to him and it was easier to call a person by a name he would remember later.

Clifford is the coroner and calling him Corr helped Stephen with the-who-is-who in large departments.

Stephen thought in amusement whenever he saw the coroner, it felt as if they were starring in a low budget film, where the actors’ appearances suited their roles.

When Stephen first met him, he thought Dr. Clifford arrogant; in his demands to be alone during his crime scene investigations, but his first perception of the coroner proved far from the truth.

Stephen learned to give into Corr’s eccentricities pays off at the end. Corr had a way with the dead, forming a bond with the body. He often stands at a crime scene and stares at the body and even before a thorough examination and hours before he does the autopsy, he is able to tell you the cause and time of death. He will give information about the body few pathologists would have been able, or willing to confirm, before doing conclusive tests. Stephen had not known him to be wrong.

Stephen gave Bill, the Bull authority to kill anyone who enters before Dr. Clifford, AKA Corr, the coroner finished his inspection.

Richard Marsh, the lead forensics agent, joins them. Stephen notices within the few minutes since they arrived, Richard got his full team geared and ready in front of the barrier to enter the crime scene. With the new department, a new set of crime scene rules, procedures and protocols came and Stephen had the privilege of being part of the team who established the new rules. The new Taskforce used very different procedures in crime scenes than other departments or agencies. Detectives new to the Taskforce took time to get used to the procedures.

Detectives did a fine job, solving crimes, but the top brass learned that even after hundreds of investigative hours, slimy lawyers, and lazy prosecutors used any tactic to discredit evidence obtained from a crime scene to get an innocent verdict for their clients or a reason not to do their jobs.

Every time it happens, they paint the picture of a police force breaking rules, messing up, or planting evidence. Although most of the new rules were a pain in the ass, Stephen knows it is for the better, but senses Richard’s irritation at not being able to get his team to enter the crime scene earlier.

Stephen allowed the coroner to enter first because of the eccentric’s obsession and worth, but will not allow it with any other coroner. Afterward, Stephen and his two colleagues will enter the crime scene to assess and decide to which department and division to allocate the case.

He insisted on this procedure because of the multiple departments the new Taskforce incorporated, specialized departments dealing with only robberies, single homicides or crimes involving minors, etc. etc.

Thus, as the rule, Stephen went in after the coroner and assessed the scene and either took over or allocated the case to the relevant department. None of the Chief of Detectives would be thrilled if the entire Taskforce trampled through the crime scene, allocated to them after the fact.

Richard is the head forensic agent assigned to Stephen’s Serious and Serial Department. If Stephen’s department, get the case, Richard, and his team will enter the crime scene after Corr finished his inspection.

Stephen and the two detectives will escort them, since their first visit was preliminary. Richard and his team will do a thorough examination of the scene; the detectives will be mere observers and protectors of the new rules. Bull will take his own set of photographs, a habit he has gained since the first scene he visited as a rookie. He took every murder very personal, the photos of the victims, he took at the scenes helped to keep him angry with the murderer, and when Bull was angry; nothing stopped him.

The big door opens, and Dr. Clifford emerges from the warehouse.

Tragic more often than not, you breathe your last breath in a dump like this, Stephen says, looking around him at the old sad warehouses.

Stephen realizes the coroner is standing next to him and has not said a word yet. The old man is facing the doors; he closed again after exiting the warehouse. To Stephen he looks older than usual; an air of dejectedness surrounds him.

Corr; are you done in there? Stephen asks with concern in his voice.

Dr. Clifford breaks from his trance and says:

Yes; Stephen, I am, and stares for another second at the closed doors, One should think after years of seeing the worst and dealing with despicable murderous sons of bitches you would get used to it, but every time it gets worse, he says with the emotion clear in his tone.

What do we have Corr? Stephen asks.

We have a total crazy bastard Stephen; I’m getting too old for this, he says, defeated.

On this one, I cannot wager a time of death, the bastard thought of everything. He regulated the temperature in there to a perfect environment to preserve the body and sealed every window, to stall our friends the blowflies, everything looks sanitized Stephen, he says in bafflement.

Blowflies are one of the key indicators in assisting pathologists and investigators to determine the time of death. Within minutes, blowflies fester on the body and lay hundreds of thousands of eggs. The eggs hatch within a day and flesh-eating maggots are born.

The stages of these creatures’ development and what remains of the body after their eating frenzy will indicate how long the person has been dead. Room temperature and other external factors to the immediate surrounds of the body will either help or hinder the calculation.

Nor am I able to venture on a cause of death, he says, his tone growing more defeated and somber as he speaks, although no visible wounds or mutilation of the body, this scene is the most disturbing and scariest I’ve seen, Stephen, he says, regressing back into the trance-like state he escaped from earlier.

I will be of no further use. May you please send the lady to my dungeon once she is ready? The coroner asks, his shoulders slumped as he takes his rubber gloves and green coveralls off, throwing them in the waste bin the techs placed next to the barrier, and walks to his van.

Sally remembers they will have to wear the same outfits before permitted into the crime scene and dashes towards the forensics truck to get pairs for the three detectives.

They don the baggy outfits as the coroner’s van pulls from the yard, Bull opens the doors and takes a step back. He moves next to Stephen and Sally, staring in utter silence and with a speechless confusion at the sight, which meets their eyes.

Unable to understand or process what they are