Handsome. Detective Gagon book one

By Theresa Jacobs

Being handsome has its advantages and affords him easy access into people’s homes. They quickly learn you can not judge a book by its cover when they pay the ultimate price with their lives. He didn’t ask to look the way he does, nor to lose his loving mother at such a young age. Dealing with unwanted memories, he will find a way to erase his past by cleansing the city as he sees fit.
Detective Marcy Gagon, finds at times her relationship with the lead coroner, Krista Jones, a harder case to crack than the one she’s trying to solve. She feels alone in the hunt for a man whom she believes is a serial killer. The Chief of Police refuses to entertain the possibility that Toronto has yet another serial killer until she can bring him solid proof. But when another couple are killed within 24 hours of the last, Marcy gets the push she needs, and new leads come pouring in. Fully engulfed in her job, she also learns a deeper secret to her girlfriend’s past that only strengthens their bond. Hot on the heels of a killer, Marcy must somehow bring his reign of terror to an end without letting her personal life interfere.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Theresa Jacobs
• Release date: May 18, 2020
• ISBN: 9780463032749

Theresa Jacobs

Theresa Jacobs believes in magic, fairies, dragons, and ghosts. Yet she trusts science and thinks that aliens know way too much. When she is not at work she spends her time, reading, writing, exercising her dog, and binge-watching TV shows, with her longtime partner and fiancé.She is also a big movie buff and a sci-fi nerd at heart.

Book preview

Handsome

© 2020 Theresa Jacobs

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof

may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever

without the express written permission of the publisher

except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. 

Other names, characters, places and events are products of the author’s imagination, 

and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Special thanks to the owners of Oasis Aqualounge

For allowing me to use the club’s name and location. 

All characters and interactions are fictitious and in no way reflect upon the 

club, their beliefs, rules, or environment.

To my editor Gari Strawn, who works hard correcting me.

Her job is not an easy one.

Bibliography

Novels

Cataclysm

Kept

The Used

Novellas

Sudden Death

The Cimmerians

Wife N’ Death

The Zombie Effect

Anthologies

Shrouded Voices

Things only the darkness knows

My other friends & more stories

100-word horrors book 1, 2, 3, 4.

A world unimagined

Indie Writers Review Issue 13

Elements of horror: Air, Earth, Water.

The weird and what not

A discovery of writers

Depth of darkness

A is for Aliens

The Horror Zine’s Book of Ghost Stories

Kids Books

The lonely leaf

Puddle jumping

Poetry

Spewed thoughts

Self-Help

Writing 101

Thankyou to my alpha reader, writer Paul Isaac, for catching all my early plot holes and dropped threads, though he bears no responsibility where I have chosen not to use his suggestions going into the final version of the book. He beautiful-minded the crap out of my work and stopped me from chasing my own tail.

Also, to my great friend Jackie Leahey for assisting me in re-writes, and for her blunt comments like: He wouldn’t Snow White his way through the forest! A few sentences are re-written by her—can you spot the differences?

Last but not least, to Sylva Fae, Sarah Stuart, Paul Rudders, and Lacey Lane of ISAD group for catching all my grammar errors. You guys rock!

Readers, be kind and check them out:

Paul Isaac: Twitter @PaulJIsaac

Sylva Fae: https://www.facebook.com/SylvasMonsters/

Sarah Stuart: https://www.amazon.com/Sarah-Stuart/e/B00MA9XLHI

Paul Rudders: www.rudderswriting.com

Lacey Lane : smarturl.it/ReturnOfThePumpkins.

Table of Contents

1. Uninvited

2. Before the sun rises

3. A day in the life

4. Doing what needs to be done

5. Driven

6. Paths cross

7. Unstoppable

8. Amped up

9. Consequences

10. Discovery

11. Validation

12. Anders Hansen

13. Time marches on

14. Drive Time

15. Aunt Ellena

16. Another Encounter

17. It’s a tough job

Uninvited

The door opened a hair, and an eye peeked out. Yes? 

Anders Hansen parted his lips, knowing the effect it seemed to have on women. Hi, I know this is unusual, but I noticed your pineapple sign. Does it mean the same thing to you as it does me? He grinned, keeping his question terse, so if the woman wasn’t versed in the meaning of the pineapple, she’d be none the wiser. 

The single dark eye followed his finger to the welcome sign hanging on the side of the house. The door opened a foot wider. Her eyes, now both visible, widened. 

He knew what she was thinking: Are you for real? He’d been fawned over as an extraordinarily handsome man his entire life. 

Yes, yes, it is. Are you? Well— She opened the door wider, her gaze lingering over his body, from the tips of his leather Cole Haan dress shoes to his lean frame and wide shoulders. She giggled, placing two fingers over her lips. Please, I’m sorry. Of course, you are, or you wouldn’t have asked. Stepping back from the door, she waved him inside. She reached up and removed the clip from her ashy-blonde hair, allowing it to fall to her shoulders, which made no improvement to her looks. When she was in her twenties, she would have been only average at best, now pushing forty trying to look hot was a hopeless cause. 

I apologize for the unexpected intrusion. He shrugged, giving a shy boyish grin. I happened to be in the neighborhood and saw the sign. He stepped in toward the tall woman, and moved close enough for her to pick up the heat radiating from his body, letting her smell his heady cologne. 

Her breath came faster, her excitement visible. No. One should never let a good opportunity go to waste. Do you want a drink? I’ll get my husband Frank out here while I freshen up, okay?

He pushed in closer, brushing the hair from her forehead, giving her the impression that all he wanted was her. He needed this to happen. He was ready and his mind vibrated with anticipation of what was to come. 

No drink, thank you. He took her hand, pressing it to his lips. Don’t be long.

Her cheeks reddened, her eyelids slid to half-mast, and her breathing grew rapid. Yes. Ah, sugar, I’ll hurry now, she said as she pulled away, making a beeline to an unseen room. "Frank!" she called out, disappearing around the corner of the hallway.

He walked into the kitchen, picked up a nineties-style black lacquered dining chair with grey patterned soft seat, and returned to the living room with it. Moving with steady purpose, he closed the living room curtains, clicked on two table lamps, and set his briefcase on the coffee table. 

A noise from behind caught his ear. 

Hey, there, friend. A short, chubby man in his mid-forties entered, hand extended for a shake.

He reciprocated. Hello, I hope you are game as well?

Frank laughed. Hell, I’m a guy, ain’t I? I’m always up for play time. It’s generally up to the women anyways, isn’t it? Noticing the dinning chair, now in the living room, he raised a brow. You got plans, do you?

I hope you don’t mind. I have a certain way I like to do things.

Frank waved him off and stepped back to the kitchen, returning a moment later, beer in hand. Nah, I’m easy. He leaned in as though conspiring. As long as Barbie’s happy, I’m happy. And getting some! 

The smell of stale cigarettes and beer assaulted the gorgeous man’s nose, he turned to resume his machinations ignoring the obscene man.

What’s your name, pal? I can’t very well let you have your way with my wife and not know your name, Frank said, circling to the back of the chair to see what he was up to.

Anders Hansen.

Hansen, is that slang for handsome? Barbie said entering the room. She’d changed from her jeans and t-shirt into a worn lacy red teddy that needed to see the other side of a garbage can. 

Hansen continued his charade. Taking her hand, he gave her a twirl, and a low whistle. In his mind, he gagged at her long sagging rear-end and cellulite-pocked legs. Perfection, he cooed. 

Oooo, ropes, kinky. Do I sit here? she said rubbing the seat.

Frank chugged his beer, flopping onto the couch. Great viewing area, you’re a smart one, son. 

Hansen shook his head. Frank gets the honor of the chair, he replied, drawing the woman closer to his side. It turns me on when the man is helpless while I take care of his wife.

Barbie made a giggling noise of pure pleasure which came out sounding like she smoked a pack of cigarettes and needed to cough up a wad of phlegm. Hansen rested his arm around her waist. 

All right. Frank thunked his bottle down on the table. But nothing weird for me, man. I just like to watch.

Hansen nodded as he brought rope from his briefcase. Moving behind Frank and securing him to the chair, he said, I bet you’d like it if she took you in her mouth while I pleasure her from behind, right?

A dribble of saliva escaped the corner of Frank’s lip. He slurped it up with a chuckle. Now you’re talking my lingo, handsome baby.

Barbie ran her hands over Hansen’s back, bottom, and thighs while he worked. It took every fibre of his being to keep from punching her in the face and not stopping until she was unrecognizable. He knew, though, what he was about to do would be much more satisfying. 

Finished, he stood almost eye to eye with the unusually tall woman. He smiled, giving her all his pearly whites. He blew warm air into her ear, exposed the other shoulder, and let the teddy hit the floor.

Her eyes were closed and her chest heaved. She moved faster than he expected grabbing his shoulders to pull him in for a passionate kiss. 

Hansen pulled back. Wait. He held her firm. I need you too badly now. We’ll explore each other later.

Oh, yes, get rough! I want you inside me. Please don’t tease me. Hurry!

You must take care of Frank, too, darling. He turned her towards her husband who was bound helpless and waiting in the chair. Pressing her to her knees he said, Suck him.

Wanting to please Hansen for her own selfish pursuits, she unzipped Frank’s pants. He, too, was ready for fun and already aroused.

There you are, Hansen said, rubbing Barbie’s hair. 

Frank’s head was back, eyes closed, moaning. 

Hansen brought a shorter rope from his pocket, slipping it unseen under Barbie’s chin and around her neck. He said, Now it’s my turn.

2. Before the sun rises

The phone chirped in Marcy’s ear. She cracked an eye in the dark. The green light told her it was 4:08 am.

Can’t I get one night? Just one? She groaned, picking up the cell phone, keeping her eyes shut against the screen’s brightness in the dark room. What?

Get up, sunshine, we’ve got a doozy for ya today.

Seriously? Can’t you guys take it?

Wait until you see it, you’ll want it all for yourself.

That bad, huh?

Yup.

Text me the location, I’m on my way.

I knew you would be.

The phone went dead in her ear. She lay back for a second, and as always, the prospect of a new hunt shot through her veins. Wide awake now, she slid out of bed without lights, opened the closet, and selected a white blouse and a navy pantsuit. To keep her life simple, it was her entire work wardrobe. Non-work attire was kept in the spare room closet so there was never a chance of her showing up to a homicide in a pink checkered ensemble. Rushing through the bungalow, she tied her hair as she went, scooting her mug under the Keurig while she brushed her teeth. Her dance of preparations could transpire in her sleep. 

Coffee in hand, lights out, and door locked, Marcy was in her Ford Crown Vic in fifteen minutes flat. Checking her texts, she saw the address in question was in midtown Toronto. She lived across from Trinity Bellwoods Park in old town Toronto. In another hour when the city woke, the trip would take a good forty minutes. At 4 am with her lights on, she could do it in fifteen. 

Clicking the radio to 91.1 Jazz FM, Marcy sipped her fresh Columbian brew and hit the lights. 

~ ~ ~

After creeping through the crime tape, guarding constables, and a massive roadblock, Marcy donned shoe covers before entering the home. Stepping into the hall, she sniffed the stale air. Smells commingled in an unpleasant goulash of the previous night’s dinner, furniture that required a good cleaning, sinus-insulting fruity essence of what was most likely a Glade PlugIn, and death. Pursing her lips, she withheld a sneeze. The fake cover smells were the worst, and she wished people would stop using them. 

Took you long enough, Inspector Davis said.

Marcy watched her footing before stepping closer to the scene and addressed the inspector, Unless the Chief wants to grant me a helicopter, I’d say I did damn well.

The inspector’s head nodded at the couple. See why I called you?

Yes. It’s nearly identical, eh. Have they been ID’d?

Barbara and Frank Dean, homeowners. 

Thanks, Marcy said, digging out her GoPro to record her movements through the home. 

The man, his torso and legs tied to the kitchen chair, was fully clothed. His swollen, purple face had been angled to look down. His hands were laced through the woman’s long blonde hair, while she, on her knees, had slumped in death with her head still in the man’s lap. Blood was visible across his thighs.

Have they checked it out yet? Marcy asked, indicating the man’s lap.

Perfunctory, yes. His penis was bitten into most certainly, as the amount of blood in his lap suggests. Whether her head was held in place as she was strangled, or the perp set it up to be shown in this manner, we don’t know yet. 

Leaning closer to the bodies, Marcy closed her eyes, inhaling through her nose. She paused as though listening and inhaled again.

You know it freaks me out when you do that, Davis said.

There’s a scent I’ve smelled before. Sniffing the air like a dog, she said, I’m almost positive I picked it up at the last scene too. It must be a cologne, there’s a woody undertone and vanilla? 

Well, that’s not going to catch a killer and the coroner’s here. I’ll get out of the way. 

Marcy moved around the grotesque presentation, capturing it all on tape. Have you notified the Chief yet?

Inspector Davis crossed his arms and snorted. What? That we may have a serial killer on our hands? That’s your call, Detective Gagon.

Marcy rolled her eyes from the dead flesh before her to the CSI agent. Awesome, thanks.

Millennials rule. Davis raised his hands as he walked off to talk to his team.

Stepping back, she surveyed the entire scene. The couple were set up in the living room with the curtains drawn. There were no obvious signs of a struggle. Walking around the chair, she noticed a crack in one of the chair’s rungs on the back and zoomed in to click a few stills. Even though the crime