Unforeseen Enemy

By Tracey Michelle

In Camden, New Jersey, one of the USA's most crime-ridden cities, three detectives from the Homicide Division are working on a murder case. Trey, Mia, and Jack, long-time colleagues, rely on hunches and theories as they move from residential neighborhoods to back alleys to track down their suspect. The trail of blood leaves them few clues; a string of strategic, seemingly unrelated killings, the victims all slashed ear-to-ear, and a police officer among them. Weaving a tale of lust, jealousy, and blood, Tracey Michelle's Unforeseen Enemy is a thrilling hardboiled crime novel that will keep the reader guessing from start to finish.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Jun 12, 2020
• ISBN: 9780989729819

Book preview

Author

Chapter One

The speakers from Club En Vogue vibrated with heavy bass and could even be felt from the street. As the night drew to a close, the music continued to vibrate, despite that fact that most of the patrons had already left. Linda and Sheila—both in their mid-twenties—were regulars at the club. Lovers of the city’s nightlife, they enjoyed themselves whenever possible. They each attended New York University and worked two jobs, which could sometimes overwhelm them. Tonight, however, the girls decided to forget their troubles, enjoy some drinks at the club, and dance into the next morning.

Of the pair, Linda had flowy brown hair and a petite frame, while dimples punctuated her smile. She sat on a barstool and leaned against the bar top. Her head was spinning slightly as she took the last swig of her vodka cocktail.

Sheila giggled. In contrast to Linda’s, her blonde hair was streaked with darker highlights. We should go, she said, shivering in the cold and looking at her watch. It’s 2:46 in the morning. Linda nodded in agreement.

They grabbed their purses and sweaters from the backs of their bar stools and make one last run to the ladies’ room. On leaving the club, the bouncer opened the door to let the ladies out into the fresh morning air, at which point they headed home to get some much-needed rest. He shook his head and smiled as they stumbled out of the club in fits of laughter.

Good night, ladies. Hope to see you again soon.

Good night, sweetie! they replied.

Their hearts were still thumping to the music as they breathed in the warm morning air. The streets of New York City seemed to be especially quiet that morning as they stumbled along, partially intoxicated and giddy, holding onto each other as they ventured down streets in search of a cab.

Just then, Sheila came to an abrupt stop. Linda struggled to pull her along. Stop… just stop for a minute. Do you hear that? Sheila asked.

Hear what? Are you drunk? Linda slurred.

Sheila smiled. No . . . okay, maybe a little. But listen… it just sounds so peaceful. Let’s walk home.

No, we’re getting in the first taxi we see, Linda replied.

We live close enough to walk so I’m going to walk. Sheila pulled her arm away and continued walking. Her apartment was only a few blocks away so she felt they could both use the walk to sober up.

But we’ve both been drinking, and I seriously think we should take a taxi, Linda asserted. Plus, these shoes are killing me and I’m not sure I’ll make it.

Look, this is one of the nicest nights we’ve had in a long time and I’m only a tiny bit tipsy so I’m going walk home, Sheila whined.

I’m really not comfortable with you walking home, but I can’t stop you either. Now, can I? Linda said as she hailed an oncoming taxi.

Thanks, Mom! Sheila giggled.

The taxi pulled over and Linda climbed into the backseat. Are you sure you don’t want to get in? she asked one last time. Sheila closed the door and waved to Linda as she took a few steps back from the departing vehicle.

Linda quickly rolled down the window. Okay, but I expect you home in about twenty minutes, she yelled. The cab then pulled away from the curb, made a right turn, and disappeared around the corner.

Sheila took a deep breath, pulled her sweater on tighter, then pulled her purse over her head and shoulder as she began the trek home.

For the past two weeks, the weather had been persistently cold and wet, but that morning was just right. It was warm and there was not a raindrop in sight. It seemed as if even the clouds were smiling. She walked down the street and passed a dimly lit alley, which she had walked down many times before.

As she passed through the alley, a shiver crawled down her spine. Her heels suddenly seemed too loud as they tapped the concrete floor, the sound dispersing into the quiet night. She narrowed her eyes and quickened her pace. Her heart was racing as her breath quickened.

Just then, a shadow emerged from the darkness and yanked her purse. Pain lanced around her neck as the assailant pulled against the cord, choking her in the struggle before the strap broke apart, black dots prickling her vision and tearing the skin around her neck. She lurched forward, thankful that her neck had not been broken, but her shoulder was on fire and felt as if it might be dislocated.

Her adrenaline was so high that she couldn’t feel the true pain associated with what had just happened. As the shadow glanced quickly at her before running back into the dimly lit alley, Sheila mustered up the strength to give chase. Stop, stop! Give me back my purse, you bastard! she screamed. The shadow stopped and placed his hands in the air as he slowly turned around to face her. Sheila stopped. The dimly lit alley hindered her efforts to see who snatched her purse. She squinted, but to no avail. Her assailant dressed in a dark-colored running suit with the hood pulled down to mask his face and a baseball cap to keep the hood in place was not going to make her escape easy. Wearing dark colored gloves and all-black sneakers, the shadow now faced Sheila, holding the purse out to her as he began walking slowly towards her. In response, Sheila began to approach the shadow slowly, in the hope that she could retrieve her purse. Are you crazy? You don’t steal from people. I work hard for what I have, even if it isn’t much to you, she said. They stood only a few feet apart from each other. Sheila stared at her assailant for a moment before she snatched her purse back.

Thank you, she said. He struggled to get a glimpse of the thief’s face as he nodded to her. How old are you? she asked.

Suddenly, the thief took a quick step towards her. A sharp pain bolted through her body, causing her to grab her abdomen in shock as moisture encased her fingers. Sheila soon became overcome with concern as the thoughts of what had just happened filled her mind. She lifted her hand, which was covered in blood. She began shaking, fear gripping her from head to toe. She opened her mouth to scream but could only form the words in her mind, but before she could utter any or make any noise, another sharp pain entered her abdomen. She then realized that the thief had stabbed her multiple times. Sheila fell to her knees. The thief immediately grabbed Sheila by the hair and snatched her head back. Without hesitation, he slit her throat from one ear to the other before pushing her to the ground. The thief left Sheila in the alley clenching her purse, crumpled on the floor like a piece of trash, her eyes wide-open.

Chapter Two

FIVE YEARS EARLIER:

Camden, New Jersey has long been recognized as one of the most dangerous, crime-ridden cities in the United States. With more than forty percent of the city’s residents living below the poverty line in one of America’s richest states, it’s not hard to believe that it has one of the highest crime rates in the country. As for the politicians, over the last thirty years, three of the mayors have found themselves part of the problem owing to numerous cases of criminal activity that eventually landed each of them behind bars.

Trey Jackson, a beautiful, young, female detective, had been with the Camden Homicide Division in New Jersey for a little over five years. It was a bright and fresh morning in June, and at five feet eight inches, her rich mocha skin, perspiration with sweat, shimmered in the sun. The temperature read 82 degrees and was climbing fast. She assessed the surrounding scenery behind an abandoned bank, where the execution-style murders of two street level drug dealers had just taken place. Unsurprisingly, there were no witnesses and the building camera had not been in order for many years. As Trey surveyed the bodies, Detective Jack Moore, her colleague, arrived on the scene.

Jack Moore. Well, what can I say? At six feet tall, Jack was fine as Denzel Washington. With a handsome build, most women said little to Jack at first, at least until they recomposed themselves, wiping the saliva from the sides of their mouths. Jack broke more hearts than crimes he solved, but he always looked good doing both.

Morning, Trey. You look stunning, Jack said in a complimentary tone. Trey looked up as she tried to fix the corner of her curled-up mouth.

Detective Moore, has anyone caught you up to speed? she replied.

Yes. Any ideas on what actually occurred here?

No, not yet, she answered with a smirk and raised eyebrow.

If anyone can figure this out, I’m sure you will, Jack answered.

Jack was a detective out of the Camden Narcotics Unit. He had been with the force for seven years and frequently collaborated on cases with Trey when narcotics were believed to involved.

Hey, how are you doing on those two other cases? asked Jack.

Not too good. I still don’t have any suspects or motives, Trey replied.

Do you think they could be connected to these?

I doubt it. Trey answered. The other two murders seem random and these two are more targeted acts.

A gun was used in these cases, while the others were done with a knife, but both seem to be up close and personal, don’t you think? asked Jack.

Yes, but why change weapons and why so many different types of victims? she answered.

I don’t know, but either way I’m here to serve you, he said, bowing to her respectfully.

Great. Trey replied, rolling her eyes.

Oh, come on, am I that bad to work with?

No. Not as long as your mouth is closed, so let’s try less speaking and more searching, she said ironically. Jack laughed as he walked around the crime scene to get a mental picture of what he believes may have taken place.

Three weeks before, two people were brutally murdered—one male, one female—in what appeared to be separate and random attacks. Neither victim had anything in common nor had criminal histories, while they both had relatively good jobs and lived in upmarket neighborhoods, unlike the two young drug dealers. The earlier victims had their throats slashed from ear-to-ear and nothing was missing from their persons or residencies. The only similarity was the weapon of choice: a serrated edge knife. According to the Medical Examiner, the time of the death was not the same for the two victims. The male victim was murdered at approximately 7 P.M. after he left his job. The female victim was murdered at approximately 3 A.M. in her bed while she slept. No, nothing about these cases was similar except the manner of death. Finding the motives and the killer or killers is going to be a daunting task, and with so little clues to go on and no eyewitnesses, it seems as though the cases may never be solved. Trey worked the cases for three weeks straight until the dealers were murdered. It was time to set these cases down for a moment and work on these new murder cases coming in. Hopefully, by doing so and then returning to the previous homicides, she would be able to look at them with a fresh perspective.

As Trey and Jack searched the new crime scene of the murdered drug dealers for any evidence that might send them in the right direction, Jack would continually look over his shoulder, taking in glimpses of Trey’s backside. They both knew that there was a mutual sexual attraction between them, but when it came to Jack, Trey always kept it professional; that was until the two departments went out for drinks two nights later.

It was a Thursday night and both detectives had one glass too many. Trey enjoyed erring on the side of caution; tonight, she planned ahead by leaving her car at home and prearranging a taxi to and from the gathering. Jack, on the other hand, preferred to take chances by parking his car in a nearby garage. As the night came to an end, Trey took Jack’s car keys in the knowledge that he had had a few too many drinks. She then called her taxi, which dropped the pair off at her apartment.

Do I have to walk home from here? Jack asked Trey as he took in the new surroundings.

Oh, come on, you think I would be that cold-hearted? she responded. Well, actually I would normally be, but not tonight. With that, she unlocked the door and invited him in. This is nice, he said while walking around, observing her taste in decor. Should I take that as a compliment coming from you? she asked as she walked over to the couch. Before she reached it, she could feel hot air and moisture on the back of her neck. She quickly turned around and pushed Jack away.

What are you doing? Trey asked.

I don't know. What did it feel like I was doing? he responded with a goofy smile on his face.

For a minute I thought that a leech was attacking me. Oh wait, one was, she replied en route to her bedroom, with Jack hot on her heels.

As she turned around, she bumped into him. He still wore