Red Hook

By Dustin Weber

A sadistic serial killer in Brooklyn, New York butchers his victims in increasingly complex and malevolent fashion.

It is veteran detective James Stickland's responsibility to track down and stop the chilling massacre, while in the meantime, dealing with his own personal demons.

The murderer torments the detectives with riddles and mind games, exposing his next mutilated victims location.

The body count is racking up and the pressure is on to stop the man known simply as "The Red Hook Killer".

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Feb 27, 2013
• ISBN: 9781300783718

Book preview

Red Hook

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Red Hook

Dustin Weber

Contents

Chapter 1…

Chapter 2…

Chapter 3…

Chapter 4...

Chapter 5...

Chapter 6...

Chapter 7...

Chapter 8...

Chapter 9...

Chapter 10...

Chapter 11...

Chapter 12...

Chapter 13...

Chapter 14...

Chapter 15...

Chapter 16...

Chapter 17...

Chapter 18...

Chapter 19...

Chapter 20...

Chapter 21...

Chapter 22...

Chapter 23...

Chapter 24...

Chapter 25...

Chapter 26...

Chapter 27...

Chapter 28...

Chapter 29...

Chapter 30...

Chapter 31...

Chapter 32...

Chapter 33...

Chapter 34...

Chapter 35...

Chapter 36...

Chapter 37...

Chapter 38...

Chapter 39...

Chapter 40...

Chapter 41...

Chapter 42...

Chapter 43...

Chapter 44...

Chapter 45...

Chapter 46...

Chapter 47...

Chapter 48...

Chapter 49...

Chapter 50...

Chapter 1

The first light shone in through the windows of James Stickland’s home in Englewood, New Jersey.  It was a chilly October morning; the leaves littered the ground as pumpkins decorated the neighbor’s front porches.  Stickland had already been awake for over an hour, he found it near impossible to sleep the entire night without muscle pains waking him up constantly.  His conscience persistently tormented him, adding to the problem.

I’m getting too old for this. he thought as he peered through his living room window.

The 61 year old detective neared his 40th anniversary with the department.  His eyesight had deteriorated so long ago that he couldn’t remember not having to wear glasses.  The fact that his hair was nearly entirely grey wasn’t appealing either, but he at least felt lucky not to be balding.

He walked from the living room down the hallway to the bathroom, passing the numerous awards hanging on the wall.  Taking a shower was one of the few things that Stickland still enjoyed; it always helped soothe the aches and pains that came with his age.

He couldn’t avoid thinking about his success as some would call it.  Stickland seemingly grew more disgusted with it with every day that passed.  He was amongst the most respected members of the department.  Everyone called him Chief even though he didn’t hold the official rank.  Being a detective in New York City required an enormous amount of dedication, which managed to ruin his marriage and relationship with his two sons.

On his way out the door, he looked up at the overcast sky again, it was beginning to drizzle.

What a shitty day. he mumbled as he walked to his garage.

The chilly early fall breeze blew through his hair and down the back of his jacket.  The air was damp and a slight scent of chimney smoke was noticeable.  Some of the remaining leaves which still populated their trees gracefully floated to the dew covered ground.  Stickland reached out to unlock the side door to his detached, two car garage.

The contents of the garage were the only things that truly mattered to Stickland anymore, his 2009 Chevrolet Impala police cruiser, and a 1969 Chevy Camaro SS. Stickland’s father bought the Camaro from the factory in 1969, and handed it down to him when he passed away in 1981.  Stickland took his ex-wife on their first date in that car; it was the only thing he still owned which reminded him of the happier memories of his life.

He unlocked the door of his Impala, sat in the drivers’ seat, and started the engine.  The faint sound of thunder echoed through the neighborhood. Stickland stared at the Camaro through his passenger side window.  He let out a heavy sigh as he turned his sad eyes away from his prized automobile towards the end of the driveway. Shifting the Impala into ‘drive’, the car eased forwards, beginning the hour long, ten mile drive to the Manhattan police department.

Chapter 2

Mornin’ Chief, how’s it goin’?  Officer Ben Sales politely asked as Stickland walked passed the departments’ front desk.

The usual Benny, saving the world one day at a time. Stickland said. "Only after spending half of that day sitting in traffic since you goddamn New Yorkers panic every time you see a raindrop."

Sir, if I’m not mistaken, aren’t you from New York? Sales replied.

I was born here, it wasn’t my choice. Stickland scoffed. I got the hell out of New York as soon as I could.

By moving to Jersey? said Sales. That seems like a smart strategy.

You see Benny, Stickland smirked. I didn’t get to where I am today without being an incredible genius.

Sales smiled and nodded. Alright Chief, have a good one.

Stickland admired the young officers; he just hoped they didn’t make the mistake of putting their work in front of their families, as he did.  It pleased him a great deal to see these young kids taking over the department he had helped establish. 

Kids… he thought, Most of these ‘kids’ are over thirty; they still look like teenagers to me.

Stickland was the most respected member of the department.  It made him feel good to know that at least someone still liked him. 

Stickland got cut off again on the way to his desk by his young secretary, Marie Hoonie. 

Chief, I got a new file for you, apparently it’s urgent. Marie announced.

Thanks Marie, Stickland replied. Just leave it on my desk, I need a cup of coffee.

Marie… if only I were 30 years younger. he thought.

He reached the coffee maker in the back corner of the room and filled up a Styrofoam cup with black coffee. 

Stickland walked into his office, fresh cup of coffee in his hand.  He walked over to his desk and opened the file that Marie had placed there.  He began reading the contents.  It described a shocking murder which had taken place the evening before in an abandoned warehouse in the western part of Brooklyn.  He continued reading the gruesome details and decided it would be best to visit the crime scene personally.

Stickland pulled out his cell phone and dialed his partner, Jack McKraken.

McKraken answered. What’s up Chief?

Hey Krak, have you been informed of a murder in West Brooklyn last night? Stickland asked.

Yeah Chief, McKraken replied. I’m down here at the scene right now.

Alright, well stay there, said Stickland. I’m on my way.

Stickland hung up the phone, finished his coffee, and walked out of his office, down the long corridor passing Ben Sales again, and out the department’s front door.

Chapter 3

Arriving at the murder scene, Stickland is waved through and told to proceed passed the police perimeter surrounding the building.  Stickland parked his police cruiser and peered through the front door of the building, where he spotted McKraken waiting for him. 

Jack McKraken was the finest man Stickland had ever worked with.  Currently only 32 years old, McKraken had already gained the respect of everyone in the department.  McKraken’s black hair was blowing in the mid October breeze as he pulled out a pack of cigarettes from his coat pocket and lit one up.  Stickland couldn’t help but be reminded of himself every time he saw McKraken, a young and handsome man who fully dedicated himself to the department. 

Jack was more of a son to him than his own two sons were, and he thought the feeling was mutual.  McKraken’s parents were self-made millionaires, and they gave Jack everything he could ever ask for in his life.  Unfortunately, nearly seven years ago, McKraken’s parents were flying in their private jet back from Hong Kong, when mechanical problems sent the plane plummeting to the earth killing both pilots and all four passengers on board.  McKraken had no siblings, and inherited the entire sum of the familie’s wealth, which was said to be in the hundreds of millions of dollars.  McKraken could have bought a house in the Caribbean, and lived there for the rest of his life, sitting on the beach every day until he died.  Instead, he stayed in New York City, joined the police department, and became one of the finest detectives the city had ever known.  The important thing about Jack McKraken was that he wasn’t interested in money, he just wanted to see the scum-of-the-earth criminals squashed like the cockroaches that they were.  For this reason, McKraken was loved not only by Stickland, but the entire department, and it was the reason that Stickland always saw a bit of himself in his younger partner. 

Stickland exited his car and proceeded to walk into the building where McKraken was waiting for him.

Hey Chief, the body’s on the fourth floor. McKraken greeted Stickland. Follow me.

Sorry Chief, we’re gonna have to walk up some stairs buddy. McKraken said as he lead the way through the building.

That’s alright Krak, Stickland replied. I’m not crippled.

"Yeah, I know you aren’t crippled, McKraken stated. But you are an old man."

"You know Jack-ass, I might be old but you’d be surprised the things I can still do." Stickland snapped back.

"I don’t think complaining about how sore you are all the time really qualifies, sir." McKraken jokingly replied on the way up the stairs.

Jackie, once you reach my age, we’ll see who’s talking. Stickland smiled and winked.

Hey, no one calls me Jackie, McKraken snapped back. Except for your daughter.

I don’t have a daughter. replied Stickland.

…Exactly. McKraken smiled and nodded his head.

Alright Chief, here we are. McKraken announced. Welcome to the slaughterhouse.

Stickland walked into the dark and messy room slowly, examining as much as he could as he moved by.  There was garbage everywhere, it was obvious that this building was or had been used by the homeless.  Stickland saw the body in the middle of the room, duct taped to a chair, a table beside it.  The floor was covered with dominoes, which formed a circle around the victims’ body; they had all been pushed over.  The table next to the body had what appeared to be a knitting needle, with a single domino next to it. 

Stickland walked around to examine the front of the body, the familiar aroma of a dead human corpse filled his nose.  It was a young Caucasian male with brown hair.  Stickland could now see that his mouth had been duct taped shut as well.  In front of the body sat a tripod with a metal arm extended towards the victims’ body.  A large metal hook, the kind used by butchers to hang meat from the ceiling, was attached to the end of the arm, and lodged into the victims’ throat.  The hook entered the right side of the neck, protruding from the left side.  The victims’ eyes popped from their sockets in an empty gaze of horror.  A trail of blood, which was now dried, flowed from the entry and exit wounds in the neck, running down the victims’ chest, also dripping from the tip of the hook, forming a puddle on the ground.  Chunks of muscle and flesh remained on the end of the hook and some lay on the floor beside the chair.

Stickland walked around to the back of the victim, where he saw a large, square shaped chunk of skin carved from the width of the victims’ back, starting from the shoulder blades, extending down to the hips.  It was loosely sliced from the body, most likely done in a rush with very little lighting.  Fragments of sickening fat had been removed and in some places, the back had a few deep gashes from where the killer might have gotten careless during skinning, digging into muscle.  Slivers of human bacon hung down from these accidental lacerations.  The victim’s spine was partially visible as well.  It didn’t seem that the killer intentionally removed any meat from the body, simply the skin off the back.  The skin loosely peeled back around the edges of the incision. 

Jesus Christ, Stickland mumbled in shock. What in the hell happened here?

McKraken moved towards Stickland from the corner of the room.

Well Chief, this is how we found him, McKraken stated. We believe he was kidnapped and brought up here, judging by this large knot on the top of his head, I’d say he was knocked unconscious first. McKraken continued. It appears that he was bound to the chair and the killer placed dominoes around it.  From what we can tell, the dominoes were then pushed over, one triggering the next, until the last one sprung this mechanism. McKraken pointed towards the tripod. This metal arm spun around, lodging the hook into his neck, killing him instantly. 

And then I assume he was skinned, Stickland replied. And the murderer made off with his ‘prize’ from the kill?

It seems that way, yes. McKraken nodded in agreement. Let’s hope he was dead first.

So what do you make of this needle and the single domino on the table here? Stickland asked.

I’m not sure Chief, McKraken answered. But they seemed to be placed there for a reason.

Yeah, like maybe the killer is trying to give us a clue. Stickland said.

Either that, or he’s just fucking with us.

Stickland continued. Alright, I want absolutely everything in this room examined for forensics.  Do we have an ID on the victim?

Yes sir, McKraken replied. His name is Adam Rosemann, twenty four years old, he was from Queens.

Alright, here’s what we need to do, Stickland said. Let’s open up the file to any questionable murders in the past where toys like dominoes were found at the crime scene.  Also, check for cases where parts of the victim’s skin were removed.

Will do Chief. McKraken replied.

Oh and Krak, Stickland said. Make sure this stays away from the media.  This is a gruesome murder, and we don’t need people panicking over it.

No problem boss, replied McKraken. You up for some breakfast Chief?

Stickland smiled. "I’m starving; let’s go get some breakfast Jackie."

Chapter 4

Stickland and McKraken headed to a local donut shop to get a quick breakfast before returning to the office to reexamine the murder report.  The two partners made it a nearly religious habit to visit the local donut shop every morning before starting their day.  They also enjoyed exercising the special discount the shop gave them for being detectives. 

Both men arrived separately to the donut shop, just a few blocks from the department.  Stickland arrived first and waited for McKraken in the parking lot.

McKraken pulled into the lot nearly fifteen minutes after Stickland arrived.  Time to screw with the kid. Stickland thought as McKraken got out of his car.

Finally! Stickland exclaimed. You know, I might be the ‘Old Man’, but you sure do drive like you’re the ones who’s 61.

Hey, fuck off Chief, would ya? McKraken replied in frustration. I had to make a stop first.

Wow Jackie, you’re starting to sound like a mobster grease ball. Stickland joked.

Yeah, you better watch it Chief, you might end up in the bottom of the river if you don’t stop breaking my balls. McKraken fired back.

Hah, this kid really is just like me, Stickland thought as he led the way into the donut shop. 

The detectives didn’t even have to place their orders, they practically owned the place considering how frequently they visited. 

Good morning gentleman, how’s it going today? the waitress Betty greeted.

Not bad Betty, and yourself? Stickland answered.

"The same as