Nasty Little Secrets

By Dennis Sidney Martin

We all have secrets. Most of them are benign and only cause a certain amount of embarrassment when revealed. But what happens when someone’s secrets spark a crime wave that result in one dead body after another? Baltimore County Police detective Reese Daggett and his partner, Candy Stone, are about to find out what nasty little secrets lie beneath the surface of sleepy suburbia.The secrets that are revealed are almost too disturbing to believe

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Oct 1, 2011
• ISBN: 9781312942974

Book preview

Nasty Little Secrets

Nasty Little Secrets

A Novel

By

Dennis S Martin

© Copyright 2005, Dennis S Martin

All rights reserved

ISNB: 978-1-312-94297-4

This book is dedicated to the hardworking, devoted and committed forces of the Baltimore County, Maryland Police Department.

Chapter 1

It’s odd how the weather can sometimes draw out the very worst in us.  It was nearing the end of one of the hottest summers the East Coast had ever seen.  Days so horrible with heat that the blacktop of the streets clung like chewing gum to the soles of your shoes.  The nights not much better with the temperatures hovering barely below three digits.  You just knew that something was about to happen; something big, something horrible.

Summertime in Baltimore can be unbearable.  The old saying It’s not so much the heat as the humidity never held more true.  The despicable dampness chokes the nasal passages making breathing a laborious chore.  The nature of Reese Daggett’s business led to many hours of tedious hoofing and waiting and more hoofing as he investigated one crime scene after another.

Something about the heat of summer seems to set people off.  Daggett knew it, had seen it, had experienced it first hand.  Normally of a calm and passive nature, his temper had flared on more than one occasion in recent months, once bordering on insubordination when his investigative methods had been questioned by a brash new lieutenant just transferred into the detective unit.

This particular morning had started out okay.  A brief and unexpected burst of Canadian air had dipped the temperatures down to a comfortable 63˚ overnight.  Not bad for Baltimore less than one week after Labor Day.

Daggett was already working on his third cup of coffee.  He had been up since 5 a.m. prepping the 18’ Bayliner he affectionately named ‘Lady Rose’ in honor of his wife, ex-wife now.  She had been gone for three years but Daggett hadn’t had the heart to rename the boat.  Somehow it was like he still had a part of her around.  In this he found a semblance of comfort.

Daggett hadn’t seen many days off in recent weeks.  The Detective Squad had been dealing with what, for Baltimore County, was a serious crime wave.  It was one of those upswings that happen from time to time that sees a rash of burglaries, hold-ups – banks, convenience stores, liquor stores – not to mention shooting, stabbings, spousal abuse.

You expect these things in the city, but Daggett’s beat was mainstream suburbia: Parkville, White Marsh, Kingsville. These areas were estranged to this kind of violence and bedlam.  A lot of things were said to have been contributing factors, not the least of which was the heat.  Some people blamed drugs, some the economy, even though it had never been so good.  All factors were said to have an effect, either good or bad depending on who was on the soap box.

Reese Daggett didn’t care about any of that today.  He had two days off.  Two days to lounge around the Chesapeake Bay.  Once he launched the Lady Rose he had no intention of setting foot on dry land for any reason short of an emergency…or food.

The phone rang. 

Daggett here.

Reese, the voice on the other end was most decidedly female.

Good morning, Bella, he said.  "You about ready?’

Just walking out the door, she explained.  You sure you don’t want me to bring anything?  Coffee?  Donuts?

Just your own sweet self and a skimpy swimsuit.  Daggett pictured in his mind the red two-piece she had worn on their last outing, the one with yellow polka-dots.

Sweet talker, she said.  You sure know how to flatter a girl.

Just being selfish, said Daggett.  The skimpier the suit, the better the scenery.

Seriously, can I bring anything?

I’ve got it all covered, Daggett said.  Picnic basket full of your favorites, and a cooler of Killian Red.  Got extra towels, suntan lotions.

You’re a regular boy scout, aren’t you?

Always prepared.

I’ll have to see if I can some up a few surprises for you.

Looking forward to it.

I just hope you’re up to it, she whispered.  I’ll see you in fifteen minutes.

Daggett hung up with a smile on his face.  He had been seeing Bella Cross off and on for the past six months.  They had been intimate almost from the start.  Not that Bella was lacking in the morals category, but she was a woman who knew what she wanted.  She had seen something in Reese Daggett the first time they met.

It had been the first day of little league and Daggett had brought his son Eric to practice.  Bella was there with her sister-in-law, Betty.  Betty’s son, Blake, was trying out for pitcher, the same position to which 12 year old Eric Daggett aspired.  Bella and Reese had backed into each other, literally, on the sidelines.  On turning simultaneously to apologize, their eyes met.  The rest, as they say, is history.

It was seven thirty.  Daggett had hoped to have the boat in the water by now, would have had he been setting out on his own.  Preparations for two always take longer.  He checked the 40 caliber Sig Sauer, made sure the safety was engaged and stored it away in its holster.  He hated that he had to be armed even on his off-duty time.  Departmental policy; one of the hazards of being a cop.  He reluctantly clipped the beeper to his belt.  A police officer is always on call.

Can’t be helped, Daggett said.  Lieutenant promised not to page me unless absolutely necessary.

Heard that before.

Just have to keep a good thought.

Do you think that will help?

Wouldn’t hurt.

Are we ready? Bella asked.

Everything is stowed away, Daggett said. After you.

Bella stood and looked him in the eye for a moment.  She had the most interesting eyes.  Milk chocolate brown and as round as marbles.  Her straight raven hair, cropped short for the summer heat, now regaining some of the length it had known in the spring.  Her perfectly bowed lips were without need of lip gloss and the tiny cleft in her chin only accentuated the dimples that crept into her smile.

Reese took a deep inhale of Bella’s perfume.  White Linen.  God!  It smelled good on her.  He wanted her right here, right now, but there would be time for that later.

What? said Daggett.  Her eyes were asking a question as yet unknown.  Another moment passed without inquiry.

Nothing, she shook her head as if thinking better of asking whatever it was on the tip of her tongue.  Is that what you’re wearing?

Daggett looked himself up and down.  His unbuttoned denim shirt over top of his Baltimore Orioles tee shirt.  His black Docker’s and Reebok walking shoes.  He wasn’t exactly ready for the cover of GQ but he was dressed according to Daggett’s first rule of the waterways:  comfort.  To him this was comfort personified.

Bella on the other hand was the height of fashion.  A white cotton Ship ‘N’ Shore top with royal blue Capri pants.  Deck shoes with no hosiery, a wide brimmed floppy hat with a red, white and blue band.  She was carrying a bright yellow rain slicker flung over her shoulder just in case there was a change in the weather.  The Chesapeake Bay could be very unpredictable this time of year.

Something wrong with what I’m wearing? Daggett looked hurt.

Oh, nothing, she said.  Just looks like you’ve been wearing those pants for a few days.

100% cotton.  Not exactly wrinkle free.

Whatever. She relented.  Shall we?

Let’s.

The phone rang.  He hesitated answering.  Finally, on the fourth ring, he did.  It was Candice Stone, Reese’s partner.  Almost predictably, his plans had changed.

Chapter 2

You wanna tell me what the hell this is all about.  Daggett’s question was pointed directly at Candy Stone as soon as he walked into the squad room.

Hey!  Candy was having none of this.  Don’t get your nut twisted at me.  I’m just a messenger.  Lieutenant wants to see you.

What are you doing here today?  Daggett asked.  We were supposed to have two days off.

I just came in to file a report, Candy said.  The robbery we wrapped up last night.  Remember?

Oh, yeah.  Daggett remembered all right.  Two punks that he and his partner had tracked down following a convenience store robbery that had left the store clerk dead and a customer wounded.  It had taken a week to track down the perps.  It would take even longer to build a case against them that would hold up in court.  Daggett was surprised that some sleazebag lawyer hadn’t already got the scum buckets back out on the streets before the ink was dry on the arrest report.

You’d better get your ass in there, Candy said.  Lt. Mac is in a mood this morning.

Daggett took just long enough to pour a cup of coffee into a paper cup, knocked and then opened the door to Lieutenant Trombley’s office without waiting for an invitation.  Trombley was standing with his back to the door, hands on the window sill, staring blankly at the parking lot below.

You wanted to see me, L.T.?  Daggett asked.

The lieutenant straightened his six foot four inch frame and slowly turned to face Daggett.  Lieutenant MacKinsey Mac Trombley was as imposing and as steady as an oak tree.  At age 47 he was beginning to show signs of the strain of his demanding job.  Even though he still had a full head of hair, the salt was beginning to mix with the pepper of his once jet black locks.  He was, as always, immaculately dressed in a form-fitting, hand tailored three piece suit.  His dark brown eyes clearly indicated that the previous night had not been a restful one.  When he spoke, his voice held a certain irritable quality.

Sit down, Daggett, he said as he walked over to his comfortable desk chair and seated himself.  You know a guy named Mckeeson?

Used to, he said.  Went to school with a Blaine Mckeeson.  Daggett made a face as he sipped the too hot strong coffee.

That’s the guy.

What about him?

Little girl’s missing.

And?

And…apparently this guy has some pull.  Seems his old man is good friends with the county sheriff who calls the police chief who called me and asked to have you assigned to the case.

Me? Daggett smirked with surprise, not fully understanding.  Why me?  I’m robbery.  Not missing persons.

Mckeeson gave the impression that you and he were old buddies.  Said he wouldn’t feel comfortable with anybody else.  Why?  You got a problem with the assignment?

No, Daggett said.  Just seems kind of strange.

Why?

Blaine Mckeeson and I did go to high school together, but we weren’t exactly friends.  I could barely stand him.  Last time I saw him was a couple of years ago at a 15 year reunion.  We talked maybe 5-10 minutes.  Other than that, we may as well be complete strangers.

Nevertheless, Mac explained, he wants you on the case.  So why don’t you make me, the Chief and the Sheriff all happy and go out and talk to this guy and see if you can help.

Sure, L.T.

And do it in a hurry.  Trail on this little girl is already cooling off.  Another 24 hours and you might be too late.

I’m on it.  Daggett said.  By the way, does the little girl have a name?

Sarah.  Sarah Mckeeson.  12 years old.

They suspect foul play?

Suspect everybody and everything.  First rule of detective work.  You know that.

Who’s got the initial report?

Beat cop is Haversham.

I know him.

You can arrange to meet him at the residence.  I think he’s already started canvassing.

The address?

12077 Golden End in Golden Courts.  You know it?  Daggett wrote it down. 

I know the neighborhood.  Quiet place as I recall.  Wouldn’t expect trouble there.

Don’t be fooled by appearances.  Now get the hell out of my office.  Take Stone with you.  There was no malice in Trombley’s order. Just a sense of urgency that Daggett understood perfectly.  He was on the case.

As he brushed through the Squad Room, Daggett called out, Stone!  Come with me.  We’ve got an assignment.  He dropped the cup of coffee in the waste basket.

Assignment? Stone was stunned.  But I’m supposed to have the day off.  As she spoke she was already getting up to put on her jacket that would conceal the bulky 9 millimeter she wore in her shoulder holster.

Yeah.  Best laid plans… Daggett said.  Let’s go.

You wanna tell me where were going?

In the car.  And they were gone.

Chapter 3

So you gonna tell me what’s going on or do we play 20 questions?  Candy asked as they got into the car.  She was a patient cop but patience has its limits.  Candice Stone and Reese Daggett had been a team for the past four years.  Their relationship had started off shaky, Daggett having never before worked with a female partner.  It hadn’t taken him long to realize that his was one female who was up to the task of law enforcement.

Candy had developed a reputation on the force as a hard ass.  She was five foot ten inches of hardened sinew who could take on and beat most men at any given sport.  Her hair was somewhere between blond and red.  Combined with her hazel eyes and ruddy completion, it gave clear indication of her Irish heritage.  Her nickname on the force was Hard Rock Candy, but nobody called her that to her face.  She was 32 years old and had never been married.  Never had time was her excuse.  Truth was, men were intimidated by her; most men that is.

Not Daggett.  They formed a bond, the kind of trust in one another’s abilities that makes for a good team.  Candy was a quick study and became familiar with Daggett’s style in no time.

When Daggett’s wife left him, it was Candy who got him through the tough times.  They became so close that there were even rumors that Candy had been the reason for the break-up.  The truth was there had never been any romantic involvement between the two.  Just mutual trust and admiration.

See if you can raise Zack Haversham on the radio.  Have him meet us at this address.  He handed her the slip of paper on which he had written McKeeson’s address.

Haversham?  Candy asked.  Can you spell that for me?

HA – VE.  Hell, give me the mike.  I’ll call it in.

No, no.  Please, she said.  Allow me.  My! Aren’t we in a mood?  What happened?  Strike out last night?  Get interrupted this morning?  You act like a guy with sexual frustration written all over his face.

I just hate this, that’s all, Daggett complained. 

Hate what?

Asshole I knew a lifetime ago who thinks he has some kind of pull upstairs asks for me personally to help find his kid.

Apparently the asshole does have some pull.

What?

You’re here, aren’t you?

Good point.

So, what’s the line on the kid?

What kid?

The one missing.  God! You really are out of it.

Probably nothing.  She probably spent the night with a friend and neglected to tell anybody.  Happens all the time.

Yeah.  Or maybe they find her broken little body in some trash heap somewhere.  That happens too.

Point number two for you.  Daggett began to realize that he was not focused.  He needed to put his personal feeling aside.  Yes, he’d had his own plans interrupted.  Yes, he had been looking forward to a sexual marathon with Bella and he was definitely frustrated that it was not going to happen.  Not unless the Mckeeson kid showed up at home by the time he and Candy arrived at the Mckeeson residence.

In the 20 minutes it took for them to get to Golden Courts, Zack Haversham was already there.  In truth, he had never left Golden Courts since he first got the call to investigate a missing person.  He had spent the entire evening canvassing the neighbor’s and searching the neighborhood.  He had learned very little.

Golden Courts is a sleepy little development in Northeast Baltimore County just minutes away from downtown Baltimore.  It is filled with 3 and 4 bedroom Colonial style homes built close enough together that you could speak to you neighbor front-porch to front-porch without raising your voice.  Tree tops not quite reaching the roof tops, the terrain had been stripped and re-landscaped before the development was completed 15 years ago.

The Mckeeson house was at the end of a cul-de-sac appropriately named Golden End.  Not Golden End Road or Golden End Lane, simply Golden End.  Beyond their back yard several thickly wooded acres shielded the development from Interstate 95.

Did you see the sign as we drove into the development? Candy asked.

Yeah.  So?

Didn’t you notice something strange?  She had a Cheshire cat grin that displayed a perfect set of gleaming white teeth.

Some of the lettering is missing.

A real detective you are.  Which letters?

The ‘G’ for one.

Right, Also the ‘N’ and the ‘R’.

Those block letters fall off sometimes.

Didn’t notice them on the ground.

You don’t miss much, do you? Daggett said.  Candy was still smiling.  What? Daggett asked.

What does it spell?

What does what spell?

The sign…without the letters.

Daggett thought about it for a minute and began to smile himself.   Olde Couts he said out loud.  "Hope it’s not indicative of the residents.

Not likely, Candy said.  Too many swing sets and backyard pools for the clientele to be aged.

Like I said.  You don’t miss a trick.

That’s why I get the big bucks.

Daggett smiled again.  Let’s do this.  They both exited Daggett’s Grand Prix at the same instant almost in the same motion, like a mirrored image.  Time to get to work.

Chapter 4

Daggett Blaine Mckeeson said with some relief as he opened the door.  Reese, old buddy.  I’m glad you’re here.  You gotta help me.  My little girl…

Hold on, Mr. Mckeeson.

Blaine, he quickly corrected.  Reese, old buddy.  It’s me.

Okay, he relented.  Blaine, calm down.  This is Detective Stone.  Can we come in?

Oh, yeah, sure, of course.  His nervous energy was about to explode.  How stupid of me.  Come in.

They followed Blaine Mckeeson into the living room where his wife was sitting on the edge of a recliner next to the telephone as if watching it intently would somehow make it ring, bringing her news of her daughter’s whereabouts.  She was dressed now as she was when she arrived home from work last evening, black knee length skirt with a print blouse.  The make-up she had painfully applied the previous morning had been washed by a river of tears and wiped away with a forest of tissue.  She had obviously not slept in a great many hours.

Blaine Mckeeson was dressed in a cobalt blue running outfit with white trim and Nike running shoes.  Sleep