The Snowman: A Detective Quaid Mystery, #4

By Yolanda Renee

It takes a true artist to pursue his victims in the art of seduction, and Stowy Jenkins is no exception, especially with blood as his medium.

 

Stowy Jenkins, aka, Stone, and as Alaskans refer to him, the Snowman, is a true artist. His muse, Gigi, is the ultimate inspiration for his painting. Her rejection inspires him to use a very unusual medium…blood. While art may be his passion, the taste for blood is his obsession, and multiple murders, the result. Rookie,

 

Detective Steven Quaid is no fan of the Snowman's murderous exhibitions. A twisted and deadly relationship bonds the two men and neither knows who will come out of it alive.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Yolanda Renee
• Release date: Jul 14, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201897970

Yolanda Renee

As a girl from Pennsylvania who would do almost anything on a dare, I flew to Alaska for a two-week vacation and stayed for four years. I learned to sleep under the midnight sun, survive below zero temperatures, and hike the Mountain Ranges. I've traveled from Prudhoe Bay to Valdez, and the memories are some of my most valued. The wonders, mysteries, and incredible beauty of Alaska have never left me and thus now influence my writing. Despite my adventurous spirit, I achieved my educational goals with a bachelor's and master’s degree. I still hope to get my Ph.D. I'm married and have two wonderful sons. Writing is now my focus, my newest adventure. Please connect with me at: [e-mail]

Book preview

Chapter One

Rouge d’Amour

June 9th

Maggie struggled against the restraints. Please, you don’t have to do this. Her voice wavered.

Stone tilted the autopsy table and locked it in place. The old relic, now refurbished, worked like new.

Stone’s heart raced. Oh, but I do, he said silkily. I need your blood to create new colors for my latest masterpiece.

I'll give you my blood. As much as you like.

I know, sweetheart. I know. Stone smoothed the sweat-soaked hair back from her face. Sweet little Maggie, so lovely of you to offer.

His phone vibrated and pinged. Sorry, time's running short. I'll have to take what I want. He stuffed her panties into her gaping mouth and made his first cut. Then a second. A third. A fourth. He watched, mesmerized by the bright red tracks coursing down her arms and legs.

Tears streamed from her eyes, and he laughed.

A pity, tears are colorless. I wonder if there’s a way to change that?

After making a notation in a notebook, he checked his watch. He raised his scalpel and imagined he saw its reflection in the pupils of her terror-filled eyes. Elated, he slit her throat in one smooth action. Blood spurted, soiling his shirt. He jumped back. Dammit, that's what I get for rushing.

He moved in closer. His nostrils flared from the scent of Maggie’s lifeblood gushing from her slackened body. Then the light left her eyes.

Dark crimson fluid flowed into the bucket under the table. Death accepted Stone’s masterpiece with open arms.

The staccato clicks of Stone's trusty Nikon punctuated Maggie’s last moments.

Little by little, he added the formaldehyde to the viscous mixture, stirring it vigorously. Dipping his brush into its freshness, he began painting. Swirls, splattered droplets, and elongated dribbles soon filled the canvas. Waves of joy rose from his deepest being, and a sense of satisfaction overwhelmed him. This creation will be my best. The addition of formaldehyde will keep the red as vibrant as the fountain of blood gushing from my Maggie May.

A maniacal laugh broke the silence. Rouge d’Amour will be the star of my masterpiece! It will leave art lovers and critics breathless.

Chapter Two

Dead Weight

June 10th

Although the morning was frigid, Stone knew summer would soon arrive. Although he was always grateful for the reprieve from the darkness, he took a deep breath and blew it out slowly. Good riddance to winter: the gloom, the extra-thick clothing, icy streets, and biting winds. God, I hate Alaska. Damn you, mother. Keeping me in this frozen tundra because of a stupid job. I need the warmth. I want to go home. Unfortunately, this is June, and I’m still freezing.

Stone grunted when he threw the body over his shoulder. Shit, Maggie, for such a tiny thing, you suddenly weigh a ton. After placing her body on the bed of the truck and covering it with a tarp, he slammed the tailgate. The sound echoed in the stillness.

The drive back to Anchorage took an hour. Singing along to his favorite country tunes, Stone made it to town without any trouble. Who would know the difference between a dead animal and a dead woman in the back of my truck anyway? Especially this early in the morning.

The park was empty. In the distance, the tide pulled away from the shore, but the subtle splash could barely be heard. No cops were in the area. Stone’s police radio scanner informed him they were busy working a hit-and-run near Merrill Field. He checked for intruders and then took the body to the exact spot he'd scouted a week earlier.

Under a pine tree, Stone situated Maggie just so, enclosing the lower half of her body in a garbage bag. He tucked the ends neatly so it wouldn't blow away, leaving enough of her cute ass showing to entice. Stone caressed her sweet curves, kissed her manicured fingers, and placed her arms under her head as though she were tanning at the beach.

He brushed her hair neatly over her back, pulled out his camera, and snapped pictures for his scrapbook. Popping a piece of spearmint gum, he admired his handiwork. Damn, I'm good.

Beaming with satisfaction, he knelt and lovingly stroked her pure white skin. Gotta say goodbye, my love. The sound of a car on the road above the park startled him. After checking the scene one last time, Stone picked up a branch and cleared the area of any footprints. The final task: a phone call to the police giving her location, then a hot breakfast at his favorite diner.

Stone, or as the world currently knew him, Stowy Jenkins, arrived at his mother’s house just before she left for work. A transplant to Alaska from Morgantown, West Virginia. Stowy was not a happy camper. West Virginia was where he longed to be, but he’d learned how to make the adjustments necessary for harmonious balance.

See, Mom. Told you I'd make it back before you left. After dropping his duffel bag and carefully wrapped canvas, he kissed her on the forehead.

Two minutes more, and you wouldn't have. You know I value punctuality. She cringed when he removed his jacket. Where have you been? A slaughterhouse?

Oh, sorry. Joey and I cleaned the moose he shot. I would have changed, but I didn't take an extra shirt.

Take it off and put it into the washer now! Cold rinse should get it out. Let it soak. Your jeans, too. I might not be able to see blood, but if it's on that shirt, it's on those jeans.

She kept chatting away while Stone stripped in the laundry room, just off the kitchen. I had Amy send out the invoices for your recent work. Nice receivables this week. Keep up the good job.

Told you web design would pay the bills. Naked, he walked her to the door and dropped a big kiss on her cheek.

Have a good day, Mommy.

She returned the kiss, fondled his naked ass, and smiled the rare smile she kept for him alone. You’re a good boy, Stowy. You’ll always be Mommy’s good boy. She slapped his ass cheek playfully and winked before she stepped outside.

Stone bit the inside of his mouth. So long, bitch.

He closed the door and watched until she drove away. Stone grabbed his backpack and canvas and hurried to the basement, his own private domain. He found the perfect spot on the wall for his latest masterpiece in a secret room off the bedroom. He hung the canvas and then rifled through his bag.

With long, tapered fingers, he took out a container. Tingles shot through his nether region as he covered his entire body with Maggie’s blood.

Images of her final moments flashed through his mind. His arousal turned into sheer ecstasy as his semen mixed with her essence. He pleasured himself again. Then he wrapped himself in fur and fell into a deep sleep.

Chapter Three

Body on the Beach

June 10th

The car radio squawked , 24 a 10-54 on the mudflats just north of Elderberry Park. Quaid and Cooper parked in front of Starbucks, finished their pastries, took a final drink of their coffee, and prepared for a day of patrolling downtown Anchorage.

24 and 39 responding. ETA three minutes. With lights flashing, they sped toward Cook Inlet. Steven picked up the mic. Who called it in, Angie?"

Anonymous. Looks like you'll have to search. We don't have a specific location.

10-4.

Way to greet the day. We may have a fatality. What do you think, heart attack or murder? Steven Quaid asked as traffic suddenly slowed.

Twenty bucks says it's a hoax, Coop said.

You'd place a bet on whether or not the sun'll rise.

Just want to spice up the day.

If there's a dead body, won't that be spice enough?

You say dead body, I say hoax. Instead of a twenty, loser buys drinks tonight at the Saloon.

Steven chuckled. You're on.

Steven maneuvered the car through downtown traffic.

Shouldn't we be in a hurry? Coop asked.

I’m trying, but these suckers won’t be pushed. We'll get there.

Coop grinned. You're too much of a gentleman. Screw the traffic. If I were driving, I’d make them get out of the way.

And that's exactly why you're the passenger.

Coop laughed. Hey, I’m a great driver. I just like abusing my authority once in a while, he joked. Fresh out of the academy, Kevin Cooper worked to live, unlike Steven, who lived to work.

I hear you aced the exams. I’m not surprised. You’ll soon be Detective Quaid.

It's not certain. There are others in line.

It’s yours. I’ve never met anyone more resolute. Have you told your dad yet?

It's not like he'll be impressed.

I take it he still wants you to run for office?

It’s all he talks about.

Steven pulled onto park property, traveled to the northernmost point, and parked. 24 on-site. Searching now.

10-4. I hope you don't find anything, Angie said.

Roger that.

They arrived at the mudflats as soon as they cleared the tracks and a screening row of evergreens. Low tide exposed a more extensive search area, but a thorough sweep revealed no one, only glints of sunlight off the water.

Looks like a false alarm, Coop said.

Steven took a few more steps toward the beach. You go south. I'll move north. Maybe our body’s hidden in a divot.

Scanning the area from left to right, Steven trekked for half a mile but saw nothing. Coop shrugged, held his hands out, and shook his head. Looks like you’re buying.

They headed back to where they'd started when Coop suddenly pointed to his right. Steven's gaze followed, and he stepped toward the area. Partially hidden under one of the evergreens lay the body of a young woman. A black garbage bag covered her legs, her skin was ashen, but a variety of knife wounds were visible. Cinnamon hair fanned across her back as if combed into place.

Coop shook his head as he gazed at the body. Almost missed this one. Couldn’t see her until I moved closer to the trees.

You think the person who called it in is the murderer? Steven circled the body. She's too well hidden to be seen from those apartment buildings or the restaurant.

Could have been someone out for a walk. Maybe a witness that doesn’t want to be involved in a murder case, Coop surmised as he followed Steven back to the car.

Steven radioed dispatch. Angie, we found her. Send the entire team.

10-4, right away. Angie’s voice lacked its usual enthusiasm.

Coop, place the tape. I'll take pictures of her and the area. And while you’re at it, look for footprints.

I have. Ours are the only prints I’ve seen. I think our perp swept the area.

Then no jogger or dog walker found her. The doer called this in. I’ll bet you he even used an untraceable cell phone.

Come on, not all perps are that smart. You give these psychos too much credit. But then again, that'll make you a good detective.

Steven shrugged off the compliment and began snapping pictures. He documented what he thought could be evidence: a single gum wrapper near the girl's shoulder. Steven scribbled his first impressions and findings in a notebook. Without disturbing the plastic bag covering her lower half, he drew her body's placement and noted the bloodless knife marks.

A body dump. The body’s too clean. Bastard took his time. Steven said. He deliberately drained her.

What a fucking sicko! Never heard of anything like this ... have you?

Steven remained silent for a moment. He took in a deep breath. No. Not in Alaska.

He circled and focused on her young face. What a waste. She’s barely in her twenties. Her lifeless eyes stared back at him. The dull look of death had replaced a once beautiful smile, and the gaping slash across her neck marred a perfect complexion. The assailant finished his torture with a cut to her throat. Steven snapped more pictures.

Sirens signaled the arrival of the homicide team. Detective William Reed approached the officers. Good work, gentlemen. We'll take it from here.

As he spoke, two other uniformed police officers arrived, John Maverick and his partner, Corey Mullins.

Do you want my notes, Detective Reed? Steven asked.

No. Not necessary. We'll make our own, but thanks. The corners of his mouth shifted. I think there's shoplifting in progress on Third Avenue.

Yes, Sir. Steven and Coop headed for their car.

Quaid, Reed shouted.

Yes, Sir.

Tie your hair back.

Yes, sir. Steven flushed pink. He took a new band from his wallet and refashioned his hair neatly at the nape of his neck.

Talk about being dismissed, Coop said as they walked back to their car. What'd you do to piss him off?

Don't know. Doesn't matter, except that Reed’s recommendation will make all the difference in me making detective. Reed is a friend of Maverick’s, and John’s up for detective, too. Steven gritted his teeth. See what I mean about it not being a sure thing?

I'd say your odds are pretty slim. Those two are thick as thieves. And man, that sucks.

Chapter Four

Disappointments

June 25th

The cab drove up the long, tree-lined driveway to the Quaid house. Flowers bloomed in brilliant colors around the small cottage home in the suburbs of Juneau. A smile immediately creased Steven's face as the house came into view. His mother had chosen this home because it resembled her beloved cabin in the woods. Steven wanted to make up for his long absences on this much-needed vacation and spend time alone at that cabin near the Mendenhall Glacier.

His parents greeted him at the door. His father, Senator Daniel Quaid, an Irish Alaskan, had a reputation for his fiery determination on behalf of the populace of Alaska, but his mother, Mavis, a Tlingit Indian beauty, was the true