The Unexpected Witness

By Jennifer Ann DuCharme

The killer quickly looks around suspiciously, cursing the man who lay dead on the floor, when he senses he was being watched. His eyes rest on the floor above him and he makes eye contact with a woman. From the stricken expression on her face, he knows she has witnessed what has happened.

Shannon Drake, a commercial photographe

• Language: English
• Publisher: ReadersMagnet LLC
• Release date: Aug 5, 2022
• ISBN: 9781957312071

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The Unexpected Witness

Copyright © 2021 by Jennifer Ann DuCharme

Published in the United States of America

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any way by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording or otherwise without the prior permission of the author except as provided by USA copyright law.

The opinions expressed by the author are not necessarily those of ReadersMagnet, LLC.

ReadersMagnet, LLC

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Book design copyright © 2021 by ReadersMagnet, LLC. All rights reserved.

Cover design by Ericka Obando

Interior design by Daniel Lopez

Dedication

To my dad, Roy DuCharme, and my mom, who is no longer with us, Penelope Peck Darling, my family, who put up with my obsession with writing and supported me the whole way.

To God for giving me the talent to use my imagination through writing and to my church family and dearest friends (you know who you are) for pushing me, and giving me encouragement.

Chapter 1

Tossing and turning half the night trying to find some peace, Shannon Drake stared up at the ceiling unable to sleep. The digital clock resting on the table next to the bed read 4:00 a.m.

Grumbling, she threw off the covers and sat up. She began pacing. She wondered how she was going to function if she was sleep deprived. Normally, a good cup of coffee would do the trick but at this rate, she would have to down three cups to stay up right. If only there was a twenty-four-hour pharmacy open in the hotel, where she could buy a sleeping agent that would put her out. However, with her luck, she would take the stuff and not wake up until noon.

She went over to the window and opened the drapes to see the other half of the gray stone structure of the hotel separated by a courtyard. She stood there not particularly focusing on anything, wishing she could decipher what was distressing her so. She rarely slept on a normal basis so this should not surprise her. She was just nervous and jittery because she was in New York on her first out of town assignment for Seaton Publishing. Not to mention, she had Adrian Carlson, the senior photographer, on the project there watching her every move.

Sighing, she crossed her arms and continued to stare out into the night.

A room across the way, one floor down, suddenly illumed, drawing her attention. There were two figures silhouetted against the partially drawn curtains. They appeared to be engrossed in a conversation. She proceeded to turn her attention elsewhere when a flicker of light caught her eye. She squinted and her gaze fell back on the lit room. She focused on the two occupants. The individual to her left appeared to be holding a cylinder-like object. It was sleek in shape and dark in color. It fit nicely in the cradle of the man’s hand as a gun would. She shook her head in disbelief. It had to be a cigar case or a flask.

She went over to the bureau and retrieved one of her many cameras--her Pentax manual. Focusing out the window, she zoomed in on the individual. What she saw sent chills down her spine. Lying comfortably in the man’s hand was indeed a gun. The barrel was unusually long and even with her meager knowledge of firearms she could tell the cylinder was a silencer.

She zoomed in and took in the gunman’s profile. From her vantage point, he was a non-script individual, for she had only partial view of him. The defined contour of his face did not tell her much. To pick him out of a line up would be extremely difficult. The only characteristic’s that could be catalog to memory was his tidy, trimmed dark hair and suspicious black attire. As for the person he held at gunpoint; the drapery obscured the individual from view but she could tell it was a man from his masculine form. He was shorter and heftier. She could tell from the way the man was gesticulating that he was ranting at the impassive man. The gunman did not seem fazed by the other man’s reactions, only annoyed, and pulled the trigger four times to silence him. A strangled scream escaped from her lips as the man clutched his chest in pain and fell from view. She looked on in shock as if time had stopped. She was immobilized.

The killer’s gaze rested on hers jolting her out of her numb state. Dropping the camera, she whirled around not realizing how close she was to the table and chair. She stepped forward, hooking her right foot on the leg of the chair and stumbled hitting her head on the edge of the table.

***

The killer quickly looked around suspiciously, cursing the man who lay dead on the floor, when he sensed he was being watched. He scanned the outer perimeter of the hotel’s courtyard. His eyes rested on the floor above him on the opposite side. He made eye contact with a woman and knew from the stricken expression on her face that she had witnessed what had happened. He did not panic but damned himself for not being more discreet. If Casey had not turned on the damn light, the broad would not have seen or have been aware of their presence. It was his fault for letting the idiot, who hired him to pick the place for the hit. If it had been up to him, he would have taken him out in a more remote area where there were not any witnesses or unsuspecting peeping toms.

The floor he was on was in the process of being remodeled and was taped off from the rest of the hotel, so it would be easy to dispose of the body without arousing suspicion. The only problem he faced now was the woman. At the particular moment, she was no threat but she was bound to start a commotion. She would call the police at some point, so he had to dump the body and cover his tracks before they arrived.

He hunched over the lifeless form, which lay upon a worn tarp that conveniently had a plastic liner under it and flipped the tarp flaps over.

Heaving the body up, he dragged it across the hotel room. He opened the door and did a sweep of the corridor. All was clear. He looked back at the corpse. He wondered if there was a better way to get the body out of the building without having to carry it down ten flights when his eyes rested on the elevators. He grinned maliciously and went over to them. He glanced around the surrounding areas looking for something to pry the elevator doors open. He spotted a metal pipe that been damaged at one end from a compact break. He picked it up. He placed it between the doors and they gave way. The elevator car was a few floors above the floor he stood on.

Sticking the pipe into one side of the elevator door, he went back over to where the corpse lay and pulled it over to the elevator shaft. Hoisting up the body, he stood in front of the opening letting go, the cold darkness enveloping it as it plunged downward.

Chapter 2

Shannon’s eyes fluttered open. A dark form loomed over her. She screamed. She felt strong, warm hands clasp her shoulders.

Shannon, a masculine voice echoed, snapping her out of her panic-stricken state. It’s only me.

She went limp. She focused in on the familiar ice blue eyes, long sandy-blonde ponytail and rakish features of Adrian Carlson. Oddly, she had not realized until that moment how much he personified the appearance associated with photographers. She sat up just as a shot of pain rippled through her making her dizzy and light-headed. Her hand instinctively cradled her head.

Hey, take it easy there, he said as he helped her ease back on the bed. That’s a nasty bump you have on your head.

Bump? Her hand instinctively sought out the obtrusion.

Yes, you hit your head on the table over there. At least I think that’s where it happened since that’s where I found you after I heard you cry out. . . .

Oh my god! Ignoring the throbbing pain, she bolted up and went over to the window.

She looked out to see the room across the way was no longer lit or occupied.

He’s gone, she said, in despair.

Who’s gone? he said, coming up behind her, looking out into the darken night.

The man I saw in the room across the way!

Listen Shannon, I know what you do on your own time is your own business, but were you spying on someone? he said, remembering finding her camera where she had fallen. There’s nothing to be ashamed of. It is human nature to be curious and --- He felt the stinging sensation of her palm across his face. Okay, maybe not, he muttered, rubbing his bruised cheek.

I was not spying on anyone. I’m not that kind of person.

Okay, sorry, my mistake. He held up hands in defense. Adrian was not very confident she was telling the truth; however, so he decided not to pursue that for the moment. We’d better get that bump on your head looked at. You could have a concussion.

She stepped away from him. No, I’m fine. What we need to do is stop that man before he gets away.

She headed for the door, but Adrian stepped in front of her before she could reach it. Where are you going?

I’m going to go stop that man. What do you think? She clenched her fists in anger wishing she did not have to keep repeating herself.

The one you were spying on, he said, resting his hands on his hips. What’d he do, flash you?

No! He killed someone!

Adrian did not immediately respond but gave her a look of disbelief, as if what she said were preposterous. How many drinks did you have last night?

This is no joke, she protested. A man who occupied that room over there was just shot four times.

Okay, I can see you’re upset. Why don’t you just sit down and breathe?

Haven’t you heard a word I’ve said, she snapped, her eyes flashing in irritation. A man is dead! Dead and you want me to sit down and relax. What’s the matter with you?

Shannon, you’re obviously distraught and tired. You hit your head hard. You’re just disoriented and confused, he stressed. Not to mention, it’s five in the morning and our minds tend to play tricks on us when we haven’t gotten enough sleep. After a couple hours of rest, you’ll realize that whatever you saw out there was in your imagination.

Seething in anger, she did not grant him an answer or a rebuttal. She walked past him and went over to the phone. She picked up the receiver and dialed 911.

Now what are you doing?

Making a phone call, she bit out. What does it look like I’m doing?

You’re calling the police?

Yes! She glared at him as if he were dense. That’s what you do when you want to report a crime.

Shannon, think this through. You have no proof. It is not that I do not believe you, but I think its best you call hotel security and let them check things out first. If they find something to substantiate your claim, then we’ll call the police.

But it might be too late by then. It’s better to notify them now rather than later, she stressed. Secondly involving them would only delay the inevitable.

A few hours later, Shannon sat in the office of hotel security with Adrian at her side. Two New York City police officers stood off to the side accessing the situation. The younger of the two was about six feet tall and lanky. He appeared to be in his late twenties. He had a slight Irish accent when he spoke which told her he probably came over to the US when he was a young boy. He introduced himself as Officer Crowley. The other one was average in height. He was in his late forties, stocky and bald. He reminded her of Yule Brenner in his prime. He introduced himself as Officer Wyatt. He sat on the edge of a desk, silently going over the report in front of him. He had a skeptical look in his eye conveying his doubts.

Miss Drake, I’m going to be honest. Since we do not have a body or any evidence that a crime has been committed, there is not much we can do. I know that’s not what you want to hear, but we can’t investigate a crime when there isn’t any proof one occurred.

But the man was shot four times. There has to be something: blood stains, body fluid, hair fibers?

I know how frustrating this must seem to you and I sympathize, but that fact of the matter is the floors we covered you claim the alleged crime took place in, was clean. He paused and took a sip of his coffee. There was nothing unusual or disturbing found except the indication a tarp was moved in one of the rooms that was being remodeled.

Well, that’s something.

It’s not enough to initiate an investigation, he countered. There was nothing suspicious about it. Anybody could have moved it. More than likely, it was a workman.

It could have also been used by the killer. The victim could have been wrapped up in it and then disposed of.

Yes, you’re right he could have been, but we don’t have the tarp in question in our possession to back up that theory. Secondly, let us say the killer did use the tarp to move the body. There would have to be some indication he had done so. If the victim had been shot multiple times, there would have been blood and the tarp would have absorbed it, leaving a trail of it smeared on the floor.

The killer could have gone back and scoured the place. He had plenty of time to do so since it took you people two hours to respond to my call. Your precinct is what, four blocks away?

Shannon. She looked up at Adrian. What?

They’re not the enemy, he reminded her quietly. They’re trying to help the best they can.

Ignoring him, she turned attentions back to Officer Wyatt. Did you dust for prints?

Officer Wyatt shook his head. No, we don’t have a crime scene to dust for prints. There’s too much square footage to tackle a job like that.

I can’t believe this, she muttered, throwing her hands up. I saw a man murdered in this hotel. I’m not making this up.

No one is disputing that, Ms. Drake. It is evident you saw something, but the fact is we have nothing to back it up with except your word. The best we can do is have you come downtown and look at some mug shots. I don’t know how much good it would do since you didn’t get a real good look at the perk but looking at them might help you recall other details about him you might have suppressed during the ordeal.

Dejected, and emotionally drained, she agreed to Officer Wyatt’s suggestion and decided to go to the police station with them. Maybe she would get lucky by breezing through the mug shots. If looking at them jogged specific details of the man’s identity unknown to her consciously, their sketch artist might be able to. The man she saw was bound to have a criminal record.

It was late in the afternoon when Shannon finished scrolling through the list of felons wanted by the NYPD. It had been a useless task and a waste of time. She was at a loss. She had no way of proving to the authorities that she had witnessed the murder. They did not believe her to begin with, even though they presented themselves otherwise. She could understand their position, but they acted as if she had reported a UFO sighting instead of a murder. Adrian was no help either. He continued to entertain the idea, the lack of sleep and the hit to her head had her misconstruing what really happened. He found it too absurd to be true. Not that she blamed him but he at least could give her the benefit of the doubt. It was not as if, her story was vague and full of holes. Her account of what happened was detailed but she supposed that did not matter. He just could not get his head around it, so he went with what made sense.

She did not know what to do. Should she just let it drop and forget about it, as if it had not happened or pursue it further on her own? Most importantly, if she did take it on, how would she go about it? She had no means or resources to derive from nor the time to do it. She could poke around and ask a few questions, but would her efforts prove to be favorable or useless? That was the question. Finally, she decided that regardless of what the outcome was, it did not hurt to try. Something might come out of it.

She met Adrian outside in front of the police station. He stood casually by the stairs with a smug look on his face that irritated her greatly. How did it go?

Not well, I’m afraid.

I’m sorry, but I did warn you. You should have let the hotel security handle it first.

Why, what difference would it have made?

A lot, they could have proven or disproved your claim just by securing the area. If this murder actually took place, it could have prevented the killer from covering his tracks. And when the police were called, they might have found the evidence they needed to initiate an investigation.

If she thought about it, he was probably right, but his tone made it sound like more of an accusation that a fact.

Mr. Carlson, is it just me or woman in general you’re condescending with?

Call me Adrian. he insisted. And, no of course not. I was only trying to help.

She frowned at him. Help, by construing that all this is my fault? You call that helping, Mr. Carlson?

Yes, it was friendly advice. I meant no offense. he apologized. And it’s Adrian.

What?

Call me Adrian.

I would prefer not to.

Why not? We’re colleagues. No one in this day and age is that formal anymore. He pointed out. It’s not like it’s going to put on us on a personal or an intimate level, unless you want it to."

She glared at him. For your information I don’t fraternize with the men I work with. Secondly, I can’t help it. I was raised to be respectful and address people as so. Thirdly, this is our first assignment together. I don’t know you that well and to informally call you by your first name would be awkward.

But don’t you think addressing me as Mr. Carlson is going to get a bit old after a while. We are on equal ground here. And I think we’ve known each other long enough to be on first name basis. he stated.

Okay, fine. she relented. She was too tired and drained to continue to argue over something that mundane and idiotic.

How about we have a truce? I’ll stop being a jerk and you. . .

And I what? She placed her hands on her hips, and looked inquiringly at him.

Never mind, he muttered. Truce?

Fine, truce. She extended her hand and he shook it. Since that’s settled, let’s go grab a bite to eat. I’m starving.

After they ate at a local diner, they returned to the hotel. Shannon retired to her room and Adrian, who thought it was too early to turn in, went to have a drink at the bar. He had invited her to join him but she said she was too exhausted to go out on the town and check out the nightlife. Besides, she had enough excitement for one day.

She rested back on her bed, her feet dangling off the edge, and stared at the ceiling. She tried not to think of the day’s events but her thoughts kept shifting to them. She could not get the shooting out of her mind. It kept replaying repeatedly in her head like a reel of film that had gone haywire. Moreover, it would probably continue to do so until she could find some peace with it, which she knew, would never come if she could not prove it happened.

She curled up into the fetal position and closed her eyes. Before she knew it, she was sound asleep, dreaming of dark, menacing figures that lurked in the shadows. At one point, the killer is hunting her down. She could hear the pounding of his footsteps as he came closer. She had come to a dead end and he backed her up against a wall. A drained, lifeless body lay at her feet. The killer grabbed at her, knocked her down; placed the barrel of his semiautomatic weapon to her head and squeezed the trigger. She screamed and bolted up in bed with a start. Adrian barged into the room moments later in a frazzled state.

He went over to her and pulled her into his arms. He sighed heavily. It’s all right. It’s just a nightmare.

I know, but it seemed so real! He knows who I am!

It was only a dream. You are safe. You have nothing to worry about now. He isn’t here.

She slumped back down on the bed and curled up. He watched her fall back to sleep and returned to his room through the connecting doors.

The next day, they met with the owners of Yves Art Gallery, Tony and Gloria Sheehan, whom commissioned Seaton Publishing to photograph the artwork they had on display for publication. Shannon apologized for missing their earlier appointment. They reassured her due to the circumstances it was understandable. Relieved, she and Adrian went right to work.

Around noon, Adrian suggested they go to lunch and come back afterwards to finish up. Shannon agreed. They picked a sub shop around the corner from the gallery. Shannon grabbed a booth by a window while Adrian put their order in. He joined her soon after.

I can’t get over how crowded New York is. The noise alone would drive me crazy.

Is this your first time in the Big Apple?

No, I visited this area when I used to live in New Jersey, but that wasn’t very often.

He eyed her. I thought you grew up in Texas.

I did, but I was born in New Jersey. I only lived there until I was six.

What made you move to Colorado then?

Art school mostly, she said, fidgeting with her napkin. After a year of living there, I couldn’t move back.

Why?

I fell in love with Colorado’s beauty.

I see. Where in Texas did you live?

Austin. My father was a rancher.

A gun totting one? he teased.

No, though he taught my brother and me how to use one.

Really, was it for protection?

In a manner of speaking, she said. We had a problem with Coyotes. They used to attack our livestock, so if we had an incident and dad wasn’t around, we had to scare them off.

He nodded in understanding and her gaze fell to the hum and commotion of the city outside. Her mind wandered off to the lazy, often busy and dusty days of Ranch life, when her eyes caught sight of a black GTO stopped at the light. There was nothing strange about it; the classics always drew her attention. It was the man sitting in it that gave her a moment’s pause. It was her phantom killer. How she knew, she did not know, but she suddenly knew his face, as if he had been a lost memory recovered. Her heart began to race and she could not breathe.

Shannon are you all, right?

She turned to Adrian. It’s him.

What?

The killer! She pointed out the window. He’s in that GTO!

Humoring her, he glanced out, but before he could focus clearly on the scene outside the car moved on.

What am I supposed to be looking for? There’s a million of cars coming and going out there.

He was there I tell you!

Shannon, you’re going to be the end of me if you keep this up.

Why don’t you believe me?

Because the possibility of you witnessing a murder from your hotel room at four in morning sounds farfetched and not likely. Secondly, if this person actually exists, he would be long gone. He would not be hanging around here, stalking you. You’re just being paranoid. He swallowed down the rest of his Coke in one gulp. I’m sorry Shannon.

I didn’t imagine it. I saw what I saw. She stood. If you don’t believe me, then fine. I can see talking to you is a waste of time.

She grabbed her purse and stormed out of the sub shop. Adrian slammed his fists on the table in frustration and stood up abruptly, sending his chair skidding into the wall.

Cursing, he went after her. He spotted her a block down from where he was and called out to her, but she ignored him. Shannon stopped on a corner, waiting for the light to change when she heard Adrian shout out to her.

As she reluctantly turned to face him, she saw the GTO coming towards her from the opposite direction. She froze as it sped closer. She saw the driver disengage a firearm and aim it at her. She tried to scream, but it died in her throat when she was knocked back. She hit the pavement hard. She heard a series of shots fill the air. She covered her head to protect herself. Screams echoed in her ears and shouting vibrated around, but she could hear the GTO speed away. She slowly lifted her head to see the commotion. Pedestrians recovering from the incident talked aimlessly. Sirens filled the air and she realized something heavy was on her. It was Adrian and he was not moving.

Adrian, she whispered.

She shook him. He only moaned and did not respond. She tried again, but he still would not move. A surge of panic ripped through her as she tried to squeeze out from underneath him. It was then she noticed the blood seeping through his shirt. She glanced at her hands to see they were stained with blood as well. She gasped — he had been shot!

Chapter 3

Shannon did not know how long she sat on the hot sidewalk as she held Adrian in her arms, who was in and out of consciousness but it seemed like eons before the ambulance arrived. It screeched to a halt only a couple feet away, its sirens blaring and lights flashing. The paramedics jumped out and assessed the situation.

The police, who were already on the scene, were telling people to stay clear and move on. Shannon was distraught and frazzled; everything around her seemed to be a blur. When the police took her aside to get her version of what happened she could not think straight or give them clear answers. She fumbled through it best she could, knowing the important details she was trying to get across would come out incoherent.

Putting Adrian on a stretcher, the paramedics carried him over to the ambulance and laid him inside. Shannon climbed in soon after and the driver closed the doors behind her.

They arrived at the hospital shortly after. They rolled Adrian into a small emergency room where nurses huddled over him while the doctor on duty shouted out orders.

Lost in the shuffle, Shannon looked on in a confused manner. The reality of the situation hit her with intensity when they cut open his shirt and she saw the blood. She almost doubled over and had to hold back the nausea that formed in her throat. Not able to watch anymore, she fled down the hall and slipped into the bathroom. She went over to the sink and splashed water on her face. She glanced at her reflection to see she was a mess. Her clothes were stained and filthy. Her hair was tangled and matted. Her face flushed and streaked with mascara.

Grabbing some tissues, she began cleaning herself up. Once she felt she was somewhat presentable, she took a deep breath and left the sanctuary of the bathroom.

She found a waiting area close to where Adrian was being treated and sat down. She was surprised she even found a seat because there were hordes of people packed into the small area. She sat back and all sorts of questions began to race through her mind as she continued to wait on a report of Adrian’s condition. She prayed and hoped it was not as serious as it looked. She could not live with herself if he died. She was the intended target, not him.

She did not know how her Phantom Killer had managed to find out it had been her that morning, but he had, and that terrified her. Would he try again? That very thought sent chills down her spine. Was he watching her right now, planning his next attempt?

She sat up straight and glanced around, trying not to look paranoid. She knew she was being ridiculous but she could not help it. She casually made note of everyone around her. She spotted a man, a very attractive man with dark blonde hair and arresting features standing against the wall by the nurse’s desk. He emulated the rugged, earthy, guy next door type; laid back, approachable and confident in his own skin. He certainly was not the person she was looking for, but he definitely stood out from the rest. If she had seen him, on the street, she probably would not have taken notice of him. However, there was something about his presence, which made her pause. He had an aura about him that seemed to calm her, and a smile that seemed deadlier than the man trying to kill her. Moreover, as absurd as it sounded, his presence seemed to encase her like a warm blanket, melting away her fears.

Excuse me, a woman’s voice said, startling her. Are you the one who accompanied the patient with the gunshot wound, an Adrian Carlson?

Shannon stood up. Yes.

I need you to fill out some paper work, the nurse informed her.

Is he all, right?

He’s fine. He is still with the doctor, but his prognosis is good. As they say it’s a flesh wound. Of course, he’ll have to stay overnight for further observation.

Oh, that’s good. She breathed a sigh of relief.

The nurse smiled and nodded. Now why don’t you come up to the desk, and I’ll get you the forms you’ll need to fill out.

Okay. She grabbed her purse and proceeded to follow the woman, hoping to get a better look at the urban cowboy, when she noticed he was no longer there. Disappointed, she sighed and moved on.

After filling out the paper work, she tried to see Adrian next, but the nurse in charge told her she would have to come back the following day because he had not regained consciousness. Shannon reluctantly nodded and left.

The following morning after running a few errands, Shannon stopped by the hospital to see Adrian. She found him propped up in bed, yelling at the TV.

Oh, come on, that was a bad call. He shook his head, then noticed she was there. Well, it sure took you long enough to make an appearance. I just found out you were okay. I was worried my heroics didn’t shield you from getting hurt.

I’m sorry, they wouldn’t let me see you yesterday. she apologized. "I already feel bad enough that you’re in the hospital."

Shannon. . .

She cut him off. You wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for me.

Did you shoot me?

What?

I said did you shoot me?

No.

Then how can you say you’re responsible for me being here?

It might have to do with the fact that I should be lying there, not you.

This is not your fault, he said firmly, indicating to his shoulder. It was just the case of being in the right place at the wrong time. You didn’t have any control over it, just like you didn’t have any control over that murder you witnessed.

She blinked, felt weak for a moment and sat down in the room’s only chair. Now you believe me?

Let’s just say being shot in the streets of New York made a believer out of me and the fact that the bastard was aiming for you.

Well. . . Are you in much pain? She eyed the patch on his shoulder.

No not really. The bullet hit the upper part of my shoulder, hitting the bone. The fall did more damage than it. He touched the right side of his face. As you can see the nice bruise on my forehead and the abrasions it caused.

It could have been worse.

But it’s not. he said. "Don’t put that on yourself or dwell on it. I’m going to be okay and hey I’ll have a scar I can impress the ladies with and