The Collector's Protégé

By Glenn Rehder

Danny Sardano, newly elected Sheriff of Tuolumne County, has achieved his lifelong goal. As a third generation resident in this rural community in the majestic Sierra Nevada Mountains, his life seems perfect. Then, a serial killer decides to move from his hunting grounds in Tennessee to Sardano’s jurisdiction—a move that turns this normally peaceful tourist destination into Danny’s worst nightmare.

The serial killer is known as the Face Collector and preys on women with auburn hair. Former FBI agent Leonard Baskem’s life has been upturned in the hunt for this mysterious killer. He has no doubt that the Face Collector is still out there, walking around a free man, but many twists and turns lie in wait as he searches for the old murderer and a kid protégé.

The new sheriff decides he can’t solve this case with the resources the county has available, so he calls on an old friend from the FBI. Now, a horror, decades in the making, descends on a small town. Who will come out the victor in a battle already scripted and crafted by the murderer?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Archway Publishing
• Release date: Nov 17, 2022
• ISBN: 9781665722117

Glenn Rehder

Glenn Rehder has also authored three Jason Orr novels, the most recent, Vengeance is Mine. The other Jason Orr books are, Death Is Not the Final Chapter, and Head of The Snake. All three written under the pen name G.P. Rehder and published by Fulton Books. Available in paperback and Kindle through Amazon, Apple i tunes, Barnes & Noble and wherever books are sold. The Collector’s Protégé with Sheriff Danny Sardano is the first book in the new series Rehder has planned. Using the exploits of this fictional County Sheriff as his protagonist he will continue this series, promising to entertain his readers with intrigue and mystery. Rehder, a retired Law Enforcement Officer resides in the Central Valley of California.

Book preview

CHAPTER

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ONE

An oracle is within my heart

    concerning the sinfulness of the wicked:

There is no fear of God

    before his eyes.

For in his own eyes, he flatters himself

    too much to detect or hate his own sin.

The words of his mouth are wicked and deceitful;

    he has ceased to be wise and do good.

Even on his bed he plots evil;

    he commits himself to an evil course

and does not reject what is wrong.

Psalm 36: 1-4 NIV

I t was one in the morning. He sat half asleep in his fully extended recliner, his bare feet resting over its edge. A watered-down glass of bourbon was held loosely in his right hand, weary enough now to think about his bed. He set the glass down on the end table amid dusty glass rings from bourbons gone by. The ice had melted long ago, but he made sure he got the whiskey down his throat before it did.

Struggling he managed to lower the recliner with a loud clunk. He rose and pushed his tired body until he was on his feet. His eyes were slits like quarter moons. The bedroom just down the hall seemed as far away as the goal posts he used to run toward as a tight end for Kentucky State. Somehow, he maneuvered the hall and into the room, where he stripped off his clothes and fell into bed.

A loud peal of thunder hit, no distant rumblings as a pre warning, at least none he had heard. After his eyes blinked open the sound continued to rumble throughout the house like a five-engine freight train at the Main Street crossing.

At first, he was back in Desert Storm, and then he flashed back to getting sandwiched between two defensive backs helmet to helmet, concussed on the twenty-yard line.

A second later, Baskem’s body shivered awake, he sat up with his heart pounding out of his chest. His right hand instinctively went for the Glock that was nowhere on his naked body. His left hand reached out to check on Emma, only to feel cold sheets on her empty side of the bed.

More seconds passed then he realized it was another bad dream, did he really hear thunder? There could have been no other sound, he was alone in the house. Alone in the house he once shared with his college sweetheart Emma and his two teenaged boys.

The meds his doctor prescribed worked to subdue his visions during the daytime hours but had no impact on the vehement nightmares that ruled his restless nights.

All the faces, he continued to see them all. All eleven faces framed in auburn hair. His mind rehearsed each photo focusing on the removal of a trophy piece. Different on each victim, carved off or out with a certain methodical precision. The victims beauty being turned into a grotesque image.

As he sat sweating in the cold dark room their names were all scrolling through his mind. Every date, every location, all the evidence, all the clues. And as weird as it seemed to him even at this moment, the redolence at each scene. He could still smell each location with their distinct differences.

After all the years, months, and days he spent during those investigations it weighed heavy on his heart. With all his training, all he had learned from experience, he failed to figure it out. He couldn’t pin anything to any certain suspect. He couldn’t solve one of the most horrific serial murder cases in the Bureau’s history.

He shook his head, rubbed his face with his hands and finally was able to compress his anxiety. He swung out of bed and walked into the bathroom. He drew tap water into a glass and sipped it slowly. It tasted like iron as he took the tepid water onto his tongue, it reminded him of blood.

With all the curtains drawn throughout the house a dim light from the hallway slivered into the partially open bathroom door. It allowed him to see his muted reflection in the mirror. A reflection that he barely recognized. Once fastidious about his appearance the unshaven look that was sexy on some men made him look primitive. If he was honest with himself the reflection, he was looking at now was of a man he didn’t want to recognize.

The past four years had taken its toll on Leonard Baskem, psychologically and physically. He was asked to retire from the Bureau. That was what he told his family. But he was forced to retire early, losing the job that gave him purpose. The obsession with this case eventually cost him his family too.

They had decided, or at least Emma had decided, it would be better for him to have peace and solitude in their home until he could come to grips with all that was haunting him. She had become timorous to a point where she was afraid of him. His drinking, his distanced stares, it all had become too common. He was not violent but his demeaner made her fearful for her and her sons. Both who were old enough to know that things were not right with their dad.

What had pushed her further away were his dreams that had become a nightly occurrence. It caused her anxiety and sleepless nights. She started sleeping in the spare bedroom, still lying awake most nights. She began using sleeping pills, which she resented him for.

When the decision was made, she moved herself and the boys to her parents ranch outside of Boise. She told Leonard it was only temporary until things worked themselves out. They still spoke on the phone at least once a week. Emma wanted him to continue to have contact with Mark and Eric, hoping it would keep him grounded. She took the opportunities the calls presented to press him on his progress with his counselor.

Baskem was practiced at lying to her. With his psychological training he was able to describe his sessions and the progress he was making. He even invented the name of his therapist. One he knew she wouldn’t find anywhere online. Telling her it was a Bureau shrink, said his weekly sessions were giving him peace.

However, she still heard torment in his voice.

Being alone in the big house, his days were spent glued in front of his computer, searching the web for similar crimes throughout the country. With his background he knew what sites to check. On other days he sought out new insight and revelation. Driving from his house in Lexington Kentucky far into the Tennessee mountains, where the crimes had taken place. Crimes which the Bureau had now labeled cold cases.

Baskem was positive he had missed something, something that would have brought a heinous criminal to justice. There had to be new clues, something he might have missed earlier. Someone he hadn’t talked too, searching for that feeling. A sense he used to get in prior cases that gave him direction, and a suspect.

A few of the victim’s families were pleased to have him continue to investigate their loved ones death. He was still in contact with those families. Other families wanted to move on with their lives, those families considered Baskem a nuisance.

He was a haunted man, his soul needed restoration, but he was not a man of faith. He instinctively turned inward for strength. However, the confidence he once carried inside him had diminished to doubt and despair. His failure to solve these cases led him to believe he was responsible for many of the young women’s deaths.

He felt if he had done a better job, some of those eleven women would still be alive today. His only comfort and it was a small comfort, the twelfth victim’s body was never found. He hoped she had escaped the death the others had not.

Leonard Baskem had no doubt, the Face Collector Killer was still out there. Walking around a free man, looking for new victims in another part of the country. Looking for the perfect face framed with auburn hair.

CHAPTER

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TWO

S he kept her office; it was decorated exactly as she wanted. She was comfortable there. Feeling no need to move into the more spacious corner office that had been her parents. Her father had his own way with the décor. Deep cushioned dark leather seating for their clients. Matching ebony desks and corresponding bookshelves and cabinets for he and his wife.

Sometimes when she was in their office she pictured men in suits with expensive cigars, smoke wafting into its recesses. Even though neither of her parents allowed smoking in the building. Her parents office also had the view if you could call looking out on the 580 Freeway a view. But at least you could see the oak trees dotting the hills in the background.

After she had cleaned out their personal belongings, she took them to her own home for storage. She then closed their office door and never went back in.

Angie Morrison moved efficiently through her days. It was how her parents raised her. Every action and move had a purpose. They encouraged her to create something, improve something, and grow the success of the business.

And she did, Morrison Real Estate was an extremely successful company, located in the East Bay city of Castro Valley, across the bay from San Francisco.

Angie’s parents were tragically killed in a collision on the Bayshore Freeway eight months prior. Angie didn’t have time to grieve, now having to run the entire business on her own. The business all three of them had built together. To honor them she was determined not to let anything get in the way of the goals of Morrison Real Estate. Not even her parents deaths.

Her assistant Andy Berg came into her office, dressed in designer Levi’s, a white button-down shirt, and blue tie. He brought in the last of the escrow documents she needed to review.

Are you sure these can’t wait till Tuesday when you get back? If you wait much longer to leave the traffic will be so bad it will add a couple of hours to your trip, Andy said with concern.

I’ll just do a quick scan. If I see something we need to address, I’ll make notes and drop them on your desk on the way out.

Okay, so you’re packed, your car is loaded already. You don’t need to go back home for anything?

Angie smiled up at him. Done, now stop worrying. I have everything lined up; I just need to make one customary stop in Twain Harte on the way. Mom and Dad always picked up groceries from my parents favorite butcher shop. It was a big tradition.

Alright I’ll quit bugging you, say goodbye when you leave. He looked at his watch, time is still on your side but in another hour the back up going into the valley will be stop and go.

Thanks for the traffic update I’ll be fine.

Forty-five minutes later she walked by Andy’s desk, placed the files in his basket touched his shoulder and said, See fifteen minutes to spare.

Okay now get going, please enjoy yourself, I’ll be in on Monday. See you back here Tuesday. Did you pack a good book?

Of course, I picked up Sanford’s latest at Barnes and Noble. I also grabbed a James Lee Burke cd to listen to on the way, think I’m set.

She walked out of the Morrison building on Norbridge and Redwood Road in Castro Valley at 2:45 in the afternoon on Friday. Never imagining she would never see it, or Andy Berg again.

In the parking area her red BMW Z4 convertible sat in its assigned space, in the companies gated underground garage. It was the second week in May the weather had been warm. She knew when she crossed over the hills and into the valley it would be even warmer, warm enough to have the cars top down.

Driving out of the garage and moving easily to the freeways on ramp she accelerated and merged onto the 580. She took a breath and began to relax. Traffic was just starting to build up, she’d seen it much worse.

This weekend was her time to refocus on other things besides the Morrison Company. She promised herself it would be a time of reflection, and remembrance of her parents. She was looking forward to being in a place that would bring back good memories. The family had built many on the shores of Pinecrest Lake and inside the cabin, which was their home away from home.

She put in the cd of Burkes book, Light of the World. It was long enough to last for the trip going and returning. She was ready to get lost in someone else’s world for a few hours. Besides not having her parents here anymore, and not having a man in her life, she was replete.

Her parents held the lease on their cabin on Forest Service land next to the lake shore of Pinecrest for thirty years. One of the families favorite getaway’s ever since Angie was a little girl. The lease was running out and she knew she would have to relinquish the property. This would be her first trip to the lake since her parents passed away. She had arranged for movers to come in Monday morning. It would give her two days to get the cabin’s contents ready.

She decided to keep the Z4’s top up to hear the cd better. And she really didn’t want to wear a ball cap or work through tangled hair when she got to her destination. The first planned stop was Tony’s Village Market and Butcher Shop in Twain Harte.

Her parents had developed a friendship with its proprietor Tony Baldacci over many years. A real character her dad always used to call him. He loved Tony’s Italian Sausage and would always buy enough to eat at the cabin and bring some home. Angie was hoping Tony would still be working when she stopped in to pick up what she needed for the weekend.

After several hours of driving, she arrived in Twain Harte Village. She eased both windows down, the smell of fresh air was just as she remembered. The pine and cedar trees brought a welcome scent to her city sense of smell. From the main drive she turned right onto Joaquin Gully Road then pulled into the narrow parking lot in front of the store.

Having been in the car for hours, her legs felt stiff when she climbed out of the sports car and stepped onto the pavement. She made it before 6:00 p.m. the store was still open. She walked across the lot glancing around the outside of the store, it looked different from what she had remembered.

The white paper signs that used to hang in the windows advertising the weeks specials were gone. They were replaced by dusty corners and cobwebs. The wooden deck out front was weathered and worn. She remembered Tony always had a fresh coat of varnish on it after winter. Walking up the steps and pushing through the double glass doors, she noticed they were loose on their hinges and hadn’t been cleaned for some time.

As she stepped in, she took in the smell, at least the smell is like I remember, sawdust and fresh cut meat. She glanced over at a young man sitting on the checkout counter, he briefly looked up from his phone, being too engrossed in it to give her a greeting. She grabbed a small shopping cart and began to gather the items she needed to complete the trips shopping list.

Walking through poorly stocked isle’s, she found most of the items on her list. Then headed to the back of the store where the meat department was. There was a lady in front of the meat counter giving the man behind it her order. The man wasn’t Tony.

Angie waited as the short stocky butcher wrapped the lady’s order in white paper, then set it up on the countertop. The lady grabbed the package and said, thanks Sammy. She turned and walked to the single checkout interrupting the young man’s fascination with his phone.

As Angie approached the counter, the butcher peered over his wire rim glasses. She felt he was sizing her up, as if she was a stranger in town.

What can I get for ya? Sammy the butcher asked with a reserved but friendly tone.

Does Tony still work here?

When he’s feelin good enough to come in, why you know him?

Yes, my parents and I own a cabin at Pinecrest, we’ve been stopping in here for years to buy his meat and sausage. She looked at him with concern, then asked, Is he okay?

Been better, was all the butcher said. Then he asked her, You headin up to the lake today?

Yes, just me on this trip. She didn’t want to go into any more details about her folks to this stranger.

Sammy wiped his thick hands on a white towel then pushed his glasses back onto the wrinkled bridge of his nose. He was wearing a white T shirt under his apron. His long grey hair was sticking out in various angles from under his butchers cap. He put both hands on the top of the counter as if he wanted to engage in more of a conversation.

Then he said in a prideful way, Tony brought me in part time about three years ago, I was retired but getting bored. I agreed to help, now I’m here every day but Sunday. Only day were closed. I fish the lake that day.

It was as if he wanted her to know how much he was working for Tony the old family friend.

Now that the ice is melted off the lake I can get my small boat out, happen to know some great spots. So, where’s your cabin, right on the shore?

Yes, where Pinecrest Lake Road ends, and Lakeshore begins, on the southeast side. We have our own dock right on the lake.

Nice, that’s a nice side of the lake, always wanted to have a place up there. I could live there year-round and still be able to drive down here for work.

Might be a little hard to do in the winter, Angie said.

I got four-wheel, then he asked her, staying for the week? Good time to be up there before Memorial Day, things start jumping and the campground gets crowded.

No just the weekend, got to be back to work on Tuesday.

Welp this Sunday, I got me a fishing gig planned. I’ll get on the lake early in the morning, kinda like my own special church. He grinned after this comment making his wrinkle’s deepen around his eyes and mouth.

Maybe I’ll see you there, when I see Tony can I tell him who stopped in?

Of course, I’m Angie Morrison. She hesitated to give him more information, but she still wanted Tony to know about her parents, so she went on.

Please tell Tony my parents, he knows them as Bob and Gretchen from Castro Valley, tell him there both gone, died months ago in an accident.

Sammy still had his hands flat on the counter. His mouth turned downward then he said with a concerned tone. Wow that’s tuff, sorry Miss Morrison. I’ll let Tony know about your folks and all. I drop by and see him almost every night after closing. I bring him the days totals and somthin for his dinner.

He took his hands off the counter and wiped them on the towel hanging over his shoulder like it was a habit.

So, what can I get for ya?

Angie looked over the sparce selection, the place has gone downhill without Tony here fulltime, she thought. She picked out a marbled New York Steak, like her dad always ordered. Then two pounds of Italian Sausage links, and a pound of lean ground Italian Sausage. She planned to use it in her special spaghetti sauce for her Sunday dinner, also a family tradition.

Sammy hobbled down the counter and busied himself with her order. Looking around the store for something else to eat, she spotted tubes of chocolate chip cookie dough and added them to her basket. Not her mom’s homemade recipe but the smell of them baking would bring back a great memory.

It’s already Angie, Sammy called out being less formal now, using her first name. She stepped up and reached to get her order off the chrome countertop. Sammy’s right hand moved up and touched her left hand, his thick fingers brushing lightly then resting on the top of her skin.

Sorry about your folks Angie. Tony, he’ll be sad to hear. Sammy said with false empathy.

Angie was taken back by the coldness of his touch. It sent a shiver up her back all the way to her neck. Not wanting to be rude she hesitated to recoil, but she really wanted to pull her hand out from under his. She moved her right hand to the packaged meat and scooped the three bundles up moving them into both of her hands.

She took a step back holding her breath, collected herself, then managed to say.

Give my best to Tony.

She turned and pushed her cart to the front of the store not looking back.

CHAPTER

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THREE

W hen Angie got up to the check stand, she was still trembling inside. She was slowly gaining her composure as the young man set down his cell phone and asked, New in town?

No, just heading to the lake for the weekend.

Yeah, Twain Harte Lake or up the hill?

Pinecrest, she said coldly, giving him a one-word answer still not fully at ease.

Cool, was all he said as he pulled her basket into the opening between the register and the counter. He removed it’s items and began ringing up her order. The store was still using an old hand keyed cash register from the sixties. The young man’s fingers moved over the keys with a familiarity that made him as fast as a scanner.

Getting refocused, she noticed the young man’s deep blue eyes, along with his jet-black hair. He had a strikingly handsome face.

The young man knew she was staring at him, he held back a smile. When he was finished ringing up her order he asked, Guess you don’t have your own bags, paper cool?

Yes but can you double bag I gotta carry them for a ways.

No problem, that your Beamer out there?

Yes, my pride and joy.

I love the color red on a car, it’s sexy.

Her mind was going back and forth from Sammy the butchers cold touch to the young man’s handsome looks as she paid in cash.

The young man said, I’ll carry your bags out, I wanna check out your ride.

He grabbed her two bags stepped out in front of her and moved to the doors. He pushed through backwards looking at her with a smile showing his white teeth as he held the door for her.

Angie clicked the trunk open, and he placed the bags inside.

Trunks bigger than I thought got a spare tire somewhere?

No, it’s got a new system I can’t explain, the dealer said it was better than drive flat tires.

Cool, he said again as he closed the trunk lid and ran his hand across the shining red finish.

Betcha get some attention driving around in this. Especially with the top down. I can picture your auburn hair blowing in the wind.

Angie blushed; the young man is flirting with me. She felt flattered being thirty-three and having a young guy pay attention to her hair.

Guess I’ve turned a few heads.

I’d be looking.

Nice chatting with you but I got a ways to go before it gets dark, thanks for the carry out.

She reached in her purse and pulled out a ten and handed it to him.

Hey, thanks, have a safe drive. He turned and bounced up the deck and back into the store.

Angie watched him the whole way as she climbed behind the wheel and started the engine.

When she got out of the village and back onto 108, she still had the young man on her mind. She couldn’t remember the last time she paid attention to the looks of a man.

I gotta get out more, she said out load to herself.

Then Sammy the butcher popped back in her thoughts. The chill she felt from his touch was evil. Was he just an old creep or was he trying to show her empathy? She was leaning more towards old creep.

Damn, she said out load again, I gave him way too much information. Then she remembered he said, ‘maybe I’ll see you up there.’

Oh well I got Dad’s old