Prey

By Darrell Wilkins

With the help of a mysterious and sexy FBI agent, he must put an end to the killer's reign of terror. What they encounter is more than either of them bargained for. Former SFPD Detective Frank Crenshaw is asked to solve a string of copycat murders. It's not going to be an easy job. When the killings are linked to his past, Frank must work fast to reveal the person responsible. Assigned to him is Sarah Coulson, a mysterious and sexy FBI agent with secrets of her own. He must put an end to the killer's reign of terror. What they encounter is far more than they ever imagined.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Jun 6, 2022
• ISBN: 9781662472350

Book preview

Chapter 1

Introductions

Seattle, Washington

Buried deep in the woods, a rustic log cabin lies isolated from the outside world. The sound of the autumn wind drowns out the conversation inside. A shadowy figure appears in the window. Suddenly, a stream of blood splashes across the curtain. A thud is heard as the body hits the floor. A few seconds later, a woman screams. But no one can hear her cries for help.

It’s a hot and early Saturday afternoon. Frank Crenshaw is charter boat fishing for swordfish off the Gulf of Mexico. With the bait hooked and the line set, the weary fisherman waits patiently. Suddenly, the bobber sinks below the surface. Jumping up, he quickly grabs the rod and frantically turns the reel. With blistered hands, the brave and determined fisherman holds onto the pole.

Not wanting to go home empty-handed, Frank musters his last ounce of strength and pulls up on the fishing rod. By the blue color of the spiked fin and the long appendage, Frank can tell that the fish that has emerged is a 670-pound swordfish. As he pulls on the line, the majestic and agile sea creature thrashes violently back and forth, trying to break free. Both Frank and the swordfish put up a gallant fight, one trying to escape and the other one holding fast. After three long and grueling hours, the prey finally surrenders as the champion raises his arms in victory.

Not bad for a few hours huh, Frank? the captain asks him.

Nope! Frank yells, smiling. This big fucker is going on my wall.

Excited, Frank and the boat’s captain start pulling their catch onboard. Out of nowhere, a huge great white shark breaks through the ocean’s surface. Like a speeding torpedo, it leaps upward. Frantic, Frank and the captain pull the prize trophy toward the boat. The apex predator, with its massive jaws and rows of sharp teeth, bites the fish completely in half. Shocked, they watch as the swordfish’s severed head lands on the deck. Cursing, Frank decides to return to shore.

After losing to Jaws, Frank quietly heads back to the Florida Keys. Humiliated, he tosses what’s left of the fish in the truck bed and walks into a local tackle store. A few minutes later, he returns and pours bags of ice on top of his partial catch. Frank mutters to himself as he climbs into the driver seat.

Well…at least it wasn’t a total loss, he says. As he starts the engine, the phone rings.

Hello, Frank answers.

Can I speak to Frank Crenshaw, please? a female’s voice asks over the phone. This is Agent Coulson with the Federal Bureau of Investigation, Mr. Crenshaw.

So to what do I owe this call, Agent Coulson?

We need your help on a case, Mr. Crenshaw, if you’re interested.

After a lousy day of fishing, Frank feels invigorated by a new challenge.

Yes, I’m interested, he says.

We scheduled you a flight to Seattle, Washington, at seven o’clock tonight. We’ll go over the details after you arrive, Coulson informs him.

After returning to his home in Key West, Florida, Frank unloads his catch from the truck. Putting it in the freezer, Frank takes a quick shower.

While packing for the flight to Washington, Frank begins to reminisce about his years as an SFPD detective. The number of serial killers he has helped capture (one loses count after a few years). The sleepless nights, death threats. He’s seen stuff that would make a seasoned paramedic puke. Not a job for the squeamish or weakhearted.

As the only child of John and Patricia Crenshaw, Frank had lived a privileged childhood. By privileged, I mean he had been grounded by moral standards. Morals such as respect your elders, work hard, have faith, and good old-fashioned punishment, which meant a belt to your backside. His dad only had to tell him once, Don’t make me get my belt.

His family had money, but by no means had they been rich. His father, John, was a plumber for thirty years and owned his own company too, John’s Plumbing—no pun intended. John had worked hard to support his family.

At nineteen, John had started out as an apprentice for Mr. Patterson at Ace Plumbing. The boss was amazed at how fast John had caught on to the business. A natural was what he had called him. There wasn’t a plumbing problem that John couldn’t fix. He was like a surgeon with a wrench.

Patterson was so impressed with John’s hard work and determination that he made him a partner. Business had soon prospered. After three years, Patterson had turned the business over to John and retired. A year later, John’s boss, mentor, father figure, and friend had died of cancer.

Patricia Jones had worked as a waitress at the Empty Plate, where John had eaten lunch. She had a down-to-earth, farmer’s daughter look—long red hair and a nice body. Eighteen and attending medical school, Patricia had worked only three days a week.

They had hit it off instantly. After two years of dating, they had gotten married. Patricia had graduated the following year. Nine months later, Frank had been born. Two hours later, Patricia died from complications due to childbirth. Frank’s dad was devastated. Now a single parent, John made sure that Frank had the best things in life—a good home, clothes on his back, food on the table, and a solid education.

Graduating with honors from high school at seventeen, Frank had received a full scholarship to Princeton. Not sure what course to take, he had slacked off. When his grades started slipping, he was in danger of losing the scholarship. One Friday night, while out partying, Frank had received some bad news. During an apparent home invasion, his dad had been fatally wounded. The home invader hadn’t been caught. Feeling responsible, Frank buried himself in his classes.

Determined not to let another person fall victim to predators like the one that killed his father, Frank had studied everything from criminal science and justice to psychology and sociology. To really study the mind of a killer, he watched forensic shows and horror movies. Halloween, The Texas Chainsaw Massacre, and The Silence of the Lambs were his favorites.

After receiving his PhD, Frank had joined the San Francisco Police Department. He worked his way up to detective in two years. Frank was more determined than ever to protect the ones that couldn’t defend themselves.

Frank defines a serial killer as a demented and certifiably sadistic individual with a superiority complex and irrational moral code. In other words, batshit crazy. These were the crème de la crème of killers—the worst of the worst.

Only taking the cold cases, he had managed to solve the majority of cases he took on. Even so, sometimes he wasn’t lucky due to lack of evidence, the people involved, or cases where the people involved were too old to remember what had happened or had died. But he was able to finally put one case to rest—his dad’s.

A young punk at the time, William Taylor, responsible for a string of crimes, had been caught for a second burglary and murder. William had served ten years in the state penitentiary but hadn’t been linked to John’s murder until years later. As Frank faced his father’s killer in court, he stood there, looked him in the eye, and forgave him. He had forgiven the man of all his sins for the anger and frustration Frank endured over the years, for the loss of his father. Then with one punch, Frank knocked him unconscious. Setting his badge and gun on the judge’s bench, he had walked out of the courtroom.

Standing outside, he looks up to see the bright sky. It was brighter than it’s ever been. Wiping away a tear, he smiles and says softly, We did it, Dad. We finally got him. Suddenly, a bright light shines above the clouds and slowly vanishes. With tears in his eyes, Frank knew it was his father watching over him.

After eighteen years on the SFPD, he did freelance work as a profiler. A few cases here and there, like the Lake Michigan murders six months ago.

The Johnson family—victims of an apparent home invasion. The killer went into Paul and Joan’s bedroom. With a crowbar, he pulverized their skulls. Strangely enough, their fifteen-year-old son, Joseph, was the only survivor.

Though a suspect, he was presumed innocent. After three months of intense interrogating and investigations, he finally confessed to the crime. The motive—his parents grounded him for driving the car without a license. Found guilty of manslaughter, he was the youngest teen to receive two life sentences. During a prison break, Joseph led the officers through some nearby woods. Rather than return to prison, he jumped into a rocky stream. Not an avid swimmer, the strong current carried him down a raging waterfall. After nine long hours, his body was never recovered.

Then there was the highway cannibal murders near Oklahoma City. Authorities arrested forty-eight-year-old William Caldrey for the deaths of a dozen men and women found in several wooded areas near the highway. During interrogation, Caldrey confessed to murdering them and eating their flesh. When asked why, the lunatic told them he felt whole. The demented madman was shot and killed by a group of police officers while escaping his arraignment.

A few months later, a string of strange and brutal murders occurred in the woods near California. Police blamed the gruesome attacks on a wild animal until they noticed a pattern. The victims were butchered. No evidence was found to tie the killer, so the cases were never solved.

This case just might relieve the boredom, Frank thought. Closing the suitcase and checking to make sure all his credentials (passports, driver’s license, etc.) were counted for, he hears a car horn. The cab has arrived. Rushing outside, he locks the front door and climbs in the vehicle. As the taxi leaves for the airport, Frank takes one more look down the street.

Arriving in Seattle, two FBI agents escort him to a cruiser waiting outside the airport. Entering the vehicle, a sexy pair of legs catches