The Chameleon

By Whitney Polen

Seth Jovango is a wealthy stockbroker, who is also a sadistic serial killer who has a high-powered family and friends to protect him. Brenda Ellingsworth is the tenacious detective on his trail, trying to solve countless murders while they play a continuous cat and mouse game to the end, and Todd Roundtree is her seasoned partner who offers experience and dedication. A terrifying, spine-chilling thriller to keep you on the edge of your seat.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Mar 21, 2022
• ISBN: 9781662470639

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The Chameleon

Whitney Polen

Copyright © 2022 Whitney Polen

All rights reserved

First Edition

PAGE PUBLISHING

Conneaut Lake, PA

First originally published by Page Publishing 2022

ISBN 978-1-6624-7062-2 (pbk)

ISBN 978-1-6624-7063-9 (digital)

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

The Body Count Begins

Seth Morgan Jovango

Tracking a Killer

Joan Thompson

Kate Flowers

Working Together as a Task Force

Here Comes the MIB

Needle in a Haystack

Andrew Nicks

Lisa Copley

Two Four One

Kate Summerdale and the Task Force

The Hunt Is On

I dedicate this book to my mom who has always believed in me and never gave up.

How well do you think you know those closest to you? How well do you know those you live next door to? How well do we truly know anyone? After all, people are dark and dangerous and when they close their doors, we have no idea what they do inside.

Chapter 1

The Body Count Begins

The police car moved throughout the neighborhood with lights and sirens, screeching tires as it turned the corner and came to a hard stop. The two detectives exited the car. There was already a lot of excitement in the air. Yellow crime scene tape could be seen from their vantage point. Detective Ellingsworth could tell by the look on the first police officer this scene was going to be a bad one. This would be the third time body parts had been found, and as of now, all three were still John and Jane Does in the morgue.

What in the hell is going on here? shouted Roundtree.

I don’t know, but I don’t like it, said Ellingsworth.

The two made their way down to the water’s edge.

So what do we have? said Ellingsworth to the first officer she was standing next to.

The officer looked back at Ellingsworth and shook his head, saying, I have never seen anything like this. Both Roundtree and Ellingsworth had their work cut out for them. They already had two other cases on their desks.

Roundtree stated, It’s going to be another late one.

Ellingsworth bent down to examine the body. It looked like there had been severe trauma inflicted on this body. From the parts they had, they could not tell whether they were male or female until the coroner arrived. Just then Julie Stetko, the coroner, pulled up. She exited the passenger side.

Stetko asked Ellingsworth, What do we have?

Ellingsworth said, I am not quite sure. We are just waiting on you to answer that.

The coroner walked past the detectives and started looking over the body parts.

Julie Stetko started her examination by taking fingerprints off the three different hands. The two other arms, one torso, four feet would all have to be bagged up and taken back to the morgue. All three were hoping that these parts would match some of the other parts that had already been found. The exam would take a few hours once back at the morgue. While they are on scene, there would be pictures taken, nail scrapings from the natural nails, and the artificial nails removed. Is this just a dump site, or were these parts dismembered here? What are the tattoos, and are they specific enough to make an identification? What injuries are there to these parts? If no identification could be made, they would have to look at any code 56s they have (this is a missing person’s report that could match any of the information they collected). Would they need to get the media involved to help?

Now that the scene was completed and the parts had been collected, the two detectives and the coroner left the scene. The officer still there was responsible for taking down the crime tape. Tonight would be a long night for all involved. The detectives went to the morgue to get the fingerprint cards from the coroner. So far, in all three crime scenes, there had not been one complete body. This was definitely the work of a demented mind.

The detectives pulled their seats behind their desks. Brenda Ellingsworth had gone into the police academy straight out of high school. She loved working for the NYPD. She had been a cop for twelve years and figured she had seen just about everything that one person could do to another until now. Detective Ellingsworth was thirty-six years old, stood six-foot-tall, 155 pounds, had strawberry blond hair, and had the bluest eyes this side of the Mississippi. She kept herself in pretty good shape because of the job and the fact that she did not want to be that cop that could not run or catch the criminal.

She was a good cop. She was meticulous at the details and had a 96 percent closing rate. This was the one thing that Ellingsworth always wanted to be, an officer of the law. Ellingsworth had received four commendations in the last couple of years and had one previous partner who was killed in the line of duty. Now her partner was Todd Roundtree. He was a few short months from retirement. By all accounts, they were good partners.

Roundtree was sixty-two years old, five-ten, but he told his friends that he was six feet, about 250 pounds. At one time, he had a thick head of brown hair. Now it seemed that more of his hair had fallen out, and he just had some on the sides. Roundtree tended to be a little sloppy with his appearance and his paperwork. Todd Roundtree was an old flat-foot cop. He was sixty-two now and just about ready to retire. He was a sloppy guy, never seemed to be able to get all the buttons on his shirt to match up. His life at times seemed to be out of control. Everyone knew which one was his desk. Roundtree was a good detective. He had a 90 percent close rate on his cases. He came to work early and usually left late. His paperwork was hard to read due to the fact he had horrible handwriting skills.

Roundtree had been married to the gentlest woman ever on the planet. Roundtree met Patricia Norton one year after becoming an NYPD officer. She was a reporter for the New York Times. They had met on a crime scene. He went to the paper to ask her out and kind of made a fool of himself, but she thought he was handsome. They were married for forty-three years. She was known as Trish to those she loved. Their marriage had been a good one. They had four children together, three boys and one beautiful daughter.

Chelsea Roundtree was the apple of her father’s eyes; the boys made their father proud. Jerry Roundtree was the oldest of the kids. He was forty years old and followed in his mother’s footsteps, a top reporter for the New York Post. Next was his son, Scott Roundtree. He was thirty-six. He worked for Edison Electric Illuminating Co. as a lineman. He worked a lot of overtime.

Then there was Kim Roundtree, thirty-four. He worked for Hercules Chemical Wholesale and Manufactures. He was the only kid that got married. He had a beautiful wife Lynn and two children, both girls, Sadie, six, and Bonnie, four. Last but not least was their only daughter Chelsea, twenty-four. She was not a planned birth like the others, but she was loved by both her parents and brothers. She was in her second year in med school at NYU. She has done well, and her parents were very proud.

It was a warm summer night when the Roundtree family would be dealt an unwavering blow. At 7:43 p.m. on Wednesday night, Patricia Roundtree at fifty-eight years old lost her life in a car accident with a teenager. The teenage boy had been out with friends the night of the accident. They had been drinking earlier in the evening, but he felt he had waited long enough before he started home, but he was wrong.

He had run a red light and hit the car Patricia was driving on the driver’s side, pinning Patricia in the car. Once the paramedic and firefighters were on scene, it took twenty-five minutes to cut her from the car. She never had a chance. Her family and friends were devastated. Todd could not get out of bed for the next two weeks. Todd Roundtree vowed to never marry again.

Roundtree was looking forward to retiring at the end of the year. He was hoping this would be his last case, but he had a terrible feeling about this one. Forty-eight years as a police officer, you tend to feel when you have a bad one, and Roundtree knew this one was bad. He did not like the fact this was going to be his legacy. This would be the case that would define him as a cop. Detective Roundtree was working what he would hope was to be his very last case before his retirement at the end of the year. It was August 2016, and Roundtree was counting down, but this case bothered him already. He just wasn’t sure why.

Brenda Ellingsworth’s life was not as complicated as Todd Roundtree’s. She has always wanted to become a police officer even from the time she was a child. When she was just six years old, her parents had been in a devastating car accident. It happened in the summer of 1985. Both of her parents had been killed, and Ellingsworth was horribly injured. She had woken up in the hospital room with two broken legs, which had to be surgically repaired. Carrie Ellingsworth was only twenty-six at the time she lost her life. Her husband, twenty-eight-year-old Nicolas Ellingsworth, lasted for twelve days in a coma before he scummed to his injuries.

Officer John K. Hunter was one of the officers that responded to that call and rescued young Brenda Ellingsworth. Hunter would visit the young girl from time to time in the hospital so he could check on her improvements. Hunter, on several occasions, brought the youngster stuff animals to help with the nightmares, new outfits that a young lady would deserve, so she could feel there was someone out there that care for her. Brenda Ellingsworth at six was alone in the world.

Seven months in the hospital and learning to walk again and several more surgeries, she was able to be released from the hospital. Nickolas Ellingsworth had one sister Jennifer; she would take over guardianship of her young niece. Jennifer had no children of her own and had never really cared to, so this would be a challenge for them both. Brenda grew into a tuff, independent young woman. In her high school days, she played lacrosse, studied judo, and rode dirt bikes. There was something very attractive about her. She had her fair share of the high school jocks that wanted to date her, but she showed no interest in them instead she was attracted to cheerleaders.

Ellingsworth knew what she wanted to do in her life. The mark had been left on her at six. Brenda Ellingsworth had decided the day she graduated high school, she was bound for NYU to take up law enforcement classes and criminal justice. She knew she was going to work for the NYPD. She had studied hard, and it showed. She had graduated at the top of her class. The following day after graduation, she was signing up to become police officers. She was just twenty-one.

Ellingsworth was sworn into the NYPD one year later. She had never felt such emotions and pride. She shed a tear as her badge was pinned to her starched uniform. Hunter was there as he had through most of her milestones. It took her five years to make a detective. She passed the test the first time. This was very impressive to the old dogs of the homicide unit. This was what she had trained her whole life for. As she was assigned a desk on the unit, she thought of John Hunter, now retired and living in Florida. She smiled and knew he was proud of her. They had stayed in touch over the years by emails, and he had told her how proud he was of her accomplishments. He had always given her advice over the years like a father would have. She had appreciated those times. John Hunter died a few years later. She missed him desperately.

She had the reputation of being hardworking and very physical. Ellingsworth worked out on a regular basis. Even after she worked long hours, she made time for the gym. She had been seeing the same woman, Madison Montgomery, for eleven years. They had been living together for the past nine years. Madison was a beautiful woman, about five-ten, 125 pounds, hazel eyes, and dark-brown hair. She had a very athletic build due to the fact she like to run and kickbox. Madison was a 911 operator in the call center for both fire and police. Both Brenda and Madison seemed to be very happy in a relationship. Neither woman wanted a complicated relationship, so this worked out great.

The next day, the phone rang at the desk of Detective Jason Close in the missing person’s department. On the other end of the phone was Wanda Thompson. She was calling him in quite a panic. Jason Close answered, saying, NYPD missing persons Detective Close, how can I help you?

On the other end of the phone, there was panic in the voice of Wanda Thompson. My daughter is missing!

Slow down, ma’am. Let’s start with your name, said Detective Close.

My name is Wanda Thompson. My daughter’s name is Ebony Thompson, and she is missing!

The detective could feel the urgency in her voice as she told him why she thinks her daughter is missing.

Detective Close said in a concerned tone, Well, give me some specifics on your daughter, her age, height, weight, where she was last seen, and where she worked. Once Wanda Thompson told the detective how old she was, he stopped, stating, Ms. Thompson, your daughter is thirty-two. She can disappear if she wants to.

Wanda Thompson took a big breath and told the detective just how responsible her daughter was and that she would never leave her kids. Wanda said, Ebony would always call when she would be late, going out after work with friends. Even when her car broke down, she called me first before calling the tow truck. This is not like my daughter. She is very timely and responsible. The detective could hear the fear and anguish in her voice. Detective Close continued to fill out the report and let Wanda Thompson know he would be stopping out with another officer so they could talk about her daughter.

The police car pulled up in front of the brownstone where they could see Wanda Thompson eagerly waiting for them. Wanda Thompson opened the door for the detectives to enter. Both Close and Chambers acknowledged Wanda Thompson and entered the modern living room, sat down on the couch, and began asking their questions about Ebony Thompson.

Detective Chambers started by saying, So tell me about your daughter Ebony?

Wanda began with a shaky voice, telling the directives about her daughter. Ebony Thompson is a wonderful daughter and mother. She is thirty-two years old, five-three, and 124 pounds, her mother said. She works two jobs since the lowlife walked out on her after they had their second baby. He doesn’t even pay child support. That’s why she moved back here. We help each other. I help with the babies so she doesn’t have to pay for a sitter, and she helps me since I’m getting older. It lets me spend more time with my daughter and grandbabies.

After an hour and a half with Wanda Thompson, the detectives thanked her and walked to the door. Detective Close turned and said, We will do everything we can to find your daughter. This would not be the last time there would be detectives in the Thompsons’ home.

Driving back to the station, Detective Robin Chambers looked over to her partner, and with a serious stare, she said, I do not think this is a run-of-the-mill disappearance.

Detective Close said, How do you mean, Chambers?

Well, she doesn’t fit. She would not just walk away from the two kids. She is just not what you find in someone who is going to leave or run away. She seems to be doing something with her life, trying to better it for herself and her family. I just do not see this ending well.

The two detectives exited the car and went back to the police station. Inside at their desk, Detective Close began to type up his report with Chambers looking uneasy.

In the morgue, Stetko had finished up with all