Murdered Last Summer: The Last Cold Case

By MJ LaBeff

I'm not invisible…

Someone is killing the most vulnerable residents of Snug Harbor, Ohio. Overdoses and murders plague the city. A serial killer prowls the streets in search of drug addicts. There are three victims in one week—a drug addiction specialist, a down-on-her-luck former teacher, a recovering drug addict. All of them are missing their eyes. Does the signature have meaning? That's what Homicide Detective Rachel Hood, a psychic empath and FBI agent Nick Draven, an occult crimes specialist need to find out before more people die. 

 

You look…

The killer sends a string of messages. An envelope addressed HOOD contains a picture of two boys. A detective working undercover has gone silent. Another woman is murdered.

 

But you don't see me…

The last victim haunts Homicide Detective Rachel Hood. The woman's spirit seeks forgiveness, but all she conveys to Rachel are these two words: See Me. Rachel suffers through this unidentified woman's pain putting her through the rigors of the addict's hell on earth that eventually led to her death. 

• Language: English
• Publisher: MJ LaBeff
• Release date: Apr 16, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215162866

MJ LaBeff

MJ LaBeff is an American author best described as the girl-next-door with a dark side. MJ grew up in northeastern Ohio but traded snow for sunshine and moved to southern Arizona where she lives with her husband and three dogs. She’s drawn to writing suspense novels, featuring complicated characters and twisted plot lines that will keep readers turning page after page. When she’s not writing or plotting her next novel, MJ enjoys reading, running, lifting weights, and volunteering for the American Cancer Society.

Book preview

Prologue

Shangri-La Heights

Snug Harbor, Ohio

May 17, 2002

Dylan walked over to his dad’s prone body before ambling toward his mom lying on the couch, holding an open palm above her nose. Warm air filled his hand. He could never tell if she was breathing by looking at the rise and fall of her chest. Sometimes his eyes played tricks on him. He had to know for sure that she survived another night.

He continued into the narrow kitchen. The sink and countertops were covered in dirty dishes and cartons crusted with food from microwave meals cooked long ago. He pushed some stuff around and made a small space. Keeping things clean wasn’t easy with all the drama going on in the apartment. At least that’s what mom referred to it as—drama. Dylan had about enough of her drama and dad’s too. He peeked around the corner, wondering if the old man was alive. At night, while Dylan said his prayers, he actually prayed for God to take his dad’s soul. Drama in this dump of an apartment meant one of two things; mom and dad were fighting over drugs or out of drugs.

He stifled a moan of disgust and quickly prepared the cereal before one of them woke. Grabbing the carton of milk from the fridge, he opened, smelled it, then turned on the kitchen faucet, adding a little cool water. He filled the bowls, splashing the liquid over the flakes. His stomach growled. He stirred the cereal and took a big bite. The milk might’ve been a little sour, but sugar from the cornflakes sweetened it. He hated to stop eating but didn’t want to risk waking the sleeping monsters or dipping into his brother’s meager breakfast. He’d never steal food from Harley, no matter how tempting.

He left the cereal and tiptoed from the kitchen to the bedroom. Harley lay sound asleep. C’mon, bro, time to get up and go to school. Harley moaned. Shhh, shhh, don’t wake them. C’mon, your cereal’s gonna get soggy.

Harley snorted. Yeah, right. Was there even any milk?

Barely, but it’s good.

Harley crawled out from beneath the tattered sheet and ran a hand through his dirty blond hair, smoothed down the front of the t-shirt, dragged on the pair of jeans at the foot of the bed, then slipped on the hand-me-down sneakers that were Dylan’s.

The boys looked nearly identical, but they weren’t. People often confused the two kids, and they didn’t always bother correcting them. It kind of got annoying after a while. Not that they minded it so much because messing with people was fun.

Harley followed Dylan out to the kitchen, where they stood next to each other slurping up the cereal like they did every morning. At least going to school would get them out of this place. Harley finished the last bite and ran a finger around the bowl, licking it clean. He pointed to the fridge and shrugged. Dylan shook his head. Their parents blew through the government-provided food card again, exchanging goods for cash and cash for drugs.

Dylan pointed to the door, the signal they should leave for school. But this morning he raised a finger before Harley twisted the handle. He walked through the kitchen and rounded the corner into the family room, picked up a baggie filled with pills from the coffee table, and shoved it into a front pocket. Dylan glanced from mom to dad, honing in on the man sprawled across the floor.

The tough guy didn’t look so tough now but, Dylan dug into the pocket touching the baggie. Worried the piece-of-shit for a dad might kill their mom when he realized the pills were missing. Don’t overthink it. It was Monday. They’d be safe at school this week, but what about after it let out for the summer? It was now or never. He needed to do this for himself and Harley.

He turned to leave, noticing part of a sock-covered ankle, curling his nose at the tiny monogram and man’s dress shoe protruding from the apartment’s only other bedroom. Just another night in the house of horrors. Dylan didn’t know if he hated the men in suits or fancy-dressed women with wads of cash who stopped by looking for a good time or weekend high or the low lifes who scraped together just enough for a fix. He didn’t forgive despair or hopelessness or poverty for bad choices. Those were only excuses. What he despised, even more, were the people who squandered opportunity like this rich asshole.

Dylan pointed at Harley, who gently turned the door handle. Dylan kicked the man’s foot on the way out, hearing a moan. Patting the front of his thread-bare pocket, he was confident in the decision made, knowing that today there was going to be drama.

Chapter 1

Leads Elementary School

Snug Harbor, Ohio

June 6, 2012

Ruthless, Homicide Detective Rachel Hood stared down at the woman’s crumbled body. Flies buzzed. A big black crow squawked. The sun pushed forward, burning off the morning haze. Mother Nature nurtured the blooming wildflowers. Light glinted off waxy green leaves in big oaks looming overhead. Birds chirped. The euphony sang out in harmony, unaware of the nocturnal horror. Has anyone found her eyes?

Not yet, Deputy Jimmy Raines said, swatting at a big horse fly. Considering these flies, well, ya know.

The corner of Rachel’s mouth hitched. Yeah, she knew. Thanks for stating the obvious Sneaky Snake. Oops. She promised herself not to think of him like the skirt-chasing man he was before meeting Amy. Old habits. The deputy was only attempting to lighten the mood. He shrugged and continued searching for clues.

Nadia Kuzinski stopped photographing the deceased long enough to look up, head shaking behind the plastic shield and goggles covering her gold wire-rimmed glasses. The crime lab technician’s black bangs were pinned to the side. Protective gear covered her from head to toe to prevent contaminating the scene.

Rachel looked away from the eyeless corpse and scanned the area. For chrissakes, who in God’s name would murder someone in a field just beyond the playground of an elementary school? She noted the basketball court in the distance, remembered walking past the hopscotch grid painted on the cement, the nets for soccer goals, and imagined kids running, laughing, having fun. With a little luck, they wouldn’t hear about the evil so near to the school. Fortunately, it was summer; school wasn’t in session. By September, when they returned, the murderer who did this would be behind bars. She would make sure of it.

Rachel shuddered to think what would’ve happened if a group of kids stumbled upon the dead body today. Nightmares would haunt them forever that no amount of therapy could fix. She’d seen some awful things in her youth and, of course, working homicide. All that talk about compartmentalizing was just that—talk. It was hard not to feel for the person of a brutal crime, especially because of her psychic empathy. Even so, all detectives were human, carrying a significant amount of concern and quest for justice when any human being suffered a violent end.

The swing set caught her attention. It reminded her of the swing Dad had built for her and Amy. Rachel couldn’t pump both legs hard enough. Swinging meant exhilaration. A healthy high she had forgotten about but now craved. Not that the detective was planning to hitch a swing ride now. No, she wasn’t. But maybe the woman with missing eyes was. What brought you here?

She paused, looking back at the body. Rachel observed the dead woman’s hooded sweatshirt, tank top, shorts, and beat-up pair of Sketchers. Matted brown hair looked like it hadn’t been washed in a while. Thirties? Possibly. Homeless? Maybe. Poor? Probably.

Whatever the woman’s situation, it didn’t matter. Rachel wasn’t about to make any assumptions based on clothes and appearance. For all she knew, this woman rolled out of bed for a run before heading home to shower and change for work at the office, salon, store; hell, she could’ve been a teacher. The point was: this woman started the morning probably like any other. She had a life before coming face-to-face with a murderer and meeting an unexpected death.

Rachel knew what it was like to be in the clutches of a killer. A familiar sliver of terror slinked along her spine, noting the blood trickling along the sides of the woman’s face devoid of makeup. She pictured a trail of tears mixing with blood leaking from the eyeless sockets.

Eyes are the windows to the soul. The verse from Shakespeare reminded Rachel that even the eyes of the dead told a story. If only she could look into this woman’s eyes and see the hopes and dreams that once were. Removing this woman’s eyes completely dehumanized her. Taking her life wasn’t enough. The humid summer air grew heavy, forcing the detective to physically shake off the melancholy. Pull it together.

Reporting for duty, Detective Hood.

Brian Bentley, another crime scene tech covered in blue protective gear, stepped up beside her. Rachel startled, snapped some photos with the cell phone before getting out of the way.

You know the drill, Rachel replied, avoiding looking at Brian, gesturing with a head nod toward Nadia, who was on lead.

All right-y then, Brian said. I’ll have her get me up to speed.

Rachel’s back was already to him. She lifted a hand, signaling okay. With the crime scene secured, the homicide detective peeled the booties and gloves from her shoes and hands, then went over to Bruce Milford, who had called nine-one-one, after him and Grace, a beautiful black retriever, had stumbled upon the dead body on their morning walk.

Bruce gripped a tennis ball in one hand and the dog’s leash in the other. Grace sat obediently. Rachel extended a downward palm to the pretty dog, allowing Grace to sniff before petting the gentle animal.

I appreciate your cooperation, Rachel said. Let’s go through what happened one more time.

Amazing Grace and me were out for our usual walk.

Rachel looked up from the cell phone where she recorded notes of the conversation. Do you come here every morning?

We come here or go over to the dog park on Hardy.

You know there are signs about not having dogs on the playground.

Bruce’s jaw clenched. This isn’t the playground, is it? It’s an open field. He extended the hand with the tennis ball making a sweeping motion. Grace rose on her hind legs. Down, girl. The dog sat. I pay taxes for it, and I don’t even have any kids!

Obviously, she’d hit a sore spot. The guy had a point. Being a dog lover herself, she wasn’t going to fine Milford. There were worse offenders to deal with than those trespassing with dogs on public property. The problem was the pet owners who didn’t pick up their dogs’ waste. No one wanted to step in dog shit. Rachel noticed the plastic bag hanging out of Bruce’s pocket.

Let’s continue. You and Grace... The dog’s tail wagged. Rachel scratched around Grace’s collar and then resumed tapping on the phone. ...were going for a walk and...

Grace loves to play ball, Bruce said. This time Grace barked. Yea, don’t ya, girl?

There we were playing fetch when all of sudden something catches Grace’s nose and she takes off. The hand with the ball pointed in the direction of the dead body. I’m thinking she’s seen a bunny or squirrel, so I go after her and that’s when I saw the woman. Shock resonated in the guy’s eyes. His Adam's apple bobbed. I hunt and fish. I’ve seen inexperienced fishermen and hunters do some stupid crap that’s gotten them hurt, but I’ve never seen anything like this before.

Rachel wasn’t sure what he meant or where he was going with that last comment. Perhaps it was a hint about the missing eyes. Details about the woman’s tragic end weren’t ready for public consumption. Not yet. Whether he saw the woman’s eyeless sockets was pertinent to this discussion.

Did you notice anything unusual about the deceased? Anything near the body?

I grabbed Grace by the collar right away and stepped back, he said, wincing. But, it looked like the gal’s eyes were gouged out or something. There was an awful lot of blood around ’em. He shrugged. Maybe, the birds or... He shook his head.

We don’t want to speculate. At this time, I can’t confirm any details about what happened. What did you do next?

I leashed Grace and called nine-one-one.

Did you touch anything?

Bruce’s eyes widened and his facial expression said, Are you serious? Hell, no. I grabbed Grace and got away from there.

Did you notice anyone? See a car? Anything out of the ordinary that might have caused you to pause and take notice?

The man’s head shook. No. We were the only ones here, like most mornings.

Okay, if you think of anything. Even something from a few days or weeks ago, please let me know, she said, pocketed the phone, and handed him a business card. You can go. Rachel patted Grace on the head and left them.

Notice anything unusual? Rachel asked Nadia, who was scraping beneath the dead woman’s broken, uneven fingernails.

Not yet. Bruising around the neck shows signs of strangulation. Probably cause of death.

Probably?

ME should be here soon. Need to do a toxicology screen. Nadia pointed to a spot on the woman’s neck before pushing up one of the sleeves covering the deceased’s arm. Track marks.

I didn’t find any needles or drug paraphernalia, Rachel said, glancing around. If the woman injected a lethal dose of God-knows-what, wouldn’t there be a needle and drugs lying near her? Hold on a sec.

The swing set. Rachel walked the distance to the playground. Sure enough, on the ground underneath one swing was a cosmetic bag. The tan bag blended into the dirt, and the swing seat must’ve cast a shadow over it before because she hadn’t noticed it in the distance. Doubtful it contained blush and lip gloss. Rachel dragged on a pair of gloves. Pulling back the zipper revealed a small square baggie with a powdery substance, needle, and bent spoon. Brian, bag please, she shouted, then snapped a few photos of the merchandise. The square bag was stamped in black with theatre faces. Laugh now, cry later. More like die later, Rachel thought.

Rachel’s lip twitched. She didn’t like doctors or needles. Couldn’t understand how anyone could inject drugs, shuddering at the thought of pressing a hypodermic needle into a bulging arm vein let alone one in the neck. The woman’s empty eye sockets flashed. Sorrow tugged at Rachel. Had drugs dashed this woman’s hopes and dreams?

I hope we don’t have another case on our hands like the Organ Snatcher last fall, Rachel said.

Not possible, Brian said. Whole eye transplants are still in experimental stages.

Good to know. Besides, this looks like a butcher’s work. Rachel winced and mumbled, "Hear no evil, speak no evil, see no evil."

What did this woman see that she shouldn’t have? Was it a drug deal gone wrong? Did she owe a dealer?

The sound of a coach’s whistle drew her attention away. Why were all of these cars here? Although the empty field was at least a football field away from the school, they couldn’t risk having looky-loos nosing around the active crime scene. Rachel took off running toward the short, plump woman blowing the whistle. Kids started to swarm the sidewalk, making their way to the school. Damn. After securing the premises, she should’ve checked the school to make sure there wasn’t anyone inside.

Stay right here, Rachel said, trying to get the kids corralled in front of the woman with the whistle. She nudged the woman, discreetly holding up the sheriff’s department-issued badge, introducing herself. Ma’am, there’s been a murder. I need you to get all of these kids back in their cars and home.

The woman’s round face paled. Beads of sweat caused the glasses to slide down the slender nose holding the large, heavy, black frames in place.

Whaaaat?

Listen, I need you to send everyone home. Why are they here anyway? Rachel looked at the parade of parents dropping off kids.

Murder?

Rachel noted the shock in the woman’s eyes. Ma’am, get a hold of yourself. Why are these kids here?

Summer day camp.

Well, camp is over for today.

But, but some of these parents work and... The woman brushed the sweat from her forehead."

I’m sorry, but this is an active crime scene. What’s your name?

Janice Brewer.

Miss Brewer, I’ll need you to send everyone home except for anyone else who is here with you. Please be discreet. Just tell them there’s been an emergency at the school and camp is closed.

The woman’s eyes glazed over. The color still hadn’t returned to her face. Rachel worried Miss Brewer might collapse.

Kids, get back in your parents' cars, Janice managed. The kids moaned. "Now, go on. There’s been an emergency at the school."

The ridiculous line of traffic on the road and oval drive to enter and exit the school’s parking lot had parents stalled. At least kids were able to wave down their mom or dad. Rachel straightened her spine and observed the area, making sure some stranger carving the eyes from unsuspecting people wasn’t lurking, or worse, a child predator. That’s the last thing anyone needed.

Just then, a man wearing a polo shirt, khakis, and canvas tennis shoes strolled up next to them. His brown mop of hair curled in the rising sun’s heat. What’s going on here? Who are you?

Rachel raised the badge, proud to have it and the gun back since the last major case, when during the investigation, she was identified as being at the crime scene of a cold case, dating back to her high school years. Homicide Detective Rachel Hood.

Homicide?

For chrissakes, did all of these educators, or whoever they were, speak in one-word sentences? Yes, and you are?

Mister Wolfe, one of the summer camp teachers. What’s going on?

The young teacher didn’t look a day or two beyond graduation. A determined expression suggested Mister Wolfe was here to help and prove his worth.

First name? Rachel asked.

Dana.

"Well, Mister Wolfe," she said.

The man rolled his eyes. That’s a habit. You can call me Dana.

Okay, Dana, there’s been a murder in the field beyond the playground. Please help Miss Brewer send these parents and kids home.

Fine, fine, Wolfe said, raising a bullhorn that seemed to have appeared from nowhere. There’s been a...a problem.

Rachel lowered the bullhorn from the man’s flawless face, noticing the worry in his green eyes. Tell them to please go home. There’s been an emergency. They can return tomorrow.

Dana nodded and made the first quivering announcement. She smiled as a way of encouragement. Poor guy. For all she knew, this was his first day.

The last thing these kids or parents needed to see was the medical examiner’s office carrying a body bag across the playground. Jimmy’s police car was parked at the curb and wouldn’t cause any alarm bells in the parents’ minds. Glancing over a shoulder, the CSI vehicle parked behind it might arouse suspicion. Not to mention deputy Jimmy Raines sprinting toward her in the department-issued uniform she swore he had tailored to sculpt the deputy’s fit physique.

Deputy Raines, she said with caution, an eyebrow arched so he wouldn’t blurt out something in front of the two teachers. The uneasy expression and hesitation in Raines’s eyes knocked Rachel off kilter for a second. Stealing herself for the worst, she said, Miss Brewer, why don’t you go and start telling the parents waiting to drop off their kids that day camp’s been canceled, and Mister Wolfe, you can make more announcements just like we talked about.

She motioned for them to move along.

The woman nodded and dashed off in the ballet flats, nearly tripping on the long patterned skirt swishing around her ankles. Wolfe started down the sidewalk, bullhorn raised, announcing summer day camp was closed for the day due to an emergency.

Jimmy leaned closer, and in a low voice said, I found another body, without eyes.

Chapter 2

Process the Crime Scene

Snug Harbor, Ohio

We need more deputies. I’m calling Captain Thane. She reached for the cell and started walking, then stopped, noting that Raines hadn’t moved from the spot.

Already did that, Jimmy said.

Just then, the medical examiner pulled up behind the CSI van and Doctor Thomas Klinger exited. Rachel breathed a sigh of relief. Where were the other deputies? They needed help. It was like God had heard the plea. Deputy Janet Brisley jogged toward them. The curvy deputy approached in an intentionally loose-fitting uniform. Her tanned face glistened despite having clipped up her sandy hair and bangs swept to the side. Rachel’s ponytail did little to stop the building sweat under the rising heat and humidity. Welcome to June in Snug Harbor, Ohio, she thought, as each of them brushed perspiration from their foreheads.

I was in the area. Greene and Joslin are down at the marina trying to wrap things up, but it could be a while, Janet said. A hint of concern resonated in her hazel eyes. Where do you need me?

Rachel wanted to ask what was happening at the boat docks but had two dead bodies with missing eyes to deal with; aside from thinking Greene and Joslin were probably dealing with eager boaters arguing again, everyone trying to get out on the water at the same time.

If you could chat with Miss Brewer and Mister Wolfe, that’d be great. Find out if anything suspicious has been going on around here. You know the drill, Rachel said, noticing the parking lot was finally clearing out. I had no idea the school was hosting summer day camp. I asked them to send everyone home. Neither has been questioned, and I don’t know if there are any other employees in the school.

On it, Janet said, lightly touching Rachel’s arm before heading off toward the teachers.

What was...? Brisley was already jogging down the sidewalk before Rachel could finish the sentence. What was that all about? She shrugged it off, staring at Jimmy with questioning eyes. Well, are you going to take me to the body or what?

Jimmy paused. You need to call Amy first.

She looked down at the cell. There weren’t any missed calls from her sister. Why?

There was that familiar look of hesitation in the deputy’s eyes she’d seen before when he was weighing whether or not he’d done the right thing.

Never mind. I can talk and walk at the same time. Let’s go.

She reached for the cell but left it in her pocket, recognizing the car squealing to a stop at the corner in the fire lane and the man rushing toward her. FBI agent Nick Draven appeared distraught, no, frantic. What the hell was going on? Her fiancé looked rough around the edges. The long black hair curling at the nape of Nick’s neck, and a five o’clock shadow, although sexy, made him appear slightly criminal. Concerned blue eyes met hers.

What’s going on? she demanded.

Thane called me. Someone went on a killing spree last night. Remember last week when Greene and Joslin were called about the body in the parking lot in the upper bluffs?

Yea, drug overdose, she said. Walk with us and talk. Nick turned to acknowledge Jimmy with a head nod. Raines responded in kind. Has there been another murder?

That’s why I’m here, Nick said, wiping the back of his neck.

The man had to be hot wearing black slacks and a long sleeve white dress shirt. What Rachel referred to as his typical FBI agent uniform. She paused near the edge of the playground.

Greene and Joslin were called out just around sunrise. This time, the body was found in a boat at the marina. They’re trying to locate the owner. You know, everyone’s trying to get out on the water early. Several boaters noticed a slack body hanging out of the boat, but only one person dialed nine-one-one. Guess everyone else just thought the guy was passed out.

He was murdered? she asked.

Nick nodded. Strangled to death, and he’s missing both of his eyes.

You’re kidding. Nick’s head shook. How the hell doesn’t anyone notice a corpse with missing eyes?

There was a t-shirt draped over the man’s face. At a distance, people probably thought he was shielding his face from the sun.

No one noticed any blood? She exhaled a heavy, disgusting sigh. Have they been able to ID him?

No. All we know is the boat he’s on is the Saint Sebastian—owner is Johnny Ruggiero.

What? Rachel smacked Nick’s arm with the back of her hand. He owns a bunch of sports bars throughout the state. Touchdowns. Everyone just calls them TDs. The guy is a big memorabilia collector. Each bar features different collections.

Interesting. They’re tracking down Ruggiero now.

That’s just crazy. He’s a businessman with bucks. I wonder how the dead guy ended up on Johnny’s boat?

Maybe Johnny’s bucks were running out. The boat he has isn’t cheap. Bars, booze, and drugs often go hand in hand.

Money motivates people to do strange things, Rachel said, shaking her head. So we’ve got a Jane Doe and two John Does, all missing their eyes. You also mentioned the girl Greene and Joslin found dead in the parking lot last week. She had her eyes, so what does a drug overdose have to do with... Rachel’s voice trailed as the pieces of the overdose and today’s murders fell into place. Thane thinks there might be a connection between the woman in the parking lot, the guy on the boat, and our girl here in the field, who has signs of drug use because they all might’ve used drugs from the same dealer. Nadia found older track marks on one of her arms and a newer one on her neck. And look at what I found. Rachel held up her phone and showed Nick the picture of the baggie with the theatre faces.

Could be our connection, he said.

She shrugged. Why, if the woman hadn’t used in a while, would she have shot up in a neck vein? Quicker high? Was there such a thing?

We’re not sure if the girl in the field is an overdose. Nadia thinks she’s been strangled. She glanced at Raines. Are we looking at similar trauma with the other body you discovered?

Raines nodded. Missing his eyes and there are signs of strangulation. We’ll have to confirm with Brian. Cell reception beyond the field is spotty. That’s why I came out to get you. That and to tell you Amy called, but I could only hear every other word, Raines said.

I’ll call her later. I’m sure it’s something to do with the wedding, she said, then turned to Nick. What we know is that our three deceased have signs of strangulation, are missing their eyes, and drugs are involved. Could our killer be removing the eyes to hide signs of petechiae?

Now it was Nick’s turn to shrug. The guy on the boat was big. Until the autopsy confirms, I’ll go with what appears to be a simple overdose.

Not so simple if the guy’s missing his eyes.

Agreed. We’ll need the autopsies on all of them to know for sure, Nick said.

Right. Hey, you know we have a taste testing with Amy and dad tonight? Rachel said.

I’ll be there too, Raines chimed in.

Nick smiled. How could I forget? The sooner I can make you my wife, the better.

They’d reached the far end of the playground and entered the field. Nick paused to look at the first crime scene. Rachel glanced over a shoulder, once more imagining kids having fun at recess, and said, What kind of monster murders two people at a school?

"That’s what we’re going to