The Metronome Man: Not My First Rodeo

By Chris Bliersbach

Molly escaped the Metronome Man's clutches. But he outfoxed the FBI. She thought she was safe, but he wasn't done with her. Not by a long shot.
Molly did the impossible – she survived the abduction of the Metronome Man. Then relocated with her wife to a safe place. A place where she could recover from the trauma and reclaim her life.
But the Metronome Man was resourceful. Despite the FBI and the walls of justice closing in on him, he managed to escape. Once again, taking on a new identity and finding a safe haven from which to plot his next steps. A sanctuary where the clip-clop of horse hooves calmed the savage beast within him. But he needed Molly. And he mistook her resistance and efforts to elude him as a game. A game he intended to win.
Would Molly be able to continue to evade him? Could the FBI redeem themselves and finally capture this murderous monster? Or would he get the girl and ride off into the sunset, allowing his reign of terror to continue?
The Metronome Man: Not My First Rodeo is the third book in the Metronome Man serial killer thriller series.
Buy your copy now before the rodeo comes to your door!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Chris Bliersbach
• Release date: Aug 15, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215286937

Chris Bliersbach

Chris Bliersbach is originally from Minnesota but now thaws out in Nevada. In 2019, after 38 years in healthcare, he pursued his dream of becoming a writer. He has since published 17 books, primarily in four thriller series.The Table for Four series is a medical thriller about a blockbuster cure for Alzheimer's that has ominous and unforeseen consequences. Books in this series include Table for Four, Dying to Recall, and Memory's Hope. A portion of the profits from this series are donated to the Alzheimer's Foundation of America.The Aja Minor series is a psychic crime thriller about a teenager who discovers she has unique powers, earning her an invitation to join the FBI. Books in this series include Aja Minor: Gifted or Cursed, Aja Minor: Fountain of Youth, Aja Minor: Predatorville, Aja Minor: Spider's Web, and Aja Minor: Shanghaied. The sixth book in this series, Aja Minor: Island of Lost Souls, is scheduled for publication in January 2024. A portion of the profits from this series are donated to the National Center for Missing and Exploited Children.The Slaughter Minnesota Horror series is an occult thriller about a vengeful old lady terrorizing a Northern Minnesota town. Books in this series include Old Lady Ketchel's Revenge, Hagatha Ketchel Unhinged, and Hagatha's Century of Terror.The Metronome Man series is a serial killer thriller about a man whose abusive and neglectful upbringing breeds an unhealthy obsession and murderous rage. Books in this series include The Metronome Man: Bad Timing, The Metronome Man: Dead on Arrival, and The Metronome Man: Not My First Rodeo.He has also published a standalone inspirational romance novel Loving You From My Grave, and two poetry books, Little Bird on My Balcony and Adilynn's Lullaby.

Book preview

Agent Brooklyn Breckenridge groaned and rolled over in bed as her phone rang. It was too early to open her eyes, so she reached out her arm, searching aimlessly for it. Only to knock it off the nightstand to the floor of her Capital Hill apartment in Seattle. Oh, well, it wasn’t meant to be answered, she thought as the ringing subsided. She rolled back over, hoping to drift back to sleep. Only to have the phone ring again moments later.

This better be important, she muttered as she retrieved her phone and noticed Vancouver PD on the display screen.

This is Breckenridge, she answered.

Agent Breckenridge, this is Assistant Police Chief Starky. You may recall we had occasion to chat a few months ago.

She flipped through her memory bank and suddenly recalled their interaction with some embarrassment. She had referred to him as Assistant Mularky and had obtained a police report from him under false pretenses. She knew she should probably take this opportunity to apologize to him, but that wasn’t her style. So she went with what she knew best.

I’m sorry, Assistant Mularky, I don’t recall. I talk to so many cops that they all tend to run together in my head. So what’s so important that you call me at the crack of dawn?

That’s Starky, and the sun’s been up for almost two hours, he growled, And we have a murder victim that fits the M.O. of the Metronome Man.

That got her attention. It had been nearly a month since she had been called back to Seattle against her will and better judgment by her boss, Special Agent Keenan Torkelsen. She was still stinging from failing to find Jurgen Boogaard, the serial killer who abducted Molly McFadden. Molly fortuitously escaped his clutches, but Boogaard somehow evaded her and the Oregon FBI and State Police. So finally, after weeks of an intense manhunt and no sign of him or new murder cases, they called off the search. Subscribing to the theory that Boogaard had likely met his demise by bear or cougar in the Ochoco National Forest. A view that Brook never bought and argued strenuously but unsuccessfully against. So Assistant Starky’s call might be the I-told-you-so evidence she needed to get back to work.

I’m listening, Sparky. Tell me more, she commanded.

After Starky let out a frustrated sigh, he began.

The deceased is 74-year-old Edith Begleiter, found strangled in her apartment around Christmas time.

Christmas time? That was six weeks ago! What took you so long to call me?

Well, the investigation and autopsy results took a while, it being the holidays and all. And frankly, we didn’t think it fit the Metronome Man’s M.O. at first.

Brook bit her tongue even though she wanted to lay into him about how justice never took a holiday.

So what made you change your mind and call me now? she asked.

Well, besides being choked to death, we learned that Edith Begleiter lived in the apartment Molly McFadden used to occupy. We think he may have returned there and, not finding her, murdered Miss Begleiter in anger. There was no sign of forced entry and no sign of burglary.

What about prints or witnesses.

No prints, but one witness said she saw a tall man in a cowboy hat crying and getting into a pick-up truck in the parking lot near the apartment.

Boogaard doesn’t drive. And as far as I know, he never wore a cowboy hat.

Well, take it or leave it, Breckenridge. Your boss asked us to report any suspicious deaths to you that may be related to the Metronome Man. Her body is still at the morgue, and I’ve instructed Officer Davis to provide you a copy of the police report if you want it, he said. Ending the call without waiting for a response.

Breckenridge looked at her phone, somewhat shocked. Wow, Starky hung up on me. He may actually have some balls after all, she chuckled, climbing naked out of bed and padding off to the bathroom.

An hour later, she slid into her pearl white Lexus RC-350 with Chai Latte with Oat Milk in hand from the Presto Espresso Café across the street from her apartment. Once on I-5 South, she activated the car’s voice-command feature.

Call Special Agent Torkelsen, Breckenridge said, then sipped her drink.

Calling Special Agent Torkelsen, repeated the automated female voice.

You’re up early, Torkelsen answered. Turning over a new leaf?

Hardly, she replied. I got a call from the Vancouver PD. They think Boogaard may have killed an old lady who lived in the apartment Molly McFadden used to live in. So I’m headed down there now.

Oh, thanks for telling me. Whatever happened to getting my approval first? How do you know I don’t have something more important for you to address?

First, you have nothing more important for me to do. And secondly, you and all your buddies in Oregon were wrong about Boogaard being gobbled up by a bear. So your penalty is that I don’t need your permission on this.

Has anyone ever told you that you have a very skewed perception of how things work in the FBI? Let alone how the world works in general?

All the time. But it only seems skewed because the FBI and the world are so fucked up, she countered. Things would be different if I were in charge.

Oh, I have no doubt. Thank God the chances of that are infinitesimally small. Have a safe trip, and for chrissake, try not to color too far outside the lines. Alright?

What lines? she laughed, ending the call.

God help me, Special Agent Torkelsen said to himself back at his office.

Three hours later, Brook pulled into the Vancouver Police Department parking lot. Sashaying up the walkway like a runway model, she met Assistant Police Chief Starky, accompanied by another officer exiting the building.

Well, if it isn’t Agent Wreckingbridge, Assistant Starky exclaimed.

Oh, I see what you did there. Cute! Did you come up with that all by yourself, Starsky? Or did your partner Hutch here help you?

Came up with it myself, actually. Oh, let me introduce you to Police Chief Hal Richards. Didn’t you two talk over the phone about obtaining the Molly McFadden police report a while back? Oh no, that’s right. You made that up. What am I thinking? Starky remarked.

Brook didn’t wilt or back down easily, but being face-to-face with Police Chief Richards slowed her roll. Temporarily rendering her speechless.

Hello, Agent Breckenridge, Chief Richards greeted. Listen, I’m not going to bust your chops. I know you learned in your last go-round here how we coordinate our efforts with the Portland FBI, Portland Police, and Oregon State Police. We’re proud of our cross-State teamwork. And it seems to work. So, if you intend to resume your efforts to find the Metronome Man, please work with us. Here’s how to contact me, he said, pulling a card from his pocket and handing it to her. Feel free to call me anytime, 24/7.

Thank you, sir. I’ll do that, Brook replied, taking the card.

Officer Davis has a copy of the police report and crime scene investigation findings inside, the Chief added. Now, if you’ll excuse us, we’re expected at a meeting crosstown. Nice to finally meet you, Agent Breckenridge.

Nice to meet you, Chief Richards, Brook heard herself reply, unaccustomed to offering such a milquetoast response.

Whatever voodoo the Chief had worked on her lingered as she walked into the building.

Good afternoon, Officer Davis. So good to see you again, she said brightly.

Officer Davis’s face registered her surprise as she couldn’t detect a hint of sarcasm in Breckenridge’s greeting.

Good afternoon, Agent Breckenridge, she replied. Not yet sure that she could admit to happiness at seeing the smartass agent who had previously run roughshod over her.

I just ran into Chief Richards. He told me you have some information for me.

Officer Davis didn’t immediately respond and continued to stare at her, trying to digest this kinder and gentler version.

Is there a problem? Do you want me to show my identification? I know you’re a stickler for that, she said, reaching into the inside breast pocket of her suit jacket.

No, no, I don’t need to see your identification, Officer Davis said, finally snapping out of her trance. I guess I was just a little thrown by how nice you’re being.

Yeah, I know. It’s not like me. So you better give me what you have for me before I transform back into the bitch I usually am, she said with a smile.

I have it right here, Officer Davis replied, grabbing a manila envelope on top of a stack of documents on her desk. Here you go, Agent Breckenridge.

Thanks. But you can call me Brook from now on. Seeing that I’m being all nice and stuff.

Officer Davis looked at her skeptically.

No, I mean it. Really! Breckenridge exclaimed. I like you. And if this report contains what I think it does, we’ll probably see more of each other. So we might as well be on a first-name basis.

Okay, Brook. In that case, you can call me Elly.

Thanks! I’ll do that, Elly. That’s a unique name. Is it a family name?

I wish! Officer Davis sighed. No, nothing like that, she added, pausing. I don’t know if I should tell you.

Oh, now you HAVE to tell me, Elly. You can’t leave me hanging. You can trust me. I’ll even tell you how I got my name, Breckenridge promised.

Well, okay. My parents were huge fans of a show in the 1960s called The Beverly Hillbillies. And one of the characters on that show was Elly May. So when my mother was pregnant and learned she was having a girl, my Dad jokingly suggested they name me Elly May. Well, they never could come up with another name they liked better, so it stuck.

Wow! So your name is Elly May Davis?

Yep, the one and only, she replied with a strained smile.

Can’t say I’m familiar with the show. Was Elly May at least a character you’d want to be named after?

Officer Davis laughed.

I guess that would depend on your perspective in life. She was a naïve buxom beauty with the soul of a tomboy who loved animals and couldn’t cook. So at least the tomboy who loves animals fits me.

Brook chuckled and then shared how she was named after Brooklyn Park, where she was born and raised. And somehow, in the time it took to share the origins of their names, a sort of kinship developed between them. Two women who, by all appearances, couldn’t be more different. The short frumpy, somewhat insecure tomboy who followed protocol to a T and the statuesque beauty brimming with confidence who colored outside the lines.

Brook walked out of the Vancouver Police Department, mystified at how conciliatory she acted and how complaisant she felt. It almost made her feel like she was losing her edge. But she didn’t have time to perseverate over it. So instead, she ripped open the envelope when she was back in her car and reviewed the police report and crime scene findings. It had all the earmarks of the Metronome Man with two exceptions – the cowboy hat and driving a truck. But in the end, she couldn’t dismiss the possibility it was him just on those factors. Wearing a hat as a disguise wasn’t uncommon. And while learning to drive and gaining access to a vehicle was more complex, it wasn’t out of the realm of possibility.

Chapter 2

As Agent Breckenridge was having her parking lot revelation, Jurgen Boogaard, formerly Dag Olaf Aaberg and now Austin Ryder, was 250 miles away. Safely ensconced as a live-in ranch hand at Lilah’s Rocking Horse Ranch near Ukiah, Oregon. The ranch owners, Cooper and Lilah Fenstermeier, were one week into their two-week Hawaiian vacation – their first break in years. Having entrusted Austin to look after the ranch and the horses in their absence. By all accounts, Austin had proven himself worthy of their trust.

The remote ranch at the edge of the Umatilla National Forest offered Austin a perfect hiding spot. But what kept him there more than anything was his affinity for the horses and their effect on him. They moved with a style and grace that put him at ease. And the clip-clopping of their hooves as they walked was reminiscent of the soothing rhythm of his beloved metronome. Which was collecting dust on a shelf in the storage room at Zippy’s Beverages, where he used to live. Or, more likely, taking up space in an evidence box as part of the Portland Police’s investigation of him as a suspect in the murder of the meth head who had tried to extort money from him at the Redemption Center.

And while he had the place to himself and found some solace in caring for the horses, deep down, he still felt tortured. His effort to find Molly at her apartment and convince her to join him at the ranch had failed. That he had to kill the old woman wasn’t what haunted his conscience. She was just another thing standing in the way of his dream – living happily ever after with Molly on the ranch. He could disregard ending the old lady’s life just as easily as he had dismissed that Molly had purposely crashed an SUV to escape being with him. Writing it off as Molly playing hard to get. Making her only that much more desirable. And now, she had amped up his yearning for her even more by moving. To him, it was like a game of cat and mouse.

Molly had moved away from him in the past, and he had found her. And he was confident that he would do so again. As he saw it, he had two options. The easier of the two options would be to go to where she worked. She shared that she was the Executive Assistant at a place downtown called DDT Law. So he’d just find where the office was located and stake it out. Alternatively, he could pose as a delivery man trying to deliver a package to her old address and ask the leasing agent for Molly’s new home address. But returning to the scene of his most recent crime would be dicey.

The real problem in exercising either of these options was that he couldn’t leave the horses and ranch unattended for long, and the drive took 4 hours one way. And driving wasn’t without risks. While his skills had improved, driving in traffic was very different than navigating on the ranch. Traffic and the variable speeds made him anxious. An uneasiness that could quickly boil over to road rage and the temptation to use Coop’s truck as a battering ram. And even if he managed to stave off committing vehicular violence, just being pulled over for a minor driving violation would be disastrous. He was a marked man. And even if the cop didn’t immediately recognize him, he had no identification. He had buried the driver’s license of his former alias in the woods when he was on the run and before Coop had picked him up. He was Austin Ryder in name only, with nothing to back it up.

To make matters worse, he’d have less flexibility regarding time away from the ranch when Lilah and Coop were back. Not only did he only have Mondays off, but the opportunities to use Coop’s truck for an entire day were limited. Then there was the matter of how Coop and Lilah might feel about his inviting Molly to live with him on the ranch. What if they objected? And that question helped provide all the answers he needed. Suddenly it became clear what he had to do. And he could go about his ranch hand duties again, knowing that soon he would have a clear path to realizing his dream – their dream.

Chapter 3

Molly rolled over in bed and planted a kiss on Trish’s cheek. Trish stirred from sleep, stretched, and groaned as if waking up was painful.

Please tell me it’s not time to get up, she muttered without opening her eyes.

Okay, I won’t. We’ll just stay in bed and lose our jobs. And in two months, the bank will foreclose on the house when we can’t pay the mortgage, Molly replied as she threw back the covers and swung her legs out of bed.

Oh, stop! You’re getting me all hot and bothered with all that fiscal responsibility talk, Marsha crooned as she reluctantly got out of bed to follow Molly to the bathroom.

They had purchased a small, remodeled 1930s 2-bedroom cottage-style bungalow in the Evergreen Terrace neighborhood of Camas, Washington – 15 miles from where they used to live. Not only was it closer to Cascade Memorial Medical Center, where Trish and Molly worked, but more importantly, it provided Molly some peace of mind. Freeing her from some of the demons that haunted her in their apartment.

Molly had landed the Administrative Assistant to the Chief Operating Officer job at the hospital. And unlike her experience at DDT Law, her new boss was kind and supportive. The work was no less demanding, but she didn’t have to deal with the boorish behavior of three bosses and their disparate and inefficient work practices. That the pay was better and the benefits more generous didn’t hurt either. Particularly now that they had a hefty mortgage. Camas was a safe and friendly community, but home prices were anything but a bargain, even for their tiny house on a hill with a postage-stamp-sized yard.

Trish also got off the rotating ICU shifts merry-go-round, snagging one of the highly sought-after weekday day shift positions when it became available. Consequently, Trish and Molly’s relationship benefited. They could drive to work together and had more free time to spend with each other.

All of this served to help Molly recover from the trauma she had experienced. However, this didn’t mean that Molly’s life was worry-free. She still avoided being home alone and felt anxious on those few occasions when it couldn’t be avoided. And she still jumped out of her skin when the doorbell would ring, even though it was usually a delivery person or a couple of well-meaning Jehovah’s Witnesses.

Molly didn’t even drive her Toyota Camry anymore. It had been returned to her from the Bandit Springs Rest Area and now sat in their one-car garage collecting dust.

Why don’t you sell your car? Trish asked after they got partially soaked by rain getting into her car parked in the driveway. We really don’t need two cars now that we’re on the same schedule.

Yeah, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to get into that car again, Molly lamented. How much do you think we could get for it?

"I don’t know. Why don’t you search