The Alacati Locket

By Gary Kemske

In a small, idyllic Colorado town, a group of friends stumble across a set of clues which could prove the innocence of one or their own. As they set out to gather enough links to a murder which occurred over fifteen years ago, they run into brick wall after brick wall, including the cops, who really don't want to delve into a closed case so far in the past. In the midst of all the evidence gathering, the friends stumble across the thought that maybe a serial killer is on the loose in the community, but they just can't put it all together to get the police to listen. Meanwhile, a Mexican drug cartel badly wants something one of the friends has and will stop at nothing to get it. After the first attempts at getting the information fails, the cartel sends in a dangerous killer who quickly closes in on his prey, but not before a rival cartel tries to thwart the efforts so they can get to the prize first. As the suspicious deaths start turning up, the friends know to tread lightly so they won't be one of the next victims. As the way it is in life, some of the friends throw caution to the wind to put all their energy into finding out the truth, and while doing so, blindly expose themselves to the evil lurking down the street. And while they move furiously forward on their quest for justice, a tinge of romance between two of the friends starts to smolder with neither of them knowing what to do about it.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Gary Kemske
• Release date: Nov 24, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215974100

Book preview

Chapter 1

San Miguel de Allende, Guanajuato, Mexico

IT WAS CRYSTAL CLEAR to Paul this man was going to kill him. He tried to figure out how in the world it came down to this. He just met this man earlier today, and now the man was apologizing for preparing to take his life. Paul racked his brain, but couldn’t come up with any reason for being singled out by this stranger, this polite killer.

A wave of enormous fear washed over him and, for an instant, almost paralyzed him. Images of his beautiful daughters quickly popped into his head, pushing aside one tiny sliver of fear. Sadness, total despair even, poured into his heart as he thought about never being with them again. He tried so hard to remember his last words to each of them, but before he could bring those tender moments into focus, overwhelming terror overtook him again.

Why me? Paul desperately said these words over and over to himself even though he knew he would never get an answer. With fate being what it was, Paul simply knew he was not destined to be alive much longer, no matter the reason. Even so, he wasn’t about to simply lay down and die. He’s never been one to give up on anything...

Chapter 2

Earlier in the Evening

It was his fourth straight day of being exposed to the unforgiving tropical sun in the high desert hills surrounding a lively city in the middle of Mexico. But finally, he enjoyed a bit of a respite from the heat while he captured the scenic overlooks of the town at sunset. 

Tonight was the end of day four of his photo shoot, and also the end of his assignment. After capturing scenes from in and around town all day, he focused his camera on the setting sun bouncing off the different facades of the multi-period architecture, the trademark of the city’s charm. Reviewing the last few photos, he was delighted he had captured the synchronized movement of the evening shadows across the city. He marveled at the way the shadows seemed to dance as he flicked through the images. The shadows’ subtle movements reminded him of a simple, but intricate, choreographed ballet.

Beyond tonight’s unforgettable photographs in the making, Paul Bircham’s normally high spirits were even more buoyed by how well the shoot went these last few days. From his perch up on the gentle hills, several hundred feet up, he jubilantly watched the final, lingering streaks of sun wash across the buildings off in the distance.

He moved his tripod closer to the edge of a shallow rise. He prepared to take a few stunning shots of the town in total darkness, lit up only by the calming street lamps and the accent lighting of each of the varied buildings. These final shots would be the icing on the cake. He knew from experience; the unique artistry of these last few shots would make his client speechless. The money shots.

He situated the tripod to get the angle he wanted and gently adjusted the levelers. He fiddled with his bag and switched out his cameras. After putting a fully charged battery into the newly selected camera, he mounted it onto the tripod.

He looked around for a place to sit and found a nice flat rock just a few steps away to his left. He sat down, stretched out his legs and waited for the darkness to be at the perfect pitch. His final series of photos would show the town as a magical jewel jutting out of the blackness.

While he sat, he enjoyed the quiet peacefulness of the night, away from all the busy tourists and their sounds of revelry. He frequently worked solo, especially at night in the wilderness, and enjoyed the sweet sounds of solitude and the stillness of the dark. In his bliss he waited.

His work took him all over the world, in all different climates and conditions and he enjoyed the unexpected variety that came with being a stranger in a distant town. But as far as Paul was concerned, it really wasn’t work at all. It was his love. Long ago, he jumped into his photography career at age nineteen, and could never imagine doing anything else with his life. Capturing the essence of each assignment with his remarkable photos not only made him well known in certain publishing circles, but also made him feel like he had not worked a single day in his life.

Queued by the brilliance of the stars against the black sky, he rose to his feet and stretched. He realized how tired his muscles were from the intense hiking he did nonstop these last few days. He felt good though, and without giving his sore body much thought, he walked with a spring in his step over to his camera. He stood out by a large jagged boulder and looked through his viewer to confirm the time was right to shoot.

He took a good number of pictures before he noticed an almost fluorescent glare bouncing of the fields in the valley below. He quickly determined a different angle would give the mystical foreground a dramatic place in his next series of photos. He picked up his gear, moved around the large boulder and rebalanced his tripod.

Before he could resume his shoot, he was distracted by an unusual noise. Alone in the dark, he knew most sane individuals would be nowhere near here, so he shook it off and continued to frame his shots. After only a few more minutes, he heard the noise again and thought it sounded like twigs breaking under the weight of a person walking, or maybe an animal.

He stood still and quietly listened for the sound again. He didn’t hear anything. He didn’t think much of it, acknowledging his imagination was probably still a little revved up after what had happened earlier this month in the mountains near Los Angeles. After all, this was his first night shoot in the wilderness since that incident. It was a horrible incident that gave him nightmares just about every night since.

He dismissed his overactive imagination and got back to work. He put his eyes in line with the camera’s viewfinder and searched the horizon for the scene he wanted. He concentrated on what he saw and marked the desired angles. Again, his concentration was interrupted when he heard the same noise he heard moments ago. He froze. This time the noise seemed to be a whole lot closer. He became alarmed, took his hands off the camera and rapidly looked around in all directions. Noticing nothing in particular, he tentatively turned back to his camera.

Hello Paul.

Paul jumped. He dropped his hands off his camera and rapidly turned around toward the direction of the voice. He saw a dark figure, maybe twenty yards away, but there wasn’t enough light to make out any details. Hello? He said cautiously.

The figure walked slowly toward him. Yes, it’s me Paul. The dark figure stepped out of the shadows and was illuminated by gentle streaks of moonlight landing across his face.

Paul was relieved when he saw the familiar face. Oh hello. Didn’t think you’d be out here, especially at night, not on this trail anyway. The purple valley is on the other trail.

Well, I have some other business to take care of. He slowly stepped closer and Paul glanced down to see a large hunting knife cased in a leather sheath strapped to the man’s leg.

Business? Paul was confused.

The man walked closer, reached down, casually pulled his knife out and held it in his hand. Sorry Paul. You’re a nice man. This is not personal, just business.

What? Paul yelped. He was frozen in place.

Sorry Paul. The man said with perfectly good English. Only a very slight tinge of an accent hinted at his place of origin. He took another step closer.

Suddenly, as expected, a danger warning went off inside Paul’s mind. He knew he was in trouble and the only way out of it was to get away from this man as quickly as possible. He abruptly turned away and took off running through the brush. He tried to recall the terrain he just photographed and searched his memory for a way to elude the man hunting him, at least until he could get back on the trail and reach the city streets.

Chapter 3

Two Weeks Ago

San Gabriel Mountains, San Bernardino County, California

In the predawn hours , Paul made his way up the narrow trail until he found the markers he left earlier in the daylight. He checked his GPS and honed in on the direction of the destination he planned to reach well before sunrise. He stepped off the trail and into the scrub as he set out to reach the vantage point, giving him a chance to photograph the early morning colors of the beautiful expanse across Icehouse Canyon.

He liked having an assignment so close to home. Spending almost a week in the San Gabriels enabled him to keep his routine with his daughter Ellie. When his assignments kept him close to home, they made a habit of meeting for dinner one night during the week and brunch on the weekend. He had two daughters, Ellie and Violet, and they have always been the center of his universe. Violet, the younger of the two, moved away for school, and a subsequent internship at a research firm. Ellie's roots were solidly in Santa Clarita, the town where he raised his precious daughters.

Paul was thinking about his dinner tonight with Ellie as he marked his next turn with one of his usual lime green flags. He always double marked his treks. Initially he used pink markers when he scouted a remote location during the day, and then when he went back to take his photos at night, he marked his turns again with his green flags. He found over the years; the double markings gave him an extra layer of safety in the event his GPS failed.

As he attached the marker to a waist high tree, he smiled at the thought of his daughter’s penchant for Italian food at her favorite restaurant, Mama Vincente’s. It was nothing fancy, but for Ellie, it was more than a-okay. Give her a big plate of spaghetti and meatballs from Mama Vincente’s and she was in her glory. As small as she was, he was always perplexed with how she managed to ingest every last bit of her meal, every time they went there. He was looking forward to seeing her pull off another disappearing act with a big serving of pasta amid tons of their usual laughter, and listening to her talk all about the kids she adored in her classroom. Her kids. He smiled bigger as he thought about her.

Glowing from the peaceful thoughts of his daughter, he double checked his GPS and turned south. The readout indicated he needed to go a little more than a hundred yards to his next marking. He continued on, slowly and carefully through the moonlit brush.

Up ahead, he was surprised to see what looked like spotlights shining on a handful of figures in a clearing no more than a couple of hundred yards away on his right. It was highly unusual to see anyone out here this far off the trail at any time of day, but it was a little after 3:00 a.m. and seeing people out here was more than puzzling to Paul.

He turned off his light and stepped one careful step at a time without taking his eyes off of the scene in the distance. When he got within fifty yards, he stopped cold. He couldn’t believe the horror he stumbled upon. It was a horror that he’d never be able to unsee.

Paul crouched down behind a row of boulders and tried to gather his wits. He quickly realized there was nothing he could do for these people at this point. It was much too late to get help, but his photographer’s instincts took over. He pulled out his camera and peered over a natural V-shaped cutout in the rock. He zoomed in and took a couple dozen photos. He shot some short video clips and he even zoomed in on each person in the clearing and captured their faces.

His heart pounded and his hands shook but he was able to steady the camera by placing it on the rocks in front of him. After taking what he thought was enough images, he pulled his camera back and sat on the ground with his back against the rocks. He was sick to his stomach and he fought back the urge to vomit. He struggled with what to do next.

Hearing the awful sounds coming from the clearing made up his mind for him. He jammed his camera back into his bag, jumped up and ran away from the scene as fast as he could. Once he reached the trail he bent over, gave in to the urge and vomited while his body quaked. When he finally felt empty, he held his body up and wiped his face with back of his hand. He bent down again, put his hands on his knees and tried to catch his breath. His lungs burned with every inhale. He didn’t realize how fast and far he ran in such a short time. 

Every now and then, he had moments that tainted, or maybe could have derailed, his vocation. But nothing in his thirty-five-year career compared to the emotional horror storm he just encountered. He couldn’t stop his upper body from trembling until he returned home, took an extremely hot shower and ate a few bites of his breakfast. He tried to sleep in a little, but as soon as he would doze off, the visions of the early morning massacre came rushing back. The rest of his morning was filled with uncertainty and fear until it gave way to an unusual bout of anger.

His anger forced him to take action. He decided to put his images on a jump drive and take them to the police. As he sat in front of the two detectives, he barely sounded coherent, trying to explain what he saw. When he finally gave up talking, he handed over the jump drive and sat silently, watching the shocked faces of the detectives as they scrolled through his images.

Chapter 4

Earlier in the Day

San Miguel de Allende, Guanajuato, Mexico

Scrolling through today’s earlier shots, instead of actually seeing his photos, Paul’s mind kept showing him the gruesome images he took last week in the San Gabriels. He couldn’t shake the feelings or the flashbacks. He was beginning to think he needed to take a break from photography for a while and maybe even get some professional help. But he also thought this assignment would have given him some ability to move forward, and it did, to a degree, but he kept having bouts of uncontrollable terror.

One thing about his work, he always traveled by himself. And, traveling solo, it wasn’t unusual for him to become energized from the lively conversations he had with the townspeople or other visitors. Such rich encounters easily took his mind away from scary thoughts and warmed his heart with the meaningfulness of random human connections. But this afternoon, he sat alone at a small square table in the open-air courtyard of La Alegria, a small but lively cafe.

Taking a much-needed intermission between his early morning and early evening shoots, he steadied his plate and scraped off the last bits of the seasoned fideo, topped with a cheesy mixture of peppers, corn and tomatoes. With the bulk of his hiking over for the day, he ordered a Tecate and tried to concentrate again on his earlier photos.

Even now, as he sat in the quaint cafe on Tamarindo Street critiquing his photos, he realized he still wasn’t able to absorb the details of the last nine or ten he flipped through. Instead, the awful scene he witnessed in the early morning hours last week in California kept popping into his head. Even the drive home that morning was nothing but a hazy blur until the County of San Bernardino was way beyond the image in his rearview mirror. He never went back to finish his assignment, and likely would never have the desire to do so any time soon.

He shook his head to try to refocus on the photos he needed to review, but the haunting of that night was relentless. There was an overarching uneasiness, a feeling of no closure, and it sure didn’t seem like there ever would be closure. He was still puzzled by the detectives’ lack of traction, in what seemed to Paul to be a half-hearted attempt at an investigation. And, the last time he called to check, to see if they needed anything from him, he had to leave a voice message which was never returned.

Excuse me sir, is that a trail map? The stranger sitting the next table over pointed to the folded-up paper on the table under Paul’s backpack.

Paul was slightly startled out of his thoughts and looked up. He took in a rather large, muscular young man, and wondered how he didn’t notice him entering the courtyard or sitting next to him before. In his profession, Paul was a natural at noticing detail and developed an acute, constant awareness of his surroundings. Ah... yes, it is. Would you like to see it? Paul was always gentle and helpful, always polite.

Certainly, if you don’t mind. Thank you.

Sure, here. Paul handed him the map.

The man kept his eyes on Paul as he received the handoff. Question... sir. I see from your shoes; you must have hit El Mirador today. Red mud." He smiled a faint smile.

Paul looked down at his shoes. He shrugged his shoulders when he looked back up. Yeah, I did. So, you know the area?

Well, yes and no sir. I ventured out a little, been here only since yesterday. Carrying out some last wishes. He motioned to a small canister sitting on the table. I must not have gone far enough. I’m looking for a particular location, a scenic overlook, framed by a tall jacaranda with spread out trunks.

Paul got it right away. Ah, my condolences.

Thank you, sir.

Jacaranda. Isn’t that the tree with the very nice purple flowers?

Yes, it is sir! The man’s eyes lit up with optimism.

So... there’s several around, but I may have seen the one you mention. It’s somewhat unique. Paul turned his chair toward the man. Is the pasture down below it filled with purpling sage bushes, like a thick blanket?

Yes! She loved purple. Everything in her house, her clothes, accessories, even on her desk at work, purple everywhere. He smiled fondly.

Paul picked up his camera and scrolled back through his pictures. When he reached the one he was looking for, he handed the camera to the man. Here, this one. What you’re looking for?

The man took the camera and looked at the photo. He stared at the large jacaranda with its trunks spreading out more than forty-five degrees in each direction, fully in bloom with large, tricolor purple flowers. The vision in the foreground looked almost like it was painted into the photo with vibrant purples that led right to the colorful architecture of the quaint town off in the distance. Yes, that is it! He exclaimed.

I can show you exactly where that is. Paul reached for the map, unfolded it several times, spread it out over the man’s table and studied the trails. Look, I think it’s right in this section. He pointed to an S curve in the trail. About ninety minutes or so from here, maybe for you less. You’re probably faster. Keep the map. I have an extra one.

Thank you, sir. Very kind of you. You sure?

Yeah, sure.

This, again, is very nice of you. And I thank you for your help. I don’t mind being here, but I need to stop wandering around aimlessly and accomplish my assignment so I can quickly get back to my work.

Sure, glad to help. What kind of work do you do?

I am in Human Resources. Was. Now I’m more of a contractor.

Paul studied the young man’s intimidating size and physique, his long wavy dark hair, unkempt beard and rough hands. He couldn’t help thinking how the man’s well-spoken words, an almost formal use of the English language, didn’t align at all with his physical appearance. Really? I would’ve guessed something more like NFL linebacker, or drummer for a heavy metal band, or maybe, probably, just someone who moves mountains, literally. Paul laughed.

Ah, yes. I get that a lot. I’m too gentle for any of that, despite what I may look like.

I get it. We all look like something, but it may not be what we do, who we are. In fact, talking to you, you seem very well educated. Where did you go?

The young man’s eyes sparkled. I went to Uni for undergrad, here, then on to Colorado State University for my masters in Human Resources, and eventually attained U.S. citizenship.

Well, excellent, congratulations. Well done.

Thank you.

Paul sat, thinking for a moment. You know what though? I think most people would try to get out to the three crosses for... you know, that kind of ceremony. He motioned to the canister.

Ah, yes, Las Tres Cruces, yes, the three crosses, yes. You would think she would have picked that, but I suspect... not purple enough for her. He chuckled.

Paul laughed along with him. No, maybe not. They both got quiet.

The man cleared his throat and broke the silence. So, looks like you’re not done for today. Photographer, yes? He pointed his head toward the camera. You take wonderful pictures. What’s up for your next shoot?

Yes. Yes, I am. Thank you. Done a lot already. I’m contracted with a company that has the rights to publish all the travel materials for the city... San Miguel de Allende. Done early mornings, in and around town, done full sun all through town. But now, today, what’s left is dusk. So, mostly, once the shadows start to get longer in the center of town, I’ll capture the streets, the buildings, the people. Nice, beautiful colors when the sun throws shadows. Paul was excited to share some of the fun he’s had here. He picked up his camera and pointed to the back of it. And, I just did a tally... almost eleven hundred photos so far. Have to narrow it down to twenty-five. And, all that’s left for me is to shoot a couple more in town, then out and up a little way on the Charco Del Ingenio trail. I 'll shoot down from a distance and capture dusk enveloping the town, then the city lights when it gets dark.

Ah, well, sounds like you have a grand plan and also sounds like your siesta time is almost over. I better let you finish resting up, and besides, I have a purple tree to find. The man smiled and stood up.

When Paul saw the man stand up, he was even more impressed with how tall, broad and muscular he was. He even thought a guy like him would come in handy as a body guard in some of the shady places he sometimes went. Sure. Well good luck.

Thank you, sir. And you as well. He nodded, almost bowed, and backed out of the courtyard disappearing down the narrow street.

Chapter 5

As he sprinted away from the intimidating madman, the only two sounds Paul heard were the sounds of his trail shoes busting through the brush and the sound of the man behind him doing the same thing. The sound behind him was getting closer. He knew he needed to do something other than just try to outrun his attacker. Thinking quickly, he wound his way around a natural collection of large boulders and abruptly changed direction. He bolted away from the boulders and went as fast as he could, heading in the direction of the trail.

He pushed himself to the limit. He was fit, ran several miles almost every day, but he never ran like this. But then he wasn’t ever chased before by someone who wanted to kill him.

Through the dark, Paul could barely make out a break in the brush. He closed in on it. He felt his right calf muscle start to cramp and he cursed himself for having a beer at lunch instead of several bottles of water. His lungs felt like cinder blocks, but he willed the feeling away and pushed himself further. When he popped out onto the trail, he kicked his sprinting into a higher gear he never knew he had.

He knew the trail wound downward a short distance and would approach the trailhead soon. From there, he could scamper into town and engulf himself in the safety of the town’s people and the lively tourists. Safety in numbers.

But suddenly it all went very wrong. Paul didn’t see the slight dip in the trail and his left foot only caught air before his right leg could push off. He stumbled forward and rolled over toward the edge of the trail. He cursed quietly before he shouted out in frustration. He heard the approaching sound of footsteps closing in on him. He picked up a rock and crouched in the brush the best he could, but the moonlight gave away his hiding place.

When the man closed in on him, he never slowed down. Paul yelped in pain when the much bigger man drove his shoulder right in to him and took him down in the brush several yards off the trail. He tried to get to his feet, but before he could get his footing, he felt a strong arm wrap around his throat and felt himself being dragged back to the trail by his neck.

The man threw him down onto the dirt path. Both men were breathing loudly. Paul frantically looked around for anything or anyone to help him get out of this dire predicament. It was no use. Obviously, no one was around to help and Paul had no weapons or tactics to escape his much stronger and much more skilled attacker.

As futile as it seemed, Paul wasn’t about to give in and make it easy for whatever this man had in mind. He was totally out of breath, but he noticed the other man was bent over, still trying to catch his breath too. Paul felt his fingers squeezing around the bulky rock he just remembered he had picked up a minute ago. An idea quickly came to him.

He thought his best option would be to try to stun the man and take off running again. Maybe not run all the way to town, but maybe he could hide off the trail somewhere. He wound up, jabbed a quick step forward and took a wild swing with the rock. To his surprise, he landed a solid blow to the side of the man’s head. The man fell backwards and landed on one knee. Paul dropped the rock and took off again.

He made a mad dash away from the trail into the thicker brush. He reached a tree line which gave him a shadowy cover, and from there, he spotted a way to criss-cross down and into the town. He began to feel like he had a chance. He ducked under the low branches without slowing down. When he reached the middle of the cluster of tall trees, he slid in behind them and pressed up against one with a wide trunk. His thoughts were scattered and all he could feel was his heart pounding out of his chest and his lungs desperately grabbing for air.

The night air was still and eerily quiet as Paul stood statue still behind the large tree. He finally began to catch his breath and hoped he’d have enough strength left to make it into town. He began to settle his mind down so he could think. Maybe there was a chance he lost the man chasing him, he thought, but he didn’t want to bank on it. His fight or flight response went back into high alert when he heard some leaves rustling. He held his breath and peered around the trees. He stared into the darkness the best he could.

He saw no movement and heard no more sounds. He took in a breath and returned to his spot pressing motionless up against the tree. He breathed in deeper again. He blinked his eyes and looked down the hillside and tried to calculate how much further to the edge of town. It didn’t seem like it was far at all. He was surprised at how much ground he covered in so little time. He decided to wait here another few minutes, regain his strength, and then sprint down the hill.

But his decision proved faulty when he suddenly felt a large arm wrap around his head and pull him further up against the tree. The attacker moved around in front of him and pinned him to the tree with one hand to his throat and a large hip compressing into his midsection. Paul had no way to escape.

The man reached his other hand down and pulled his knife out of its sheath. He lifted his hand up. Paul’s lungs pulled air in and pushed air out as fast as he could. He struggled against the attacker but he couldn’t budge him. It was no use. It was like a small dog struggling to get away from a gator after it was already in the its jaws, being pulled under the water.

Paul, again, I’m sorry. You’re a nice man. This is just business.

Paul tried to understand what business this was. Why was he on this end of the deal. Why was anyone on this end of a deal. What deal could this even be? Paul could only think that this man had him confused with someone else. But there was no longer an opportunity to clear up any misunderstanding when he suddenly felt the excruciating pain of the knife plunging deep into his stomach. He felt it come out and plunge back in several more times, over and over.

Paul lost count of how many times the knife went in and came out and was oddly thankful when the pain gave way to numbness. Eventually, the man stopped stabbing him and released him from his grip. Paul’s body trembled and slid down against the trunk of the tree until he was slumped over on the ground. He reached down to hold his stomach and could feel warm, slimy matter quickly covering the fronts and backs of his hands. 

Paul’s vision became cloudy. The only thing he was sure of was he was alone. Very alone. He couldn’t even ask his attacker for help, or an explanation, or even a chance to clear up such an apparent gross misunderstanding. His attacker was long gone and as Paul desperately looked around for the man, he suddenly realized the face he was looking around for was not just someone he met only hours earlier.

Paul was fading quickly as his memories came sharply into focus. His wounds no longer hurt but his heart was breaking. He would die here alone, never to see his girls again. All because of this seemingly random encounter with a stranger ended with him slumped down, dying in the dirt on a hillside in the center of Mexico. But clarity came quickly with Paul’s last vivid thoughts. The man he searched for through his fading kaleidoscopic vision, the man who did this to him, was the same man, front and center, in the photos and videos Paul took on his last assignment.

It made sense to Paul. After all, he captured on film, this same man doing God-awful things to a poor family in the California mountains a week or so ago, and now the same fate landed at his feet. The police didn’t do much with the information he gave them, but those barbarians that committed the atrocities he recorded sure had an easy time tracking him down and making sure he never talked about again.

He felt hopeless, frustrated even, that this man and his compadres would never pay for what they did to that poor family, or to him. But the frustration gave way to calm as Paul felt his earthly life leaving his body. He knew for sure a day of reckoning