Alex's Playroom The Toy Box Killer

By Tamikio L. Dooley

"A new murder case develops in Atlantic City. After the death of his daughter and one law enforcement partner, detective James Walker encounters bizarre killings. Authorities discover a young woman butchered on the beach.

James called Seattle, Washington detectives, Kate Prescott, and Charlie Bond to help uncover a killer by the name of Al

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ukiyoto Publishing
• Release date: Jan 12, 2023
• ISBN: 9789360495442

Book preview

Introduction

A

new murder case develops in Atlantic City. After the death of his daughter and one law enforcement partner, detective James Walker encounters bizarre killings. Authorities discover a young woman butchered on the beach.

James called Seattle, Washington detectives, Kate Prescott, and Charlie Bond to help uncover a killer by the name of Alex, the monster known as, The Toy Box Killer.

Alex created a playroom filled with special toys. He is obsessed with showing off his precious playroom. Alex owns an antique toy shop selling ancient toys and extraordinary, collectible items. Possessing a personal capacity in the shop’ s third floor where he makes dolls, mannequins puppets, and alternative life size toys, something lies peculiar about Alex’s work.

Join James Walker and Kate Prescott as they race against time taking down another madman haunting the lives of Atlantic City in Tamikio L. Dooley’s, Alex’s Playroom the Toy Box Killer James Walker Chronicle Two.

Prologue

The Horrible Nightmare

J

ames Walker’s dream shifted into a horrible nightmare.

A woman screamed.

Choking on her cries, James listened to the woman’s blood strangling her. And he heard a man’s voice telling her to shut up! The man wasn’t listening. He wasn’t hearing it. He had broken into her house, climbed through the bedroom window, found her taking a bubble bath in the bathtub.

She never noticed him in the house until…

Chapter 1

Atlantic City, NJ, Kate Prescott and Charlie Bond

January 29, 1990

J

ames Walker woke up the next morning. The horrible nightmare had shifted to a woman’s frantic cries before she choked on her blood.

His face bathed in perspiration. Sour juices matted his hair. James sucked inhaled. His gaze wandered toward the bedroom window. Accumulating snowflakes fell over the ledge. An inch of snow collapsed on the lawns in the neighborhood. Parked cars and trucks sprinkled with frost.

The alarm on his nightstand read 9:05. James tossed the heavy quilt aside. He flung his feet on the side of the bed. Slithering in a pair sock he left next to the bed, James clutched his bathrobe. Temperatures plummeted leaving the house bitter. Alvin left for college a year earlier there in Atlanta, so he wasn’t there interfering with the thermostat. Three months later, Alvin called James informing him he had moved to Detroit, Michigan and registered for classes at Wayne State University. To confirm the news, James called the school’s registration department. His grandson indeed had transferred to Michigan.

Alvin lost his mother to unfortunate circumstances. He never knew his father. James considered the guy a deadbeat. After the ordeal, he took his grandson in and raised him. The boy had a good heart, but now nineteen-years-old, was the age most teens grew disrespectful to their elders.

James turned the thermostat to seventy-five. The atmosphere felt comfortable. He admitted living in the house alone brought music to his ears. Although James loved his grandson, he refused surrendering authority in a place he established for over thirty-years. He was thankful for peace and quiet, refrigerator full of food, and an independent space.

James showered thinking about all of that, dressed, then fixed a mug of hot coffee. He grabbed the morning press, planning for relaxation at the dining room table. James glanced toward the clock on the adjacent microwave. The time switched to 9:39.

The door bell buzzed.

James lowered the newspaper draining the last drop of coffee, then headed through the vestibule toward the front door. He tightened the belt around his bathrobe. Pulling the curtains aside, his eyes enlarged. James opened the door to detectives Kate Prescott, and Charlie Bond.

James! Kate shrieked.

Charlie closed the door behind him. James grasped Charlie’s hand, pulling him in a bear hug. Charlie stood well-fit, muscular built for earlier fifties. He was older than James and Kate by three years.

Good-looking old Charlie stood six-one, cocky, with a square face, salt and pepper goatee, beard, and mustache. His intense gray eyes crinkle when he smiled. To Kate, he was also a rational man, modest, friendly, spontaneous, and courageous. Charlie sported a long black cashmere coat, black leather gloves, with thick toe boots. When James invited them in the family room, Charlie removed his coat. He wore jeans, a gray and white striped sweater matching his eyes.

James offered Kate and Charlie cups of coffee. They accepted.

Kate Prescott, fifty-one-years-old, five- seven and kind of boyish built.  Her blonde hair cut in a boyish- bowl shape. She had a tight belly with slim hips, and small breast. She wore a black fitting, long-sleeve shirt, with black skinny jeans hugging her frame. Her leather boots cut short at the ankles.

James admitted Kate and Charlie looked good for their ages. While being close to the same age as Kate, he looked older, but wiser beyond his years. James transformed in poorer shape, aside from his muscular built, just a year ago. He had let himself go to traumatic experiences.

He came back to the family room with three steaming mugs. James fixed a second mug of coffee for himself. Placing the tray on the center table, Kate picked up a mug. Charlie grabbed his mug. James sat across from them on the other sofa with his mug. He took a long quaff of the creamy, sugary, brown liquid.

Kate grimaced. You still drink your coffee full of sugar and cream? she teased James.

Yeah and don’t you start! James warned Kate.

Let the man drink sugary and creamy coffee. Charlie told Kate.

She rolled her eyes at her partner. At least he doesn’t eat chunky peanut butter on a spoon three times a day. She told Charlie.

Why share your dirty secret. Charlie scrunched up his nose.

You know damn well that’s what you do. Kate took another sip of her coffee.

I understand you two still clowning around when you’re not shooting criminals? James asked.

We don’t shoot people. Kate insisted. Unless we have too, she frowned.

What’s going on with a new murder? Charlie asked.

James remembered the horrible dream he had the night before hearing a woman screaming, the man telling her to shut up. He swallowed the large lump in his throat.

You okay? Kate asked James.

He nodded. They called me to a crime scene at Gunnison Beach. You know the legal nude beach?

How could we forget, Charlie said.

"A jogger discovered a young woman sprawled on the beach. Arthur, crime scene investigation unit, the medical examiner, and expert analysis waited at the waterfront. Dave, Jessica, Bridget, the crime scene investigation unit, collected bloodstains and hair