There Is no Two Chapter View for the Collections

 Free Preview of

The Girl On The Grill

1 The End of the Day

   Mandy did not realize that she was about to die...) She saw herself as top star potential if she could get seen. she knew she would be a top echelon actress. She had fond memories of her mother who had died when she was twelve. Her mother had always let her know how good she was in school plays and had practiced many scenes from various plays with her.

Then her mother had been diagnosed with advanced breast cancer. She died a few months later. To this day Mandy thought of her daily and almost always shed a tear.

She and her father seemed to end up in a fight every time they sat too long in the same room.

   He wanted her to go to Harvard or some other Ivy league school, but she chose NYU because it was in a city where she wanted to be.

She would have preferred Berkley but got a rejection letter back when she had applied.

She had graduated from NYU and then taken a rather low-level job out in Los Angeles so that she could audition for parts in movies. She tried to break into Hollywood, but she never landed the roles that would have given her the exposure she needed.

She decided to take a break and moved back to Cincinnati when her father offered to buy her a home in Indian Hill. She figured she could see if she could do some acting there.

She accepted an offer to be a law clerk at one of her father’s old college friends. She found him pleasant, attractive, and comfortable to work around. She actually enjoyed working the cases that he secured.

   Then at a party that her father gave, she was introduced to a movie director. During the party she made a point of more or less throwing herself at him. It paid off. She got a lunch date with him and things took off.

   Instead of simplifying her life she also got involved with her boss. She bounced between two older men, both old enough to be her fathers.

It was not long before she realized that one affair was benign and the other was not with a movie director but with a local movie drug lord. He treated her with kid gloves but when she was around him, he treated her more like a prize catch, that he used to distract the people he was doing business with.

   The day she heard him discussing a huge shipment of drugs that he was to distribute throughout the east coast was the day she decided it was time to leave.

She excused her, went to the restroom, and decided to use the side door and leave. She was on foot and decided to go to a friend’s house that was just on the other side of the highway.

She was just closing the exit door when she heard Jerry calling her to get back in. She propped an old two by four under the door handle and began to run. She had to stop and take off her shoes so she could actually run.

   She was running toward the bridge and bumped into an old bum as she headed for the bridge. She knew she was going to make it and then she heard a car squealing around the corner.

   Damn, she thought and tried to speed up.

The last she remembered was getting hit by Bradley’s huge fist.

   The hot days of August reaching into the hundred-degree range made a roast beef and potato dinner in the air-conditioned church meeting room extra special to Johnny. His “home” in the woods next to the interstate was a piece of plastic put on the ground and folded over his sleeping bag. He was not looking forward to the hot night.

He was planning to stay and listen to the discussion on “How to improve your life” that was to be led by a church member who was a local case worker at juvenile hall. He would enjoy the coffee and cookies that he knew would be provided.

   This was also a special evening because he had been able to score two new long sleeve shirts. One was plaid and the other was black. He found a black pair of jeans that fit him and a black leather fedora hat. He would have a black outfit.

He though it appropriate; “a black outfit for a black man.” He knew the hat alone was worth at least fifty bucks. When he found a black pair of dress shoes, he knew that this was his night.

   He made a point of visiting several local churches that had outreach programs intended to help the homeless like him. There were only twelve homeless people in attendance. He recognized most of them but as was always the case there were a few new faces.

He could tell the new ones by the deer in the headlight kind of looks on their faces. They had hit the bottom of the social ladder, and they were scared. Johnnie thought that being scared was a good thing for them. He hoped it would get them to lean on friends and family for help and to change their situation.

   He thought about his own journey to the bottom. He was an aging, black, Vietnam Veteran. His many dreams had each been summarily executed by what he knew was his own shell-shocked state that had hit him after returning from Vietnam. It had been more recently been given the name PTSD. Additionally, the inherent social bias against Black people had contributed to the slide to the bottom.

   He remembered the elation of graduating high school and joining the Marine Corps to escape both his poverty and the harsh discrimination by the local white folks. He had distinguished himself in Vietnam where he earned a purple heart. Then after ten years he was informed that his PTSD made him unfit.

   He tried to get to stay in but was rejected. He was informed that the VA would give him help as needed.

   He came out ill-prepared to make his way in the civilian work force. He slowly sunk into the low end of the poverty ladder. He worked at a variety of odd jobs but never had a long term one He was proud of his honesty, his bravery, and his work ethic. He struggled with his inability to work back up the social ladder.

   He was not lazy. He was a good person who only had one good period in his life. This period had been when he served in Vietnam and then got duty as a pay clerk in a small Army pay center. Then after his yearly examination he had been told he was get a medical discharge.

   After getting out of the service , his life experiences were up and down. He never married or had children. He could not envision being unable to support a family. He could take life at the bottom, but he could not see letting anyone he truly loved share the bottom with him.

Johnnie came out of the rumination to the present time. He took advantage of the church’s bathroom where he cleaned up and changed into his new black outfit.

   He put his old clothes and his new black shoes into a black plastic bag that had been handed out to hold the clothes that was selected. He had only selected the black outfit and the extra shirt.

   The folks handing out the clothes wanted to give him enough to fill the bag, but he knew better. He would need to carry everything that he possessed. He did this in a green duffle bag that was currently waiting for him in the woods on the other side of the interstate. It was already full and whatever he selected would replace some item that he owned.

   Too soon the presentation was over, the coffee and cookies consumed and the invitation to leave was politely extended.

   Johnnie helped put the chairs and tables into a large holding closet. He picked up the three-foot dust mop and swept up the meeting area. Everything was cleaned and put away and it was time to leave. He had milked every moment in the air-conditioned meeting area that he could.

   He was given a bottle of water as he got to the door and thanked for having helped clean up the meeting area.  He politely thanked the smiling motherly looking lady and put his bag of goodies over his left shoulder and walked down the daisy edged sidewalk. It was clear to him that the flowers got watered daily. He smiled as he realized they had a better life than his.

   In no hurry, Johnnie stopped to open the bottle of water before walking slowly along the avenue toward the highway.

   The temperature was noticeably cooler. The humidity was high, and Johnnie knew his new black shirt was going to get sweat tested. He wished he had changed back into his old shirt and kept the shirt for another occasion.

   He was suddenly knocked to the side by a young woman who ran by him. Her outfit was not designed to be run in. Her black skirt was bunched up almost to her waist. Her nylon stockings were bunched down to her knees.

She was barefooted, carrying her black high heels and it looked like her feet were bleeding. Her black hair and the pink scarf she had around her neck was flying out behind her.

Johnnie had just gotten out a, “Hey, where are you going?” when a car came squealing around the corner and flew past him.

   He started to hurry forward toward the highway overpass.

The car passed the young woman and stopped. A huge person got out and literally slammed the young woman against the bridge wall.

   Johnnie had just yelled to the thug that he should leave her alone as in horror he watched the thug pick up the woman as if she were weightless and throw her over the barrier fence onto the highway below.

   Johnnie could hear the squealing of tires, a huge crash and then silence.

   The thug, doing the throwing, turned and pointed to Johnnie and yelled to his partner, “Get that son-of-a-bitch,”

   It was too late for the young woman. He had to worry about himself

   He wasted no time in throwing his bag and his new hat over the highway barrier fence. He was up and over it as the driver of the car backed up and illuminated him. The driver jumped out and came racing over in an attempt to stop him.  Johnnie grabbed his hat and his black bag as he ran downhill onto the highway.

   As he made the highway, he saw that a semi-truck had flipped and was blocking the highway. The driver had apparently tried to miss the young woman, but she was stuck to the grill of the truck just like a butterfly. Her arms were out as if she had tried to hug the radiator.

   Johnnie knew she was dead, and he was now the one that the two thugs wanted to get. He looked back to see one of them clumsily climbing over the fence.

  The truck had jackknifed as the driver tried to stop.

   Johnnie ran across in front of the truck and took in the body stuck on the big flat radiator grill of the truck. The blood was oozing onto the hot radiator and the smell of blood mixed with urine almost stopped Johnnie.  It brought back the memory of the bodies in the rice paddies of Vietnam after a fire bombing, but he shook it off and continued running across the highway.

     “Just like a butterfly. Poor kid. He wondered what she had done. For sure, he thought she had been in the wrong place at the wrong time.

   The truck was blocking the south bound traffic. Sirens could be heard as they came slowly down on the space between the fast speed lane and the retaining wall.

Johnnie ran past the truck and jumped the wall. He was in his element. He made it across the north bound lanes by dodging and running across the lanes as the cars whizzed past. He looked back and saw that the thug following him had stopped.

Now he only had to worry about the huge thug. The huge one would have gone across the overpass and was probably waiting for him to come off the highway.

Johnnie ran north along the embankment and the retaining wall. He had one spot in mind that from the wooded side was almost impossible to walk through. That was the case unless you were Johnnie, he mused. He was like the deer or the wild dogs who shared all the woods along the highway with him. He was even friends with a couple of the hounds.

The woods were quiet. Johnnie decided he would take a break from running. He pulled out the bottle of water and took a drink.

He kept a close eye on the highway and listened for any cars stopping on his side of the highway. “Those goons ain’t about to get ole Johnnie,” he thought to himself

He decided that it was a good time to get some sleep. His black bag with his old clothes and his new shoes made a good pillow. He changed into his old shirt and hung the new black one on some branches so it could dry and air out. He found a comfortable slope under some bushes and closed his eyes.

   The image of the girl on the grill of the truck kept him awake for quite some time. He wondered who she was or had been and why she was murdered.

   The next morning Johnnie rescued his green duffel bag and headed for the shelter. He was going there for a decent meal, a strong black cup of coffee and a change of clothes.

The early basic meal was just what he needed.  He again wondered what the young lady had done to get herself killed. He figured it had to be drugs.

   He decided it was time to get to the library and find out what was being reported in the news.  Once at the library he found a monitor that was tuned to the local news. He listened intently as the newscaster made the point that the young woman was from a wealthy family and worked for Green Housing Realty.

   The owner of the company was the main suspect. A lawyer named Samuel Ellington III made a public statement about the innocence of his client.

   Johnnie knew he would have to go public and let the police know they had the wrong guy.

He decided that maybe the lawyer would be a better choice. He would try that first.

Johnnie figured that the accused had gotten himself a top lawyer. He knew that his PTSD history would make him a terrible witness, but he had to set the record straight.

“Yea, Johnnie, you mush for brains, they will all think you’re touched. They’ll have a good laugh and tell ole Johnnie to go back under the bridge,” he continued his musing as he left the library.

   He had to do something, and he figured the lawyer would be a good start.

A few days later, as Johnnie walked down the street from the library, Mary Ellen, hot wife of Henry Rambler, the accused killer was telling Samuel Ellington III that her husband was incapable of killing anyone.  He was a successful businessman who had hired the young lady as a favor to a friend. He was not a killer but a good businessman.

   She thought to herself that she had picked Samuel to represent Henry for two reasons. She had seen him in the news, and he was always the winner. Second it had crossed her mind that he would be a great conquest. He was good looking, dressed very well and had a way about him that said, “let me into your bed and you will have a great time.”

The murder was a major setback in the divorce proceedings she had initiated. She was planning to take Henry to the cleaners. She had the explicit, damming pictures of Henry and his now dead young secretary. Her divorce lawyer had already drawn up the divorce agreement. She would get it all.  “I am on the verge of getting his millions and now this,” she thought to herself.  She wondered if Henry was into more than a romance with a young woman younger than his daughters.  She wondered if she had missed something, but she was sure he was not a killer.

   Mary Ellen had met with Samuel Ellington several times. She had worn her best and most provocative outfits each time. She knew she turned men’s heads, and she figured Samuel was no different. They were all after the same thing. It was just a matter of the right timing.

   “I have an appointment to get my hair done. Get Henry out of jail. He is innocent by reason of not having the capability to kill. Is there anything else I can provide to be of help,” Mary Ellen said as she stood and turned to go?

   She paused to look back at Samuel. She hoped her red dress with its lowcut cleavage had caught his eye.

   Her smile was aimed at Samuel, but it also reflected the thought going through her mind.

“Henry is going to pay. Pay down to his last penny for being unfaithful. I am going to continue to be unfaithful until my divorce. Then I will just continue,” Mary Ellen thought as she swayed her hips as she sauntered out of the office.

   She was sure Samuel was watching her ass as she slowly closed the door.

   Samuel watched as the blond bombshell swayed her way out of the room.

2 Samual Harrington III

There goes my reward for winning this case,” he thought to himself as he turned to look at himself in the mirror and take himself in.

His mirror was to the side of his desk. He was constantly checking his appearance.

“When you are the best, you have to look the best,” he thought to himself as he took in his new Stefano Breyer shoes.  This was the first day he had worn them. He knew why he had hired Linda as his secretary when she complemented him on how good the shoes looked. She paid attention to details.

   Samuel needed to decide to what social function to wear his new Testoni suit.

A quick motion of his hand put the imagined out of place hair where it belonged, and hel turned from the mirror and walked to the door.

It was time to go get Henry released. Samuel went through his list.

   Henry’s alibi checked out.  His wife verified he was at home at the time of the murder.

The truck driver who hit the young woman said he saw a muscular guy standing on the overpass and Henry was anything but muscular.  Samuel knew that there was no direct evidence that would allow the police to hold Henry any longer.

   When he stepped out of his office, Samuel addressed his grandmotherly support, Linda. He asked her to call ahead to the police station and find out where he could get in touch with the driver of the semi that hit the girl. He wanted her to tell them that he was walking over and would like get Henry released into his custody.  Linda was old enough to be his mother or maybe even his grandmother. Early on he had learned that having a young secretary was a problem. They could be young, ugly, and still be a problem. Linda was the best and she knew how to stay on his good side.

   Linda looked at Samuel as he walked out the door. He was by far the most egotistical person she knew and one of the few people who she actually disliked. But he was paying her top dollar, and he let her do her own office management.  She knew how to manipulate her boss even as he thought of himself as superior to her. Her compliments were simply to boost his ego and when he felt boosted he always wanted to do some favor.

Samuel looked at his reflection in the elevator mirrors on the door. He thought he cut a fine figure in his Desmond Merrion Supreme suit. The suit had set him back about the same amount that Linda had paid for her new Toyota.

“But I’m worth it,” he thought and smiled to himself as he got on the elevator.

Going to the station, dealing with the police, getting mixed in with the common people all bothered him.

   He decided he would need to charge more and hire other people to do all the foot work.

If not murder, then what is Henry into and how in the world did he ever manage to marry that babe and to get involved with a young woman less than half his age. Samuel wondered what it was that attracted women to Henry.

  Suddenly an old black man with a Vietnam Veteran’s ball cap blocked his way.

Samuel rudely called him a piece of trash and told him to get out of his way. He took in the clothes and wondered who in the world wore such used and worn clothing.

Samuel was surprised when the man in front of him spouted out that he had seen a huge thug throw the woman over the overpass fence.

   Samuel was, inadvertently, slowly walking backwards as he tried to maintain an arm’s length distance from the person blocking his way.

   It was clear to Johnnie that the lawyer had his head up his ass. He was not paying any attention to what he was saying.  He stepped aside and the lawyer shot past him like an arrow

Johnnie knew he would have to go to the police.  The police posed a problem for Johnnie. He had been picked up several times and taken in for sleeping in the park or on some warm grate. He had never been charged. He figured the police felt sorry for his condition. He had always gotten good treatment and a meal.  There was a new policewoman that he had seen early in the morning as she rode her bike past the Library. He had followed her far enough to see her park her bike in front of the police station.  Over several weeks he had watched her drive through the downtown area with a young white man that he took to be her partner.

He would see if she would listen to him.

   The next day Johnnie was out in front of the Library waiting. He spotted the bike and rider when she was a block away.  He waited until she was coming through the intersection and then called out for her to stop.

   Alex spotted the older black man standing at the corner in front of the Library. He was waving at her to stop.  She looked around to make sure he was really alone. She would whisk by if she spotted anyone. She was not about to fall for the old trick of one person flagging someone down so the second person could rob them.

He made sweeping gesture with his arms to indicate he was alone.

She perceived that he was sharp enough to figure out her concern and decided to stop.

She took in the Vietnam Vet ball cap. When she asked when he had served and when he had been in Vietnam, she was given the year 1968 for the TET offensive. It all sounded right to her. It was clear that the old veteran had something on his mind. She asked what he needed.

He introduced himself as Johnnie and then asked if she knew about the young woman thrown off the interstate overpass.

   She replied that it was not her case but two detectives in her unit were assigned to it and had shared a lot of the details.

She listened as Johnnie described the scene from the overpass and then the scene of the young woman stuck on the semi-truck radiator like a butterfly.

Both descriptions rang true to her. The detail about being literally stuck on the radiator had not made the news. She knew she had an eyewitness to what the two detectives were calling “the butterfly murder,” standing before her.  She asked Johnnie if he would walk with her to the police station.

   His reply was sure, as long as she did not turn him over to any other police person. She had to be the one that asked the questions and who kept him safe. She was not sure she could meet his request and said so.

   Johnnie responded to her that he wanted to see her try and if she failed, she would owe him at least a good dinner.

   Alex took an immediate liking to Johnnie. He seemed to be a good person, and he knew that there were limits to what she could promise.  She walked her bike from the Library to the police station. After locking her bike to the rack, she led the way to her office area. Even arriving later than normal, she was still the first one in. She knew her partner would arrive before the rest of the people in the office. He had learned that it was easier to share a cup of coffee and plan the day than to come in and immediately be asked to leave to some destination that he would learn about as they drove there.

   She asked Johnnie how he took his coffee and if he wanted a donut.

   Johnnie responded that he took his coffee black but his donuts with as much frosting as he could get.

   There were no donuts but there was a pile of small aluminum foil wrapped sandwiches label to indicate egg, cheese, and some sort of meat sandwich. She selected a sausage one for her and took a second one for Johnnie.

  He thanked her for the coffee. He commented that the sandwich was better than a donut.

As expected, Trey McGregor, Alex’s partner was the next one in. He already had his cup and a sandwich.

He sat down at his desk and looked inquisitively at Alex.

Alex introduced Johnnie.

She then asked Johnnie to share what he had witnessed. This time she asked him to tell her about what he had been doing before and then after seeing the murder.

   The fact that Johnnie had come from a church function that could easily be checked out made everything he said even more plausible. When he described the scene the day before with Samuel Ellington III, she knew he was the real thing. She had seen Samuel enter and obnoxiously demand the immediate release of his innocent client.

   She saw the two detectives assigned to the case and quietly asked Johnnie to stop talking and not say a word until she said so.

   Trey and Johnnie both looked around and smiled. They were waiting to see what the next steps would be.

   Alex saw the boss, Bruce Johnson, carry his coffee and sandwich into his office.

She walked over and knocked. She was going to start the bargaining from the top.

   The shades in the office were pulled shut. Johnnie asked if the boss was always so loud and if he always used such foul language?

   Trey laughed and said only when Alex was pushing him to make some change or get involved in something that he did not want her to.

   Bruce opened the door and looked out into the bull pen. He signaled to Travis and Bill to come into his office.

   Trey asked if Johnnie wanted another cup of coffee and a second sandwich. He was surprised when Johnnie said yes to the coffee but asked if he could put the sandwich away in his backpack for later in the day.

   The loud discussion in the office went on for another twenty minutes or so. The door opened and Alex pointed out to Trey and Johnnie and crooked her finger with the come this way sign. The smile on her faced made it clear that she had won whatever position she had proposed.

   Johnnie walked in around Alex and took a seat he was pointed to. Once again, he was asked to describe the events of the evening leading up to the scene of the young woman being thrown over the overpass retaining fence. Then he was asked about what he saw on the highway and where he went afterwards.

   The two detectives laughed when he described the scene with Samuel Ellington III and how he thought he was a conceited asshole. They agreed whole heartedly with the description. They both had talked about their interaction with him in the same manner.

The two were not happy about sharing the case with Alex and Trey but they were elated about having an eyewitness. Their big question was whether Johnnie could identify the two thugs.

   Johnnie said he thought so but that he had never seen them before.

After some discussion it was agreed that Travis and Bill would interview the people at the church. They would go to the closest restaurants and bars to see if they could determine where the young woman had been prior to running to the overpass.

Alex and Trey would stay with Johnnie and get him to look through the mug shots that were in the system.

   The meeting in Bruce’s office ended and the two pairs of detectives and Johnnie walked into a bull pen that was full and where everyone was watching what was going on. It was clear that they all knew something different was in the making.

   Alex decided that they should take Johnnie into one of the huddle rooms. They could get the mug shots shown on a big screen.

Trey asked if anyone wanted a soft drink or something else to drink. Both Alex and Johnnie chose to have a cold bottle of water.  When he returned, he listened to Alex ask Johnnie a series of questions. She was setting up a search of the data base that held all the mug shots of the bag guys.

   Johnnie closed his eyes and described the huge thug that had tossed the girl over the overpass barrier. He gave the size, weight, and height. Then he added that he had seen what he now thought might be a tattoo on the left bicep.

   Only six mug shots came up! Johnnie immediately pointed to the third mug shot.

   Alex asked about the second thug. Johnnie again closed his eyes and gave Alex the same information, but he could not come up with a specific distinguishing feature. He thought maybe a scar on the left cheek.

   This time two hundred mug shots came up. By linking the search to the positive match, the number still remained at one hundred.

Alex looked to Trey and asked where he had planned to have lunch.

Trey had forgotten that it was his turn to choose the type of lunch they would experience. The two of them had tried every lunch spot in the city at least once. He looked at Johnnie and told him that lunch was on the department and asked where he wanted to go.

Johnnie beamed a smile as he automatically replied, “I’ve been wanting to try Scotto, but I haven’t had the money to do so.” “Is that place OK?”

   Alex smiled and replied that it was a great place and OK. Since the lunch budget had a limit of twenty-five dollars, she knew she would have to pick up anything over that.

They walked to Scotto and were escorted to a table at the back. It was exactly what Alex wanted. She wanted her back to the wall. She felt a little like a sherif in the old west.

She accepted the menu and asked if everyone would want to have some goat cheese and hazelnut bruschetta. This was one of her favorites. Trey and Johnnie both said sure they would try it.

   She placed the order and was pleased that all three of them had settled on water to drink. She had been afraid that Johnnie might want a cocktail or wine. She should have known better.

   Johnnie was looking over the menu and commenting that Scotto’s must be proud of their food because it seemed expensive to him.

   Alex chuckled and added that they should be proud of their food because everything she had ever eaten at Scotto had tasted great.  She went on to point out that her dream selection came close to one hundred dollars per person. She was saving that meal for the time she could bring in that special person she was looking for.

   They were enjoying the bruschetta and making small talk when Johnnie quietly said that the thug had just walked in.

   Alex looked up, kicked Trey under the table, and freed her shoulder holster gun strap.

The thug looked around slowly until his eyes focused on Alex and Johnnie. Then he walked directly toward them.

 Free Preview of Maggot to be Available by the weekend

 Free Preview of Votive Candles to be Available by the weekend

 Free Preview  to be Available by the weekend

 Free Preview  to be Available by the weekend

Free Preview of The River Front

The River Front

1 The Invalid Marathon Runner

Dianne ran uphill toward a tall scrawny old man that carried a long walking stick and was descending along the trail. The winding trail was little more than a path that was originally formed over the years by the deer...)

It was clear to her that he was not going to step off the trail to let her by. She was tempted to run into him and knock him over. She thought better since he was at least twice her size, armed with his walking stick, and coming down hill.

At the last moment he stepped to one side. She was so surprised that she forgot to thank him. She heard him shout “thank you” behind her. Yeah, you too, she though with a snarl running through her mind. Then she let out a verbal growling snarl. She so hated to be corrected by ignorant adults.

Where the trail reached the peak and turned along a ridge to the right, she normally turned and went back the way she had come up. She did not want to catch up to the old man, so she went to the right along the ridge. This was a rougher and more difficult return route. There was a small stream that was impossible to cross without getting her shoes wet.

She was wearing her new shoes that she had scrounged and saved for. Saving for them had taken her almost two years.

She was not about to get them wet.

When she got to the stream she stopped and took off her shoes and socks and waded across the cool clear stream.

The water felt great.

She sat down with her feet in the water and thought about her parents.

Neither of her parents were aware that she had bought the shoes. They knew she ran every day and had questioned whether she was getting her homework done.

She did both.

Her parents were aware of her running ability and quietly encourage her to keep doing it. They were barely getting by and seeing her daughter seemingly happy and prospering in school and its activities helped ease their financial frustrations.

Her running had caught the eye of the track coach. She had put Dianne on her long-distance running team.

Her art had caught her art teacher’s eye. He had encouraged her and had sponsored her in several art shows.

Dianne embraced the help coming from school more than the questions and what she interpreted as a lack of support from her parents.

Dianne though of her mother as a borderline alcoholic. Her mother’s drinking was the cause of many arguments that went on with her father.

Her father was a UPS delivery driver. She thought that the work kept him in decent shape and that he made enough so that they should have been moving up the economic ladder. She blamed her mother’s drinking and spending habits that ensured that the family would be renting the same house that they had been renting since the two had been married.

Dianne was ecstatic when she received a scholarship offer from a small college in the northeast. It was known for its track team and for turning out artists and art curators.

She eagerly moved from the Ohio to the Northeast.

Her time at the University was a blur but she became her own woman. She made few friends but did well in her classes and excelled in the long-distance running.

The running kept her in shape, and since the scholarship was based on her athletic ability it made it possible for her to stay at the university.

Her painting skills were good, her other skills such as pottery, carving, and metal working were adequate, but they were of little interest to her.

It soon became clear that she loved to curate and organizing the numerous tasks associated with the role. She excelled in organizing exhibits and writing the labels that explained and interpreted the art. She knew that she had found her career knitch. It was a realization that eased her mind.

She noted that she was not a fast enough long-distance runner when in several marathons, she ended up in the middle of the pack. She learned she was an endurance runner when she placed third in a thirty-five-mile ultra-marathon. She was now looking toward trying out a hundred-mile ultra-marathon. She knew she had a chance to be number one or two at the worst. She could run all day. She knew that if she finished first a few times she would be able to land some advertising spots that would lead to an income that would eliminate the need to get an eight to four curator’s job.

Graduation came too quickly. She landed a position in a small art museum in Kentucky and accepted it when it became apparent that she had only received the one offer.

She laughed at her lifestyle changes. She had grown up in Ohio. She had found herself in the Northeast and was now going to make her living in Kentucky.

At least the area around the small town had large hills that were almost small mountains and provided her a good training area to prepare her for long-distance running.

She ran the Cincinnati Flying Pig marathon and did well enough in it and two other marathons that she got accepted to the Boston Marathon.

Preparing for the Boston Marathon became her singular focus. Work did not suffer but it always seemed to last too long. She craved the wind blowing through her hair as she ran.

Her Boston Marathon was memorable. She had not expected to be in the top running group but did come in the top twenty percent group.

She celebrated by having a lobster dinner at a harbor side restaurant.

The visits to at least a half dozen museums made the trip memorable. It motivated her to seek a more challenging curator position.

On her return from the Boston Marathon, she took several classes at the University of Kentucky and sent out numerous job applications.

She felt lucky to be interviewed and then landing the curator’s position at the Taft Museum of Art in Cincinnati.

Things seemed to be going up for her.

As part of her acceptance of the Taft Museum job offer, she negotiated time off to run in the Chicago Marathon. She had been planning on it even before running the Boston Marathon. She had been in training for the entire time since then.

She rented an apartment within walking distance of the Taft Museum. The work was pleasant, and the work atmosphere was positive, but she worked so she could run.

Her move to Cincinnati had eaten up her savings so she contemplated postponing her Chicago Marathon participation.

She ran the Circleville Ultra-Marathon as a warm-up for the Chicago Marathon.

She was elated to come in second. She was disappointed that there were no advertising offers.

She then focused on the Chicago Marathon and ran all the hills that Cincinnati and the surrounding area provided.

She felt super about her chances at placing high in the marathon. She had been running faster and she was in the best shape of her life.

She took time off and drove to Chicago and stayed far enough from the race area to get a hotel at a reasonable price. This event was going to zero out her savings and most probably max out her credit card, but she was sure it would be worth it.

On the morning of the race, she took a taxi to the starting point. She was feeling great and hoping to place in the top ten percent of the participants. She knew that the Chicago Marathon was one of the biggest races and attracted many of the top runners from around the world. Her goal was to do well enough so she could land a few sponsors that would provide the money to equip and pay for her formal training.

She was so motivated that it gave her an adrenaline high.

She was far enough back in the pack that when the sound of the gun signaled the start of the race, she had to wait for those in the front to start moving before she had a chance to take a step.

This slow start raised her level of anxiety.

Once the field spread and the running began, she continually passed runners and worked herself toward the front of the group.

The runners began to thin out and maneuvering room allowed her to continually move toward the front. Soon she was sure she was closing in on the top ten percent. This group was in a long thin line.

Her movement forward continued until she approached a group all wearing the same team outfits that were spread out in a flat line that kept other runners like herself from moving beyond them.

She worked back and forth behind them trying to break through.

She was frustrated and super mad.

This was a team tactic to allow one of their team members somewhere ahead toward the front to do well.

By marathon rules, it was also supposed to be illegal.

She saw an opening and made a move to get through. Suddenly she felt someone step on her heel. Her forward step was missing the leg that had been stepped on. She saw the street curb coming up at her. She heard the cracking of bones as she hit the curb hip first and then her head hit, and the world went black.

When she opened her eyes, she felt the air being delivered to her nose. She realized that she was in a hospital bed.

She was immediately angry. That runner had stepped on her foot. He not only should be disqualified but punished. She intended to sue.

She called the marathon organizer to file a complaint on the runner that tripped her. She told them that she wanted his name and that she planned to sue him or her.

The organizer replied that the accident had been recorded. It clearly showed that she had stepped in front of the runner in question and that the blame for the accident was hers.

After a brief shouting match, she hung up.

She was beyond being angry. She was furious and she vowed that somehow; she would get even.

Her vow portended something well beyond getting even and subsequent events would slowly turn that vow into something more sinister than getting even.

She remained in the hospital for more than a month.

She hired a driver to drive her home in her car. Paying for a month of parking once again made her angry.

She was in a wheelchair and unable to stand and walk. The surgeon that had repaired her hip informed her that she would most likely never run again.

This made her angrier. It was like being told that she had lost her best friend.

He connected her with a Cincinnati doctor to guide her rehabilitation.

Dianne was determined to return to running. She worked hard to make a comeback.

She slowly lost perspective and her connection with reality.

The pain subsided to the point that it allowed her to work but her mind became focused on her need to get even with the runner that had shattered her hip and her dreams.

She began to build the scenarios that would provide her with revenge against the long, distance male runners. In her mind that was made up by an army of guilty people. In her mind they were men that did not care about other people.

Her success in school was her ability to compartmentalize and organize each part of her life and work. This compartmenting capability helped her split her focus between work and getting revenge.

She set herself on the path to learn all she could about areas in Cincinnati where long distance runners practiced.

The river front path was only a few blocks from the Museum. She decided that she needed to get a first-hand look at the layout of the that path.

Still in her wheelchair, she wheeled the entire ten-mile length of the path.

She had a clear goal in mind and scouted out the spot where she planned to carry out her first act of revenge.

She also had no intention of getting caught. She made sure that she would be able to get to the spot she picked and then afterward retreat and leave without a trace of being there.

She did physical practice run throughs of what she planned to do. After several weeks she felt confident that she could pull off her first act of revenge.

She then selected the sites around Cincinnati and the nearby communities. Hyde Park, The Little Miami Trail, The Union Cemetery, and The Loveland Bike trail were on her list. She visited each multiple times.

At each location she selected the specific spot where her revenge would be carried out.

Her physical condition slowly improved.

She had no clue that her mental state was slowly deteriorating. Her reality changed without her knowing.

Her pain slowly decreased to the point that she was able to take a few steps.

The diagnosis from her doctor that she was making great progress bothered her. She could barely walk. If walking a few steps was great progress, then to her running became such a distant goal that it took her farther into her mental abyss.

She retreated farther into her world of getting even. A psychiatrist would have diagnosed her as a psychopath.

Now her twisted mind led her to believe that it was ok because she was just getting even by killing male runners.

She had identified the locations where she would take action.

Now she concentrated on the ways she would take the action. She needed a way that would make it impossible for her to get caught.

She thought about what she was good at and how her current capabilities could be leveraged. When her imagination produced the vision of how she could carry out her revenge she let out a laugh.

She went to the grocery store and bought two musk melons.

She drew a face and ears on each melon. She had selected an art pencil as her weapon of choice. Properly used, it would be inconspicuous, silent, and immediately effective.

Every morning, she practiced rapidly pushing her pencil into the spot on the melon ear that represented the ear canal. She would then eat the practice melon. A month later, after going through so many melons that she had lost count; she felt that her technique had been perfected.

She figured that the timing was right since she was sick of eating the melons.

The sound of her voice as she cackled with glee at the thought made her stop and look at herself in the mirror. She had expected to see herself as a witch!

Location and method in hand, she now needed to select and learn the timing of the target runners.

Each evening, she sat on the new river front family swings. She always took an end swing and parked her wheelchair to her right.

She spent the next month alternating sitting on the River Front family swings and sitting at Hyde Park’s Crystal Lake in her wheelchair. She identified the runners who ran later in the evening. This was a time when each park emptied and often had no other persons but the lone runner.

She soon narrowed her target to two runners in each location.

For the next month she verified the habits of the runners she had zeroed in on. She meticulously logged their time and the variation of their time.

She also kept a keen eye for other people that wandered through the park.

She was ready and only needed to pick the date.

Luck seemed to set the opportune time for the first kill. An art appreciation fund raiser was scheduled for the coming weekend. This seemed to be a perfect cover and alibi.

She fashioned the agenda to provide a forty-five-minute window for her to execute her scheme.

She set up a drawing contest in which she too would participate. She sketched most of her entry and put it aside. She would step out when no one was paying attention and be back for the judging of the entries.

On the evening of the event, she talked to all the potential donors and introduced the contest. The top ten winners would be recognized in the Cincinnati Enquirer.

She made sure the event photographer got several shots of her talking to various dignitaries.

Finally, the moment for her to play out the river front scenario arrived.

She did not rush but quickly made her way to the river front location. She had made sure there were no security cameras on the route she took.

Her worry vanished when she observed her target run by on the way to Paul Brown stadium. His timing was perfect.

She set up her easel and placed her almost complete sketch on it. She looked around the green to ensure there was no one in sight. She walked over to the wall and as she leaned on it to relax, she dropped one of her pencils.

She looked over the wall but could not see it.

She had a moment of panic. She looked over the wall again but could not see the pencil she had dropped.

She had brought several and as she spotted her target returning, she stepped in front of the easel holding her spare pencil in hand.

She waited until it would be impossible for the runner to stop before stepping back from the easel as if to admire her work.

She was surprised at the force of the impact and would have been sent flying, but the runner caught her and together they staggered and recovered from the impact.

She laughed and asked him if he would be kind enough to render his opinion of her drawing.

The runner stepped away from her toward the easel to look.

He smiled and was just turning to say something when she rammed the pencil into his ear.

He dropped immediately. He was dead before he hit the ground.

A surge of energy went running up her back and made the hair on the back of her neck stand up.

She quickly posed him in the most embarrassing fashion that she could think of.

She looked around. Seeing no one she quickly sketched the runner onto her easel.

Then she quickly packed her sketch and easel and made her way back to the museum.

She made it back with ten minutes to spare.

She set up her easel and contest sketch and asked everyone to place theirs around the room.

Her boss and several of the crew judged the sketches. Her entry was not part of the contest, but she got several compliments on the sketch and one patron bought it as part of his donation to the gallery.

She knew that she would never be connected to the scene she had left at the river front. She smiled a enjoyed a silent cackle.

2 First Case

Her body’s reflex to the ear splitting, ahooga, ahooga, blasting in her left ear launched Alex out of her bed into the dark abyss of her bedroom.

She pawed in the darkness for the phone that continued to assault her senses. She had specifically selected this sound for the calls coming from the police dispatcher. She wanted to ensure that she would immediately come awake. She gave a brief, “what’s up” and listened as the dispatcher clarified that Alex and her partner were at the top of the call list. The dispatcher simply said, “there is a dead person in the River Front Park, near the Roebling bridge.”

Alex came awake immediately.

This would be her first experience with leading a meaningful investigation. She and her partner had both recently joined the Cincinnati police department.

She wondered how many people had died in the park.

Was it the first?

She checked to make sure her partner had been notified and then hung up and turned on the lights.

Still barely dressed she walked to the kitchen and punched the coffee pot’s brew button. Having coffee ready to brew was a practice she had started at Northwestern when she studied late into the night.

She and her partner had never worked an actual case together. She had learned from Trey that he had accepted the job offer as a way to escape what he expressed as the crazy people in Minneapolis.

He was more experienced in police work then she was but had opted to accept to be her second on their two-person team.

He was the more experienced cop, but she immediately recognized that he was on the edge of a breakdown, and he was probably drinking too much.

She learned that he had suffered PTSD from his experience in Iraq.

She knew that she would need to develop their working relationship and it would begin in earnest on this case. It was her hope to create the kind of teamwork that would take them to the head of the detective force.

She had scored one of the highest passing grades in her shooting qualification and her marshal art skills had been noted on her record.

She was petite but had trained herself to the point that she feared no one.

She also made the point of taking command of the situation when called upon.

She dressed in her bicycling clothes and rolled her bicycle out of her apartment door. She and her bike made the trip to the station every morning. It was a short five-minute ride to the station. She laughed about the fact that her “parking space” was closer to the revolving door than the Chief’s.

She went into the lady’s locker room and quickly changed into her field clothes comprised of a black pants suit and black leather shoes. The shoes were no nonsense black leather walking shoes.

She was now wide awake and ready for business.

She went to the dispatch area and checked about the information coming from the park. She learned that the crime unit had taped off the area, was examining the body, and taking pictures.

The reply to her question, to the dispatcher, about the number of killings in the park was that in his fifteen years on the force he had not heard of any.

Alex was sipping on her second hot cup of what was supposed to be coffee but tasted more like a sharp bitter brew of acid, when a disheveled Trey enter the detective bullpen. She groaned as she remembered that she had looked that way until she had taken responsibility and command of her life. He had the look as if he were recovering from too much drinking.

A flag went up in her mind. She chose not to say anything and concentrated on getting him up to speed and ready to get to the park.

After a quick briefing, she led the way out to their car. It was a well-kept black Ford, but it was the oldest car assigned to the detective squad. The cars were assigned based on seniority and organizational rank. She and Trey were at the bottom of the pyramid. The age of the car meant little to her. She had an old car at home that she loved.

The Chief had commented that she was lucky to have been assigned a car at all. She had laughed and replied that she would be fine riding her bike if that was what he required.

His reply was simply, “I want more out of you than riding your bike can deliver.”

She looked over at Trey slouching in the passenger seat and asked if he was “Ok.” His simple nod and his downward gaze told her that he was not “OK.”

She drove to the park and led the way to the crime scene.

She had been told by Bill, one of the senior agents, that a crime scene work box would be required and useful. He had complemented her on being willing to listen to him when she asked to get a list of what should be in the box.

She went shopping for the items but decided that she wanted as light of a box as possible. When she was packing and organizing her box, Trevor, Bill’s partner, pulled out a shiny stainless steel, crime scene work box and commented that his team had not scrimped on their box.

He pointed to and made a comment about the cheap blue plastic box she was packing.

Alex walked over to Trevor’s box, picked it up and dropped it with a loud clank. She commented that Trevor’s team had done so little field work that they never had to carry it for any length of time.

She went on to look at Bill and thanked him for being kind enough to let her audit the box. She made the point that her cheap plastic box, and its cheap contents could be held up by one finger.

“Can you do that with yours,” she asked?

Bill gave a small chuckle and suggested they all drop the box competition and that he was thinking of getting his team a green plastic box.

Alex had realized that the Chief had been standing in the door to his office, watching the exchange among the three of them.

Now at two thirty in the morning, Alex was carrying her light blue box to her first crime scene. She was pleased with her decision of making her box as light as possible.

When she got close to the yellow barrier tape, the scene of the body on the walkway stopped her in her tracks.

She heard Trey quietly mumble that he had come to Cincinnati hoping to get away from the crazies.

The scene of a dead male with his penis pierced by a pencil pinning it up on his stomach and pointing to his belly button took her breath.

Preview of Missing

1 Cold Case by a Hand from Above

Alex and Trey, her detective partner, were back in Cincinnati after pursuing a lunatic person in Mississippi. This person had destroyed Alex’s apartment with a rocket propelled grenade. They had almost been shot by this person with a shotgun during her apprehension and later at the local hospital this same woman managed to escape from her hospital bed, take a policeman’s gun, and shoot at Alex. Alex’s swift reflex and deadly aim ended the confrontation with the woman face down on the floor from a shot to the chest and one between her eyes.

During that case, Alex had survived two attacks in her own Cincinnati apartment.

The first was the rocket propelled grenade, launched by the lunatic that Alex had ultimately killed in Mississippi, had demolished her first apartment.

The second attack was on her return from Mississippi. The drug distributor involved in the case had gained access to her new apartment by climbing externally up two floors to her exterior apartment porch.

She had picked up a suitor in Mississippi that had followed her to Cincinnati. He was the EMT that she had met in Mississippi. His unexpected knock on her apartment door, when she was being held at gun point, had given her the opportunity to get help.

She had told him to go away and that solicitors were not allowed in the building. He had figured out that something was wrong. He called the Cincinnati Chief of police and asked for help. When help arrived and was breaking down the door, Alex dived at the intruder as he shot at her. In the ensuing struggle the intruder was shot by his own gun. He survived.

She had shot and killed two people in less than a month. Her swift actions and her swift and deadly shooting had earned her the handle of “the Cincinnati’s Black Annie Oakley.”

Alex leaned back in her chair and took in the few detectives that were currently sitting at their desks.

She and Trey were both stressed out.

 Free Preview of Racist to be Available by the weekend

 Free Preview  to be Available by the weekend

 Free Preview  to be Available by the weekend