Circle of Death

By D. V. Harper

A small California town is terrorized when an X-CIA agent and his female partner kill four of their residents. Their deaths seem unrelated until Matt Brennan, a P.I. and Police Chief, Pete Dolan learn that their deaths are tied directly to a Mafia Bosss plan to oust the current boss of San Francisco and reap a fortune in illegal drug profits. Challenged by the rest of the families, the fireworks begin. Trying to settle things without a battle Matt almost loses the woman he loves. Heartache and anger takes him on a voyage into death, deception and corrupt public officials.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Apr 1, 2014
• ISBN: 9781493176045

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Copyright © 2014 by D. V. Harper.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Rev. date: 02/25/2014

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Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter One

Lightning streaked across the sky and thunder roared as Gayle Springer, looking disgusted; stood outside of her office at Fidelity Reality and cursed what seemed an insurmountable distance to her car. The shapely, tall dark haired woman shivered as the cool mountain air pushed by high winds tore at her clothes and destroyed what a few minutes ago, had for all intents and purposes been a fashionable hairdo. To make matters even worse the high winds made the use of her umbrella impossible, a fact she deeply regretted. Taking one last look at the distance to her car she began to run, her long legs carrying her swiftly across the wet pavement toward her car. By the time she slid into the seat and closed the door, she was thoroughly drenched.

Glancing at herself in the rearview mirror, Gayle swore softly. Her hair was plastered to the shape of her head and dripping like the strands of cotton on a mop. Her makeup was streaked and the false eyelashes she had purchased the day before were already beginning to droop. Sighing, she grabbed a handful of Kleenex out of the box she always kept in the car and began to dab at her face. As she stared into the rearview mirror another image materialized and for a brief second she thought her eyes were playing tricks on her and then she saw the hideous grin and coal black eyes. They reminded her of a rattlesnake just before it struck an unsuspecting rodent.

Immediate fear tore at her insides. Her heart felt as though it stopped and her mind was screaming for her to open the door and run but it was already too late. The soft cord of cotton fibers circled her throat and was pulled tight. At the same time she was jerked backwards, the cord crushing her larynx as her head came to an abrupt halt against the headrest. Gayle tried to break free but the cord, becoming tighter with each passing second was swiftly diminishing her strength. Her eyes felt hot and tears flowed as natural body functions tried to compensate for the burning sensation spreading across the eyes. Her chest heaved as her lungs fought to find the lifesaving air it needed to fill their nearly empty cavities. Convulsions racked her body and a sharp pain knifed its way into her chest then as quickly as it had occurred, the fury of the pain subsided and a sense of peace filled her mind. Slowly, like a feather floating in the air, she fell away from the living into the everlasting stillness of death.

At almost the same time less than a mile away the X-CIA agent waited patiently in the shadows for his unsuspecting target. His body was taut and every muscle strained for release. He chuckled to himself as he recalled the harassment he took from his superiors. Too short they said, not enough beef on his bones to take care of an aging woman let alone a trained specialist in hand to hand combat. Many months later they changed their tune, he had graduated first in his class and there wasn’t a man in the academy that could best him in hand-to-hand combat. Now, fifteen years later he was no longer an agent. The petty politicians along with too many unnecessary rules and the stupid restrictions that limited covert activities on American soil were too much for him. It was stupid and he had told them so. A week later, he was told it was either a desk job or he was out the door. Nearly crippling his supervisor, he walked out. Now, he was glad he did. He could do whatever he wanted, when he wanted and no one could stop him. Like right now for instance. His contact had called and wanted a person killed. He had listened patiently as he was given the person’s name and the reasons why but most of it went in one ear and out the other. He didn’t care about the person or why he was being killed. He just did the killing.

His ability to be constantly aware even when his mind seemed to be elsewhere alerted him to someone headed his way. As he watched, a man stopped near an apartment complex, looked around then headed toward apartment 3B.

The man smiled as his trap began to take shape. He had left the apartment door slightly ajar and he could almost see Dawson’s confusion as to what he should do. Finally, just as he had figured, Dawson entered the apartment.

Moving swiftly, he covered the distance between his hiding place and the apartment. Slipping inside, he listened for the tell-tale sounds that would tell him precisely where his opponent was. After a few seconds, he heard the soft sounds of someone walking across the carpet. Slipping the switchblade out of his coat pocket, he pressed the button and heard the soft swish of the blade opening. Moving forward, he crossed the hall and into the only large room in the apartment. Standing almost in front of him was the target, Major Dawson. Quickly stepping forward he encircled the Major’s neck with his arm and jerked. As the head came back he slid slightly sideways and plunged the blade deep into the man’s chest. As the body fell heavily to the floor, he heard a slight gurgling sound then silence.

Suddenly, a noise attracted his attention then he smiled as he heard the soft whisper of his female companion calling his name.

In here, he said out loud.

When she came into the room, he said. Scratch one Major."

What are we going to do with him?

I prepared a place for him but first I want you to take my knife and stab him several times.

What on earth for?

Just in case someone finds him, I want it to look like the little lady of the house did it.

Speaking of her, she’s out by the high school. One of the patrols will find her before long.

Good. Handing her his knife, he added. Get with it, we don’t have much time.

Halfheartedly, she stabbed the man lying on the floor. It didn’t seem right somehow but whatever he wanted she had better do or be prepared to suffer the consequences.

When he returned, he said. Come on, give me a hand.

After placing the body in a body bag and dragging it over to the bedroom closet, they lifted him upright and stood him against the closet wall. While she held him in place, her companion, using hammer and nails, nailed sections of the bag to the wall. Finally, he stepped back and said. You can let go now.

As she stepped away, he began placing another wall across the closet to hide the body. The tongue and grove boards went swiftly together and within minutes the body was hidden from view. Standing back and looking at his work, the man said. There, good old Major Dawson shouldn’t be found for a while and if he is it will look like Miss Springer did it.

Why will they think that after they find her dead?

All cops think alike. When they find Miss Springer they’ll look for clues and wonder who killed her. Next, they will search her apartment and come up with nothing. Finally they will run out of leads and fall all over themselves trying to figure out what to do next.

You really don’t believe that, do you? We’ve still got more targets, you know and what happens if they find the Dawson’s body?

It will only confuse them more. Oh, they’ll suspect that Springer killed Dawson but they won’t have a clue who killed our next target and when we give them Ritter, they won’t know what to think. It wouldn’t surprise me if they just chalk it all up as unsolved and forget about it.

Sgt. Ed. Brown, a stocky twelve-year veteran of the Sierra Hills Police Department fastened his gun belt around his waist, took in his appearance in the locker room mirror and shook his head. He was overweight and yesterday the Chief told him he looked like a huge square box. Grinning, he grabbed a clipboard and ticket book out of his locker and headed outside. Seating himself in the car, he noted how close his stomach came to the steering wheel and laughed. He may be out of shape but his size kept him from tangling with every Tom, Dick and Harry like some of the other officers had to. Chuckling to himself as he pulled out of the parking lot, he thought. I’m sure as the devil not going to worry about it unless the bad points start outweighing the benefits.

Turning into the high school parking lot, Brown carefully began checking the nooks and crannies for anyone trying to break in. He was well aware that the school had been broken into four times in the past six months and although the intruder had done little damage, the principal and members of the school board were raising a lot of fuss over it. Most of it centered on the police department and why they seemed so inept in catching the person responsible.

As he swung around the south end of the building, he spotted a black sports car parked close to a seldom-used maintenance door. Quickly pulling to a stop, he got out and shinned his flashlight at the driver’s door window. Seeing a reflection of someone inside, he drew his service revolver and carefully moved forward. Reaching the driver’s door without incident, he jerked it open and said, All right, out of the c—.

Without finishing what he had intended to say, Brown stared at the body of a woman arched awkwardly over the top portion of the seat. A bloody red scar on her throat stood out vividly in the beam of light from his flashlight. Good Lord Almighty, he said in a whisper. Knowing it was fruitless, Ed automatically checked for a pulse. His fears confirmed, Ed hurried back to his car and called it in. Within minutes Chief Pete Dolan and Sgt. Ralph Conklin, red lights flashing and sirens wailing slid to a stop next to him. When they joined him Pete said, Show me what you got, Sgt.

Leading Pete and Ralph over to the car, he shinned his light inside and said, She’s not pretty, Chief.

Grimacing at the sight of the dead woman, Pete replied. You’re certainly right about that.

Watching Sgt. Conklin slowly looking over the scene, Pete wondered how he became blessed with two sergeants that were carbon copies of each other in more ways than one. Both men were overweight and if they stretched they’d probably top out at five-foot-ten. Their dispositions were the same and without a doubt neither of them worried about losing their hair, both were bald as a cucumber. About the only thing that stood out differently between the two men were their eyes. Browns were ice blue and seemed about as cold as an iceberg. Conklin’s, on the other hand were deep brown and from the gentle look they portrayed they should have belonged to a Saint Bernard.

Chuckling to himself, he thought. I’d probably look just like them if it weren’t for his friend, Matt. A year earlier he had been talked into joining Matt in his daily exercise routine. He had wanted to quit the first day but Matt’s insistence paid off and he lost thirty pounds. At one hundred-ninety pounds and six-foot-one in height he looked better than he did when he came out of high school, except for his hair. He was losing it fast and he guessed it wouldn’t be long before he was a bald as his two sergeants.

Returning his thoughts to the present, he said. Look everything over real good, Sgt. If you come up with something let me know.

Turning toward Sgt. Brown, Pete said. Call Riggs over in Denton and tell him what we’ve got.

The coroner isn’t going to like getting out of bed at this time of morning.

Smiling at Ed, Pete said. He gets paid for it, the same as we do.

Returning to the car, Pete looked at Ralph and said, What do you think, Sargent?

Strangled, obviously but it doesn’t appear to have been robbery. I made a quick check of her purse and it seems intact. There’s money in her wallet and the jewelry on her person is still there. It looks like we’ve got a murder on our hands with no apparent motive.

There’s always a motive, Sargent. We just have to find out what it was.

Handing Pete the purse, Ralph said, Nice looking girl.

Removing a wallet from the purse, Pete slipped a driver’s license out of one of the pockets and replied, Dark brown hair, Blue eyes, five-six, one hundred twenty five pounds. Glancing in the car at the woman sprawled across the back of the seat, Pete added, You couldn’t be more right, Sargent. Problem is, someone took all that away from her and now it’s up to us to find out who and why.

When Riggs, the coroner arrived, Pete shook his hand and said, I think she’s been here for a while. By the appearance of her clothes I’d say they were soaked at some point and the trails of blood running down her neck appears to indicate she was wet when she was killed. I’d also say that by the way she’s positioned in the middle of the front seat, it would seem likely that someone drove the vehicle here then took off.

The wiry, short, county coroner peeked over his black-rimmed glasses and said, It looks like you already know everything. What did you call me for? Riggs growled.

A grin crossed Pete’s face as he asked, Grumpy this morning?

Who wouldn’t be? It’s three in the wee hours of the morning and I was having one hell of a good dream when the phone rang.

You still have those dreams about winning the lottery?

With a slight smile Riggs said, Not this time. I was on a beach with two beautiful women and they were just about to have their way with me.

It’s a good thing I woke you up. If two women had their way with you, you’d be just as dead as the woman in the car.

Crumbling good naturedly, Riggs grabbed a case from the rear seat of his car and walked over to where Sgt. Conklin was keeping an eye on things. Your boss thinks he’s funny this morning.

What did the Chief do, besides waking you up this early?

Growling ‘he ruined my dream’ so soft that Ralph wasn’t sure if that was what he heard or not, Riggs turned his back and ignored him.

When Riggs finished his examination, he walked over to Pete and said, "She was obviously strangled. My guess it was some kind of rope. She’s definitely been