This book is dedicated to my wife Pamela and my three children Dillon, Amanda, and Dylan. They are my inspiration, first critics and sometimes, my first editors.
-D. L. Price
Acknowledgements
I want to start by thanking my family for all their support and encouragement. Without them, my stories might never be told. I would also like to thank Alice Osborn, a graduate student from NC State who helped me develop my writing from a hobby into a craft. I’d also like to acknowledge the many readers at the Writers Café ( who have not only taken the time to read my work, but have offered their varied and sometimes objective perspectives. I couldn’t let anything I’ve written go into publication without mentioning David Schmor, my high school creative writing teacher in Saint Helens, Oregon. He never doubted that I had the ability and the imagination to do something great. I must also mention my late, great uncle, John “Smoky” Riddell and his brother, William who both tried to teach me the importance of seeing something through. I hope it pleases them to know I listened.
Lastly, I would like thank you, the readers, who have honored me by reading my stories. It is the greatest feeling when I read a review from someone who enjoyed my work.
Sincerely,
David L Price
The Rose Petal Murders
Chapter 1
By: D. L. Price
It was another cold day in Boston and every time the door opened a blast of frigid air coursed through the dimly lit room, swirling the thick smoky air. It was springtime and baseball season had just started but in Boston, a spring day could feel like the dead of winter. Arney hated cold weather and some day he was going to sell the bar and move some place warm like Florida.
The bell above the door braced everyone for the blast of cold air. An old man at the bar coughed and pulled his coat tighter as he cast an irritated glance at the door.
“You all right, Frank?” Arney Asked.
The old man nodded and Arney directed his attention to the newcomer.
The man laid his gloves on the bar top and said, “Bud. And make that a bottle, not draft.”
Arney’s pulled a frosted beer from the cooler under the bar, twisted the cap on a towel, and set the beer in front of the man.
“That’ll be $4.50.” Arney said.
The man reached into his coat pocket, put a five-dollar bill on the bar and turned towards a corner table.
Arney wanted to call him back and make him take his change. If he couldn’t tip better than that then he needed it worse than Arney did. “Thanks,” Arney called after him, “let me know if you need anything else.” Typical Monday afternoon, he thought, shame the Sox didn’t train in Boston. It was his third customer of the day and he had collected a total of four dollars in tips. That didn't cover the cost to replace the heat lost when someone came in.
Arney was wiping the bar when his cell phone began to vibrate. It was prepaid phone, which was nearly impossible to trace and that was a necessity for the kind of work he did. The outgoing message was simple, “Leave a name and leave a number.” If a caller couldn’t follow instructions simple as those they were either morons or cops. A few minutes later, Arney went to the back room and checked the message. “John Smith, 1-702-555-1234.” How original, he mused. Still, despite the lack of creativity he had followed the instructions.
Arney glanced around the corner to make sure everything was all right in the bar and then dialed Brenda’s number. She was a friend who worked for a bail bondsman and for a small fee, traced numbers making sure they were clean. Twenty minutes later, the phone buzzed again. It was a text message from Brenda, “green light,” the number was good. Arney checked the time and then dialed John Smith's number.
The line rang once and then a voice said, “Hello?”
“I'm returning your call Mr. Smith.”
“Who is this?”
“The Florist. I assume you wanted to place an order?”
“Ah … yes, … hang on just a second.” A moment later, he came back. “You still there?”
“Yes John.”
“Okay, how does this thing work?”
“It’s simple John, but you better take this down. Are you ready?”
“... Yes.”
“Put all the information about your order and five thousand dollars cash in a padded yellow envelope. Have it hand delivered to the New England Aquarium on the wharf. There’s a gift shop inside the main entrance. Have your courier buy a hat, t-shirt, and a large stuffed penguin. After that, they need to go into the public restroom just inside the main corridor. It's very important they use that bathroom instead of one of the others.”
“Why?” John asked with laughter in his voice.
Arney closed his eyes and smiled. “Keep writing John. They have to put on the hat, the t-shirt and then go outside where they’ll see a sidewalk that runs along the harbor. There are trashcans along the sidewalk, one about every hundred feet. They are to put the envelope in the one with a cross painted on it and then leave. Keep in mind that we will be watching their every move your courier makes. Once I’ve reviewed your order, I’ll decide if we can do business.”
“Are you serious?”
“Are you?”
“Of course, it’s just the whole courier penguin thing seems a bit extreme, don't you think?”
“I have to know you’re committed, John and your compliance will speak volumes.”
“Okay, assuming you’re satisfied, how much is all this going to run?”
“A hundred thousand.”
Arney could hear the man cough and then his voice came back on the line “...So let me get this straight, after I've sent a courier with the info and the money you're going to what, ... call me?”
“If everything checks out, yes, you’ll get a call.”
“Wouldn’t it be easier to wire you the money?”
“Of course it would, but that defeats the purpose. I’ll be monitoring your courier’s progress from the time he leaves the gift shop. If he so much as sneezes in a way I don't like, the deals off.”
“I see. So when?”
“There’s a red eye leaving Vegas tonight on United, make sure your man's on it. It's a five hour flight. Once he gets to Boston, he'll have time for a bagel and a cup of coffee before the aquarium opens. Again, my people will be watching.”
“How did you know I was in Vegas?”
Arney laughed. “Don’t insult my intelligence. You have less than 24 hours to get someone here. Do you think you can manage that?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
Arney closed the lid of his phone. His initial impression was the guy wasn’t a cop. They would have asked more questions while they tried to trace the call. This guy was probably a rich smuck who wanted to kill his wife, committed but cowardly. Of course, those made the perfect clients.
The Rose Petal Murders
Chapter 2
By: D. L. Price
Mary frowned as she watched the snowfall outside. Colorado was not the first choice on her list of assignments but she wasn't going to complain. Two months ago, she was graduating from Quantico and now she had her badge. Granted, going through cold case files wasn’t the high profile kind of work she imagined doing before taking on seventeen weeks of grueling training but it was a start. She was an agent now, just like her father.
The Rose Petal Murders, was a cold case file and it was Mary’s first task. It was a strange case because it held elements of both a serial killing and a professional hit. The victims were all shot with a high-powered rifle from remote locations and in each case, there was no report of a gunshot being heard. The rose petals are what threw investigators off. Why would a professional killer take the time to scatter rose petals around his victims?
Strange or not, the case was Mary’s and she took it seriously. She followed old leads while looking for new ones. It was tedious work digging through old contacts and tracking them down. People move on and when you do find them, most of them have no interest in rehashing the facts but Mary got a break. She was tracking down a victim’s wife when the trail led to a women’s penitentiary. The woman was serving time for tax evasion and was five years into a twenty-year sentence. A former cellmate had filed a report describing a conversation where the woman bragged about using a hit man to kill her abusive husband. The comments were noted and filed but nothing was ever followed up on. Mary found the cellmate's remarks worth paying the woman a visit. Verifying the information would be a simple. The widow was already doing time and she was up for parole. If she was faced the possibility of a much longer sentence she might talk. All Mary had to do was ask the right questions.
Guards brought the tall thin woman into the room wearing a bright orange jump suit and a set of handcuffs. She looked nothing like the photo Mary had on file. Her long dark hair was cropped and her face was free of any hints of makeup. It was hard to believe she had once been a model. The woman smiled as if she didn't have a worry in the world as she sat down across from Mary but the scars on her face and arms told a much different story.
“What do you want with me?” She asked as her gaze danced lightly over the brief case on the table.
Mary opened the case, pulled out a photo of a man lying on a tennis court in a pool of blood and placed it in front of her. While the woman stared at the first photo Mary pulled out two more showing a close up of the rose petals scattered around his body. Mary placed the photos on the table where the woman could see them and said, “There have been some new developments in your husbands case.”
The woman's gaze shifted nervously from the pictures to Mary. Her voice lost some of its former confidence. “Like what?”
Mary folded her hands in front of her. “We’ve come across some new evidence and with your help, we might be able to identify your husbands killer.”
The woman’s face flushed. “Great. What have you found out?”
Mary picked up the pitcher of water and offered to pour them both a glass. The woman waved the gesture off and looked at the guard standing outside the door. “I know about the beatings.” Mary said. “His death must have been a relief.”
“Well, I didn’t loose any sleep over it if that’s what you mean.”
Mary nodded. “Good. I’ll get right to the point then. A new witness has come foreword. We have evidence you paid to have your husband killed.”
The woman licked her lips and put a hand over her mouth as tears welled up in her eyes. Mary leaned across the table. “We don’t want you Pat, we want the shooter.”
“He got what he deserved!”
“All the more reason for you to help us. You don’t want to take the wrap on this. You were under duress, social services weren’t helping you, and restraining orders weren't working either. We understand, but the shooter is still out there and not all of his victims are as worthy of his services. You can help us catch him.”
“Oh sure I help you and get what, a view of the cell across the hall for the rest of my life?”
Mary set all caution aside and went for it. “The D.A. has said he'll talk to the judge in exchange for your help. Believe me, your helping us catch a killer will weigh heavily in your favor. I have to warn you though, choose not to help and the time you’ve done will be nothing like the time you’ll do. This place is nothing like the places they’ll send you if you’re convicted of murder. This is your only chance to make things right and Pat, there won’t be another.” Mary laid a tape recorder on the table and turned it on. “Start when you’re ready.”
The woman sat back in the chair and wiped her tears away. “He was going to kill me you know, he even told me how but he made the mistake of telling someone else about it too and I received an anonymous letter telling me how I could take care of him.”
“Do you still have it?”
“No, but I remember the instructions were very specific. I was to leave a name and a number and that’s it.”
“So you got a call. From who?”
“He said he was the Florist. I was told to deliver all the information I had on my husband, along with five thousand dollars to an aquarium in Boston.”
“What happened next?”
“My husband was out of town for a week so I did like I was told. I went to the aquarium where I was told to buy some things from the gift shop.”
“Like what?” Mary asked.
“A shirt and a stuffed animal. He told me to go into a bathroom located near the harbor walk, put on the shirt and then to leave the money in one of the trash cans outside. He said I’d be watched so I did what he said and left.”
“You didn’t see anyone watch you make the drop?”
“No I just left but a day later, I got another call. This time it was someone else, he said to deliver 50 thousand dollars and he would fill my order.” Pat laughed opened a pack of cigarettes. “You mind if I smoke?”
“No.” Mary said. “What happened next?”
“I went back, only this time I didn't leave like I was told. I paid cab to wait around the corner and after the drop I got in and we left but I had the driver circle around the black and come back.”
“That was pretty gutsy.” Mary said. “Did you see anything?”
“Yes.” Pat said with a smile. “I saw a man pick up the envelope. I watched him climb into a car and drive off.”
“What did he look like?”
“Thin, short blonde hair, nice dresser.”
“How tall was he?”
“I don’t know,” Pat said as she flicked her ashes. “Maybe six foot or so.”
“What kind of car was it?”
“Mercedes,” Pat said with a nod. “A black two door.”
“This is good.” Mary said. “So where did you go?”
“The car stopped a few blocks away at a bar called Sheppard’s.
“You sure about the name?” Mary asked.
“Yeah. It's an Irish pub. The sign out front had these little clovers on either side.”
“Did you stick around?”
“For a few minutes. The guy had fifty thousand dollars of my money so I paid the cab to wait around the corner while I took a peek through the front window.”
“And?” Mary said.
“And I saw the guy who picked up the envelope talking to a bartender.”
“Did he still have the envelope?”
“No.” Pat said. “He had it when he went in but I didn’t see it with him at the bar.”
“Describe the bartender.”
“His hair was thin and gray and he wore it slicked back like the Godfather. He was heavier but I wouldn’t say fat. He was very neat.”
“Neat?” Mary asked.
“Yeah. Everything about him was plucked and trimmed like he spent a lot of time in front of a mirror.”
“Did the first guy talk to anyone else?”
“No. He didn’t stay long and when I saw him turn for the door I ducked around and went back to my cab. After I saw his car pull away I left.”
“What else can you tell me?”
“I don't know.”
“Come on, think.” Mary said. “What did they sound like?”
“The first guy sounded like a typical northerner but the second one was younger and had a thick accent like he was from somewhere in Europe. He called himself, The Gardener.”
“So did you fly back to Denver?”
“No. I stayed with a friend in Boulder and waited until I got the last call.”
“Last call?”
“Telling me it was done.”
“Who called you?”
“The younger one with accent, The Gardener. He told me where and when to drop final payment and that I wanted to avoid the penalty for being delinquent.”
“Did you ever see him?”
“Not that I know of. I made the drop in much the same way only this time it was in Denver at a Gray hound Bus station.”
Mary nodded. It wasn’t enough to make an arrest but it had teeth. If the bartender was still in operation, she might be able to persuade him to cooperate. Mary reached down, turned off the tape recorder, and put back in her brief case.
“Is that it?” Pat asked.
“For now.” Mary said as she snapped her brief case shut. “But do yourself a favor, don’t talk to anyone else about this until you’ve heard from me. I’ve got to check a few things but I’ll back in a few days and see what I can do to help you’re situation.”