DEAD MAN'S JUSTICE - A Place of Evil (Stone & McLeish Thriller Series of Stories Book 2)
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Authors: Gregory Stenson
BookCover
DEAD MAN’S JUSTICE
-
A Place of Evil
by
Gregory Stenson
Copyrigh
t
Gregory Stenson, 2012
ISBN 978-1-4762-842-9
The moral right of the author has been asserted.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events or locales is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out or otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
Dedication
For Carlene
Acknowledgements
I would like to express my thanks and indebtedness to Barbara Evans and Gerry Shaw who gave of their time and expertise to edit and proof read my novel, such as it was.
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Table of Contents
Prologue
‘Daddy...I need you. Where are you? Why am I lying in this bed? I’m naked.’
Since accepting a lift to the TV station from the kind lady for an interview about her prize-winning poem, she could remember nothing. Sitting next to her in the back seat of the large black SUV was the last thing that she could recall.
Through blurry, half-open eyes the pretty teenage girl didn’t recognize the room and couldn’t remember how she had got there. It wasn’t her bedroom.
It wasn’t really like a bedroom at all. She could make out a flat-screen TV set sitting on a counter with a picture hanging above it and struggling to turn her head she saw light coming from what looked like a bathroom. She thought for a split second she could see a shadow, very briefly, in the steamed-up mirror above the basin. It was taking all of her energy and effort to stay awake. There was someone in the bathroom. Her eyes were so heavy. They closed again.
A little later, maybe a long time later she had no idea, a beam of sunlight sliced through a chink in the drapes and bathed her face in warmth but it disappeared for the briefest of moments before the warmth returned again. Someone was walking around the room.
She tried desperately to open her eyes but couldn’t, she could only hear and feel footsteps coming towards her, vibrations in the floor resonated up through the bed.
‘What am I doing here? Daddy why are you always so far away from me? I need you Daddy. I need you,’
she said over and over to herself.
‘I’m scared Daddy.’
From the heaviness of the footsteps and the occasional cough, the young girl thought the person in the room must be a man. She felt a hand on her body. A tremor of sheer terror shot through her and yet she could do nothing.
‘D-a-d-d-y!! Someone is pulling back the sheets…’
Part One
Dead Man’s Justice
Chapter 1
Brad Stone felt relaxed for the first time in a very long time. He slept for the early part of the flight from Trinidad until a flight attendant nudged his arm waking him up, to offer him a drink of juice. He sipped it he leaned over and saw the beautiful light blue seas around the Bahamas islands. He sat back contented knowing that in a couple of hours he would be home in New York.
The gruesome events of the last month in Trinidad and St. Lucia invaded Stone’s thoughts, a slide show of the terror and depravity flashed across his eyes. Even the vision of his twelve-year-old daughter Laura’s welcoming smile couldn’t supplant the memory of Guy Randall’s bloody murder by his pool. The flashback would start at the same place each time, the gunshot ripping through the air and then the thudding sound of the bullet penetrating Guy Randall's chest. Guy was thrown backwards into the pool, his blood seeped out across the surface like a crimson blanket. Brad would then re-live the gut wrenching moments when his girlfriend Karla Shah was kidnapped and the feverish chase to find the island where she would drown unless rescued in time.
Stone needed to put the whole business behind him but first he was duty bound to attend Guy Randall’s funeral, and to deliver the dying man’s messages to his bereaved wife.
‘Ten minutes to landing,’
came the announcement and Stone looked out of the window and followed the New Jersey shoreline, he craned his neck to catch sight of the Empire State building on Long Island. He saw it and sank back into his seat. Minutes later the plane banked to the right over the Atlantic and made its approach into JFK. The plane landed safely with the usual screech and bump of tires on tarmac.
Stone cleared the last exit into the arrivals hall but stopped dead upon seeing an unexpected welcoming party. Detective Eduardo Ramirez of
the NYPD stepped out in front of Stone and held up his badge.
‘Brad Stone?’ asked Ramirez. ‘You are under arrest for the murder of a Guy Randall.’
Stone tried to keep cool.
There must be a mix up, he was sure that as soon as he told them the whole story they would release him. It was all a big mistake.
Wasn’t it?
Ramirez removed his shades and Stone met his unblinking steely-eyed stare. The eyes showed no emotion, if anything to Ramirez, Stone was already guilty. A little over five ten, Stone put Ramirez at about forty, his shiny cheap suit was hanging off his bony frame and his necktie was loose. He was chewing on a matchstick that was spiraling around the corner of his mouth. His thick black hair was greased back. A little straggly quiff fell back across his forehead. He slid his shades back down over his eyes.
How did they know I was coming?
Stone dropped his cases to the floor and realized his world was about to change again. Seriously change. He was being arrested for murder, a murder he didn’t commit. Stone started to break out into a cold sweat. This wasn’t Trinidad, he thought, where his brush with the police was a frustrating irritation, dealing with the incompetence and corruption. This was the USA, his home, at least here you are innocent until proven guilty, he consoled himself, but as two uniformed officers started to cuff his wrists he was having second thoughts.
‘Handcuffs?’ said Stone. ‘Is that really necessary Detective? I mean I just got off of a plane, I couldn’t possibly have a weapon and I’m surrounded by armed officers so I’m hardly a flight risk,’ he pleaded.
Finch looked pensive and threw a glance to his senior partner who put his hands on his hips and looked Stone straight in the eyes. He turned towards Finch and gave a nod of approval. Finch waved his hand to the officers and they put the handcuffs back on their belts.
‘Don’t make me regret this,’ said Ramirez.
Detective Michael Finch, Ramirez’s younger partner, read the Miranda rights to Stone. Finch read from a card. His necktie was tied neatly; his suit more expensive and better fitting. His military style short-cropped blond hair belied his sympathetic demeanor. When he’d finished reading the rights he politely ushered Stone forward. The entourage of four heavily armed officers parted to allow Stone, Ramirez and Finch through, their automatic rifles cocked and pointed towards the ground, but ready for action.
Stone felt embarrassed as he was being led away, the spectacle had brought the arrivals hall to a standstill, businessmen with their overnight bags and holiday makers, their trolleys piled high with cases.
As Stone and the officers walked out of the hall to the waiting police cars, the crowd started to slowly disperse and returned to what they were doing. For them the show was over.
For Stone it was just beginning.