Total pages in book: 117
Estimated words: 108342 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 542(@200wpm)___ 433(@250wpm)___ 361(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108342 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 542(@200wpm)___ 433(@250wpm)___ 361(@300wpm)
He immediately scoffed at that, even though he’d already secretly considered that option. Chief Lewis said it best. There was no need to force people into a panic until there was solid proof. Drug addicts die every day. Clark Johnson, like many of the others found in close proximity, all had one issue or another—some had problems that prevented them from being fully integrated in a good lifestyle.
As far as murders were concerned, most of the bodies discovered as of late had been strangled. A couple had been shot with a revolver. Typically, serial killers had a preferred method of ending lives and stuck to that. These were separate incidents. Coincidences. Troubled men with checkered backgrounds. They all looked different, too. No rhyme or reason. A couple came from good families. No drug addictions.
No, these were all unrelated. Probably a few nutjobs working in the same area. Besides, they didn’t have the budget or manpower to chase ghosts. Hard evidence needed to be obtained before anyone ran off at the mouth with that narrative.
Portland was safe. In fact, it was one of the safest damn cities in the entire United States. He was proud of that. Crime is low due to our diligence. Heroin usage was on the rise, however, but they were on top of this. It was being monitored. The people committing some of these murders were undoubtedly from the drug scene, and others were just personal vendettas, or maybe even robberies gone bad. Regardless, the perpetrators would be caught and apprehended sooner rather than later. Nobody from Boston needed to try and show up and help them. It was under control.
Ms. Lee should have kept her ass in Massachusetts if she wanted to keep fighting crime.
There was nothin’ ugly in Portland. Just gorgeous mountain views, Victorian homes, cozy seafood restaurants, the lighthouse that is featured on the front of the Red Lobster restaurant menus, and a whole lot of peace. Peace that he refused to have disrupted by a few kooky killers, and an ex-cop trying to show off and make a mockery of all he held dear…
CHAPTER ONE
When people die, people lie.
The mothers, brothers, sisters, friends and neighbors stand by the dead—stiff body in the casket, caked with makeup and flooded with fluids to keep it from stinkin’ up the joint—and smile. Cry.
Lie. No one tells the truth at the funeral…
“Oh! Charlie was uh good boy! He nevah hurt a fly!” Bullshit! Charlie Ferguson was the high school bully, and he continued that shit well into his thirties. Folks got tired of his crap. Bullet to the dome. No one fessed up to it, although the punishment was much deserved. People partied in the streets after news spread that he kicked the bucket. End of fuckin’ story.
Or how about how Tabitha Raynor, who was an unrepentant, ravenous drug addict who stole the life savings from several senior citizens, wrote bad checks driving one store out of business, and took some guy with dementia for all he was worth, leaving him to rot away in a nursing home. Cherry on top? She sold her widowed mother’s wedding ring to a drug dealer, all to get her hands on some Fentanyl. She OD’d on it, too, then everyone was sittin’ around talkin’ about how awesome she was, and she’d just run into a rough patch. Nobody’s perfect. We’ve all got our faults and kinks. But no, Tabitha’s shit was much more serious than a rough patch. She wasn’t just an addict. That’s forgivable. She was a thief, a liar, a scammer and a whore long before she was a drug addict. She snorted her faith up her nose and shot it in her veins. Hail Mary.
Then there was Petey Dowell who moved here from Boston to get away from a rape case, of all things. No one knew about that until it was too late. He was a pure-bred child fucker, and when the little girl he got his hands on told her grandma about it. Little Liza wasn’t believed, and was told to not repeat it to her mother. Little Liza didn’t listen to grandma though. Next thing ya know, her mother beat the dog shit outta Petey with his own baseball bat inside a bar. Bashed his brains out, and ended up in prison for protecting her own child. How’s that for true justice, protection of the innocent, and honesty?
This world is a shit stain on the universe. It’s a big, long winded, unfunny joke with no punchline. Clowns are running amuck with no circus. If I were God, this would be the last curtain call…
Nikolai leaned out the dew-covered window, allowing the cool air of the late morning to bathe his face. It was a foggy Monday, and the funeral procession going on outside his downtown antiques and art shop, Raven Novelties, was almost complete. Somber faces filled a procession of cars with Portland and Vermont license plates. Two police officers trailed behind and the black hearse, housing its rotten corpse, was long gone.