White tiger, p.1
White Tiger, page 1
WHITE TIGER
The perfect serial killer ... but is he man or beast?
GARY NAIMAN
eBook Published by Fideli Publishing, Inc.
© Copyright 2018, Gary Naiman
All Rights Reserved.
License Notes
This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this eBook with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this eBook and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
This eBook is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.
ISBN: 9781604145564
ALSO BY GARY NAIMAN
The Response
From the Void
The Warriors
The Battle
P.P.M. (Parts Per Million)
Omega
Storm Rising
Heartland
Electron
Robo Sapiens
From the Depths
Vengeance is Mine
Collision
Tiger, tiger, burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?
— William Blake
CHAPTER 1
Chicago — 3 a.m.
Detective 1 turned into the rainswept parking lot and eased behind Prowl 23 and 36. By now, 23 and 36’s pulsing red beacons had awakened the Night Haven’s weary guests. They stood dumbfounded at their opened doors, their bodies clad in robes and pajamas, their eyes trained on the four cops standing outside Room 111.
Chief Detective J.R. Casey climbed out of Detective 1 with an angry grunt. He glanced at the flickering sky and muttered a curse while lifting his raincoat collar. He stood silent, his eyes on the cops.
Casey had taken the call an hour earlier. A disturbance at the Night Haven Motel near O’Hare International Airport. The 911 report mentioned shouts and screams coming from one of the guest rooms. Normally, a code 415 wouldn’t necessitate a dispatcher call to Chicago PD’s Chief of Detectives, but the past six months had changed that.
Casey squinted at one of the cops who was jogging toward him. The cop eased beside him and swiped the rain off his forehead. “Officer Zednik, sir. I’ve got a third car covering the motel’s rear, but so far no movement.”
“Any sounds from the room?”
“No, sir ... dead silence.”
Casey pushed back his soaked gray hair. “You knocked and identified yourself?”
“Yes, sir ... no response. Didn’t want to take it further until you got here.”
Casey nodded. “Do we have the caller?”
Zednik nodded at the three people standing at the office door to their left. “The night manager called 911 at 01:45. He’s the guy on the right. Pretty shook too. Keeps mumbling about losing his job.”
Casey eyed the three people. “Who are the other two?”
“They’re motel guests from Room 110. They reported the disturbance to the night manager.”
Casey nodded. “Okay ... sit tight until I talk to them.”
“Yes, sir.”
Casey watched Zednik jog back to the waiting cops. He tugged on his collar and shuffled toward the three people standing at the office door.
Casey ignored the night manager, instead focusing on the man and woman clothed in robes and pajamas. He forced a smile while displaying his star. “Quite a night.” He waited for their nervous nods. “I’m Chief Detective Casey, Chicago Police Department.” He eyed the shaken man. “You’re?”
“Robert Klandow. I heard it all.”
“Heard?”
“It sounded like they were having a fight. Lots of shouting. I tried to ignore them, but they kept getting louder.”
“And?”
The panicked woman shook her head. “That’s all we know, except for the screams and—”
Casey looked at her. “Go ahead, Mrs. Klandow.”
She looked at Casey with desperate eyes. “Is the media coming?”
Casey shrugged. “Depends on what we find.”
She leaned toward him. “Can we confide in you?”
“We?”
“Yes, sir.”
Casey forced a nod. He knew what was coming. The Night Haven was renowned for its illicit love affairs and secret getaways.
She started to speak but the robed man cut her off, his eyes focused on Casey. “We didn’t want this.”
“Want what?”
The man shook his head. “Detective Casey, right?”
“Yes.”
“You’re a man. Maybe you can understand what’s going on here.”
Casey gave him the evil eye. “I bet your name isn’t Klandow.”
The shaken man looked down. “Griffin ... Terry Griffin.”
Casey looked at the attractive woman on the verge of tears. “And you’re?”
“Martha Hubert.”
“Relationship?”
She sighed. “I’m Mr. Griffin’s secretary.”
Casey nodded and glanced over his shoulder. “So you heard screams and something else?”
She forced a nod.
Casey brushed the rain off his forehead. “Look folks ... the sooner we get this done, the sooner you can leave.”
Her eyes brightened. “Then you won’t report this to Mr. Griffin’s wife?”
Casey locked his gray eyes on her. “I have enough headaches, Ms. Hubert. Tell me what you heard.”
She nodded and fumbled for words. “First an argument, loud and threatening.”
“Did you hear what they were saying?”
“Something about children, but they weren’t close enough to the wall to pick up anything else.”
“You think there were two?”
She nodded. “Definitely a man and woman.”
“Any sounds of a struggle?”
She shook her head. “Nothing. Everything suddenly went silent, except for—”
“Yes?”
She looked at her companion who was rubbing the back of his neck. Then the lightning flash and clap of thunder.
Casey leaned toward her. “Ms. Hubert?”
“A roar.”
“A what?”
She stared at him. “A roar ... like an animal.”
Casey spun around and glared at the soaked cops standing at 111’s rain-spattered door. “Break it down!”
“Here’s the key, officer.”
Casey glanced at the night manager who was holding an electronic card. “Too late for that. Get in the office and take Mr. and Mrs. Klandow with you.”
He watched them retreat into the office and close the door, and caught a glimpse of her thankful smile.
Casey watched Officers Zednik and Floyd ram their shoulders into the door, splintering the wood around the lock. They backed away and slammed their heels into the shattered wood, blasting the door open.
Zednik and Floyd crouched against the jamb, their Glocks pointed at the darkness. Five seconds later, they rushed into the dark room with Officers Maynard and Pierce standing behind them in the doorway, their Glocks poised to shoot for effect — but no shots were fired. The only sound was the falling rain.
Casey stepped toward the shattered door, his Glock drawn. One of the onlookers started to advance toward him from Room 101, but Casey’s pointed finger and decisive shout put the man in quick retreat along with the dozen others looking down at him from the second floor railing. “This is police business! Get back in your room, shut your door, and stay there!” He listened to the banging doors and stepped forward, the rain spattering off his face.
Casey was within ten feet of the door when Officer Floyd staggered out of the room, his hand cupped over his mouth. The stunned cop leaned against the doorjamb and vomited his guts while pointing at the room.
Casey brushed past him and the two stunned cops, his hands clutching the Glock. Officer Zednik was seated on the blood-spattered bed, his Glock lowered, his eyes gazing at the darkened bathroom.
Casey eased beside him. “You okay, officer?”
Zednik shook his head. “I’ve been doing this three years. Thought I’d seen it all.”
Casey lifted his flashlight and positioned it beneath the Glock’s barrel. He flicked it on and stared at the vanity. He stepped forward, his eyes focused on the bloody sink and rug.
He backed away and shined the light on the blood-soaked rug where an object lay in the pulpous red mass. Then another. And another. He retreated to the bed and sat beside the shaken cop.
Casey leaned against Zednik. “Quite a mess.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Three years?”
Zednik nodded.
Casey peered at the bloody rug. “Get hold of yourself officer. I’ve seen worse in my nineteen.” He pushed off the bed and stared at the shaken cop. “Call it in and string a yellow tape before the media get here.”
Zednik stared at the rug.
“Officer?”
“Yes sir ... will do.”
Casey was almost to Detective 1 when Zednik called out to him. He turned to the cop who was rushing toward him with something in his gloved hand.
&nb sp; Zednik held out his hand. “It’s all over the room, sir.”
Casey ran his finger through the white fur in Zednik’s hand. “Looks like a cat.”
“A big one, sir.”
Casey nodded. “Forensics will check it along with everything else. Better stay out of there.”
“Gladly, sir.”
Casey spent the next hour seated beside his driver, Detective Raymond, his tired eyes gazing at the lab boys carrying their satchels into Room 111. Zednik and Floyd stood watch outside the shattered door, the crime scene tape stretched in front of them. Prowl 36 had been relieved, leaving Prowl 23 and the forensics van parked in the lot along with a dozen other cars. A couple of nervous guests had tried to sneak out, but they were stopped by Zednik who told them no one could leave until cleared. Unfortunately, that included Mr. Griffin and Ms. Hubert who were being interrogated by the first reporters on the scene, their video cameras locked on the two shaken guests.
Casey was dozing when Detective Raymond aroused him, his hand extending the mike. “It’s the boss.”
Casey frowned and glanced at his watch. The boss was Bernard Menkin, Deputy Superintendent of Chicago PD Investigative Services. He snatched the mike and pressed the talk button.”Bernie, that you?”
“Better believe it. What do we have?”
“Looks like two missing persons at the Night Haven Motel. The occupants next door reported an argument followed by violence.”
“Got any evidence?”
Casey’s frown deepened. “Yeah...”
“Go on.”
“Two detached eyes and part of a brain.”
“God...”
“Yeah ... something like that.”
“That’s five, dammit.”
“Yeah ... looks like it.” Casey listened to the click and lowered the mike.
CHAPTER 2
Chicago — 1:45 a.m.
They lay in the darkness, their bodies intertwined. The only sound was the motel room’s air conditioner. She was nearly asleep when her eyes snapped open. “What time is it?”
“Time?”
She squinted at the illuminated alarm clock. “God, it’s almost two. The sitter’s freaking out. I told her I’d be home by midnight.” She sat up and flicked on the table lamp, her hand fumbling through her purse. She yanked out her cell phone and popped it open. “If she panicked and called Stan—”
He raised his hand in a calming gesture. “Easy, honey. Tell her you’re on the way home. Car trouble always works.”
She ignored him and pressed the phone against her ear. He watched her fumble for words, her hand clutching the phone. Then the sigh of relief when the sitter told her she hadn’t called her husband.
She dropped the phone in her purse and forced a nervous smile. “I better go. His red-eye lands at six. I promised I’d pick him up.”
“That’s four hours from now.”
“I need to go.”
He slipped against her, his lips and tongue caressing her bare leg. “Still time for a quickie.”
“Maybe for you.” She pushed him away and stood up, her naked body glistening in the soft light.
He watched her shuffle into the bathroom and close the door. A quick flush and she was standing at the vanity mirror, her hands slipping on panties and bra.
He rolled off the bed, his nakedness in full view through the mirror. “Sure?”
She glared at him while dabbing mascara on her lashes. “Maybe after I drive forty minutes to my home to pay the sitter and kiss my sleeping children. Then forty more to O’Hare to pick up the biggest scum on the planet.” She lowered the mascara brush. “Maybe after that.”
He shrugged. “Cop a plea. Tell him you’re under the weather.”
She gripped the vanity. “You still don’t get it. The man’s delusional ... at the breaking point. The liquor’s taken its toll. He’s a walking time bomb”
“Then tell him you spent the night in bed with your lover.”
She flung the brush in the sink and spun around, her eyes filled with anger. “Not funny, Charles. He’s a powerful man. He’ll ruin us.”
His blue eyes flared. “He’ll ruin nothing. Call the fool and tell him I can’t live without you. If you want, I’ll do it.”
She stared at him with pleading eyes. They’d only met a month ago, but Claudia Parsons was madly in love with the man standing naked in front of her. Oh, how she wanted to walk away from her husband to begin a new life with this wonderful man.
She looked down and frowned. It would be the hardest thing she had ever done. Her son was only nine and his baby sister, seven. A divorce would be heart-wrenching for her children, but the price of remaining with Stan Parsons had become far worse. In the past six months, the paranoid bank executive had struck her twice in front of them, calling her a whore for her innocent flirtations. When she tried to explain there was nothing to his paranoia, he erupted in a drunken frenzy, threatening to throw her into the street while her children wept.
Fact is, Ms. Parsons had been faithful to her husband until she met the man standing in front of her, an innocent encounter at a local art museum one month ago. Convinced there was no hope for their eighteen-year marriage, she was ready to walk out on Stan and his wealth to build a better life for herself and her children.
She was applying her lipstick when he slipped his arms around her waist and kissed her gently on the nape of the neck.
“Stay with me. Leave that creep and build something new.”
“And my children?”
“They can’t come.”
She hipped him away. “Not funny, Mr. Haden. Not funny at all.”
He raised his hands. “I’m joking, honey. I love children. I was one, remember?”
She glared at the mirror. “I’m sorry, Charles. We’re talking about my blood. I don’t have a choice. You have to be patient.”
He backed away. “I’m trying, dammit.”
There was something about the sudden harshness in his voice that unnerved her. She turned around and looked him in the eye. “This is crazy. It’s only a month since we met. Now we’re screwing our brains out and talking about me leaving my husband.” She shook her head. “One week you’re here, the next you’re gone. Don’t know where, don’t know why.” She sighed. “Not much to pin hopes on.”
He stared at her. “I’ll give it up for you.”
“Give?”
“My life ... my world.”
She turned to the mirror and picked up the lipstick. “It’s more than us, Charles. Two innocent children have been damaged by their father. If I divorce him now, they might not recover.”
“You won’t leave him?”
She closed the lipstick. “I’m sorry.”
He backed against the bathroom door. “You underestimate your children. They’re tougher than that.” He looked down. “They find a way.”
She slipped her makeup kit in her purse and turned toward him. “You sound like you’re speaking from experience.”
“Maybe.”
She stared at him. “Tell me.”
He shook his head.
She eased toward him. “Charles?”
He sighed. “My childhood wasn’t so good.”
She rested her hand on his bare arm. “I’m listening.”
He frowned. “You don’t want to hear this.”
“I do.”
“You might regret it.”
She stroked his arm. “There are no secrets between lovers.”
His frown deepened. He rested his head against the bathroom door and looked at the ceiling. “My mother had affairs, but my father didn’t care.”
“Didn’t...?”
“He was too busy screwing his son.”
She froze, her eyes on the trembling man.
His blue eyes locked on her. “But we survive, Ms. Parsons ... we survive.”
It was 01:45, but she didn’t care. She took him in her arms and comforted him. “Why didn’t you tell me? I’d understand.”
He shoved her away. “Would you?”
She blinked a tear. “My god, Charles. Don’t you get it? I love you.”
“Then show it!”
She clenched her fists. “I can’t leave him!”
She reached for him but he lurched back toward the bed. The gentle face was gone, replaced by an ugly scowl. “Charles?”
He glared at her with those blue eyes. “I don’t want your pity.”
She watched him crouch beside the black valise at the foot of the bed. “What’s wrong?”
