The ace of spades, p.1
The Ace of Spades, page 1
Kenneth Cahill
The Ace of Spades
“In all my years of experience I have never come across a more devious, calculated and terrifying criminal mind than that of which Detective Spade faces in these pages. This is a thrilling page-turner that is sure to be an instant classic.”
–Tim Hennessy, Criminal Defense Attorney
M.A., Criminal Justice
The Ace of Spades
Kenneth Cahill
Safari Multimedia, LLC
The Ace of Spades is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, organizations and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Published by Safari Multimedia, LLC.
Copyright © 2015 by Kenneth Cahill. 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 publisher, except where permitted by law.
For information: mittercahill@aol.com
ISBN-13: 978-0692350010
ISBN-10: 0692350012
Artwork from Dreamstime.com
Book design by Safari Multimedia, LLC
For Swietlana, Justyna, Emilia,
Ashley, Shannon, Mom and Dad
One
The white satin blouse is now stained with a dry crimson in the collar and shoulder regions. The lifeless body of a beautiful young girl lies on the sidewalk of this dirty old alley. Alone among the people society forgets about, this beautiful young thing was left to become the same. The only thing disturbed on our victim was the exposed left breast the killer left his calling card to rest against. A calling card that is very familiar to me, left behind by a monster to mark his prey.
The spade. Something I have become a bit of a connoisseur on. I guess that would be expected, growing up with a name like Kenny Spade. Yes, ever since second grade I was the subject of all the mockeries that school kids are so gifted with. The teasing did have its benefits, though. It made me very tough. Tough and thick skinned. People learned very quickly to pick and chose their quarrels with me. Anyone who dared call me ace soon learned that I was more of the king of Spades. Ever since high school I’ve been known simply as Spade. All of my friends call me Spade. On occasion even my folks let a Spade slip. Of course I have to come back my royal flush in spades remark.
Thusly, I am very intrigued by the card I see before me. The ace of spades. Very, very intrigued. The ace of spades. This one is special. It holds a very sinister secret. The upside down heart, blackened by the touch of its holder, with the stem tucked up underneath just inviting you to dare and try to remove it. Oh yes, this spade has purpose. The dark red smudge across the insignia in the corner let’s you know this is a message. This black heart wants blood. And the breast it leans against, a beautiful girl with a bright promising future, validates its message. The girl is a red head, with big hazel eyes and very well dressed.
“Spade, why are you here?”
“Hey Loot, couldn’t sleep.” Lieutenant Dan Murphy is Chief of Homicide Detectives for the Orlando Police Department. I have a bit of a reputation as a night owl, so Loot is actually not that surprised to see me. Lieutenant Dan Murphy, whom I call Loot, knows I don’t sleep. He is also very aware that this is not my night to be at a murder scene. But like I said, Loot almost expects to see me here, because I always am.
In a city such as Orlando the night life never seems to end. There is a substantial percentage of people in this town who are here for fun. Granted, Orlando is a lot more family friendly then someplace like, let’s say, N’Orlans that’s adult oriented. O Town, as we like to call it, is still a vacation destination for people of all nationalities, ethnicities, religions and any other type of different philosophy you can possibly imagine. Adults need to unwind on vacation as much as the kids need to have fun. So there are quite a few different night destinations for adults to have their fun. As a young officer working my way through the ranks I had the opportunity to work a fair share of overnight shifts. As I graduated to reach the level of detective my affinity toward the life of a night owl grew considerably. I found it was much more valuable to probe different facets of any investigation either early in the morning or late in the evening. These times have a propensity to be more conducive to snitches and informants. They are a very useful resource in any investigation. I would need them with this one.
The killer was probably left handed judging from how the cut across the victim’s jugular ran from right to left. It looks to be a clean single motion slice, judging from the smoothness of the skin on both sides of the fatal cut. It is curious that he stopped two thirds of the way through. The killer was very meticulous. There is no blood on the shirt near the exposed breast. Was the blood put on the card intentionally? Is the killer trying to tell me something? It could be a warning, possibly of more killings to come. Perhaps the killer is taunting us, daring anyone to try and catch him. I’m sorry young lady. OK. Let’s get to work.
The victim’s wallet indicates she was twenty-three, from Winter Park, a nearby well-to-do suburb. There are no very distinguishing clues among her belongings. A driver’s license, some credit cards, a Social Security card and a seasonal pass to some of the local theme parks were present. Three hundred sixteen dollars and forty eight cents have not been confiscated by the killer. A diamond laden Citizens watch was also disregarded. This killer is not in it for the money. This was no accident. I don’t know if she was the intended victim or a random one, but our perpetrator was definitely planning on committing this crime. “So Spade, what do you think?”
“Loot, I was going to ask you the same thing.” There is nothing here to go on, and we both know this. All the blows inflicted were very meticulous, very skilled. We definitely have a lefty. The cut is too clean. Maybe it was someone who knows how to use a knife. Possibly a doctor or maybe a butcher. A blacksmith? Well it seems my possibilities have been narrowed. To a few million or so. Young lady, it’s time to get you out of here. The coroner’s office has just arrived. You don’t need to be here anymore. I’m sure there must be tons of pictures of you much happier than the thirty or so my colleagues just took. Her wallet is secured in an evidence bag, along with her purse, a cellphone and her shoes. I hold on to the ace, it has more to tell me. I place it in its own evidence bag, for right now I have something else to tell. Now it’s time to let her parents know their pretty little girl will not be coming home. There is never a good time or a good way to do this, day or night.
This ace is a tell tale heart. It wants to speak. It wants to reveal the evil that perpetrated this atrocity. Speak to me. Why won’t you speak to me? Whatever the message, you will tell me. I have to find your secret. I stare at the card endlessly. The spade expands into a thousand blurs, each one laughing at me, taunting me. Spade. You call yourself a spade. You disappoint me. You are giving us spades a bad name. Are you a real detective? Look at me, Spade. Everything you need is right in front of you. Open your eyes Spade. Open them! Do you really want a maniac to ruin your streets, Spade. Spade, can you hear me? Spade? Spade? “Spade?” What? Huh? “Oh, sorry Loot.” Yeah, yeah I’m OK. “How long was I zoning out for?” Zoning is an understatement.
“A few minutes.” Loot replies. “What’s up?”
“Nothing boss. Just checking the evidence.”
“Spade, you need to go get some sleep. You’re shot.”
“I know. I will, Soon.”
“Spade, go before you faint. That’s an order.”
“OK, Loot. I’m feeling you.” He is not wrong. I’m shot. But this ace is taunting me.
The car operates almost on autopilot. I hardly even remember driving the twenty minutes to get to my house off West Colonial and Hiawassee. I moved here just because I like the word Hiawassee. That should tell you a little something about me. My place probably looks like most others belonging to cops who work too much. Coffee cups that should have been washed weeks ago sit in the sink. There are ashtrays full of butts scattered about. My elegant furnishings include a double bed; torn up recliner, beat up TV and coffee table. It is lit as well as a seedy bar in the worst part of town would be. A collection of DVD’s including the policeman standards Lethal Weapon I thru IV, Young Frankenstein, the Godfather Collection and Mad Max. My pride and joy is my collection of Civil War artifacts, including an authentic letter written to President Lincoln notifying him on the progress of the war and a genuine musket from the Battle of Gettysburg. It is probably the one thing I have taken an actual interest in other than my work. And Spades, of course. There are dozens of books on spades scattered throughout the home. Strategically placed is my crown jewel. On the east wall of the living room is an ace of spades. Three foot, beautifully framed, off set on white with a deep burgundy wall as the backdrop. It is my reminder. A reminder of darker times. A reminder of desperation and loss of control. A reminder of the incident.
It was years back when I was a young OPD beat officer. I had a midnight double. It was around 3 a.m. in the Park Lake section of Colonial Drive. Colonial is a main cross fare in Orlando. I was on routine patrol. I received a call for someone screaming in the woods around the lake. I pulled up and started to search the area. I had my lights on in the car but no siren. There was some light being permeated by the moon but most of the light was being created by all of the lights of my car. I had a flashlight in my right hand and my left hand in the vicinity of my nights
“What took you so long? What took you so long!? What took you so long!!!!?”
“It’s OK I’m here now.”
“I needed you three days ago! What took you so long?!!”
“I’m sorry, it’s OK now. You’re going to be OK. I got you. My name is Kenny.”
“I needed you three days ago. Tell my mom and dad I’m sorry and I love them. And Kenny, Thank You.”
Such were the last words ever spoken by Miss Elizabeth Downing of Jacksonville, Florida in her last breath of life. The life robbed from her by a monster who to this day I wish I had splattered his face all over my uniform.
It was Lieutenant Dan who prevented this from happening. Lieutenant Dan remanded the prisoner to custody. Lieutenant Dan brought me in and debriefed me. The crime was so brutal brass made Lieutenant Dan, who wasn’t even my lieutenant then, give me paid leave and get counseling, a department mandate. Well, counseling I received. After my first visit with the department shrink I was on a plane to Vegas, savior of all. I found every single sin in sin city. And I even invented some sins that mortal man didn’t even know existed yet. Houses of ill repute, I didn’t miss a single one. I had an international smorgasbord of ladies, I doubt if I missed ten of the countries on the entire planet. As for the nectar of the gods, if it had a kick I had overindulgence. I had some rough trips with several different illegal substances, and even one where I woke up forty-eight hours after the fact. It was three weeks of excess, but it couldn’t stop the pain. Every girl I was with had her face. Every bad trip I had involved a replay of the final, fatal conversation of Elizabeth Downing. I could not escape her, I could not forget I was three days too late. My reign of error was capped on my twenty-third day in Vegas. I had run through every penny I had access to, and some I didn’t.
I was in the MGM, slightly loaded. I was playing some poker for a few hours and had lost a bunch. Then I got a little lucky I played a hand with two small suited cards and wound up three minutes later with a straight flush, in spades of course. It netted me 10,000. I bailed from the table and decided to go try the tables. I settled on roulette. I was a little more than a little inebriated but I didn’t care. I was a little rowdy at the roulette wheel when some of the finest security guards came over and began to shadow me. After one unsuccessful, costly roll I was a little more than a little pissed and more vocal than I should have been. MGM’s Grandest were waiting for this and tried to remove me. Well, my bad luck and bad behavior had one more up swell left, and I resisted my escorts as much as possible. In fact, it took seven to subdue me. My next step was a visit to the Las Vegas holding facility.
A phone call to my CO got my ass in a whole lot of professional hot water. It also got me an in person escort back to Orlando. Once I arrived back to work I was besieged with every possible question, regulation, and disciplinary statute they could throw (deservedly so). The end result was twice a week sessions with Dr. Frankenstein. These sessions lasted for eight months, during which time I was still self-medicating to the max. It came to a head at one of the Christmas parties, when I was so drunk I couldn’t stumble straight. I hit my car and tried to go. Standing in front of me when I turned my lights on was Lieutenant Dan Murphy, Orlando PD. He stood his ground in front of me, much like the elderly Chinese gentleman in front of the tank in Tiananmen Square. After much swearing and a fifteen-minute standoff, Lieutenant Dan Murphy took my keys and drove me to his house.
I don’t remember hitting the couch, or how I got in at all. What I do remember is a pot of hot coffee at 7:30 a.m. and a conversation. Not with Lieutenant Dan but with his lovely wife Kate. She was a lady of simple beauty, the perfect girl next door that every teenage boy wanted to grow old with. She was apparently aware of my indiscretions, for she never acted surprised by anything I did. Loot was nowhere to be seen when I arose, just Kate and that coffee. Kate offered me some of the best tasting coffee I had ever had. Of course, after my night before it is very possible that a pot of pig vomit would have tasted that good. Kate did not preach to me or lecture me. She simply told me what it was like being Loot’s wife, being in love with a man so dedicated to his job, and worrying every day whether it was the day of the nightmare. The day she never knew if the two cops would show at the door with the worst news she could imagine. Thankfully that day had not come yet. It could be today. She didn’t know. But every day in Kate’s life was filled with the inner turmoil of fear versus faith. I sat in Kate’s kitchen drinking coffee for hours, just listening. Never had I experienced a woman so wise. But for the first time I understood the final seconds of the life of Elizabeth Downing, a combination of relief and agony no mere mortal person should have to live through. I finally got the answers to questions I didn’t even know I had. I understood that the world is not always kind, and you’re responsible for yourself and your ability to change it.
I went to find Lieutenant Dan. I found him at homicide. He asked me how I was. No lecture, no judgment. He didn’t ask of my morning or how Kate was. He knew. That day I realized that I was on a path of self destruction. On that day I forged a nonobligatory, endearing friendship with Kate and Dan Murphy. I resurrected my career by throwing myself into my work. It took me years to get off foot patrol. Years of making a difference. Years of fighting the demons I embraced that fateful night. And years of saying goodbye to Elizabeth Downing. I still fight my demons every day, and every night I tell Elizabeth Downing how sorry I was I didn’t arrive three days earlier. After I rededicated myself, I had the good fortune of having an open application to homicide when one Lieutenant Dan Murphy was named Chief of Homicide Detectives. It took me eighteen months, but I was finally given the opportunity to join homicide. Loot and I have caught a decent number of murderers and put ourselves in a position to make all potential criminals think twice. As for my friend the Ace of Spades, well my work is not yet done here.
