A Killer Like Me
Authors: Chuck Hustmyre
Tags: #Fiction, #Mystery & Detective, #General, #Police Procedural, #Hard-Boiled
| A Killer Like Me | |
| Chuck Hustmyre | |
| Dorchester Publishing Co., Inc. (2009) | |
| Rating: | *** |
| Tags: | Police Procedural, Mystery & Detective, General, Hard-Boiled, Fiction |
### Review
"Hustmyre (is) a natural born story-teller right up there with the likes of Stephen King or John Grisham." --bestselling author Sheldon Bowles on *Killer with a Badge*
"Hustmyre deftly takes the reader through the intimate twists and turns of the investigation. The reader can feel the frustrations of a dedicated sheriff's department that solved the unsolvable." --Marilyn Bardsley, editor, CourtTV's CrimeLibrary.com on *An Act of Kindness*.
"Hustmyre is as gritty and in-your-face as can be, making the reader feel like they're poring over a real-life crime scene." --Anne Barringer, *The Best Reviews* on *Killer with a Badge*
### Product Description
A shocking serial killer calling himself the Lamb of God is stalking the streets of New Orleans, but city officials want to keep the murders quiet. So it’s up to homicide detective Sean Murphy to stop him the only way he knows how—by getting inside the killer’s head, thinking the way he thinks, anticipating his next move. But thinking like a madman brings with it some huge risks…as Murphy’s about to find out. And the risks will only get deadlier when the killer learns Murphy’s secret. Now the Lamb of God recognizes in Murphy a worthy opponent. Or perhaps a kindred spirit?
“A gut wrenching, pulse pounding nonstop cop drama. I almost expected the pages to leave bloodstains on my fingers!”
—Burl Barer, Edgar Award winning author of
Fatal Beauty
“
A Killer Like Me
is a spellbinding thriller from the very first page. The pace never lets up. The action is convincing, and the twists and turns breathtaking. A truly original and compelling story of cops and killers.”
—Harry N. MacLean, Edgar Award winning author of
In Broad Daylight
and
The Past Is Never Dead
“Right from its first words,
A Killer Like Me
is an absorbing noir thriller with strong characters and a page-turning pace, all told with colorful writing that captures the grit and romance of New Orleans. Top-notch!”
—Ron Franscell, bestselling author of
The Darkest Night
and
Delivered from Evil
“Chuck Hustmyre understands the grittiness of the streets, and his characters come to life with an authenticity that grabs you. It is storytelling at its very best!”
—Kevin M. Sullivan, author of
The Bundy Murders
“Real. Raw. Unthinkable. Outstanding. Prepare for a nonstop adrenaline rush when reading this gritty novel from former ATF agent Chuck Hustmyre.”
—Stacy Dittrich, former detective and author of the
CeeCee Gallagher detective series
After a few minutes, when he is certain she has passed from this life, he rolls the woman over. Her eyes are already glassy, their edges lined with burst blood vessels. He unbuttons and removes her imitation silk blouse, then pulls off her high-heeled sandals and peels away her skirt. She wears no bra or panties. This woman was a true harlot. Soon she will be clean again.
He spreads her arms and legs wide and then looks around for something to use for the rest of the ritual. She will get no physical contact from him because he has no interest in her whore’s flesh. But he will treat her like the whore she is. This one won’t feel it like the last one did, but her soul will know the Lord’s hand has reached out and touched her vile places.
She is his tenth sacrifice and still no one has recognized his work. No one even knows he is here at all. But he has a plan. If this dead harlot doesn’t capture the attention of the police and the press, he knows what will. He has something more dramatic in mind, something much more dramatic . . .
C
HUCK
H
USTMYRE
DORCHESTER PUBLISHING
Published by
Dorchester Publishing Co., Inc.
200 Madison Avenue
New York, NY 10016
Copyright © 2011 by Chuck Hustmyre
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, without the written permission of the publisher, except where permitted by law. The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Trade ISBN: 978-1-4285-1135-4
E-book ISBN: 978-1-4285-0975-7
First Dorchester Publishing, Co., Inc. edition: August 2011
The “DP” logo is the property of Dorchester Publishing Co., Inc.
Printed in the United States of America.
Visit us online at
www.dorchesterpub.com
.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I would like to thank several people who helped me as I researched and wrote this novel.
My deep appreciation goes to the New Orleans cops who taught me a little something about homicide investigation, including Detective Mike McCleery, Sgt. Danny Scanlan, and Lt. Joe Meisch.
I would also like to thank two friends who read early drafts of the manuscript and offered insightful criticism, Joe Long and Jeff Warrens.
My journalistic mentor, James Minton, has my enduring gratitude, as does my literary agent, Scott Gould of RLR Associates, my editor, Don D’Auria, and the crew at Dorchester.
Also, of course, I would like to thank my wife and partner-in-crime, Kristie, who had to ride with me up every blind alley and down every dead end street as I searched for the story, all for a new pair of shoes.
—Chuck Hustmyre
He who fights with monsters should be careful lest he thereby become a monster. And if thou gaze long into an abyss, the abyss will also gaze into thee.
—Friedrich Nietzsche,
Beyond Good and Evil
HAPTER
O
NE
Tuesday, July 24, 2:30
PM
The woman’s naked corpse lay sprawled on the floor. Her arms were outstretched, her legs spread. The insides of her thighs were crusted with dried blood. More blood had congealed into a sticky puddle on the floor beneath her.
New Orleans homicide detectives Sean Murphy and Juan Gaudet stood near the dead woman’s feet.
“He hurt her before he killed her,” Murphy said.
Gaudet nodded. “You think it was our guy?”
“Look at the ligature marks on her neck.”
“But there’s no plastic cable tie this time,” Gaudet said.
Murphy took a step toward the woman’s head and leaned forward to examine her neck. The discoloration from the ligature contained tiny ridge impressions, like those found on a cable tie. “He must have cut it off.”
“He left them on the other victims.”
Murphy stood up. “It’s him.”
“What makes you so sure?”
“I’ve got a feeling.”
“You got a feeling?” Gaudet asked, his voice sarcastic.
Murphy nodded. “It feels like our guy. The way he put her on display in the middle of the floor, like she was sacrificed on an altar.”
“The other ones weren’t posed.”
“They just weren’t this obvious,” Murphy said as he stepped over the dead woman’s left arm and squatted beside her head. “He’s getting more into the act itself. He’s gaining confidence and developing into a more sophisticated killer.”
The crime scene was inside an old club on North Rampart Street called the Destiny Lounge. The club had been closed since Katrina. After the storm, it had become a toilet for bums and a shooting gallery for junkies. Several months back the city boarded up the doors and windows.
Murphy stood and shone his flashlight at the ceiling, amazed that the mirrored disco ball still hung over the grime-covered dance floor.
“Who called it in?” Murphy asked an overweight uniformed cop standing inside the propped-open front door.
“Anonymous nine-one-one call,” the fat cop said.
“Some dope fiend would be my guess,” Gaudet offered.
“A dope fiend with a conscience?” Murphy asked.
“I bet he fucked her first.”
“The killer?”
“No,” Gaudet said. “The nine-one-one caller.”
“She’s kind of ripe.”
“Still, I bet there’s more than one sperm sample inside her. One from the killer, one from the caller.”
“She’s a twenty-dollar crack whore,” Murphy said. “We’re going to find a whole sperm bank inside her.”
Outside, the summer sun beat down on the city through a cloudless sky. Sweat ran down Murphy’s face and plastered his shirt and suit coat to his back.
Hardly any of that blinding sunlight, though, penetrated the tomblike interior of the bar. The plywood covering on the doors and windows hadn’t kept out the victim, the killer, or the transient who found the body, but it kept out the light. The only ambient illumination came through the open door.
“How did the first officers get inside?” Murphy asked the fat cop.
The patrolman pointed to a dark hallway at the rear of the building. “Past the restrooms, the back door is off its hinges.”
“Is that how you got in?”
The cop nodded.
“What about the front door?” Gaudet asked.
“It was chained shut from the inside. We used a tire iron to bust open the padlock so we could get some light and some fresh air in here.”
Gaudet turned to Murphy. “How long do you think she’s been here?”
Murphy painted the body with his flashlight. Then he took a deep whiff of the air. “I’d say at least two days.”
A uniformed sergeant stepped through the door. “Hey, Murph . . .” He looked around the club like someone who had just walked into a dark movie theater. “Where the hell are you?”
Murphy waved his flashlight. “Right here.”
“The coroner’s man says it’ll be at least an hour before he can get here. They’re pulling a female floater out of the river by the French Market.”
