The Love Killings
Authors: Robert Ellis
Tags: #Mystery; Thriller & Suspense, #Mystery, #Hard-Boiled, #Police Procedurals, #Thrillers & Suspense, #Suspense
PRAISE FOR ROBERT ELLIS
City of Echoes
“Ellis keeps everything in focus while building a staggering momentum.”
—
Booklist
starred review
“
City of Echoes
is a dark, gritty, one-sit read . . . Ellis’ trademark plotting is on full display here.”
“Only really good writers can make you feel so strongly . . .
City of Echoes
is another bravura effort from the talented Robert Ellis.”
—
Mystery Scene Magazine
“
City of Echoes
is an absorbing and entertaining read from first page to last and documents novelist Robert Ellis as a master of the genre.”
—Midwest Book Review
City of Fire
“Los Angeles, under a cloud of acrid smoke . . . Robert Ellis’s
City of Fire
is a gripping, spooky crime novel.”
—
New York Times
Hot List Pick
“
City of Fire
is my kind of crime novel. Gritty, tight and assured. Riding with Detective Lena Gamble through the hills of Los Angeles is something I could get used to. She’s tough, smart, and most of all, she’s real.”
—Michael Connelly
The Lost Witness
“Scorching. Deliciously twisted. Nothing is what it appears to be. Ellis succeeds masterfully in both playing fair and pulling surprise after surprise in a story that feels like a runaway car plunging down a mountain road full of switchbacks.”
—
Publishers Weekly
, Starred Review
“Ellis serves up a killer crime tale with riveting characters and relentless twists.”
—
Booklist
, Starred Review
Murder Season
“
Murder Season
: a terrific sick-soul-of-LA thriller . . . Before you can say
Chinatown
we are immersed in a tale of mind-boggling corruption where virtually every character in the book—with the exception of Lena—has a hidden agenda. Ellis is a master plotter . . . Along the way we meet wonderful characters.”
—
Connecticut Post
, Hearst Media News Group
“Within the space of a few books, Ellis has demonstrated that rare ability to skillfully navigate his readers through a complex plot filled with interesting, dangerous and surprising characters.”
ALSO BY ROBERT ELLIS
City of Echoes
Murder Season
The Lost Witness
City of Fire
The Dead Room
Access to Power
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Text copyright © 2016 Robert Ellis
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise without express written permission of the publisher.
Published by Thomas & Mercer, Seattle.
Amazon, the Amazon logo, and Thomas & Mercer are trademarks of
Amazon.com
Inc. or its affiliates.
ISBN-13: 9781503952744
ISBN-10: 1503952746
Cover design by Marc J. Cohen
For my friend Mark Moskowitz
CONTENTS
“It ain’t what you don’t know that gets you into trouble. It’s what you know for sure that just ain’t so.”
—Mark Twain
AUTHOR’S NOTE
The Love Killings
is an experiment for me as a writer in the sense that it’s an actual continuation of
City of Echoes
, Detective Matt Jones’s first murder case. A lot of loose ends were still in play at the end of that first thriller, and I enjoyed every one of them. But now six weeks of story time have passed—the chase is on—and
The Love Killings
is off and running. While it may not be necessary to have read
City of Echoes
first (and yes, several twists and turns from the first novel are openly discussed in the second), the two novels back-to-back deliver something more than I could have ever wished for or even imagined. I hope you love reading these two novels as much as I loved writing them.
Sleep loose,
Robert Ellis
CHAPTER 1
Matthew Trevor Jones wanted to kill his father . . .
He had been thinking about it every day for the past six weeks of his recovery, just as he was thinking about it now at 2:00 a.m.
Like most nights since the shooting, he had trouble getting to sleep. But tonight he had a reason more palpable than the pain echoing from his wounds or even the ghosts and demons making their late-night visit to his bed.
He was sitting outside on the back deck, keeping an eye on the wildfire climbing up the hill on the south side of Potrero Canyon Park. Firefighters were on the ground, driving the wall of flames upward, while a second crew was on top of the ridge, protecting the homes and pelting the foliage with water the City of Angels could hardly spare.
Holy water. That’s all the city had left these days.
On a clear night, Matt’s small home on the north peak provided a view that stretched from Santa Monica and Venice Beach all the way east across the basin to the tall buildings downtown. Tonight, the smoke was too thick to see through, just a mushroom cloud billowing into a sky without stars or planets or even a moon.
He looked back at the fire, still thinking about killing his father. He knew in his heart that it was the right thing to do—the only thing to do—and that the longer he waited, the greater the chance his father would hire another lowlife like the late Billy Casper to put a bullet in his head.
Although Matt had kept what he learned about his father’s intentions to himself and filed it away as “personal business,” although Matt had appeared to be cooperating with the detectives investigating his case, in the end he told them nothing because he didn’t need to. The name Billy Casper turned out to be a dead end, a false identity that remained a mystery. Matt knew for a fact that his father had hired the man to kill him. And in a bad moment, a moment when Matt’s guard had shut down, Casper almost succeeded with that worn-out .38 of his.
The memory lingered for a moment before Matt pushed it away. It was still too close. Still too painful. Almost yesterday.
He took a swig of beer, the bottle somehow managing to hold its chill. It was the first day of December, still over ninety degrees in the middle of the night, with an endless forecast of blue skies, oppressive heat, and solemn warnings by TV weather people about something they were now calling photochemical smog: a lethal combination of sunlight and exhaust rising from the freeways that smelled like spent jet fuel and didn’t do much for anybody’s lungs. There was a time, just five years ago, when Matt could actually detect four seasons in Los Angeles. They were subtle, but they were there. Now there was only one season. Wildfire season—mixed with the Santa Ana winds smacking him in the face with dust and sand and saturating his clothing with the smell of burned-down houses and lost dreams.
Paradise redux.
Matt took another swig from the bottle and laughed. It would take more than an endless summer and block after block of dead lawns to sour his mood.
He loved this city. He loved everything about it. LA was the only place he had ever lived where he could feel an actual pulse. He didn’t understand where it came from. All he knew was that when he woke up every morning, he could sense its presence. In his chest, his being, in everything he touched, heard, or looked at.
And that’s why when he killed his father, when he shot the man dead, he couldn’t afford to get caught. His plan, his method, every detail would have to be thought out. Every move, perfectly planned.
Dear old Dad, the King of Wall Street.
A man who lived for appearances’ sake, and couldn’t afford to let his secret out. His truth. A man who abandoned his young wife and son and knew that if anyone found out now, his reputation would be tainted forever. M. Trevor Jones—chairman, president, and CEO of PSF Bank of New York, one of the five largest banks in the United States.
Matt’s cell phone started vibrating. Digging it out of his pocket, he knew that at this hour the caller could be only one of two people. As he read his new supervisor’s name on the face, Lt. Howard McKensie from Hollywood Homicide, his heart quickened.
Matt had been cleared for active duty just two days ago by his doctors at USC Medical Center and by an LAPD psychiatrist working out of the Behavioral Science Section in Chinatown.
Matt touched the icon and took the call. “What’s going on, Lieutenant? How can I help?”
McKensie cleared his throat, his voice rough and ready. “Why aren’t you sleeping, Jones? It’s two in the fucking morning and you’re not sleeping. This is what worries me about you.”
Matt glanced back at the wildfire. “Everybody’s up, Lieutenant. The canyon’s on fire.”
“Your place gonna burn?”
“Doesn’t look like it, unless the wind changes.”
“Good,” McKensie said. “Then I need to see you in my office ASAP.”
Matt stood up. “You’ve got something for me already? A new case?”
“Yeah, Jones. It looks like you’ve caught a new case.”
Something was wrong with McKensie’s voice. The gravel was there and so was the punch, but Matt could hear something else going on underneath. Something deep and without form.
“Why aren’t we meeting at the crime scene, Lieutenant?”
“I’ll explain everything when you get here. And you need to hurry. You need to get here as soon as you can.”
Matt leaned against the deck rail, still gazing at the fire. “Who’s dead?” he asked in a quieter voice.
“It’s not who’s dead that we’re worried about right now. It’s who we’re looking for, Jones.”
Matt didn’t need to ask the question, but did. “Then who is it, Lieutenant? Who are we looking for?”
A moment passed, the clouds of smoke reaching the blank ceiling and rippling across the entire sky until the heavens vanished. Ash began falling through the air like hot snow.
“It’s Baylor,” McKensie said finally. “The doctor’s killing again.”
