The Poisonous Ten (31 page)

Acknowledgements

Thanks to the many different people who helped make this book possible, in one way or another—and if I have forgo
tten anyone here it was unintentional. To Gabe Robinson (editor extraordinaire), Lori, Dani, Derek & Davey who each read the many drafts of
P10
and gave helpful comments and suggestions. They caught many errors yet were never negative, always pushing me to do better and never settling for less. And to the (hopefully) few that are still around I thank my future readers who will kindly ignore them. It amazes me how many times I’ve read this book and still find the simplest of errors.

To my family for their unconditional support and constant asking of when they could finally get to read something of mine. It means more than you’ll ever know. To Kendra who’s been one of my strongest supporters since the day we first met back in college. I thank you from the bottom of my heart. To Randy and Yari—this is it girl: The first book. Get ready for many more. You’ll have work to do soon enough! To Tyler for his help with the web site and other various online activities—thanks for constantly listening and tolerating my many questions and suggestions. To Eric M. for joining me on adventures throughout LA when I needed to explore and find new settings. The scene in Casey’s Irish Pub would not exist without your help. And to Eric S. for allowing me many hours of sitting in the back room of The Coffee House typing away. And with the greatest of debt and gratitude I give thanks to Cindy for her patience and unconditional support in this never-ending journey. I most definitely would not be here right now without her friendship, inspiration, guidance and understanding. And a special added thanks to Rita for finding several red letter errors “after the fact.”    
  

And to everyone else who helped simply by asking questions, listening to my rants (or morbidly curious questions), sending me (often bizarre) news stories, or politely pushing me forward when needed—I truly am thankful.

And to the faceless strangers who pick up this book—giving both it and me a chance—I thank you.

I received help from many people regarding police procedures, poisons and their effects and other small tidbits. I received much help from the
Book of Poisons
by Serita Stevens and Anne Bannon. The locations, geography and poisons are as accurate as possible—with the exception of minor changes when the good of the story outweighed the truth. Any errors are strictly the fault of the author. 

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

The son of a prison guard, Tyler Compton graduated from CSU, Sacramento in 2002 with a BA in Theatre Arts and a minor in Film Studies. An Eagle Scout, he has worked in the pool industry, as a server, bartender and (for one hilarious evening) as club security. He currently resides in Los Angeles where he’s witnessed various forms of crime, including someone breaking into his apartment while he was in it. The second book in the Detective Parks series,
Wicked Games
, is due out in the winter of 2013, while he is currently at work on the third book due out in 2014. 

P
lease turn the page for a preview of
Wicked Games.

And please visit www.tylercomptonbooks.com for the latest news and details about future releases.

P R O L O G U E

The last thought Susan Marsh had before she succumbed to death in the back of the speeding ambulance was of the u
nborn child she had yet to meet. The thought of who would want her and her husband dead, or why, never once crossed her mind.

Glenn and Susan Marsh had always wanted children but knew that they never could. Biologically at least.  But that hadn’t deterred them from having them another way. It had been almost two years to the day since they first filed the paperwork with the agency when Susan received the phone call informing them that they had been approved. They were finally getting a baby. They were going to be a family.

The baby was coming from somewhere over in China. Susan couldn’t remember where exactly, as she had been too ecstatic to pay attention to what the adoption agent had been telling her. Luckily, all that information would be given to them again when they stopped by the agency and signed the last few important documents to finalize the arrangement. 

Susan was an attractive and not somewhat big woman, standing at close to five foot ten, with a full-figured, curv
iness to her that only added to merriment. She was often smiling, giving a rosy complexion to her cheeks and face, the sort of happiness that was easily spread to those around her. With a beaming smile plastered on her face, Susan eagerly waited for her husband to walk through their front door after another monotonous day at work in downtown Seattle. Her husband Glenn was five years older than her, with the same amber-colored matching eyes and hair. He stood a good six inches over his wife, and came in at about the same weight, though most who saw him thought he could afford to “put on a few pounds.” Glenn worked in the Central Business district at Cray Inc. on what she had heard him refer to as “supercomputers” though she couldn’t say much more about his job. Once he started talking about processing cores and petaflops, she usually zoned out, thinking up new baby names or what color to make the nursery. Thankfully, as much as her husband loved his job, he preferred to keep the computer talk at work and the baby talk at home.

Glenn walked through the front door, shaking off his u
mbrella. He leaned it next to the door before taking off his equally wet black Calvin Klein raincoat that his wife had bought for him the year before for his thirty-fifth birthday. He barely registered something different about his wife—a sort of glow that he would have mistaken for pregnancy had his wife been able to do so—when she jumped into his arms and told him the good news. Glenn Marsh was just as ecstatic.

Glenn was an only child; his parents deciding to have o
nly one so as to give the appearance of being a family though neither ever had any true desire for the one they were regrettably left to raise. The only upside for Glenn was that the senior Marshes were a rather wealthy family and so he saw his childhood pass by with the help of numerous nannies and other house servants. This had led to a well-educated upbringing and more possibilities than he was even aware of, though he was always grateful for the opportunities that life presented him. Susan on the other hand at least had an older brother to grow up with, although, now both adults, usually only saw each other on the occasional holiday, mostly staying in touch through distant phone calls and annual Christmas cards. A few years ago her brother had gotten married to a woman ten years his junior, though Susan saw no issue with the difference in ages due to the happiness they both brought to each other—particularly when it came to her brother’s lightened mood. There had been a lavish wedding, which drew Susan and her brother together as an added bonus that particular year.

Despite their personal disadvantages growing up, both Glenn and Susan had always wanted a family.

They decided to celebrate by going out to Maximilien, a charming French restaurant in the historic Pike Place Market. They started the evening with a bottle of Vosne-Romanée Pinot Noir while Glenn ordered an Oregon lamb shank and Susan had duck magret. The two enjoyed their meal, spending more time lost in their thoughts than focused on their food, though Susan’s was greasier than she had hoped for. 

The two finished up at half past ten, after the restaurant had already closed, their server reluctant to usher the gene
rous tippers out onto the streets. They completely ignored the world around them as they made their way to the car, laughter echoing throughout the otherwise barren night. It had rained most of the day but clouds were nowhere to be seen as the stars above shined down on them, proof that this day was to be nothing less than perfect. Gulls could be heard in the distance trying to catch a late snack before finally settling in for the night. 

The Marshes reached their car and Glenn leaned in t
oward his wife and kissed her, pressing her up against the side door. Susan laughed and hugged her husband, not noticing the man in the dark grey sweatshirt with the hood pulled over his head keeping most of his face hidden in the shadows, save for a strong, unshaven chin.  Without saying a single word, the stranger quickly took out a gun, fired five shots in rapid succession, and disappeared into the night without even checking the damage he had done. 

Three of the bullets hit Glenn.

The first one hit him in the stomach while the second went through his chest, shattering two ribs, one of which punctured the right lung. The third and final bullet ripped out his throat, sending a spray of blood across his wife’s face.

Susan screamed, more as a reaction from the deafening sound and the image of her husband’s blood flying at her than the two bullets that had hit her. Of the two bullets, one hit her in the chest, missing her ribs, slicing cleanly through her left lung, causing a hitch in her breath without suffoca
ting her. The second bullet grazed her thigh and for a second she laughed, thanking God that she had been so lucky to simply be hit in the leg. People were shot in the legs and arms every day and lived. It happened in the movies all the time. Why, it wasn’t anything more than a flesh wound. 

Both of the Marshes fell against their vehicle and slumped to the ground. Glenn lay against the car, his hand holding his throat, his life bleeding out through his fingers, drenching his white, Ralph Lauren sweater which soaked up the blood like a sponge. Unaware of the hypnotic state the blood in her husband’s sweater had on her, Susan jerked her head to the side at the sound of an observer yelling for someone to call the police.

Susan’s vision blacked out for what she thought was only a second when she reopened her eyes, the lights all around her shimmering together like when it was rained, the water collecting on her eyelashes. She sat next to her husband, tears flowing from her face as she tried to stop the blood leaking from his neck.

Glenn felt he was suffocating. His blood flowed through his wife’s shaking hands, distracting her from realizing that the bullet wound to her leg had sliced through her femoral
artery, causing as much damage to her as his wounds had to him. With each gasp she took, with each pump of her heart, Susan Marsh’s life drained out of her body through her leg.    

She continued to lie on the street, wrapped up next to her dead husband while the wailing of the ambulance sirens got closer. The ruby lights began to reflect off of her eyes, crea
ting the illusion that her husband’s entire body was now covered in blood. The EMTs asked her blurring questions that she failed to focus on as her eyes fluttered.

As Susan Marsh succumbed to death in the back of the ambulance, racing for the nearest hospital, what little coh
erent consciousness she had left was focused on her forthcoming baby, and whether it was a boy or a girl. Never for one second did she stop to realize that just possibly, she and her husband weren’t the unfortunate results of a random attack, but rather they had been sought out and hunted down for an even greater purpose that neither one could have ever guessed or dreamed of.