Picked up something I started working on a year or so ago, with a character who wanted his story told. However, unlike my previous novels, this one is from two different points of view. The first point of view is from Cal Jessup, a retired San Antonio Police Detective who just wanted to get out of the city and live his life out in a small west Texas town. The second point of view is that of a serial killer, a sick and twisted man who can't control his urge to hunt and kill beautiful young women. It was a stretch for me, getting into the mind of the serial killer that is, having no experience with anyone like that. True, I have dealt with some bad people; murderers, thieves, drug dealers, but never anyone as sick and twisted as this. At times as I'm writing in this POV, I find myself repulsed by this character, and yet I keep writing. After all, he is an integral part of the story.
The Riverwalk Murders
A Cal Jessup Novel
Coming in 2015
Here is the beginning of the story. Please note, this is a first draft and as such is subject to change.
WARNING: GRAPHIC CONTENT
Prologue
It was an especially busy night on the San Antonio
Riverwalk. Tourist season was at its height and he had his choice of targets.
The cool October breeze felt good on his face, and he felt more alive tonight
than he had in years. The urge was on him again, even more intense than all the
times before.
He took another sip of Guinness as he watched the crowd
jostle for position on the walkway in front of him. He had always wondered how
so many people managed to navigate the narrow path without someone falling into
the river. A pretty young blonde broke away from the human conveyor belt,
brushed past him without a glance and headed through the door and into the bar.
He turned in his seat and watched as the door closed behind her. He had found
his target. Now it was just a matter of time, but he would have to wait. He was
very good at waiting.
A waitress stepped in front of him, breaking his
concentration and blocking his view of the crowd. She leaned in and spoke to
the couple in front of him, her long red hair bouncing as she turned her head,
her slender neck exposed. He picked up his beer and took another sip, keeping
his eyes on her. Now he was conflicted; perhaps she was his target and not the
blonde.
He sat his beer down and looked at his watch. It would be a
few more hours before the bar closed and then he would have his chance. In the
meantime, there were other diversions on the River Walk, and it had changed so
much since his last visit. She would be here when he came back, and then he
would get his trophy.
THE CALL
Sheriff Cal Jessup looked up as his administrative
assistant, Delilah, walked in to his office. The Police Chief in San Antonio
was on the phone, and it was urgent. At first he thought she was pulling his
leg. She wasn’t. The chief was direct and to the point, he wanted Cal back in
San Antonio.
It had been more than six years since the last victim was found,
and now the killings had started again. A woman had been found floating
downriver, in the Mission Reach, south of downtown. Her throat was slit and the
Medical Examiner confirmed that the wounds were a match to the previous victims,
a single incision from a scalpel. It was done with medical precision.
Cal investigated the murders for three years before they
stopped and he was no closer to catching the killer. It had never set right
with him, but after thirty years of watching criminals put back on the streets
because of minor technicalities, he knew that it was time to get out. He never
forgot the case though, and the images still haunted his dreams.
It started in the fall, four years before his retirement.
The first victim was Joleen Baker, a tourist from a small town in Mississippi.
Her body was found two days after her boyfriend, Kenny Weaver, reported her
missing. At first Cal suspected the boyfriend, but it turned out that his alibi
was solid. Cal hated being wrong, and kept the man under close surveillance
until he left town.
When the body of the second woman was found, her throat slit
in the same way. It not only served to confirm Kenny’s innocence, it also
confirmed Cal’s worst fear. They had a serial killer on the loose, and at the
height of the tourist season. However, it would take one more death before the
chief was convinced. Cal still blamed himself for not pursuing the leads that he
had at the time, if so, she might still be alive.
He stood, walked out into the main office and over to
Delilah’s’ desk. “I’m gonna need you to get Ray in here, and call Henry after
that,” he said and turned back toward his office.
“What is it, Cal?
What’d the chief want?”
He stopped and turned back to face her. “Looks like I’m
comin’ out of retirement, and before you say it, yeah I know this ain’t exactly
bein’ retired,” he said and took a deep breath. “Got an old friend back in San
Antonio and I gotta go pay my respects.”
Delilah looked at him, a puzzled expression on her face. “An
old friend?”
Cal
simply nodded, turned on his heel and headed back in to his office. “Send Ray
in when he gets here,” he called back over his shoulder.
*****
Henry Watkins had been the mayor going on fifteen years and
owned most of downtown, including one of the only two gas stations for a
hundred miles. Cal had never liked the man, but he tolerated him, mainly in
deference to his office. Theirs was a tenuous peace at best. But then he had
never really liked career politicians anyway. Now he had to tell Henry that he
was taking a leave of absence, and possibly an extended one at that.
Henry paced from one side of his office to the other, his
hands waving as he paced. “Goddamnit, Cal, you can’t just take off willy nilly
because the chief in San Antone can’t solve his own crimes.”
“It was my case, Henry, and the son of a bitch got away from
me. I’ll be damned if I let him slip away again. Besides, you know that Ray is
a good deputy and he can handle things here. It’s not like there’s gonna be a
major crime spree while I’m gone.”
Henry looked at Cal, walked around his desk and plopped down
in the high backed leather chair. “I just don’t like it, Cal, but I know you’re
right. The last time we had anything happen here was when Heck and his boys
came into town and tore up the Wagon Wheel. It did cause a ruckus, got a lot of
people mad at ‘em.”
“Yeah, and Dottie was pretty pissed off too. Course, they
did pay for all the damages, and Heck even had his boys replace all the windows
they busted up,” he said and grinned.
Henry cracked a smile and shook his head. “Well, shit, if
you gotta go and hunt down this killer, I guess you gotta go. You just be sure
and tell Ray that he’s just the interim Sheriff and not to be getting’ any
ideas of takin’ over the office.”
Cal
nodded, stood and put his hat on. “Just don’t be givin’ him grief, Henry. He’s
a damned good deputy, and he knows how to handle himself. I should be back in a
couple of days, a week tops. Just gonna brief these new Detectives on the case,”
he said as he turned to leave. “You just let Ray run the show and stick to
minding your businesses here in town.”
“Yeah, I suppose I can do that. You just see that you get your
ass back here soon. He may be a good deputy, but he ain’t you.”
“All I’m sayin’ is don’t be given’ the man a hard time. Now,
if you’ll excuse me, I gotta get home and pack. It’s already half past ten and
I gotta long drive ahead of me.”
THE EYES HAVE IT
The girl was quiet now, a glistening pool of red the only
evidence of her violent end. He sat on his haunches a few feet away, arms
wrapped around his body, slowly rocking back and forth. The adrenaline still
coursed through him, heightening his senses, and he loved every second of it.
He gathered himself, got onto his hands and knees and crawled over to the now
lifeless body.
He looked down at her and smiled. She was much more peaceful
now, almost angelic. The light had gone out of the beautiful green eyes that
had once shined so brightly. He hadn’t always looked into their eyes, they were
the windows to the soul, and he had never wanted to look into someone else’s
soul knowing what lay within his own.
His first kill had been easy, one simple slice with the
scalpel. The sound of his victim choking on her own blood had enthralled him. But
he had looked into the eyes of number four and saw her raw fear. After that, he
had looked into each of his victim’s eyes, drinking in their fear and taking
his trophies afterward.
He reached for his backpack, removed a small pouch and
unzipped it. The instrument inside was a fairly recent addition, and made it
much easier and cleaner than his previous way of obtaining his trophies. His
first trophy came from a petite redhead he had met at a friend’s party, before
he left for college. She was his first kill, and she had the most beautiful
green eyes he could ever recall seeing. Just like his mother’s eyes.
All he had then was his scalpel, and his hands shook with anticipation.
He botched the removal, leaving the trophy a torn mess. But he had learned from
that mistake. He gently removed the evisceration scoop and held it gently in
his right hand, turning it over, admiring the simple beauty of it. He set it
back in the pouch, reached into the backpack and removed a small jar of
alcohol. This was another lesson he had learned.
He set the jar down next to her head, picked up the scalpel
and went to the task of removing her eyelids; they always got in the way.
Slowly and gently, he cut into the skin just below the brow ridge, carefully
following an imaginary line. This too had taken months of practice, he could
not cut too deep, or his trophies would be ruined.
He gently removed the first eyelid and went to work on the
second. In the beginning he had only taken one eye, though after number eight,
he decided that it wasn’t right to leave the other behind. They all had such
beautiful eyes, even in death, and these eyes were no exception. He removed the
second eyelid, set the scalpel down and picked up the scoop. It was time to
remove his trophies.
