Three Times a Murder Read online

  THREE TIMES A MURDER

  Once Upon A Crime Trilogy: Book Three

  NOLON KING

  Copyright © 2022 by Sterling & Stone

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  The authors greatly appreciate you taking the time to read our work. Please consider leaving a review wherever you bought the book, or telling your friends about it, to help us spread the word.

  Thank you for supporting our work.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  A Quick Favor…

  About the Author

  Special Offer

  Want to be the first to know when new Nolon King books are released? Get a FREE copy of the Nolon King and David W. Wright novel, 12, when you sign up for the VIP mailing list:

  Click here to register for your copy.

  Chapter One

  Seventeen Months Ago

  Private Prison Cell, Undisclosed Location

  12:03 a.m.

  * * *

  Rules were made to be followed, not broken. It was his job to punish those who did not comply.

  Each step he took down the dark hallway reverberated off the cement walls, then returned in a thudding echo. But not just back to him. They went forward, too, announcing his approach.

  His pace was slow, deliberate … designed to herald his arrival. Give his prisoner time to make the appropriate adjustments. Prepare for the visit. Greet him accordingly.

  Or suffer the consequences if he refused to comply with the rules.

  And it was all about rules. More specifically, adherence to them. People ended up in prison because they violated social contracts and broke long-standing mores. Regulations. Laws. It was a matter of discipline. Order. Mental fortitude.

  In prison — in his prison — inmates had two choices. One, abide by the prescribed set of guidelines and serve their sentences with dignity. Or two, continue to buck the system and break the rules. He didn’t recommend option two, as such behavior would be met with swift corrective action until they learned to behave.

  He was young when his father taught him to obey the rules, so he knew compliance could be learned. If a child could do it, surely an adult could.

  And if they didn’t have such strength on their own on the outside, they would learn it on the inside. He’d make certain of it. There were plenty of teaching methods at his disposal. He ran his fingers along his cudgel, the wood warm under his fingers. This wasn’t state-issued. No, sir. He’d made this one himself. Whittled it from a tree felled by his own hand. Shaped and sanded until it was smooth as porcelain and the handle fit in his palm like it had been poured in a custom mold.

  His father taught him that skill, too.

  “Stand at the ready, Prisoner 04091970.”

  He was twenty feet from the cell.

  All his time as a guard at a state-run correctional institution taught him there were always inmates who thought they’d rise in the hierarchy if they rebelled, believing being mavericks would catapult them to the top of the food chain.

  They were wrong. It was his job to prove it to them.

  He stopped outside Prisoner 04091970’s cell and looked inside. Clearly a lesson would need to be taught.

  “Well?”

  No reply.

  “What is the penalty for prisoners who do not keep themselves or their cells tidy?” He stood there, staring at Prisoner 04091970, waiting for a response.

  But none came.

  “Your list of infractions is growing, inmate. You are to respond when spoken to.”

  Yet the prisoner remained silent.

  He shook his head. “When I brought you here, I was very clear. I gave you a set of rules and stated explicitly that they were to be followed to the letter. To do so means your time here will be easy on you. Rather, as easy as maximum-security imprisonment can be. But if you don’t comply with the rules, what happens?”

  Still, the inmate chose not to respond.

  “Very well.” He sighed. “If you want to do things the hard way, we’ll do things the hard way. Your initial infraction is a violation of the personal hygiene rule. If you refuse to maintain your appearance, I will maintain it for you. And trust me when I tell you, I will not be gentle.”

  The threat lingered between them like the reek of a hard day’s work. Something the prisoner was about to know all too well.

  He unlocked the cell, the clunk of the mechanism releasing loud in the otherwise silent facility. When the inmate didn’t respond in any way, he took a deliberate step into the small space.

  “The second rule you’ve violated is ignoring prison personnel when you were addressed by your designation. But you already know that, don’t you Prisoner 04091970?”

  Still no response.

  “Answer me!”

  The inmate said nothing.

  His fingers wrapped around the handle of his nightstick as his vision tinged red. In one swift movement, he yanked his club free of his belt, then his arm traced a wide arc through the air. Wood met skull with a satisfactory — yet sickening — thud.

  Just like that, it was over.

  Prisoner 04091970 was on the floor.

  He was looking down in horror and fury. If his father had seen what he’d done, he’d no doubt meet the same fate. Or worse. There was a time and place for losing one’s temper, and the workplace was neither the time nor the place. Certainly not when it caused more work. He’d only meant to scare, to threaten. Not to follow through. Well, always to follow through. Empty threats were pointless. But not to this extent. He wasn’t to inflict this kind of damage.

  Now he had a mess on his hands.

  The cell would need cleaning.

  The prisoner would need stitching. Maybe more than that.

  And once he was finished, he’d have to address his own flagrant disregard for the rules.

  Because rules were made to be followed, not broken. And it was his job to punish those who did not comply.

  Chapter Two

  Chelsea walked into the station with a giant pastry box and a full drink holder balanced on top of it.

  Jim rushed over to divest her of the four cups, though he didn’t take his gaze off the box. “I hope whatever’s in there didn’t get crushed under the coffee.”

  Norm joined them. “I hope that’s coffee from Hill of Beans.”

  Charlie was on his heels as they all followed her like baby ducks after their mother to the back of the ro
om. “I hope you got cinnamon rolls.”

  She fought a sigh as she placed her burden on the table. “Nothing’s crushed, Jim. I kept the coffee on the edge so the walls of the box would support the extra weight. Of course I went to Hill of Beans, Norm. If I’m treating, I’m doing it right. And yes, Charlie, it’s not a real treat without cinnamon rolls.”

  As Charlie removed the lid, Jim surveyed the contents. “You got a variety of pastries. Donuts, fritters, scones, bear claws.”

  “Dibs on a bear claw.” Norm grabbed one with his free hand. He already had his coffee in his other. “Appreciate it, Sullivan.”

  “Yeah, thanks. You’re the best.” Charlie took his cinnamon roll and a cup. Both of them returned to their seats.

  “So, what’s the occasion?” Jim took a maple twist and his own coffee. But he didn’t return to his desk. He waited for her to answer. His manners didn’t extend to waiting for her to make her selection before eating, though. He took a giant bite of his pastry, then moaned as he chewed.

  Chelsea shook her head. “I had to go to the big box store this morning for Dad. He gave me a huge list from his prepper group. This is my attempt at bribery. I was hoping you’d help me deliver it all later.”

  “Fair trade. In fact, I think I got the better end of the deal.”

  She smiled at him, glanced at the television set playing the news in the corner of the room — just weather at the moment, and it was a beautiful day for autumn — then she turned her attention to the pastries.

  While she was looking over what was left of the baked goods, two sets of patrol officers came through. She smiled at the first one — her old partner, Neil Rafferty. But it was hard to keep her expression friendly when his new partner and his two buddies followed. Oliver Thompson and his lackeys Ethan Miller and Jeremy Berger had picked a fight with Jim in the locker room when he’d first transferred to Zone Four. She was still amazed that her partner won the fight when he was outnumbered one to three, though she should know by now never to bet against him.

  Steeling herself for what was sure to be an uncomfortable exchange — at best — she grabbed her coffee and the last cinnamon roll then pointed at the box. “Hey, Neil. Nice seeing you upstairs for a change. You’re all welcome to pastries. Get something before they’re all gone. When Delfino shows up, he’s liable to eat half of what’s in there himself.”

  Rafferty grinned. “Chels, you’re a lifesaver. I only had a protein shake for breakfast. Kayleigh has us both going keto.”

  “These are everything keto isn’t.”

  “Thank God for that.” He took the other maple twist.

  Berger and Miller muttered something that almost sounded like thanks as they took donuts from the box, but Thompson just stood there sneering. “Did I hear you correctly?”

  “That pastries aren’t keto-friendly?” She arched an eyebrow. “Do you actually think they are?”

  “Not about that shit. About shopping at a big box store for survival supplies.”

  “Let me guess. I somehow managed to mess up buying in bulk.”

  “As long as you know.” He shrugged as he took a fritter from the box. “Though why you’d want to screw your old man like that is beyond me. But whatever. I guess we don’t all love our family members the same way.”

  “Fuck off, Thompson.” Jim wiped his hands on a napkin, balled it up, then tossed it into the trash a little harder than necessary. “You don’t know shit about shopping, and you sure as hell aren’t qualified to talk about how to express love for someone.”

  Thompson put down his pastry then stepped toward him.

  Jim countered.

  Berger and Miller each took an arm to pull their friend back.

  Norm and Charlie appeared from nowhere and did the same to Jim.

  Neil and Chelsea exchanged a look before their gazes bounced between the two angry men.

  Davenport walked in and headed straight for them. “What’s going on here?”

  “Good morning, Captain.” Chelsea gave him her brightest smile and held up the box. “Care for a pastry?”

  He took a blueberry scone.

  “Excellent choice, sir,” Rafferty said.

  “Uh-huh.” Davenport stared at him, frowned, then looked at Jim. “Not going to answer me, Detective?” He looked at Thompson. “Officer?”

  Both remained silent, as did the rest of the group.

  “Okay. Maybe we should take this into my office for a more thorough Q&A session.”

  “Sir.” Chelsea shook her head.

  “What is it Sullivan?”

  She pointed at the television. Her blood had run cold, and she couldn’t manage to give voice to the myriad thoughts caroming through her mind at the moment.

  A “breaking news” banner scrolled across the bottom of the screen as a journalist reported on a chilling turn of events.

  “—en route from the state penitentiary to the hospital. Responding officers say the EMTs, guard, and driver were all found dead, and that was only possible if Fletcher had help on the inside. They’ve turned the investigation over to the State Police. Their spokesperson says Fletcher is believed to be armed and extremely dangerous. If anyone sees him, they are not to approach him but should call the authorities immediately. A hotline number is on the bottom of the screen if you have any information as to the whereabouts of the Grimm Reaper. We’ll be following this story as it develops. Back to you, Tom and Maggie.”

  “Officers, get back to your posts. Now.” Davenport’s voice had developed an edge.

  Rafferty, Thompson, Miller, and Berger were gone before the words were out of his mouth.

  “Anderson, Paxton, start pulling any details you can that the news doesn’t have. I want everything.”

  Norm and Charlie were already on their way back to their desks.

  “You two,” Davenport said to Chelsea and Jim as he started walking, “my office.”

  She was a step behind him. Jim was by her side the whole way.

  The door wasn’t even closed when she lost the tenuous hold she had on her composure. “He’s out? He’s out? He’s supposed to be away for life. For life, Captain. Maybe they define ‘life’ differently at the state capital than they do in Steel City, but to me, life means life. As in, the duration of his lifetime. How did he get out? And more importantly, why didn’t they tell us? Tell me?”

  “Easy.” Jim pulled her into his arms and held her tightly against him. She listened to the rhythmic beat of his heart thrumming in his chest, and it steadied her.

  At least it started to.

  Then she realized it was pounding faster than it should be, even if it was slower than hers. It also didn’t help that she was hiding in his embrace and fighting off tears in front of her boss.

  She shoved away from him and started pacing in the small room. “I’m fine!” But her voice was too loud.

  “Well, I’m not.”

  “We’re cops, Jim. This isn’t a professional reaction to this news.”

  “We’re also human. The Grimm Reaper held you captive. He almost killed both of us. And we’re finding out he escaped on the news instead of from the prison, so we’re also processing the fact that he could have gotten to either of us before we even knew he was out. It’s perfectly natural to be a little freaked.”

  “Jim’s right, Chelsea. But now that you two have had a moment, we need to talk next steps. I’m thinking protective details. He’s going to be coming after you.”

  “No, sir.” She shook her head. Maybe too emphatically, but he had to understand. “Fletcher’s too smart. He’s a master of disguise. No one will see him coming.”

  “It’s not like he’s traveling with a make-up kit, Chelsea,” Jim said.

  “But you heard the news. He had help. Couldn’t have pulled it off, otherwise.”

  Jim rubbed his head. “So, what do you suggest?”

  A knock sounded.

  “Come in,” Davenport yelled.

  Charlie opened the door. “It seems Fle
tcher has been complaining of chest pains for the last few days. His so-called symptoms have been escalating. Because of his medical background, he was granted more frequent access to the medical ward than most people. And the doctor talked to him like a colleague rather than a prisoner. Grew a little lax. There’s chance he might have had access to medicines that may have helped him mimic symptoms that could have fooled the doctor and made him think Fletcher possibly had a heart attack.”

  “Geez, Paxton. Enough conditionals in that statement?”

  “Sorry, Captain. I’m just telling you what the doctor told me.”

  “Fucker’s trying to distance himself.” Jim pounded the desk. “Plausible deniability. He knows he screwed up and doesn’t want the blame.”

  Chelsea shook her head. “Or he intentionally helped Fletcher. Who would know better how to fake a heart condition than two doctors?”

  “That’s a baseless accusation,” Davenport said. “Especially against someone with impeccable credentials. At least, to this point. You can’t go around saying things like that. Not outside this room, anyway.”

  “It’s just a theory.” She shrugged.

  “A damn good one.” Jim dropped onto the sofa. Then he stood up and paced again. “Once Fletcher got into the ambulance, he still had to overpower … what? Four people, right?” He looked at Charlie.

  “Three. One EMT, one guard, and one driver.”

  “That’s not even protocol.” Jim looked at Davenport. “What the fuck is going on over there? News said two EMTs, not one.”