Free Head Shot (A Thriller): A Crime and Suspense Thriller by Dani Amore Page A

of its box, and popped it in.
    He set the table, lit a candle and placed it in the center of the table, then grabbed a bottle of beer and sat on the couch.
    Well, he thought, it couldn't be any worse than playing a toll booth attendant.  Mike wasn't nuts about contributing to society's paranoia, but it would be a good paycheck, good exposure, and give he and Laurie some spending money when they went on vacation next week.
    He heard Laurie pull her car into the driveway and he met her at the door.
    Before she could say anything, he adopted a menacing stare.
    "Stop me before I kill again," he said, and she came into his arms, both of them laughing as they stumbled toward the bedroom.

 
     
    Twenty
    The coroner, Herb Kellen, called Ray on his cell.
    "Herb, what have you got for me?"
    "Nothing you weren't expecting.  Same cause of death, asphyxiation, and similar evidence of assault as the previous victim."
    Ray scribbled on his notepad, thanked Kellen, and disconnected.
    Patrick Krahn stopped by Ray’s desk.  “Hey Ray, got something for you."
    Ray had asked his team for details of any similar murders that could be found in the national violent offenders database.
    “I think I've got two matches.  Two years ago, a woman was found in Detroit, Michigan.  She'd been strangled to death, and all her teeth were pulled."
    Ray forced himself to exhale.
    "Her body was dumped in the Detroit River."
    Ray scribbled down some notes on his notepad.
    "You said two matches."
    "A year later, the body of an 8-year old girl was found in Huntington Woods, a suburb of Detroit.  Same thing.  Teeth knocked out, asphyxiated."
    "And I'm guessing the cases remain unsolved," said Ray.
    "I'm having more information sent, but, yes, I would assume that's the case.  I’m on it, Ray."
    "All right."
    Krahn left and Ray’s cell phone began to vibrate.
    "Mitchell."
    "Ray, how ya' doin'?"  It was Paul Casey, the crime scene technician.
    "I'd be doing a lot better if I had some matches, my friend."
    "You got 'em."
    "Both scenes?" asked Ray.
    "We got a latent off the girl's face, and quite a few from the lawyer's house, all matches with Ferkovich's prints."
    "Thanks, Paul."
    "How's it goin'?"
    "Making some progress.  If I can find him, he'll be going away for a long time."
    "Let me know if there's anything else I can do."
    "Thanks, I will."
    Ray hung up the phone, picked up his notebook, and headed to the conference room down the hall.  He had set up a war room specifically to track down Joseph P. Ferkovich.  Several computers had been brought in, as well as a printer, fax, and the chalkboard at the head of the room featured some of Ray's chicken scratchings.
    Ray was even able to get additional detectives pulled from vice to do some of the legwork.
    More people began filing into the small room and Ray got everyone's attention.
    "All right, Tony, what'd you find out?"
    Tony Halaska had been working vice for the last two years.  He was a small, unkempt man with slate gray eyes. 
    "I talked to Ferkovich’s boss at the Capitol Cookie Company.  He didn't like Ferkovich, said he was competent at best, but that lately he'd been coming to work late, sluffing off, said he would've fired him but he was so hard up for workers he couldn't afford to."
    The detective closed his notebook.
    "I talked to a couple other people who worked with him and they said pretty much the thing.  One guy, who said he was probably the closest thing to a friend Ferkovich had, said he had a crude sense of humor and that the only thing they had in common was fishing, apparently this guy had a cabin up north and he used to talk to Ferkovich about fishing.  That's all I got."
    Ray nodded toward a detective with an enormous pot belly who was seated at the far end of the table.
    "Adams."
    The detective spoke with a baritone voice, sounding like his vocal cords had seen too much whiskey and too many cigarettes.
    "All of the names were cleared but one," he said.  "A James Tomczak,