Free Bone Thief by Thomas O' Callaghan

balls!”
    â€œDon’t make me hit redial.”
    â€œOK, OK, OK. But you gotta forget what I look like.”
    â€œI got a short memory. Now give me his name.”
    â€œBut—”
    â€œName! Now!”
    â€œJack the Ripster. He’s known for his jade studs.”
    â€œWhere would I find this pillar of society?”
    Francis sighed. “Last I heard, the Ripster was operating out of a trailer on Houston Street.”
    â€œWhat’s his real name?”
    â€œLester Gallows.”
    Margaret exited the shop and felt the immediate need for a shower. It wasn’t the smell of sandalwood incense that she was looking to expunge, it was the entire sordid experience. The lingering vision of Francis’s pockmarked face filled her head. Was it the fact that this man pierced the genitalia of so many women that filled her with contempt, or was she simply amazed by the number of women who found it fashionable to submit to such a piercing? She had always considered herself to be a modern-day thinker, but the vision of an ornamented clitoris was, to her, a complete turnoff. But she was not paid to pass judgment on what she considered vulgar. As she headed back to the TARU van, she was reminded of why she had come to Francis’s body piercing shop in the first place. She was tracking a vicious killer and she hoped the information she had extracted from Francis would lead her to the man that brutally slaughtered Monique Beauford and Deirdre McCabe.

Chapter 16
    It was a sunny autumnal Saturday in New York, but city parks were filled with few revelers. The populace of the city was in panic mode after learning about the latest slaying. It was the lead story on all the local network newscasts, and the city’s newspapers were heralding the shocking details as well. The headline in the Daily News read “Second Victim Butchered in Rockaway,” while the New York Post led with “NYPD Fears Serial Murderer on the Loose.”
    But the newspapers and the networks were also lending a hand in the investigation. They were running Monique Beauford’s photograph, the one depicted on her New York State driver’s license. The public was also given the force’s tip line number and was asked to call the Task Force if anyone had any information regarding the crime.
    Detective Steve Samuels, a member of Driscoll’s newly formed team, had been given the assignment to check out the address on the victim’s driver’s license and show the dead woman’s photograph around. It was the only address the Department of Motor Vehicles had on record, but it was now a boarded-up tenement in North Brooklyn. Most of the adjoining buildings were boarded up as well. There were only four families living on the block. One of those families, an older woman and her two adult sons, remembered Monique. She was a loner, they had reported. Never seen in the company of anyone else. She had moved from the now-condemned building years ago. They didn’t know to where. Samuels canvassed the neighboring streets, where a bodega, a soda distributor, and a dry-cleaning shop were still open for business. No one there recognized Monique’s photo. And no calls regarding Monique were ever received by the Task Force.

Chapter 17
    The static chatter emanating from Driscoll’s police radio filled the Chevy’s interior as Driscoll and Margaret made their way down the East River Drive, heading for Lester Gallows’s trailer on Houston Street. They had just left the Command Center, where Driscoll had been called upstairs and lambasted by his superior, Captain Eddie Barrows. The Lieutenant was being put to the test. He knew he’d be directing traffic in Brooklyn if he didn’t soon turn up a lead.
    â€œDon’t ever aspire to head up a Task Force, Margaret. When things turn sour, the heat is on like a pizza oven,” said Driscoll, his eyes riveted on the road ahead.
    â€œBarrows must be