Hell's Detective: Murder Read online

  Hell's Detective:

  Murder

  by N. J. Bamford

  Dedicated to my family that has encouraged and supported me, especially my two nephews Ryder and Logan.

  Prologue

  The child murders an insect in the name of fun or annoyance.

  The crusader murders heathens in the name of God.

  The police officer murders a criminal in the name of protecting the law.

  The woman murders her abusive husband in the name of self defense.

  The soldier murders a foreign soldier in the name of war and for his country.

  A criminal murders a witness in the name of hiding his crimes and avoiding prosecution.

  All in all, murder is in the name of the murderer.

  * * * *

  It is quiet in one small suburb tonight. No one is driving down the streets or walking down the sidewalks. The small playground is empty, the swings swaying lightly in the soft wind. The buildings are dark and without light, the street lamps shining upon the empty streets for any that are traveling this night to see that not a single soul is out. The houses range from one floor buildings to two, each with a driveway and a decent-size backyard. The grass in the front yards is a perfect shade of green and cut perfectly by the owners. The flower petals of the gardens are tight in buds until the morrow, when the sun begins to shine. Many call this suburb the perfect place to raise a family. No crimes being committed, no one causing damage to the other’s property or gangs painting graffiti on the buildings or selling drugs to the children. Everyone knows their neighbor and there are no secrets between them.

  However, that all is going to change this one night.

  At a simple house on a small street, the door is slightly ajar. It is odd, for the people keep their doors closed and locked at night. There is no sign that the door was forced open, yet there is no one to investigate why this one house has the front door open. Within the house, a strange squelching sound can be heard from the dark master bedroom. A dark figure is hunch over the large bed, holding the handle of a large knife that he pulls out of the occupants in the bed. The figure looks at the dark red fluid dripping off the bright gray steel, the large drops falling onto the dark green carpet and staining the soft fabric. The smell of copper fills the room, but only the figure can smell it. It is almost euphoric, better than a woman's perfume or a man's cologne. The figure stares at the knife for a moment longer before picking up the comforter and wiping the knife clean. The figure inspects the knife to make certain that it is thoroughly clean of blood before sheathing it and walking out of the master bedroom. The figure takes one look into what appears to be a child’s bedroom before leaving the house. The figure closes the front door and disappears into the night, no one to witness what has occurred.

  The crime has went perfectly, waiting now for someone to discover it.

  * * * *

  “Damn,” a police officer curses as he stares at the bed in the master bedroom, “This makes it two dead families in the same week.”

  “The alarm had been tampered with from the outside,” another police officer informs, “The company didn’t even receive notice about it. Our perp is a pro.”

  Upon the bed before them are a man and a woman that have multiple stab wounds upon their bodies, their pajamas soaked with their life fluids. Their eyes remain closed and appear to be sleeping, despite the fact that they are dead. One corner of the comforter has stains from where the police suspect that the murderer had wiped his weapon clean on. The victims are a married couple that have been known as a kind family that could not have any enemies at all to warrant such an assault upon them. Even worse, the couple had a two year-old son that had been found in his bedroom. He also sported multiple stab wounds like his parents.

  “The perp is very sick to do this to such a young child,” the first police officer states in anger, looking down at the deceased child, “I have a son around his age. This is like my nightmare coming true, only it is for these poor folks.”

  “I haven’t found any fingerprints on the front door,” a third police officer reports, “I also checked the other rooms downstairs and found nothing. I need to check up here now, if you guys are all done with your investigation.”

  “Hopefully he was dumb enough to leave us with at least something for us to work with,” the second police officer comments as he and his partner head downstairs.

  “The reporters are already here,” the third police officer informs, getting a few groans from her fellow officers, “Luckily, it’s not Marie Kenyon this time.”

  “Good. I hate that bitch.”

  “You’re not the only one.”

  * * * *

  “Thank you Ben,” the male reporter said to the camera being held by his camera man, “As you can see, police are already investigating the mysterious stabbing of the Parlisan Family here in the Wounsdear suburb of northern Jamerson City. James Parlisan, age thirty-five, was found in bed with his wife, thirty-one year old Barbara Parlisan, stabbed to death while they were sleeping. Their two year-old son, Daniel, was also found in his own bedroom in the same manner. Reports are coming in that the mysterious stabbings coincide with the Beauticia Family murder just six days ago, as well as the Keepan Family, Villia Family, and Chu Family murders in the last five months. Police are asking if anyone has any information of the murders to either call anomalously or visit the station in person. The address of your local police station can be found on our website at...”

  Within the distance, two individuals wearing robes are watching the house from afar on a roof top. No one pays attention to them, too lost in the investigation to even look above and find it strange that somebody would be watching a crime scene from a roof. Even if anyone were to look, they would not see anyone or anything.

  “The souls of those poor families,” one of the individuals muses, robed head low, “They are lost to Purgatory now.”

  “Something must be done,” the second individual states, “The police are at a loss in finding the criminal. If nothing is done, more families will die.”

  “It is not our place to intervene,” the first individual informs, “The mortal world is off limits to us. The only ones that can help with the investigation are the young ones on missions or-“

  “We will not go down that path,” the second individual states angrily, “They are fallen. They are lost to us forever.”

  “Several of our young ones do not think so. The war has been at a standstill for generations. They had time to converse and even become friends.”

  “Yet those bonds they form will be their downfall once the End of Days comes. Upon that time, none will be spared.”

  “Let us return for now. We have to make our report.”

  With that said, the two individuals disappear, unaware that they had someone from the shadows spying on them just as they were spying on the scene below.

  "Try all you like," the voice whispers with giddy, "You, nor your allies, will find out the truth. This deal I made is the best one yet, and will bear fruit for me soon."

  * * * *

  It is said that there is a world that is hidden from the eyes of mortals, a world that makes itself known upon one’s death, and the knowledge is lost upon one’s rebirth. It is a world at war for many millenniums, but now waits until the time is perfect, for the war will eventually drag the world of mortals into it as well.

  Yet there are a few mortals that are aware of the other world. There are aware of those that fight against those from the other world, those that are impatient and cannot wait for the perfect time. Although rare in these modern times, rumors whisper that there is one such protector amongst the mortals. However, not all is as it seems, for this one protector has sec
rets that very few are aware of...and even fewer that are still alive to tell.

  Chapter 1

  The sun slowly rises to bring light to the buildings of Jamerson City, located in the vast state of Pennsylvania. Surrounding the large buildings that glitter as the golden light shines off the multiple windows are large districts and suburbs made up of family homes and businesses that range from old mom-and-pop stores to corporate stores that have only been in business in the area for a few months. Jamerson City isn’t as popular as Philadelphia or Erie, but it has its own flare of historical buildings that have been around since colonial times and is rumored to have been the meeting place for many generals during the Seven-Year War, also known as the American Revolution.

  Within the Maston suburb, there is a large building on the corner of Avata Street and Yankee Avenue that is made up of two stores and a couple offices, a few of them doubling as apartments. A young woman with short blonde hair and green eyes enters the building from the center doorway, heading upstairs and taking a right. Her white high heel shoes contrasts the deep red business suit she is wearing, the clicking of her heels hitting the wooden floor ringing loud and clear in the hallways. As she fumbles for her keys in her purse, she reaches a door that has writing on the window in gold and black:

  Jenne Cordovo

  Private Detective

  555-296-4455

  Office Hours: M-F 8-5:30

  “Right on time,” the young woman smiles, looking at her watch as she unlocks the door, “Time to start a new day.”

  * * * *

  A tanned hand reaches out of the large blankets upon the full-size bed and presses a button on the alarm clock sitting on the night stand to the right before the device could release its shrill that could even wake the dead. Sliding out of the blankets with a soft moan is a woman in her early thirties, stretching to rid herself of the remaining sleep within her body and wiping the sleep off her golden brown eyes. The tips of her short brown hair brush over her shoulders and she pulls up the blinds to see that it is going to be a bright day.

  The young woman gets out of bed and slips off her sleep tank top and night shorts before reaching into her dresser drawers for a short-sleeve ruby red button shirt and tight-fitting deep blue jeans. She brushes her hair quickly before she pulls out a long black leather trench coat and carries it with her as she leaves her bedroom. She walks right into the small kitchen of her apartment, turning on the center light to illuminate the room and help her avoid smacking her legs into something. Draping the trench coat over one of the four chairs surrounding the round table in the center, she heads right to the black coffee pot in the corner of the L-shaped counter and begins to make herself a fresh pot.

  “Good morning Jenne,” said young woman turns to see a young man walking into the kitchen with a yawn, trying to balance a backpack and his jacket in his arms. He is younger than Jenne, with short black hair that dangles on the sides of his face and his bangs drape his forehead, sleepy blue eyes in search of food as he sets his belongings down on the table long enough to search the upper cabinets for his favorite cereal.

  “Good morning,” Jenne replies as she waits for her coffee to brew, reaching into a nearby cabinet for a mug, “Did you complete your homework, John?”

  “I did,” John answers as he pours himself a bowl of cereal and goes into the refrigerator for milk, “I have a meeting afterschool with the student council. They want to make sure the preparations for the Extracurricular Fair is in order and there are no screw ups.”

  “Pass me the milk,” Jenne asks as she pours herself a cup of coffee and John does so, “That is fine. I have a few clients I need to go through today and will be picking out one to work with. I should be home in time for dinner. By the way, are you going to try out for any of the afterschool activities?”

  “Probably not,” John replies as he sits down to eat, “The student council keeps me busy enough. There have been several new transfers lately and I’m the one in charge of giving them a tour of the school. I’m only lucky that the Extracurricular Fair is in a couple days, which will give me a break from trying to convince the newbies to choose one to add to their record.”

  “You should also try to make some new friends while you are at it,” the young woman points out suddenly, taking a bite out of a bagel she had grabbed from the nearby bread box, “I know Daisy has been your friend for years, but I think it’s time you expanded your circle. Daisy has tons of friends and will soon not have enough time for you and-“

  “I know I know,” the young man raises his arms in surrender, “You tell me the same story almost every day. I get the picture. It’s just hard to find acceptance when you have a deep secret like I do. Besides, not many adults out there are keen on having their kids hang out with someone whose big sister is their legal guardian due to some very bad home life. They think I’ll end up like Mom and Dad.”

  “Unlikely,” Jenne grumbles, taking a vicious bite out of her bagel, “People who think like that are snotty, uptight losers that wouldn’t know what struggling and suffering is like unless you tar-and-feather them and sent them down the street. You’ll find those your age with parents that do not care about our family life. Trust me.”

  “By the way, have you been getting a lot of cases lately? I mean, the city’s been so quiet with the exception of the Single Family Serial Killer.”

  “The police have their hands full with that lunatic,” Jenne places her mug down after eating the rest of her bagel, “so they can’t spare the time for lesser issues, which means more work for private detectives like me. At least not all of them are about taking pictures of cheating spouses, which has gotten boring.”

  “Just don’t end up doing something illegal,” John states as he gets up and places his dishes in the sink, “I’m heading out now.”

  “Have fun,” Jenne calls as she refills her mug with coffee.

  John opens a nearby door to reveal the office area of the apartment. The office has two desks with a computer, stacks of paper in two separate bins, and stationary on each. The desk by the windows has two thick chairs in front of it, two filing cabinets and a bookcase along the side wall. The second desk resides by the wall opposite of the bookcase with a printer, another filing cabinet, and a small potted tree plant behind it. Sitting at the second desk is the young woman that had let herself in earlier, reading a stack of mail in her hands.

  “Morning Ellie,” John greets as he walks to the entrance door and slides on his back pack.

  “Morning John,” Ellisaüch Jordonson replies, turning on her computer as she places the mail down, “Have a good day at school.”

  “Thank you,” the young man said as he opens the door and leaves, closing the door behind him. A few minutes later, Jenne walks into the office with her mug and trench coat, closing the door behind her and slipping on a pair of dark gray sneakers.

  “Good morning Sunshine,” Ellisaüch smiles at the private detective with a slight hint of a smug upon her face, “Did you have your daily five cups of coffee yet, or should I grab the pot for you?”

  “Some of us here do need caffeine in the morning,” Jenne states with a bit of irritation, placing her mug down on her desk and her trench coat on the chair before sitting down. She picks up a stack of papers from the In Box and begins to read the first page.

  “That’s all of them,” the young secretary begins as she starts the internet browser program on her computer, “There haven’t been many large jobs lately. This means you’ll have to take a lot of smaller cases to make the month.”

  “Cops are patrolling the street almost every night in order the catch the latest serial killer on the loose,” Jenne points out, placing the first page down and reading the second, “No one is going to be stupid enough to be in public to do something stupid and illegal.”

  “Maybe we could’ve had more luck if we had lived in Vegas,” Ellisaüch comments while typing, “You know, the City of Sin?”

  “Also known as the City With More
Surveillance Cameras Than The White House,” the young woman states back, flipping to the next page, “Besides, only dumb people would commit crimes in secured areas and think they can get away with it, like all those idiots that see the cameras in grocery stores but try to rob the place anyway. Sneaky criminals come to either quiet neighborhoods or large business districts to commit their illegal activities. Less security and everyone living there is thinking that nothing can go wrong in their neighborhood.”

  “We are not living in either a quiet neighborhood or a big business district. Jamerson City is more like in the middle of both, but has gangs running around.”

  “Gangs crawl around more in the inner city. Lots of places to hide from the cops in. They rarely come out here in the suburbs and do anything.”

  “Then there is, of course...”

  “This one looks promising,” Jenne said suddenly, holding a piece of paper in one hand and placing the rest back into the In Box, “Damage to private property for several weeks, negative messages in the mail box... Shouldn’t take long and feels like a challenge.”

  “Hate crime by idiots who think they have to hunt others just to make themselves feel better,” Ellisaüch muses, “The perp will eventually become too arrogant and screw up. There, case closed.”

  “No doubt unless we are dealing with more than one,” Jenne agrees, picking up her phone, “but it’s best to nip it in the bud before the perp escalates it to murder.”

  “Like our dear serial killer on the loose,” the young secretary adds as she reads an online article about the latest murder victims, “Kind of reminds me of that case in Great Britain so long ago...”

  * * * *