Chapter 1

Wow, so life got crazy, I started a writing blog, made one post, and then nothing for two years. I would apologize, but it's not like I had a lot of followers to begin with, and likely all of the ones I had got tired of waiting and moved on. If anyone is still(or was ever) subscribed to this writing blog, your patience has (sort of) paid off. I'm back, and, after serious consideration, decided to start the blog up again. Part of why I let it drop last time was a fear of putting my writing into the wild. My thought process was "If I just post it, they can read it for free and not buy the book, thus defeating the purpose," and then I realized that A.) Making money is not why I am writing, I'm doing it because I enjoy it, b.) I don't have to give everything away, and C.) Word of mouth is a powerful marketing tool, and maybe more people will read my book if I increase awareness of it, and so, here we are.

  Ok, so to get everyone up to speed, I got things started with a murder,,,and then shifted gears entirely. So, now my first book will not start with a murder, because the serial killer story has been changed. To be more accurate, I should say "Postponed for Dramatic Effect." The story ended up going in a different direction. Hopefully a better one, but we shall see.

    Anyway, I think its time to introduce one of my two main characters, Detective Jake Bradshaw, and I can't think of a better way to do that than to post Chapter 1 of the first book. Please keep in mind this is just the rough draft, and is NOT the finished product yet. Enjoy!

Chapter 1

Bing-Bong! The electronic doorbell sounded as the convenience store door swung open. The cashier lazily cast his eyes toward the door, the sound barely managing to drag his attention away from his book. This late at night, the store was usually pretty slow, with long stretches of boredom punctuated by brief periods of manic activity. To combat the boredom and bolster his attempts to stay awake, the cashier used this time to catch up on his reading, only putting his book down when customers demanded his attention. Through the door walked a man, late 20s or early 30s, with short brown hair, wearing jeans and sneakers, with a light jacket thrown over a t-shirt with some goofy animated image printed on it. He grinned and nodded a happy greeting to the cashier, who returned the gesture, then turned back to his book. The customer moved to the left and took a stroll down the snack aisle, quietly humming to himself as he disappeared from the cashier’s perch at the counter. He could hear the other man’s footsteps and the occasional rustle of chip bags. The customer was obviously looking for something in particular, so the cashier lost himself in his book again until the doorbell sounded again. This time, through the door walked another man, dressed much like the other, except wearing a hoodie that obscured most of his face. This new customer didn’t offer a greeting, nod or otherwise, so the cashier simply watched him walk to the cooler section of the store, then let his eyes drift back down to the page he was on. Unfriendly people were nothing new in Los Angeles, and the cashier had certainly encountered his fair share of them in his current line of work. He had almost finished the chapter when a thump on the counter broke him out of the world of the book and brought him back to reality. The second customer was standing before him, and had set a case of beer on the counter. Sighing, he set his book aside, grabbed the handheld barcode scanner out of its cradle, and rang up the beer. He turned his attention to the man. 

“Anything else?” the cashier asked out of bored repetition.

“Pack of smokes,” the customer replied shortly, pointing at his preferred brand. The cashier turned and pulled a pack off the wall. When he turned back around, he found himself staring down the barrel of a gun. “-And all the money in the register,” the customer-now-thief waved his gun at the register, indicating that the cashier should move quickly if he didn't want to catch a bullet. “Now,” he urged, needlessly in the cashier’s opinion; the gun had done more than enough to put a little hustle in his step. He pressed the button combination to open the register, and the little metal drawer popped open with a click from the mechanism and a jangle from the coins inside. The thief fidgeted, alternating his gaze between the front door and the cashier shoving bills into a paper bag as fast as he could manage with shaking hands, all the while keeping his gun trained on the terrified young man. Suddenly, the cashier stopped moving, arm halfway between drawer and bag, money clamped in his fist. The thief looked at him in confusion, and was about to threaten him again when he realized that the young man was looking behind him. Something had caught his attention more than the gun barrel shoved at his face. Just then, a loud crunch sounded behind the thief. The man wheeled around to the source of the sound to find the other customer, whom he had realized was there until just now, standing about ten feet away, munching on an open bag of potato chips. Another loud crunch rang out as another chip disappeared into the man’s mouth. With his free hand, the man gestured to the gun and the cashier.

“Hey, is this gonna take very long? I got somewhere I’m supposed to be,” he mumbled around a mouthful of salty snacks. The robber stared in disbelief, unable to process someone being so calm in the face of a gun during a robbery. 

“Are you fuckin’ kiddin’ me?” the robber asked, his voice rising in pitch as his incredulity increased. “You got a death wish, buddy?” The other man pulled another chip out of the bag and crunched down on it before answering.

“No,” he shrugged, cool as a cucumber. “Just in a hurry, but let’s talk about you.” The snacking man glanced his opponent up and down. “Just…out of curiosity, answer one question for me real quick. What’s her name?” 

“Man, what are you talking about? Who?” The robber was genuinely perplexed.

“The girl you’re trying to impress. Is it a girl? Could be a guy, I guess, but if it was, he’d likely be in here with you, trying to one-up you, and judging from the pen sticking out of your pocket, you’re all about that vape life, so I’d have to guess those-” he pointed to the pack of cigarettes on the counter. “-are for the person waiting for you in your-” another quick look up and down “-Lexus in the parking lot, and I don’t know a lot of guys out there sucking down Virginia Slims.” The robber looked around, lost, even exchanging a quick glance with the cashier, who still had his hands up. 

“Man, what do you know?” The chip eater took a casual step forward.

“I know you’re not doing this for the money.” He gestured to the man’s extended arm. “Frat tattoo on your wrist means college, and, if I remember my Greek, that is an elite frat, as in, you have to come from money to get in, and not just any money. The kind of money that can get you, oh, I don’t know…” His gaze found its way to the robber’s shiny new sneakers. “...a pair of the rarest designer sneakers on the planet, only, like 15 in existence. This is L.A., and there’s only like 3 pairs of those in the city.” The cashier shot him a strange look. The man caught the expression and responded. “I have a friend who’s a sneakerhead, and those shoes are all he’s been talking about since they were released last week.” The cashier nodded, accepting the explanation. The other man returned his attention to the armed robber. “You’re not here for the thrill, because the kind of money that gets you into that frat means you can do whatever you’re into, skydiving, base jumping, cave diving, hunting kidnapped people on a deserted island, whatever. So, that means you’re trying to impress someone, right? I mean, why else would you roll up to rob a convenience store in a Lexus?” The robber began to sweat.

“So, who the hell are you supposed to be, Sherlock Holmes?”

“No,”  He broke into a broad grin and stood a little straighter. “...but thank you. I do have another question, though. Who’s idea was this? Was this your brilliant plan to show her an exciting night, or did she tell you that armed robbery gets her motor going?” The robber didn’t answer, standing resolute instead, face contorting in anger as he seriously considered pulling the trigger and shooting this nobody in the face. Before he could, however, Jake looked outside and spoke again. “Eh,” he shrugged, sticking his hand into the chip bag again. “It doesn’t really matter, anyway. I mean, she did just drive off with your ride.” The robber’s eyes flew open wide and his head snapped toward the door. Once the other man’s eyes were off him, Jake released his bag of chips, letting it fall to the floor. As it fell, it exposed the gun Jake had stashed inside it when the robbery had started, now firmly in Jake’s grasp. The gun was leveled at other man’s head before the chips hit the ground. “L.A.P.D.,” Jake announced, stepping in closer to the man so that he couldn’t bring his own weapon to bear. “You’re under arrest.” He reached into his back pocket and produced a pair of handcuffs, dangling them off one finger. “Why don’t you put that gun down and come slip into these for me?” The defeated thief hung his head and sighed, handing his gun to Jake, who shoved it into his belt. The thief raised his hands over his head, and Jake told the surprisingly calm cashier to call the police.

Minutes later, Jake escorted the man outside to the waiting patrol car, its driver leaning against the driver door, trying to suppress her laughter.

“A bag of chips, Jake?” she asked with equal parts incredulity and amusement.

“Hey, it worked, didn’t it?” Jake smirked back, then feigned a dreamy look. “Wonder if that will get me on one of those internet fail videos…”

“You know salt isn’t good for your gun.”

“Well, I’m sorry, Kelly, but I had to improvise. I mean, I am off-duty. I’m just lucky I was still carrying.” As they moved toward the car, the passenger side door of the Lexus opened and an attractive young woman stood and looked at the robber, throwing up her hands in a “What the hell?” gesture. The robber saw her and started to struggle. “Hey, calm down,” Jake warned.

“What the hell, man? You said she bailed!” the robber complained.

“Come on, man. You can’t be that dumb,” Jake chastised. The robber blinked, obviously missing what Jake was hinting at. “Ok, I guess you can be. You didn’t, at any point, wonder how I knew what you were driving?” The handcuffed man’s eyes darted back and forth, searching for an answer. Jake reached down and grabbed something out of the man’s pocket and held it in front of his eyes for him to see. “Your keyfob was hanging out of your pocket, dingus. Where was she gonna go without your keys?” he asked, bonking the man on the forehead with the heavy keyfob. “Dumbass.” Officer Kelly snorted, trying to suppress her laughter as Jake placed the man in the backseat of her car and handed her the other man’s gun, just as the young woman, who Jake noticed, was wearing a tight off-white dress and ridiculously tall high heels,  reached them.

“What’s going on?” she demanded, yanking off her oversized sunglasses.

“Your boo here is getting himself arrested,” Jake informed her, disarming her with his casual, almost happy demeanor. “I guess he thinks that armed robbery is a hell of an aphrodisiac. Here,” he shrugged, tossing her the keys to the Lexus IS. “Take it home. Hell, take it for a joyride first, he ain’t gonna need it for a minute.” The woman blinked in confusion, then brightened at the idea of getting to drive the car. 

“He’s never let me drive before!” she squealed.

“No! Hey! Don’t you touch my car!” came the robber’s voice from the car, but she was already sprinting back to the car as fast as her stiletto heels would let her. “Hey, you can’t give her my keys like that! Man, don’t let that crazy bitch drive my car!” he pleaded. Kelly stuck her head into the driver’s side window.

“Shut up back there!” she ordered. Jake laughed, enjoying Kelly taking her turn to ruin the criminal’s day. The two cops chatted for a minute, catching up, until Jake’s phone rang. He pulled the device out of his pocket, touched the screen and placed it to his ear as the Lexus roared out of the parking lot.

“Yes, sir…Yes, sir...Yes, sir….Right away, sir. Thank you, sir.” Jake hung up the phone, and looked at his friend and fellow officer in shock.

“Well?” she asked impatiently.

“Duty calls,” he said, giving a sly smirk.

“What?”

“I...am on my way to my first murder.”

“What? I thought you didn’t start Homicide til tomorrow.”

“I don’t,” Jake said as he broke into a happy dance. “But Captain Johnson wants me to head to the crime scene tonight to get acclimated, learn some of the ropes, get a jump start on things.” He danced around her black and white patrol car to get to his own silver Honda Civic. He pointed at her, then at the man in the back of her car. “You got this?”

“I think I can handle Mr. Personality here,” she retorted, feigning indignation. “Go get ‘em, Detective,” she proudly encouraged her friend. Jake hopped in his car and pulled away, waving to her as he sped down the street.

Jake typed the address the captain gave him into his phone’s GPS and followed the little blue line as it took him through the city and into the suburbs. As he turned onto a side street, he noticed the red and blue flashing lights ahead of him, signaling his arrival at his destination. Rolling to a stop, he put the car in park and stepped out, taking note that the arriving ambulance wasn’t running their lights or siren. Not a good sign, he thought, heading up the paved path toward the house. Immediately upon ducking under the yellow tape and walking in the door, he was stopped by a large hand on his chest belonging to a uniformed cop.

“You can’t be in here,” the cop said, voice full of authority. Jake reached into his back pocket and produced his badge.

“I’m looking for Detective Matheson,” he told the other officer, who lowered his arm, turned and pointed toward the person Jake was looking for. “Thanks,” Jake said with a small smile, and moved off in the indicated direction. Making his way through the house led him through a hallway past several closed doors. One, however, was standing wide open. Jake stuck his head around the corner of the door frame into the room. Two uniformed officers stood off to the side, while another man dressed in plastic booties, latex gloves, and safety glasses circled a woman’s body with a digital camera, gingerly stepping over a puddle of blood. Jake watched the crime scene investigator for a moment, then looked to the uniformed officers. 

“Detective Matheson?” he said by way of greeting and explanation of his presence.

“End of the hall, turn left,” one of the cops said, pointing in the proper direction. Jake nodded his thanks and continued down the hall, brushing past a well dressed brown haired young woman moving the opposite way, holding her hand to her mouth. She avoided eye contact with him as they passed, and Jake shot her a quick questioning glance. Most law enforcement veterans weren’t easily rattled by the things they encountered, even at violent crime scenes. He watched over his shoulder as she retreated down the hall and disappeared around the corner. Once she was out of sight, Jake finished the short walk down the hall into the room the officer had directed him to.

Inside were three people: a uniformed guard at the door, a crime scene investigator, and a well dressed man Jake could only assume was Detective Matheson. Four, if you counted the victim’s body, which lay bent at an odd angle next to the large wooden desk. Papers, books, and the other contents of the desk were tossed around the room. Blood spatter spotted and streaked nearly every surface, and the crime scene technician was hard at work marking and cataloging every possible thing. Currently, she was engaged in placing markers on the floor to document where she found the victim’s various teeth. Jake made a pointed effort to step gingerly into and around the room so as not to compromise the evidence as he approached the back of the man examining the body.

“Detective Matheson?” he ventured, to no response. He picked his way around the body to stand face to face with the man, who was squatting down in the catcher’s position, leaning over the body. Jake smiled, uncharacteristically nervous, and leaned toward the man, hand extended. “Hi, Detective. I’m Jake Bradshaw, your new detective. Captain Johnson called me and told me to report here to you. I guess he wanted me to jump right in, get a feel for things, you know?” Matheson’s eyes came up to meet Jake’s, but otherwise the man remained motionless as he sized up his new subordinate, and made it very obvious he was doing so. Jake withdrew his offered handshake and straightened, confused and uncertain, waiting for the other man to act. At last, he stood, and Jake got his first look at his new boss. He was taller than Jake by almost a foot, and his suit was tailored and well pressed. His graying hair framed his face, and a thick, well groomed mustache sat on his upper lip. The facial accessory, though obviously cultivated and cared for, seemed out of place and ridiculous on the Detective’s face, which Jake immediately thought as he came face-to-face with the man. The thought brought an involuntary smile to Jake’s lips, but he clenched his jaw and suppressed his snicker when he saw the look of disdain on Matheson’s face.

“Something funny, rookie?” he sneered.

Jake snapped to attention. “No, sir. Nothing at all.” Matheson’s eyes wandered up and down Jake, and he sucked his teeth in irritation as he turned his attention back to the body that lay at their feet. 

“Ok, rookie,” Matheson sighed. “So you’re here to learn the ropes? Fine. Go ahead. Tell me what you see.” he gestured down to the body. Jake looked to the body, then back to Matheson, who stood, arms crossed, waiting impatiently. 

“Y-you want me to…?” He pointed at the body. Matheson’s eyebrows came up and he rolled his eyes.

“Yes, examine the body. Tell me what you see.” 

“O-ok.” Jake took a calming breath. “Well, he was beaten badly. Someone was really piss-” Jake caught himself and cleared his throat before continuing. “...upset with this guy. Looks like he was struck with fists and blunt objects, both in the face and torso. Looks like a stab wound in his side, nope, wait, two stab wounds on his right side, probably in quick succession. Defensive wounds on his knuckles indicate he fought back. There’s one, two, three gunshot wounds to the chest. I’m not a coroner, but I’d guess that’s what killed him after his attacker was done tenderizing him.”

Jake continued his examination of the body as a uniformed officer approached them. “Sir,” he addressed Matheson. “We found their floor safe. It’s empty.”

“I want to see it,” Matheson commanded. “Show me.” He turned to Jake. “You, stay here.”

“Yes, sir.” The officer led Matheson out of the room. Jake looked around the room, turning in a circle where he stood. Behind him was an archway that led to another room. Standing near that archway, pretending not to pay attention, was the same brunette he’d passed in the hallway. She must have circled around, he thought. But what is she doing over there? He stepped toward her, but she moved away, and he decided not to pursue. He turned back to the body, and squatted down beside it. Something caught his attention. He looked around the room frantically until he found what he was looking for. “Hey!” he called to the crime scene tech, whose head jerked up at the sound. “Come here!” Jake called. “I think I found something!” The woman stood, grabbed her toolbag, and hustled to Jake’s side. 

“What?” she inquired.

“Has anybody seen this?” Jake asked, pointing to a clear liquid running off the victim’s face and pooling on the floor.

The crime scene tech rolled her eyes. “It’s spit. You know, drool, saliva. Dead people drool. It happens.”

“Yeah, but do they drool up the side of their faces at high velocity?” he asked, grabbing a latex glove from her toolkit, snapping it on, and turning the victim’s face from one side to the other. Sure enough, a large glob of spit sat on his cheek, far too high to be drool, surrounded by a series of little droplets. “This guy must have really pissed in someone’s coffee. They beat the shit out of him, then spit in his face as he lay dead. Or dying.”

“Oh, my god, how did we miss that?” The crime scene tech’s eyes widened and she flew into action, scrambling to collect a sample. Jake stood and took a step back, giving her room to work. Once the spit was contained and labeled, the tech stood. “That was...impressive. How did you catch that?”

Jake chuckled. “You must have been an only child.”

“Well, yes, but what does that have to do with anything?”

“My brother used to spit at me all the time when we were kids. I know a loogie when I see one.”

“Huh…” The tech nodded with comprehension. “Never would have thought of that…Well, I’ve got to get this to the lab if we’re gonna get anything useful from it. See ya around, and thanks.” She smiled, gathered her toolkit, and hastily departed the room. 

A few moments later, Matheson still hadn’t returned, and boredom began to set in, so Jake wandered back down the hall toward the room where the other victim had been killed. He stepped inside. No one else was in the room. It had been processed, the body removed, and everyone had moved on. Except for the tape outline of where the body had been, and the little yellow markers signifying the location of found evidence, the room remained untouched. It was another office, smaller than the one he had just been in. The desk was similar to the other one; they almost could have been part of a matched set. Strewn about the room were photographs of children, brightly colored artwork, and stacks of papers stapled or paper clipped together. Clearly, the victim had been a teacher. Jake stepped gingerly around the room, careful not to step on any of the little yellow plastic markers on the floor. The gratuitous blood splatter on the walls told him that this victim had received an end very similar to her husbands: violent and angry. The room had been tossed, and the further into the room he ventured, the more impossible it became to not step on something. That’s when it hit him: He was stepping on things. He started to look around at the floor, specifically at the papers tossed in the corner of the room. He gently started sliding the papers around, careful not to disturb the thing he was hoping to find. He was about two layers deep when he found it: a partial shoe print, stamped in gray, on the bottom corner of the back of a math worksheet. His breath caught in his throat, and he continued looking in the spot just south of where he found the print, hoping he could find the rest of it. Moments passed, and he found nothing. He was about to give up when he saw a streak of gray dust. He cleared away the papers and there it sat: the bottom half of a shoe print. Ever so carefully, he slid the two papers together, taking great care to line up the shoe prints. He let out a laugh when they came together as a perfect fit. Jake jumped up and stuck his head out the door, looking for anyone to help him. Luckily, a uniformed officer was heading his direction down the hall. “Hey, can you do me a favor? Grab me a CSI, will ya? I think I got something.” The officer nodded and hustled off, only to return a few moments later with another crime scene tech. 

“What’s up? What do you have?”

“Found this buried under a stack of papers in here,” Jake said, leading the man to the shoe print.

“Whoa...great find,” the tech breathed, clearly impressed. “If we can use it, I mean.” 

“What does that mean?” The tech knelt beside the print and began the process of preserving it for later examination.

“Well, first, since it's on two different pages, we have to make sure it's one print and not two partials, and then we have to check it against the shoes of everyone who was in this room tonight, including yours.” Jake nodded his understanding.

“Right, that makes sense, but hopefully, you can get something useful out of it.”

“Hey, stranger things have happened,” the tech agreed. “Shoe prints helped get the Night Stalker caught. Maybe we’ll get lucky, too.” Just then, there was a knock on the door frame behind them.

“Hey, you Bradshaw?” a uniformed officer asked. Jake nodded. “Matheson wants to see you out front.” Jake said his thanks to the officer and the tech, then headed out of the room toward the front door. Matheson was nowhere to be seen. Jake waited for several minutes before his superior finally reappeared.

“You know, you’re never going to make it as a detective if you don’t pay attention to the details. I can’t do everything around here.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about the reporter I just threw out of here on her ass! I don’t even know how she got in here, but she’s been snooping around for god knows how long, and everyone else around here was too busy navel gazing to notice!” Jake opened his mouth to respond, but Matheson cut him off. “Save it, I don’t want to hear any excuses, rookie. You’ll just be damn lucky if her little stunt didn’t contaminate the whole crime scene!” He planted his hands on his hips and huffed a sigh. “So, what did you do while I was gone? Just stand around, picking your nose, looking for someone to change your diaper?"

“Well, I did find a couple of things.”

“Yeah, I heard: spit and dirt. Look, rookie, setting aside the fact that I told you to stay put,  you know how hard it is to get DNA out of saliva? Next to impossible, and, I hate to tell you, but your shoe print is either belongs to one of the victims, or to one of thousands of the same pair of shoes, so probably a dead end. Now, look, I have to do an interview for the 11 o’clock news in about five minutes, so just go home. I’m done babysitting tonight.”

“But-” Jake started to protest.

“You’re dismissed,” Matheson cut him off. Jake sighed and dropped his hands in defeat. He turned to walk out the door. “Oh, hey, one more thing, rookie.” Jake turned around to face his new boss. Matheson straightened his jacket and tie. “How do I look?”

Jake sighed again and turned back to the door without answering. 

Jake pulled the front door of the house closed behind him and ducked under the yellow crime scene tape. He was halfway back to his car when a voice called out behind him.

“Detective! Can I talk to you for a minute?” Jake stopped and turned to the sound, only to see the brunette he’d passed in the hallway jogging up to him.

“Hi!” she said brightly. “Detective...Bradshaw, was it?” she asked, offering a handshake. Jake took her hand and nodded.

“Uh-huh, and you are?”

“Christine Thompson. I work for the “L.A. Vigilant.”” 

“”L.A. Vigilant?” What’s that?”

“Only the best news blog/podcast in the city.”

“You’re the reporter Matheson tossed.” Jake sneered, chuckling at his own realization. He started walking towards his car again.

“Had tossed,” Christine haughtily corrected, moving to walk alongside him. “Trust me, he’ll never do his own dirty work.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Let’s just say I’ve had my fair share of run-ins with cops like Matheson, and I know exactly what he’s like, but enough about him. I want to talk about you.”

Jake rolled his eyes. “Oh, really?”

“Oh, yes. See, I’ve been following these home invasions for a while now. Tough case. Not a lot of evidence left behind, but then, tonight, you find two pieces of decent evidence by yourself at the same crime scene.”

“So?”

“So that tells me that either the cops are getting sloppy, the crooks are getting sloppy, or you’re just that good.”

“Listen, miss, I didn’t do anything in there tonight that anyone else wouldn’t or couldn’t have done. I just got lucky that I picked up on a few things that might help stop some bad people from doing bad things,” he told her as he reached his car and noticed she was no longer beside him. She had stopped just a few paces away.
“Well, that’s good. That’s just what I want you to keep doing. Just pick up on things, and I’ll take care of the rest.” Jake turned to face her. She stood in the middle of the sidewalk, arms crossed and hips cocked.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means that I think you have potential. I’ll be following your career closely.”

Jake nodded slowly. “Great. Sounds good. Not creepy at all.” She tilted her head and gave a coy little smile, enjoying Jake’s apparent discomfort. From Jake’s perspective, it was the second time tonight he had been sized up, and he hadn’t enjoyed either one. “Well, good night,” he said abruptly, anxious to end the conversation. He turned back and climbed into the car. She started walking forward, then turned left to follow the sidewalk down the street, presumably to her own vehicle.

“I’m gonna make you a star, detective,” she called as she passed the car.

“Don’t do me no favors,” he called back as he pulled the car into the street.