A Deadly Trick or Treat
Book 8: The Deadly Thriller Series
THIS HALLOWEEN, EVEN THE TRUTH WEARS A COSTUME.
When LAPD Lieutenant Maddie Divine hears about a drug bust near LAX, she doesn’t expect it to lead back to one of the most explosive cases of her career. A streetwise shuttle driver swears he has proof that a former high-ranking officer was wrongfully imprisoned for murder. The tip seems like a long shot...until the man who supposedly framed her turns up dead.
With her detective partner, Darius Cutter, at her side and both of their reputations on the line, Maddie is drawn into an interwoven web of old crimes, secret deals, and deadly lies. Suspects are everywhere, and Maddie and Darius must unravel a mystery of tangled of clues to uncover the truth.
Set against the backdrop of Los Angeles in late October, A Deadly Trick or Treat is a thriller that delivers suspense, dark humor, and twists you won’t see coming.
With a cast that will keep you guessing and villains who hide in plain sight, this eighth installment in the Deadly Thriller series is perfect for fans of fast-paced police procedurals and twist-filled crime fiction.
Authentic Crimes…Arresting Stories told by a retired LAPD officer.
PROLOGUE
The man, finished with his day’s work, admired the rounded bottom of a co-worker as she bent down to pick up something shiny, her back to him.
Unaware he was watching, she rose and brought the object up to her chest—out of his view.
Seconds later, she extended her right hand, wiggling her fingers in the less than blazing light.
Even from where he stood, the man saw the sparkle of a ring on her fourth finger.
As the woman turned, he rotated on his heel as if taking a last look for forgotten belongings.
Sensing she was walking toward him, he pivoted to face her.
"Ready to call it a day?" His tone was friendly.
She nodded and slipped her cupped hand in the pocket of her sweater. "Yeah, I’m beat." She reached up to brush a strand of hair from her eyes. The ring was gone.
He chuckled. "You know what they say. Work hard. Someone’s always watching."
A flash of apprehension crossed her face, then shifted into a smile.
They walked together until they reached the exit. Outside, Los Angeles traffic was the usual chaos.
"You taking the shuttle?"
She shook her head. "I’ve got a ride." She smiled. "See you soon."
He nodded as his lips formed a smile. "That you will."
1 - JON
Jon Banks looked out the window as the letter carrier pulled up to his mailbox and slipped in several envelopes, along with the usual junk mail.
Just what I need—more bills and crap I don’t want.
He slid on his shoes and headed for the door, but the phone rang. Detouring to the kitchen, he grabbed his cell and answered.
"Hey there. What are you doing calling me on a day off?"
A soft giggle on the line made him smile.
"The grouch took his truck in for maintenance. I had a few minutes and wanted to hear your voice. I already miss you."
"Be careful."
"You worry too much. He has no idea about us, and even if he did, I’m not sure he’d care. We’ve grown apart. I mean, who schedules a service appointment on one of the rare days we’re both off?"
He knew he’d be wasting time explaining that her husband’s absence likely had nothing to do with neglect. Sometimes things just needed to get done. Instead of answering her question, he pivoted.
"What are you wearing?"
Another giggle. "A short, light-blue nightie—and nothing else."
The mental image got things stirring below his belt.
"Really? What would I see if you lifted that nightie?"
A little later, after a frenzied episode of phone sex, they said their goodbyes.
"I’ll see you on Tuesday," she said. "It’s supposed to be cold, but I’m sure we’ll find a way to keep warm."
"Don’t bother bringing anything to sleep in."
"I never do," she said, her voice thick with innuendo.
He chuckled, hung up, and went to the sink to clean himself.
Now, what were you doing before she called? Oh, yeah—the mail.
He walked to the curb, waving to the elderly woman across the street. She was bent over, adjusting a pair of skeletons strewn in front of hard foam headstones on her lawn.
"Looks good, Alma," he yelled. "Those bones ought to scare the little ones."
She straightened and shaded her eyes with one hand. "I’m thinking this might be the last year that I go to all this trouble. I don’t expect more than a dozen little ones tonight. You handing out candy?"
"Yeah, I like to see the kids in their costumes.
"Me too. Have fun," she said, resuming her bone placement landscaping.
Shuffling back inside, he sorted through bills, ads, and charity pleas. He grabbed a piece of candy from the bowl near the door and popped it into his mouth. The tartness puckered his lips and sent a shiver down his spine.
2 - MADDIE
On Monday morning, at o-dark-thirty, I tore southbound on the 405 Freeway at a blistering twenty-five miles an hour in my unmarked LAPD police sedan. As I crested the Sepulveda Pass, the neon-red stream of brake lights ahead lit the darkness like a snake made of glowing cigarette embers.
"Please don’t let there be an accident in front of me," I muttered. "I can’t be late…again."
Beginning my second week as the Lieutenant II, Officer in Charge of Pacific Division Detectives, it was likely no one gave a damn when I showed up. No one, that is, except my boss.
How a moron like Zak Murdock had promoted to Captain III was beyond me. I’d had my share of run-ins with him over the years. In fact, this wasn’t even the first time he’d been my direct supervisor. What hadn’t changed—and never would—was that I didn’t like the man.
Sometimes I wondered if someone in Personnel Division got their jollies by assigning me to the same division as Murdock every few years.
Once I made my way down the grade into West L.A. and Brentwood, I finally exhaled. I glanced at the dashboard clock—twenty minutes to spare before 6:00 a.m. Even if I had to take surface streets, I’d still beat the clock. And more importantly, I’d beat Murdock.
See? Even on a Monday, things can go your way.
3 - DARIUS
Darius Cutter held open the back door of Pacific Station as a couple of patrol coppers wrangled their drunk inside and toward the metal bench in the hallway.
While the suspect yelled he was gonna puke, Darius couldn’t help but feel grateful he was no longer working in uniform. He turned toward the detective squad room, unsurprised to see about half the desks already occupied.
Mondays were always busy. Detectives only had forty-eight hours from the time of arrest to get their bodies arraigned. The clock started once the suspect was arrested, which meant detectives who’d been off for the weekend had to hustle.
Normally, he wouldn’t be working this early. But a couple of the younger detectives from Gang and Narcotics Division had called him with a problem they wouldn’t discuss over the phone. Although he worked in the unit, Darius wasn’t their supervisor, but he was a veteran cop—and they trusted him.
The two detectives sat in unoccupied cubicles near the squad room door, waiting for him.
"Yo, Darius." Ramos and Booker both stood.
Ramos took his arm. "Let’s go outside."
Darius let his gaze scan the room. "Where’s your arrestee? Is he okay?"
Ramos nodded toward the hallway that led out to the secured parking lot.
"Don’t worry," Booker said. "He’s fine. He’s hooked to the bench in Interview Room 2. We’ve got a light-duty P-1 watching him."
Satisfied their suspect was secured and supervised, Darius followed them outside.
The early morning air hit cool and damp.
Ramos turned to him. "Did you drive your personal vehicle?"
"Yeah," Darius said. "What’s going on?"
"Let’s go get some coffee."
Damn. They must have really screwed up if they’re worried the conversation might be picked up by one of the hidden mics around the station.
He unlocked his sports car, while Ramos and Booker played rock-paper-scissors to see who’d cram into the minuscule back seat.
Ramos lost, which was just as well; he was the smallest of the three. They all piled in.
Darius drove down the street to an all-night Mexican fast-food drive thru.
Booker started. "So, we were workin’ one of the titty bars by the airport. We had info a shuttle driver for Sanctum Airlines was sellin’ to the strippers in exchange for sex."
Ramos nodded. "We catch him in the alley, literally, with his dick out and the chick on her knees. He finishes, gives her some ice. We take him into custody without incident. During the pat-down, we find more meth—enough to pop him for selling. We get him to the station; he tells us he wants a deal."
Darius frowned. "What kind of deal?"
"He says that a few years ago, the LAPD put the wrong person in jail for a murder—and he knows who did it."
Darius leaned back and sighed. "Sounds like Shuttle Man is trying to weasel out of a felony arrest."
Booker shook his head. "I don’t think so. He said some big-shot woman from the LAPD went down for a murder she didn’t commit."
Darius’s stomach tightened. "Did he give you a name?"
"He couldn’t remember her first name. Said she was—or had been married—to an airline pilot. Our guy works for Sanctum, drives employees to and from the employee parking lot."
Ramos’s face took on a worried expression. "If this guy’s info is legit, someone is in deep shit. The only female bigwig we could think of who got popped for murder was Deputy Chief Holly Banks."
Booker lowered his voice. "And uh, didn’t you tell us you and your partner helped to put Holly Banks away?"
