Buried Secrets
BURIED SECRETS
a Derek REED THRILLER
Victoria M. Patton
Dark Force Press
Copyright © 2021 by Victoria M. Patton
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, without prior written permission.
Dark Force Press
www.darkforcepress.com
Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.
Book Layout © 2016 BookDesignTemplates.com
Buried Secrets/ Victoria M. Patton. — 1st ed.
ISBN 978-1-946934-23-9
Don't give up on your dreams.
And never let go of hope.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
CHAPTER FORTY
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
CHAPTER FIFTY
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE
CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX
CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE
CHAPTER SIXTY
CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE
CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO
CHAPTER ONE
“Home run,” he chuckled as the bat swooshed through the air, impacting the man’s skull. Droplets of blood spattered onto the wall; the pristine cream-colored paint now streaked with crimson red. Another blow, this time to the man’s legs. The crack of bone splintering echoed throughout the room.
“I’m sorry,” the man sobbed. “I’m so sorry.”
Derek stood frozen as the man’s screams pierced his ears. The lights in the library glowed against the dense haze of fog surrounding them. Squinting, he focused on the man with the bat. Outlines of a bookshelf and desk loomed in the shadows of the room. Derek’s skin prickled as the hair stood on end. Although he couldn’t see the victim’s face as he slumped forward in a chair, he seemed familiar, known to him.
“Too late to be sorry now.” The assailant lifted the bat over his head and laughed, his face obscured by a hooded sweatshirt.
Derek tried to move towards the victim. He had to save him and stop the brutal attack, but his legs wouldn’t budge. He looked down; his feet melded into the wood floors.
A high-pitched cackle filled the room. “You couldn’t save Chrissy. You can’t save him.”
Derek’s eyes bulged. He blinked, squeezing them shut. “No. No. You’re dead. You’re not real.” He muttered the mantra over and over.
“You too scared to look up, boy? You didn’t think you could get rid of me that easy, did you?”
Derek’s heart pounded, thumping like a jackhammer against concrete. The air in the room hung thickly, his chest constricted, making each breath a struggle. Lifting his gaze upward, his hands trembled as he reached for his gun. His fingers grazed an empty holster.
Josiah Craig removed the hood of the sweatshirt. One side of his face was eaten away by maggots, the other side partially caved in and unrecognizable. A warped smile greeted Derek. Roaches and beetles weaved their way through his rotten, blackened teeth.
“You’re dead. You can’t do anything to me.”
“Oh, Derek. Are you sure about that?”
Derek closed his eyes, grabbing the sides of his head. “I left it at the grave. I left you at the grave.”
A sickening howl bellowed out of Josiah. “You’re as stupid as a bag of hair, son.”
Derek took a deep breath, clinching his fists before he faced his demon. “Not this time, Josiah. Or whoever you are. Not this time.” He turned away as the man in the chair called out to him.
“Stop him, or he will keep killing.”
Josiah lifted his hand to his mouth. “Oh my. Where are my manners? Derek, let me introduce you to someone.”
As Josiah slowly turned the chair around, Derek trembled. He swallowed several times, trying to coat his dry, burning throat. As the man in the chair came into full view, Derek gasped. “No. No. It can’t be.”
“Of course, it is. I told you, you can’t run from me.”
The man sat in a pair of boxers. Blood oozed from his head wound. Both tibias had compound fractures. Derek’s stomach rolled as the sour taste of vomit hovered at the back of his throat. His legs shook under his weight. The last thing Derek saw was himself tied to the chair, with half his head bashed in.
CHAPTER TWO
Derek screamed as he hit the floor.
Lola jumped off the bed, darting towards him. Her head bobbed and weaved as she sniffed him. The boxer darted around the room, searching for intruders before returning to his side. She barked and nudged him until he acknowledged her.
Derek’s breathing came in short pants, as he sat up. Sweat beaded on his forehead, tiny droplets ran down his face. His hand shook as he reached for the brown boxer. “Hey, girl. I’m okay.”
Lola licked his face, nuzzling his chest. Her ears perked up as movement outside the sliding glass door caught her eye. Her huffing turned into loud barks as she went through the electronic doggy door.
“What do you see, Lola? Hmm?” Derek steadied himself, leaning on the bed as he got his legs under him. Staggering, he maneuvered towards the glass, sliding it open. The warm, fresh air filled his lungs. Phoenix in September was still hot. Even in the early mornings. He glanced at his new watch, 5:30 a.m. Groaning, he yawned. “Fuck, I’m awake. I might as well stay awake.”
He leaned against the door frame, watching Lola run around his backyard. She occasionally stopped at the front door of the bungalow, at the back of his property.
His new resident, Agent Kyle Marcum, moved in a week ago. He needed a place to live, and it seemed like the perfect fit. The bungalow sat empty since his grandmother’s death when Derek moved into her home. He watched as Lola crept around the small residence, probably looking for her ne
w best friend, Squeakers, the cat.
“Lola, what are you going to do when Lizzy comes home and takes you back to her house?” Derek clapped for the dog to return.
She bounded inside, excited for the day to begin.
“Lola, if we could bottle your energy, I would make a killing.” He slid the glass door shut.
The dog cocked her head to the side as if she understood.
“You hungry?” he asked her, grabbing his phone from the nightstand. Along with two pills from a prescription bottle.
Those two words were her cue. She took off running towards the kitchen.
Derek followed, turning on every light, pausing at each room before he passed the doorways. As he neared the archway leading into his spacious kitchen, he stopped, peeking around the edge before entering. He blew out the breath he held through taut lips. “I must look like an idiot.” He frowned at the dog as she sat ogling him, waiting for him to fill her dog bowl. “What?”
She barked at him, trying to rush him along.
“I guess if you’re not seeing a boogeyman, it must be safe to enter.” He placed the two pills on the counter and grabbed the dog food from one of the bottom cabinets.
Lola’s butt wiggled as her stubby tail shook at Mach speed.
“My gosh, calm down, dog.” He chuckled at the boxer. Once he filled her bowl, he made some breakfast, starting with a pot of coffee. Grabbing eggs and bacon from the refrigerator, he placed the pan on the stove just as his phone rang. “Shit, this can’t be good,” he said as he looked at the caller ID. “Derek.”
“Derek, you sound awake,” FBI Assistant Director Fretz said.
“Well, you’re calling me at 6 a.m.”
“You sound more awake than usual. Why are you up?”
“Why are you calling me?”
“Ah, hell. I’m sorry. I’ve just woken up myself. There’s been a murder.”
“Um, okay. What does a murder have to do with me?” Derek took a mug from the cabinet, filling it with coffee. He popped the two pills in his mouth, hoping they would settle his nerves.
“I need your team to handle this one.”
“I thought the Legacy Unit handled cold case files? Why do you want us to handle a fresh body?”
“If you remember, I said you may handle a recent murder case once in a while. Well, this is one of those times. Plus, someone requested you.”
Derek stiffened. “Requested? By who?”
“Congressman Jackson.”
Derek cringed. Lizzy’s—hell, he didn’t know what he was to her. Boyfriend or business partner. “Why did he ask for me?”
“His friend is the murder victim. Billy Edmond. The good thing, Jackson has been in Washington these last few weeks. He isn’t on your suspect list.”
“Yeah, that’s great.” Derek sipped his coffee. “I’m guessing I need to get to the crime scene?”
“Yes. The local ME and the Crime Scene Unit are holding the scene. The guy has been dead for roughly five hours.”
“Who found him? Do you know how Jackson found out about the death?”
“Jackson received a call from the victim’s staff. The only reason we are aware of this case is that Jackson requested the FBI, and you specifically, to handle it. The victim lives alone. His wife died a long time ago.” The AD paused.
“Hello? Director? Is there something else? What are you not telling me?”
“Nothing. That’s all I got. How quick can you get there?”
Derek glanced at the clock on the wall, double-checking the time on his watch. “Where is the scene?”
“East Valley region, Ahwatukee.”
“Crap.” Derek rubbed his temples. “At least an hour. I can get Agent Marcum to head into the office, and he can get going on the research of our victim.” He paced around his kitchen.
“Is your entire team here?”
“I believe a few of them are in town. I’m not expecting anyone to report until Tuesday. Wait, maybe Wednesday. Anyway, why is this happening on a Sunday? Can’t I just enjoy the weekend?”
“Um, you know today is Monday, right?” Assistant Director Fretz asked.
“Shit. I lost a day somewhere.” Derek placed his cup in the sink and headed towards his bedroom. Lola in tow. “I’ll call them. I have enough agents to get going.”
“Keep me posted. I want to stay in the loop at all times. I’m texting you the address.” Assistant Director Fretz hung up.
His phone pinged as he walked into his bedroom. “Damn, damn, damn.” Derek opened the glass door, heading for the bungalow. Knocking on the door, he waited. He lifted his hand, ready to rap on the door one more time when he heard muffled noises on the other side.
The door flew open; Kyle stood wrapped in a towel. “Yo, boss. What’s up?”
“We got a case.”
Agent Marcum scratched his head. “You mean like a new dead body case?”
“Yup. Special request for the Legacy Unit to handle it. I need you to go to the office. Make sure the computers are up and running, then run Billy Edmond’s financials. That’s our victim. Do as much as you can without crossing any lines. Find out if his money played a part in his murder.”
“Okay. I got it. I’ll leave in thirty,” Kyle said, nodding.
“One more thing. This stays between us.”
Kyle nodded again.
“I need you to tell me what connection he has to Congressman Jackson.”
“Do you suspect the congressman?”
“No, but he asked for us to investigate. I have my suspicions why, but I would like to know his connection. It seems the staff called him first.”
“Oh. No worries. I got you covered.”
“Great. I’ll touch base with you later.” Derek turned to leave, then spun around. “Our secretary may or may not show up. I don’t know who the AD is giving us or how soon. But, if she doesn’t arrive before I do, I need you to call Agents Pillard, Finch, and Peterson. They’re slated to be here tomorrow. Ask if they can get in today. It’s okay if they can’t. Don’t worry about Mackle. He isn’t coming until next week.”
“No problem.” Kyle closed his door as Derek walked away.
Lola ran around the yard doing her business. Derek entered his bedroom, sliding the door closed, locking it. Then scrolling through his contacts, he found Agent Felicia Rogers and Agent Kelly Warden’s numbers, and texted them the address.
Back in the kitchen, he fixed the eggs and bacon he had set out earlier. The minute he sat down to eat, he heard the electronic doggy door open, letting Lola inside. Her nails clicked on the tile floor as she ran down the hallway, sliding to a stop at his feet. “Really? You must have a sixth sense when it comes to food.”
She pawed his leg, begging for a bite. He shared his breakfast. Eating quickly, he locked up and left. As he waited for his garage door to open, he wondered about the shit storm about to unfold.
CHAPTER THREE
Monday 8 a.m.
Derek drove past an elaborate electronic key pad outside an open iron security gate. A Tudor house in vibrant colors of red masonry and robust dark wood sat at the end a long driveway edged with dark green hedges. From his car he could see three large chimneys. He wondered how many chimneys one house needed.
Exiting his vehicle, he blocked out the noise from several cops and crime scene techs milling around. He glanced back, letting his eyes scan the three-acre property. There had to be more security than one gate and keypad. If he let in the killer, did he know the killer? Did the killer know who would be home? What about the staff? The questions rattled around Derek’s head.
Police officers congregated at the entrance, trampling anything of use outside the front door. He tilted his head towards the men, but didn’t remove his badge from the back pocket of his jeans.
“How you doing?” Derek asked as he walked up the steps leading to the front of the house. No one asked for his identification. He shrugged. Maybe he looke
d like an FBI agent.
Standing at the edge of a long wrap-around veranda, he counted the number of wooden loungers lining the length of the structure. “Eight, do we really need that many?” Small tables between the loungers created intimate conversation areas. Something told him the wife did the decorating. He reached out and twisted the brass knob in the center of a wooden door. Stepping into the foyer, he let out a low-tone whistle.
Several chandeliers hung at various heights from a twenty-foot ceiling. Rich warm glows of amber light filled the entryway. A wide staircase curved as it rose to the second floor. It drew the eye upward to a large round window. A huge vase of pastel-colored flowers filled the frame.
Walking through the foyer, he stepped into a vast, open living room. A solid wall of glass spanned the entire length of the room framing the perfectly manicured backyard. Standing in the center of the space, he glanced around. A massive kitchen sat off to the right. To the left stood a double-sided fireplace. It broke the large area into two spaces.
Looking over his left shoulder, he cocked his head to the side. Voices drifted towards him, coming from the other end of the corridor. He followed the faint conversation.
He stopped outside an elf-like door. Leaning back, he glanced to his left. Another doorway just down from him blended seamlessly into the wall. His brow furrowed at the much darker wood of this door. His fingers followed the recessed design, studying the intricate details. The oak wood was smooth under his skin. He took a small step back, letting his eye follow the curve of the doorway.
He walked a few feet towards the end of the hallway. Two other doors on this corridor blended into the surroundings. Derek moved back to the odd door. This was your special place, wasn’t it? You set it apart from the rest of the house. A house your wife designed. But this was all yours. He reached out, pushing the L-shaped handled downward. Stooping, he held his breath as he stepped into the room.
His eyes widened. A sudden heaviness expanded in his core. He blinked rapidly as he tried to process the scene from his nightmare. The man in the desk chair loomed in front of him. Derek’s breath hitched as he squeezed his hands into fists to stop them from shaking.