Godsend Series 1-5 Read online

  Godsend: The Quintuple Edition

  by K.Elliott

  Godsend: A Necessary Evil

  by Kevin Elliott

  Urban Lifestyle Press in association with

  Kindle Edition

  P.O. Box 12714

  Charlotte, NC 28220

  http://www.21blackstreetpublishing.com/

  ISBN (13):

  ISBN (10):

  Copyright 2012 by K. Elliott. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission. For information, address Urban Lifestyle Press, P.O. Box 12714 Charlotte, NC 28220 http://www.21blackstreetpublishing.com/

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Amazon.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  CONTENTS

  Book One: A Necessary Evil

  Book Two: The Search for Rochelle

  Book Three: Pissed All The Way Off

  Book Four: Hiding in Plain Sight

  Book Five: Blasphemy Out West

  A NECESSARY EVIL

  Chapter One

  Dorothy Perkins waited in the women’s restroom of Act Sean’s Pizza, somewhat nervous but mostly eager. This was no hangout spot for a sixty-eight year old white lady, so she pretended to be washing her hands when the young woman entered.

  Marissa Dawson, twenty-six, walked up to the sink and said, “Mrs. Peekings?”

  “Yes, you must be Marissa.” The old lady stepped away from the sink and reached for the paper towels.

  Marissa said, “Follow me.”

  Outside, behind the restaurant, Marissa thoroughly pat-searched Dorothy near a large green dumpster. She used a small wand to sweep the old lady for bugs or other electronics but discovered nothing. A meticulous examination of the contents of Dorothy’s purse revealed two stacks of hundred-dollar bills and some other irrelevant objects.

  Marissa returned the property to Dorothy and said, “Let’s go.” A senior citizen and a beautiful young white woman walking together looked nothing like a conspiracy to anyone in Fort Mil, South Carolina.

  They sat inside Marissa’s Lincoln Navigator, windows up, AC slightly blowing, parked in front of the restaurant. Dorothy said, “My daughter’s name was Rachael Peekings, and she was only twenty-four when she went missing.”

  Marissa said, “And this was twelve years ago.”

  “Yes. The police worked hard on the case for a little more than two years but they gave up. One of them, a young detective named Terrance Wilkes, was real nice and did al he could.”

  “You believe she’s still alive, your daughter?”

  “No. That’s my hope but not my belief. I believe Rachael is dead but I want to know where her body is and I want the person that killed her brought to justice.” “Well, Mrs. Peekings, my source is not a licensed PI, does not work with the police, and is not concerned with legal justice.”

  “I was told that he solved two cold cases last year, and one of the cases...there was a guilty plea and conviction.”

  Marissa checked her rearview and side mirrors then said, “My source will be working with the case file that you provide. There’s a seventy percent chance that the perpetrator was questioned, interrogated, or flat-out targeted. If the police were ever onto the right person, but couldn’t prove a case against him or her, my source will produce a different result. Sometimes there will be evidence that the police can use, and sometimes another crime or two will occur.”

  “Oh my,” Dorothy said.

  “Seventy-five grand is a lot of money. You might want to know what you’re spending it on.”

  Dorothy thought about it for a moment then dug inside her purse for two stacks of bills. “His name is Joey Paulson.” Marissa said, “And who is he?”

  “He was the main suspect. The police knew he was responsible for my daughter’s disappearance, but there was nothing they could do or prove even after catching him in several lies.” Dorothy placed the banded money on top of the console. “This is twenty-eight thousand. I’m told that I need forty percent at initial contact.”

  Marissa began tucking the money under the driver’s seat. “You’ll need the total balance before we provide you with the evidence you’re expecting. When can you get the complete case files to me?”

  “They’re over there in the backseat of my car.”

  Marissa looked out the window. It was shortly after noon and a beautiful Sunday. She imagined that her newest client must have skipped church for this meeting.

  Chapter Two

  Brian Cathcart was in inch away from six feet tall but was clearly compensated in the handsome department. He parked his BMW beside a beat-up Maxima and got out. As he headed for Apartment 2H, he looked back for no reason at the wrecked front end of his car.

  Shannon Kirk opened her apartment door before the man reached the two steps.

  Brian said, “Good afternoon, ma’am. I’m Richard Gaston, a private eye. Is Mrs. Shannon Kirk in?”

  “I’m Shannon. What’s this about?”

  He smiled. The woman was fine. Black and fine. Brian displayed his Richard Gaston credentials. “I’d like to talk to you about an ex-boyfriend of yours.” “I’ve been married for more than three years. What ex would you be talking about?”

  “Can we talk inside? This is a sensitive matter.”

  “I haven’t been convinced to talk to you about anything yet. Who is the ex?”

  He stood face to face with her and said, “Yesterday, when your husband went to work, a guy named Gerome McClure paid you a visit. He did a much better job eating you than your husband ever could. At least that’s what you told him over the phone. Want to hear the damn recording, or do you want to talk inside?”

  Shannon stared at him for a few seconds then stepped aside, inviting him in.

  He removed his sports coat and draped it over an arm of her sofa. He took a seat and watched her close the door. I’ll bet twenty dollars that I can guess the size of your ass.”

  “Keep it to yourself. How the fuck did you get a recording of me?”

  “Don’t worry about that. Your husband will never find out about it if you agree to help me.” “Help you to do what?” She stood at the door with her arms folded below her breasts. Brian said, “Twelve years ago you were fucking a white guy named Joey Paulson.”

  She covered her eyes with one hand and said, “Oh shit. Is this about that missing white girl?” “You want to be a private eye?”

  “Hell no,” she said.

  “Then let me ask the damn questions.” He sniffed at the air. “You cooked chicken?”

  “None of your business. What kind of private eye are you? You’re very damn unprofessional.” “Depends on who I’m dealing with. Can I eat?”

  “Eat what?”

  He leaned back. “Get your mind out of the gutter. I didn’t come here to compete with Gerome or your husband.” “And you didn’t come here to eat chicken. Ask me whatever you came to ask and then leave.”

  “It’s not that simple. I told you I need your help. You’re going to help me get Joey fucked up.”

  Shannon shook her head. “No, sir. No, I am not. Joey is crazy.” She took a seat across from him on the arm of her love seat.

  “Joey may be a woman beater but he is far from crazy. I’ve studied the case files for ten days, and I think you can help me find out what Joey did with Rachael’s body.”

  She smirked. “You might as well get ready to play that r
ecording to my husband. That’s better than me ending up like Rachael.” “How do you how Rachael ended up?”

  “I don’t know, but I don’t want to be missing for twelve fucking years.”

  Chapter Three

  After watching him eat a drum stick piece of chicken Shannon said, “What do you want to know from me?” Brian said, “You can cook your ass off. One more piece.”

  “Hell no. What’s my son supposed to eat when he gets home from school?”

  “I only ate a damn leg; you got ‘bout eight pieces left.”

  “You’re wasting a lot of time.”

  “Alright. Okay.” He dabbed at the corners of his mouth with a napkin. “Thank you for that leg, Shannon.” She rolled her eyes up toward the ceiling.

  “Joey lives in Roanoke Virginia now. He works at a Home Depot,” Brian said. “Whenever I first talk to him I want it to be on his job. I need to have something on him before I meet him.”

  “Like you did me?”

  “Yep. Just like I did you. So tell me something about him that you never told the cops when they questioned you in ’99.” She signed then hesitated. “Well, he had hit me a couple of times but I didn’t mention it.”

  “I might have guessed that one because four years ago he was arrested for slapping a woman in a bar. He has a live-in girlfriend but she’s probably too scared to tell anyone about his abusiveness.”

  “I don’t blame her.”

  Brian said, “Did he ever threaten you, like tell you what he would or could do to you?”

  “I don’t remember anything specific. I know he doesn’t like to be clowned or made fun of.”

  Brian nodded his head as if he understood. “If Joey was to kidnap, rape, or even kill a woman, was there a friend or relative that he would trust with such a secret?” Shannon thought about it and smiled. “He had a cousin who would have probably helped him. Randy Paulson.”

  “Does Randy live here in Fort Mil?”

  “He was killed maybe about ten years ago. He walked in on a burglary and was shot in the face and neck.”

  This time Brian smiled. “Bullshit. Joey killed him. Joey was behind the burglary.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “I don’t know. It just stands probable. I’ll have to dig up some info on Randy.”

  Shannon said, “I think the only thing you’ll find is that Randy was facing serious drug charges at the time. Crystal meth, I think.”

  Brian leaned over and removed a small digital recorder from the inner pocket of his sports coat. It was still recording on the 90 minute chip. “Joey was scared after Randy got busted. Randy could tell the cops about Rachael and avoid doing the time for drugs.”

  She said, “There’s a big hole in your theory. They arrested somebody for Randy’s murder, and think the guy is still in prison.”

  “I’ll look into that. Here’s a good question, and I want you to think about this one. If Joey killed a woman, where would he hide the body?” She said, “How the hell am I supposed to know that?”

  “Didn’t I just tell you to think hard about the question? I’m really asking you whether if you know of any places visited by Joey that could keep a body hidden for twelve years.”

  She shook her head. “And if you’re thinking he would take the time to dig a grave you’re wrong. He didn’t even want to cut the damn grass or wash his car.” He stood now. “Your son should be home in a few minutes. I may call you if I have more questions.”

  “I was hoping I wouldn’t have to hear from you again.” She stood too.

  He walked up to her and slowly moved his lips toward hers. When she puckered, he pulled back and said, “Thank you for your help, Mrs. Kirk. You’re a beautiful, sexy woman and your fried chicken is one in a million. Stop cheating on your damn husband.”

  Chapter Four

  Less than a week later Joey Paulson was sitting in an ugly pickup truck in the parking lot of a Home Depot in Roanoke. He was on break with a sub sandwich and a cigarette.

  Brian walked up to the driver’s door of the truck and said, “The other day I spoke with Bert Hinson on the phone. He told me he was framed. He had never heard of you until I mentioned your name, and I think he’s on death row on your behalf.”

  Joey said, “Who the fuck are you? I don’t know any god damn Berts.”

  Brian pulled out his credentials and showed them to Joey. ”I’m Richard Gaston, private eye, and you’re a muthafuckin’ liar. I now have a few things that the cops don’t even know.”

  “Things like what?” Joey was nervous and it showed. He wasn’t a bad looking white guy, and he was maybe twenty-five pounds heavier than Brian. Six foot two, 221 pounds, according to an arrest report from four years ago.

  Brian grabbed the door handle and opened Joey’s door. “Get out and talk to me face-to-face.”

  “I don’t want to get out. I don’t even want to talk to you.” Joey stayed in his seat. “And I’m coming off my break. I gotta get back to work.” “You better set up an appointment because you and I need to talk.”

  “About what?” Joey said.

  “Get out of the fucking truck you coward.”

  Joey said, “I don’t want any problems on my job. I almost got fired last week.”

  Brian stepped back a few steps and said, “Get out and I’ll tell you why you’re going to get the death penalty.”

  “I didn’t do anything to get no death penalty.” He grabbed his keys, sucked hard on his cigarette then thumped it away, and exited the truck, leaving his half-eaten sandwich inside. The windows were still down, but discovering what the cops knew was more urgent.

  Brian walked up to him and said, “When your cousin Randy was killed, it was suppose to look like he had interrupted a burglary at his place. But here’s what really happened: You broke into Randy’s small two bedroom house. You came through a back window after breaking it. You trashed the house then waited for him to come home. You shot him twice in the front room then planted a pocket knife just outside the window you broke.”

  Joey calmly said, “None of that’s true.”

  “Incidentally, the knife belonged to Bert Hinson, had his initials on it and a couple of his prints. Very damn convenient. The police always thought Bert had an accomplice, and for good reason. I familiarized myself with Bert’s case and learned that there were a couple of hair strands found in the slats of the broken window. The cops think the hair belongs to Bert’s unknown co-defendant, but you and I know that it belongs to you.”

  All the way scared now, Joey said, “I had nothing to do with my own cousin’s murder, and I’ve never met any Bert Hinson.”

  Brian smiled, almost grinned, and said, “the hair was preserved you know? Obviously it never matched anything in CODIS, but that’s only because the cops never had your DNA.” He walked up to Joey. “They never even suspected you in Randy’s murder, but I could get a good DNA sample from you and change al of that.”

  Joey said, “Not without my consent.”

  In an instance, Brian drew back and slapped the fuck out of Joey.

  Joey fell back against his truck and held the side of his face with a hand.

  Brian said, “Not for one moment do you believe I have to play any rules.” He turned and walked away. “I’ll see you real soon.”

  Chapter Five

  It was almost 11:00 p.m. when Joey made it home. He used his key to enter his small house and heard the television in the bedroom as usual. He closed the door and wondered why Google, the in-house poodle, hadn’t greeted him. “Rhonda,” he called out to his girlfriend.

  “In the bedroom,” she said.

  Joey headed for the kitchen. “Where’s Google?” He closed the kitchen curtains, worried and paranoid. “Do you need your fucking ears cleaned? I asked about Google.”

  Still no response.

  He was pissed now. He began storming the bedroom. As soon as he entered the bedroom he saw a black handgun aimed at him. He recognized Richard the private eye.

>   Brian said, “Sit your stupid ass down.” He was wearing brown cotton gloves over a pair of latex gloves. He wore a skull cap and a baseball hat over it. Rhonda was laying face-down in the bed on top of the covers. She wore only a bra and panties and her hands were cuffed behind her back.

  Joey sat on the floor by the dresser.

  Brian said, “You ran in here like you were about to beat her ass.” He walked up to Joey and stood over him. “Google tried to bite me, so I kicked a complicated dent in his ass. I don’t think he’s dead yet, but he’s on the back porch fucked up pretty bad.”

  Joey said, “What do you want with me?”

  “I already got what I want. I got your toothbrush, your comb, and the nasty fucking underwear you wore yesterday.” Brian squatted and stared at Joey. “I got a beer can of yours and a few cigarette butts. DNA overkill. But believe it or not, I’m here to make things better for you.”

  “How’s that?”

  “I’ll help you avoid the death penalty if you tell me what you did with Rachael Peeking’s body.”

  Joey’s heart raced even faster now. His past was back with a vengeance. He covered his face with two hands. “Ah, man, not that again. The cops already questioned me over and over about the case.”

  “I’m not the cops. And if you play games or lie about even some trivial shit, like you did back in ’99, I promise you’ll be facing a capital murder charge before the month is out.”

  Joey thought about it. “If somebody really did kill Rachel, and I’m not saying it was me, that would be a capital murder charge too.”

  Brian said, “Nope. A capital crime is when a murder takes place during another felonious act. For example, you killed Randy during a burglary, but you won’t get to plea down for a life sentence because the cops will prove that the murder was premeditated. You killed Randy because he knew about your involvement with Rachael’s disappearance and murder.” He pulled the digital recorder from his pocket.