Blood Silence
Authors: Roger Stelljes
Tags: #Fiction, #Mystery & Detective, #Police Procedural, #General, #Hard-Boiled, #Collections & Anthologies, #Thrillers, #Crime, #Suspense
| Blood Silence | |
| Number V of McRyan Mystery | |
| Roger Stelljes | |
| Roger Stelljes (2015) | |
| Rating: | ***** |
| Tags: | Fiction, Mystery & Detective, Police Procedural, General, Hard-Boiled, Collections & Anthologies, Thrillers, Crime, Suspense |
| Fictionttt Mystery & Detectivettt Police Proceduralttt Generalttt Hard-Boiledttt Collections & Anthologiesttt Thrillersttt Crimettt Suspensettt |
She held her breath, her arms shaking, and it felt as though her heart was going to explode out of her chest.
Go away,
she thought.
You’re done. You’ve killed me—now leave.
Tainted water. Dead bodies. Blood silence.
Two people are coldly executed behind a bar in Washington DC. A high-powered lawyer and his beautiful client are brutally slaughtered in a lake house in a suburb west of Minneapolis. Two cases separated by a thousand miles and connected by one man – Mac McRyan. In a tale of money and blood that hits a little too close to home, Mac is forced to confront his tumultuous past. Blood Silence is a web of unsettling twists, startling turns and unforeseen redemption with each chapter adding a layer of intrigue that will pull you in further.
McRyan Mystery Series
by
BLOOD SILENCE
(McRyan Mystery Series) By Roger Stelljes
Copyright 2015 Roger Stelljes.
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof in any form. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical without the express written permission of the author. The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via other means without permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. This book is a work of the author’s experience and opinion. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Published by: Roger Stelljes
www.RogerStelljes.com
ISBN 978-0-9835758-6-3 (e-book)
E-book version 6.1.2015
As always, it takes a lot of talented people to bring a book to press. First, I’d like to thank my good friend Scott, for his continued patience and fortitude in reading through rough drafts of the manuscript and providing his feedback with only a modicum of ridicule. Finally, and as always, there is my wife, the one who makes it all happen. I write the books but she makes sure they reach you the reader with all of her work behind the scenes. It constantly amazes me how much work is involved
after
the book is written and she does an amazing job. I hope you enjoy
Blood Silence.
(To receive a message when a new release becomes available visit
www.RogerStelljes.com
)
This book is dedicated to the memory of Kirsten, wife, mother, friend and one heck of a great lady. While her family and friends mourn her loss at far too young an age, heaven is now most assuredly filled with her infectious laugh and big sunny smile. May we all have the strength to one day face our own mortality with the same courage and positive mental attitude that she exhibited. This one is for you, Kir. (www.Komen.org)
“What the…?”
W
ashington, DC.
Shane Weatherly took a last drink from his beer while he finished packing the rest of the binder-clipped documents into his backpack, fitting them snuggly just behind his laptop and tablet. The documents represented two weeks of geological research—very important, very lucrative, and potentially very damaging work to some people. With a smidge of paranoia running through him, he slyly peered around the long and narrow tavern, checking on the others inside. A few of the tall booths along one wall were filled with people in groups of two or three merely drinking and conversing. At the long bar were two pairs of people sitting close together, drinking and talking. Two others in baseball caps were sitting and drinking alone, watching the Monday Night Football game on the big screen over the bar, while a third man in a straw cowboy hat, who had just paid up his tab, was sliding his chew tin into his back pocket as he strolled out the front door of the tavern.
Isador returned to the table, rubbing his hands together and then shaking them. “I hate hand dryers. They never get your hands dry. I miss paper towels.”
“I’d think an employee of the EPA would prefer the blow dryers,” Shane replied wryly. “Aren’t they better for the environment?”
Isador snorted his disapproval. “Yes, but I still hate them anyway,” he replied, watching his friend zip up his backpack and shaking his head in wonderment. “I’m still amazed at what you’ve found, Shane,” Isador stated enthusiastically. “Fantastic stuff, and to me, the research, the numbers… everything looks super solid.”
“Yes, but like I asked earlier, will your boss do anything with it, Isador? Your agency”—Shane shook his head derisively—“well, your agency has a less-than-stellar record in this regard. To be blunt, you’ve been pussies.”
Isador nodded knowingly in resignation. “Yes, no doubt we could use a spine implant.” He sighed. “Look, I can’t guarantee you anything, because of the politics, but I know we’ve wanted another shot at what these guys do in general, and what these guys, in particular, do, so I think the boss will definitely hear you out, especially given what the people you work for have planned. That will give us some cover and maybe some courage.”
“That’s what we were hoping and thinking,” Weatherly answered. “I mean, like I said, the people I’m working for are going after these guys anyway. However, if you’re on board, that is so much the better, particularly for their long-term plan. Their goals go beyond this one case.”
The two men sauntered down the back hallway of the tavern and out into the parking lot and into the chilly fall night. “So where’s your car?”
“To the right. It’s the last car up on the left between the two delivery vans,” Isador answered as he hit the key fob to unlock his Hyundai Sonata. “Drop your stuff in the backseat.”
Weatherly did as Isador suggested, closed the rear passenger door, and then opened the front passenger door and slid himself down into the front seat of the car, securing the seatbelt.
“Set?” Isador asked.
“Yup.”
Isador leaned down to put the key in the ignition and start the car when he looked up. “What the …?” he uttered.
Shane looked up and out the front windshield to see a tall man with a straw cowboy hat. The man he’d seen inside the bar. He was pointing a long gun.
The first shot ripped through the windshield, hitting Isador in the head and snapping his head back into the headrest of the seat.
Shane stared in horror at the narrow stream of blood running down the center of Isador’s face as his friend, dead, slumped down and into him. “Oh my God!” Shane shrieked and then looked back to his right, out the windshield. The man coldly turned the gun toward him.
“No! No! N—”
Everything went black.
“Because you’re not a shill.”
W
ashington, DC.
Mac drained the last dregs from his coffee cup as he finished up the scrambled eggs and plated them next to the toast, pineapple slices, and cut strawberries as Sally hustled into the kitchen, staring at her phone, furrowing her brow and shaking her head.
“A bad e-mail?” Mac asked as he slid the plate in front of his fiancée as she took her seat at the center island. He poured her a cup of coffee and a glass of orange juice.
“No,” she answered, looking up, smiling and kissing him as he sat down next to her. “Thanks for making breakfast.”
“Anything for my lady.”
“Hah?” Sally laughed. “Right.”
“What? I’m a chivalrous guy.”
“You are, you are,” Sally replied, smiling, patting him on the knee. Then she returned to her phone. “My frown is related to our little talk about setting a date last night. I decided to look ahead on my calendar for the next six months.”
“And?”
Sally exhaled, dropped her phone onto the counter, slouched down, and put her face in her hands. “I have no idea when we could get married. No idea. My job is just insane.”
Mac laughed.
“It’s not funny.”
They’d been engaged exactly a month, and both of their mothers called last night, one right after the other, in what Mac later deduced was a well-coordinated and ultimately highly effective ambush. Rather than letting them bask in the joy of their engagement for a while, both pestered the two of them about
when
they were getting married. The mothers wanted a date.
Mac was quite willing to let their mothers’ desires wait. He wanted to be married to her, but they had two things—Sally’s hectic job and plenty of time. Mac argued the plenty of time part, but their mothers’ pleas got to Sally.
Setting the wedding date was now a thing.
Reluctantly, Mac allowed himself to be sucked in. He was pretty much willing to let Sally have whatever she wanted, but she wouldn’t make it that easy for him. She wanted it to be their joint decision, and she wouldn’t let him get away with simply saying, “Sally, whatever you want.” He subtly tried that, and she just wouldn’t have it. No, she wanted his opinion, she wanted him involved, and she wanted it be what they together wanted. Now, as a man, Mac completely understood that what they together wanted really ultimately meant what Sally wanted, but he was going to have to go through the process with her.
As a result, after the phone calls, there was a long discussion over a late dinner. Then there was an extra bottle of wine in the living room. The wine and wedding talk had Sally revved up, in a good way, which led to another lengthy and active discussion in bed.
Out of all that discussion, they determined they didn’t want a massive, multi-hundred-guest wedding, nor did they want to simply go to the courthouse and get a quickie, ten-minute marriage either. Instead, they agreed on a small and intimate wedding with their family and closest friends. Of course, if you included close friends, the guest list could end up big anyway. Mac tended to collect friends the way the Yankees collected World Series titles. When they actually got to putting together invite lists, he knew he’d have to engage in some serious whittling.
But first, he had to ease Sally’s immediate concerns.
“Listen, Sal. It’s early November. I know that, politically, things are crazy through the winter,” Mac offered. “Maybe we should look further out, maybe late spring or next summer. Back home even, maybe up north at a resort, way far away from the rat race of DC.”
“But then we start looking at the next campaign in the summer, the midterms, and you know the president. As popular as he is right now, he’ll be going all over the country, and so will I.”
Mac smiled, unworried, and slid his right arm around her shoulder. “Don’t worry, babe, we will figure it out, and we’ll find a time. Somehow, the White House has survived for 225 years without you. There will be a week to ten days where that building will have to make it work while you’re absent, because we are not just getting married—there will also be a proper honeymoon in an exotic location where you are in an extremely skimpy bikini.”