Resort Isle: Detective Frank Dugan begins (Detective Frank Dugan series) Read online

  Resort Isle

  Detective Frank Dugan begins

  Paul Sekulich

  Novel

  OTHER BOOKS BY THE AUTHOR

  The Omega Formula

  A Killer Season

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2015 by Paul Sekulich

  All rights reserved.

  DEDICATION

  To my beautiful wife Joyce whose love and patience exceed all reasonable expectations.

  Acknowledgements

  My thanks to Jessica Page Morrell for her professional guidance, expert editing, and advice on fiction writing. And for caring about writers.

  A special thanks to Detective Jan Ryan and Detective Mike Pachkoski of the Criminal Investigation Division of the Harford County Sheriff’s Department for taking their valuable time to show me the technical inside to real police and forensic work.

  A grateful thank you to all the members of The Panera Writers’ Group for their diligence, time and critical comments that make writing so much less a lonely business, and novels like this one so much better.

  A friend like John C. Rehmert is the best friend a writer can have; a person who knows, shares and guides. I’m proud to say he’s been one of mine since we weren’t tall enough to go on a lot of Disney rides.

  Chapter 1

  There are many reasons for screams. Triumph, glee, a warning, fear. But the scream resonating in Frank Dugan’s head came from terror, from someone dying. He’d heard it several times that day, and once again as he entered his boss’s office at the San Diego Police Department. His summons there concerned a peculiar thing a man had said as he lay dying. Frank Dugan took dying declarations seriously, especially when they included his name.

  Dom Petrillo, the homicide captain at SDPD, sat at his desk staring at a report. Frank noted the severe expression on his face and anticipated bad news.

  “The dying man whispered to the EMS technician, ‘Detective Frank Dugan should know,’” Petrillo said, “then he died.”

  “So I heard.”

  Frank pushed his hair back off his forehead and waited for his superior get to the point.

  “I need you to drive to Huntington Beach to investigate the incident that’s left this jewelry store owner dead. I don’t know why your name would’ve come up in a robbery ninety miles away, but I intend to find out.”

  Petrillo slid a paper across his desk to his detective.

  “Here’s the info you’ll need.”

  “Today?” Frank asked, as he picked up the paper and studied its contents.

  “While it’s hot. Now saddle up,” Petrillo said and pointed to the door.

  Frank had requested the day off to celebrate his anniversary with his wife, and wasn’t happy about the disruption of his plans, but he knew well that murder is never respectful of special occasions. And he knew something else. The murdered jewelry store owner named on the paper had been the very man who’d sold him the engagement ring he’d placed on his wife Amy’s finger more than six years ago.

  An hour later, Frank’s black Bronco roared north through Irvine on the 405 at 10:40 AM. If all went well in Orange County, he could be back home by afternoon, where he and Amy could happily seize the rest of the day.

  At least, he could now put the cryptic screams he’d been hearing to rest.

  * * *

  Amy Dugan locked stares with the driver’s dead-black eyes and felt a chill, as if she were being examined by a shark. She stood at her curbside mailbox watching the slow passing car and saw something unsettling about the man’s sinister smile, like he knew something about her, something private.

  The black sedan idling past her home would barely pique any curiosity, but the four strange men, whose flinty gazes never left Amy as the car crept by, triggered in her a primordial fear. Amy’s eyes followed the car until it turned left at the end of the block.

  “You probably thought having two children would stop men from looking,” Barbara Chalmers said as she rose with effort from her flower garden.

  “Looks from my husband are all I want,” Amy said, retrieving the mail from her box.

  Barbara leaned on the fence separating their lawns.

  “My nephew’s a lucky man,” Barbara said. “Got the best looking gal in San Diego County.”

  “You’re pretty hot yourself.”

  “Used to be. Not so much at 50.”

  “Youth is overrated. We don’t know things like you do.”

  “I see your oldest, but where’s the little guy?” Barbara asked, angling her head toward Amy’s rancher.

  Amy looked at the house and shook an admonishing finger at a blonde girl perched in the bay window snapping a camera button.

  “Billy may still be in nap time. Have to get him up or he won’t sleep tonight for the sitter.”

  “Going partying?”

  “Anniversary dinner,” Amy said. “Six years today.”

  “My goodness, I had forgotten that. Congratulations, dear. What’s six years? Wood? China?”

  “I hope Frank thinks it’s beef Wellington and cabernet,” Amy said, waved goodbye, and strode to her house.

  The little girl in the window snapped more pictures as her mother approached the front door. Amy made funny faces at her and gyrated like a rock dancer gone wild. The girl laughed and bared most of her milk teeth, then disappeared from the window.

  Amy entered the house, scurried to the giggling five-year-old, and scooped her up in her arms.

  “Why, Deborah Ann Dugan, why are you being so rambunctious?” Amy said. “And where’s your brother?”

  “Billy’s watching TV in the den,” Deborah said.

  Amy let Deborah slide gently to the floor and took her hand.

  “Let’s just go see what Billy’s watching,” Amy said and tugged her daughter down a long hallway.

  In the den, Billy, age three, sat on the floor cross-legged, four feet from a TV screen blaring cartoons.

  “Let’s get a shot of you guys and me to show daddy,” Amy said, taking the camera from Deborah.

  Amy fiddled with the camera for a moment, then sat on the sofa. Billy and Deborah took positions on either side of their mom and tilted their heads into her shoulders.

  “All right, everyone, say ‘monkey,’” Amy said.

  The trio smiled and said the word and Amy clicked the selfie.

  “Billy’s cartoons are too loud,” Deborah said.

  Amy rose from the sofa and handed the camera to Deborah.

  “You two stay here and watch TV while I get ready to go shopping for a new dress,” Amy said. “Mommy and daddy are going out tonight.”

  Deborah laid the camera on the sofa and picked up the TV remote.

  “Why?” Deborah asked.

  “Because it’s our anniversary.”

  “Anna…bersury…What’s that?”

  “It’s the birthday of when mommy and daddy got married.”

  “I like birthdays,” Billy said and looked at his mother. “You get cake and toys.”

  “Is Jill going to come over and watch us?” Deborah asked.

  “Yes, she is.”

  “I like Jill,” Deborah said. “She plays hide and seek with us.”

  “I bet that’s fun. Do you hide in good places?”

  “I do, but Billy always goes under the kitchen sink.
Jill always finds him.”

  “Yeah, the sink’s not as good as in the pantry,” Amy said.

  “Nope, ’cause Jill takes a long time to find me.”

  Deborah pointed the remote at the TV and changed the channel to a movie.”

  “Hey,” Billy said. “I want cartoons.”

  “Play nice, you two,” Amy said and slipped out of the den and headed for the master bedroom.

  The dresser in the bedroom featured something Amy hadn’t noticed before. A small envelope leaned against a framed photograph of a young man in a dress blue, U. S. Marine uniform standing with Amy in a white wedding dress. She picked up the envelope, pulled out a white card, and read its brief words.

  Happy Anniversary to my best friend in life.

  Six years and still mad about you.

  Love always,

  Frank

  Amy smiled and began removing her yard clothes.

  * * *

  The warm shower felt good on Amy’s skin as she luxuriated in the cascading water, more than washing in its flow. As she turned to rinse her back, a dark shadow appeared beyond the translucent plastic curtain, too tall to be a child.

  Chapter 2

  A masculine voice spoke from inside the bathroom.

  “Need a towel, pretty lady?”

  Amy gathered the shower curtain around her nakedness and peeked around its edge. A burly young man stared at her and extended a towel in her direction, hanging by a finger.

  “What do you want?” she said, trembling.

  “Turn off the water and we’ll talk. No one’s gonna hurt you.”

  Amy snatched the towel from his hand and spread the curtain to shield herself as much as possible.

  “I’ll wait outside,” the man said and stepped out of the bathroom and closed the door.

  Amy’s mind raced from thoughts of her children to finding weapons to climbing out the window, but there was no decent weapon available, and the window was too high and too small for escape. And her children were in the house at the mercy of this stranger. She cursed the situation for being the one time she’d neglected to take her phone with her. She had to go find the children. That was first.

  Amy tightened the towel wrapped around her, angry that she’d left her clothes and a robe in the bedroom. She eased open the bathroom door and peeked into the hall. No one was in sight.

  Did the man leave? Wishful thinking, she was certain.

  She sidled along the hall toward the den where she’d left the children. When she reached the opening to the master bedroom, the burly man was standing inside, barely a foot from the doorframe. Behind him were two more young men, high-schoolers at best. Amy noted that they all wore dark green mechanic’s cover-alls.

  “Step in here,” the burly man said and directed her by a firm grip on her bare upper arm with a latex-gloved hand.

  “Where are my children?” Amy asked.

  “They’ll be fine,” burly said and pushed Amy into a low boudoir chair. “Do you know why we’re here?”

  “I can’t imagine,” Amy said, closing the space between her thighs. “If it’s money, you’ve come to the wrong place. We’re just getting by on one income, and with two kids to feed and …”

  Amy stopped, realizing her nerves had her rambling.

  “How about all that jewelry your husband owns?”

  “Jewelry? He has a wedding ring and a Timex watch.”

  “C’mon, lady. Don’t you be bullshittin’ ole Ernie. What about the jewelry store chain? Owns about eight of ‘em, I figure.”

  “Sir, you have the wrong people. My husband works for the city and makes enough to keep us off welfare, but that’s about it,” Amy said, hugging her body to steady the trembling.

  “This house is right nice.”

  “And comes with a 30-year mortgage. We pay by the month to live here. Want to see our bank statements?”

  “Naw, I wanna see them jewels,” Ernie said and leaned to within an inch of Amy’s face.

  “Check the jewelry box,” Amy said, pressing into the chair back. “You’ll see what I have. Costume jewelry, that’s what. Now where are my children? I need to see my children. Now.”

  Ernie pulled Amy to her feet and shoved her toward the bed.

  “Let’s us go see that jewelry box. Then we go see the children.”

  “Where are they?”

  “They’re in your nice little family room watchin’ the television. They’re just fine. Trust me, ole Ernie don’t wanna hurt nobody.”

  Amy pointed to her jewelry box on the dresser. Ernie strode to it and stirred through its scant contents. He glared at Amy and slammed the top down so hard the mirror behind the dresser banged against the wall.

  “I’m through foolin’ with you, lady,” Ernie said and nodded at the two men.

  One of the men closed the bedroom door and pressed the lock button in the knob.

  “We have good information that you’re the owners of Duggan’s Fine Jewelry stores that are all over southern California,” Ernie said. “You even have a store on Rodeo Drive. Now don’t you be tellin’ me that one sells costume jewelry.”

  “Our name is Dugan, not Duggan,” Amy said. “The Duggans are billionaires. My God, I wish. This is Coronado Estates, not Bel Air.”

  One of the men grabbed a purse on the vanity bench and pulled out a wallet and handed it to Ernie, who flipped through the credit cards and stared at the driver’s license.

  “Looks like we got it wrong boys,” Ernie said and chucked the wallet across the room. “Dwayne, check to make sure them kids is okay in there with Scottie. Mitch, watch the front of the house for any unwanted arrivals."

  The two young men left the bedroom and closed the door. Ernie stared at Amy, then stepped to the door and relocked it. Amy stood, her jaw and fists clenched.

  "Now, now, Mrs. Dugan. No need to get all riled up. Ole Ernie don’t wanna hurt nobody.”

  * * *

  Dwayne entered the den and joined Scottie, who sat on the sofa. Deborah rose from the floor and tugged Billy to his protesting feet, gripping his hand. She held out the remote control to the men in the room, her tiny hand shaking.

  “You want to watch TV with us? You can pick.”

  Chapter 3

  Judd Kemp was the second senior officer to arrive. He was the highest-ranking and most seasoned detective in the San Diego Police Department, but when he heard the 9-1-1 request for assistance, the address stopped him cold. The emergency was at 710 Rosita Lane, the home of his young detective partner, Frank Dugan.

  “Has the ME arrived, sergeant?” Judd asked one of the army of uniforms spread out over the grounds.

  “Inside, detective,” the officer said. “With the lieutenant.”

  “Lieutenant Graham?”

  “Yes, sir. He was first on the scene.”

  “You know who called it in?”

  “Neighbor next door. Woman over there next to the fence.”

  Judd took a good look at the bereaved woman, who stared back at him with sad, red eyes. He turned back to the sergeant.

  “Any word from Detective Dugan?”

  “He’s on his way back from Huntington Beach. He was called twenty minutes ago.”

  “He know anything?”

  “Dispatch told him there was an emergency at his home.”

  “When he arrives, don’t let him inside the house,” Judd said. “I don’t care if you have to get ten unies to help and subdue him. He does not get into that house. Understood?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The detective went to the front door, drew a deep breath, and entered the rancher. Nothing in the foyer and living room looked out of place. The adjoining dining room was as neat as a magazine layout in Better Homes & Gardens. Candles and the fresh flowers on the dining table betrayed any disturbance; chairs perfectly arranged around the table. He heard voices in the hall and followed the sound.

  Lieutenant Mike Graham stepped from the hall bathroom and intercepted Judd.

 
; “You sure you want to see what’s in there?” Graham said, indicating a doorway at the far end of the hall.

  “I have to,” Judd said and pushed past the big man.

  Judd peered around the door frame into the bedroom. Everything in that room defied the peaceful setting he’d observed in the front of the home. The medical examiner was directing the photography of the body of Amy Dugan, lying naked on a bed covered in blood. A blood-stained pillow lay next to her head, her long blond hair splayed in every direction . Her mouth was agape as if in a silent scream and her eyes were frozen wide open. Her athletic torso had been slashed so badly Judd had to avert his gaze.

  Judd hung his head and tightly closed his eyes. He clutched the door jamb to steady himself. A minute passed before he reopened his eyes and panned the rest of the room where a crime scene investigation team in blue booties scoured the carpet, walls, and furniture for evidence. A man with a dusting machine and brush spread granular aluminum flake dust on all non-porous surfaces and objects. A photographer followed him and snapped photos where he was directed, and a third CSI made notations on a pad as they progressed around the room.

  The ME stepped back from the bed and turned his gaze at Detective Kemp.

  “I’d like to move her before Frank gets here,” the ME said.

  “Can you close her eyes?” Judd said.

  The ME nodded at a woman near the headboard of the bed who gently drew down Amy’s lids.

  “The den is next,” the ME said, moving toward the door.

  “The kids?” Judd asked.

  The ME stared at him for a moment and brushed past and into the hall.