Picture Perfect Murder Read online

  Picture Perfect Murder

  A Ransom Walsh Novel - Book 1

  Rusty Ellis

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

  Copyright © 2018 Rusty Ellis

  All rights reserved.

  * * *

  ISBN-13: 9781983214486 (print edition)

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  I. Monday

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  II. Tuesday

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  III. Wednesday

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  IV. Thursday

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  V. Friday

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Epilogue

  Thank You!

  Also by Rusty Ellis

  Also by Rusty Ellis

  Get Notified

  About the Author

  Acknowledgments

  He who does not prevent a crime when he can,

  encourages it.

  Lucius Annaeus Seneca

  Part I

  Monday

  1

  “Lincoln 740.”

  “Go ahead, Lincoln 740.”

  “I’ll be ten-six on southbound I-15 at Cactus on a white Chevy Equinox, Nevada plates zero-five-six-charlie-nora-ida.”

  “Copy that, Lincoln 740.”

  With the evening sun just below the western mountain range in Las Vegas, the trooper could barely make out two silhouettes in the front seats of the SUV. There was no movement inside. In fact, the trooper observed no movement in the SUV during or after pulling up behind the motionless vehicle. The parking lights on the back of the vehicle glowed to prove it was running, but the trooper was unsure of why the occupants were stopped on the side of the highway.

  “Lincoln 740.”

  “Go ahead dispatch,” the trooper answered, still watching the two outlines in the front seats.

  “No wants or warrants. Registration is current and comes back to a white 2017 Chevy Equinox. Vehicle is registered to a Lee Jones.”

  “Copy that dispatch,” the trooper slid the mic back into the dashboard cradle and continued to watch for any hint of movement in the vehicle.

  Stepping from his dark blue patrol car, the trooper cautiously walked along the passenger side of the SUV, his flashlight in his left hand. The beam of light cast an eerie glow in the vehicle’s interior. Two smaller silhouettes appeared in the second row of seats in the SUV. The trooper’s light exposed a set of Mickey Mouse ears on each of the two children’s heads, a stretched cord held the odd looking hats in place. Neither child flinched at the bright light as it ran from one face to the other. Both children appeared to be sleeping, sitting straight up in their seats with their seatbelts fastened snuggly.

  Slowly, the trooper continued to the front passenger door. Raising the light to his shoulder, he was startled when the beam hit the face of the open-eyed female in the seat before him. She stared straight ahead. Unblinking. A colorful map sitting on her lap. Her seatbelt safely in place. The trooper stared momentarily, watching to see any signs that she was breathing. Nothing. Her stare fixed on the open highway ahead.

  Inching forward, he shone his light across the front of the car to the driver. His light illuminated a man in his mid-30s; same unblinking stare. The driver’s hands were fixed on the steering wheel. Squinting, the trooper could make out thin, clear zip ties holding the driver’s hands in place.

  Struggling to make sense of the scene, the trooper felt as if he were looking at a snapshot, a family frozen in time, a morbid image of a childhood dream.

  The sound of his radio mic startled him, “Lincoln 740?”

  Overwhelmed by the scene, the trooper responded, “Go ahead dispatch.”

  “The owner of the vehicle is on the job with Metro. He works patrol out of Northwest Area Command.”

  The information confused the trooper further. A police officer? A police officer and his family?

  His senses numb at the surreal scene, he responded, “Contact the Major and tell her I need her on scene. Roll me backup and medical. I have four bodies.”

  2

  The night air played games with Ransom. Living in Las Vegas his entire life, the onslaught of summer temperatures were a given. Though he still had a difficult time getting used to the radiating heat as night took hold. The heat had a way of strangling every bit of refreshing coolness from the air as it held its grip through the summer months.

  The irony of 100 degree temperatures was the common comment of it being a “dry heat.” An excuse he repeated to a number of tourists on the infamous Las Vegas strip, back when he was on duty and in uniform. They would ask how in the world he wasn’t ‘sweating to death’ in his brown uniform and bullet-proof vest. His answer, “It’s a dry heat.”

  Truth was, he wore a mesh shirt under his body armor that helped keep the panels from pressing directly against his skin. His shirt would cycle through getting soaked and then drying throughout his shift.

  He was happy to trade in his uniform the day he promoted to detective. Though he shed his vest, he was stuck wearing a suit and tie—in direct conflict with the summer temperatures. But with the promotion to detective, he finally felt he’d landed where he was supposed to be. He proved his worth solving cases at a steady rate in the robbery and gang detail. After three years in robbery, the brass took notice and he was ushered into the homicide unit, a place where he’d continued to flourish and make a name for himself.

  Ransom found himself reminiscing quite frequently about his time in uniform and those suits on hot summer days. He definitely preferred his current retirement wardrobe of Bermuda shorts, an untucked buttoned up shirt, and a pair of black tennis shoes.

  Though he enjoyed his new-found freedom, he missed the chase and putting the puzzle pieces together…and the comradery.

  He would never admit it out loud, but he missed the daily activity of bouncing the world and its problems off of his partner, Detective Leesa Gardner. She was willing to cut through his bluffs and state the truths he was avoiding. “Passenger Seat Therapy” she called it. Every time she felt there was a breakthrough in his “therapy,” she would charge him an “office visit” by letting him pay for lunch. She chose the spot.

  Now retired and at home, Ransom leaned back in his patio chair with a cane across his lap and gazed at the water in his cramped swimming pool. His ex-wife had demanded the pool. After some loud debating, the pool was installed. She left six weeks later. A few leaves were scattered on the water’s surface, the result of his California pepper trees planted in the corners of the yard. The trees offered enough shade to offset the irritation of having to clean up a few leaves in the pool.

  The shade from the porch helped curb
the heat during the day, at least from the direct rays of the sun. Now that the sun was dipping behind the western mountains, the leftover heat from the cloudless sky hung throughout the valley. Ransom propped a glass of ice water on his chest, leaving a circular ring of sweat from the glass’s base on his shirt.

  Raising the glass to his mouth, Ransom’s shirt pocket rang, startling him and spilling the chilled water into the opening at the top of his shirt.

  Dropping his cane on the ground, he pulled the phone from his pocket and read the name on the screen, “Leesa.”

  “Hey Leesa,” Ransom answered and tried to shake the excess water from his shirt.

  “Hey Ransom, you got a minute?”

  She didn’t sound right. Her question was forcefully rhetorical. Ransom had spent enough time with her to know the intonations in her voice, combined with the specific words she used to get at what she needed.

  “For you, any time, you know that,” he assured her.

  Ransom was supposed to meet her the following week for lunch, but he didn’t expect to hear from her until then to firm up the time and location.

  “We have four dead bodies,” she stated.

  It wasn’t uncommon for Leesa to call about cases and pick Ransom’s brain, searching for another perspective to move a case along. But her voice sounded different, almost straining against emotion.

  “Leesa, are you okay?”

  Leesa paused for a moment. Ransom could hear her pulling in a deep breath before continuing.

  “It’s Gabe’s daughter,” the emotion surfacing in a stuttered inhale.

  “Gabe’s daughter?”

  Gabe was Leesa’s new partner. He had filled the spot when Ransom left. Ransom had been relieved when the Sergeant assigned the two to work together. It made his decision to leave a little easier knowing Leesa had a solid partner to rely on.

  Ransom couldn’t help but ask, “Who are the other three bodies?”

  He could hear Leesa’s voice crack and she began to fight with the short breaths that ensued.

  “Her husband and their two kids,” she struggled to get the last words out.

  Ransom’s head began to absorb her comments, creating mental notes about what she was telling him.

  A horrible realization forced Ransom’s next question, “Isn’t her husband a cop?”

  Leesa was trying to compose herself on the other end of the phone, resulting in a short-breathed, “Yes.”

  Ransom reached down and grabbed his cane off the ground where it had landed. Pushing up from the wicker chair, he shoved the sliding door open and headed toward the kitchen.

  Grabbing his keys off a metal wall hook, Ransom assured her, “I’m coming! Tell me where you’re at!”

  3

  The visual symphony of red and blue lights flooded the surrounding night sky. If it wasn’t a crime scene, the colors would have been an enjoyable site. However, knowing what was waiting at the scene, the lights tightened Ransom’s stomach.

  Pulling up just short of the other vehicles, he parked his old red truck on the side of the road. Two agencies were on scene: the Nevada Highway Patrol and the Las Vegas Metropolitan Police Department. The contrast in vehicle colors made each easy to distinguish the dark blue of NHP and the white and black of Metro.

  Ransom leaned on his cane and climbed out of his truck. Two Metro officers heard Ransom’s truck door shut and moved to intercept him. Realizing who he was, the elder officer nodded and offered courteous passage, “Detective Walsh.”

  “You seen Leesa and Gabe?” Ransom asked.

  The officer answered, “They’re over there with Sheriff Briggs.”

  Great, Ransom thought.

  The officer pointed in the direction of a large Metro Suburban parked nearer the front of the vehicles. Leesa and her partner Gabe were standing in front of the vehicle talking to a highway patrolman. Leesa had her hand on Gabe’s shoulder, attempting to share moral and physical support to her partner.

  Ransom walked through the maze of vehicles and stopped just short of the small gathering. Gabe was staring at the ground, in a disbelieving daze, occasionally shaking his head. He looked tired, as if his soul was worn thin, barely holding up his limp frame. Leesa noticed Ransom as he closed the distance and stopped by Gabe. Seeing Ransom standing there, Leesa bit her lower lip to quell her emotions and remain strong for Gabe.

  Ransom reached for Gabe’s arm and asked, “Hey Gabe, how are you holding up?”

  Gabe slowly looked up at Ransom’s face, barely taking notice of his arrival. His response matched his broken posture, “Fine. Doing just fine.”

  After hearing Gabe’s response, Ransom looked to Leesa. She pursed her lips and shook her head.

  He sounded like he was trying to convince himself, or at best trying to simply share an answer that would satisfy the questions. The look in his eyes gave away his devastation. Not only had he lost his daughter, but his two grandchildren, and their father. The destruction was too much for anyone to sort out.

  Gabe and Leesa had been working a case in the northwest part of town when the call came through. Fortunately, Leesa was driving and safely rushed them through traffic to the scene.

  Leesa contacted their Sergeant and asked him to head over to Gabe’s house. By the time the Sergeant arrived at Gabe’s house, he was fully aware of the details. Knocking on the door, he met with Gabe’s wife, Kathryn. Seeing the Sergeant on her doorstep, Kathryn assumed it was about Gabe. She instantly teared up and dropped toward the entry wall. The Sergeant caught her and escorted her inside to the living room, the task at hand the worst information he had ever been entrusted to share.

  “I need to get home to my wife,” Gabe said to no one specific.

  “I can take you,” Leesa offered, her hand still on his shoulder.

  Gabe shook his head, “I need you here, Leesa.” Gabe pointed in the direction of his daughter and her family in the SUV, “You need to figure this out.”

  Ransom leaned on his cane and began to offer to take Gabe home, but was cut off, “I need you to help her, Ransom. I need you to make sense of this.”

  A tear rolled down Gabe’s cheek as he battled with the images of his family in the car. Lifeless bodies, void of the joy and hopes once dancing inside them. He needed to think about his wife.

  “Gabe, I’m not even a cop anymore,” Ransom apologized to his friend.

  “I don’t care. I need this, Ransom. I want someone working on this that knows them. That knows me and Kathryn. This wasn’t an accident. Tell me you’ll do it,” Gabe waited, then turned to his partner, “Tell him Leesa, tell him to help you on this.”

  Leesa looked at Ransom and tried to read him. Over the years she was able to pick up on the little ticks and motions driving Ransom, little forewarnings of his resulting decisions and actions. Ransom’s only option was to concede. He nodded at Leesa.

  “I’ll do what I can,” he answered Gabe.

  A flicker of relief grew in Gabe’s eyes. Leesa called over a uniformed Metro officer and instructed him to drive Gabe to his house. She further instructed him to call the Sergeant once they were en route and let him know they were on their way.

  4

  A mobile investigation unit arrived on scene and partially blocked traffic on the highway from seeing the bodies in the SUV. The flashing lights and line of cones in the darkness kept drivers busy enough to distract them from the scene. However, passengers were seen phones in hand taking pictures and video as their vehicles eased by.

  Leesa and Ransom sauntered over to the vehicle, taking note of the ground around the vehicle. Shining her light into the vehicle, Leesa took the time to let Ransom take in the entirety of the scene.

  She updated him on how the vehicle was found by highway patrol. Ransom peered into the windows, looking at the bodies and trying to keep removed from memories of the last time he had seen them at Gabe’s home. Gabe and Kathryn had thrown a birthday party for one of the grandchildren and invited Ransom over. Not excited about at
tending a child’s birthday party, Ransom had tried to conjure up a valid excuse not to attend. Kathryn had taken the phone from Gabe and quickly nipped his attempt. Ransom had shown up, present in hand. Leesa and her son were already there.

  Leesa interrupted Ransom’s introspection and handed him a sealed evidence baggie with a handwritten note inside, “They found a note in the driver’s pocket.”

  Shining his light on the note he read, “How does it feel?”

  “Some kind of payback or vengeance?”

  “Could be. Are those zip-ties?” Ransom gestured toward the driver’s hands holding onto the steering wheel.

  Leesa put on a pair of rubber gloves and opened the driver-side door so Ransom could have a closer look.

  “Yes,” she verified. “Whoever did this really took the time to stage the bodies. The kids look ready to walk through the gates at Disneyland. The passenger had a map of the park. When the trooper stopped, the driver’s foot was on the gas, with the car running.”

  “Whoever did this was creating a specific scene. A family going to Disneyland. And there’s no external wounds on any of them?”