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    Killer at Dark Hollow Lake
    Killer at Dark Hollow Lake
    Killer at Dark Hollow Lake
    Ebook100 pages1 hour

    Killer at Dark Hollow Lake

    By K. Moore

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    About this ebook

    Murder, Mystery and Intrigue

    Special Agent Jamie Rogers believes the town of Dark Hollow Lake holds the key to a spate of unsolved murders across the country.

    With her boss unwilling to listen, she takes leave from her analytical desk job and ventures to the town under the guise of a vacation. She's assessed the data. She sees the pattern. Now she just needs the evidence to prove her theory right.

    But what happens when she catches the killer's eye?

    Will she become the bait to enact justice?

    Or will she become another one of his victims?


    Readers of Patricia Cornwell will love K. Moore's gripping crime thriller novella, Killer at Dark Hollow Lake.
     

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherK. Moore
    Release dateDec 30, 2020
    ISBN9781732884472
    Killer at Dark Hollow Lake

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      Book preview

      Killer at Dark Hollow Lake - K. Moore

      Copyright © 2020 by K. Moore

      All rights reserved.

      Visit my website www.authorkmoore.com

      Cover Designer: Mariah Sinclair, www.thecovervault.com

      Editor: Jovana Shirley, Unforeseen Editing, www.unforeseenediting.com

      No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

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

      ASIN: B08MVX6GB5

      ISBN-13: 978-1-7328844-7-2

      CONTENTS

      ONE

      TWO

      THREE

      FOUR

      FIVE

      SIX

      SEVEN

      EIGHT

      NINE

      TEN

      ELEVEN

      TWELVE

      THIRTEEN

      FOURTEEN

      FIFTEEN

      SIXTEEN

      SEVENTEEN

      EIGHTEEN

      NINETEEN

      TWENTY

      TWENTY-ONE

      TWENTY-TWO

      TWENTY-THREE

      TWENTY-FOUR

      TWENTY-FIVE

      TWENTY-SIX

      TWENTY-SEVEN

      TWENTY-EIGHT

      ABOUT THE AUTHOR

      ONE

      The small town and its surrounding suburbs look extremely typical. People are out, walking along the tree-lined footpaths, going about their everyday activities. In their minds, nothing seems amiss. They’d be asking themselves all the standard questions, like: Did I turn the oven off? Will he ask me out on a date today? Should I get a double shot of coffee in my latte before heading to the office? Mundane things.

      I drive through the streets, slightly envious of their naïveté as to what goes on behind closed doors in the shadowy hours of the night. Oblivious to the dark, where monsters that lurk are unleashed and given permission to play.

      What makes a monster? This question is one I’ve found myself continually asking. Are they the product of nature or nurture? The debate between academics is ongoing, just a lot of speculation and data that could support either or both arguments. Some say it’s a genetic tendency toward violence mixed with an abusive childhood that makes a killer cocktail resulting in such evil; others disagree.

      Manicured lawns and colorful garden beds are the first things I notice as I pull in front of the house. That, and the yellow door. It’s a welcoming house, both happy and cheerful. Or it would be if it wasn’t for the yellow tape and the uniformed policemen blocking the view of a few bystanders. Hopefully5 I’ve made it before the crime scene technician has processed the evidence and the coroner’s called to take the body to the morgue. As gruesome as it sounds, I want to see the dead in person and not have to rely on photos or laboratory reports.

      My car door slams. I adjust my jacket, ensuring my gun is concealed before I reach into my pocket to pull out my badge. I need to gain access to the property quickly before any press arrives and notes my presence. The last thing the local sheriff’s office needs is speculation as to why an FBI agent is in town. And the last thing I need is for my boss to find out I’m at the scene of what I believe to be the sixth murder of a serial killer. It’s more than a hunch on my behalf. I’ve studied the data and isolated the similarities. It’s also my job.

      With a flick of the wrist to show my badge and after donning blue plastic shoe covers to protect the gruesome evidence, I’m given access with barely an eyebrow raised. After I was alerted to the situation, the short conversation I had on the phone with the deputy provided me with the rundown on the victim. She was reportedly single and lived alone. No evidence of forced entry, and the feminine interior of the house is as neat and tidy as the front yard. Framed photos hanging on the hallway wall show a pretty blonde with a beautiful smile. Some were taken with an older couple who look like her parents. I wonder if the sheriff’s department has notified them yet.

      I take a deep breath and step into the main bedroom. A technician looks up but goes back to dusting furniture for prints once he sees the badge I’ve hooked on my belt. The other is carefully taking photos of the victim. She’s naked but half-covered by the bed linen. Her body is curled onto its right side, almost in a fetal position, with her hands together, as though she were praying. Her wrists show evidence of rope burn, and her neck exhibits telltale bruising. It’s almost exactly the same as the others.

      Have you been able to ascertain the time of death? I ask the room.

      The guy taking the photos stops and turns. We can’t be certain until we get her back to the morgue, but we think at least forty-eight hours.

      Not long at all. Some of the other victims weren’t discovered as quickly. I watch the technicians go about their work. They’re being thorough, which is good. Not all jurisdictions where the other murders occurred were processed with the same level of care. It definitely has made my job harder to try and convince people of the commonality between them when evidence hasn’t been reported correctly or has been compromised.

      Has the body been moved, or was she killed in here? I bend over and take a look at the wrist burns. They’re raw but not seeping, nor have they scabbed over.

      The killer mustn’t have subdued her long before he killed her.

      As far as we can tell, she was killed here.

      I nod and leave them to their work to take a look around the rest of the house, confident the forensic report will hold all the technical information needed. The bathroom doesn’t exhibit the same neat vibe as the rest of the house. The hamper is filled, and I pull on a pair of gloves before lifting a few items. Outdoor activity clothes. This matches with the deputy’s briefing of her having been away on leave. There’s a towel pushed under the sink as well as one hanging on the drying rack. I lift the one from the floor and bring it to my nose. It’s still damp.

      Did the killer have a shower before or after he took her life?

      Can you process the bathroom as well? I say, walking back into the bedroom. There’s a towel on the floor that the killer might have used.

      Sure thing.

      There’s got to be something else. Something else to tie this murder to the one I’m interested in. I know what

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