I Can Kill by Angela Kay
Genre: Crime Mystery, Thriller
I Can Kill, and You Can't Catch Me...
These were the last words The Carnations Killer said to FBI Special Agent Aidan O'Reilly ten years ago before he went into hiding. He has tortured and murdered fifty women since then and managed to elude capture. Now, he's returned once again, and his new hunting ground is Augusta, GA.
O'Reilly teams up with Shaun Henderson, the special agent in charge of the Augusta Resident Agency, to bring this ruthless killer to justice once and for all. But as each second ticks by, tensions rise and O'Reilly finds himself in a race against time before the killer slips away again.
Testimonial featured on the back of the book:
“A gripping new thriller by Angela Kay that pits FBI Special Agent Aidan O’Reilly against the Carnations Killer, a serial killer who enjoys playing Cat and Mouse with this formidable agent.” -- Dana Ridenour, retired FBI Agent and award winning author of Behind The Mask and Beyond The Cabin
LIEUTENANT CHRISTENSON STARED at the lifeless body of a young woman who appeared to be in her late twenties. Her eyes were closed, and her French braided hair looked like a mass of blonde spider webs. The bruising on her body was prominent, and he could tell she’d endured a great amount of torture. Her wrists and ankles held deep gashes, as though she’d once been bound by a thin wire. She had two puncture wounds on her neck indicating a taser had been used.
She appeared to have been posed: her legs straight in front of her, head facing the sky, arms positioned over her chest. She held a bouquet of white carnations in her hands, which stood in contrast against her black dress.
Christenson noticed her fingernails were broken and rugged. She had splinters and blood underneath them. He guessed it was possible she’d tried escaping from wherever she was originally held.
But what struck his interest the most was the envelope resting against the carnations. It read: FBI Special Agent Aidan O’Reilly.
Christenson had one of his men contact the Resident Agency in Augusta to notify them of the note singling out one of their agents. After hearing the details of the crime, Assistant Special Agent-In-Charge Monroe informed him she would get in touch with Agent O’Reilly and dispense a team of agents to the location.
As he waited for the FBI to arrive, the medical examiner was finishing her first-glance examination of the body.
One of his men interviewed the teenage couple who called it in, while two divers searched beneath the Clarks Hill Lake, and the rest of the men scoured the surrounding areas. So far, no other evidence had been found.
He watched as his divers pushed their heads out from underneath the water and returned to shore. They reported to him that nothing unusual was found. He received the same from the land squad.
Christenson frowned at the body as the medical examiner rose.
“From what I can tell based on the body temp,” she began, removing her latex gloves, “she’s been dead for about six or seven hours. I’ll know more once I perform the autopsy. I’d have to say the cause of death was strangulation by a thin wire of some sort.”
Christenson nodded. “I’ve been instructed by the FBI to leave the body as she was found. But once she’s released to you, she’s your first priority.”
He stepped over to where the teenage couple stood. As he neared, he heard the young man say, “Can’t believe I actually found a dead body.”
“I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep tonight,” the girl whined. The light wind bristled through her brown hair, sweeping a strand in her eyes. She brushed it to the side with a frown and hugged herself. “It’s so awful.”
“It’s very CSI-y, isn’t it?” The boy let out a scoff.
“This isn’t a joke,” Christenson said, frowning. “A woman’s dead.”
The boy swallowed as his gaze settled on the lieutenant. “I didn’t mean—I was just saying—"
Christenson ignored him with a wave of his hand and looked at the officer who interviewed the couple. “What did you get?”
“Wrong place, wrong time,” the officer replied. “They planned on spending the day here but found her instead.”
“Are you going to arrest us?” the boy asked.
“No,” Christenson assured him. “Thank you for calling it in. You’re free to go home, but the feds may need to speak with you later.”
“Thanks,” the girl muttered. She tugged her boyfriend’s hand and pulled him from the scene. He followed with reluctance, his eyes glued to the body by the water.
“All right, men, listen up,” Christenson called out. His officers looked his way, giving him their attention. “When the FBI arrives, I want us to be as cooperative as possible. Understood?”
His men muttered their agreements.
Christenson returned to where the body rested. He wondered what her name was, who her family was. She had a wedding band, and he wondered if she and her husband had any children.
“It’s tragic,” Sergeant Taylor stated, standing next to him.
Christenson didn’t respond. He didn’t need to. During the thirty years he spent as a police officer, he’d seen unimaginable things.
And he knew it wouldn’t be his last.
All he knew to do to compensate for the evil deeds of the world was his job.
The Murder of Manny Grimes The Cases of Lieutenant DeLong #1
By Angela Kay
Genre: Suspense, Thriller, Mystery
When three young boys stumble into Lieutenant Jim DeLong's life one night during a winter storm, they claim they've seen a dead body by the swing sets of the Columbia County Elementary School. After he investigates, DeLong sees no evidence, not even a body. But were the boys telling the truth?
With the help of his oldest friend and mentor, former Naval investigator Russ Calhoun, DeLong sets out to find whether Manny Grimes is alive or dead. The further away he gets to the bottom of the mystery, the closer he comes to realize that his own life is falling apart.
Delving deeper into the murder of Manny Grimes, Lieutenant DeLong begins to unravel, losing his sense of control, falling into old temptations he spent years to overcome. Will he be able to move past his own demons and untangle the web of lies before it's too late?
“We don’t have the time to go searching for a missing person that hasn’t yet been reported missing.”
Captain Stewart had listened intently to DeLong’s story before shaking his head in annoyance.
“But, sir,” DeLong protested, “the kids reported him at the school and—”
Though he already knew the answer, Stewart asked, “When you investigated, did you see Grimes at the school? Or any evidence that corroborated these children’s claims?”
“No,” DeLong admitted.
“I’m sorry, Lieutenant, but I’m not going to allow you to run around town, searching for a man that more than likely got out of Dodge. I don’t appreciate the fact that a member of my team," Stewart jabbed a thumb toward his chest, "entered another person’s home without permission. And convinced a civilian to do the same.” The captain glared from DeLong to Calhoun and back again.
“Captain Stewart,” Calhoun put in. He had been seated quietly, listening as the lieutenant recounted once again what had happened the day before. Now he rose to put in his two cents. “I believe that something happened to Grimes. I went to his house on my own accord. Everything Jim just told you, I stand by. Something happened to this man. We have a duty to find out what. Captain, if we come up with nothing, or we find out we've been chasing our tails, then I'll eat my jacket."
Stewart narrowed his eyes in Calhoun's direction and crossed his arms. “You think this is funny, Calhoun? I would have thought better of you than to be involved in a wild goose chase. Entering a man’s premises without a warrant? I should throw the book at you.” He glared at DeLong again. “Actually, I should throw the book at both of you.”
He sighed and leaned back in his chair, uncrossing his arms and linking his hands behind his head. He continued to glare between the two men.
“All right," he said after minutes passed. "DeLong, I’ve known you long enough to know that ninety times out of a hundred, your instincts are sound. You want to search for the man, then fine." He held both palms in the air, then slowly lowered them flat on the desk and leaned forward.
"But do not, I repeat do not, do anything that would require a warrant until you have probable cause to actually get a warrant. Keep me posted. I’ll give you two days to either find Grimes or hard evidence that he is actually missing. Two days. That is all.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you, Captain,” DeLong said with a satisfied nod.
“Yes, thank you,” Calhoun echoed.
“I have to run out for a little while,” the captain said with a sigh. He rose, straightening his shirt uniform. "Try not to waste too much of my time. Or yours."
"Yes, sir," DeLong acknowledged as he left the office.
“Where do you want to start?” Calhoun wondered, trailing after him.
“I suppose we should go back to the schoolyard,” DeLong said, halfway out the door. “Maybe between the two of us, we'll find something I overlooked when I first looked around." Outside, DeLong blew into his hands to warm them. "Honestly, I just wanted to get out of the station a little bit. But I didn't want to go home. Sam has me sleeping on the couch these days. Anyway, I wasn't really sure what I was looking for. The body wasn't there. The snow we had would have destroyed most, if not all the evidence."
At the truck they slid inside. DeLong adjusted the heat as Calhoun set the gear in motion. "I just want to be sure we've covered all our bases.
Then let’s go back to the Walkers'. I want to know more about Jonathan Walker’s friendship with Manny Grimes.”
Blood Runs Cold The Cases of Lieutenant DeLong #2
A young woman has been murdered at the Savannah Rapids Pavilion and Lieutenant Jim DeLong realizes at first sight this case will be the most difficult one of his career. DeLong is immediately swept into the memories of his childhood and dark secrets he's longed to forget.
The victim is his sister-in-law, and old thoughts he's fought to delete will be resurrected whether DeLong likes it or not. He and his brother have been estranged by unhappy times in their youth. With no clear motive, DeLong questions his ability to remain objective.
DeLong closed the garage door and went inside the house. He heard soft murmurs floating from the living room. He knew his six-year-old daughter, Bella, was in school, so he guessed Samantha was probably watching television. DeLong was glad to be with his wife, even for just a few minutes. After coming onto the scene and seeing his brother's wife, he just wanted to hold on to Samantha and never let her go. It was nothing but a harsh reminder that in the blink of an eye, everything can go wrong. The memory of Bree was etched in his mind and continued to haunt him. Seeing her in the water left him feeling empty.
Samantha liked to tell him that everything happened for a reason.
But there was no reason for women like Bree DeLong to be murdered.
She was a kindhearted young woman who wanted nothing more than to help those less fortunate—particularly children.
"Honey, I'm home," DeLong called out. Draping his jacket on the back of the kitchen chair, he let out a long yawn. His eyes felt heavy, and his stomach rumbled. But despite his hunger, he didn't feel much
like eating. He would opt for a quick nap, but he wasn't sure that would happen either.
"Jim, we're in here, honey."
Was someone here?
Remembering the urgency in Samantha's text resulted in his stomach churning.
DeLong grabbed a Coke can from the refrigerator and stepped into the living room.
Though deep down it didn't come to a surprise to him, DeLong almost dropped the can when he saw his brother sitting on the couch next to his wife.
"Sully." He blinked a few times as if he were trying to stop imagining things. "What are you doing here?"
"I'm sorry to come here like this." Sullivan glanced over at Samantha, then back at DeLong. He looked as though he wanted to say something and then shook his head. Sullivan pushed to his feet. "Sorry,
Sam, I can't do this. I really should go."
Samantha put a hand on his wrist to keep him from moving away.
"You're always welcome here, Sully. Right, Jim?" She shot her husband a look of warning.
"Of course," he stammered.
Samantha pulled Sullivan back to the cushions.
DeLong studied his older brother for a good five minutes, taking in every sadness, every anger. He seemed to have aged a few more years since DeLong had seen him at the morgue. His eyes were hollow, and he looked as though he hadn't slept for a week.
He wanted to say something consoling to him, but what could he say? There were no words to ease someone in this time of grief. If there were, he wasn't aware of them.
"How are you doing?" He sat on the edge of the coffee table.
Sullivan only shook his head. His eyes began to water, a single tear sliding down the corner of his eye. He bounced his knees and set his head in his hands.
"I didn’t have anywhere else to go,” Sullivan mumbled. “Ally’s in school. I-I went there to tell her what happened, but I just couldn't.”
"We’ll figure this out. It'll be OK.” DeLong cleared his throat, pressed his fingertips to his eyelids, and then leaned in toward his brother. "Why don't you go ahead and tell me everything you know? Start from the last time you spoke to or saw Bree. What she was doing, where she went, who she spoke to...don't leave anything out."
Sullivan looked at DeLong, then Samantha and back again. "The last time we spoke was yesterday morning. I think around six or so. It was before she took Ally to school.”
“How did she seem?” DeLong asked.
Sullivan shrugged. “Normal.”
“Do you know what her plan for the day was?”
“I think she was going to that center she runs--Protecting the Lord’s Children. After that…” Sullivan trailed off. He seemed to be thinking about what he wanted to say next. Finally, he replied, “After that, she was supposed to go home.”
“But she didn't go home?” DeLong pressed.
“I don't know. I went fishing with an old friend."
“From what time to what time?”
Sullivan narrowed his eyes at DeLong. “What does that matter?”
“I need to build a timeline,” DeLong explained. “That’s all.”
Sullivan squared his jaw, reminding DeLong of how their father always looked when he was forcing himself to remain calm.
“Ten that morning to five in the evening. We went to Clarks Hill Lake.”
“What’s your friend’s name?"
“James Simmons. We used to work together.”
“Where did you go after fishing?” DeLong asked slowly. He motioned for Samantha to hand him a pad from the end table. He began writing the information down.
“Are you implying that I killed her?” Sullivan snapped. DeLong looked up to see the hot anger flash in Sullivan's eyes. He opened his mouth to say something else, but before he did, DeLong held up his
palm. He was used to spouses getting flustered by the police as they attempted to weed out suspects. His brother was no different.
“I have to ask these questions, Sully.”
“I wouldn’t hurt her. I loved my wife. We had a good marriage. I can’t…I can’t believe you’d actually think I’d….” Sullivan trailed off and rose to pace the room.
DeLong remained silent, watching. Samantha glared at him.
DeLong shook his head slightly to warn her to stay out of it.
"We were happy," Sullivan continued tautly. "She didn't leave me, and she wasn't having any kind of affair. We were happy."
"Good. Did she have any friends that wanted something more from her? Something she wasn't willing to give him?"
Sullivan shook his head with conviction. "No. I mean, everybody loved her. You know that. That goes without saying. People loved her, but not in any romantic sense."
"Did she seem upset at all? Like she was worried about something?"
"No. I mean, I don't think so."
"And you? Is everything good with you? You don't have anything to worry about? Anything that's upsetting you?"
DeLong watched as his brother gazed at him. It looked as though he wanted to say something, but couldn't decide what it would be. Finally, he put his head in his hands, sighed and looked back at
"Why don’t you go ahead and say it, Jim.”
“What are you talking about? I need to ask you these questions. I'm just covering all the bases, Sully."
"These questions are pointless!" Sullivan sliced his hands in the air. “How is whatever it was I did going to help find my wife’s killer?”
"Why don't you just answer my questions, Sullivan? Let me do my job." The words come out gruffer than he intended, which resulted in his wife hissing his name.
Sullivan gaped at his brother, frowning, arms tightly crossed against his chest. Finally, he shook his head in agitation.
"No. I was wrong to come here. What was I thinking? I mean, I need someone capable enough to find out who murdered my wife." A mixture of undeniable anger and pain flashed in Sullivan's eyes. "I need
someone that I can trust."
"You can trust Jim, Sully," Samantha interjected, eyes wide, glistening with tears and worry.
Sullivan let out a scoff. "Him? Jim DeLong? Are you kidding me? No offense, but my drunk little brother could fly off the rails at any moment. You of all people should know that."
DeLong squared his jaw in an effort to stay calm. He remained quiet as Samantha stammered.
Sullivan shook his head and cursed. "Forget it. This was a mistake, and I'm out of here."
Before anyone could respond, Sullivan flew out the door.
DeLong frowned, well aware that Samantha was glaring at him.
“Go stop him!” she hissed through her teeth, jabbing her index finger toward the door.
Obliging, DeLong chased after his brother, calling his name. He knew it was a fruitless effort, even before he saw Sullivan climbing in his car and pulling away, tires spinning hotly on the cement.
Equipped with a professional writing degree from Augusta State University, Angela Kay is a southern lady who spends her days and nights dreaming up new ways to solve dark murders of normal people.
Angela Kay was one of 23 across the United States to win a 2009 playwright contest for her one-act entitled “Digging Deeper.” Because of this, she was able to spend a week in Atlanta at the Horizon Theater Company.
She lives in Augusta, Georgia with her crazy calico, Maggie.