Murder in Swan Bay (eBook)

Chapter 1

October 21, 2022

Proud residents of Swan Bay, Florida, marveled at its recent growth and fourth stoplight on Main Street. Tourists routinely bypassed the quaint city, providing a peaceful living for its citizens. The locals gathered on porches chatting and enjoyed majestic orange sunsets painted across the sky. Doors remained unlocked in Florida’s lowest crime rate city— until now.

Red streaks of twilight disappeared over the horizon as darkness deepened. Cars streamed past the city’s buildings heading to their favorite Friday night activity. Detective Joe Pickerelli turned away from the fifth-floor window of police headquarters, and shook his head in frustration. He too should be in his car taking his family for an entertaining evening, not stuck at work.

His cell phone buzzed. Recognizing the caller ID, he sighed and answered the phone.

“Meg, what’s up?” He forked his hair back with his fingers.

“Haven’t you worked enough hours yet? When are you coming home, honey?”

“Sorry. We’ve been overwhelmed with work, time slipped away from me. I’ll be leaving soon. Can I bring something home for you and Maddy?”

“No, bring yourself home in one piece. Madison misses her daddy, too.”

“She knows I love her.”

“If you’d come home once in a while at a decent hour, you could tell her that yourself.”

“Promise I’ll be home soon, but I have some great news. I passed the sergeant exam.”

“You haven’t heard a word I’ve said, have you? And I’m getting tired of your buts. You may love the police department, but you’re needed at home, too.”

“I’ll be there shortly, hon.”

“This might be the perfect time to accept the medical retirement they offered you.”

“I’m not retiring. Twenty-eight is way too young for retirement.”

“Not really. You could get shot again. Have you forgotten the pain and rehab you suffered through? Your leg still hurts when you walk. One more bullet could cripple you, or worse.”

He squeezed his eyes shut. She didn’t need to remind him of that awful day.

“There’s no chance of getting shot again. Besides, the shooter was a scared kid in a jam who wasn’t thinking straight. Look, hon, we discussed the pitfalls of police work before I entered the academy. We agreed.”

“Yeah, we did, but that was before you doubled your hours and the city became unsafe.”

He tightened his jaw for a moment. “The increase of hours is only temporary.”

“I’ve heard that temporary speech for months, Joe, and the story never changes.”

“Spending time at home is important to me, hon, honest. I miss you and Maddy a lot, but I’ve been stuck here.”

“Maybe it’s time you choose between the police force and your family. I love you, Joe.”

The connection went dead.

“Dammit.”

She was wrong. His family did come first, but he didn’t want to quit the police force either.

He leaned back in his chair, closed his eyes and inhaled the pungent smell of shooting his cap pistol while playing cops and robbers when he was six years old. He’d reload caps in his pistol in seconds, faster than any kid on the block. Gun battles would continue in the neighborhood until he was called home for dinner. Police work was deeply rooted in his blood.

A slight grin crossed his face recalling the day he received his gold detective shield and the many crimes he had solved. How could he find the proper balance between his family and the work he loves?

His favorite family portrait, taken when Madison celebrated her kindergarten graduation three years ago, hung from the soft gray cubicle panel in front of him. A large heart drawn in red crayon on notebook paper hung next to the photo with I love Daddy scrawled across its middle. Smoldering with resentment, he tossed the file folder into his in-basket.

“Bullcrap.”

“I believe you’re upset there, Partner,” blurted Radford Warren from his chair in the two-man cubicle.

Joe spun around in his chair. “I’m pissed. There’s more to life than spending all day and half the night here every day.”

“Yeah, I don’t like it either. By the way, they released Garcia from jail last week?”

“What? Carlos, Carlos Garcia the guy who shot me?”

“Yeah, he’s back on the streets. You’d better be careful.”

“He’s not much a threat. Working fourteen or fifteen hours every day and sometimes half the night without time off is my biggest threat. An understaffed department isn’t my fault, Skinny, and it’s affecting my home life.”

“I’m not Skinny, I’ve told you. Try Slim if you must.”

“Sorry Rad.”

“Besides,” Rad shot back. “I may be thin, but I can bench-press more than you. Take a few days off, clear your head, and enjoy some self-time. It’ll serve you well. Take your wife to the new hotel on Cozy Cove Beach, lay back and relax. It’s the perfect place to escape the hustle and bustle of this place and revitalize.”

“I’ve never been there.”

“Make Cozy Cove the highpoint of your week. I can handle everything here for a few days. If there’s anything else I can help you with, just ask. I’m here for you, Joe.”

“You’re right. A few days of peace and quiet with Megan is essential for my sanity and home life.”

Joe got up from his chair and set off for the lieutenant’s office at the far end of the large room. Concerned about being medically disqualified as a detective, he walked on the ball of his right foot in order to walk with a normal gait. A telephone rang in the next aisle of cubicles and the tapping of computer keys stopped.

Lieutenant Dawson, sitting at his desk in the only glass enclosed office on the floor hid behind the Sun Sentinel newspaper held high in his arms. What mood would Mr. Grouchy be in today?

The brass nameplate on the front edge of his desk read Michael Dawson, Lieutenant with Detective Division on the second line. Joe knocked on the open door doorframe. Dawson lowered the newspaper revealing his bulldog face with beady black eyes, fat nose and slick-bald head shining in the overhead lights.

“Have a few minutes for me, Lieutenant?”

Dawson leaned back, frowned as if being interrupted from more serious matters and dropped the newspaper on the desk. He waved him into the office and motioned him to sit.

Joe sat in one of two black cushioned chairs positioned directly in front of the desk.

“What’s up, Pecker?” stretching out both syllables.

Joe hated being called Pecker. Dawson’s slight smirk showed his pleasure in using the name. He kept his irritation in check, and adjusted himself in the chair resting his arms on the skinny padded chair arms. A 12” x 18” black frame on the wall contained three lines in black bold letters: Wake up, Kick ass, Repeat.

Joe grimaced. Those words represented Dawson’s style of management to the letter.

“Sir, I need time off from work. My fam—

“Poor timing. Hang in there for a while longer. The department is shorthanded enough and we’re overwhelmed with cases. You can’t leave now, maybe in a few weeks.”

“Dammit, I can’t wait any longer. I’ve worked tons of hours for weeks without a break and it’s affecting my family.”

“Grant me three more weeks, and you can have a weekend off. I can’t let you leave now, sorry. It would affect the entire homicide division.”

“Entire homicide division? Swan Bay isn’t New York City. It’s only Rad and me here in your… homicide division. The other detectives aren’t involved in homicide.”

Dawson remained motionless with a steady glare. His chin twitched.

“After working twenty-two days straight without any time off, you insist I work a few more weeks without a break? That isn’t fair,” and he bit back his anger.

“Easy, young man,” Dawson warned, snorted loudly and crossed his arms.

“But I need some time off, sir.”

“I said no. What’s hard to understand about that?”

Joe squeezed both armrest and leaned forward. His eyes locked onto Dawson’s like magnets. “Sir—

“You have a choice to make, Pecker. Work a few more weeks or quit the force. What’s your choice?”

Joe’s body stiffened at the remark. “My marriage is more important than this damn job. I need time off and if I have to quit the force, that’s exactly what I’ll do.”

Dawson’s words hit Joe like blows to the stomach, each one robbing him of his calm breathing. The one job he’d dreamt of his entire life could now end as fast as a speeding bullet.

Dawson paused. His eyebrows lowered and pulled closer together while his slow and steady breathing came faster through flared nostrils. His mean meter was approaching the red zone. Jabbing his finger toward him, he shouted, “Don’t you speak to me in your nasty tone, not now, not ever!”

Joe plopped back in the chair, took a large breath and forced himself to relax, but he was smoking with hostility inside.

“You’re the biggest hothead of our entire force,” boomed Dawson,’ his deep voice reverberated throughout the floor.

Several detectives...