Frisky Friday Flash Fiction
Happy Friday! How are you doing today? I’m feeling pretty darn good!
My family is adapting to being separated. We’re counting down the days when we’ll all be together again. The best news came early in the week when I learned my father was in recovery! For a moment, doctors were ready to transfer him into hospice care. But all the prayers lifted my dad up. God IS GOOD! He heard us, and now my father is getting stronger. Can’t ask for better than that. So keep praying, prayer warriors!
I’m also counting down the days when the final book in the TKO Love Series releases! Have you preordered your copy? It’s only 99 cents on Amazon!
He needs to be the best version of himself possible…
But Javier Hernández isn’t sure what is his best.
He’s only ever known his dark side. A convict father and a gang remind Javier daily. Always in trouble with the law, society defined Javier as a no-good man who would end up in jail or dead. Until a chance run-in opens the door to change.
Harper Winslow understands what it means to give his best. The former Marine served his country proudly. Losing his leg ended his career, but it didn’t end his recklessness. The man has a history with random men, but he hungers to find a special someone who would calm his fears and hold him on those long nights when terror set in.
Two men with one goal—to be a better man.
But can love overcome doubt and fear?
I was barely out of the parking structure when my phone began ringing. Normally, I didn’t pick up the damn thing while driving. But my dumb ass forgot to hook up the Bluetooth. I made a right at the next light and pulled over to the curb.
Placing the phone to my ear, I barked, “Reeves here.”
The chippy female voice came across the line. “Detective, it’s Connie.”
Blowing air through my cheeks, I killed the engine. “Whatcha got for me?”
“Another murder. Everything pointed to a random kill until I began my examination.”
It was too early for that shit. Serial killer cases were tough to stomach before breakfast. “What did you find?”
“An Injection site, but not where I would have expected it.” When I didn’t respond, Connie continued. “Officers found the victim in the back seat of his car. Pants down around his ankles.”
So the man was engaged in sex before his death. “And the injection?”
“Jugular. As if the man had simply been stabbed.”
“Damn. That is unusual.” What she described sounded more like a defensive gesture instead of the killer prepping the victim. “Anything else, Connie?”
“Yeah. Red hair was in the evidence bag. Long red hairs belonging to a woman or a man with shoulder-length locks.”
Maybe we’d caught a break. “Any DNA yet?”
“Still running the test.”
As I cranked the engine and looked over my shoulder, I eased into traffic. “Keep me posted. I’m headed to the office.”
As I drove to the station, I thought about the medical examiner’s call and Wright’s murder. Was there a connection between the two? Black hair was at the director’s house. The latest hair found was red. Could the killer be the same in both cases? Maybe just wearing a wig?
Naturally, my thoughts went to a female, but less than ten percent of serial killers were women. So I circled my thinking and returned to the perp being a man. Maybe he was someone with a grudge. Dude was probably one of those ponytail-wearing-homophobic-fuckers who thought they were next to God Himself. Our suspect could be Catholic. Maybe an altar boy who got rubbed the wrong way and was looking for a little payback.
By the time I reached my office, I was fairly certain I’d nailed it. Then I remembered the black and red hairs. Who we were looking for had no problem wearing a wig. Possibly someone who liked disguises.
After an hour of mulling over the details, I didn’t have a clearer image of the perp. I logged into my email and found a message from Connie.
I found four more open cases like Mr. Wright’s. Our suspect killed all the same way. The killer used Rohypnol in every instance too, injecting in the back of the neck. Part of the evidence kit for each victim included loose hairs—black, brown, blonde, and red. I’ve attached the files. Call if you have questions.
I reread the message and then made the phone call.
“That didn’t take long, Detective. What can I help with?”
“Any semen evidence?”
“Yes. I detailed that in—”
“One more thing, Connie. Were the hair strands tested?”
The medical examiner was quiet for so long I thought I lost the connection. Finally, she said, “No. That’s surprising. Let me add the strands we’ve collected from Wright and this second victim. I’ll have the results to you as soon as I get them.”
“Fine, but please tell me somebody checked beneath the nails.”
Connie’s tone changed from professional to something a little more personal. “Detective, I’m hurt. Of course, I pulled samples.”
“Thanks, Connie.” Before I hung up, I added, “I apologize if I offended you.”
“Buy me a coffee, and I’ll forget about it.”
“Will do. Soon.”
I sat there for a long moment, staring at the computer screen. What if I had it wrong? What if we weren’t looking for an altar boy or a man with a grudge against his sex? Was it possible a female—someone who nurtured and cared for others—was responsible for the violence?
That’s it for this week!