In the Hiss of Summer
In the Hiss of Summer
Another Case of Detective Lyle Odell
Paul John Hausleben
The eBook cover design is by https://selfpubbookcovers.com/VonnaArt
Final editing services by Cyclops on the Paper Editing Services
The photographs of the author are by Ms. Cali Rose
The Detective Lyle Odell Logo is by Paul John Hausleben
Copyright © 2022 by Paul John Hausleben
Published by God Bless the Keg Publishing LLC
Henrico, Virginia, U.S.A.
All rights reserved
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
In the Hiss of Summer (The Cases of Detective Lyle Odell)
Dedication
Acknowledgements
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Epilogue
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Other Work by Paul John Hausleben
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the product of the author’s eccentric, strange and unusual imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead or actual events is purely coincidental and it was not the intention of the author.
Dedication
To too many clues in the rooms
In the Hiss of Summer
Another Case of Detective Lyle Odell
Paul John Hausleben
Acknowledgements
Thank you to all the readers who wrote to me and told me how much they enjoyed the character of Detective Lyle Odell, his cases and adventures, and his associated cast of characters. Especially, thank you to the Sergeant George Grundy fans. Thank you to Harry M. Rogers Junior, Ms. Cali Rose, and my family and friends for the support. It is very much appreciated.
“Mark my words that this guy is sick and evil. Very evil. It is okay. I will drown the clues and the facts in Irish whiskey tonight and find some answers. Tomorrow, I will set foot to get ‘em. I need him to make seven mistakes and I will nail ‘em. Seven mistakes and he will be dead and be history or in handcuffs.”
The Character of Homicide Detective Lyle Odell
Paul John Hausleben
March 2022
Prologue
The lake was like a perfectly round mirror. No imperfections. You could not see or detect a single ripple anywhere upon the surface of the lake. It was that kind of day. No telltale signs of any disturbances. Not detectable—at least.
Beside the lake, inside a rustic cabin built for hunting and fishing, and for enjoying the lake, a man ran a knife along a sharpening stone. Despite the bucolic atmosphere of the lake inside the cabin, evil surrounded the man.
As he worked the knife blade along the stone, the man mumbled, “It is really not my fault. They made their choices. They killed first and when they did so, they killed all that was right and wonderful in this world. Not me. Now, they need to understand what that means. What the repercussions of killing are. They need to know what it is like. To kill. To end life in such a horrific manner. So suddenly. So violently.”
He finished sharpening the knife. He held it up to the light to check the edge. His generous muscles bulged in waves of ripples as he held the knife up into the light to check it. The edge was perfect. Sharp. It harbored no mercy.
With a smile upon his face that wandered from sadistic to uncaring to downright evil, the words came out of the man’s mouth and the ominous tone of the words hung in the air as if they were a fog.
He held the knife up in the air and scrutinized the blade while he held it up to the light to check the sharpness of it.
“Just a little more. I love knife blades when they are razor sharp and slit throats and carve up bodies like I am carving a Thanksgiving turkey. It is such an enjoyable and rewarding experience. I have been waiting. Finally, an endless heatwave is here. I love heatwaves. It is perfect for my plans. Everyone is miserable, and it makes for excellent killing weather. After all, where this all began was miserably hot for months on end. Miserable.”
The setting sun over the lake shone through the window of the cabin, and the rays of the sunset cast an ominous beam of light across the man’s face. The shadows of his body as he worked the knife blade along the stone danced across the floor in waves of evil.
“They all said that they cured me.”
The next words came out of his mouth as if they were a whisper.
“Unfortunately, they were wrong.”
Chapter One
It was about to be an interesting first meeting between Captain Connor Moore and Homicide Detective Lyle Odell.
“Ah . . . this horrific homicide and the gory details of the crime scene are very disturbing to me. Perhaps I might be a little antsy about horrific violence in Mohawk City so soon after taking over this position, Detective Odell . . . we did not have such violence in Hagerstown. Maybe I just need to get used to it. I read the initial report, but have yet to see yours cross my desk,” Captain Connor Moore said with a hint of sadness in his voice. He paused for a few seconds, then continued, “I am not sure of my expectations, but this is not what I wanted during my first week on the job in this new position. Far from it.” The newly minted police captain stopped speaking. Now, since he had not yet seen or heard any response from the police detective sitting opposite him in the guest chair in front of his desk, Captain Moore leaned back into his desk chair, crossed his arms in front of his chest and studied the man sitting there in front of him.
Captain Connor Moore’s own appearance was in stark contrast to the man sitting in front of his desk. The captain kept a squared up, perfect appearance. He was in his mid-forties, his dark skin and perfect complexion as a stalwart and handsome black man did him proud. He was tall, standing well over six feet, and his build revealed his dedication to physical fitness. He had dark eyes, and a close-cropped perfect haircut, that kept his preferred hairstyle from his years in the United States Army Reserve, where he served for over twenty years as a military police officer, and his hairstyle gave him away as being a military man. Captain Connor Moore was a picture-perfect police officer.
He was nothing like the police detective sitting opposite him at his desk.
That man was the much decorated and valued, yet very unorthodox, and very messy Mohawk City Homicide Detective Lyle Odell, who sat in front of his new boss. Odell’s head was down, his eyes glued on a cellphone that he held in his hands, while he pressed and pushed all the buttons on the keyboard of the device. It appeared as if Detective Odell was so engrossed in his electronic device that he did not hear a word that Captain Moore had said, nor had he paid even the slightest bit of attention to his new boss.
Captain Moore uncrossed his arms from his chest and he leaned forward in a careful study of Detective Lyle Odell. Moore sniffed the air a little, trying hard to detect a hint of Irish whiskey that he had heard that the good detective dabbled in, but he could smell nothing. Yet, it sure appeared as if it had been a long and difficult night and perhaps a morning for Odell. Odell’s former commanding officer, the now retired, Captain Tucker prepared him for dealing with Detective Odell, but experiencing firsthand the eccentric but undeniably brilliant Homicide Detective Lyle Odell was a unique experience.
Odell’s hair stuck out from his head in many directions. Tousled and unruly hair that was too long to comply with police regulations for grooming requirements
made it look as if Lyle Odell just crawled out of bed. Tousled and unruly hair was a description that fell short of describing the hair upon his head. It was more as if it was an uproar of hair. As if his hairstyle was a victim of the tail winds of a hurricane. His suit jacket was full of layers of wrinkles, and it looked as if Odell had slept in his clothes. What little that Captain Moore knew about Odell and from the information he received from his predecessor, Captain Tucker, Odell sleeping in his clothes was a distinct possibility. Around Odell’s neck hung a wrinkled necktie with the necktie cloth behind his neck hanging stuck over the collar of his shirt; the necktie knot was not actually a knot; it was more as if it was a crisscross of the cloth and his necktie hung askew. It was either too short or too long; since the detective sat in the guest chair, it was difficult to tell. He wore no police badge that was visible. Perhaps it was on his belt somewhere, but Captain Moore could not see or detect it.
Odell was a mess.
“Ah, Detective Odell . . . have you heard a word that I have said?” Captain Moore finally asked.
Odell looked up, nodded, and then immediately went back to punching the buttons on the phone.
“Captain Tucker warned me about you, Odell,” Moore huffed and added, “he told me that you could not, or would not . . . understand how to . . . use cellphones.”
Odell looked up again, and he blinked twice and said, “I am so sorry, Cap, this blasted thing seems to have a mind of its own,” Odell said. He waved his hand in the air and then, in surrender, handed the phone to his boss. “It won’t; turn on. However, this is not Hagerstown. It is Sin City. Mohawk City, New York. Home to all things rotten.”
Odell then looked at Captain Moore, he tapped his suit jacket pockets, first the left side, then the right side, and then finally with a nod of his head in a hint of recollection, Odell reached into his shirt pocket and mumbled, “Shirt pocket.” Odell pulled out a neatly folded piece of paper and Captain Moore sat there in silence, while remaining mesmerized by Odell's peculiar actions. Odell unfolded the paper and began to read from the words on the paper, “Connor William Moore, Born six November nineteen-sixty-five in Mohawk City Baptist Hospital. Your dad served as a first sergeant in the United States Army and then worked as a postal worker after his service in Korea. A great man. An honorable man. A patriot. He was highly decorated for combat actions.” Odell looked up and smiled at Captain Moore, and then he directed his attention back to the paper and continued to read, “Your very dear mom was primarily a homemaker, but she worked part time in a pharmacy to help make ends meet. You are an only child. Graduated Mohawk City High School as an above-average student. At eighteen years of age, you joined the United States Army Reserve. You worked your way up to master sergeant in the military and served in combat in Afghanistan and other sensitive locations. You, as your father is, are highly decorated for valor and bravery in combat. You went to college part time for many years on the G.I. Bill and earned a degree in criminal justice. While you served in the military in the reserves and attended college, you took a full-time job at the Hagerstown Police Department. First, as a patrolman, then you worked your way quickly up the ranks, because of earning your college degree and because you are an excellent police officer, who works very hard. You excelled at your career, all while marrying your beloved high school sweetheart,” Odell again looked up and he smiled. This time, he winked and then tried in vain to fix his tousled hair and then added, “Louise. With all due respect, because as a detective, my job is to observe every detail. Your wife is an exquisite woman. Gorgeous. You are a very lucky man.”
Captain Moore sat dumbfounded and all he could manage to do was to mumble, “Thank you.”
Odell then continued, “Two amazing children, Spencer and Claire, twenty-three and twenty years of age, respectively, who both take after their mom in appearance.” Odell winked again and continued, “That is not so bad. You retired from the Army Reserve two years ago, this past October. When Captain Tucker retired three months ago, Mohawk City Police Chief Neil O’Donnell lured you back home to Mohawk City with this captain position and perhaps a shot at the chief’s job when O’Donnell retires in two years. You are a churchgoing man and family. Second Baptist Church here in the city. You were an elder back in your old church in Hagerstown. Maybe you will be one at the new church, too. Time will tell.” Odell finished speaking, then he folded the paper back up and mumbled, “Suit jacket, right side,” and he stuffed the paper into his pocket. Odell looked up, and said, “by the way, I hate to tell you this, but this is a serial killer at work in the city. Welcome aboard. Captain Tucker spoke highly of you. It is my pleasure to serve with you, Captain Moore.” Odell stood up, gave a less-than-perfect salute and then sat down in the chair and he pointed at the cellphone in the stunned Captain Moore’s hands. “Can you get that stupid thing to work, or is it me?”
Captain Moore looked down at the phone. He pushed the on-off button, and the phone jumped to life.
With a shake of his head, he reached over the desk, and he handed Detective Lyle Odell the phone, and said, “It is you, Odell. By the way, that was some remarkable research on my career, my life and me. Do you ever rest?”
Odell grabbed the phone, studied it, and said in a low whisper, “Thanks, Cap. I think. Damn thing is a curse. I swear that I pushed every button. I will rest when the bad guys decide to rest. That means when I retire or I die. Whichever one comes first.”
“You are welcome. I think. About this homicide, Odell. You just blurted out that this murder is the work of a serial killer! Talk about knocking me on my butt in the first few days of taking on this position.”
Odell tilted his head a little and answered, “Sorry, Cap, I usually just blurt out things that are factual. My mind wanders around quite a bit.”
“Okay, for that information. I think. However, a serial killer, Odell? What is with that? It is only one murder.”
Odell looked up from the phone and blinked. He set the phone on the edge of the desk, shook his head, and explained, “I am sorry to say, but there will be more murders. This is a continuation of the rage of a madman who killed downstate, and then moved to Albany, and now, unfortunately, he has moved to Mohawk City. He will kill again in the next few days. Most likely a young woman. The daughter of a veteran. I wish that I could stop it, but sadly, I cannot. It is his pattern. Unfortunately, I need a blood trail. I despise that fact, but it is factual. This killer is cunning, super-intelligent and ruthless. I need to begin somewhere . . . now that he is here. I have nothing to go on from the murder from the other day. I am waiting for the crime scene reports, but I can tell it is a dead end. This madman targets veterans and if he cannot find any, then he kills their children and spouses. This one is a real sick one, but he is very skilled at what he does. He is a vet too. I hate to say it, but it is the truth. Many of us are screwed up. He goes after veterans of combat in wars or conflicts. The victim of the other night was a veteran of the Vietnam War. The slashed throat, the two bullets in the back, the letters v and w carved into the victim’s back. It is all the same modus operandi as the unsolved murders of a few years back.” Odell stood up from the chair a little, and mumbled, “Pants. Right side front.”
Odell produced a rumpled-up section of a newspaper and he did his best to smooth it out, then he handed it to the captain.
“Here. This is from the Albany newspaper. From a few years ago. You can keep that copy, Cap Moore. You might want to show the chief. He might want to alert the state attorney general because all of this is gonna be messy. The Albany police detectives never solved the murders. Neither did Westchester County. I was hoping they would call me in . . . but they didn’t.”
Odell’s eyes misted just a little as Captain Moore studied him, and then the police captain quickly glanced over the newspaper clipping.
“Maybe . . . I could have stopped the bastard. The killer took some time off, but now he is back. I am not sure what triggered his return. Whatever did so is a major clue. He is here. In our
city. Sorry, Cap. Welcome home.”
Odell stood up. He attempted to fix his hair; however, it was to no avail. Odell then adjusted his belt and tried to tuck his shirt back into his pants and finally, after those repeated unsuccessful attempts at gathering himself, he grabbed his phone and dropped it into his suit jacket pocket.
“Left side suit jacket pocket,” Odell mumbled.
“He, Detective Odell? The killer is a male?”
“Yes. Definitely. The carvings are deep into the bodies. A powerful man did them. A big guy. Very muscular.”
“I see. So noted, Odell.”
“Don’t worry, Captain Moore. I am on it. I will nail ’em. I always do. I will do my best to minimize the killing. My best, but, unfortunately, some things are out of my control. There is lots of evil out there, Cap. Mark my words that this guy is sick and evil. Very evil. It is okay. I will drown the clues and the facts in Irish whiskey tonight and find some answers. Tomorrow, I will set foot to get ‘em. I need him to make seven mistakes and I will nail ‘em. Seven mistakes and he will be dead and be history or in handcuffs. Please give me a few days to nail ‘em. Oh, yes, you will have your report tomorrow.”
“Why seven mistakes, Detective Odell? That seems so random.”
Odell shook his head and then answered Captain Moore.
“It is not random. Including the homicide here in Mohawk City that makes nine homicides committed by this evil maniac so far over about six years or thereabouts. The crimes were until now deemed to be unsolvable by some very fine police detectives and outstanding minds. No clues. No mistakes. No errors. Nothing to go on. Until now. I am not counting this first one as an official mistake, but coming here to Mohawk City was a mistake. Because we are here.”
Odell leaned in and spoke gently but forcefully.