The Return of the Twin Killer Read online



  The Return of the Twin Killer

  Sally takes charge

  by

  Gary W. Hancock

 

 

 

 

 

 

  Copyright Gary Hancock 2017

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  The images on this work has been identified as being free of known restrictions under copyright law, including all related and neighboring rights.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  This free ebook may be copied, distributed, reposted, reprinted and shared, provided it appears in its entirety without alteration, and the reader is not charged to access it

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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  Other books by this author:

  Internet Warrior:

  The Moon, Mars and some of the larger rocks in space have been colonized and life on them is the same as humans have experienced for almost all time. The quest for more places to expand leads to discoveries that raise more questions and as humans have always done, sides are taken and discussions get heated.

  Inside the Mind: The Chase for the Twin Killer

  The mind of a psychotic genius and the method of his murders. The splitting of his life between that of a writer of children books and the uncaring blood soaked executioner of people he only meets in order to plan their doom. This is also the story of the first case for a FBI agent and her unrelenting pursuit. Enjoy the methodology of insanity and the unraveling of the clues to try and stop the rampaging killer. Turn the lights down low and hope you won’t be his next victim.

  Murder by the Light of the Moon: The Midnight Massacres

  This is the continuation of the FBI Serial Killer expert Agent Margaret Crawford. A horrific murder of a group of High Society people attending a charity Gala throws her into the mist of a brutal and apparently senseless killing spree. The introduction of a nosy reporter turned novelist adds to her frustrations. Join us as we pursue the brutal and wild set of homicides.

  Wizard for the NSA

  From the Witch Trials of Salem to the terrorists of today. This is the story of the life of a Sorcerer in the Americas. Sit back and enjoy this short tale of the fight by the secret spy organizations trying to keep the public safe and the struggle of an individual trying to keep his vocation hidden from the world. Let the finger wiggling and the spell muttering begin.

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  Sally Pride's story

  I broke out of the pen and found the motorcycle my little sister Mary had hid in that old barn on the edge of town. Dakota Women's Correctional and Rehabilitation Center what a name for that stinking jail. Slipping on the Daisy Duke's, Doc Martins and halter top, I leaned on the throttle and blew down Hwy 22 toward Interstate 94 and turned onto it. With the wind blowing in my face as I drove just over the speed limit, I had a destination in mind that was not far from the prison. Most cons would try to get as far away before the cops could throw a net around the area. I knew that staying on the Interstate for long would result in me being thrown back into the slammer.

  Before I was captured, Julie, one of the girls that I use to hang around with, had told me about this old house she had accidentally came upon. Thinking that she would be able to bust into the old wooden building easily, she found out that it was more solid than it looked and the lock on the door defeated her best efforts to pick it. That made me laugh a bit. Julie was strictly a smash and grab type of thief, while I was an expert in every type of lock and safe made. If I could find this place, I should be able to get me a couple of days protection from the search. After laying low for a few days. I will double back and confuse the chasers. Mary had stuffed the saddle bags with candy bars and some MREs. Maybe not the best of eats, but you have to do what you have to do. It won't be any worse than the slop they have been feeding me for the last eleven months. But the best thing in the bag was the tools I had made that allowed me to open almost every high end brand of lock.

  Months on end of living in a six by nine "luxury" suite in North Dakota made me appreciate that wide open feeling on the back of my Harley. Hell the only reason I was caught was that damn dog. I paid a hacker to get me names , floor plans, and addresses that had the type of wireless alarm I preferred. I easily by passed the alarm and gotten into the mansion on Lizzie Pie Street in West Fargo. The house plans showed a wall safe in the living room. All of a sudden this German Shepherd came bounding around the corner. There was a side closet and I jumped into it. Well he raised such a racket that it awoke everyone in the house and they called the police while I was helplessly cornered by a big big dog. Who keeps an attack dog in the house? Really who?

  I was keeping a lookout along the service road for the dirt drive that led to the old house Julie had told me about. There it was on the other side of the interstate. I cut through the median and down the exit ramp. Turning back the way I was fleeing was very difficult but that's life. The dirt track had a cattle gap but no gate. I looked at the dirt trail and there was no tire tracks. It was so windy here that if you didn't drive down this road often the wind would cover the trace of your passage in no time. Then I got an idea from me watching all those old black and white cowboy and Indian movies. I walked over to the side and cut a couple of bushes off at the ground. Then I pulled the bungee cords I kept in the saddle bag. No bike should be without bungees. I tied the bushes on the back and let them brush the ground. This would wipe out my tracks. I got back on and rode a couple of miles down the small trail that went into the middle of a forest before I saw a house tucked away under the trees. Man this place was hidden. You couldn't see it from a helicopter unless you were at treetop level. What a hideout! There was a carport on the side of the building with an old yellow car parked inside.

  I looked all around the house before I tried to enter. It looked like no one had been here in months. The locks were upper tier and would keep most out, but not an expert like me. The EVVA MCS lock has a magnetic key and there isn't a dozen people in the world that can opened it without the right key. I worked on it with my little tools for a good thirty minutes before it revealed it secrets. Like I said, "I am the best."

  I went into the front room and was amazed at what I saw. The outside of this place was strictly the old wood run down farm building of the 50s, the inside was something out of the future. There were computers and sixty inch TVs. The kitchen had one of those commercial stoves and huge freezers. The electrics, I found out later, were provided by wind turbines that were hidden in the trees.

  There was a pantry full of the survival foods that the doomsday preppers at the jail talked about. I turned on the faucet and fresh clean water came out. He must have a deep well. There was a bag of Blue Mountain Jamaica coffee in the cupboard. I knew that it was about fifty bucks a pound and I never would spend that much on a cup of joe. I spooned it into an automatic coffee maker and I made me a cup. I sat in a recliner infront of the TV and found out that the coffee just might be worth the money. After the jailhouse mud they served, it was like the
drink of the gods. Now this was the way to escape jail. I had all the time in the world. They would be looking for me to be out there riding like the wind and having to find food and shelter. I had all of that right here. I could lay low for years with what was provided by this place. I turned on one of the computers and found that it hooked up to the internet. Who ever lived here had satellite service. This must be some rich dude's hideaway. His casa, mi casa.

  It was quite by accident that I found the basement. Like all the other things here, it was well hidden. From the outside the house looked like it was built about six inches off the ground, but in the middle it touched the Earth and a shaft went down and spread out into a chamber bigger than the top structure. I had found the secret entrance when I saw my favorite "Bunny" book and tried to pull it out. The book shelf slid to one side and lights came on showing a spiral staircase. I descended into the lair.

  There was a writing desk and it had a manuscript of a new "Bunny" book that was not yet published. Good lord this was his place. I would get to read what no one else has. My childhood came back to me as I turned the pages to the end. This only stirred my desire to read more, so I started going into the drawers and filing cabinets in search of other prizes. It was in the cabinet labeled unfinished that I found the surprise of my life. It was an autobiography of Ralph Pennyworth DePaul my favorite author. Half way into the thick manuscript, the tone of the writing went into a very dark place. By the time I got to the last page he had written, I knew who he really was. This man was a total psycho and strangely it made him even more of a hero to me. The fact that he could be two different people and still function in the world was a feat most were not able to do. I was a fairly evil person, but I was like that all the time. As a friend of mine always said, "She is a bitch, but a constant bitch. You can count on her to be the same every day."

  I got a little worried about DePaul catching me here so I got on the internet to see if he was on tour or at his house. Then I found out that he was killed driving south on Interstate 94 not far from this hideout. I had been in solitary with no TV or newspaper for three months and he was killed during that period. By the time I got back into the regular cellblock, it was old news and not being reported anymore. Reading his story he had wrote, I had developed a bond with this killer and this made me feel a deep sadness that I had missed the demise of Ralph.

  I continued to explore the vast room and found a wide array of killing implements in hidden closets. There was a safe that must have been two hundred years old that yielded to my expert skills. It had more money than I had ever seen in one place. Most people now don't have money at their houses. The debit card is king but the rich do keep easy to sell gems and art pieces. But not my Ralphie. There must have been half a million just stacked on shelves along with passports and phony I.D. making equipment. It looked like this was his plan if he was being closed in on. Make an ID and get out of the country with the cash. He was a doll for leaving all of this just for me. I must find a way to repay this idol of mine.

  I went back to researching his last days and found what he would have wanted me to do. He was confounded by this female FBI agent and she had hampered him and forced him to change his plans. I was going to deal with Ms. Special Agent Crawford. I will humiliate her, bring her to her knees, and then kill her. When I get through, she will be the laughing stock of the nation.

  The first thing is to change my appearance so I can go out in public again. My sister aided me in my escape and once again I was going to use her to help me. I had her picture that I carry with me all the time. I just love that little scamp. She may be over twenty one now, but she will always be my little sister. Where I have hair the color of the night, hers is the color of the sunshine. People said that if we had the same hair, everyone would think we were twins. I looked at my nose and chin and thought "No", they were too much difference for that to happen. But I had plenty of money now and I could get that changed. There are plenty of plastic surgeons that had worked on friends of mine that could do the job on the sly. A hundred thou. should be enough for an off the books change of looks.

  Ralph had changed his looks a time or two, if what he had stored here was any indication. He had a full makeup table with the mirror that had lights all around and drawers full of mustaches, beards and wigs. I grabbed a wig that was close to the color of my blond sibling. By the time I got the makeup on and put on a pair of dark sunshades. I looked into the mirror and someone else looked back. Ralph had one of those little caps that the British sports car chaps used to wear and I topped the disguise off with it. My absent host was a small man and his pants were only a little loose on me. I am not very big on the top and a shirt that hung down pass the beltline made it look like it was one of my outfits.

  I drove into town in the car and got out on main street. I saw one of the prison guards coming out of the grocery store and walked right pass her and she didn't even look at me. I turned around and walked back passed her again and nodded and she nodded back. Hey what can I say, I'm good at this escape thing. I got back into the car and headed west to California.

  A week later I woke up in a little clinic in Hollywood and when I got the bandages removed, I looked into the mirror and I saw my little sister looking back at me and she was wearing a brunette wig. I got a professional dye job, now even our mother would have had a tough time of telling us apart.. Time to put the plan into action.

  Meanwhile in D.C.

  Man did I have it made, royalty checks rolling in and I had the best girlfriend in the world. All I had to do was let her have her way and she would keep this old man happy. It was the best arrangement ever. I had been touring all the big book shops and had signed about a million copies of "Murder by the Light of the Moon" and each time when I returned to town, Maggie would kidnapped me for a couple of days of bed rest as she called it. Like I said, best girlfriend in the world.

  I got a little break from the editor and was planning on getting back to that John Astin book. I don't like to throw away research work, I spent a lot of time at that University and the twitter insults from his son when he found out I was writing a unapproved story, made me even more determined to finish the work. If I could have looked ahead even two days, I would not have started up on that task again.

  After spending all morning reading and copying old yearbooks, I call Maggie and asked her to meet me at my favorite eating place, "Bud and Pop's". I arrived first and ordered her one of the beef brisket sandwiches. How she stays so tiny when she eats so much is not really a mystery to me. If I don't eat salad every other day, I will gain ten pounds. Hope she doesn't develop this trend later on. At the present, the way she works out in the gym throwing all the other agents around, she would probably has a negative calorie count for the day even if she ate a sandwich an hour.

  Maggie walked into the food shop with the phone against her ear. She mouthed the words, "Get up and follow me." I grabbed her lunch and my tuna salad and got on her six like I always do. She motioned me to get in the car while she was still listening to the phone. I couldn't hear what was going on until she put the car's blue tooth's hand free device into action. I then heard the conversation that had already been going on. It was a conference call and that was why she hadn't said anything back. It was an all points advisory to her BAU team. It was a nightmare from her past that was being repeated.

  There was a report coming in from Baltimore that a woman had been found killed by a crossbow. She had a F.B.I. badge and ID. The name on the ID was Special Agent Margaret Crawford. I looked at her and could see that she was breathing in short puffs trying to keep calm. I then mouthed back at her, "Are we going to the crime scene?". She nodded then mouthed back to me, "Helicopter".

  I fully expected to be left behind at the airfield, but they had orders for me to go along. I climbed into the whirlybird and by then I was taking those same short breaths. Maggie had gone from pale to worried to determined and then to fiery face mad by the time we arrived. She told me t
hat she knew what we would find and she was almost totally right. Same face that looked like her, same twin outfit of hers, same twin gun, she was the only one on the force that carried that little 44 magnum Taurus revolver. There was one difference from the last time, there was a note stuck on the feathered end of the crossbow bolt. It was a simple, "I'm back".

  Sally's twist on Ralph's plan

  Now I don't have any problem with killing someone that gets in my way, but I am not a crazed serial killer. I will honor Ralph by using his method of picking out the twin, but I am going to pick the victim first and then find a match. It will a person with mucho money and I plan on relieving them of a small portion of wealth in a way that it will not be missed. The cops will be looking for a serial killer not a thief. This will be the great joke that I play on that damn FBI pest. Ralph wrote kid's books to hide his true nature. I am a thief and I will hide that behind the murders.