Obsession (A Murderous Mind Book 2), page 1
OBSESSION
A MURDEROUS MIND™ BOOK TWO
DANIEL SCOTT
This book is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Sometimes both.
Copyright © 2016 Daniel Scott & David Beers
Cover Art by Jake @ J Caleb Design
http://jcalebdesign.com / jcalebdesign@gmail.com
Cover copyright © Marlow & Vane
Marlowe & Vane supports the right to free expression and the value of copyright. The purpose of copyright is to encourage writers and artists to produce the creative works that enrich our culture.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
Published by Marlowe & Vane
an imprint of LMBPN Publishing
PMB 196, 2540 South Maryland Pkwy
Las Vegas, NV 89109
Previously Published as Lightning Strikes
Version 1.00, August 2023
ebook ISBN: 979-8-88541-970-3
Print ISBN: 979-8-88878-612-3
THE OBSESSION TEAM
Thanks to the JIT Readers
Rachel Beckford
Kelly O’Donnell
John Ashmore
Editor
SkyFyre Editing Team
For anyone who has ever faced addiction, and to those whose lives we harm.
CONTENTS
1. Present Day
2. A Portrait of a Young Man
3. Present Day
4. Present Day
5. A Portrait of a Young Man
6. Present Day
7. Present Day
8. Present Day
9. A Portrait of a Young Man
10. Present Day
11. A Portrait of a Young Man
12. Present Day
13. A Portrait of a Young Man
14. Present Day
15. Present Day
16. A Portrait of a Young Man
17. Present Day
18. Present Day
19. A Portrait of a Young Man
20. Present Day
21. A Portrait of a Young Man
22. A Portrait of a Young Man
23. A Portrait of a Young Man
24. A Portrait of a Young Man
25. A Portrait of a Young Man
26. Present Day
27. Excerpts from a Dead Woman's Journal
28. Present Day
Author Notes
Connect with The Author
Books by Daniel Scott
1
PRESENT DAY
Detective Alan Tremock looked at the drawing he was holding, wondering if he had any single talent as impressive as this sketch artist’s. Thomas had worked for the Dallas Police Department his whole career, but Alan easily imagined he could have done something a lot more lucrative if he had chosen.
That’s not important right now.
He pushed the extraneous thoughts from his mind. What mattered was who was on the thick sheet of paper.
“You’re sure that’s him?” he asked Susan.
“Yeah, I’m sure,” Susan said. “I think his name is John Hilt.”
Alan’s excitement rose like boiling magma breaking through a fissure in the crust of the ocean floor, flooding heat into the cold liquid depths.
He needed to control his emotions. The accuracy of this picture didn’t necessarily mean it was a lead. Indeed, there was an infinite number of excuses for why John-Fucking-Hilt hadn’t told Susan about his coffee date with the dead man and an infinite number of reasons why he wasn’t the murderer.
“I didn’t necessarily think he was keeping anything from me, but I did have to press him on something he didn’t include in the interview,” she continued.
“Something other than this?”
Susan looked at him. “Of course. Do you think I forgot that someone had lunch with Stinson hours before he died?”
“Sorry.” Alan smiled at her and turned to Thomas. “Thanks. Really great work.”
“You need anything else from me?” the sketch artist asked.
“No, I think we should be good. The girl, Kaitlin. How did you feel about her?”
“She was nervous,” Thomas said. “But most people are when they come in here.”
No doubt about it. She hadn’t liked being in the police station one bit. Alan had noticed the same thing during his brief interview.
“Can you email me a copy of this?” he asked.
“Already did,” Thomas confirmed.
“Okay, we’ll get out of your hair.” Susan left the office. “Good news, huh?” she commented when Alan caught up with her in the hallway.
“It could be,” he agreed. “What are you thinking about Hilt?”
“I think he kept something from us, which doesn’t look good for him.”
“But you talked with those guys,” Alan countered. “Don’t they meet like this a lot? My uncle was in AA, and he was always meeting with someone.”
“They do, but this guy told me he didn’t meet with people a lot because he didn’t need to, which kind of goes against what the sketch tells us.”
“Goddamn,” Alan said, unable to contain his happiness. “We’ve got him.”
Susan snorted. “Whoa, cowboy. We don’t have anything yet except a reason to interview him again. That’s it. Him lying to us doesn’t mean he murdered anyone.”
“I’m going to interview him this time,” Alan told her as they rounded the corner to the detectives’ floor. “Do you mind?”
“I might if what you just said is going to color the interview. He’s not proven guilty yet, Alan. Not by a long shot.”
“I won’t fuck this up,” Alan vowed. “I want to squeeze him to see if he feels the pressure.”
“Just don’t put blinders on.” Susan stopped and grabbed his elbow, making him turn to face her. “Putting an innocent man in jail won’t bring Teresa back. It won’t give her justice, either. This guy could be involved, but it’s more likely he’s trying to prevent his family from finding out about his proclivities.”
Alan didn’t say anything immediately. He saw the concern in her eyes and knew where its roots lay. Cops spiraled when they got it into their heads that they were chasing the bad guy and followed that path to its destructive conclusion. Good cops, too. People he’d eaten dinner and gone to baseball games with.
“Okay.” Alan sighed. That wouldn’t be him, no matter how easy it would be to succumb to obsession. “Maybe he’s not our guy. We still have to follow the lead.”
Susan scrutinized him for a few seconds, then nodded. “Okay. As long as you don’t go off the deep end. Promise me, Alan.”
“I promise.” At that moment, Alan meant it.
2
A PORTRAIT OF A YOUNG MAN
Dr. Vondi observed John Hilt with interest as the boy walked into his office.
It was impossible not to form a mental picture of someone he had never seen. The boy didn’t fit the image in his head. He’d imagined he would be taller, athletic-looking, and strong for thirteen.
The kid entering Dr. Vondi’s office wasn’t any of those things. John’s thin build was closer to a tennis player’s than a football jock’s. He moved with calm, quiet assurance. He had dark hair like his mother.
“Nice to meet you, John. How are you?” Dr. Vondi asked.
“I’m okay,” John answered.
Dr. Vondi motioned at the couch. “Go ahead and have a seat.”
John sat and remained quiet as Dr. Vondi settled into his chair. “Your mother told you she’s been coming to see me for a while, right?”
John nodded.
“What else did she tell you?”
The boy looked at him as if he were judging him. His expression remained the same, yet Dr. Vondi got the distinct feeling that if John didn’t appreciate what he said, he would shut the conversation down.
Control; that was what Vondi felt. Without a word, the kid was exercising his will and taking charge of this relationship.
That doesn’t make any sense, and you know it, he thought. That was true, but it didn’t change his disquiet that one so young had the self-awareness to exert that control.
After a drawn-out moment of strained silence, John answered. “She told me that you were going to talk to me about how I feel.”
With that, Dr. Vondi knew John Hilt had passed judgment.
Dr. Vondi pushed down his sudden urge to escape the claustrophobic pressure inside his head and do his job. “She’s right. We’ll talk about feelings in here. Do you know what a psychologist does, John?”
The kid shrugged, the movement lacking the sullen undertone most boys his age conveyed. “My dad says you guys don’t farm out pills. You talk to people a lot.”
Dr. Vondi laughed. “There’s some truth to that. We do talk a lot. That’s ninety percent of my job. Or rather, listening is what a psychologist does. I asked your mom to have you come see me, actually.”
“Because of Harry?” John asked.
Dr. Vondi nodded. “Partly, yes. You had a pretty traumatic experience.”
“I’m seeing someone at school, too.”
“How is that going?” Vondi asked.
John shrugged again. “It’s going.”
“Has your mom spoken to you about what happened to Harry?” he asked.
John shook his head. “She hasn’t said a lot. She’s upset. Everyone is.”
Dr. Vondi nodded and made a note on his pad. “What do you think about what happened?”
The boy cocked his head, his gaze shrewd. “What do I think?”
“Yes,” Dr. Vondi confirmed. “About what you saw when Harry died and everything that happened after. This is a safe space to talk about anything that’s been on your mind.”
John’s expression didn’t change. He kept that peculiar too-aware look trained on Dr. Vondi. “What would you think if your best friend died?”
“Mine died a few years ago.” Dr. Vondi thought he saw a flicker of emotion in that searching gaze and risked an invitation to openness. “I thought a lot of things, but I mainly thought about how much I would miss him.”
Neither spoke for a few seconds.
“I miss Harry.” Tears shone in John’s eyes, but none fell. He turned his head and looked out of the window like his mother often did when she was searching for a way to verbalize complex emotions. “He was my best friend. Maybe my only friend.”
“Your mom misses him, too,” Dr. Vondi said.
The boy’s gaze flicked back to him, and the similarity to Lori vanished. “Is that what she told you?”
Dr. Vondi smiled to hide the resurgence of his unease. “I can’t talk about what we discuss in here unless you’re a danger to yourself or someone else. That also means I can’t talk to you about the things your mom and I speak about. I think it’s obvious to anyone in this situation how much we miss those we love.”
“She probably does miss him,” John agreed. “But I don’t think that’s why she’s concerned. I don’t think that’s why I’m here.”
Dr. Vondi paused with his pen hovering over his notebook. “No? Why do you think you’re here, then?”
“Not to make sure I don’t miss him too much,” John said in a flat voice. “I think I’m here because she thinks I killed him.”
3
PRESENT DAY
Alan rode the elevator up, his mind on the gamble he was about to take. He was making a ballsy move that could backfire badly and waste a lot of time, but if it worked, the payoff would be huge. That made it worth taking the risk.
Detectives scheduled interviews rather than springing them on persons of interest for several reasons. Following protocol carried a weight that increased the odds of the suspect attending. It also gave them adequate time to arrange for a lawyer to be present, and it kept the proceedings on the up-and-up. The con was obvious. Doing everything by the book gave suspects time to develop a story or jump ship if they didn’t have an alibi that worked.
Alan didn’t want to give John Hilt time to concoct a story. He wanted to see the guy’s reaction when he found out he wasn’t there for a friendly interview and the police were looking at him with interest. Alan thought Hilt’s reaction would give away more than whatever he might say if they called him down to the station with a lawyer by his side.
Alan walked out of the elevator and stopped to locate Office 1824. He hoped Hilt was in a meeting. He hoped the man was surrounded by people, and they all looked at Alan when he walked in before turning back to look at Hilt. He hoped they all wondered what the hell was going on when Alan told Hilt he needed to speak to him.
Alan saw Hilt’s assistant sitting in a smaller office to the right of 1824. Her door was open, and she didn’t appear to be on the phone, so Alan leaned in.
“Hi,” he began. “I’m looking for John Hilt.”
She smiled at him in the way assistants do that is neither welcoming nor unwelcoming until they know who is talking to them. “I’m sorry, but he’s busy right now. May I ask who you are?”
“Sure.” Alan pulled his badge from his back right pocket. “I’m Detective Alan Tremock, DPD. I’d like to talk to Mr. Hilt as soon as possible.”
“Would you mind taking a seat outside?” the assistant asked. “I’ll see if he can move his schedule around.”
“Sure.” Alan chose one of the chairs outside her office and settled in to wait. Most of the time, people were only busy until they found out the cops wanted to see them. Then they suddenly found the time.
He sat for a few minutes without pulling his phone out or doing anything that might give the impression that his attention wasn’t fully there. He didn’t know whether there were cameras looking at him, but the persona he projected mattered because Hilt’s reaction could tell him a lot.
“Detective?” the assistant called from her office.
Alan stood and poked his head through the door. “Yes?”
“Mr. Hilt will be able to see you in just a few minutes,” she told him. “May I ask what this is about?”
“Just routine questions concerning the death of your colleague.”
“Oh, okay.”
Alan thought she believed him. He returned to the chair and waited until she called his name again.
“Thanks,” Alan said with a smile as he walked to the door of the inner office.
He knocked softly before twisting the knob, then paused to admire the room as he stepped in. It was not an act. He was sincerely awed by what lay beyond the door. Modern offices were designed to cram as many people into a building as possible. Alan stood in what looked to be a holdover from the mid-1950s.
“This is nice.” Alan let the words trail into the open air above his head.
“Thanks.” John Hilt sat at a glass desk on a raised platform, which put him a foot or so above where Alan stood. “I was lucky to get this office. I could just as easily have been put in the mailroom.”
“I doubt that.” Alan smiled again as he walked across the room. He stepped onto the platform and extended his hand. “Detective Tremock.”
“John Hilt,” the man replied, shaking Alan’s hand. “What can I help you with? Are you working with Detective Merchent?”
“I am. We’re investigating the murder of Paul Stinson.”
Hilt looked down at his desk, his face taking on a semblance of gravity. “I miss seeing him at group, to be honest. It’s just sick what happened to him.”
“Couldn’t agree more,” Alan said. “When you spoke with Detective Merchent, you told her you didn’t have much contact with Mr. Stinson. Is that right?”
“Yeah, not much. I forgot to mention, and this didn’t hit me until a day or so ago, that I did see Paul the day he disappeared. Just a happenstance-type thing. I went into a Starbucks that he apparently visited regularly, and we talked for a good bit.”
Alan studied Hilt’s face. No surprise. No worry. Not a hint of anxiety running through a single cell of his body.
“That’s actually what I came to speak to you about, Mr. Hilt. It’s kind of…curious, I suppose, that you brought it up.”
“What’s curious about that?” Hilt asked.
“Someone from that Starbucks helped us create a sketch, and it came out looking like your face.”
“I don’t find it odd, given that I was in the Starbucks talking to Paul.” Hilt looked contrite as he spoke. “Actually, I was planning to get in touch with Detective Merchent, but you know…life. I wish I had remembered when I first spoke to her and saved everyone some time and resources.”
