Our Honored Dead (Stephanie Chalice Thrillers Book 4) Read online

  OUR HONORED DEAD

  A bullet races toward Detective Stephanie Chalice, a bullet meant to kill not one, but two. Chalice is pushed to her physical and mental limits as she investigates four murders, each with its own unique criminal signature. The murder trail takes her from Ground Zero in lower Manhattan to the icy narrows beneath the Verrazano Bridge as she pursues a villain, who is both clever and diabolical. A solitary strand of evidence ties the four murders together but is it enough for our hero to go on? Lives hang in the balance as the clock clicks down toward zero. Is Chalice’s time about to run out?

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  The Stephanie Chalice Mystery Series

  Don’t Close Your Eyes

  Ransom Beach

  The Brain Vault

  Our Honored Dead

  Praise For Lawrence Kelter and

  The Stephanie Chalice Mystery Series

  “Lawrence Kelter is an exciting new novelist, who reminds me of an early Robert Ludlum.” —Nelson DeMille

  “Chalice’s acerbic repartee is like an arsenal of nuclear missiles.” —BookWire Review

  “Kelter is a master, pure and simple.” —Rachel Dove for Kindle Book Review

  “Chalice is irresistible; a contemporary tour de force.” —James Siegel, NY Times best-selling author of Derailed

  "Red-hot reading, hypnotic, atmospheric . . . Lawrence Kelter has a rare gift for intricate plotting, swift pacing, and well-drawn characters that jump off the page. A helluva psychological thriller." —J.R. Rain, USA Today best-selling author of Moon Dance and Dark Horse

  "Lawrence Kelter is my kind of writer: blistering action, unforgettable characters, and dialogue sharp enough to draw blood. Kelter gives more bang for the buck than any thriller writer I know." —Dani Amore, best-selling author of Dead Wood

  "Lawrence Kelter just keeps getting better and better. Fast pace, action, and humor; what more can you ask for in a great read? This one's a must!" —Rick Murcer, NY Times best-selling author of Caribbean Moon

  Our Honored Dead

  Stephanie Chalice Mystery #4

  By

  Lawrence Kelter

  Our Honored Dead Copyright © 2012 by Lawrence Kelter

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by information storage and retrieval system, without written permission of the Publisher, except where permitted by law.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to events, locales, or persons living or dead, is coincidental.

  ISBN-13: 978-1480130852 ISBN-10: 1480130850

  Edited by

  Jan Green of thewordverve inc

  Interior book design by

  Bob Houston eBook Formatting

  Dedication

  For Dawn and Chris

  Acknowledgments

  The author gratefully acknowledges the following special people for their contributions to this book.

  For my wife, Isabella, for her love, support, and tireless dedication to the perfection of this book.

  For my children, Dawn and Chris for making me smile.

  “And if any mischief follow, then thou shalt give life for life . . .”

  ~Exodus 21:23-25~

  Prologue

  As I looked out the hospital window at the sobering morning sky, I wondered why God would allow this to happen. I was losing all of the great men in my life, one by one: first my dad and now Sonellio. He had always meant so much to me. He was like the uncle I never had, one of my father’s contemporaries, and a guiding force in my life.

  I swallowed, hoping the pop in my ears would block out the monotonous beep of the heart monitor. It was early in the morning, so damn early, not quite six. Too early to lose him, I told myself. Please give us the day, just one more day. I’m not ready. I turned from the window to drink him in, perhaps for the last time, and hope for a miracle. His face was pale. Each breath was so tentative that I was uncertain another would follow.

  I folded my arms over my belly as if to protect the new life within from the influence of death. “He’s a good man,” I whispered, “a really good man.” A few tears began to drizzle down my cheek.

  The baby kicked.

  “Don’t be upset, there’s nothing we can do.”

  The baby kicked again as if to challenge me.

  “Settle down.” I rubbed my belly in a soothing manner. “You’re just like your father, always looking for attention.”

  God takes with one hand and gives back with the other, one life ebbing away and a new one about to arrive. Anyone in my position would have entertained the same thought.

  “What’s that you say, I’m being morose? You know you’re very precocious for a fetus.”

  The baby kicked twice in rapid succession.

  “Anyway, I’m sorry if I’m sad. I can’t help it. I love him a lot.”

  I heard the floor creak. I was still a little on edge from the events that had just transpired. To say there were loose ends in our investigation was an understatement. A murderer was still at large. I usually have my emotions under control, but with all of my hormones whirling around like spirits in a cocktail shaker . . . I turned and looked through the doorway into the hospital corridor. All was quiet.

  Sonellio moaned. His desperate sound drew my attention. I stroked his cheek. “Nothing to worry about, Boss, everything will be all right.”

  Thinking back, Sonellio had always been around. My father had worked for him when he was on the job. He had always been there for me after dad passed.

  “Hey, stop kicking,” I scolded the baby playfully. “I’m going to miss him. I’m sorry.” He became my boss after I made the cut and became a detective. He was a good, salt-of-the-earth, church-going, Italian boy with great morals. But Sonellio had smoked heavily. It was a solitary chink in the armor of a noble man, a weakness that was about to put him into the ground. Lung cancer. It could have all been prevented. It was difficult to remember him as the healthy, younger man I had once known. To see him now, so gaunt; you would never believe it was the same person.

  “You’re never going to smoke,” I informed the baby.

  I felt the baby move.

  “It’s not negotiable.”

  My stomach rumbled. This time it was due to hunger. “I hope daddy gets here with mommy’s coffee soon. It’s okay, Sweetie; it’s only decaf. Yes, that’s right. I’ve given up regular coffee, just for you.”

  The baby was still trying to get comfortable.

  “Anything for you, Sweetie.”

  The baby grew fidgety.

  “Yes, even the red wine; that’s gone too. No, I don’t mind.”

  Sonellio moaned again, more deeply than before. I wondered if he was out of time. He had been moaning since I arrived, a low and even sound that accompanied his shallow breathing. He moaned again, louder still. There was something unnerving about the sound of it. It sounded as if he was agitated. It was almost as if he sensed something and was trying to give me a warning.

  The baby abruptly stopped fidgeting and became calm.

  I felt goose bumps rise on my arms and neck.

  “Chalice!”

  My heart skipped a beat. I was waiting for Gus to return and was expecting to hear the loving tone of his voice.

  The voice I heard was not his.

  There was something disturbing and strange in the sound of the voice I had just heard. My heart became still.

  It seemed like mom
ents passed.

  My heart finally began to beat again.

  I turned.

  My eyes locked on the gun that was pointed at my baby and me. I instinctively covered my belly with my hands to protect my baby as any mother would, but we were out in the open, naked and vulnerable. I cried out in terror, “Gus!”

  And then I heard the sound of the gun fire.

  Chapter One

  Weeks earlier.

  The sign on the door read, Phillip Kranston, OBGYN. I had been seeing Dr. Kranston for years, for his expertise as a GYN and was now getting to know him as an OB. He looked like Charles Nelson Reilly and wore glasses with massive frames. He is the sweetest man, completely innocent and unassuming. He would sometimes call at 10:00 at night or later to discuss lab results. I didn’t know of too many doctors as dedicated as he was. Phillip Kranston definitely fell within a small circle of individuals I trusted unconditionally. I referred all of my friends to him. I mean look, I trust him to examine my hoo-ha. How many men can you say that about?

  His waiting room was painted a warm shade of plum. The furniture was clear oak.

  I was feeling a wee bit green.

  I sat down with a clipboard—attached was a registration form and a medical survey with more questions than you might expect to find on the New York State Bar Exam. Kranston’s office was very efficient, and they asked for a profile update on every visit. Nothing had changed since the last visit, so I ran through the forms, checking boxes without giving it too much thought.

  A woman sat next to me nursing her little girl. Her infant seemed content with her lunch, suckling happily on mommy’s breast. She turned to me, and we exchanged a brief smile just as the waiting room door burst open and another pregnant woman in leggings and pencil heels rushed into the room. She raced up to the reception window.

  “Cassandra Capuano for Dr. Kranston,” she said, panting.

  The receptionist checked her schedule. “You’re an hour late.”

  “Yeah, yeah, I’m sorry,” Cassandra said, “The cab driver got lost.”

  The receptionist answered with a pleasant smile. “I know; this place is a little hard to find.”

  “Hard to find?” Cassandra said. “The cab driver drove past it four times. Honey, this place is a friggin’ mirage. I think Bin Laden hid here.”

  The receptionist’s eyes grew wide. “Please have a seat,” she said. “I’ll get you in as soon as I can.”

  “Thanks, sweetie, I’ve got a mani and pedi in forty-five minutes; see what you can do.”

  Cassandra waddled away and sat down next to me. “Waiting long, honey?” she asked.

  “Just sat down,” I replied.

  Cassandra opened her purse, took out her compact, and blotted her nose. “Jesus Christ, these f-ing hormones. I’m sweating like a pig. Do you sweat a lot?”

  “Sometimes. Not now, thank God.”

  Cassandra glanced up at me. “You’re hardly showing.”

  “It’s pretty early on.”

  “You’re a big girl. You’re going to need custom made bras before this is over.”

  I shrugged. I mean we were hardly BFFs, and I wasn’t sure Cassandra was the kind of girl I wanted to bond with.

  “It’s okay, don’t be modest. Honey, I’d kill for boobs like that. Me—” She lifted her butt out of the chair and patted her rump. “I’ve got it all in the ass. My husband loves it, thank God.” Cassandra laughed. It sounded like someone was strangling a chicken. “I can’t pry him off with a crowbar.”

  O-M-G, T-M-I.

  “My husband’s a DJ. He spins at all of the hottest clubs in the city. Maybe you’ve heard of him—he calls himself DJ Sammy Stash,” she said proudly.

  Once again, O-M-G. When did DJ become an official title? No disrespect to the profession, and maybe I’m a little old-fashioned, but since when did the designation DJ rise to the level of the more commonly heralded titles like: Doctor, Father, and Officer? “Sorry, no, I haven’t had the pleasure.” DJ Sammy Stash for God’s sake—was he a disc jockey or a drug dealer? I guarantee this guy had a rap sheet.

  The baby being nursed let out a loud burp. Her mother smiled. “You’re such a little piggy,” she said playfully. She tickled her little girl, eliciting a contented coo. She put her daughter on her shoulder and began to rub her back. “She’s got such an appetite.”

  “God bless her, she’s a big girl,” Cassandra commented as she continued to check her face. “Maybe your diet is too rich. Do you eat a lot of fatty foods?”

  From the look of disbelief on her face, I understood that the nursing mom was uncomfortable. I think she was torn about her choice of responses, perhaps straddling the fence between a polite “what do you mean?” and “fuck off!”

  I smiled at the nursing mom to draw her attention and spare her the task of having to respond to Cassandra. “She’s adorable. How old is she?” I asked.

  “Eleven months.” Her eyes said, Thank you.

  “She’s such a big, beautiful girl.”

  “Eighty-fifth percentile for height and weight,” she said proudly. “Her father’s tall.” She took her baby off her shoulder and wiped her mouth. “You’re a big girl, aren’t you, aren’t you, a big, beautiful girl?” Her baby smiled and clicked her tongue. “Your first?” she asked.

  I nodded. “Yup, number one.”

  “You must be so excited,” she said, happy to convey the blessing of expectant motherhood.

  The receptionist opened her window. “Sophia Farrell.”

  “That’s me,” the nursing mom said. She fixed her blouse and gathered up a huge shoulder bag, which was filled to the brim with baby fixings. “Come on, sweetie,” she said to her little girl. “It’s mommy’s turn. Nice chatting with you,” she said to me. She glared at Cassandra as she stood, but the gesture went unnoticed.

  “Same here.” I waved to her baby. “Nice to meet you.” Sophia walked through the inner doorway to the examination rooms.

  “You’re nice,” Cassandra said to me as she closed her compact.

  “What do you mean?”

  “You said her baby was adorable.”

  “She is adorable. She’s got such big cheeks.”

  “For real? Did you get a good look at the kisser on that baby?”

  “Yes!”

  “You really think that kid’s adorable?”

  “Yes,” I said in an incredulous tone.

  “Honey, that kid’s a Cabbage Patch doll. Are you kidding me or what? It’s a good thing that kid’s too young to tell time because that face could stop a clock.”

  I glared at her. “That’s really rude.”

  “Yeah, yeah, look, I know what you’re going to say: ‘all babies are beautiful.’ Eleven months old, and she’s ready to pop out another one. Christ, the city ought to declare an ordinance on having too many homely kids.”

  “Stephanie Chalice.” The receptionist was standing by the open door waiting for me. Oh, thank God. I got up immediately. I should’ve put Cassandra in her place, but I didn’t. I walked away without responding to her. There are some people that just aren’t worth the effort. I hope she catches a toe fungus at the nail salon. I couldn’t imagine how her child was going to turn out.

  The entrance door opened, and Gus Lido bolted through. He caught up with me.

  “You’re just in time, daddy.”

  Gus smiled at his newly earned title. “I couldn’t find a parking spot; finally threw it into a parking lot.”

  “No problem—they just called me in.”

  We followed the doctor’s assistant to the examination room. She took my vitals and handed me a gown. “Dr. Kranston will be in to see you in just a few minutes.” She stepped out and closed the door.

  “Want to help me change?” I asked Gus. I unfolded the boxy gown and held it up for him to see. “Pretty sexy, huh?”

  Gus put his arms around me and gave me a kiss. “You look incredible. There’s something about you that’s just driving me crazy.”

 
“Ma says that I’ve got the glow.”

  He pressed his forehead to mine. “How much longer did you say it was okay for us to do it?”

  “Do it?”

  Gus smiled knowingly. “Yeah, do it.”

  “Don’t fret, Romeo. We’re good in the sack until at least the seventh month. I’ll let you know when you need to begin the cold shower routine.”

  “Are you sure? Maybe you want to check with the doctor.”

  “No. I don’t have to ask the doctor. I know what I’m talking about. There’s a lot of material on the subject. Maybe you should read a book about it too.” Gus had some misplaced concern that his doodad might accidently damage the baby. I mean Gus is a real man, but let’s not get ridiculous.

  “No, that’s okay. I’ll trust you on it.” He kissed me on the nape of the neck.

  I pushed him away. “No, absolutely not. There’s a commandment about not getting busy in the baby doctor’s office.” I pulled my blouse off over my head.

  “Oh dear God,” he whined. “Look at you—how many more months?”

  “You sound like you’re going through withdrawal. What’s up? I haven’t kicked you out of the bed yet.”

  I kicked off my shoes and had begun to take off my slacks before I remembered there would be no stirrups today. Thank God. We were only there for a follow-up sonogram.

  I zipped my slacks back up. Gus whined again.

  Down boy. I stuck my butt out and smacked it. “Does our baby make my ass look fat?” Gus looked perplexed—his expression slowly changed into a smile.

  I quickly slipped into the examination gown.

  Dr. Kranston knocked on the door. “Are you ready?” He had been practicing for decades and yet still seemed embarrassed when he entered the examination room.