Burnside's Killer_Extended Version Read online

  Burnside's Killer

  Extended Version

  By Timothy Ellis

  And

  Scott Sakatch

  The Hunter Legacy, Book Six

  Copyright © 2015 to 2018 by Timothy Ellis and Scott Sakatch

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and events are fictional and have no relationship to any real person, place or event. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, is purely co-incidental.

  One of the authors is Australian and some of the main characters in this book are of Australian origin. In Australia, we colour things slightly differently, so you may notice some of the spelling is different. Please do not be alarmed.

  All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any manner whatsoever without the written permission from the author except in the case of brief quotation embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Contents

  Contents

  Prologue

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty One

  Twenty Two

  Twenty Three

  Twenty Four

  Twenty Five

  Twenty Six

  Twenty Seven

  Twenty Eight

  Twenty Nine

  Thirty

  Thirty One

  Thirty Two

  Thirty Three

  Thirty Four

  Thirty Five

  Thirty Six

  Thirty Seven

  Thirty Eight

  Thirty Nine

  Forty

  Forty One

  Forty Two

  Forty Three

  Forty Four

  Forty Five

  Forty Six

  Forty Seven

  Forty Eight

  Forty Nine

  Fifty

  Fifty One

  Fifty Two

  Fifty Three

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  A Message to my Readers

  Also by Timothy Ellis

  Prologue

  By the time he got the girl back to his place, Patterson's crotch was throbbing, and his brain was swimming.

  The vintage auto's tires let out a brief squeal as he hit the brakes in the driveway. Beside him, she grabbed the hand brake and yanked it upwards, the hungry look in her eyes as she did so, made his jeans even tighter against his groin.

  "Thanks," he breathed, as he pitched open the driver's side door.

  Before he could get around the front of the car, she'd kicked open her own door, and was on her feet, clambering towards him on the pavement. They connected in a sort of tackle which sent him reeling backwards, and forced him to stumble for his own footing.

  Good thing the media didn't see that, he told himself. I can just see the tabloid headlines, Top Ranked Cornerball Star Can't Keep His Feet Under Him With New Bird! His teammates would rib him mercilessly he could navigate four planes of gravity on a breakaway, but he couldn't navigate his way around a woman.

  He backed up the stairs, fumbling to pull the old school house key from his ever-tightening pants pocket, while she practically climbed on top of him. He finally slid the key home in the lock behind him, but his attention was so consumed with her, he turned it the wrong way, and snapped it off in the lock.

  "Shit," he muttered.

  "What's the matter, baby?" she hissed in his ear. Her tongue closed around the lobe, and flicked at the little diamond stud there. "Don't you want me?"

  He said nothing, instead hoisting her in his arms, and fast-walking around the house to the back door. She giggled softly as he set her back down in the flowerbed, and pulled the other key out. This one went in the right way, and he kicked the door open, before sweeping her up again, and carrying her inside.

  "So you're a backdoor man," she purred. "Good to know."

  If Patterson had given himself a moment to think about the situation, he would have wondered why this woman had produced such a primal response in him. After all, it wasn't like she was the first fan he'd ever picked up after a match, and brought home for a quick shag. Or even the fiftieth.

  But he didn't get that moment. She'd been waiting for him outside the locker room with a smile and no bra under her tight top. Her eyes were an arresting shade of blue-grey, and her short, coarse hair had been dyed an electric shade of lime green. His brain felt like it was short-circuiting, and all his body's electricity was being diverted to a single outlet, his throbbing erection.

  He opened his mouth to offer her a drink, and she instantly clamped her lips on his, thrusting her tongue halfway to his tonsils. The offer was immediately forgotten, as was any semblance of being a gentleman for the rest of this encounter. He was on autopilot now, and she'd better be ready.

  Again he scooped her up in his arms, this time to carry her into his bedroom, almost twenty meters away on the other side of the main floor. Their lips never lost contact once while he navigated his way through the darkened space, relying on what little brain power he could spare to guide him from memory.

  Patterson's bedroom flooded with fluorescent light as they crossed the threshold, but her hand whipped towards the wall, quick as a snake, and snapped them off again. Moonlight streamed in from the street through the floor-to-ceiling windows, turning the two of them into black-and-white silhouettes.

  "I like the dark," she gasped, as she broke off the kiss.

  He tossed her onto the bed, where she bounced into the air again, before settling in on her back.

  "But I want to see all of you."

  The pleading tone of his own voice surprised him. He was used to making the demands in the bedroom, not giving in to them.

  "Maybe later," she said. "But not right now."

  She drew her long dancer's legs up so that they pointed at the ceiling, and quickly shimmied out of her leggings, tossing them onto the floor beside the bed. A second later she was up on her knees and wriggling out of the confines of her bra, her breasts popping free of the fabric. Patterson felt the room sway under his feet, and his shaft strain against the confines of his jeans as he caught sight of her curves outlined in the moonlight.

  "Waiting on an engraved invitation?" she cooed.

  He finally shook himself out of his stupor, and had his jersey over his head in a flash. The fly of his jeans gave him about three seconds of grief, so he simply yanked them off along with his shorts, leaving him naked himself. She let out a low whistle.

  "You look like a Greek statue."

  Patterson preened. It was always nice when the fans appreciated his body. He worked incredibly hard at keeping it in shape, and not just because his job demanded it. Sure, running across four planes of gravity, and leaping across the zero-grav expanses in the corners took strong quadriceps, and his deltoids and triceps had to be in top shape to pitch the weighted ball with enough force to keep it from floating off into the null zone. But this right here, was the real reason he put in two hours a day at the gym on top of his time on the practice fields.

  "You could see me better if the lights were on," he said, his throat dry with anticipation.

  "But then anyone outside could see in," she said, as she reached out and grabbed his
erection. "This is just for you and me."

  It briefly crossed his mind to suggest setting the windows to opaque, but he wasn't going to argue with her when she had him quite literally by the short and curlies. Instead, he simply knelt next to her on the bed, and gave in to the pleasure.

  Her fingers and lips roamed their way around him, setting off little shockwaves with every caress, every kiss, until he finally realized he needed to pull back, or risk ending things before they even began.

  "Whoa, there, lady," he panted. "Let's see what else we can get up to."

  "I'm game if you are," she said.

  He rolled her over and knelt between her legs. In the dim light, he could see the outline of her mound. A tiny smile curled on his lips as he realized it was the same shade of green as her hair.

  "The carpet matches the drapes," he whispered, as he reached up to squeeze her breasts.

  "You have no idea," she purred. "But you will pretty soon."

  He rolled onto his side, and she quickly pushed him all the way over, so he was on his back, and she was kneeling over him now. He usually liked to be the one who took command, but there was something about her which seemed to fog his brain, and put his body on autopilot.

  "I should ask your name," he said through the daze.

  "Pfft," she hissed. "What's in a name? A fuck by any other name would still feel as sweet."

  Her hand closed around his member as she raised her right leg and straddled him. So much for foreplay. Patterson resigned himself to the fact he'd have to keep her around for a second match. Usually he preferred to send them on their way as soon as the sweat dried, but this one might have to stay the whole night.

  As it turned out, she would be on her way within a few minutes.

  Her torso gleamed in the faint light above him, and his erection slid slowly, deliciously inside her. He breathed deeply, trying to forestall his orgasm as long as possible. In his addled state, he felt more like a teenager on his first all-the-way date, instead of the seasoned player he was.

  "Ohhh," she sighed, as her opening landed against his groin.

  He was fully engulfed now, and ready for action.

  "Just one second," she husked. "There's something I want to do first."

  His mind reeled.

  "Something else?" he croaked. "What else is there?"

  A moment later he felt a strangle tingling against his groin. It was as if a hundred tiny tongues had started to lick against the sensitive skin there, sparking microscopic lightning bolts. His heart rate suddenly doubled.

  "What are you doing?" he moaned. "This is incredible."

  If Patterson hadn't done what he did next, things would likely have turned out a lot differently. But he did, and a number of fates were sealed because of it. Curiosity managed to override the commands being sent by his crotch to his brain, and in one fateful moment, he raised his right hand, and motioned to turn on the bedroom lights.

  He looked down between her legs.

  When he saw what was there, he frowned.

  The frown turned into a look of horror.

  A moment later, he was screaming.

  One

  TWO YEARS EARLIER

  My name's Burnside, and I always get the weird ones.

  It's my own damn fault, really. You get a reputation for liking a challenge, and pretty soon everyone's bringing you one. Then one day someone says something along the lines of "Hey, I got a really bizarre mystery for you," and next thing you know, you're the go-to guy for the weird ones. Neck-deep in 'this must be aliens', 'got to be mutant', and hell, even 'this has to be ghosts', and it seems the more cases you solve, the more they drop on your desk. Especially when they turn out to be nothing of the sort, and all have mundane, if bizarre, explanations and perps.

  Looking back on it now, I'm amazed I did it for as long as I did. At the time, I suppose being an Earth Sector Police Department detective seemed like an interesting enough life. Twenty years with ESPD was enough to burn out even the most hardened cop, which is how I ended up taking my pension early.

  I put my feet up for almost six months, spending all day every day not chasing freaks and geeks. Earth no longer had any beaches, but early on I sought some out in nearby systems. I thought it was paradise.

  That was before I met Jonathon Hunter, and discovered what else the galaxy had to offer, of course. Maybe even before then, somewhere in the back of my mind, I knew there had to be more to life, and that's why I took early retirement.

  It might have been the fact I was on a reduced pension, which was enough to live on, but not live well, if you know what I mean, or maybe it was just boredom. In any case, all I know was that one day, six months into my daily routine of not going to work, I realized I was drinking a dozen beers a day. It seemed like every time I looked down at the table, I was drumming my fingertips on the surface. In short, I needed to do something different, or I'd go insane.

  Still, when my old boss, Captain Harry Flint, came calling a few weeks after that realization, I made sure to play it cool. The last thing I wanted to do was let on how desperate I was to solve another case. Turns out in my absence, the weird files had been piling up, and there was huge pressure from the top to get them cleared.

  Flint offered me carte blanche to chase the mysteries wherever they led, across jurisdictions, with an expense account and a hefty raise, on top of my pension. I jumped at the chance, of course, but in a cool, detached way. I had a reputation to maintain.

  So I left retirement behind, and went back to work. I thought it was a pretty sweet life, but again, I hadn't met Jon Hunter at that point, and for a while, it was fun. To make a long story short, I solved ten cases for ESPD, which earned me enough to bump up my pension, and my retirement lifestyle. They say you should always go out at the top of your game, and by God, that's what Dick Burnside was going to do.

  I actually got as far as walking into Flint's office, and reaching into my pocket to pull out my badge to hand it to him. But before I could do it, the sneaky bastard cut me off, and showed me the most horrifying crime scene hollo I'd ever laid eyes on, one he knew damn well I wouldn't be able to resist.

  Everything else happened as a direct result of that single meeting. In hindsight, I hate to think what might have happened if I'd just emailed my resignation instead. Back to boredom and beer, and when the world ended, I'd have just been yet another refugee. I'd like to think Flint would have been on my doorstep shortly after anyway, but as events went, missing this one would have been a waste of a career, and the incredible ride which came with meeting Jon Hunter.

  But I'm getting ahead of myself.

  Two

  "What do you see?" Flint asked.

  "I see a body on the bed. Is this really worth wasting my time over?"

  I doffed my old hat, and dropped it on his desk. The day had been wet and cold, the kind that justified my choice of attire, the trench coat and fedora which was a complete anachronism in this day and age, especially since the Earth Torus was in space above old dead Earth, and the cold and wet part occurred when the environmental systems went on the fritz. I liked the look because it was comfortable, it fitted my self-image from the centuries old detective novels I like reading, and because it always made people just a little bit nervous around me. That was an asset for a detective.

  "Look closer."

  Flint pointed to the corpse of a man, late 30s, black hair, lying on his back. The body was nude, almost greyish-white by this point. Cause of death looked to be exsanguination. He'd bled out.

  "Where's the wound?" I asked.

  At this point, I just wanted to get the hell out of there, and get on with my life.

  "Look down below."

  My gaze finally landed on the corpse's crotch, and its glaring lack of a male appendage. The penis was gone, replaced by a neat, almost surgical wound, as if neatly chopped by a guillotine.

  "Holy shit," I breathed. "That guy had a bad day. Where was it?"

  "Beijing," said Flint.
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  Beijing was a planet in the Chinese sector, a long way down the spine towards the center of the galaxy. I wondered why he was bringing this to my attention, since our beat was Earth sector, in the middle of human space.

  "One Augustine Quon," he went on, "well known businessman and philanthropist. Body was discovered about sixteen hours ago."

  "What happened to the blood?"

  "Good question."

  He might have thought so, but it wasn't good enough to keep me there. I had a second retirement waiting for me.

  "Why do I care about this?" I asked. "Weird cause of death. Big deal."

  Flint tented his fingers under his chin, and gave me an appraising look. I should have known right then, I wasn't handing in my badge any time soon.

  "You don't care about that," he said. "On its own, anyway. A weird case, to be sure, but not weird enough that we'd have to call you in on it. Especially when it's outside our jurisdiction. But you will care about this."

  He gestured, and another hollo appeared. This one was a similar scene, a large opulent bedroom, with a nude male lying on his back on the bed. This time the guy was older, with silver hair, but there was no mistaking what was going on between his legs.

  Another penis missing, and again, no blood.

  "This was on Egypt five weeks ago," said Flint. "Guy named Peter S. Williams, banker."

  I had to think for a minute where Egypt was. From memory, almost all the way down to where human space ended, where the Latin and African sectors met. Everyone knew about the area of space where nothing came back from. Egypt wasn't that far away, but it was closer to there, than here.

  I peered more closely at the hollo. Same modus operandi. Nude victim, no blood, surgical sever.

  "There's no sign of struggle on the body," I said, more to myself than Flint. "That's peculiar."

  "Why do you say that?"

  Flint knew he had me hooked, so he was stringing me along with questions to land me.

  "If someone was trying to cut off my johnson, I'd fight like a tiger," I said. "They might eventually get it off me, but they'd know they'd been in a scrap. At the very least the victims should have blood under their nails, or something to show they fought back."