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  A THIN LINE

  A novel by David Boiani

  Copyright © 2017 by David Boiani

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the author, addressed “Attention: Permissions,” at the email address below.

  [email protected]

  For more information on this author, please visit:

  www.authordavidboiani.com

  Ordering Information:

  Quantity sales. Special discounts are available on quantity purchases by retailers, corporations, associations, and others. For details, contact the author at the email address above.

  Independent orders by U.S. and overseas trade bookstores and online retailers will not be offered discounts.

  For Gianna…

  Acknowledgements

  This book was born years ago from a single idea. Once I put that first sentence on paper it started to evolve into what you are now holding in your hands. Thanks to all my beta readers. Thanks to Michael, Ro, Amy, Brenda and Gina for all your help and advice. Also a special thanks to the best daughter in the world…Gianna and everyone who reads A THIN LINE. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

  Special Offer!

  Sign up for my newsletter and receive a complimentary link to "Faith," a story from my new book, Dark Musings! Free: just click on the link below…

  FAITH

  Excerpt~

  I am a God-fearing man of the cloth, who has lived a tranquil, mundane life. That all was altered the day Avery Banister walked into my church. Our short conversations and relationship changed me forever.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Chapter Fifty

  Chapter Fifty-One

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  Chapter Fifty-Six

  Chapter Fifty-Seven

  Chapter Fifty-Eight

  Chapter Fifty-Nine

  Chapter Sixty

  Chapter Sixty-One

  Chapter Sixty-Two

  Chapter Sixty-Three

  Chapter Sixty-Four

  Chapter Sixty-Five

  Chapter Sixty-Six

  Chapter Sixty-Seven

  Chapter Sixty-Eight

  Chapter Sixty-Nine

  Chapter Seventy

  Chapter Seventy-One

  Chapter Seventy-Two

  Chapter Seventy-Three

  Chapter Seventy-Four

  Chapter Seventy-Five

  Chapter Seventy-Six

  Chapter Seventy-Seven

  Chapter Seventy-Eight

  Chapter Seventy-Nine

  Chapter Eighty

  Chapter Eighty-One

  Chapter Eighty-Two

  Chapter Eighty-Three

  Chapter Eighty-Four

  Chapter Eighty-Five

  Chapter Eighty-Six

  Chapter Eighty-Seven

  Chapter Eighty-Eight

  Chapter Eighty-Nine

  Chapter Ninety

  Chapter Ninety-One

  Chapter Ninety-Two

  Chapter Ninety -Three

  Chapter Ninety -Four

  Chapter Ninety -Five

  Chapter Ninety -Six

  Chapter Ninety -Seven

  Chapter Ninety -Eight

  Chapter Ninety-Nine

  Chapter One Hundred

  Chapter One Hundred-One

  Chapter One Hundred-Two

  Chapter One Hundred-Three

  Chapter One Hundred-Four

  Chapter One Hundred-Five

  Chapter One Hundred-Six

  About the Author

  Also From This Author

  Special Offer

  CHAPTER ONE

  The Seattle sky was grey and dark, the air damp and cool with a piercing, driving mist. As John Corbin approached the front door of 36 Chestnut Hill Drive, he wondered if his wife Julie was right in wanting to move the family south, down the coast to San Diego. It is almost impossible to adapt to this dreary weather, he thought as he pushed the door open to enter what was sure to be another in a long line of gruesome sights. The pungent smell of a corpse hit him in the face as he walked in. To John, the smell of decaying human flesh reminded him of the sickeningly sweet scent of rotting beef combined with the tangy aroma of decaying fruit: a sweet yet tart, heavy odor, which somehow doesn’t smell natural to the human nose. A scent which seeps into the fibers of his hair and clothes then comes out when he sits down to eat lunch and makes him so nauseous that he is unable to take even one bite. So goes the inconvenience of the business we are in, he has reasoned often.

  He met Todd McGrath, his partner, in the foyer. "What have we got, Todd?"

  "It's bad. Corpse, male, thirtyish, mutilation. The forensic investigator states that rigor mortis is setting in.”

  “Do we have an identity?"

  "Not yet, working on it," Todd replied. An officer walked up with a wallet in a plastic bag.

  "His name is Robert Jacobs, owns the house. Divorced, age 37, he has two children who live with their mother."

  "Okay, let’s take a look at the body."

  "Follow me," Todd said. They walked into the dining room. The corpse of Robert Jacobs sat propped in a chair at the head of the table. Blood had run down his face from his eye sockets. Blisters that had formed over red blemishes covered the nude body.

  “Looks like burns. I think he was tortured,” Todd said.

  Blood pooled at the crotch, which had dripped onto the floor. Where the testicles should have been, there was a gruesome mix of chunks of flesh, torn skin, and dried blood. The mouth was stuffed full with a mass of flesh, blood, and pus, which had trickled down
his face from a punctured blister. He could make out a collapsed eyeball and what looked like a tightly woven ball of angel hair pasta that he was sure was one of the extracted testicles from the scrotum sack, inserted violently into the victim's mouth. John got up and walked into the kitchen where Todd was conversing with two uniformed officers." Any prints or hair?" John asked.

  "Nothing yet," Todd said.

  "Okay let’s get forensics to sweep the place and have the body taken to the morgue,” John said. The partners moved into the kitchen to continue their investigation. John started a normal conversation to lighten the mood. “How was your date last night?”

  “I can’t seem to figure her out, John. I really like her, I think that she likes me, but through two dates we haven’t touched.”

  “Find her key, Todd”

  “Pardon?”

  “Her key.” John dropped some papers he had been inspecting on the kitchen counter and said, “Every woman is a special, individual entity. Each requires a different technique to unlock her mind, body, and heart. You, as a man, need to figure out how.”

  “Just how the hell do I do that? I don’t even know if she’s into me,” Todd said while inspecting and bagging dirty dishes that were left in the sink.

  “She likes you or she wouldn’t be dating you. Have confidence my friend. Analyze her like you would a crime scene: extract everything about her that you know. Think about what she expects, what she is used to and do the opposite. Women do not like to be bored. Keeping them off balance and surprising them can be exciting, even magical, in a very primal sort of way. What is she like?”

  As the men moved into the bedroom to continue searching for evidence Todd said, “She’s a family girl, good upbringing. Dresses conservatively, with an underlying touch of sexiness.”

  “What are her name and occupation?”

  “Jacqueline Nash, she is a forensic analyst. I met her on the job.”

  "Alright. My guess is that she has quite a bit of raw passion

  hidden behind her conservative, structured, outer shell. She is probably used to cold analysis and an organized, antiseptic lifestyle. You need to show her something different. Open up to her. Introduce her to your warmth and emotion. Break through her external shell. Show her a world of adventure and passion. Make her feel alive. I think that she will be overwhelmed with intrigue and expectation. Take her away for a weekend to a bed and breakfast in the mountains. Go zip lining. Explore nature. Go dancing at night. Show her that you are not afraid to take chances. Lead her to experiences she would never expect. She is ready to break out of her shell and you, my friend, are just the man to break her out."

  Todd, grasping and digesting the conversation, said, “You know, that is exactly what I am going to do.”

  “Good luck,” John said.

  As the partners walked out into the fresh Seattle air, officers passed them carrying the bagged corpse. Todd looked John in the eyes and said, "John, this one is as gruesome as I’ve ever seen."

  John then made his way to his truck thinking about the expression he had seen in Todd’s eyes. As he put the key in the ignition, it came to him...the look in Todd’s eyes was fear.

  CHAPTER TWO

  He awoke in that tranquil, peaceful zone between consciousness and slumber that comes in abundance when we are children, but seems to occur increasingly less as we age. He woke alone, as was usually the case on his off days since his wife, Julie leaves for the hospital at five a.m. John stopped in the bathroom, splashed cold water on his face and proceeded to relieve himself from the build-up of urine that seven hours of uninterrupted sleep seems to create. Before heading downstairs, he glanced in the mirror. Though the years had started to show slightly, John was still a handsome man. His youthful, baby face looked back at him as he ran his fingers through his disheveled light brown hair, forcing it straight back. His immense dimples flashed through the two-day build up of stubble, creating quite a contrast. He then made his way downstairs to the kitchen while bellowing, "Gianna, Ryann," to wake his children.

  Ten minutes later, an eight-year-old girl with creamy smooth skin, a head of shiny brown hair and deep brown eyes that resembled Belgian chocolate, came rumbling down the stairs. Soon after, a six-year-old boy jumped down two stairs at a time, tumbling at the bottom in a heap, laughing all the way. Little bundles of energy. John wondered where that pure, uninterrupted exuberance of youth goes later in life. When young, all people think about is the current moment and the adventure it may bring. As we age and our lives become hindered and complicated by layers of shit, all we ponder is our next responsibility to be taken care of. Replace enough adventure with responsibility and our lives become stagnant, even boring. Life resembles a roller coaster ride. The early years seem to last forever as the coaster takes that long crawl up the continuous, unceasing hill. Once past the pinnacle, it seems to pick up speed effortlessly, each year fleeting by twice as fast as the last, careening toward the end of the ride and unavoidable death. There are minor curves and hills along the way, but nothing compares to that first, long, steep hill that is youth.

  As John flipped the pancakes onto plates, he caught the bright, sparkling, expectant eyes of his offspring, which brought a rare smile to his lips. "Enjoy. Milk or OJ?"

  "Dad, you know it’s always milk with pancakes."

  "You are right, milk it is, always with pancakes." Thirty minutes later, as John walked his children to the school bus stop, he received a text message from Todd:

  Call when you can. I have some new info on our deceased.

  After kissing his children and seeing them safely on the bus, John dialed Todd McGrath’s number. "What’s up?" he asked when Todd picked up.

  "I talked to Jacob’s ex-wife. Evidently, there was an excellent reason why she filed for divorce. She claims Mr. Jacobs was a pedophile. Even worse, she claims he raped his own children."

  CHAPTER THREE

  Silas Alvah sat nude in an empty room in the back of his house, where he usually went for his spiritual cleansing. He dug the tip of the knife into his testicle, not enough to rupture it, but more than enough to draw blood. He yearned for the pain. It was the only feeling or emotion that he could relate to. Pain was a faithful friend. Pain was always present, lurking just under the surface. To the world, Silas would be considered a monster. To himself, Silas was a shepherd. He felt he was setting his victims’ souls free. Free from the minutiae of everyday life. Free from the boredom of monotonous, minor everyday problems that people stress over. Silas enjoyed feeling a soul leave the body and travel straight through him into the sky, dissolving into a million particles and finally into the atmosphere to be rained down onto the Earth once again, maybe next time as a tree, or a fly, something better than the horrible life that humans must live. As Silas wiped up the blood on his fingertip and brought it to his mouth to drink it down, he had that deep instinctual feeling that it was time. Time for the hunt. Time to send the blind sheep home.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Todd downloaded the case file as the partners were on the way to another crime scene. He read aloud: “James Corell, 48, single, never married, no children. Occupation: librarian, modest earnings. No siblings, parents both deceased."

  As they pulled up to 76 Franklin Street, the sun started to peer out from behind the thinning clouds. The house was a small ranch, dreary, in need of some maintenance. The white paint was peeling in spots and the shrubs were overgrown and shabby. While walking up to the door, a uniformed officer said, "He's in the bedroom. We haven't searched or touched the premises, pure as a virgin’s hole for you."

  “Thank you, we will take over from here," John said.

  Entering the dreary abode, he noticed Todd pause for just an instant and take a deep breath before continuing into the house. The living room was fairly empty. It contained an old black leather couch and an aged television on a simple stand. The white ceiling was defiled with a few dark, old water stains and the green carpet was old and
ragged. There was a repulsive combination of odors: rot, mildew, sweat, and semen. An officer handed them both odor blocking masks. "You might want to put these on before you enter the bedroom. We think he has been here like this for over a week. We received welfare calls from the mailman and a concerned neighbor.”

  Masks positioned, they entered the hallway and slowly opened the door on the left leading into the bedroom. Both men paused in the doorway to take in the surroundings. On the bed lay the corpse of a middle-aged man. The smell, although filtered by the masks, was pungent and staggering. Around the bed, three walls of the room were encased in bookcases, from floor to ceiling. In the middle of the room was a severed penis, strung with a cord through the base, head pointing down, hanging from the ceiling. Blood had pooled at the groin and under the head of the body, which was face down on the bed. Grey matter spilled onto either side of the pillow as the back of the skull was gone. "Trauma to the back of the head, bat or club of some sort," Todd said.

  "Call in forensics for a sweep. Bag and tag the body," John said. As John took one last look around the room, his mind focused on the books and all of the dates, places, people, and stories that they contained. Glancing at the body, specifically the head and pieces of brain and skull spilling out, he thought: That brain and skull at one time contained all of that information now gone. Gone forever. Such is death. After quickly glancing over the kitchen and finding nothing of interest, they headed down the stairs, leading to the basement. At the bottom, Todd hesitated. "My God," he blurted. Ahead of them was what looked like a slaughterhouse. Butcher’s tools of every kind were hung on the back wall. Knives, axes, bone saws and cleavers of every shape and size displayed in an orderly fashion like surgical tools above a workbench covered with dark stains. Behind the stairs was a door leading to what looked like a small, separate room. John walked over to the door and slowly opened it. The room was dark so John quickly ran his flashlight over the area. To the left of the doorway, he saw a floor lamp which he turned on. There was what looked to be a clothesline running from one end of the room to the other. Fans were lined up and down the room. As Todd looked at what was hanging from the line he made a small gagging noise. "What...? Are they...vaginas?"