A Killer’s Shadow

THOMAS FINCHAM A KILLER’S SHADOW A JO PULLINGER NOVEL A Killer’s Shadow © Thomas Fincham 2023 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED, including the right to reproduce this work or portions thereof, in any form. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. Read Thomas Fincham’s Starter Library for FREE when you sign up to my Reader’s Group. GET MY FREE BOOK Visit the author’s website: www.finchambooks.com Contact: [email protected] Jo Pullinger Series A Killer’s Heart A Killer’s Mind A Killer’s Soul FOREWORD Dear Reader, Thank you for checking out my work. FBI Agent Jo Pullinger was first introduced in Close Your Eyes (Martin Rhodes book #1). I enjoyed writing her so much that I gave her a bigger role in subsequent books in the series. Once her involvement in the story was complete, I thought I was done with her. I’d said everything I needed to say about her. That was until I went back and re-read those earlier Martin Rhodes books. I realized that Jo was a unique character. She’d been given the heart of a serial killer, which gave her a new lease on life, but at the same time, gave her the opportunity to pursue evil in the world. A Killer’s Shadow is book #4 in the series. However, you don’t need to read the earlier books to know what’s happening. I hope you enjoy reading it. Thomas Fincham PROLOGUE ONE TWO THREE FOUR FIVE SIX SEVEN EIGHT NINE TEN ELEVEN TWELVE 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 FIFTY-FOUR FIFTY-FIVE FIFTY-SIX FIFTY-SEVEN FIFTY-EIGHT FIFTY-NINE SIXTY SIXTY-ONE SIXTY-TWO SIXTY-THREE SIXTY-FOUR SIXTY-FIVE SIXTY-SIX SIXTY-SEVEN SIXTY-EIGHT SIXTY-NINE SEVENTY SEVENTY-ONE SEVENTY-TWO SEVENTY-THREE SEVENTY-FOUR SEVENTY-FIVE SEVENTY-SIX SEVENTY-SEVEN SEVENTY-EIGHT SEVENTY-NINE EIGHTY EIGHTY-ONE EIGHTY-TWO EIGHTY-THREE EIGHTY-FOUR EIGHTY-FIVE EIGHTY-SIX EIGHTY-SEVEN EIGHTY-EIGHT EIGHTY-NINE NINETY NINETY-ONE NINETY-TWO NINETY-THREE NINETY-FOUR NINETY-FIVE NINETY-SIX NINETY-SEVEN NINETY-EIGHT NINETY-NINE ONE-HUNDRED ONE-HUNDRED ONE ONE-HUNDRED TWO ONE-HUNDRED THREE ONE-HUNDRED FOUR ONE-HUNDRED FIVE EPILOGUE PROLOGUE The man felt like a true predator as he moved through the night. All his senses were fired up. Nothing could escape his sight. His hearing was sharp. The shadows were his home, and he was in control of everything. His taut muscles rippled as he sprinted along the path. He then moved at a half-crouch. Every part of his body was tense. Not because he was afraid but because he wanted to be ready. A police car was parked outside a gas station up ahead. The lights were bright, but they didn’t extend to where the man waited. He squatted in the shadows and watched as the policeman stepped out of the gas station, clutching a heap of salty snacks to his huge chest. “You’re no threat to me,” the man muttered. He waited until the cop turned away. He then rushed across the street. There was an alleyway that led to the next block. He jogged through it. Plastic bags and soggy cardboard stuck to his shoes, but he kicked them away. A homeless man lying beside a dumpster stirred, raising his head and calling out, “Who’s there?” The man went on running without a glance. There was a sinister purpose to his plan. A wonderful mission that only he could achieve. His name was Graff. At least, that was what he called himself, but only because others had called him that before. As he exited the alley, Graff caught a whiff of cigarette smoke. A woman was leaning against the brick wall of an all-night laundromat. She was dressed in pajama bottoms and a ratty, stained sweater. Clearly, she was here because she had run out of good, clean clothes to wear. Graff took in everything. Even the little things that didn’t matter. It was how he made sure nothing snuck up on him. “Nice night for a run, huh?” the woman said, eyeing him up. Graff knew that he was handsome. It was a tool to be used like any other in his arsenal, including the ones that were bouncing around inside his duffel bag. He ran past the woman and crossed the street. She was still watching, so Graff was forced to go around the block. He approached the barbed wire fence from the other side, seething with anger. It was a deviation from his plan that he had not expected. Nothing made him angrier than when his vision of reality was screwed up by someone else. The coast was clear on this side of the depot yard. Graff paused next to a derelict outbuilding. He grabbed the ski mask from his bag and slid it over his face. He then grabbed the bolt cutters and approached the fence, making a few quick cuts and pulling away a circle of chain links. After making a big enough hole to fit through, Graff squeezed his slim, athletic body into the yard and stood up. Floodlights spilled across the gravelly ground. The lights overlapped, leaving only thin shreds of darkness here and there. Graff stuck to them as much as possible as he made his way along the path. Parked in rows in the yard were school buses. They had numbers on them, but Graff paid them no mind. He came out on the other side of the fleet of buses and looked ahead. There was a small building in the distance, with light spilling from its windows. Through one of those windows, Graff spotted the night watchman. Graff turned and headed back toward the buses, making sure his feet skidded loudly in the gravel. *** It was another boring night. Lonnie thought that parents across Seattle were glad that no one messed with the school buses because they didn’t want their kids to miss school.