CHAPTER ONE

Lindsey Dyson ran her long slender fingers through her shoulder length silky brunette hair and sighed with frustration. The hustle and bustle of the newspaper office that day was driving her insane. Concentration was hard enough when she was working on a story that didn't have any leads but it was almost impossible with all the commotion that was going on around her.

Lindsey leaned back in her swivel chair and folded her hands in her lap, allowing her mind to whirl back to when it had all began two days before. She had been sitting at her desk just as she was at that moment in between stories, bored out of her mind and wishing some great catastrophe would happen in the city of Midland to give her something exciting to work on when the phone rang. An anonymous tip from a muffled male caller that a murder had been committed on the East Side of town. The only information the caller had given was the location of the crime and then he had immediately hung up before Lindsey could ask any questions.

Lindsey had hung up the phone and sat momentarily stunned and totally baffled. She hadn't heard anything about a murder on the East Side. She had glanced at the door to the Editor's private office across the newsroom. Oliver hadn't been rushing out in a frenzy to send her to cover the story. Something was extremely strange.

The East Side was notorious for shootings and various other crimes. The majority of the murders that happened in Midland occurred on the East Side. It was so notorious that crimes in that area were often considered to be of no meaning by the general public. But never the less, the Midland Press still usually covered every murder story that arose and Lindsey, being the editor's star reporter, was almost always the chosen reporter for the job.
Finally Lindsey had decided the call must have been a hoax. But as the thought continued to eat at her insides she had come to the conclusion that, hoax or not, she should at least check it out. After all, it had been a while since she had covered a good murder story.

Lindsey had informed her boss of the anonymous tip and rushed off to the East Side of town where the murder had supposedly taken place. Her partner, Roger Pitman, who had been sent by Oliver to protect her in the rough part of town, had followed her.

When Lindsey and Roger arrived at the address of a run down apartment building given to Lindsey by the anonymous caller they found the door to the shabby number sixty-four apartment ajar. For her protection in case the culprit was still inside, Roger had held Lindsey back as he proceeded into the apartment. Of course, Lindsey hadn't allowed him to go in alone. It was her story and walking on the wild side had always been her forte, never allowing fear to get in her way.

At first it had appeared that Lindsey's suspicions of the call being a hoax were correct. There seemed to have been no signs of foul play other than the front door that had been left open. That she had observed during their search for the correct apartment was not unusual for the apartment building. Nearly every door they had passed had been open at least a few inches.

The stale smell of cigarette smoke lingered in the air as Lindsey and Roger slowly made their way through the musty cluttered rooms of the small apartment. Rotten food and dirty dishes covered the counters of the matchbox kitchen and papers, take-out boxes clothes were dispersed all over the torn discolored furniture of the living room.

Just when Lindsey became certain that her suspicions had been correct she had spotted a bloody hand sticking out from under the covers on the unmade full size bed in the tiny bedroom. She and Roger had exchanged alarmed glances and Roger had jerked back the yellow and red stained bedspread to reveal a female corpse. It had appeared the woman had been shot twice in the chest probably while she was sleeping. Instantaneously Lindsey had dug in her purse, retrieved her cellular phone and called her father, the Sargent of the Midland Police Department.

While awaiting the arrival of the police, Roger had begun searching the disorderly bedroom for any clues. Lindsey had crept closer to the body and it was only then that she realized she knew the woman lying dead on the bed. She looked much older than she had the last time Lindsey had seen her. The years had obviously not been good to her. But there was no doubt in Lindsey's mind that the pale strawberry red head was Cassandra Thorton. The same Cassandra Thorton that Lindsey had been friends with years before in high school.
Minutes later Lindsey's father had arrived with the rest of the police force and sealed off the area. It had been two days since the murder of Cassandra Thorton and the police still had no leads what so ever. She had been shot twice in the chest with a forty-five automatic in the middle of the day. Of course none of her neighbors had heard or seen anything. Not uncommon for that part of town.

The murder story was driving Lindsey absolutely nuts! She'd had no idea that her old high school friend even lived in Midland. Guilt preyed on her because she hadn't kept in touch with Cassandra. They had gone to school together in Clarksville two hundred miles away and the last time they had spoken to one another was just days after graduation.

But the question that continued to nag at her was why would someone want to kill her old high school friend? In high school Cassandra had been one of the nicest girls Lindsey knew. Everyone had loved her. Lindsey had never known Cassandra to have an enemy. Obviously life hadn't treated her so well since graduation judging from where and how she had lived but that was no reason for someone to murder her! And an even bigger question was why would someone call Lindsey anonymously and inform her of the murder and not contact the police?

The shrilling sound of the ringing phone brought Lindsey out of her reverie. Shuffling through stacks of papers that cluttered her desktop she uncovered the phone and raised the receiver to her ear. "Lindsey Dyson here," she said in a confined tone.

"There's been another murder. 5631 Seamont Lane," a muffled voice informed. The line went dead.

Lindsey sat holding the dead receiver in shock. Another murder, another anonymous call. What was going on? Neither time had she had the chance to ask who the caller was or why they were calling her. Not that she believed the caller would have told her anyway. There was no doubt about it, it had to be the murderer himself that was keeping her informed. But why get her involved? Did he know that she had been friends with Cassandra in high school? Had another one of her friends that she didn't know lived in the city been murdered?
Just as she had done two days before, Lindsey leaped from her desk and bolted to Oliver's office. This time not taking the time to speculate or wonder if the call was for real or not.

"I just got another call," she informed, storming into the editor's office unannounced. "There's been another murder. This time on the West Side. I'm going to check it out." Without waiting for a response, she spun on her heels and ran out of the office.

"Take Roger with you," Oliver ordered, calling after her.

Lindsey didn't stop to wait for her tall lanky partner but she could hear his feet slamming on the tile floor behind her as she dashed through the newsroom to the elevator. This time Lindsey called her father before she and Roger reached the scene of the crime. The thought of the call merely being a hoax never crossed her mind as it had before. The last call had been right on the money and she was certain that this one would be as well.
Unlike the murder of Cassandra, the caller had informed that this one had taken place on the opposite side of town-the nicest ritziest part of Midland. Lindsey and Roger arrived at the split-level house that bared the address the caller had given her just seconds before her father and three other squad cars. The police quickly secured the crime scene and then allowed Lindsey and Roger to enter. The wonderful thing about having a Sargent for a father. Lindsey was able to get in most anywhere and get the scoop before any other reporter.

The appearance of the scene was much like the one Lindsey and Roger had walked into two days before. Nothing seemed to be touched. Unlike Cassandra's apartment, the split-level house was spotlessly clean and in order. There didn't seem to be any sign of foul play until the body of a man was found, his throat slit, in the up stairs bathroom. The man was stark naked and had appeared to have just gotten out of the shower when the perpetrator attacked from behind, slashing the man's throat from ear to ear. There was no sign of a struggle leaving Lindsey to believe that the man had been caught totally off guard.

It wasn't until Lindsey got a closer look at the body that she suddenly realized she did know the new victim too. Her skin turning as white as a ghost, she bolted from the bathroom holding her hand over her mouth to suppress the sudden urge to vomit. She had been on numerous murder scenes and laid eyes on lots of dead bodies in her days as an investigative reporter but never before had one effected her so badly. It wasn't the sight of all the blood pooled on the black and white checkered tile bathroom floor, it was the fact that another old friend was laying before her dead. The last time she had laid eyes on the man he was eighteen and graduating high school. She had never dreamed the next time she would see him he would be sprawled out naked on a floor with his throat slit!

"Lindsey, honey are you all right?" her father, Anthony Webster, called, running down the hallway after her followed close at his heels by Roger Pitman. "Are you going to be sick?"

Lindsey stopped running and flung herself against the sheet rock wall in the hallway. "I know that guy dad," she shrilled, feeling a lump of tears beginning to form in her throat. "Or at least I did."

"You knew him," the Sargent repeated in shock. He wrapped a consoling arm around his daughter's slim shoulders and drew her toward his chest. "Who was he honey?"

"Do you remember Troy Blanchard? We use to hang out in high school together," Lindsey sniffled. "I went to school with him just like I did with the woman that was murdered the other day. I had no idea the three of us had all ended up in the same city. We haven't spoken in years and now they're both dead. Dad, what is going on?"

"I don't know sweetheart. It's probably just some weird horrible coincidence," her father whispered. Turning to Roger he ordered, "Get her out of here."

As much as Lindsey wanted to remain at the crime scene and pick up on as much evidence as possible she reluctantly allowed herself to be guided out of the house by her partner. The instant she and Roger stepped out of the door of the house they were swarmed by other reporters from other newspapers and television stations sticking microphones in their faces and yelling random questions simultaneously.

"You people can't actually believe that we would tell our competitors what we know before we even have the chance to print it," Roger scowled as they pushed their way through the crowd to their car parked on the front lawn.

"Oh come on, that's unfair," one reporter yelled.

"Who ever said the news business was fair?" Roger shrugged before slamming the driver's door of the car.
The silence in the car on the way back to the newspaper office was so thick it could've been cut with a knife. Roger drove not taking his eyes off the road in front of him not knowing what to say. Lindsey was speechless as well. Her mind whirled with confusion and a zillion unanswered questions. She breathed deeply, sucking in as much of the cool air conditioning as possible hoping it would dissolve the nausea feeling that still remained.

By the time she and Roger returned to the office of the Midland Press, Lindsey was more disturbed than she had ever felt in her life. She became so lost in her own little world that she didn't even see Oliver bolting across the office the moment she and Roger stepped off the elevator.

"Was the tip for real?" Oliver interrogated, stopping directly in front of Lindsey in the middle of the newsroom.
Lindsey simply nodded absentmindedly. She stepped around the editor and proceeded to her desk. "A man," she finally explained. "He was found stark naked sprawled out in the bathroom floor of his two story home with his throat slit from ear to ear," she said softly, feeling her throat clog with a lump of tears as she sat down at her desk. Without thinking her fingers began to fly across the keyboard of her Stone Age computer. Within minutes, statistics of Troy Blanchard's life illuminated the computer screen.

"Lindsey, is there some problem?" Oliver questioned with a concerned expression. "You look bothered. Like this murder has effected you personally in some way."

"I knew the guy Ollie," Lindsey replied as she scanned the computer screen with her sapphire eyes. She often called her boss by the nickname she had given him right after she started working for him a few years before. And usually observing the irritated look that came to his goofy face when she called him Ollie made her giggle inside. But at that moment she had more important things on her mind.

"You knew the victim!" Oliver repeated in surprise, placing his hands on Lindsey's desktop. "Who was he?"

"Troy Blanchard. We went to high school together." Lindsey propped her elbows on the desktop and glared off into the distance. "There's nothing to connect them at all," she whispered in a spacey tone. "They probably hadn't spoken to one another since high school either."

"What? Who? You lost me Lindsey," Oliver shook his head in confusion.

"Cassandra Thorton and Troy Blanchard. There is nothing in their past since high school to connect them in any way," Lindsey elaborated holding her forehead with one hand.

"Isn't Cassandra Thorton the woman who was shot in her apartment two days ago? You think the two murders are connected in some way?" Oliver quizzed skeptically. "How could the two be related? The woman was shot in her apartment in, what I must say, the worst part of town where unexplainable murders happen by the hundreds. The man, obviously much classier and richer, was found with his throat cut in his home two days later completely across town."

"But how do you explain the phone calls? And how do you explain both victim's connection to me?" Lindsey interrogated, glaring at Oliver in his deep brown eyes concealed by his coke-bottle glasses. "Ollie, I didn't tell you this before but I knew the woman who was murdered too. She was an old high school friend just like the man was that was killed today. None of us had spoken since graduation but I just can't get over the feeling that somehow the murders are connected. The anonymous tips, obviously from the murderer himself, right after both murders took place. And why call me? There must be a hundred investigative reporters in this town. I'm sorry, it's just to weird for the two murders and the phone calls to be a coincidence."

Oliver scratched his gray beard thoughtfully. "Ok, I see the possible connection now," he admitted. An alarmed expression suddenly consumed his pale wrinkled face. "But Lindsey, if you're right about this I think you should watch your back. Whoever this person is that murdered your friends knows who and where you are," he warned. "Until this guy is caught I don't want you making a move at this paper without Roger at your side and I think you should make sure you are never alone at you house too."

"I'll be fine Ollie," Lindsey attempted to assure him, keeping her rough tough exterior attitude. "Thanks for your concern but you don't have to worry about me," she said boldly. But in the back of her mind the thought that someone could be after her made her tremble inside. Could she really be next? Whoever had killed her old high school friends was definitely sharp and professional. The perpetrator had succeeded in successfully entering two different houses and committing two murders without leaving a single trace or thread of evidence except for the anonymous phone calls to Lindsey. Who was to say that he couldn't enter her apartment and kill her the same way?