The Fear of Winter: A Kidnapping Crime Thriller: Book One by S. C. Sterling - Music Playlist!

 Tom hung on every word, like he was reading the final chapter of a suspense novel. “Did you see her after that?”

Barely audible Kevin sang the second verse of “Good Vibrations” by The Beach Boys while drumming along on the steering wheel. His eyes remained focused on the flashing lights in the rearview mirror. After a few minutes, the door to the Colorado State Patrol car opened, and the trooper started approaching his vehicle. Kevin ejected the cassette, then rolled down the window. Leaning back, he waited patiently. The trooper shined a flashlight in Kevin’s face for a couple seconds, then aimed it at the passenger seat, then the backseat, then back to Kevin. “Where are you heading?” “Home. I just got off work,” Kevin said. “Where’s home?” “Off Highway 9 south of Kremmling.” “Have you had anything to drink tonight?” “No sir, I never touch the stuff.” “Good for you. Can I get your license, insurance, and registration?” “Yes sir.” Kevin removed his license from his wallet, then rummaged through documents and maps in the glovebox until he found his insurance and registration. He handed them to the trooper. “Please sit tight for a few minutes.” Kevin watched the man walk back to his patrol car in the rearview mirror. “You are doing so good,” Kevin whispered. “And if you stay quiet, I won’t make this any worse than it has to be.” He started humming the melody of “Good Vibrations”, watching cars drive by, oblivious to the situation. Ten minutes later, the officer returned. “Do you know why I pulled you over?” “I don’t.” “Your passenger-side taillight is out.” “Really? I had no idea,” Kevin said, turning back to look. “I’m going to let you off with a warning tonight, but if I see you again and that light isn’t fixed, I’ll have to issue you a ticket.” “Thank you very much, and I’ll get it fixed first thing tomorrow.” “Have a good night and drive safe,” the trooper said as he walked away. “You as well. God bless.” Kevin rolled up the window and watched the patrol car drive toward the horizon and out of sight. When he was confident it was gone, he stepped out of the car and made his way back to the trunk. He delicately slid his hand across the metal. “You were so good,” Kevin whispered. He slid the key into the lock and turned it. The trunk popped open, and he stared down at the girl, who lay motionless on the carpet. Terror was seared into her eyes. Her hands and feet were bound with zip ties, and her mouth was covered with duct tape. Kevin put his hand on hers, and she squirmed. “Nothing to worry about, sweetie, it’s only me,” he said while caressing her soft hair. The girl tried to yell, but it was muffled. Her eyes were bulging. “I’m sorry, sweetie, but it’s just me and you. No one can help you now. No one.” Kevin leaned into the trunk and hovered over her. “I promise you, this will all be over soon.” He slammed the trunk, got back in the car, put it in drive, and pulled onto Highway 40. 

Kevin Strand was Colorado’s second most notorious serial killer only behind Ted Bundy. Six confirmed victims, and some speculated the number could have been closer to twelve or fifteen. All the victims were abducted in Grand County, mutilated, burned in a steel drum, then scattered on his four-acre property outside of Kremmling. Almost two dozen forensic scientists and members of the Colorado Bureau of Investigation had spent ten days searching the property, and the largest human remains they found was the left foot of his first victim, Diane Moore...

Hannah hung up the phone, then walked over to the four-foot-tall, five-shelf CD rack. The rack held 230 CDs, all sorted in alphabetical order, with overflow stacked about ten high on the floor on either side of the rack. Most of the albums were alternative, grunge, and rock—Radiohead, Nirvana, Smashing Pumpkins, Beastie Boys, Pixies, Nine Inch Nails, Jawbreaker. There was some classic rock as well: Pink Floyd, The Rolling Stones, David Bowie, and The Clash. She hated the silence, so music was always playing or the TV was always on. Background noise was a tool to help control her thoughts. Being alone in her head was a scary place. Running her finger down the CD case spines, she searched for the evening soundtrack. She stopped in the middle of the fourth shelf and removed a case—Siamese Dream by The Smashing Pumpkins. She slid the CD into the Discman, closed the lid, and pressed play. The disc began to spin, then after a few seconds of silence, a quick snare roll signified the start of “Cherub Rock.” The snare was followed by a clean guitar, then bass quarter notes, and finally the distorted guitars. It gave her chills every time. Hannah smiled—her favorite song on her current favorite album. Favorite albums usually only lasted a week or two, and on the rare occasion only a couple of days. Last week it was In Utero by Nirvana, and before that it was Pink Floyd, Wish You Were Here, Oasis, (What’s the Story) Morning Glory?, and Guns N’ Roses, Appetite for Destruction, with The Bends by Radiohead making an appearance almost quarterly. Hannah could lie in the middle of the floor and listen to “High and Dry” or “Fake Plastic Trees” on repeat for hours. That was her sanctuary. For some people, music could be life-changing; for Hannah, it was lifesaving. At certain times in her life, music had been her only friend, and she felt closer to a musician she’d never met than someone she’d talked to hundreds of times. That was by choice, though. For Hannah, it was easier to push people away than get close to someone. She grabbed her coat, slipped the Discman into her purse, and stepped out of her apartment. After slamming the door, she walked five steps, then suddenly stopped. Turning around, she stared at the doorknob. She knew she’d locked it, but the longer she stared, the more uncertain she became. Hannah hated this feeling, but as the thoughts became routine, she became accustomed to them and accepted them. Finally, after twenty seconds, she walked over to the door and placed her hand on the doorknob. The door was locked, but she turned it three more times, silently counting with each turn...

Note: This book is full of music info...Hannah is my favorite character, but she has such a collection that I couldn't see how to share it, othr than to provide this excerpt for those of you who enjoy checking out all music in books... I'll be using songs specifically listed in the book hereafter...

~~~~

Hannah has the background that has brought her into criminal investigations... Her sister had died in her teens, devastating the family. Hannah had only been 15 and this loss was something that she never could get over... She found music filled her mind to pull her away from memories...

There had been a serial killer who targeted young girls... But he was now in jail. But another girl had been taken. Depending on the timing of the death, once she had been found, the police had chosen to look to him first.

“I’m used to it. It’s part of growing old. Either you die, or you live long enough to become a burden to everyone around you. I just wish for one more Christmas with my grandchildren before I go.”

It was in the midst of winter that a young girl had been taken. She had never been found, but had never really turned into a cold case. That was because she was the daughter of the local police chief, Tom... Who had been waiting, among other activities, to try to get permission to talk to Kevin Strand, which was slow in coming... His life had been disrupted since her being taken, with no clues... But he was out doing some shopping in the cold and noticed a young girl watching him...

Meeting her and finding out that she had known Megan and had even known what had happened with his daughter, had brought him new hope. His wife had given up and had no desire to continue searching, knowing that she must be dead. But Tom wanted proof, even if it was her body. He could at least bury her and be able learn how to move forward...

But there was no interest in reopening her case. Tom decided he would hire a Private Investigator to use his new-found information and hopefully discover more... And that's when the investigative action started!

Marshall York had been around for a long time and he soon was using his expertise to crack key evidence that had not been discovered. He'd found a young girl by decoding a code that was used by teens at that time. Jennifer was found through this process and when she got past being scared for having been found, she started talking... Megan had been dealing drugs! Now they had to find out why, for whom, and where she got the drugs... Tom had learned that his daughter had been an occasional user, but this was so much more and may have led to her death! She gave him the first name of the dealer--supposedly the biggest in town!

York had taken on Hannah as an apprentice and found she was a natural investigator. She was soon following up on all that Marshall was piecing together. She preferred to work alone, but soon was discovering herself in tight situations... They were learning that dangerous people were involved in what had happened to Megan...

“A chance at salvation. Every time I solve a missing person case that’s collecting dust in some department basement, I feel a little closer to being normal.”--York

And Hannah had gained a site location which she promptly went to investigate... Apparently it was a location behind a store front for car stereos so she went on a trip to possibly buy one--and met the owner of the store which was much easier than expected... But how would she finagle her way into the back?!

She decided to wait around to check the place out and sat listening to High and Dry over and over until she decided what to do... In the meantime Marshall was at another location and recognized that "Master of Puppets" was playing in the back... 

But he had got talking with the guy behind the counter and got too involved, sharing too much information, because as soon as he left, that clerk made a call...to...Nathan... We lose York before the end of the book...

He can’t be dead. He can’t be. Hannah dashed into the Emergency Room lobby and went directly to the check-in desk. She tapped her fingers on the counter. The nurse looked up from a computer screen, glasses on the edge of her nose. “I received a call that Marshall York was transported here. Can you tell me if he’s out of surgery?” The nurse stared at Hannah for a moment, then started typing. “May I ask your name and relationship to Mr. York?” “I’m Hannah York, and he’s my stepdad,” Hannah said without hesitation, knowing they’d only provide information to immediate family. “My mother is a complete mess. I need to know how he’s doing so I can give her some sort of reassurance.” The nurse studied Hannah. Then she pushed the glasses to the bridge of her nose and looked down at the computer screen. “What was the name again?” “Marshall York,” she said louder. The nurse started typing, moving the mouse and making the occasional click. Hannah leaned in, trying to view the screen. “I’m going to page Doctor Coleman to come talk to you. Could you please take a seat in the waiting room?” the nurse said. “Just tell me what room he’s in. I need to see him now.” Hannah felt an emptiness in her stomach, a kind she hadn’t felt since the morning she learned that her sister was murdered. She knew Marshall was dead—all that was left was the confirmation. She swallowed hard, but it felt like there was a blockage in her throat. Looking up at the fluorescent lights, she focused on one that was flickering. The siren of an ambulance from the parking lot echoed throughout the lobby. “Ma’am, if you can please have a seat and Doctor Coleman will find you. He should be down here shortly.” Hannah rested her forearms on the counter and glanced down at the woman’s badge. “Please Alice, I just need to know if he is alive,” she said with sincerity. Alice caressed Hannah’s hands. “I’m so sorry darling. He passed away about thirty minutes ago.” “Are you sure?” She closed her eyes and nodded. Hannah covered her mouth and started to hyperventilate. She spread her legs and clutched the counter, hands quivering. “Not again,” Hannah said, shaking her head. “This can’t be happening.” Alice stood up and motioned to another nurse. “Honey, let me help you sit down. Mary, can you grab me a bottle of water?” Hannah pulled her hands off the counter and stepped back. Her legs became weak like a sapling in a tornado. Glancing over her shoulder, she looked out the sliding glass door. It started to snow. To hell with it. To hell with this life, to hell with everything. Hannah looked in her purse and stared at the gun. She closed her eyes and envisioned placing the barrel into her mouth and pulling the trigger. Her life would be over in mere seconds. No more death, no more life, no more sorrow, no more heartache, nothing. She slid her finger onto the trigger and slowly exhaled. The metal was cold against her skin, and she could almost taste it on her lips. She leaned her head back and embraced death. She thought she’d feel something. She didn’t. She thought she’d be overcome with emotions. She wasn’t. She thought she would cry. Not a single tear. But, as much as she coveted the end, Hannah knew she’d also be killing her father. He couldn’t bury another child, and he’d probably be dead before the funeral—best bet would be suicide by car off Lookout Mountain with a bottle of Vodka between his legs. She needed him as much as he needed her. They were each other’s salvation. She opened her eyes and stared blankly at the wall clock, watching the second hand tick life away. Alice said something, but Hannah couldn’t comprehend the words. Then she heard a constant hum, like tinnitus. She was unsure if the sound was real, or a figment of her imagination. After about ten seconds, she looked back to the nurse. “Thank you for all your help,” Hannah said. She turned and started jogging toward the entrance. “Ma’am, do you want to wait for Doctor Coleman?” Alice said. “Ma’am! Ma’am?”

Hannah made her way to the only home she knew--the office she shared with a man who she had grown to feel as if he was indeed her father... She locked the door behind her and slowly slid to the floor... What was she going to do now, without his help?! But her professionalism had grown and she ultimately made contact with Tom to move toward, and close, this cold case that never became a cold case... Megan had been found... The remaining of the book grows even more tense as Hannah worked, found Megan's car in an old farm... which was then burned... But enough had been discovered...

But another girl had been taken! It was now an active case! Katie, one of those who had been contacted, was now in the hands of the man who had picked up where the last serial killer in the area had been choosing young girls... Would it never stop?

Finally, she focused her eyes on the writing.

Hannah, if you are reading this, I must have really fucked up. I really hope it was a fiery car crash or a bear attack and I didn’t OD on the toilet like Elvis. You know I’ve never been one for words, so I’m going to keep this short. I just want you to know I love you like a daughter, and you gave me a second chance at something I fucked up, and I love you for that. I know you’re going to solve Casey’s murder. It’ll get tough, and you’re going to run into countless dead ends, and you’ll think it will never be solved, but you’re a talented investigator. Don’t ever forget that. Don’t ever doubt yourself, just keep working the case, and the leads, and the evidence, and eventually you’ll find who did it. I know you will. Keep smiling and shining bright. Love, Marshall

She slipped the note back into the backpack, then pulled out a small glass vial. She stared at the ashes inside for almost twenty minutes, crying, then smiling, then crying again. Hannah wasn’t sure if the pain would ever go away, but she didn’t want it to. The pain reminded her about Marshall. Pushing on the boulder she stood up and brought the vial to her lips, kissing it countless times. After one last kiss, she flung it out over the lake. It produced a small splash before quickly disappearing under the surface. She watched the water for a few minutes. 

Freely, she jumped off the boulder, then pressed play on her Discman. The opening guitar riff of “Rebel Rebel” by David Bowie blared in her headphones. Music made everything right in the world.

GABixlerReviews