Under Cover Of Darkness
James Grippando
*
Book Cover:
A Young Lawyer At The Helm Of Seattle's Most Prominent Law Firm, Gus Wheatley has found unprecedented success. Then his wife, Beth, vanishes--a disappearance that coincides with a series of brutal murders. The FBI thinks Beth is either the killer's latest victim . . . or his willing accomplice. Gus is sure his wife is no murderer. But the deeper he searches, the more he finds that Beth isn't the woman he thought he knew.
Beth may be alive. She may have come up against a shocking evil. And for Gus and his family, that evil is much too close to home.
PROLOGUE:
The noose was prepared with exceptional care. Too large a knot, poorly placed, could gouge chunks of flesh from the face and neck. Too much line with a drop too far could mean decapitation.
A rope around the neck left little room for error.
He tied the loop in a simple slip knot, rather than the classic noose. The classic version was for swift executions, where the long knot of coiled rope would snap against the back of the head, knocking the victim unconscious like a blow from a blackjack. The cervical vertebrae would crack. Bone fragments would crush the spinal cord, bringing on paralysis and, in theory, a painless death. In theory. For centuries witnesses have said it was never truly painless. They've told of grimacing faces, bodies thrashing violently at the end of the rope, lungs wheezing in futile gasps for air. It was merely a reflex, some contended, like the proverbial headless chicken scampering around the barnyard. Others insisted the pain was real, even in a "clean hanging."
This afternoon the old debate was irrelevant. This wasn't supposed to be a clean one. That wasn't his plan.
The yellow synthetic rope was eight feet long and three-quarters of an inch thick. He'd stolen it from a construction site about . A mile from his house. Cutting it was almost like sawing through steel cable. Rope this strong could pull five or six water skiers at a time or yank tree stumps from the ground, roots and all.
It could surely suspend the weight of a fifteen-year-old boy.
He climbed the stepladder with the rope in hand, nearly tripping on the frayed cuff of his pants leg. The baggy jeans and cotton turtleneck sweatshirt were a daily uniform. He was by far the smartest in his sophomore class, yet his grades were average, and he looked like almost every other boy at school. Thin and gangly. Feet so big he was shaped like an L. Scattered pimples marked the onset of puberty. A few precious facial hairs formed a semblance of a mustache.
He peered out the foggy garage window. A thermometer mounted on the window frame said forty-nine degrees--warm for the dead of winter, but somehow the garage seemed colder than the outdoors. His gaze drifted up toward the rafters, fixing on a steel pulley bolted to the pine. Gently, he tossed up the rope and looped it around the pulley. Two four-foot lengths dangled from above, draped like pigtails over his simple apparatus. The noose was at one end. The other end was frayed and unknotted. He gave it a tug. The pulley creaked, and the noose rose slowly. All was in working order.
He drew a deep breath and placed the noose around his neck.
The surroundings immediately assaulted his senses; he was suddenly aware of everything around him, as if the rope were talismanic. The rain tapped rhythmically on the old roof and garage door. A fluorescent light hummed near the workbench along the wall. Oil stains from his father's junky old Buick dotted the cracked cement floor. The stepladder had raised him less than two feet above the floor, but it seemed much higher. He was reminded of the bungee jumpers he'd seen on one of those thrill-seeker shows on television, their ankles tethered by a long elastic band, their eyes burning with excitement as they dove off some bridge and into the canyon.
Let 'em try this, he thought.
He unfurled the cotton turtleneck and flattened the collar all the way up to his chin. The protective fabric had to be tucked beneath the noose all the way around, so that no part of the rope touched the soft skin of his neck. Bruises were inevitable, but he had learned to prevent rope burns.
He cinched up the slip knot, drawing it tightly around his neck. His feet instantly felt lighter, though they were still planted firmly on the stepladder. With each swallow the rope pressed against the Adam's apple. He licked his lips and grasped the unknotted end of the rope with both hands. Slowly, he pulled.
The pulley creaked. The slack disappeared. The noose gripped his neck and tilted his head back. His heels left the platform. He was standing on his tiptoes.
Another pull.
He heard himself groan. His vision blurred. His groaning turned to wheezing. He pulled again, and again, hand over fist. His toes instinctively reached for the floor, but safety was out of reach. He was in midair, hanging by the neck.