Book #1 of the Roman Lee Series
Ned Harris is the ultimate apex predator. Huron University has offered him an ideal landscape in which to stalk his prey. But no serial killer is infallible in their mind. Hubris is sometimes blinding, and it’s caused his ego to trespass over a line of perfection. He’s taunted Detective Roman Lee at every turn following his sadistic ritual. The city of Kirkwood is on edge and now the President of Huron University has a missing daughter.
One
3:15 AM
Anyone person on this earth can have their lives altered in a few simple moments. A small ripple in the lake of time. Even if they are the highlight of your chosen profession.
The volume of the speaker inside my helmet had been turned up by our equipment manager intentionally. A crowd of 150,000 screaming fans made it even difficult to hear your own breathing let alone anyone up in the booth. London was hot that early Monday September night. We sounded like an army marching in formation thru the tunnel hand in hand with our cleats clicking and clacking in unison on the concrete. Running onto the turf through a clever set of pyrotechnic displays we turned our attention to the sky where fireworks jettisoned up into the atmosphere above the stadium forming the team’s emblem. The playing of the National Anthem followed with a flyover of four prototype stealth bombers on loan from the United States Airforce that turned invisible as they approached the stadium magically reappearing flashing red white and blue as they soared overhead. Our defensive coordinator was barking instructions through my helmet. I covered my earholes to block out the noise from the stands to listen.
“Lee! Lee! Eagle Slant Cover 2, watch that slot receiver they like to go to him early.”
We broke our huddle and waited for New York to get to the line of scrimmage. My helmet inside crackled once more.
“Lee!!! Welcome to the show Roman!”
Our defensive coordinator Gary Foust had taken the job with the expansion London Knights after winning a Super Bowl the previous year in Seattle. He had brought a lot of intensity to training camp. New York came to the line of scrimmage. Instantly New York’s QB was going through a pre snap read.
“Three eighty! Three eighty! Ready, Check, Check”, and New York’s QB stood up and took a step back from underneath his Center. “Check number 51 is the Mike! 51 is the Mike!”
I watched New York’s quarterback mouth repeat my #51 again pointing me out in slow motion. I tapped my nose guard to slide over just a bit which in turn caused the whole defensive line to shift. I yelled out to our outside linebacker Darius Talon to watch the slot receiver and jam him up at the line if he thought about coming across the middle underneath. I then turned my attention to New York’s QB.
“Hey Smith, you’re going to be the first victim on my highlight reel I shouted. This play is going to end badly for you. It’s either an interception or a sack.”
Veteran New York QB Blake Smith looked at me mouthing the words Fuck You Rookie and then continued with his cadence.
“Three eighty, three eighty, Ready, Ready Set!”
The clashing of the composite plastic pads was exhilarating. Thundering steps as the play went lateral left from my position. Their running back took the hand off and bounced to the outside. Darius had also read the run and set the edge beautifully turning the play back to the inside. I scraped the line of scrimmage, shed the block from the pulling guard. Full tilt bearing down on the ball carrier. I can see the …. My alarm chimed. Always at that moment…why?
I wake up each time in the same physical state with an adrenaline rush accompanied by sweat saturated sheets. I sit on the edge of the bed. My head is throbbing so much it hurts to just touch the hair on it. Walking across my bedroom floor the temperature on the inside is noticeably colder. My joints ache a bit, so I shut the bedroom window. It is late October in Michigan and the temperature has been steadily dropping for a week now. The once comforting cool breeze that blew in the open window at night would now have to wait until spring. I have an interesting morning as the sunrise begins to breach the tree line. The light fills the room exposing a pile of laundry in the corner. Having to testify at a civil trial downtown at 9:00 AM is not the typical way I begin my days as a detective in Kirkwood. If I have any luck they settle out before I get there. My case load has increased recently with a few missing persons. A few college aged women have disappeared with little or no evidence to indicate foul play. Every lead has been followed up. A strong social media campaign was launched in our efforts to locate them. After several months, we are still left with very little answers and even more frustration.
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