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Inspector Vince Torelli has handled some of San Francisco's worst homicides, but this case had him baffled. It seemed that no matter what he did, the suspect stayed one step ahead of him. The killer seemed to know what Inspector Torelli's next move would be. Hell, the false clues and trail the killer planted kept him chasing shadows, leading him away from the real killer. Who is the Retribution Killer, and would Vince survive long enough to solve his most difficult case?
By Jim Stewart. Author of The Ghosts of Vietnam
Brawley PD, San Diego Schools PD (Retired)
Website- Military Police of the Vietnam War
John Schembra has written a follow up to the adventures of Vince Torelli. However, this does not take place in Vietnam like John's first nove, "M.P." Torelli has returned home and now is an inspector with the San Francisco Police Department where he gets involved in a serial killer investigation and the search for the "Retribution" Killer. The author's 30 years wof being a police officer shines through in the book. It's rich with detail, especially when describing the horrendous crimes and crime scenes. These particular things are very vived to the reader. It's more an expose' on our disintgrating, over-burdened court system where deals are made leaving the men who do the work in the field stressed out at the results.
I liked this book a lot, and its a definite compliment to his first book about Vince. The author leaves you hanging in this one. What will be Vince's next move? Will he also succumb to the folly that is justice? It will be interesting to see how the author follows this up. In his third book? Hope so.
He walked slowly in the dark toward the abandoned warehouse on the Embarcadero. The sign above the shuttered main door read "Pier 34." He stopped in front and kneeled down, pretending to tie his shoelace. Casually looking around, he saw there was no one else close by. He stood up and tested the large padlock and chain securing the double doors, finding they were intact. He checked the straw he had left wedged between the doors near the bottom and saw it was still in place. He smiled to himself, thinking how easy this has been and how much smarter he was than the cops.
He walked to the side of the the warehouse, and, with some effort, climbed the chain link fence. Dropping to the pavement, he crouched in the darkness alongside the building, waiting and listening for a full minute. Then, sure that he had not been seen, he crept along the building until he reached a small side door, also padlocked. He saw that another straw he had wedged in the space between the door and the jamb was still there. Taking a key from around his neck, he swiftly unlocked the lock and entered the warehouse. He softly closed the door and bolted it from the inside so he would not be interrupted.
Back in a corner of the warehouse, furthest from the street, sat an old trailer. Several modifications had been made to it to suit his purpose. It had been stripped of everything, leaving only the outer shell, then rebuilt on the inside, with twelve inches of sound deadening insulation attached to the walls, floor, ceiling, and door. Electricity was obtained by tapping into the wires alongside the building. The electrticity to the building itself had been shut off several months ago when the building was condemned by the City, and the tenants forced to vacate.
He opened the door of the trailer and smiled at the unfortunate Charlie Sachs, tied naked to the chair in the middle of the trailer "It is time, my friend," he said, entering the trailer. "Time to pay the piper."
Charlie's screams could not be heard more than a few feet outside the trailer.
Vince looked around the room, confused at first, then realized it was the jangling of the telephone that had awakened him. As he reached for the phone, he looked at the clock on his nightstand and saw it was 1:45 in the morning.
"Torelli," he answered, "What's up? When? Ok, freeze the scene. I'll be there within the hour. Did you call Clark yet? Oh, yeah, call Cullin, the DDA assigned to the case. Dispatch should have his number." Vince threw back the covers and sat up in bed, rubbing the cobwebs from his eyes.
He arrived at the scene 40 minutes later. The area had been roped off with yellow crime scene tape, and there were several squad cars parked in the street, their emergency lights flashing off the buildings and the pre-dawn fog. An ambulance and the Coroner's wagon were parked across the street. A group of officers was standing near a bus stop on the corner, sipping coffee from paper cups and talking softly. A yellow plastic shroud covered what appeared to be a body slumped over on the bench.
"Hey, Torelli, over here," shouted Frank Adamson, the night shift inspector, standing by the body. Vince walked over to the bench and took the cup of coffee Adamson handed him. "Black, two sugars, right, Vince?" Taking a sip of the coffee, Vince said, "That's right. So, fill me in. Who is this guy?"
"This poor unfortunate person is the late Charlie Sachs, recently paroled from the Solano prison. Charlie worked as a night cook at a neighborhood coffee shop. Charlie killed a family of four, including two small children, while driving home with a snoot full of Wild Turkey. Was convicted of vehicular manslaughter, and sentenced to eight years. Got paroled after two and a half years, and moved back to his old neighborhood. Somebody took exception to this."
Vince nodded and walked over to the bench. He lifted a corner of the yellow tarp and saw the now familiar cuts on Sach's naked body. Taking a small flashlight from his pocket, he shined it on Sach's face, carefully examining it. On his left cheek, Vince could see the number three carved into the flesh. He shined the light on Sach's chest and could see what appeared to be a single stab wound over his heart.
"Damn," he muttered, dropping the tarp over the corpse, "Another one."