Dead By Dawn Read online

  © 2012 by Winsome Entertainment Group

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN: 9781620500040 (sc)

  The characters and events in this book are ficticious.

  Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Printed in the United States of America.

  For Ally and Tyler

  Cover by Andrew Garcia

  eBooks created by www.ebookconversion.com

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Chapter 60

  Chapter 61

  Chapter 62

  Chapter 63

  Chapter 64

  Chapter 65

  Chapter 66

  Chapter 67

  Epilogue

  Prologue

  September 2, 1977

  The night was warm on Labor Day weekend. The road outside the home in Shandon, California was quiet. If you stood still, the only noise that could be heard was the loud chirping of crickets in the night air.

  Inside the small home, about a quarter mile off the main road, a family was cleaning up after dinner. The television was on in the small living room. David Davenport was in his favorite chair, watching television with his youngest daughter, Kelly, on his lap. The front door was open and the breeze from the night air was creeping in, cooling the warm house.

  In the kitchen, David’s wife Shelly and their oldest daughter, Dayna, were cleaning up after dinner. Shelly was running water to do the dishes, while five year old Dayna helped. It wasn’t a lot of help, but Shelly loved that her little munchkin always tried to help her.

  The Davenport’s three month old boy, Jeremy, was fast asleep in his room. The newly decorated blue baby’s room sat at the end of the hall. The Davenports had left the room white and refused to decorate until the baby was born. Both of them wanted a boy badly and their wishes had come true with Jeremy.

  Down the road, the killers parked their car. The woman stayed in the car in case someone came along. She was told to wait fifteen minutes and then drive up to the house. The two men got their guns and masks out of the trunk. When all the gear was in place, they began walking up the driveway. They could hear the crickets and smell the odor of dirt, flanking both sides of the driveway. It had been recently disturbed to plant the long, green rows of wine grapes. They stopped near the house and conferred in whispers. Their attention was on David Davenport, one of their targets. The front door was open, making him an easy mark. One of the men silently crept along the side of the house, avoiding the window. He spotted Shelly Davenport, the other target, in the kitchen. The man got down on his knees and with his gun slung over his shoulder, crawled to the back of the house. The backdoor leading to the kitchen was open. He crept back to the other man waiting in the shadows. “We are clear on both ends. You take the front and I’ll take the back.”

  The other man whispered, “Remember the boss’ orders. The kids do not get hurt.”

  The killers positioned themselves by the front and back doors and burst in at the same time. David Davenport looked up in horror as he saw the masked man burst into his home. He grabbed Kelly and jumped up quickly; using the chair as a shield between them and the gunman. The gunman approached and fired a shot into David Davenport’s chest. Kelly scurried from behind her bloodied father. The gunman shot David again to be sure he was dead.

  At the same time, the man at the backdoor burst in and shot Shelly in the chest. Dayna dashed in terror under the kitchen table. Shelly was still moving on the floor. The gunman put his boot on her neck to hold her still and shot her once in the head. Dayna screamed and tried to run away. The gunman scooped her up in his arms. “It’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you.” The gunman flung the gun back over his shoulder. He thought, this kid is stronger than I thought she would be. Dayna clawed and kicked him. He held her tighter to stop the movement. She bit him hard and he dropped her. She thudded to the floor, got up and ran toward the master bedroom and hid underneath her parents’ bed. The gunman followed her, running through the blood that had oozed onto the floor near David Davenport. He yelled to the other man with Kelly in his arms. Kelly was whimpering but not fighting him.

  The masked woman drove up to the front of the house. She got out and took Kelly from the gunman; putting her in the back seat of the car with her. Kelly looked at the masked woman in horror. The woman tried not to look into Kelly’s frightened blue eyes.

  The gunmen went back into the house. One of them ran to the kitchen and dropped a large bag of pot onto the kitchen table. The other went back to the bedroom to find Dayna. He looked under the bed. She wasn’t there. He yelled angrily for her to come out. The other gunman came in and searched the drawers for the papers they were looking for. He pulled clothes out of the drawers and threw them all over the room. “It has to be here,” he mumbled, frustrated that he wasn’t finding the documents they were supposed to retrieve.

  The other gunman looked in the bathroom for the small girl. He flung the shower open and looked under the sink. He went out to the closet, opened it and rummaged through the clothes, thinking she might be hiding behind them. His eyes stopped on a clothes hamper. He opened the top and Dayna came shooting out, screaming and clawing. She ripped the mask off of the man’s face. She stopped as soon as she saw who it was. She knew him. When he realized she recognized him, he punched her in the head. She was bleeding from a large gash he’d left on her cheek. He picked her up. She was woozy, but she took off running down the hall and into the kitchen. Both of the gunmen ran after her, tracking David Davenport’s blood into the kitchen. They finally cornered her in the kitchen and subdued her.

  One of the gunmen carried Dayna to the car and got in with her. “I’ll watch these two. Go in and help him find the papers.”

  The masked woman went back into the house; tracking David Davenport’s blood into the kitchen as she helped the other gunman continue to search.

  The other gunman finally said, “The papers are not here.”

  The man and woman went back out to the car. The woman got in and said, “We forgot the baby.”

  The gunman who was holding Dayna said, “No, leave the baby. She saw me. We h
ave to kill the girls.”

  The male gunman looked into the back seat at the man holding Dayna and Kelly. “We were told not to hurt the kids. The boss will kill us if we touch these kids.”

  “The alternative is jail. We don’t have a choice,” the man holding Dayna spat back.

  The female got into the driver’s seat, looking at the gunman in the back seat. “Why are we taking the kids?”

  “We have to,” the gunman in the back said.

  “It wasn’t part of the plan. We were supposed to kill their parents and leave the kids there,” she whined at him.

  “This one saw me,” he said, pointing at Dayna. “We are going to have to kill them.”

  The woman felt fear run through her. “We can’t kill little kids. What’s wrong with you?”

  The gunman in back yelled, “Drive.”

  The woman drove out of the driveway and headed toward Highway 46. The plan was that they would head to San Francisco after the Davenports were killed. She took a right and headed east on the 46 Freeway and passed Cholame. When they got to the 41 Freeway, the gunman in the back said, “Take this way, it’s a shortcut.”

  The female driver turned left and headed down the highway. “This goes to Fresno. Is that where we’re going?”

  “No, we’re going to the aqueduct by Kettleman City. We’re going to leave the girls there and keep going to San Francisco,” he barked.

  The gunman in front said, “We are not killing these girls. We can’t.”

  “We don’t have a choice,” the man in the back barked again.

  The female driver said, “I have to go to the bathroom. I’m going to pull over as soon as I find a good spot.” She drove several miles, to an oak grove next to the highway.

  As she started to get out of the car, the other gunman in the front said, “Watch the kids. I’m going too.”

  The woman walked into the wooded area and the man followed her. She pulled down her pants and whispered, “We can’t let him kill those kids.”

  “We’re not going to,” he said. “When we get out at Kettleman City, I’m going to shoot him. We’ll figure out what to do with the kids after he’s gone.”

  “Okay,” She said hesitantly. “Let’s do it.”

  The woman got up from her crouched position and pulled her pants back up. She and the man headed back toward the car. They heard Kelly screaming and ran up to the car. By the time they got there, the man in the back had strangled Dayna.

  “What have you done?” screamed the woman.

  “She woke up and I killed her,” the man said casually.

  The woman was trembling. She looked into Kelly’s big, blue, terrified eyes. Her voice came out shaky, “What are we going to do now?”

  “Same plan. We’ll dump her and get rid of this one.” He pointed at Kelly.

  They all got back into the car. The woman drove to the aqueduct. The man in the back gave her directions. “Take a left here,” he demanded.

  She turned the car and kept driving until he told her to stop. The other gunman in the front seat got out and took Kelly out of the car. “Take that one and dump her, then we’ll do this one,” he said to the man in backseat.

  The man in back lifted Dayna’s body from the car and started walking to the edge of the water. The gunman who was holding Kelly shot the other man in the back as he walked away. The man dropped the little girl’s body as he fell to the ground. The woman put Kelly in the front seat of the car and stayed with her, while the other man loaded the dead man into the trunk of the car.

  When he got into the car, the woman asked, “Are we going to do anything with the other little girl?”

  “No, leave her there. Someone will find her quickly and she’ll get a proper burial,” he said.

  “What are we going to do with Bing’s body?” she asked.

  “Let’s head out to Tehachapi and dump it out there. There is alot of desert. No one will find him for a while.”

  “What about the kid?”

  “Any ideas?” he asked.

  “One of us has to stay with her or she’ll tell,” she said.

  “I can’t take care of a little girl,” he said exasperated.

  “I can’t either,” she said.

  “Do you have any relatives?”

  “I haven’t seen my family in years.”

  “How long has it been?” he inquired.

  Se paused, trying to calculate the time in her head. “Three years or so.”

  “So, maybe it’s time to go back and introduce them to their grandchild,” he said quickly.

  “I hate those people,” the woman said in disgust.

  “Look, they will be good cover until we come up with a better plan. The cops are going to be looking for those girls.”

  She thought about it for a moment. As much as she hated her parents, it was better than going to jail. It was also the only plan they had at the moment. Pensively she said, “Okay, that’s what we’ll do. After we dump Bing’s body, we’ll head to my parent’s house.”

  They drove off into the night with Kelly between them in the front seat and the body of the dead man in the trunk.

  September 3, 1977

  Seventeen year old Barton Edmunds got out of bed for work. He pulled on his work clothes and got himself a bowl of cereal for breakfast. After breakfast he went out on the porch and lit up a joint. He had been smoking pot every day since he was fourteen. Recently, his parents had moved him to a place of his own. They were no longer amused with the daily pot smoking and drinking. After he got high, he took some speed and headed out to work.

  The farm house in Shandon was quiet when Barton Edmunds drove up at 6:00 am. That was unusual. The ranch was usually bustling by this time. Shelly Davenport would have breakfast cooking. The smell of bacon and eggs would usually be wafting out of the open back door. There was normally the sound of the two girls up and running around the house playing and squealing in their high-pitched voices. David Davenport was normally at work in the barn by this time.

  Edmunds was the only ranch hand working that day because of the holiday weekend. He looked at the house for a moment and thought that maybe since it was a holiday, the Davenport family had decided to sleep in. Barton went out to the barn. The animals had not been fed. He fed the chickens and went back to the barn to get some hay for the horses. When that was done, he decided he needed to find out from David what needed to be done that day. He walked past the kids swing set in the silent yard and knocked on the back door. No answer. No noise. He walked around to the front yard. He could hear Jeremy crying. He walked up on the porch and knocked on the front door. After a few moments, there was still no answer.

  Barton walked down the drive way to the back yard. The family car was sitting in the driveway and David’s truck was behind the barn. Edmunds could feel a prickle on the back of his neck. Something wasn’t right. He walked back up on the front porch and knocked again. Nothing but the sound of Jeremy’s crying. Edmunds tried to look inside through the plate glass window in front. The glare of the sun kept him from seeing inside. He cupped his hands next to his eyes and peered in again. David Davenport’s body was on the floor, behind a chair in the living room. He could see what looked like blood seeping out onto the floor around David.

  Edmunds called to him, “Dave.” There was no answer. Edmunds tried the front door. It was locked. He decided to kick it in. If he was wrong, he would take it up with David later. The door didn’t give on the first kick. He tried again, but his attempt was clumsy. On his third try, the door gave way and opened. Edmunds fell forward into the small living room. He ran to David’s body; checking to see if he was alive. No pulse. He called out to Shelly. No answer. He went to the kitchen. She was dead on the floor. He started to panic. What if the killer was still here? Where were the girls? He went back to the bedrooms and looked for the girls. They weren’t anywhere. He found Jeremy and took him out of his crib. He had no idea what to do with a baby. Edmunds put him into his car and drove to the
nearest neighbor to call the police.

  Chapter 1

  The call came into Jeff Rogers’ office as he was preparing to leave for the day. His paralegal peeked her head into the office to let him know that Tracy McCarthy was on the phone. “She said it’s urgent,” the paralegal said.

  Jeff put his briefcase on the desk and waited for the phone call to ring through. “Hey, there. How’s my favorite volleyball player?” he asked, truly happy to hear from her.

  “I’ve got a problem. Maybe a stalker,” Tracy said to Jeff.

  Tracy McCarthy was the world’s best beach volleyball player and one of Jeff ’s lowest maintenance clients. As a sports agent, many of his clients were demanding and high maintenance. But Tracy had never been like that. She was always down-to-earth. No drama, no drugs, no alcohol. She had a squeaky clean image that had landed her commercials and movie roles.

  Jeff sat down in his chair. “Tell me what’s going on.”

  “I’ve been getting letters for a couple of months from a guy who says he may be my brother,” she said. “He showed up at the tournament in Huntington Beach this weekend and introduced himself. It scared me. He insisted that I needed to meet with him.”

  “Did he seem creepy?” Jeff said.

  “No, he seemed fine, actually. Nice looking, well kept. Do you think I’m over reacting?” Tracy asked.

  Jeff thought for a moment. “No, I think you should go with your gut reaction. Do you have the letters?”

  “I have them. Should I get a restraining order?”

  “No, not yet. Would you mind if I have my wife check him out?” he asked. Jeff ’s wife was ex-homicide detective Lindsay Carter. Lindsay had recently started her own private detective firm.

  “I thought your wife quit the department after the baby was born.” Tracy said.

  “She did. There was no way that I was going to get her to stay home all day. She’s too type-A for that. She’s a private detective now,” he said.

  “Wow, good for her. Good for you too. I remember she used to work some awful hours. Nice for her too, no dead bodies,” Tracy said with a laugh.