Side Effects: An FBI Psychological Thriller Read Online Free

retribution into the hands of a professional.
    And what, Maggie, the dealer, the bookie, and the scorned wife just happened to hire the same hitman? A guy who cuffed his targets behind the back before bashing their heads into goo? Left a crude hallmark on their right palms?
    No. Ridiculous odds. Besides, a professional would never be so messy. True professionals are ghosts, at home and in bed before their victims hit the floor.
    I then considered a visionary motive. A psychotic who believes he is doing something like God’s work perhaps. The victims were all demons in his eyes or some other crazy shit only he could understand.
    Maybe.
    Or maybe Morris’ gut—full of scotch as it was—had intended on extending its winning streak. He was tired, his SAC (Special Agent in Charge) was catching a lot of shit on this one (which, of course meant Morris was catching a lot of shit on this one), but a better agent in this field I didn’t know. If Morris had even the tiniest inkling that this was something other than serial murder we wouldn’t be here discussing it.
    I sipped my chardonnay. “I’m just a consultant here, Tim. Your consultant. Hush, hush and all that for now if you want. It’s obvious you’re working up to something, so out with it.”
    He stayed fixed on the bar.
    I sighed, pushed back my chair and stood. “I’ll get you another.”
    “No,” he said, eyes clicking back on me. It was then I realized that his constant gaze on the bar was entirely coincidental; his mind had been churning, plotting our first move. “Let’s head upstate and have a look at that grave.”

CHAPTER 3
    Trenton, New Jersey
     
    Hal Redmond sat in the alley, thumbing through an old issue of People Magazine. He flipped to a page featuring Jennifer Aniston and marveled at her beauty. “In the next life,” he said, gently touching her face with a soiled finger. “In the next life.”
    Hal turned the page but stopped reading. Someone was watching him; he was sure of it. Years of living on the street had given him the forewarning of a feral cat. He set the magazine aside and instinctively clutched the canvas backpack that held his life.
    Hal scanned the alley. He saw no one at first—and that was the point for his being there really. It was nearly four o’clock and the alley emptied around this time; competition at the soup kitchen could be fierce the moment the doors opened for supper. Hal had chosen to stay behind today, wanted to read his People magazine in peace. Most of the guys he shared the alley with were young punks, disrespectful pigs—he knew what they’d do with the magazine and Jennifer Aniston’s pretty picture if they got hold of it. And for a moment, Hal thought that’s what this was all about; the feeling of being watched was someone keen to grab his magazine. After all, nobody looked at the homeless for more than a blink—except other homeless.
    Hal quickly shoved the magazine into his bag and stood. He fixed his stare on the west end of the empty alley that led out into the street. “Who’s there?”
    A silver Toyota Camry rolled into view. The window came down and revealed the face of a smiling, clean cut white man.
    Lost , Hal instantly thought. The only white boys around here were white boys like Hal—and this guy was not a white boy like Hal.
    Someone from the soup kitchen maybe? Letting him know that if he waited much longer they wouldn’t be able to guarantee him a meal? No. They liked Hal at the kitchen, but they wouldn’t go to such lengths.
    Cop? No. This guy was too wholesome looking, his smile too trusting.
    That left lost or crazy. Hal wanted no parts of either.
    “Evening,” the man said, still smiling.
    Hal only nodded.
    “I’m a little lost…” The man looked out his passenger window then back at Hal with a chuckle. “Actually, a lot lost.”
    “Yeah, I can see that,” Hal said. “Sun won’t be up much longer. You should leave now, mister.”
    The man chuckled again. “Well, how