Find Yuri: Fury Trilogy Book 1 (Abby Kane FBI Thriller 10) Read online

  Find Yuri

  Fury Trilogy Book One (Abby Kane FBI Thriller #10)

  Ty Hutchinson

  Contents

  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

  Crooked City Excerpt

  Other Featured Characters

  A Note from Ty Hutchinson

  Also by Ty Hutchinson

  Chapter One

  The woman could do nothing but watch.

  The intruder snapped his fingers and rocked his hips side to side. His eyes were closed as he mouthed the words to the Russian pop song that blared from a cell phone he had placed on the table.

  His movements carried him across the floor away from the woman. He twirled and danced back toward her, shimmying his shoulders as he playfully pointed, beckoning her to join him. But, of course, she could not. Plastic cuffs secured her hands behind her back as she sat on the hardwood floor with her back against the wall. Her right breast had slipped free from her silk teddy.

  The woman’s eyes shot sideways to her husband, Gary, who was unconscious from a blow to his head. She didn’t know what the man had hit him with, but it had split his head open. Blood spider-webbed the side of his face as he slumped forward. Weird though it seemed, she envied her husband, as he wasn’t subjected to the dancing lunatic before her.

  The man had broken into their home in the middle of the night and, although they had never seen him before, he seemed to be there for a specific reason. After knocking her husband unconscious, zip-tying her hands behind her back, and gagging her, the thief spent nearly a half-hour drilling into the safe that had been built into their walk-in closet. He seemed to know what he was after, but never asked either her or her husband for the combination to the safe, which she would have given him without hesitation, had he asked.

  There was jewelry in the safe that was worth nearly a million dollars. The thief, however, took only one item: a necklace previously owned by the late Natalie Wood. It contained twenty-four carats in white diamonds and fourteen deep blue sapphires in a white gold setting. Once he had what he wanted, he made them walk downstairs to the dining room. That’s when he clobbered Gary.

  She waited patiently for the nightmare to end, for him to disappear into the dark night. Instead, he hung around like an unwanted guest making himself at home. He had even opened a bottle of vodka and taken a few shots. Now he danced, oblivious to them.

  He’d made no attempt to mask his appearance. What did that mean? Was there more to come? Was her worst fear—death—inevitable? Was that the reason he hadn’t rushed out of the house sooner? She looked at her husband once more. If it weren’t for the blood, he looked as he would when sleeping. Nothing much stirred him. He’d sleep through his own death.

  Perspiration had bubbled across her face, causing the duct tape on the left side of her cheek to lose some of its grip. She could move her mouth. As a last-ditch effort, a plea really, she decided to engage. He might have a conscience.

  “Please,” she said. “Leave us, please.”

  He stopped dancing, his eyebrows rising in surprise. In an overly dramatic move, he cupped a hand around his ear and leaned in.

  “We’ve done nothing to you. Take what you want. Take it all and leave us.”

  He repeated the move once again as if he hadn’t heard her.

  She cried uncontrollable, shaking sobs.

  He tapped at the screen of his cell phone, and the music stopped playing. He then snapped a picture of her and her husband before pocketing the phone. He slipped the small knapsack he wore off his shoulders. From the bag, he removed a large knife.

  Her crying grew louder when she saw the blade. She shook her head violently. “No! No!”

  A wicked smile grew across the man’s face as his eyes bore through her. She could see clearly now. He had no intention of letting them live. A shiver rippled across her body.

  The man walked closer and knelt in front of her husband, raising his limp head with two fingers so he could get a better look. He stared at him for a moment or so before shifting his gaze to her.

  He spoke for the first time. “He didn’t try hard to protect you.” He had a Russian accent. “Yet, you love this man. I don’t understand.”

  “We’re no threat.” Her voice trembled. “Let us live. I beg you.”

  He removed the tape completely from her mouth so he could hear her more clearly. She gasped and sucked in the fresh air. He watched her chest rise and fall with each breath. Her eyes were glassy and red.

  “What’s your name?” she asked.

  He crinkled his brow. “That’s an odd question for someone in your situation.” He pondered her question for a few seconds before answering. “Yuri.”

  “That’s a nice name,” she said with a tremble in her voice. “Mine is Maria.”

  He stared at her, no change in his expression upon hearing her name. Then, without warning, he struck. He drove the knife into the side of her husband’s neck. Blood spewed across her face. She watched in horror as Yuri sawed, grunting with each movement.

  Chapter Two

  Detective Pete Sokolov parked the navy blue Crown Victoria behind two black-and-whites. He set the parking brake, shut off the engine, and eased his large frame out of the car. He ran a hand over the top of his blond crew cut before looking around the Nob Hill neighborhood.

  Sokolov stood over six feet, and his athletic physique required he buy tailored suits. He adjusted his dark gray jacket before securing the top button.

  His partner, Detective Adrian Bennie, exited the vehicle from the passenger side. He wore a hip, form-fitting navy suit with a tie that was flashy like his smile.

  “I tell you, we must be the two unluckiest cops in this city,” Bennie said. “Catching this case—what are the odds?”

  Sokolov grunted his agreement. The two homicide detectives had been partners for nearly two years. Bennie had moved to San Francisco from Miami. He gave the same answer whenever someone inquired about the move: “I wanted a change of pace.”

  What Bennie lacked in size, he made up in charm and charisma, traits missing from his partner. Sokolov still had a slight Russian accent, even though he’d lived stateside for most of his life. Bennie was from Cuba and sounded like it.

  A San Francisco Police Department officer stood at the bottom of the stairway that led up to the front door of a blue and white Victorian home.

  “Detective Young and Detective Brewer are inside,” the uniform said as the detectives passed by. Bennie nodded as he took a sip of coffee from his paper cup. Once inside, the two spotted the other detectives standing near the fireplace.

  “Sokolov, Bennie, so glad to see you guys,” Brewer said, turning as they entered.

  “Don’t jump for joy too soon,” Sokolov said. “As far as we know, this is still your investigation. The burglary fits the MO1 of your other cases, no?”

  “So we thought. Housekeeper showed up today for work and noticed the safe in the master bedroom closet had been forced open and the necklace missing. She freaked. Not wanting to be accused, she tried to track the owner on his cell phone. She heard it ring. It was on the nightstand in the couple’s bedroom. She called 911 and reported the burglary.”

  “So, she didn’t know they were dead at that point?” Sokolov asked.

  “Right. When we arrived, we quickly saw that the crime scene had characteristics of other burglaries we’ve tied together. No forced entry. Burglar enters by picking a lock on a door or through an unlocked window. If there’s a home alarm system, he’s able to easily disable it. Leaves no trace. Owners are left sleeping and unaware. Well, except in this case.”

  “What else did he take besides the necklace?” Sokolov asked.

  “We’re still trying to figure that out for sure—we think nothing else—but this time, he had to drill through the safe to get into
it.”

  “So he wakes the couple and has to kill them?”

  “That’s a possibility. I think he killed them after the fact. Obviously, he secured them when he was working on the safe.”

  “What else?”

  “We think the point of entry was that side door over there.” Brewer pointed. “No dead bolt, just a standard knob lock. Easily picked in a few minutes at most. We’ll have CSI analyze the guts of the lock to confirm.”

  “Where’s the housekeeper now?” Sokolov asked as he looked around.

  “She’s outside sitting in a patrol car. Freaked out when she heard about the bodies.”

  “Where are the bodies?” Bennie asked, scanning the room. “Upstairs?”

  “Downstairs. We discovered them as we were walking around.”

  “Who are the owners?” Sokolov asked.

  “Gary and Maria Bennett,” Brewer continued. “Mid-forties, white, well off. They’ve lived in this house for the past ten years. The husband owns a consultancy that specializes in acquiring businesses. As far as we can tell, the wife doesn’t work. They’re regulars on the high-society circuit.”

  “You get all this from the housekeeper?” Sokolov asked.

  Brewer nodded. “We discovered blood splatter here.” Brewer crossed the living room and into the dining room where he shined a flashlight on the wall. “There’s light streaking on the floor as well. It’s clear the killer made an effort to clean. That’s when we realized we might have a possible homicide on our hands. Started searching the house. Young found the bodies downstairs. We think the killer woke them, tied them up, and worked on the safe, brought them down here and killed them, and then decided to move the bodies downstairs.”

  “The basement’s been converted into a nightclub. Literally,” Young said. He punctuated this fact with a dramatic mambo step.

  Sokolov blinked at Young before turning his attention back to Brewer.

  “We’ll know if our theory holds once CSI processes the crime scene,” Brewer said. “They’re on the way.”

  “You really think this is the work of your cat burglar?” Sokolov motioned around with his finger.

  “Bodies aside, yes. According to the housekeeper, he took only one thing and left the other jewels in the safe untouched. Must be close to a million bucks left behind if I had to guess. Our guy—he’s very specific in what he takes.”

  “Any violence in the previous break-ins?”

  “None. He’s in and out. Owners are either not home or sleeping. The guy’s a pro.”

  “I dunno… sounds like this is someone else,” Bennie said.

  “It could be someone else,” Brewer said, “but it’s the captain’s call. He’s placing the onus on you two to figure that out.”

  “No signs of a struggle or anything?” Sokolov asked.

  “Not from what we can tell,” Brewer answered. He motioned toward the stairs leading to the basement. “Shall we, gentlemen?”

  Young led the way. “Wait until you guys see this basement. It’s got a fully loaded bar, a stripper pole, elaborate LED lighting. The owners even put in one of those dance floors that lights up, like the one in that movie, Saturday Night Fever. Must have had some wild parties. We turned the music down but left everything as is for your sake.”

  “The music was playing when you got here?” Bennie asked.

  “Yeah, but the place is totally soundproofed. Didn’t hear a thing until we opened the door.”

  Young pushed the door open. Sokolov walked in first, followed by Bennie, Brewer, and Young. Flashing lights and house music greeted them. The tiles on the dance floor lit up in different colors, just like Young had said. A stocked bar with a counter and five stools lined a wall. Plush sofas, like the ones in the VIP section of a nightclub, were positioned around the dance floor.

  “Over there,” Brewer motioned with his head.

  At the far end of the room, across the dance floor, was a sectional with the couple sitting on it. From a distance, the scene looked normal: two people enjoying bottle service. Sokolov moved in for a closer look and noticed the one thing Brewer and Young hadn’t mentioned. He glanced at them for confirmation.

  “I wanted you to see the crime scene as if you were the first ones here,” Brewer said.

  The couple sat close to each other, in a lover’s embrace. They each had an arm intertwined with the other, filled champagne flutes held up to their mouths. The only difference: the head of each victim had been severed and duct-taped to the other person’s body. The arms were also propped up and taped together. With the bass-driven music and the strobe lighting, the scene was surreal.

  Sokolov and Bennie were silent as they took it in.

  “Now you understand why the captain is tossing this case over to you two,” Brewer said. “This is about as sick as they come in a homicide investigation. Right up your alley, Sokolov.”

  “Just what we need,” Bennie said. “We’re already dealing with the Golden Gate Bridge Killer shoving people off the bridge. Now we got some sicko who likes putting on shows. What’s another one, right?”

  “Uh, actually, it’s my understanding the captain is saddling you two with all of them.”

  “Why would he do that? We investigate homicides,” Sokolov said. “The other cases are clear-cut burglaries.”

  “I realize that,” Brewer said. “We’re just following orders. Take it up with the captain. Aside from the murders, the burglary MO is exactly the same, no mistake. I mean if you guys find it to be otherwise, bring us back in on it.”

  Sokolov mumbled something vulgar under his breath.

  Brewer patted Sokolov on the back. “We’ll write up the report on this one and turn it over to you guys with all the other reports from the previous cases. Any questions, don’t hesitate to reach out. I’m serious.” He clapped the big man on the back again. “The captain’s got a hard-on for you. That’s exactly why he’s doing this. It’s bullshit. We all know it.”

  Before Sokolov could respond, he felt his cell phone vibrating in his pocket. He looked at the screen. “Son of a bitch… Detective Sokolov here.” He mouthed the word “captain” to Bennie. “We’re here now. They informed us… Can’t they handle that on their own? I see… Okay. I’ll meet with them.” Sokolov disconnected the call. He inhaled deeply and let out a breath as he put his cell phone away.

  “What did the captain say?” Bennie asked.

  “Problem with the Russians. Wants me to assist a couple of detectives from the Richmond precinct.”

  “Are you serious? We can’t possibly handle this workload if you’re dealing with another case,” Bennie rubbed his forehead.

  “Don’t worry. We’ll make it work.”

  1 Modus Operandi

  Chapter Three

  The FBI headquarters was located inside the Phillip Burton Federal Building between Turk Street and Golden Gate Avenue. I arrived at the offices a little earlier than I normally would. Actually, ever since I’d been promoted to special agent in charge, I’d been arriving early. I was the head honcho, kingpin, top of the totem pole at the FBI’s San Francisco office. Did I want the job? Not necessarily. The previous SAC1 Scott Reilly, had been killed in the line of duty. I was second-in-command at the time. Do the math.

  As always, I started my day at the office by fixing a cup of tea in the break room. I filled a mug with hot water and added a pinch of my favorite tea leaves: tieguanyin, a tasty oolong. I always carried my own loose-leaf with me in a small tin. It’s not cheap, but it’s oh so delicious. I stood quietly, transfixed on the leaves turning the water a golden brown. It took a moment to realize someone was calling my name.