The MAIDSTONE COLLECTION
MAIDSTONE I
Chapter 1
February 9, 2010, was a typically cold night in Maidstone, a small village tucked into one of the valleys of the Berkshire Mountains. The air was dry and crisp with a light dusting of new snow covering the ground. Traffic at 2 a.m. had all but stopped. On a Tuesday night everyone would be home in bed—all, but for a few restaurant workers finishing up their late shift. Of course, there would be a couple of police officers watching over the town. Except for the occasional drunk driver or maybe a heart attack, not much was going to happen until the town woke up at dawn and things began to come alive.
It could seem boring to some, but Danny Gilcrest didn’t mind the quiet. It gave him a chance to catch up on his studies in a few community college courses, so he could move on to a four-year degree. He could do some research in the stock market even though he had very little to invest. This job had turned into a lot more than he had ever imagined. At times it was boring, but not all the time. The pay wasn’t great, but it was okay. The bills were getting paid and there was more than enough for his daily expenses. He could go out any night he liked if he didn’t go nuts and spend like he was one of the New York stock brokers who frequented the town.
The Maidstone really did look like an Andrea Smythe painting with the new clean snow. Then again, this is the town that Smythe lived in and painted year after year. The recent dusting made it look just the way it should for a small, quiet New England town in the dead of winter.
The radio barked, “Unit 1, check out a suspicious vehicle at the Shell Station on Route 9, just south of the Housatonic Inn. An unidentified caller has stated that he had driven by the place twice in the past hour, and the vehicle was still there idling.”
Danny was almost happy to be interrupted and have something to do. Some of the guys on the midnight shift would go in the hole after the bars closed and catch a few hours of sleep, but Danny couldn’t do that. The first time he heard the term going in the hole, he had no idea what they were talking about. There was always some vacant estate with a long driveway that you could pull into, and no one would ever see you. There were also the seasonal places that were closed for months of the year that no one ever wandered into but the police who had keys to the gates to make routine checks. During his time in the service, Danny had often dug a hole to sleep in at night for protection, but he didn’t make the connection until it had been explained to him. After six years in the Marines, sleeping on duty was something he just couldn’t do. Even if he wanted to, his body wouldn’t let him.
Danny drove the mile or so to the gas station. He did not recall seeing any vehicles in the area when he passed by earlier in the evening. This is a well-travelled route especially for patrol vehicles because it took them past most of businesses and shops that might be broken into. Then again, any of the drunks headed north from Great Barrington or travelling south from Lee would pass by there. This was Maidstone’s center of activity, if a few dozen cars could be called activity.
As he pulled up near the gas station, Danny took note that there were no tire tracks in the new snow. There were also no vehicles in the general area that looked like they had been running as they were all dusted with the new snow. He decided to exit his patrol vehicle and listen for the sound of an idling vehicle. Danny figured that the caller might have used the gas station as an identifiable location near where the vehicle was sitting.
“Dispatch, I will be out of the car at the Shell Station. I do not see the vehicle, but I will be checking the area.”
“Roger,” was the response.
As he stepped out of the cruiser, he reached for his flashlight on the seat. Not knowing that he’d be standing on ice, he stepped out of the vehicle. As his weight came down, his foot shot straight forward into the door. He flipped out of the door coming down hard onto his back slamming his head into the pavement.
“What the hell!”
Maidstone I This is the link to Amazon for the book.
https://www.amazon.com/Maidstone-Murder-Greed-Cover-England/dp/1699892768/ref=sr_1_2?crid=34SYBAY5J580Y&dib=eyJ2IjoiMSJ9.mygSP-GGs2nSG8vTAgp0zvzHME7DgTxd5J-JnvCjpfbGjHj071QN20LucGBJIEps.TN4RpjhED4ZspnpCDk94fHzYFZNsZ_H3gvQRG5goi-E&dib_tag=se&keywords=Maidstone+Author+Marc+Youngquist&qid=1745426350&s=books&sprefix=maidstone+author+marc+youngquist%2Cstripbooks%2C93&sr=1-2
https://www.amazon.com/Maidstone-Murder-Greed-Cover-England/dp/1699892768/ref=sr_1_2?crid=34SYBAY5J580Y&dib=eyJ2IjoiMSJ9.mygSP-GGs2nSG8vTAgp0zvzHME7DgTxd5J-JnvCjpfbGjHj071QN20LucGBJIEps.TN4RpjhED4ZspnpCDk94fHzYFZNsZ_H3gvQRG5goi-E&dib_tag=se&keywords=Maidstone+Author+Marc+Youngquist&qid=1745426350&s=books&sprefix=maidstone+author+marc+youngquist%2Cstripbooks%2C93&sr=1-2
Chapter 1
Danny came straight up out of bed letting out an animal-like scream. The explosion he heard in his dream was as real as the night he heard the shotgun blast. His roommate rolled out of his bed gasping for air and staring into the darkness where his Danny had just scared the shit out of him.
“Not again!”
Danny was trying to catch his breath and slow his heart rate, and after a few seconds, things began to return to normal.
“Sorry,” said Danny. “The shit keeps creeping back. I have no control over these nightmares. I hear the blast, and then I wake up.”
Looking through the darkness, Mike reached for the light. As he flipped the switch, he could clearly see that Danny was dripping wet and his chest was heaving. “Dude, you’ve got to go see someone about these dreams. This is the fourth time you have scared the shit out of me, and I don’t scare easy. I did my time overseas. Once in a while I have my dreams just not every damn night and not with the intensity that you have. Don’t take this the wrong way, but in the morning I am out of here. I can’t take this, and you need help.”
All Danny could manage was, “Sorry.”
Mike thought this was all about Iraq and Afghanistan. No one in the class had heard about the attempted murder in Maidstone, Massachusetts. Danny had his share of close calls in the Marines with twenty-four months in various combat zones. No one knew it was a small town in the Berkshire Hills of Western Massachusetts that gave him nightmares. Being in a quaint country village and almost getting cut in half by a shotgun blast was not what he had expected. The “BOOM” he heard when he hit his head he thought, was from the impact on the pavement only to learn later it was a blast from a shotgun. Who could guess that slipping on black ice getting out of the cruiser would save his life? Lying there on the ground dazed had given the shooter the impression that he had hit his target and that the deed was done. The false sense of security and the relative peacefulness of the mountains hid secrets that no one knew about. The FBI had cautioned Danny not to talk about the situation back home while at the FBI National Academy. Yes, it was in the news, they were controlling what information got out. The FBI did not want any leaked information than they deemed necessary to be made public until they were ready. If word got out about Danny being the target of a mob hit, there would be a lot of questions. Danny was surrounded by several hundred high ranking police officers who were used to getting answers. Danny would be informally and relentlessly interrogated by his classmates. So for the time being, he was to maintain a low profile and not standout, still people were talking. The sound of the reoccurring nightmares had extended beyond his room. The two suitemates who shared the bathroom heard all the noise and the conversations with Mike. That opened the circle of people in the know and was a topic of conversation among the rest of the class. No one wanted a roommate who was having problems. They weren’t afraid of Danny. They just wanted to study and get a decent night sleep without the animal screams in the night. There were some serious squirrels running around in that young man’s head, and he needed to do something about it. The assignment to the FBI National Academy had gotten Danny out of town, just not away from the nightmares.
The Behavioral Science guys at Quantico were trying to help while they debriefed him, there was only so much they could do. The counseling was there, and Danny refused any type of medication even with the consent of the FBI doctors. He wanted his life back on his own terms, without the drugs that he might become dependent upon to sleep the night through.
When Mike went to the FBI coordinators and asked for a new roommate, it was Danny who was moved. The agents had speculated about the dreams, Mike finally confirmed it. Danny was given his own room and a private bathroom. It was just like all the rooms in the dormitories. There were two beds, two desks with chairs, two sitting chairs and bare walls. The rooms were plain though totally functional. A few of the females had put up posters and other decorations, while the guys would not get past a picture or two on their desks. A few had their notes carefully displayed on the walls with blue painters tape. With no one else in the room, Danny was able to listen to a classical radio station playing music all night long. The music played softly through the night. Even the disc jockey had a soothing voice. This helped; most of the nightmares were gone, most of them. Erasing the past several years was not going to happen overnight, if ever. He had always kept the demons at a distance, sleep let them creep in and take over his thoughts. The unexpected things that happened in Maidstone disturbed and traumatized him more than the events in the combat zones. Yes, they could both be deadly, and in the Middle East, it was expected. It was a surprise in the Berkshire Hills. A small town police officer wasn’t supposed to be the target of a mob hit, unfortunately that’s what happened, and Danny had no control over it.
This is the link to the Amazon website for the book.
https://www.amazon.com/Maidstone-II-Marc-Youngquist/dp/B08B3B39H6/ref=sr_1_1?dib=eyJ2IjoiMSJ9.mygSP-GGs2nSG8vTAgp0zvzHME7DgTxd5J-JnvCjpfbGjHj071QN20LucGBJIEps.TN4RpjhED4ZspnpCDk94fHzYFZNsZ_H3gvQRG5goi-E&dib_tag=se&keywords=Maidstone+Author+Marc+Youngquist&qid=1745426429&s=books&sr=1-1
Danny came straight up out of bed letting out an animal-like scream. The explosion he heard in his dream was as real as the night he heard the shotgun blast. His roommate rolled out of his bed gasping for air and staring into the darkness where his Danny had just scared the shit out of him.
“Not again!”
Danny was trying to catch his breath and slow his heart rate, and after a few seconds, things began to return to normal.
“Sorry,” said Danny. “The shit keeps creeping back. I have no control over these nightmares. I hear the blast, and then I wake up.”
Looking through the darkness, Mike reached for the light. As he flipped the switch, he could clearly see that Danny was dripping wet and his chest was heaving. “Dude, you’ve got to go see someone about these dreams. This is the fourth time you have scared the shit out of me, and I don’t scare easy. I did my time overseas. Once in a while I have my dreams just not every damn night and not with the intensity that you have. Don’t take this the wrong way, but in the morning I am out of here. I can’t take this, and you need help.”
All Danny could manage was, “Sorry.”
Mike thought this was all about Iraq and Afghanistan. No one in the class had heard about the attempted murder in Maidstone, Massachusetts. Danny had his share of close calls in the Marines with twenty-four months in various combat zones. No one knew it was a small town in the Berkshire Hills of Western Massachusetts that gave him nightmares. Being in a quaint country village and almost getting cut in half by a shotgun blast was not what he had expected. The “BOOM” he heard when he hit his head he thought, was from the impact on the pavement only to learn later it was a blast from a shotgun. Who could guess that slipping on black ice getting out of the cruiser would save his life? Lying there on the ground dazed had given the shooter the impression that he had hit his target and that the deed was done. The false sense of security and the relative peacefulness of the mountains hid secrets that no one knew about. The FBI had cautioned Danny not to talk about the situation back home while at the FBI National Academy. Yes, it was in the news, they were controlling what information got out. The FBI did not want any leaked information than they deemed necessary to be made public until they were ready. If word got out about Danny being the target of a mob hit, there would be a lot of questions. Danny was surrounded by several hundred high ranking police officers who were used to getting answers. Danny would be informally and relentlessly interrogated by his classmates. So for the time being, he was to maintain a low profile and not standout, still people were talking. The sound of the reoccurring nightmares had extended beyond his room. The two suitemates who shared the bathroom heard all the noise and the conversations with Mike. That opened the circle of people in the know and was a topic of conversation among the rest of the class. No one wanted a roommate who was having problems. They weren’t afraid of Danny. They just wanted to study and get a decent night sleep without the animal screams in the night. There were some serious squirrels running around in that young man’s head, and he needed to do something about it. The assignment to the FBI National Academy had gotten Danny out of town, just not away from the nightmares.
The Behavioral Science guys at Quantico were trying to help while they debriefed him, there was only so much they could do. The counseling was there, and Danny refused any type of medication even with the consent of the FBI doctors. He wanted his life back on his own terms, without the drugs that he might become dependent upon to sleep the night through.
When Mike went to the FBI coordinators and asked for a new roommate, it was Danny who was moved. The agents had speculated about the dreams, Mike finally confirmed it. Danny was given his own room and a private bathroom. It was just like all the rooms in the dormitories. There were two beds, two desks with chairs, two sitting chairs and bare walls. The rooms were plain though totally functional. A few of the females had put up posters and other decorations, while the guys would not get past a picture or two on their desks. A few had their notes carefully displayed on the walls with blue painters tape. With no one else in the room, Danny was able to listen to a classical radio station playing music all night long. The music played softly through the night. Even the disc jockey had a soothing voice. This helped; most of the nightmares were gone, most of them. Erasing the past several years was not going to happen overnight, if ever. He had always kept the demons at a distance, sleep let them creep in and take over his thoughts. The unexpected things that happened in Maidstone disturbed and traumatized him more than the events in the combat zones. Yes, they could both be deadly, and in the Middle East, it was expected. It was a surprise in the Berkshire Hills. A small town police officer wasn’t supposed to be the target of a mob hit, unfortunately that’s what happened, and Danny had no control over it.
This is the link to the Amazon website for the book.
https://www.amazon.com/Maidstone-II-Marc-Youngquist/dp/B08B3B39H6/ref=sr_1_1?dib=eyJ2IjoiMSJ9.mygSP-GGs2nSG8vTAgp0zvzHME7DgTxd5J-JnvCjpfbGjHj071QN20LucGBJIEps.TN4RpjhED4ZspnpCDk94fHzYFZNsZ_H3gvQRG5goi-E&dib_tag=se&keywords=Maidstone+Author+Marc+Youngquist&qid=1745426429&s=books&sr=1-1
Chapter 1
Danny’s nightmares were not going away; in fact they were getting worse. The random memories were now like a PowerPoint slide presentation that kept scrolling through his brain. It had been only one slide for the longest time. But that has changed. Danny would slip on black ice getting out of his cruiser and slam his head onto the pavement as a shotgun blast passed over him. Now that was the least of his terror. Slide one, Penny Worthington naked and twisted in the bed covers with the back of her head blown off. Slide two, an angel silhouette of Penny on the wall outlined in blood where her husband Brad had pinned her and fired the fatal shot. Slide three, Gary Carlson sitting on the ground using his cruiser for cover bleeding from a head wound praying not to die. Slide four, Danny sticking his Glock 17 in a hitman’s mouth ready to pull the trigger if the mutt didn’t talk. Slide five, a headless man sitting at a desk that would cost most people what they paid for their home. Danny would hear that final blast of a ten gauge shotgun and after enough repeats of the slide show he would roll out of bed ducking for cover. This time he had no one to scare but his yellow Labrador Bear and Bear didn’t like it.
Geri would be coming back from England and the Interpol assignment but things were different. That short time away had changed their lives and now Danny was having some serious problems. Geri would be able handle the nightmares but the worst part was the small town politics. Politics that extended to the state police covering Western Massachusetts. Danny was doomed and he knew it. He had to get away from the Berkshires and that meant getting away from Geri. Her job as a State Police Detective was just taking off. Everything was breaking her way, except Danny. He was now the most respected and hated member of the Maidstone Police Force. He solved a horrible murder and put the quiet town in the national news. A place the town did not want to be. He took out a corrupt police official that everyone loved for one reason or another. He identified the biggest thief in town who was also the biggest tax payer and employer and his suicide crushed the town. And it was all Danny’s fault.
U.S. Attorney for Western Massachusetts, Diana Sheriden had kept Danny on the Federal payroll but there was very little for him to do. He spent most of his days waiting for a phone call to testify in any of the ongoing court cases. Then it was a ride to the court house and wait to be called. The Worthington family was trying to get their trucking business out of receivership from the feds. Since the fuel laundering business got exposed the Federal Government had taken over the running of the company. Cynthia Worthington, the widow of the now deceased Quenton Worthington was trying to prove that no one else in the family or company knew that home heating oil was being diverted to diesel truck fuel. The tax evasion scam had worked like a charm until Danny started to nose around. Cynthia had agreed to every demand that the Federal Government had imposed on the trucking company. Agent Tom Deverse of the FBI had gone over the business records with the forensic accounts and they all agreed the trucking business without the untaxed fuel oil scam was still a profitable operation. The money that came in from the laundered fuel oil wasn’t needed to keep the company in the black. The fuel oil laundering was just extra cash that they didn’t really need. The scam was profitable in every way. Cynthia was begging the court to give back the noncriminal part of the company for the good of the town. She agreed to pay back all the tax money owed and was willing to submit to a heavy fine. This would be for the benefit of the town as much as it would for the Worthington family. The IRS and the Massachusetts Tax Department signed off on the deal. With no real effort on their part the state and federal tax departments were going to be getting sizeable checks if they agreed to return the trucking company to Cynthia. In the end, even after paying the back taxes and the imposed fine Worthington Trucking would still be ahead of the game dollar wise. Having several family members on the state and federal level helped out immensely. Everything would be back to normal except for Danny.
Danny was spending more time on his studies and getting his associates degree. He was concentrating on areas other than criminal justice. The more he thought about it he was convinced that he wouldn’t be in law enforcement much longer. He was sure that he couldn’t stay in Maidstone. He doubted that another department would hire him. Chiefs of police are reluctant to hire someone with the baggage he was carrying. Getting a fellow chief of police and a well-respected detective lieutenant arrested and sent to prison did not sit well with them. Forcing a state police captain into an early retirement just added to the drama they didn’t need. Why hire someone with that kind of history when there are two hundred qualified candidates to pick from. It didn’t matter that the chief and the detective lieutenant were guilty. The fact that the captain was on audio tape threatening Danny for something he didn’t do made no difference to them. Danny Gilcrest was trouble. They just didn’t want to take the chance.
Geri was due in to Westover Air Reserve Base in a few days. Some very long days as Danny watched the time tick by. Waiting to see what he hoped would be his future fiancée.
This is the link to the Amazon website for the book.
https://www.amazon.com/Maidstone-III-Last-Boy-Scout/dp/B08FP5NQ3R/ref=sr_1_1?crid=2I8RBB8R4SH75&dib=eyJ2IjoiMSJ9.KgtBLfL8nf6vlWNUxBlaAg.r5h9CRR7hrSrJKO0NOUMv8vuzBZvl50_p74LqYyFqG8&dib_tag=se&keywords=Maidstone+III+The+Last+Boyscout+By+Marc+Youngquist&qid=1745427137&s=books&sprefix=maidstone+iii+the+last+boyscout+by+marc+youngquist%2Cstripbooks%2C89&sr=1-1
Danny’s nightmares were not going away; in fact they were getting worse. The random memories were now like a PowerPoint slide presentation that kept scrolling through his brain. It had been only one slide for the longest time. But that has changed. Danny would slip on black ice getting out of his cruiser and slam his head onto the pavement as a shotgun blast passed over him. Now that was the least of his terror. Slide one, Penny Worthington naked and twisted in the bed covers with the back of her head blown off. Slide two, an angel silhouette of Penny on the wall outlined in blood where her husband Brad had pinned her and fired the fatal shot. Slide three, Gary Carlson sitting on the ground using his cruiser for cover bleeding from a head wound praying not to die. Slide four, Danny sticking his Glock 17 in a hitman’s mouth ready to pull the trigger if the mutt didn’t talk. Slide five, a headless man sitting at a desk that would cost most people what they paid for their home. Danny would hear that final blast of a ten gauge shotgun and after enough repeats of the slide show he would roll out of bed ducking for cover. This time he had no one to scare but his yellow Labrador Bear and Bear didn’t like it.
Geri would be coming back from England and the Interpol assignment but things were different. That short time away had changed their lives and now Danny was having some serious problems. Geri would be able handle the nightmares but the worst part was the small town politics. Politics that extended to the state police covering Western Massachusetts. Danny was doomed and he knew it. He had to get away from the Berkshires and that meant getting away from Geri. Her job as a State Police Detective was just taking off. Everything was breaking her way, except Danny. He was now the most respected and hated member of the Maidstone Police Force. He solved a horrible murder and put the quiet town in the national news. A place the town did not want to be. He took out a corrupt police official that everyone loved for one reason or another. He identified the biggest thief in town who was also the biggest tax payer and employer and his suicide crushed the town. And it was all Danny’s fault.
U.S. Attorney for Western Massachusetts, Diana Sheriden had kept Danny on the Federal payroll but there was very little for him to do. He spent most of his days waiting for a phone call to testify in any of the ongoing court cases. Then it was a ride to the court house and wait to be called. The Worthington family was trying to get their trucking business out of receivership from the feds. Since the fuel laundering business got exposed the Federal Government had taken over the running of the company. Cynthia Worthington, the widow of the now deceased Quenton Worthington was trying to prove that no one else in the family or company knew that home heating oil was being diverted to diesel truck fuel. The tax evasion scam had worked like a charm until Danny started to nose around. Cynthia had agreed to every demand that the Federal Government had imposed on the trucking company. Agent Tom Deverse of the FBI had gone over the business records with the forensic accounts and they all agreed the trucking business without the untaxed fuel oil scam was still a profitable operation. The money that came in from the laundered fuel oil wasn’t needed to keep the company in the black. The fuel oil laundering was just extra cash that they didn’t really need. The scam was profitable in every way. Cynthia was begging the court to give back the noncriminal part of the company for the good of the town. She agreed to pay back all the tax money owed and was willing to submit to a heavy fine. This would be for the benefit of the town as much as it would for the Worthington family. The IRS and the Massachusetts Tax Department signed off on the deal. With no real effort on their part the state and federal tax departments were going to be getting sizeable checks if they agreed to return the trucking company to Cynthia. In the end, even after paying the back taxes and the imposed fine Worthington Trucking would still be ahead of the game dollar wise. Having several family members on the state and federal level helped out immensely. Everything would be back to normal except for Danny.
Danny was spending more time on his studies and getting his associates degree. He was concentrating on areas other than criminal justice. The more he thought about it he was convinced that he wouldn’t be in law enforcement much longer. He was sure that he couldn’t stay in Maidstone. He doubted that another department would hire him. Chiefs of police are reluctant to hire someone with the baggage he was carrying. Getting a fellow chief of police and a well-respected detective lieutenant arrested and sent to prison did not sit well with them. Forcing a state police captain into an early retirement just added to the drama they didn’t need. Why hire someone with that kind of history when there are two hundred qualified candidates to pick from. It didn’t matter that the chief and the detective lieutenant were guilty. The fact that the captain was on audio tape threatening Danny for something he didn’t do made no difference to them. Danny Gilcrest was trouble. They just didn’t want to take the chance.
Geri was due in to Westover Air Reserve Base in a few days. Some very long days as Danny watched the time tick by. Waiting to see what he hoped would be his future fiancée.
This is the link to the Amazon website for the book.
https://www.amazon.com/Maidstone-III-Last-Boy-Scout/dp/B08FP5NQ3R/ref=sr_1_1?crid=2I8RBB8R4SH75&dib=eyJ2IjoiMSJ9.KgtBLfL8nf6vlWNUxBlaAg.r5h9CRR7hrSrJKO0NOUMv8vuzBZvl50_p74LqYyFqG8&dib_tag=se&keywords=Maidstone+III+The+Last+Boyscout+By+Marc+Youngquist&qid=1745427137&s=books&sprefix=maidstone+iii+the+last+boyscout+by+marc+youngquist%2Cstripbooks%2C89&sr=1-1
Chapter 1
Danny sat on a teak wood deck chair looking out over the quiet lake that was the Stockbridge Bowl. A two-year-old yellow Labrador laid by his side on a bed of white pine needles. Towering above them were trees that had survived hurricanes and snow storms for more than one hundred years. The cottage behind them was old; by the same token, it was comfortable thanks to many helping hands. These were the Berkshires Danny remembered growing up. Not the place where organized crime figures partied. His neighbor had a sound system on, playing loud enough for the entire west side of the lake to hear. And it was all good. One song was from James Taylor, another from Bruce Springsteen. That would be followed by the Kingston Trio and even Beethoven’s Ode to Joy. Bono and Ozzie Osborne would soon follow. Of course this was the Berkshires, old and new, all at the same time.
It was cool for a summer day, and a gentle breeze came in from the northwest out of New York State. Danny was half asleep with the sun warming his face when he heard a car pull into the camp. His first reaction was to grip the Beretta 380 auto before looking to see who it was. To his surprise it was Chief Dominic Nanfito of the Maidstone Police Department, his big boss. Danny slid the 380 back into the pouch and got up to greet the chief. The visit was a total surprise.
“Chief, my cell didn’t ring. Is there something wrong? Do we have a call out?”
“No, nothing like that. I just need someone to chat with and exchange some thoughts. You have some time?”
He saw the chief daily for the last several years, and nothing like this had come up. He could have pulled him aside at any time; here he was on a day off wanting to talk. It wasn’t like Danny was going to turn him down.
“Whatever you need, chief. Let me get you a deck chair.”
“While you’re up, get some ice and two glasses.”
Danny did as requested, and the two sat sipping scotch looking out over the lake. For someone who wanted to talk, nothing was being said. He knew this had to be something serious, and it was the chief’s call. Danny waited. It was twenty minutes and half a glass of scotch later when the chief finally spoke.
“Ever kill anyone, Danny?”
It wasn’t the question he was expecting. He took a long pull on his scotch and thought back to his days with the Marines Iraq and Afghanistan. For a long time Danny had a very faraway look as the chief waited.
“I’m going to have to give you a definite probably. There were days when I emptied all seven of my magazines and chucked whatever grenades I had. Sometimes I would make my way back to the HUMVEE and draw more ammo and grenades. Did I kill anyone? Probably. When you toss a grenade into a room or crank off 30 rounds at a guy a hundred yards away, you never know for sure. Everyone is firing and throwing grenades so it would be anyone’s guess as to who connected. When we swept through an area, did we find dead and wounded? You bet your ass. Do I feel bad about it? Not in the least. I hope I did kill a few, yes, but not for the bragging rights. They were trying to kill me and my guys. I wasn’t going to let that happen.”
Then there was a long pause. Danny’s thoughts were once again a few thousand miles away from Maidstone.
“Chief, I take that back. There were a couple of times we were just a few feet apart clearing rooms. We were close enough to see the sweat on their faces, and I just fired until the insurgent went down. I put a few more into him just to make sure he wasn’t getting up. They did like their drugs. There were times that no matter how many rounds you put in them they kept coming. They had no sensation of pain even after being hit six times. So yes, I did for sure kill a few people. Yes, I was close enough that I got covered in blood more than once. The smell of copper from the blood was so overwhelming I almost puked. We took prisoners if they would surrender. After May 1, 2003, when the Iraqi Army was defeated, not one US Serviceman was ever taken prisoner. Our guys were all executed, murdered if they were captured. So no, I don’t lose any sleep over it. I do have my nightmares, terrifying dreams because I missed firing at insurgents. The ghosts are laughing at me. I had serious visions in color that I missed, and the mutt is still firing at my guys. In the nightmares, I was so pissed at myself for missing. Then there were dreams where I’m not prepared. Those still bother me.
Chief, you didn’t have a choice the other day. You had to take those guys out. Otherwise we would be having some huge memorial services and talking about the great guys we lost. By the way, where did you learn to shoot an M-14 like that?”
“I was a Gunner’s Mate in the Coast Guard.”
“Seriously?”
“I was armed with an M-14. My job was to cover boarding parties from cutters or to be a gunner on helicopters. We were in the Caribbean and Gulf back in the 90s. I have four confirmed kills. With four single shots, I took out four two hundred and fifty horsepower outboards on a drug boat at sixty miles an hour from a Jayhawk helicopter. After that everyone on the drug boat put their hands up. We trained every week, sometimes every day. We would crank off a few rounds just to stay sharp. That day at the barn was the only time I ever fired on a civilian.”
At this point the conversation took a long break. Sipping scotch was the main activity besides listening to the neighbor’s sound system. Smitty, the yellow Labrador, maneuvered in for some attention. Sipping scotch and scratching a fat headed Labrador had a calming effect.
Danny thought back to those months in Iraq and Afghanistan.
“When we were out sweeping the town or patrolling the roads looking for trouble, those things were not just a one-time event. The shootout at the barn was something else. It was over in a matter of minutes. In the Marines we didn’t have time to reflect on what just happened because as one engagement ended, the next immediately followed. The pressure was always on, and you had to stay focused. You couldn’t dwell on the past because the future was right there, and you had to take care of what was in front of you. When we came out of the field, all we wanted to do was get some real food, take a long shower, and go to sleep without eighty pounds of gear. We were exhausted, and all we wanted to do was sleep. We didn’t reflect on the past events. The only time we did was at the memorial services. Even then we still had things to do and might be back out in the field in a few hours. We were ready to move on. Let’s say we would get in a fire fight clearing a building. Once we cleared that building, there would always be another one to hit. As soon as you fired that second round at the barn, it was all over. So at that point you had plenty of time to think about it. We never did. You killed two guys and saved a bunch of out-gunned officers. They were looking for Cynthia Worthington and by extension me. Of course we were long gone, leaving Patty the horse trainer at the main house, when they headed there looking for Cynthia. You guys stepped in and took the heat off Patty. Your precision marksmanship ended it in in a few seconds.”
“Danny, I am trying to be a family man again and a low profile Chief of Police. Everyone is looking at me a differently, even my kids. I’m pretty sure that they don’t fully understand what happened and why. The kids at school are giving them a hard time because their father is a killer. I’m back on the job without a badge or gun. I sit in my office and do the administrative part of being a chief. They won’t clear me for full duty until the district attorney signs off on the shooting. I’m not worried about being cleared--it just takes so much time to do all the interviews and complete the investigation. District Attorney Cohen has already told me I am in the clear; unfortunately, the investigation has to run its course. The thing is I am not with a bunch of Marines or Coasties. I’m out in town, and some people have the idea that I am a stone cold killer. Others think I’m some sort of Clint Eastwood super hero. I don’t know what I am. I keep trying to explain it to the kids. If I can’t understand it, how can I explain it?”
“People are going to think what they will, chief, and there is nothing you can do about it. Don’t try to explain the unexplainable. Most people won’t even listen anyway; they already have their minds made up. Hopefully, time will let memories fade. People will see you in the present and not the guy who took down two hitmen. Of course that won’t ever go away. People will get used to the old you. They will see you around and at town functions. They will see you out with your wife and the kids, a normal family. That day at the barn won’t ever go completely away, with time things will fade.”
“I always had the idea that something bad might happen. That’s why I had the M-14 in the trunk. I figured that all I would have to do was pull it out and that would be the end of it. I never thought I would actually have to fire it. Until you shot up the van with the armed robber in it, no Maidstone officer ever discharged his weapon. In just under three years, we have had gunfire exchanged four times. I don’t know if I’m cut out for this sort of thing.”
“Chief, if I had the answers to your questions, I would be making the big bucks. You did what you had to do, and you saved lives. Go back to being you, and don’t worry about what you have no control over. Easy for me to say, huh?”
“Thanks for the time, Danny. I think I will take the kids for a walk out to the Ledges and watch the sunset.”
“I like that hike too.”
The chief headed for his car leaving the bottle of scotch. Danny was about to call out to him, then thought better of it. Most of the scotch was still in the bottle and it would keep for another day. The chief had a lot on his mind and didn’t need to cloud it with too much booze.
This is the link to the Amazon Website to purchase the book.
https://www.amazon.com/Maidstone-IV-Tracking-Marc-Youngquist/dp/B09P8L6WBH/ref=sr_1_3?crid=3D2LTW54WTFRW&dib=eyJ2IjoiMSJ9.mygSP-GGs2nSG8vTAgp0zvzHME7DgTxd5J-JnvCjpfbGjHj071QN20LucGBJIEps.TN4RpjhED4ZspnpCDk94fHzYFZNsZ_H3gvQRG5goi-E&dib_tag=se&keywords=Maidstone+Author+Marc+Youngquist&qid=1745426545&s=books&sprefix=maidstone+author+marc+youngquist%2Cstripbooks%2C69&sr=1-3
Danny sat on a teak wood deck chair looking out over the quiet lake that was the Stockbridge Bowl. A two-year-old yellow Labrador laid by his side on a bed of white pine needles. Towering above them were trees that had survived hurricanes and snow storms for more than one hundred years. The cottage behind them was old; by the same token, it was comfortable thanks to many helping hands. These were the Berkshires Danny remembered growing up. Not the place where organized crime figures partied. His neighbor had a sound system on, playing loud enough for the entire west side of the lake to hear. And it was all good. One song was from James Taylor, another from Bruce Springsteen. That would be followed by the Kingston Trio and even Beethoven’s Ode to Joy. Bono and Ozzie Osborne would soon follow. Of course this was the Berkshires, old and new, all at the same time.
It was cool for a summer day, and a gentle breeze came in from the northwest out of New York State. Danny was half asleep with the sun warming his face when he heard a car pull into the camp. His first reaction was to grip the Beretta 380 auto before looking to see who it was. To his surprise it was Chief Dominic Nanfito of the Maidstone Police Department, his big boss. Danny slid the 380 back into the pouch and got up to greet the chief. The visit was a total surprise.
“Chief, my cell didn’t ring. Is there something wrong? Do we have a call out?”
“No, nothing like that. I just need someone to chat with and exchange some thoughts. You have some time?”
He saw the chief daily for the last several years, and nothing like this had come up. He could have pulled him aside at any time; here he was on a day off wanting to talk. It wasn’t like Danny was going to turn him down.
“Whatever you need, chief. Let me get you a deck chair.”
“While you’re up, get some ice and two glasses.”
Danny did as requested, and the two sat sipping scotch looking out over the lake. For someone who wanted to talk, nothing was being said. He knew this had to be something serious, and it was the chief’s call. Danny waited. It was twenty minutes and half a glass of scotch later when the chief finally spoke.
“Ever kill anyone, Danny?”
It wasn’t the question he was expecting. He took a long pull on his scotch and thought back to his days with the Marines Iraq and Afghanistan. For a long time Danny had a very faraway look as the chief waited.
“I’m going to have to give you a definite probably. There were days when I emptied all seven of my magazines and chucked whatever grenades I had. Sometimes I would make my way back to the HUMVEE and draw more ammo and grenades. Did I kill anyone? Probably. When you toss a grenade into a room or crank off 30 rounds at a guy a hundred yards away, you never know for sure. Everyone is firing and throwing grenades so it would be anyone’s guess as to who connected. When we swept through an area, did we find dead and wounded? You bet your ass. Do I feel bad about it? Not in the least. I hope I did kill a few, yes, but not for the bragging rights. They were trying to kill me and my guys. I wasn’t going to let that happen.”
Then there was a long pause. Danny’s thoughts were once again a few thousand miles away from Maidstone.
“Chief, I take that back. There were a couple of times we were just a few feet apart clearing rooms. We were close enough to see the sweat on their faces, and I just fired until the insurgent went down. I put a few more into him just to make sure he wasn’t getting up. They did like their drugs. There were times that no matter how many rounds you put in them they kept coming. They had no sensation of pain even after being hit six times. So yes, I did for sure kill a few people. Yes, I was close enough that I got covered in blood more than once. The smell of copper from the blood was so overwhelming I almost puked. We took prisoners if they would surrender. After May 1, 2003, when the Iraqi Army was defeated, not one US Serviceman was ever taken prisoner. Our guys were all executed, murdered if they were captured. So no, I don’t lose any sleep over it. I do have my nightmares, terrifying dreams because I missed firing at insurgents. The ghosts are laughing at me. I had serious visions in color that I missed, and the mutt is still firing at my guys. In the nightmares, I was so pissed at myself for missing. Then there were dreams where I’m not prepared. Those still bother me.
Chief, you didn’t have a choice the other day. You had to take those guys out. Otherwise we would be having some huge memorial services and talking about the great guys we lost. By the way, where did you learn to shoot an M-14 like that?”
“I was a Gunner’s Mate in the Coast Guard.”
“Seriously?”
“I was armed with an M-14. My job was to cover boarding parties from cutters or to be a gunner on helicopters. We were in the Caribbean and Gulf back in the 90s. I have four confirmed kills. With four single shots, I took out four two hundred and fifty horsepower outboards on a drug boat at sixty miles an hour from a Jayhawk helicopter. After that everyone on the drug boat put their hands up. We trained every week, sometimes every day. We would crank off a few rounds just to stay sharp. That day at the barn was the only time I ever fired on a civilian.”
At this point the conversation took a long break. Sipping scotch was the main activity besides listening to the neighbor’s sound system. Smitty, the yellow Labrador, maneuvered in for some attention. Sipping scotch and scratching a fat headed Labrador had a calming effect.
Danny thought back to those months in Iraq and Afghanistan.
“When we were out sweeping the town or patrolling the roads looking for trouble, those things were not just a one-time event. The shootout at the barn was something else. It was over in a matter of minutes. In the Marines we didn’t have time to reflect on what just happened because as one engagement ended, the next immediately followed. The pressure was always on, and you had to stay focused. You couldn’t dwell on the past because the future was right there, and you had to take care of what was in front of you. When we came out of the field, all we wanted to do was get some real food, take a long shower, and go to sleep without eighty pounds of gear. We were exhausted, and all we wanted to do was sleep. We didn’t reflect on the past events. The only time we did was at the memorial services. Even then we still had things to do and might be back out in the field in a few hours. We were ready to move on. Let’s say we would get in a fire fight clearing a building. Once we cleared that building, there would always be another one to hit. As soon as you fired that second round at the barn, it was all over. So at that point you had plenty of time to think about it. We never did. You killed two guys and saved a bunch of out-gunned officers. They were looking for Cynthia Worthington and by extension me. Of course we were long gone, leaving Patty the horse trainer at the main house, when they headed there looking for Cynthia. You guys stepped in and took the heat off Patty. Your precision marksmanship ended it in in a few seconds.”
“Danny, I am trying to be a family man again and a low profile Chief of Police. Everyone is looking at me a differently, even my kids. I’m pretty sure that they don’t fully understand what happened and why. The kids at school are giving them a hard time because their father is a killer. I’m back on the job without a badge or gun. I sit in my office and do the administrative part of being a chief. They won’t clear me for full duty until the district attorney signs off on the shooting. I’m not worried about being cleared--it just takes so much time to do all the interviews and complete the investigation. District Attorney Cohen has already told me I am in the clear; unfortunately, the investigation has to run its course. The thing is I am not with a bunch of Marines or Coasties. I’m out in town, and some people have the idea that I am a stone cold killer. Others think I’m some sort of Clint Eastwood super hero. I don’t know what I am. I keep trying to explain it to the kids. If I can’t understand it, how can I explain it?”
“People are going to think what they will, chief, and there is nothing you can do about it. Don’t try to explain the unexplainable. Most people won’t even listen anyway; they already have their minds made up. Hopefully, time will let memories fade. People will see you in the present and not the guy who took down two hitmen. Of course that won’t ever go away. People will get used to the old you. They will see you around and at town functions. They will see you out with your wife and the kids, a normal family. That day at the barn won’t ever go completely away, with time things will fade.”
“I always had the idea that something bad might happen. That’s why I had the M-14 in the trunk. I figured that all I would have to do was pull it out and that would be the end of it. I never thought I would actually have to fire it. Until you shot up the van with the armed robber in it, no Maidstone officer ever discharged his weapon. In just under three years, we have had gunfire exchanged four times. I don’t know if I’m cut out for this sort of thing.”
“Chief, if I had the answers to your questions, I would be making the big bucks. You did what you had to do, and you saved lives. Go back to being you, and don’t worry about what you have no control over. Easy for me to say, huh?”
“Thanks for the time, Danny. I think I will take the kids for a walk out to the Ledges and watch the sunset.”
“I like that hike too.”
The chief headed for his car leaving the bottle of scotch. Danny was about to call out to him, then thought better of it. Most of the scotch was still in the bottle and it would keep for another day. The chief had a lot on his mind and didn’t need to cloud it with too much booze.
This is the link to the Amazon Website to purchase the book.
https://www.amazon.com/Maidstone-IV-Tracking-Marc-Youngquist/dp/B09P8L6WBH/ref=sr_1_3?crid=3D2LTW54WTFRW&dib=eyJ2IjoiMSJ9.mygSP-GGs2nSG8vTAgp0zvzHME7DgTxd5J-JnvCjpfbGjHj071QN20LucGBJIEps.TN4RpjhED4ZspnpCDk94fHzYFZNsZ_H3gvQRG5goi-E&dib_tag=se&keywords=Maidstone+Author+Marc+Youngquist&qid=1745426545&s=books&sprefix=maidstone+author+marc+youngquist%2Cstripbooks%2C69&sr=1-3
Maidstone V
CHAPTER 1
Gwen was looking forward to her very first day on her own patrolling the Northeast Kingdom of Vermont as a US Fish and Wildlife Officer. At least that was where she was stationed. The territory was pretty much anywhere a US Fish and Wildlife Officer was needed. They did try to keep the officers reasonably close to their home stations. When a hiker went missing on Mount Washington in New Hampshire, she better have a bag packed with everything she might need.
The six months of training had seemed to drag on. With her degree in criminal justice and six months at the Connecticut Police Academy, she was way ahead of most of her classmates. The four weeks of field training in Vermont with several seasoned officers gave her a better feel for the job in Vermont and New Hampshire. The day started with a tip that a pair of locals had been cruising the farm fields southeast of Island Pond shining a high-power spotlight and jacking deer. The only other information she had to go on was that they had a very old beat-up pickup truck with a double cab.
A color and marker plate would have been nice, thought Gwen, but it is what it is.
Gwen took a page out of Danny Gilchrest’s play book and cruised the area. She found a hill overlooking a large tract of open land away from any dwelling.
The deer-jackers aren’t going to fire anywhere near a house and risk getting caught, she reasoned. Still, they have to get in and out of this area, and there just aren’t that many roads. Most of the big farm fields border the roads; and because they are jacking and not really hunting, they are going to fire from the road--not some interior field where they might get trapped. They had to drop the deer, get it in the truck and get out of the area fast before a citizen, game warden or sheriff came along.
Gwen drove around the Nulhegan Basin most of the afternoon getting a feel for the place and even spotted a few deer. The area was a combination of rolling hills dotted with pines and hardwoods, marsh areas and open fields. She knew the jackers wouldn’t be out until way after dark when there would be very little traffic on the roads.
The first spot she found turned out to present the best possible location for seeing and not being seen. She parked the marked SUV down a dirt road out of sight and found a spot where she could blend in and wait. Darkness fell. Gwen was very much alone in the woods of northern Vermont. There were the night sounds Gwen wasn’t used to. Being a constable in Old Lyme was never like this. There was always traffic and streetlights. On a quiet night in Old Lyme, you could hear the traffic on I-95 anywhere in town. From time to time the train would rumble through sounding its horn. Out here there wasn’t much more than the wind and a few owls calling to each other.
Around midnight Gwen was starting to doze off from the boredom when she heard the sound of a pickup truck in need of a muffler coming up the road. She instinctively hunkered down even though where she was the truck lights could never reach her. In the pitch of the black night, she could have stood up and waved, and they never would have seen her. As she watched, the truck slowed down about a thousand yards off to the west. The truck stopped, and the spotlight came on illuminating six deer just off the road standing in a field. The deer froze in place; then there was the shot. In the stillness and dark of the night, it was like a canon being fired, not a rifle. The light remained on, and the biggest deer took a few steps and went down. As the light went off, the other deer scattered in all directions as the truck took off down the road.
Now where the hell are they going?
Gwen though about it for a while and then it dawned on her that they got out of there just in case someone heard the shot and called the game warden. These guys are pros and know what they are doing. I better be careful.
Gwen headed back to the SUV and retrieved her M-4 carbine. They have at least one rifle so just in case I better be ready with my own firepower. Leaving the SUV hidden so it wouldn’t spook them when they returned to retrieve the deer, Gwen took up a post close to where she saw the shot fired. She wanted to go over and spot the deer but thought better of it. That would mean turning on her flashlight giving away the fact that someone was there. So she remained hidden in the shadows and waited. It was well after 1am when she heard the pickup truck retuning to the area. The deer wasn’t going anywhere so waiting a few hours until almost all traffic had stopped was their best course of action. The truck cruised through the area twice before stopping where the shot had been fired. The loud muffler or the lack of one drowned out all other noises. They shutoff the truck, and the silence of the night returned. It was so quiet and still Gwen could hear them talking two hundred yards away.
“You idiot, I told you to mark the spot with the Silver Bullet beer can so we could find the damn thing. Now we have to find a brown Budweiser bottle in the grass, you dumb shit.”
“Screw you, it’s right there. You walked right past it.”
They were two local guys, who since high school had worked very hard at breaking the law, any law. Their criminal records were long but not very impressive. In high school they broke into houses and stole drugs and booze only to be caught on a surveillance camera breaking into a seasonal home. For that they got probation. They continued their burglary career, this time wearing masks and gloves. Their undoing was bragging about their exploits telling what they had stolen. One of their so-called friends got jammed up with the state police for speeding, played let’s make a deal, ratting them out to the troopers for a pass. A search and arrest warrant soon followed. Things continued on in a similar fashion for the pair. Tonight was going to be the biggest mistake of their lives. Deer jacking was going to be the least of their problems. The truck was unregistered, and the rifle they were using was taken in a burglary that turned into an attempted murder. It seems that the homeowner came in while the pair was still there and tried to stop them. Elijah and Dwight knew they had to get out or they would be doing serious time. Dwight took the crowbar used to break in to beat the homeowner over the head. The first blow rendered the homeowner unconscious on the floor, with Dwight still swinging until Eli pulled him off. They both though he was dead. Miraculously the homeowner survived. Unfortunately, he had no memory of the assault.
The two criminal geniuses didn’t know that. The stolen TV never worked because they didn’t have satellite dish. The radio in the truck like everything else they owned hadn’t worked since they got the truck and so they had very little news from the world around them. They expected to be arrested at any moment; but when days turned into weeks without the troopers crashing through the door, they re-thought their life of crime and decided to take up deer jacking. If it weren’t for food stamps and some drug dealing, they would have starved to death. Gwen had no idea who she was dealing with or their level of desperation if they were caught. For her, it was a simple hunting violation. She didn’t know she was dealing with attempted murderers.
She found the truck and without using her flashlight tried to see what was in the bed of the truck. Without warning Gwen was lit up by the powerful spotlight. There was the ear-splitting crack of a high-powered hunting rifle. She never heard it as the round knifed its way through her body armor slamming her into the truck. She was dead before she hit the ground.
“Eli, you dumb shit, now we have two dead people; and this one is a federal fish cop.”
Dwight went over ready to fire a second shot. He nudged her body with the muzzle of the rifle. In the glare of the spotlight, he could see the massive exit hole in her back and her lifeless eyes staring back at him. “We are already up for one murder; we couldn’t let her take us in. Let’s get her into the tree line and get the hell outta here. Where the hell’s her cruiser?”
They shined the light up and down the road to no avail. Gwen had put it far enough off Eagles Nest Road and hundreds of yards away from where the truck was stopped.
“Eli, grab her feet and let’s get her off the road before someone comes.”
They dragged Gwen just far enough so that she was concealed in the brush. Dwight grabbed the radio and her gun belt. He went through her pockets and took the wallet. He then flipped her on her back and pulled her badge off her shirt.
Eli looked on, not wanting to touch the body. “What are you going to do with that stuff?”
“The way things are going we’re going to need all the firepower we can get. She is a federal fish cop--she might have some money on her.”
“Why the badge?”
“Eli, I think we are going to be collecting a lot more of these unless we can get over the border into Canada.”
They loaded Gwen’s gear into the backseat of the double cab truck and headed out leaving her and the deer behind. Inside the cab Dwight went through the wallet. There were the usual identification and credits cards and a whooping thirty-six dollars.
Dwight was pissed. Not only had they left the deer behind, but they also only had thirty-six lousy dollars for a murder. That would only get them a few shots and beers at the local American Legion Post.
This is the link to the Amazon website to purchase the book.
https://www.amazon.com/Maidstone-V-Never-Forget-22/dp/B0B5TFKFNK/ref=sr_1_1?crid=SPQKX9XTJH4V&dib=eyJ2IjoiMSJ9.AE-cnJBnxRhw_L7iityuig.xtCDFCXp_a-AG3vvJwucntRSXmhjLEkY04MGSd9qAek&dib_tag=se&keywords=Maidstone+V+When+The+demons+come+By+Marc+Youngquist&qid=1745427231&s=books&sprefix=maidstone+v+when+the+demons+come+by+marc+youngquist%2Cstripbooks%2C87&sr=1-1
CHAPTER 1
Gwen was looking forward to her very first day on her own patrolling the Northeast Kingdom of Vermont as a US Fish and Wildlife Officer. At least that was where she was stationed. The territory was pretty much anywhere a US Fish and Wildlife Officer was needed. They did try to keep the officers reasonably close to their home stations. When a hiker went missing on Mount Washington in New Hampshire, she better have a bag packed with everything she might need.
The six months of training had seemed to drag on. With her degree in criminal justice and six months at the Connecticut Police Academy, she was way ahead of most of her classmates. The four weeks of field training in Vermont with several seasoned officers gave her a better feel for the job in Vermont and New Hampshire. The day started with a tip that a pair of locals had been cruising the farm fields southeast of Island Pond shining a high-power spotlight and jacking deer. The only other information she had to go on was that they had a very old beat-up pickup truck with a double cab.
A color and marker plate would have been nice, thought Gwen, but it is what it is.
Gwen took a page out of Danny Gilchrest’s play book and cruised the area. She found a hill overlooking a large tract of open land away from any dwelling.
The deer-jackers aren’t going to fire anywhere near a house and risk getting caught, she reasoned. Still, they have to get in and out of this area, and there just aren’t that many roads. Most of the big farm fields border the roads; and because they are jacking and not really hunting, they are going to fire from the road--not some interior field where they might get trapped. They had to drop the deer, get it in the truck and get out of the area fast before a citizen, game warden or sheriff came along.
Gwen drove around the Nulhegan Basin most of the afternoon getting a feel for the place and even spotted a few deer. The area was a combination of rolling hills dotted with pines and hardwoods, marsh areas and open fields. She knew the jackers wouldn’t be out until way after dark when there would be very little traffic on the roads.
The first spot she found turned out to present the best possible location for seeing and not being seen. She parked the marked SUV down a dirt road out of sight and found a spot where she could blend in and wait. Darkness fell. Gwen was very much alone in the woods of northern Vermont. There were the night sounds Gwen wasn’t used to. Being a constable in Old Lyme was never like this. There was always traffic and streetlights. On a quiet night in Old Lyme, you could hear the traffic on I-95 anywhere in town. From time to time the train would rumble through sounding its horn. Out here there wasn’t much more than the wind and a few owls calling to each other.
Around midnight Gwen was starting to doze off from the boredom when she heard the sound of a pickup truck in need of a muffler coming up the road. She instinctively hunkered down even though where she was the truck lights could never reach her. In the pitch of the black night, she could have stood up and waved, and they never would have seen her. As she watched, the truck slowed down about a thousand yards off to the west. The truck stopped, and the spotlight came on illuminating six deer just off the road standing in a field. The deer froze in place; then there was the shot. In the stillness and dark of the night, it was like a canon being fired, not a rifle. The light remained on, and the biggest deer took a few steps and went down. As the light went off, the other deer scattered in all directions as the truck took off down the road.
Now where the hell are they going?
Gwen though about it for a while and then it dawned on her that they got out of there just in case someone heard the shot and called the game warden. These guys are pros and know what they are doing. I better be careful.
Gwen headed back to the SUV and retrieved her M-4 carbine. They have at least one rifle so just in case I better be ready with my own firepower. Leaving the SUV hidden so it wouldn’t spook them when they returned to retrieve the deer, Gwen took up a post close to where she saw the shot fired. She wanted to go over and spot the deer but thought better of it. That would mean turning on her flashlight giving away the fact that someone was there. So she remained hidden in the shadows and waited. It was well after 1am when she heard the pickup truck retuning to the area. The deer wasn’t going anywhere so waiting a few hours until almost all traffic had stopped was their best course of action. The truck cruised through the area twice before stopping where the shot had been fired. The loud muffler or the lack of one drowned out all other noises. They shutoff the truck, and the silence of the night returned. It was so quiet and still Gwen could hear them talking two hundred yards away.
“You idiot, I told you to mark the spot with the Silver Bullet beer can so we could find the damn thing. Now we have to find a brown Budweiser bottle in the grass, you dumb shit.”
“Screw you, it’s right there. You walked right past it.”
They were two local guys, who since high school had worked very hard at breaking the law, any law. Their criminal records were long but not very impressive. In high school they broke into houses and stole drugs and booze only to be caught on a surveillance camera breaking into a seasonal home. For that they got probation. They continued their burglary career, this time wearing masks and gloves. Their undoing was bragging about their exploits telling what they had stolen. One of their so-called friends got jammed up with the state police for speeding, played let’s make a deal, ratting them out to the troopers for a pass. A search and arrest warrant soon followed. Things continued on in a similar fashion for the pair. Tonight was going to be the biggest mistake of their lives. Deer jacking was going to be the least of their problems. The truck was unregistered, and the rifle they were using was taken in a burglary that turned into an attempted murder. It seems that the homeowner came in while the pair was still there and tried to stop them. Elijah and Dwight knew they had to get out or they would be doing serious time. Dwight took the crowbar used to break in to beat the homeowner over the head. The first blow rendered the homeowner unconscious on the floor, with Dwight still swinging until Eli pulled him off. They both though he was dead. Miraculously the homeowner survived. Unfortunately, he had no memory of the assault.
The two criminal geniuses didn’t know that. The stolen TV never worked because they didn’t have satellite dish. The radio in the truck like everything else they owned hadn’t worked since they got the truck and so they had very little news from the world around them. They expected to be arrested at any moment; but when days turned into weeks without the troopers crashing through the door, they re-thought their life of crime and decided to take up deer jacking. If it weren’t for food stamps and some drug dealing, they would have starved to death. Gwen had no idea who she was dealing with or their level of desperation if they were caught. For her, it was a simple hunting violation. She didn’t know she was dealing with attempted murderers.
She found the truck and without using her flashlight tried to see what was in the bed of the truck. Without warning Gwen was lit up by the powerful spotlight. There was the ear-splitting crack of a high-powered hunting rifle. She never heard it as the round knifed its way through her body armor slamming her into the truck. She was dead before she hit the ground.
“Eli, you dumb shit, now we have two dead people; and this one is a federal fish cop.”
Dwight went over ready to fire a second shot. He nudged her body with the muzzle of the rifle. In the glare of the spotlight, he could see the massive exit hole in her back and her lifeless eyes staring back at him. “We are already up for one murder; we couldn’t let her take us in. Let’s get her into the tree line and get the hell outta here. Where the hell’s her cruiser?”
They shined the light up and down the road to no avail. Gwen had put it far enough off Eagles Nest Road and hundreds of yards away from where the truck was stopped.
“Eli, grab her feet and let’s get her off the road before someone comes.”
They dragged Gwen just far enough so that she was concealed in the brush. Dwight grabbed the radio and her gun belt. He went through her pockets and took the wallet. He then flipped her on her back and pulled her badge off her shirt.
Eli looked on, not wanting to touch the body. “What are you going to do with that stuff?”
“The way things are going we’re going to need all the firepower we can get. She is a federal fish cop--she might have some money on her.”
“Why the badge?”
“Eli, I think we are going to be collecting a lot more of these unless we can get over the border into Canada.”
They loaded Gwen’s gear into the backseat of the double cab truck and headed out leaving her and the deer behind. Inside the cab Dwight went through the wallet. There were the usual identification and credits cards and a whooping thirty-six dollars.
Dwight was pissed. Not only had they left the deer behind, but they also only had thirty-six lousy dollars for a murder. That would only get them a few shots and beers at the local American Legion Post.
This is the link to the Amazon website to purchase the book.
https://www.amazon.com/Maidstone-V-Never-Forget-22/dp/B0B5TFKFNK/ref=sr_1_1?crid=SPQKX9XTJH4V&dib=eyJ2IjoiMSJ9.AE-cnJBnxRhw_L7iityuig.xtCDFCXp_a-AG3vvJwucntRSXmhjLEkY04MGSd9qAek&dib_tag=se&keywords=Maidstone+V+When+The+demons+come+By+Marc+Youngquist&qid=1745427231&s=books&sprefix=maidstone+v+when+the+demons+come+by+marc+youngquist%2Cstripbooks%2C87&sr=1-1
DEATH RIDES A PALE HORSE
A Novel by Marc Youngquist
Book VI in The Maidstone series
I looked, and there before me was a pale horse! Its rider was named Death, and Hades was following close behind him. They were given power over a fourth of the earth to kill by sword, famine and plague, and by the wild beasts of the earth.
Revelation 6:8
And if you gaze long enough into an abyss, the abyss will gaze back into you. He who fights with monsters might take care lest he thereby become a monster.
” Friedrich Nietzsche”
Introduction
For those familiar with the New England area the town of Maidstone centers on the Berkshire town of Stockbridge, Massachusetts. While you might make connections with the town and surrounding locations all are used fictitiously. None of the events described in the Maidstone series ever happened in these locations. Further, the demographics of the real town of Stockbridge and the fictitious town of Maidstone are completely different.
Stockbridge has a year round population of just over 2,000. The town encompasses roughly 23 square miles most of it open land and forest. The police department consists of 9 fulltime officers. Violent crime in Stockbridge is almost nonexistent and there hasn’t been a murder there in over 20 years.
The fictitious town of Maidstone has a population of over 30,000 and covers an area of 40 square miles. The police department has 40 sworn officers and a dozen support staff. The crime rate is typical for a town with that population and a mix of residential, commercial, agricultural, and industrial businesses.
Chapter 1
Gunnery Sergeant Owen Reid of the United States Marine Corps escorted the Assistant US Attorney for Western Massachusetts to the Massachusetts General Hospital gala fund raiser in Boston. Diana Sheriden had asked Owen to wear his Marine Corps gold jump wings and his miniature Silver Star award on his lapel. He went one better and wore his dress blues with everything. There were several other military personnel in uniform, none of them were enlisted. Diana was radiant in a stunning black evening gown. A single strand of pearls and matching earrings created a simple but elegant touch. Her silver hair was soft without a single hair out of place. Her blue eyes were penetrating. The beaming smile on the arm of her escort could not be missed.
Diana was introducing Owen to every person she knew or just recognized. For his part, Owen was getting a bit embarrassed at all the attention. This event was one of the top priorities for certain people in the greater Boston area. While it was billed as a charity event, it showcased the movers and shakers of Massachusetts. If a person in the Boston area could only attend one major event, this was it. While the tickets were beyond pricey, the attendees were also expected to make further donations and to bid aggressively on items in the silent auction. This was where everyone wanted to be seen and have pictures taken. Anyone who mattered would be in attendance, and anyone who wanted to be in that group found the big bucks to attend.
Owen’s dress blue uniform, stack of ribbons, service hash marks, and rank piqued the interest of a Navy commander. His uniform was also impressive with Naval Aviator Wings on top of several rows of ribbons. He made sure that he held his scotch glass with the hand that had his huge Naval Academy ring. Every time he took a sip, the ring would flash in the face of whomever he was near. After a few too many scotches, the commander came to the conclusion that Owen had to be a fake, a-wanna-be looking for attention. He decided that this guy had hit an Army/Navy store for anything he could find and pinned it on a uniform. There was no way one Marine had that many awards. The commander had no idea who the woman was on the fake Marine’s arm. First, a cheap ticket to the event cost one thousand dollars, and the Marine needed two tickets. An enlisted man even at that rank couldn’t afford one ticket. Heck, the commander couldn’t afford it on his pay. Thankfully for him, his father, who was also an Academy grad, had a very lucrative law practice in Boston and just happened to handle government contracts with the Navy. The commander made his way over; and with no class at all, he interrupted the conversation and started quizzing the supposed impersonator.
“Hey, Sarge, that’s quite rack of ribbons and awards you have. Where did you go to jump school?”
“That was Fort Benning, Georgia.”
“Was that recently?”
“1970.”
“They awarded you gold jump wings?”
“No, I received the standard silver basic jump wings. Over the years and a lot more training, I qualified for the gold wings.”
“Where did you go to dive school?”
“I went to several schools; the first was in Hawaii at Pearl Harbor. I also went to Coronado, Groton, and Key West plus a few other places. Those were the major ones.”
“What’s that white and green ribbon with scroll on it?”
“That would be the Vietnam Campaign medal.”
“You’re that old?”
“I joined the Marines in 1969 when I graduated from high school, and I’ve been in ever since.”
“Where are you stationed?”
“Right now, I’m with the inactive reserve pending retirement. Have you been to SERE school?”
Diana interrupted. “What’s SERE school?” She had no idea that Owen was informally but relentlessly being interrogated. Owen did, and he was getting tired of it.
“Di, SERE stands for Survival, Evasion, Resistance and Escape. All pilots go through the SERE course in case they’re shot down behind enemy lines. It teaches them how to avoid capture, how to resist if captured and get rescued, or how to make it back to a friendly force. Some other people who operate behind enemy lines go through the same course. Navy Seals would also go through this training.”
The commander was a little taken aback; most people, even those in the military, didn’t know about SERE school.
“Yes, of course. I went there right after flight school.”
“Then you must have heard about Master Chief Lars Clemensen.”
“He’s a legend at SERE school and at SEAL school in Coronado.”
Owen reached into his pocket and pulled out a business card and a pen. He wrote a phone number on the back of the card and handed it to the commander.
“Here’s Lars’ cell phone number. Give him a call and tell him you’re speaking with Owen Reid. Tell him I want to know if I should let you live or kill you.”
Both the commander and Diana were floored by the request. Diana couldn’t believe what he’d just said. The commander looked at Owen and the card. All that was on the card was Owen’s name, a post office box in of all places Langley, Virginia, and a phone number. On the back was the handwritten number. While the scotch had given him big balls, he was wondering if just maybe this Marine was legit. He moved away and pulled out his cell phone.
Diana was very upset. “Owen, that was pretty rude. I’ve met the commander’s father. He retired as an Admiral if I recall correctly.”
“The commander was questioning if I were a real Marine or some fake. I had to stop it before it got ugly. He’s going to come back and apologize for what he just did using this sentence word for word: Don’t kill him; we’ve got too much money invested in him to have you waste the squid.”
“Owen that is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. An officer in the United States Navy would never say such things.”
Owen gave an inward smile, “You’re probably right. I don’t know what I was thinking.” Of course, Owen knew beyond a shadow of a doubt what was going to happen.
Diana was re-thinking her idea to bring Owen to such a high society event. Maybe he was right--he didn’t fit in. “Owen, we’re going to be meeting a lot of people tonight. Please be a little more tactful and not threaten to kill anyone in the first few minutes you meet them.”
“I promise from now on I will be on my best behavior.”
They strolled around the event nodding hellos and shaking hands with new people. Owen offered a greeting with a big smile. A few minutes later the Navy commander approached.
“My deepest apologies, Master Gunnery Sergeant.”
“No apology is necessary, sir.”
The three exchanged glances. Owen locked eyes with the now humbled commander. “AND?” Owen wanted to know.
The commander closed his eyes and was mumbling words trying to get it right. “’Don’t kill him; we’ve got too much money invested in him to have you waste the squid.’” A smile crossed the commander’s face--proud that even with all the scotch, he remembered everything, word for word.
Owen smiled, “Sir, I would like to introduce you to Ms. Diana Sheriden, the Assistant US Attorney for Western Massachusetts.”
“It’s an honor to meet you, ma’am.”
“Likewise, commander.”
The commander once again apologized and beat a hasty retreat to the bar for another scotch. He knew he’d made a huge mistake.
Diana was stunned by the turn of events. She knew Owen was an enlisted man and the Naval aviator an officer and an Annapolis graduate. She didn’t fully understand the rank structure, but she did know that the commander far out ranked him. “Owen, what was that all about?”
Before he could answer, a young lady in a low-cut dress with a slit up the side showing a lot of leg came up and hugged Owen. She gave him a big kiss on the cheek. Ms. Sheriden was ignored.
“My hero, and look at you all dressed up like a badass Jarhead and not Mr. Rogers, welcome to the neighborhood.”
Owen was glowing beet red, and Diana was wondering what in the world was going on. First, he scares off a Naval officer, and now this gorgeous young lady is kissing him. Owen was about to make the introductions and try to explain everything when there was a commotion nearby that stopped him. A large man in a tux was sprinting for the side exit, and he wasn’t careful about who was in the way. Plain clothes state troopers tried to intercept him, but he was out the door and moving fast. The troopers turned their attention to those who had been knocked down, helping them up and making sure they were all right.
“What the hell was that?” Diana wanted to know. “Who was that jerk?”
Owen knew, but he wasn’t about to say anything. A slight smile crossed his face. No one noticed. Owen had caught just enough of a glimpse to know it was the former Senior Senator from the Commonwealth, a person he hated and whom the two women disliked with a passion.
“Diana, I would like you introduce you to Doctor Sandra Grube, formerly Captain Sandra Grube of the United States Army. Captain Grube is a combat Veteran, paratrooper, recipient of the Bronze Star with V for valor, and the Combat Action Badge. Oh, I forgot. She was also awarded a Purple Heart for wounds received in combat. Doc, why don’t you show Diana your scar.”
“Why don’t you show your lady friend where you’re going to get kicked?”
Doc Grube gave Owen a smile with a hint of a sarcastic look.
Now it was Doc Grube’s turn, “Owen, are you going to introduce your escort to me, or is she your babysitter for tonight? If she is, she forgot to make sure you took your medication.”
Bowing, he made the introductions. “This is Ms. Diana Sheriden, Assistant US Attorney for Western Massachusetts.” Doc Grube recognized the name though she’d never formerly met her.
Doc Grube smiled broadly. “Is this big goof ball under indictment or something?”
Diana wasn’t sure what to make of it. This was her party and acquaintances, and Owen was getting some interesting attention. First the Naval officer and now a drop-dead gorgeous doctor who happened to be less than half of Owen’s age. Hell, he could have been her grandfather.
“Ms. Sheriden, I’ve heard so much about you. Thank you for everything you’ve done for Danny and Maidstone. I have to go; some people are waving at me. Very nice to finally meet you. Keep an eye on this teddy bear; there are some people he scares the hell out of. This place might clear out fast.”
Doc headed off across the room to her friends.
Diana was floored, “Okay, big fella, what the hell was that and the Navy guy all about? I thought this was going to be a boring night, and you’ve managed to liven things up by just standing there for ten minutes.”
Owen looked out across the room, “With regards to the commander, he thought I was a fake, and Lars set him straight. No big deal. Now Doc Grube is a psychiatrist who helped Danny when Gwen was murdered. The guy running like he saw a ghost--well, he did in fact see a ghost. He saw me. Because of him, I’m supposed to be dead. The guy running was your stalker, the Senator. He is also extremely disliked by Doc Grube.”
“You never mentioned any of this at Fitzwily’s when you scared him off from bothering me.”
“It must have slipped my mind.”
“Did you look at him again?”
“Maybe.”
“You look at people or say a sentence and scare the hell out of them.”
“Do I scare you?”
“No.”
“Did Doc Crazy Hair look like I scared her?”
“No, I did think I had some competition, much younger competition. I was wondering if she were going to drag you away. What’s with the Crazy Hair thing?”
“I guess I would have to say formerly Doc Crazy Hair. At one point she reinvented herself and picked up the nickname, Doc Crazy Hair. She then re-reinvented herself into what she is now. If you saw her in her Crazy Hair stage, you would have thought she styled her hair in a wind tunnel. As far as me running away with her, you have nothing to worry about.”
A smile and slight kiss on the cheek sealed the deal. Diana was somewhere between mystified and concerned. Previously, she had watched Owen look at the Senator and with just a few words send him running. Tonight, he’d done it again--this time without saying a word. Then there was the Naval aviator, all confident and ballsy one minute and then apologizing the next. It was like some special power. She recalled Gwen’s funeral when Owen had volunteered to be her escort. She didn’t even know him; and for the whole day, she only left his arm for a few moments.
“Owen, are you ever going to tell me everything about yourself? I feel as though I barely know you.”
“Sorry, there’s a lot that I am not permitted to tell anyone.”
“That doesn’t sound good.”
“As a Marine, I’ve been given numerous assignments that I’m sworn not to discuss under penalty of law. So, if you want to continue going out to dinner with me, skiing, or anything else, there are things I can’t talk about. If I do tell you about them and someone finds out, our next event will be visiting day at the Portsmouth Naval Incarceration facility.”
Diana gave him a long look. Just who is this Owen Reid? There were about a hundred things she wanted to ask him but thought better of it. Whoever Owen Reid was up to this point, he was just down right perfect. She decided to let it ride and not screw things up. They walked arm in arm through the crowd drawing greetings and more than a little attention. Owen couldn’t have been happier. Diana was in her glory.
The Navy commander was another story. He was worried. One of his friends saw him at the bar and noticed he didn’t look well. He pulled up a stool next to the commander.
“What happened with the Jarhead? I thought you said he was a fake, a wanna-be. He’s still here; and you, my friend, don’t look well.”
“Oh, he’s no wanna-be; he’s the real deal. He had me call a Master Chief; I thought I was calling his bluff. It backfired on me.”
“So, who’s this Master Chief?”
“That Master Chief is a legend in the Seal community. He’s as badass as they come. When you look up badass in the dictionary, there’s a picture of him. He has a Navy Cross, Two Silver Stars, Bronze Stars, and Purple Hearts out the wazoo. He’s the craziest and meanest mother I’ve ever met or heard of. No one, and I mean no one, messes with him.”
“So why did calling him make you scared of this guy?”
“I called and introduced myself. When I told him who I was talking to, he told me to be careful because Owen Reid is the craziest mother-fucker he ever met.”
“Oh, boy. Not for nothing. Who’s that hot older woman with the Jarhead?”
“That would be a US Attorney or something. I was too busy concentrating on him to hear it all. Here I go calling out a war hero in front of a US Attorney. When I screw up, I don’t go halfway.”
“Boy, do you know how to pick em. Next time just find Mike Tyson and tell him he’s nothing more than a punk.”
“From the way the Master Chief talked, I would have better odds with Tyson.”
The gala went on into the wee hours of the morning. Carving stations and waiters with hors d’oeuvres constantly circled. The open bar helped to open wallets. This was not a sit-down event with dinner and long-winded speakers. This was a high society get-together with open checkbooks and credit cards being offered to show their commitment to the hospital.
The event did raise a lot of money and a lot of egos. The dishonorable senator from the Commonwealth was forgotten, a mere bump in the evening’s celebration. For the third time in a few weeks, Owen had looked at the Senator and scared the hell out of him. Shortly after running out of the gala, former Senator Riley Johnson began the slow process of drinking himself to death in the parking lot. His passing would be noted; at the same time, no one was going to miss him.
This is the link to the Amazon website to purchase the book.
https://www.amazon.com/MAIDSTONE-VI-Death-Rides-Horse/dp/B0DJWC4K79/ref=sr_1_2?crid=2ABX1I9Z6LUMG&dib=eyJ2IjoiMSJ9.4ylbK8VaKgJe_qIQQLR3GzYlDNfJAIrDeDA2_lnaKl1DEw5s6VZ9Lvw0KqCPPoDeyRs3Ku2PCuNY04fJNZvrOhlKUr9udYpZP-183RIi_nC83fCu84q9hqXUXhzCr44FvrS3nsWQb8RhD0EV-NX2eACXQX0aefUgLDnS_6qguZ6WChvgcu22d5YgmadtS2Da.2a_zftWmfBwXJQNKLCj_60HDpzDFLAPclpFPgVXhimQ&dib_tag=se&keywords=Death+Rides+a+Pale+Horse&qid=1745426932&s=books&sprefix=death+rides+a+pale+horse%2Cstripbooks%2C79&sr=1-2