Paula May - First Degree Rage

FIRST

DEGREE

RAGE

THE TRUE STORY OF THE ASSASSIN, AN OBSESSION, AND MURDER

PAULA MAY

WildBluePress.com

FIRST DEGREE RAGE published by:

WILDBLUE PRESS

P.O. Box 102440

Denver, Colorado 80250

Publisher Disclaimer: Any opinions, statements of fact or fiction, descriptions, dialogue, and citations found in this book were provided by the author, and are solely those of the author. The publisher makes no claim as to their veracity or accuracy, and assumes no liability for the content.

Copyright 2020 by Paula May

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ISBN 978-1-952225-06-2 Trade Paperback

ISBN 978-1-952225-05-5 eBook

Cover design 2020 WildBlue Press. All rights reserved.

Interior Formatting by Elijah Toten

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For jealousy is the rage of a man: therefore he will not spare in the day of vengeance

(Proverbs 6:34)

Chapter One

the law is not made for the righteous man, but for the lawless and disobedient, for the ungodly and for sinners, for unholy and profane, for murderers (I Timothy 1:9)

Never have my feet been so cold. I marveled at the fact that my lower extremities could be simultaneously numb and painful. I looked down at the snow that clung to my slacks from the hem to the knee, well above the tops of my slick leather loafers. My vision blurred with another gust of the arctic wind in my face, and the frozen mascara on my upper and lower eyelashes were causing them to adhere together when I blinked. I squinted into the wind and trudged forward; wiggling my toes to assess them with each step I took.

The last crime scene I had been to outdoors an attempted arson was not in the snow but the rain, resulting in mud that caked my boots so completely that I had left them in my garage where I had removed them, and where they still remain, dried hard as concrete. The insulated coveralls I had worn but had not yet had time to launder were hanging on a nearby hook. I had planned to clean both my boots and my coveralls tomorrow, then repack them in the trunk of my unmarked Crown Victoria, taking the chance all week that I would not need them before the weekend. Just one more day and I would have been in the clear.

This being a wintry Friday, I had planned to work inside the office all day. But after twenty-seven years of living in the Blue Ridge Mountains of Appalachia I should have known better, particularly when for the past six years I had been dispatched to a variety of crime scenes in every sort of weather imaginable. Yet here I was, plodding through several inches of snow, on a major crime scene for who knew how many hours without my insulated coveralls or boots.

A good investigator is always prepared, said a voice from my past. I promptly ignored the voice.

Despite the wintry conditions, I could not deny that the scene around me was breathtaking, both literally and figuratively. Nothing less than the creative hand of God could have rendered a painting so resplendent. When the sun peeked through the heavy cloud cover, the snowy ground shimmered like a field of diamond dust. I took a mental photograph of the peaceful scene, despite my disdain for the bone-chilling temperature and the immediate tasks that lay before me. The only visible movements other than that of law enforcement officers were the billowing of pines and pin oaks and the occasional whirling columns of snow stirred by increasing gusts of wind. Sadly, it was a place not untouched by evil, and it was that thought that drew me back to the purpose of my present station.

Just an hour ago I was working at my desk in my warm little office in the Criminal Investigations Division of the Watauga County Sheriffs Department in Boone, North Carolina. I was catching up on some reports for the upcoming session of the grand jury. I had hoped to finish my paperwork and drive home to my family before dark. I lived in a rural area a good thirty minutes out of town. The snow-covered roads were slick and getting worse by the hour. I had just finished a prosecution summary on a domestic violence case when the phone on my desk rang. It was our dispatch center.

Sergeant May?

Yes, I answered.

Are you the lucky one on call this evening?

I am. Now why do I get the feeling that my plans for the evening are about to change?

You are a good detective, he said and laughed.

Im just a bran muffin in a world of Krispy Kremes, I said. What do we have?

Dead body, he said. and on such a lovely day.

Legit? I asked.

Afraid so.

Outdoors? I asked.

Yes, in the woods, east side of the county. A land surveyor found a body in the snow.

Is it the body of an adult? I asked.

I believe so. You know where the Parkway crosses Highway 421 in Deep Gap? he asked me.

Right at the top of the mountain, I confirmed.

Right. The dispatcher said and provided a few more details, including the fact that Deputy Patrick Baker, who had just arrived on scene, said it looked like the body had been there for several days at least.

Ill be on my way in just a minute or two then, I said getting up. I grabbed my coat and briefcase.

I met Ray Halle in the hallway, one of the hard-working detectives I supervised.

Sarge, you hear about the DOA? he asked.

Yes, I just did hear. Thats where Im headed. You coming? I asked.

Yeah. Do you have snow tires yet?

On order.

Okay, Ill drive. Idols Tire just put mine on yesterday. Im parked right out front.

Okay, Ill meet you out there. No huge rush; the body isnt going anywhere. Deputy Bakers on the scene and said its been there for a while, I said.

Were probably gonna be there for a while too, he surmised.

I grabbed a couple of fresh legal pads, tossed them in my briefcase, and headed outside to get some things that I would likely need out of my Crown Vic.

It was nineteen degrees and dropping; I shuddered to think what the wind chill might be. I got into the passenger side of Rays burgundy unmarked Crown Victoria. I began making notes as he carefully navigated the partially clear, partially snow-covered roads.

What other details do you have? Detective Halle asked.

A land surveyor, working with a private crew that was contracted to the state highway department the D.O.T. was in the woods above the Blue Ridge Parkway entrance off 421 at the top of the mountain. The surveyor was apparently searching for a property marker in the ground when he saw it him or her in the snow.

You know my brother worked for the D.O.T., Detective Halle said, deliberately off topic.

No, I didnt know that, I said.

One day they told me he was stealing from the state. I didnt want to believe it, but when I went to his house, all the signs were there, he said, and we laughed at his joke.

Ah, good one, I said. Ray Halle was good natured and enjoyed humor as long as it was clean. I appreciated both the attributes.

Just trying to lighten the mood, he said soberly. It could be a long night.

Wouldnt be the first time, I agreed.

Or the last. Now, if the body out there today is covered with snow, and the man who found it did not get a good look at it, it could be another mannequin, like the Halloween prank by the boys in the frat houseRemember that mannequin they hung in the tree? I recalled that it had greatly upset a jogger passing by. She thought it was a real person hanging by a noose from the tree limb. She was not even remotely amused by the prank. However, a few of the deputies had some fun afterward with the frats old life-size mannequin, placing him in variety of unsuspected locations and scenarios for another officer to happen upon.