The Case of the Russian Maids by John Koehler, with Timothy Choquette

A series of violent murders sweeps the Oceanfront of Virginia Beach during the height of the tourist season, threatening the heart and soul of the city’s financial and emotional security. The victims are beautiful Russian maids working at oceanfront hotels, employed by Nikolai Ivanov’s Tsarina Enterprises, a firm also suspected of employing the women for an additional kind of very special room service, one that reaches into the highest echelons of society and government.

The murderer is careful, calculating and resourceful, a master of disguise and with inside information about the workings of the local police. The scenes are macabre, twisted artworks using the victims as the centerpiece.

Under extreme pressures from local political figures, an unusual team assembles to crack the case, led by Lt. Detective John Ordberg from SVU, and his special officers Tonya Jackson and Wheels Johnson. Ordberg also brings in local PI Rick Jameson and his associate Mick Gorbach, along with Michelle Paige, a Psychological Profiler and spiritual reader from The Edgar Cayce Foundation. The team is completed by Special Agent Elena Grigorevna from the FBI.

Taunted by rambling letters from the perp, Ordberg’s team gets inside the head of the bad guy and sets out to take him down, at whatever cost. This is a thriller with a roller coaster ride and a strong finish.

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CHAPTER ONE

June 22 10:34 p.m.

Oceanfront, Virginia Beach

Alley between 23rd and 24th Street

Tonya was running hard down the boardwalk like a tigress of pure power, while George sat poised and taut upon his steel chariot, stalking her from the shadows. Like so many times before, he wished he were running along side of her. But that would never happen, so tonight he would take her down and teach the lesson she needed so badly to learn. Here where the seagulls flew and competed with the oceanfront sounds; people laughing, waves crashing and the drumbeat of his target’s footfalls, rapidly approaching.

He had watched her for several nights now as she ran down the boardwalk after her shift ended. Never once a variation or change in her schedule; she was making it so easy for him. George knew all about her by now, after months of study; she the book and he the pupil. He knew about her loneliness and wished he could be the cure for it, the man who would be her one and only.

He watched her running, mesmerized by the sight of her. Her sports bra covered breasts bounced and beckoned in the moonlight and the glow from the many tall lamps posted along the boardwalk. He had seen men lust after her—how could they not—but tonight she belonged to him and he would make her finally pay attention to him.

The boardwalk was still bustling with tourists, and the meandering people were a constant distraction to him as they made their way back from the bars and headed to their cars and hotel rooms. Noisy families laughed and played together, talking and shouting about the day and about what they would do tomorrow. He could easily listen in to their conversations and did. They were from out of town and hadn’t a care in the world about what they said and often what they did. They were here to have fun and fun they would have. He couldn’t help but laugh at some of their antics, while secretly willing them to get the hell out of his way.

George tolerated the quiet couples who sauntered along, whispering and giggling to each other as they headed to their rooms, and sighed with regret as they passed him by, for he knew what was going to happen when they arrived back in their rooms. They would share something that he would never have, and wrap their legs around each other to dance under sweat-filled sheets.

The regret of what had happened to him pushed him farther into the darkness of his hiding place. He remembered the day his life froze in the desert of Afghanistan; the hurtling explosion and pain of the IED, when his body was broken and he was transformed into a broken creature. Fortunately his hydraulics still worked just fine, but he wasn’t interested in women anymore and chose not to partake, waiting for his dark angel to come change his mind and his life, and make him whole again.

He came back to the mission at hand, crouched low in his chair and became the lion he once was. He had done this before, on the hot sands of another place. His senses heightened to the point of supernatural overload as he watched her run north towards his position. He knew she was a creature of habit, and would turn and run through the narrow alley to cross over to the Jungle Golf parking lot where her car was parked.

He clenched the steel wheels that had become his new legs and thought about the medals he had been given at his discharge ceremony. He had not placed them on his mantel or hid them under his bed. They were instead tucked under his ass, melted into the frame of his wheelchair.

As she passed 22^nd Street, Tonya picked up her pace and kicked harder against the concrete. Her stride was majestic, like a gazelle racing across the plains of Africa, closer now, so George slowly rolled back and tucked himself into the shadows that were cast against the wall of the dumpster enclosure in the alleyway between the two hotels. The smells of rotting trash rose up around him, reminding him of the sick sweet smells of death, the smells of Afghanistan and the treachery, horror and brutality of his past.

With his black clothes, black chair and dark skin, he became a man of stealth, completely camouflaged and impossible to see, even for an experienced cop like Tonya Jackson, a decorated member of the Virginia Beach Police Department’s Special Victims Unit.

She turned left—away from the ocean—and raced straight towards him, just like he knew she would. Once again he gave thanks to his God, the same God who took his legs and now was about to deliver an angel.

As he edged his chair forward he could hear the waves crashing on the beach, and the sound of his angel’s footsteps approaching.

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CHAPTER FOUR

June 23, 12:40 a.m.

Oceanfront Hilton, Suite 2013

Virginia Beach

Ivan watched a young couple walk by twenty floors below him. The man had a prosthetic leg—obviously new—and he was using crutches to steady himself. Ivan thought the cripple was a pathetic waste of time and money, and wondered again why this country chose to care for cripples. As far as he was concerned, they should all be packed up and sent away, out of sight and out of mind.

A knock at his door interrupted his reverie. He smiled as he shut the balcony door and walked to the door and looked through the small round aperture of the peephole, which slightly obscured his vision. Holy shit, she was beautiful! He had picked her out of Ivanov’s online lineup, the one you only get to see by knowing the right people, having the right amount of money and—of course—the right password.

Her online picture had been captivating, but in person she was everything he wanted and needed; she was perfect. Her naturally blond hair was well cut to shoulder length that gently played against the top of her shoulders. Sexy bedroom eyelids revealed bright blue ocean eyes, while her full lips with just the right shade of fiery red lip-gloss completed the picture. He stared for a long time, becoming aroused, as she waited for a response to her knocking. He watched as she checked her phone, probably worried she had the wrong room or the wrong time. Oh, the time was precisely perfect for her, he thought. She knocked again, louder this time.

“Who is it,” he asked through the closed door in his best Québécois accent.

“Debbie,” she replied softly. Debbie my ass, he thought, smiling at her strong Russian accent. More like Delicious, Devine or Delightful. Regardless of her name, everything was perfectly placed and ready for her, waiting only for the perfect queen to complete his tableau.

He opened the door and smiled at her. A quick look of alarm crossed her face as she looked into his eyes, but then she responded to his strong charm and charisma and relaxed, as he gracefully reached for and kissed her hand, turning her hand over to kiss her palm in an erotic way she had never experienced before. She shivered.

“Monsieur Magritte?” she asked softly.

“Enchanted, mon Cherie,” he whispered, his eyes still on her. “Please come in.”

She walked past Ivan with a bold and self-assured manner, head held high like she owned the place because—truth be told—she had been in the suite before to clean it during the day, and twice before to service clients during her “night shift.”

Floor-to-ceiling windows revealed ocean views as well as the 31^st Street Park, where a blues band was playing 200 feet below.  The suite had been beautifully designed by the Hilton’s best interior decorators, and it showcased the finest Renaissance period furniture. The lighting was strategically placed and its soft glow illuminated the European artwork that hung on the fresco walls. The Bose sound system gently cast out a soothing wave of Mozart’s concerto, “The sparrow.” The large two-room suite looked every bit worth the $1,500 a night price tag, and it was, but Ivan knew the sum was a small price to pay for a masterpiece.

As she walked to one of the Moroccan leather couches and sat, she imagined that a gentleman who could afford this suite would give her a grand tip, and she aimed to do whatever it took to get it. She needed just $500 more to buy the airfare for her cousin to fly over from Russia. Together they would start their new life, first as maids, then…. as businesswomen. She loved the sound of that word: businesswomen.

“What would you like to drink, mon amour?” asked Ivan, positioned behind the small wet bar.

“Rum and coke, please.”

She walked to a table perfectly placed near a window, drawn by the items that had been carefully laid out; magnificent white swan wings, two tall cylindrical candles on floor sconces, a large white ladies wig which was encrusted with strands of pearls and other jewelry. An entire professional grade makeup kit was open and waiting to be used. Oh how she would love to have that for herself, she thought. Perhaps he will give it to me as a gift!

There were also smocks, a painting palette, several small crystal glass containers and an array of camel-hair brushes and a selection of the finest hand-made papers and parchments. His brushes and art supplies were placed in perfect order, from the smallest of pinpoints, to the widest three-inch fan brush. What precision he has, she thought to herself.

She turned as Ivan approached with the drinks, and once again he noticed the way her hair brushed the soft flesh of her neck and shoulders. He wanted to taste her, and for a moment he was nearly overcome with the need to take her.

“You are artist?” she asked with a seductive smile, noticing his desire. “What do you paint?”

“Tonight, my dear,” he replied, “I will paint you.”

She clapped her hands with delight and took the proffered glass and raised it up to his. As the crystal glasses softly caressed each other, the purest “C” note was formed, melding perfectly with the soft wave of Mozart’s concerto. They smiled and looked into each other’s eyes, both anticipating the art that was about to be created.

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John Koehler, the owner & publisher of Koehler Books, is a multi-talented award-winning designer, entrepreneur, ministry volunteer, and author of three books. A 1980 graduate from Virginia Commonwealth University (VCU) with a BFA in Communications Arts and Design, John went on to graduate studies at George Washington University, in Washington, DC.

After stints as Art Director at several DC area ad agencies, John started Koehler Studios, Inc. in 1993. Since then, Kim Nelson joined the team as the Creative Director, and in 2010 bought the studio and re-christened it as Red Chalk Studios. John is a past president of the local Ad Club, and is a member of The Noblemen, a fundraising group for kids.

John has also served with Young Life Capernaum in Hampton Roads, a ministry that serves kids with disabilities. Perhaps his best known accomplishment was winning the 1991 Boomerang World Championship in Perth, Australia. He was also a member of the Foster’s Boomerang 2000 Team, a touring demo team that taught the NFL, MLB and others the gospel of boomerangs.

In 2005 John published his first book, Bipolar by Koehler, about living with bipolar syndrome. Since then he has given many talks around the state and in schools to help people better understand how to survive brain illness and avoid suicide. In 2007 Koehler published Benjamin, The Road to Capernaum, a novel based on a crippled man from the Bible who was healed by a certain Jewish rabbi. His latest book is My Inflatable Heart, a series of short stories about Capernaum and life recollections.

Married since 1982 to his college sweetheart, Patty, an art teacher at Old Donation Center for the Gifted and Talented, John is the proud father of Kimmi and Danielle, and grandfather to Lilli and Eli. John lives and works in Virginia Beach, Virginia. This is John’s 4th book.

Timothy Paul Choquette is a historical restoration artisan and the former owner of True Line Masonry, a major restoration company in Boston Mass. For over 20 years Timothy has traveled the east coast restoring monuments, Churches, and municipalities in such places as Nantucket, Sag Harbor, New Bedford and Boston. In 1986 he worked along with his father restoring the famed ” Plymouth Rock.” After a life changing event and recovery, he reunited with his first love, Rebecca, married her and now resides in Norfolk Virginia. He is now dedicated to being a full time writer and working on a collection of short stories that recapture his early childhood in Camden, Arkansas. Timothy has been an ongoing student at the Muse Writers Center, in Norfolk, Virginia. Choquette is currently working on his first novel, which is to be published by Koehler Books.