Terror in New York A novel

Harlan Friedman is a killer. He doesn't care about human life in New York in nineteen seventy-two. When Detective Ray Carson and his partner Jennifer Kane, are on the case, they struggle to catch him before it's too late.


2. Dangerous times-January 4, 1972


The cold, bitter, night dawned on Stella Fitzgerald. She knew her flower power girlfriends were eager to relate to the nervousness that seeped throughout the city that never sleeps; she was thinking that the nightmare of nineteen seventy when she was attacked by The Night Prowler, Dennis Franklin, was the catalyst to leave Los Angeles for New York. She heard the sound of yellow taxis zooming around the city; she focused on her apartment, as everyone yelled while she made dinner.


Harlan Friedman gripped the sharp butcher knife in his right hand. He breathed hard. Then he took his time staking out the apartment. He looked around to see whether there were police; he felt the rush of the job at hand. He wore a black hood on his head. There were cut-outs where his blue eyes were. He was wearing a black coat, black jeans, a brown belt, black socks, and black boots on his feet. 

By four o'clock in the afternoon, he walked towards the front door.

And he waited to make his move.


Stella heard it.

The knocking on her front door. She was concerned about the recent nightmares that had plagued New York; she gripped her small knife in her left hand. She peered out of the hole in the front door. "Who are you? What do you want?", she asked Harlan. Harlan grinned. He smiled. "Time's up, Stella", he answered. Stella shuddered. She didn't know him at all. And yet she was scared. She grabbed her telephone, and called 9-1-1. "Police please. This is an emergency. There's a psychopath outside my house. Can you come here quick?". And then Harlan fled the house, and begun to stalk another house.


Detective Ray Carson, and his partner Jennifer Kane, were scanning the area in New York where Harlan Friedman was. When they had caught Dennis Franklin on Halloween Eve, 1970, he had committed fifty murders before he was arrested for the deaths of couples in the city from 1955 to 1970. When he was given the death penalty by New York Judge Thomas Lower at the United States Supreme Court in January of 1971, the threat in the city had vanished. And now, as another killer was on the loose, and the gruelling terror had returned to shatter the hope of the locals who dreamed of peace in New York. They stared at the front door. Stella opened it. "Thank God! I saw him. The Hooded Killer". Detective Carson blinked his blue eyes. "There's a lot of killers in New York. After the Manson and Zodiac murders, New York Mayor Al Sher, Jr., told everyone in City Hall, that the city is tainted by crime". Stella nodded. "He scared me. I didn't open the front door". And Jennifer Kane nodded. "Calling the police is the right thing. We'll catch him". And she attempted to comfort her, as Stella broke down in tears.


Frank Robertson stared at the protestors who were anti-President Nixon. Ever since the political climate was on a knife's edge, the imminent dread of America was hotter than ever; the dread was that the night was full of criminals who took over the subways and terrorizing the people who lived there. Frank, who was forty-three, knew that the country was invading other countries like Vietnam for a long time. The invasion was difficult to fathom. Then, with the break-in Daniel Ellison's office in 1971, Frank knew that everyone was thinking about the foreboding scandal. He knew that the media and the television reports on the murders in New York, wouldn't go away. Everything was linked up like a lengthy spider's web. Frank had long, black hair, brown eyes, and tall. He saw the new hippies were in the Kombi vans; he saw their face were serene. He knew some of them were doing drugs. Some were smoking cigarettes. He wore a purple skivvy, blue flares, black socks, and black shoes on his feet; he glanced at his Rolex watch. The time was 7:30 PM. He walked down 131st street and 7th avenue. He headed towards Angelo's Italian Restaurant, and ate his dinner before the darkness consumed him.


Detective Ray Carson took out his writing notes on his pad.

"The man wore a hood".

"Yes, and it was scary".

"If he's here we'll stop him", Jennifer Kane said. She had long, blonde hair, green eyes, and petite. She wore a black New York Police Department uniform, blue flares, black socks, and black shoes on her feet. On her left hand was a watch. At twenty-five, she was single. She didn't need a man to marry; she was happily single. "There's a lot of people who think they've been in grave danger because the killers in prison aren't lurking around at night time; the killers are here because they're cold hearted". She watched her partner. He nodded. "Let's go!", he said.

And he opened the front door. And they walked to their police car...and got in.


Page 2.

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