Scheme Of Sin (Wayne Falls Book 3)

by John J. Hunter

  A reporter shoved the microphone toward a red-faced woman. "What do you have to say to the police and the federal authorities solving the murders?"

  The woman looked at the camera. "Get off your asses and get to work. People are dying! That boy is dead! All because you people can't seem to do your job!" she spat, jabbing a finger in the air.

  The TV zapped shut, the screen going blank. Alice stared at her tiny image sitting on the bed reflected in the black TV screen. Naomi stood beside her with the remote in her hand.

  She tossed the remote on the bed. "You don't have to watch that."

  Alice pressed her hands against her face. The pressure of her palms soothing the burning sensation in her eyes from staying up late for nights in a row.

  "I'm not doing enough," she mumbled.

  "Yes, you are!" Naomi insisted.

  "No, I am not. Or else I would have caught him by now." She gave her a defeated look.

  "Stop being so hard on yourself," Naomi said gently as she sat down next to her and slid an arm over Alice’s shoulder.

  The last victim was picked up by the killer after a night out at the club. His blood-alcohol level was way above the legal limit and there was the presence of the date rape drug in his bloodstream as well, which suggested that the killer might have interacted with him at the bar while he was having drinks.

  The bartender at the place where the victim was last seen, reported that he met with a man and shared a few drinks sometime during the night but left alone later on. The witnesses reported that the suspect had his face hidden under the shadow of a baseball cap. That coupled with the dim lighting in the club meant none of the people got a good look at his face.

  He was right there under their nose and they couldn't find him.

  Naomi stayed by her friend's side until she was feeling better. She was beginning to understand her perspective the more time she spent with her and it now made sense why she acted the way she did.

  Naomi did not know what traumas haunted her but she knew that Alice preferred solving crime because it was the only sphere in her life where she felt entirely in control.

  In solving a mystery, Point A led to Point B; the results of a scientific analysis of the evidence at hand either incriminated or ruled out a suspect; witness testimonies, alibis, and possible motives to commit a crime could be documented and curated.

  No matter how confusing or complicated the information at hand, she could make sense of it and that gave her a feeling of control. So Naomi could understand how facing a roadblock in the investigation unsettled Alice and felt sympathetic toward her.

  "Come on," she said. "Let's screw everything and order pizza."

  "I'm not in the mood," she said, glumly.

  "Did I ask if you were?" She grinned as she picked up her cell phone to order pizza.

  A few hours and two boxes of pepperoni pizza later, Alice found her spirits lifted. She lay on the bed next to Naomi with a soda bottle in her hand watching reruns of Friends on the TV.

  Naomi raised her bottle of soda and said, "See, this is the therapy that you really needed. Trust me, when you wake up in the morning tomorrow, you are going to feel rejuvenated."

  Alice was surprised when she woke up the next day bursting with energy. The criticism meted out at her in the media rolled off her and she went about the investigation with only one goal in mind: to catch the San Bernardino Butcher.

  She turned up at the station to talk to Sergeant Whitfield about the investigation and was surprised to find him getting ready to leave.

  He had his hat on and held his keys in his hands when she walked into his office. She stood in the doorway, unsure whether to go in further or leave.

  He took off his hat and went around the desk to sit on his chair while gesturing at her to take a seat. "Go on, I can spare a few minutes."

  Alice sat on the chair before him. "I wanted to talk to you about the footage from the toll plazas."

  The sergeant nodded. "We got the license plate number for the vehicle the man was driving."

  Alice felt a bout of elation but it was short-lived.

  "But," he said, "the vehicle was last seen on its way to Arizona from California last month and has not been seen since then."

  "We should still alert the border patrol in case he tries to leave."

  Sergeant nodded his approval. "I have done so. Don't worry, we'll be alerted if he tries to leave." His mustache twitched as he smiled.

  "Well, I better get going," he said, placing his hat back over his head. "The boy, Michael Lewis, the last victim, was a prominent member of the church. I can't miss his funeral."

  He marched out of the office. He hesitated on his way out the door and looked back toward her. "You are welcome to join me if you like."

  Alice took up the sergeant's offer. She followed his police cab in her rattling old Dodge Charger.

  Alice sucked the air between her teeth as it clunked down the road behind the smooth sailing cab. It was the only vehicle available on short notice. She repeated the statement in her head over and over to calm herself.

  They drove past a massive wrought iron gate and snaked down a winding path with rolling green plains on either side. Alice could spot the white tombstone jutting out from the grassy plains.

  The sergeant pulled up a few feet away from a crowd of people dressed in black.

  Alice parked behind him and got out. She followed him toward the somber crowd assembled around an open grave.

  The priest who presided over the ceremony caught her attention. He had short blonde hair, clear blue eyes, and a dimpled chin. He seemed to be the same age as the sergeant but his slender build and youthful face made him appear younger.

  "We are gathered here today to say farewell to Michael Lewis and to commit him into God's hands."

  Alice listened to the priest drone on in a soporific voice. She looked around at the attendees. A plump woman stood crying profusely near the coffin. Alice took her to be the boy's mother. The woman began sobbing hysterically when the priest lifted a handful of earth to drop over the coffin.

  "From dust you came, to dust you shall return," he said, as the boy's mother staggered away from the grave unable to control herself.

  The crowd began to dissipate. Sergeant Whitfield nudged his way to the priest. Curious to meet him, Alice followed close behind.

  "Your untiring efforts to catch this violent beast are greatly appreciated, Sergeant," Alice heard him saying. "The poor mother of the boy would have thanked you herself had she found herself in a composed state."

  He glanced at Alice who came to stand next to the sergeant. His eyes sparkled with amusement as he looked her over. Alice assumed it was her baggy clothes and scrawny physique that piqued his interest as it did with so many others.

  "Father Thomas, this is FBI Special Agent Alice Sloan. She is the one who has been leading the investigation on the murders," Sergeant Whitfield introduced her.

  The priest bowed his head in acknowledgment, a bemused smile playing over his lips. "Father Thomas Romano," he introduced himself. "It is a pleasure to meet you."

  "Did you know Michael personally?" she asked.

  The smile vanished and his face fell. "He was a promising youth with an exceptionally bright future ahead of him. It is terrible that he died in such an inhumane manner."

  Alice could see the sadness in his eyes. The priest glanced at the woman who had broken away from the crowd and stood crying next to a strong elm tree. People had congregated around her and tried desperately to console her.

  "His mother was a devout member of the church and had such big dreams for her son. To see her in this condition . . ." he looked away with a pained expression, "it is unbearable."

  Sergeant Whitfield felt Father Thomas's pain. "Please help her get through this difficult time. And assure her that we will not rest until we have caught this . . . this . . . monster and put him behind bars." His expression hardened and his eyes blazed with anger.

  The priest p
laced a hand on his shoulder and smiled. "Of that, I have no doubt."

  They bid farewell to Father Thomas and strode back to their vehicles. Alice did not know what it was but the whole encounter left a bad taste in her mouth. She marked it off as her aversion toward organized religion as she got in the car and drove off.

  The sergeant's car tailed after hers as they wound their way out of the cemetery. Once they were outside the wrought iron gates, he took a sharp left and disappeared.

  Alice glanced up at the sky; it was almost dusk. The sun hung low in the sky, washing the clouds in pink. The cemetery was located a little way out of the city. She estimated that it would be nightfall before she got to the motel.

  The car rumbled down the road, jouncing over potholes. It suddenly began jolting back and forth. Alice struggled to maneuver it over the dilapidated road and felt helpless when it trembled to a stop.

  She looked out the windshield and saw the smoke billowing from the hood. She let her head fall on the steering wheel with a thud and let out a loud groan.

  Pushing open the door, she jumped outside and stomped toward the hood. Plumes of dark smoke spilled out as she propped it open. It made her cough and take a step back.

  Alice waited for the smoke to clear, then stuck her head inside to try and work out a solution to the problem.

  The sound of a car screeching to a stop beside her made her look up. Police Chief Eric Warshaw grinned infuriatingly at her from the driver's seat.

  "Need a ride?" he asked.

  Alice looked at the engine then looked back at the greasy smile on the officer's face. She could not figure out what was wrong with the car and doubted she could fix it. She glanced around at the long stretch of desert on either side of the road and made up her mind.

  Alice walked to the black car, pulled open the door to the backseat, and got in. She loathed his triumphant smile as he started the engine and began driving toward the city.

  "You know girls like you should be more careful," he said. "You don't want to be lost in the desert. All sorts of wild things out here."

  She could tell he was watching her in the rearview mirror and looked out of the window instead, ignoring his lecherous gaze.

  "You know, I am a proud family man. These murders, a wild maniac chopping people up, well, it keeps me up most nights." He glanced at the mirror to check her expression, feeling disappointed to see her looking disinterested.

  "All I'm trying to say is that I'm sorry for going off on you that day outside the restaurant."

  Alice looked up. She saw a strange light flickering inside his eyes as he watched her in the mirror. It made her doubt the apology was a sincere one and she touched the holster on her waist ready to take out her weapon if there was a need.

  "You're pretty," he said, licking his lips. "What do you say? How about we spend the night in a different motel?"

  "Stop the car!" said Alice, abruptly.

  Her sudden yelling almost made him lose control over the steering wheel. The car swerved dangerously on the road before skidding to a stop.

  The police chief's head swiveled around to face her. "Are you out of your mind?" he bellowed. "You almost caused an accident!"

  Alice glared at him and pushed open the door, springing out of the vehicle and banging the door shut.

  She began marching down the side of the road.

  The officer turned on the engine and cruised alongside her. "Hey, look! I'm sorry, okay," he said, leaning over the passenger seat so she could hear him. "Just get in the car, okay? I'll take you back to your hotel."

  Alice could feel the fear in his voice. He was afraid of repercussions. She stopped for a moment and stared at an approaching car in the distance. Eric put his foot down on the brakes as well and waited for her to get back in.

  Alice gazed at the convertible whizzing toward her, packed with rollicking college students. She waved her arms in the air, asking them to stop.

  The convertible pulled to a stop and Alice hurried towards the vehicle. The skinny tanned women in the backseat scooched over to make room for her and she hopped in.

  Eric Warshaw gaped at the car as it whisked Alice away from him, placing her far out of his reach.

  CHAPTER 7

  "I have something important to discuss with you," said Alice, startling Tyler.

  She had shown up in his motel room out of nowhere while he worked the case on his laptop. He suspected Adrian may have let her in on his way out.

  "It's about the police chief," she explained as she flopped on the bed. "I need to find out everything about his past. Every little detail that may have gotten overlooked or forgotten over the years."

  Tyler gave her a bewildered look. "Um . . . okay. I'm sorry but why are we investigating the police chief all of a sudden?"

  Alice put her hand in her pocket and pulled out a long strand of blonde hair. "Because of this."

  He gave the hair a confused look. "I'm not sure I follow."

  Alice told him about her creepy encounter with the chief a few hours ago and his bizarre behavior.

  "I found it lying on the floor in the back seat of his car. I need to get it tested. See if it matches one of the victims, Marie Sinclair."

  She got up, picked a plastic bag up from the dresser, and placed the strand of hair inside.

  "See if he served in the Vietnam War or if he ever had connections to the mafia."

  She stared at the hair, coiled up inside the plastic, reminding her of the coiled dragon on the man's arm as he beckoned Marie Sinclair to get in the car and meet her death.

  ***

  Adrian clicked open the email. His jaw fell open as he read the results. He sat gaping at the laptop screen for several moments in stunned disbelief. Finally, as the shock subsided, he grabbed a USB device and inserted it into his laptop. As he clicked to transfer files, he wondered over the shock Alice would go through when she read the report.

  ***

  Alice paced back and forth inside her room. Naomi had gone out to get something for them to eat. The knock on the door made her jump. She rushed to open the door and let Tyler inside.

  His face was blanched of color as he walked in, he looked dazed. "I think you were right about him."

  Alice had suspected it all along. Still, having someone else concur with her left her feeling shocked.

  "The hair you found, it's Marie's. "

  "What about the car?"

  "I can't say. I don't have the plate number for that."

  Alice realized they would have to talk to Sergeant Whitfield about the car. She felt her heart sink when she realized he was probably covering up for the chief.

  “And what about his connections with the mafia?”

  “I can’t say anything for sure about that. All that I could find was that he lived in New York in the ‘60s and at some time he was charged for the possession of drugs. I could not find anything about him serving in Vietnam.”

  Alice wondered whether he had made that up to impress Jeffery Keune at the bar. She let go of the detail. The rest of the evidence against him was enough for her to suspect him as the killer.

  Tyler slumped on a chair and let out a loud breath. “Who would have thought the Chief of Police could be behind the murders?” He looked up at her, his eyes wide with disbelief. “A self-proclaimed family man?”

  “That’s just something they all say,” she said, bitterly. “The perfect little family is just a cover-up for their crimes.”

  “I hadn’t considered that.”

  “I did,” she replied. “I know the sort all too well.”

  “Really?” He had never heard her talk about her past or anything remotely intimate so it surprised him that she was willing to discuss something like that with him. He had heard rumors about her mother, a celebrated FBI agent, getting murdered by her stepfather and wondered whether she was willing to open up to him about that.

  Alice was not sure what prompted her to dip into her past just then. She just felt an overwhelming need to
talk about what happened with another person. She strode toward her suitcase, flicked it open, and began rummaging inside.

  “My mother Rita met a man at the bar named Riley Fergusson. They danced and laughed and soon she was walking down the aisle toward him with her sour-faced daughter standing sullenly in the shadows.”

  She took out a shoebox and lifted the lid. “Little did she know that he was a psychopath who preyed on young girls, raping and killing them.”

  Tyler listened to her story, horrified.

  “She denied it for the longest time. It wasn’t until he attacked the neighbor’s daughter that she finally opened her eyes to the truth. She was all set to report him to the FBI and have him arrested but Riley was always one step ahead. He got her before she could get him. Shot her in the chest; then, to avoid his arrest and public humiliation, he shot himself.”

  She took out a photograph from the box and strode across the room to hand it to him. Tyler took it from her hand and stared at the photo of the man wearing a Marine’s uniform. “He was a retired Marine. Charming and handsome which made him an expert liar.”

  Tyler’s expressions changed from mild curiosity to shock and finally horror as he gazed at Riley. He dropped the photograph and sprang to his feet.

  Alice furrowed her brow at his unlikely response but before she could say anything he had stormed out, leaving her behind, puzzled and confused.

  She dashed after him but by the time she got to the loggia, he had gotten inside his car and was speeding away.

  "Alice! Alice!"

  She spun around and saw Adrian bolting toward her.

  "You won't believe what I am about to tell you!" he said, breathlessly.

  "I don't have time, Adrian," she said. She could not believe Tyler had abandoned her at a time like this. "I know who the killer is. I have him."

  "You do?" he asked, confused. "How?"

  She told him everything about the chief offering her a ride, making sexual offers, and the strand of Marie Sinclair's hair that she had found in his car. She remembered how a dark-colored car had stopped by to offer Marie Sinclair a ride at the gas station and realized her mistake of not asking the sergeant to provide her the plate number.