Dressed to Kill

by Sara B Gauldin

  “Maybe he forgot to unlock it.” Jesse had tried to reassure me, but he was already checking out the front of the house for signs that something might be wrong.

  “How did the guest get in?” I reached for the holster on my belt but found nothing. Airports and weapons were a no-go. “Crap.”

  “I’ll go around to the back, just in case. Do you want me to call it in?”

  “No, there’s no sign of a break in.”

  Every one of my senses was on hyper-alert. I looked around the neighborhood, trying to see if there was anything out of place, anything that might give me an explanation of what was going on. There was nothing, but the uneasy feeling hadn’t faded.

  Jesse took off toward the backyard. Neither of us was armed, so I wasn’t sure what we'd do if there was a problem.

  A tapping sound caught my attention, and I turned to see Milly’s nose peeking through the corner of the blinds in Dad’s bedroom. Milly never went into Dad’s bedroom; he always shut her out to keep his bed pristine. “Please, don’t bark,” I whispered.

  I dug into my purse and found my house key. The lock turned quietly, and I tried to get the drop on anything that might be out of the normal. I shouldn’t have bothered. Before I could turn the door handle, the door jerked open, and someone in a mask grabbed my arm and jerked me inside.

  I didn’t know the situation, but I didn’t waste any time, letting my years of karate class guide my movements, and set about making my displeasure known to the large, masked man. After several direct blows, the guy backed as far away from me as he could and produce a gun from his side.

  “Avery?” I heard my dad from behind the counter. I couldn’t see him from where I stood, so I assumed he was on the ground.

  “I’m here, Dad.” My voice sounded too loud in the empty house. I held up my hands.

  “It’s a bad time to drop in,” Dad said.

  “Clearly.” The masked man gestured for me to sit on the couch with the gun. I obliged.

  “What do you want?”

  He laughed. His voice sounded high pitched and strange. “Well, I want to do my job. That seems reasonable enough.”

  A realization hit me. I knew the guy’s voice. There was no mistaking the condescending tone. “Dr. Stevens? What are you doing?”

  “It took me almost a year before I knew you remembered it all. They want to know everything…before—but once I knew, you were valuable. You, Avery, are my retirement. We can both get some rest this way.”

  “What are you talking about? What do I know?”

  “You know too much. They tried to get you to take a hint. They tried to show you that you were the one causing the problem, but you wouldn’t take the hint.”

  “You were paid to pick my brain?” I asked.

  “Yes, and for the longest time, I thought you weren't a threat, but when I realized that it was all still there, I knew that you had what they were looking for.”

  I glared into the eyes of the man I'd forced myself to trust. “What are you talking about? I went into hiding for almost a year to get away from this mess. I don’t want anything more to do with the George family.”

  “You didn’t go far enough. You've put me through a lot of trouble, and now your poor father's involved—although, that seems fair, when I think of it.”

  A soft noise in the hallway caught my attention, and the horrible realization of what Dr. Stevens had meant hit me. “Did you think I would kill myself?” I asked.

  “Not really. It's better this way—you’ll have no guilt about doing yourself in. You'll have peace, and I'll have—” he didn’t get to finish his before Jesse grabbed the hand holding his gun from behind. It slid across the floor and under the buffet. I dove after it as Jesse and Dr. Stevens struggled.

  I caught a glimpse of my dad’s feet bound tightly together; poking out from behind the counter and a new surge of rage came over me. I grabbed the gun, and there was a crash as the fight took the men closer to the counter that hid my father from my view. I stood, aimed my newly-claimed weapon at the intruder, and saw that Jesse was on the ground, his head bleeding. Dr. Stevens held one of Dad’s favorite bar stools up and readied it to bring it down on Jesse.

  “Stop!” I screamed. “It’s me you want. Come and get me.”

  Dr. Stevens froze in indecision. After a fraction of a second, he seemed to remember that Jesse had never been his target, and he charged at me, taking something from his belt as he ran.

  I squeezed the trigger, but nothing happened.

  I squeezed it again—nothing.

  I tossed the useless, imitation gun down the hallway and prepared for impact.

  Dr. Stevens continued to come at me, hypodermic needle in hand.

  I prepared to sweep his legs out from under him as he approached when the window glass broke and shards rained down on the floor.

  Dr. Stevens staggered to a stop a few feet from me. A red dot appeared on his temple. He looked at me as though I'd said something insightful before dropping to the floor at my feet.

  “Dad? Jesse?” I rushed to check on them both. My dad was fine—angry, but uninjured. I helped him sit up and cut the binding on his hands with a pair of kitchen shears.

  Jesse lay on the floor, stunned. Blood ran from a cut on his head. I grabbed a clean towel out of the pantry and put pressure on the cut as I called nine-one-one.

  “Avery?” Jesse mumbled.

  “I’m here.” I was glad to see him coming around.

  “Who was he?” he asked

  “My psychiatrist. I guess you never know.”

  “That’s really messed up.” Jesse managed to prop himself up on one elbow. “Man, he’s really dead. Nice shot.”

  “Yeah, about that: the reason he didn’t go for the gun when you disarmed him was that he knew it was a fake.”

  “A fake? But then how did you…”

  “I didn’t” I pointed to the broken window. “Someone outside did.”

  “Who?”

  “I have no idea, but we should stay down until help arrives.”

  Chapter 27

  Having caught the red-eye into town, Genevieve Richards sat at my dad’s kitchen counter on a bar stool. “You sure know how to find them, Avery.” She thumbed through the report the local police had given her.

  “I think they find me, not the other way around. Have they confirmed Dr. Stevens’s ID?”

  “Yes, it was him. Here's the weird thing: he had a hypodermic needle loaded with bee venom in his hand when they checked him into the morgue.”

  I sighed. “I suspected that might have been what it was.”

  “Well, the investigator on the scene thought it was a narcotic and a drug-induced rage. Would you like to share why you'd think of bees?”

  “I’m allergic. I guess Dr. Stevens would have known that. He had my medical records from his practice.” I stared at the large bloodstain on the wood floor where Dr. Stevens had fallen.

  “That still doesn't explain why you'd think that.”

  “I had a little incident when we were in Canada: I was injected with bee venom at the airport. A man stumbled into me. Looking back, I’m sure it was him. We need to confirm Dr. Stevens was in Canada at the time, but I'd be surprised if I’m wrong.”

  “Geez, Avery, you're telling me that someone tried to kill you and you never thought to mention it? We need to get a copy of this guy’s travel records. What did you say to him in session that made him feel the need to take you out?”

  “I told him about what was bothering me. He knew about the George family trying to hunt me down. I think he was working for them. He told me this would pay for his retirement and give us both a rest.”

  “Well, he has plenty of downtime now,” Genevieve said, closing the file, "but there's one thing you haven’t explained and the file can’t either: who shot Dr. Stevens through the window?”

  “I have no idea. We didn’t call anyone or let them know we were coming back today.”

  She drummed her pen on
the file folder as she thought. “Have you been contacted by anyone involved in that case?”

  “No, not directly.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  Richards gave me a look that could curdle milk. “Well, you remember Ryan Lynch from the Smithville case?”

  I cringed internally. “Yes.”

  “He also worked with me on my previous case, the one in Alexandria, but he went by another name.”

  “Yes, I already knew that part. Has Mr. Kain contacted you?”

  “No, not him, but I got a visit from his sister, Tori, not long before I came here.”

  “Mr. Kain’s sister dropped in? Was she there as a friend?”

  “No, she was there to offer me a case.”

  “A case? What case?”

  “This case, but I turned it down.”

  “Whoa—what are you saying? Was she the one that placed you in Smithville?”

  “Yes, and that turned out so well.” I rolled my eyes.

  “So, this Tori person is representing some off the grid government agency?”

  “You know I can’t tell you about that.”

  “So, that's a yes.”

  “Avery, I need to know: is it possible that Tori was the one who took out Dr. Stevens?”

  I thought back to my impression of Tori. Nothing stood out that would make her a dangerous killer, but I knew she was well-connected in next-level business.

  “I don’t see her as the sniper type.”

  “Somebody had their eye on the situation.” Genevieve crossed her arms over her chest, waiting for me to tell her more, but I was at a loss. Someone had acted in an emergency. Someone had committed murder right in front of me to save my life, but I had no idea how any of it had happened.

  “The whole thing's a lot to take in. I trusted Dr. Stevens. I mean, he was my doctor, and I’m shocked, but as for who protected me, I have no idea who that was.”

  “I think you should take time to think this over. Perhaps after things calm down, you’ll see a pattern or detail you didn’t before. I’d recommend that you talk to someone, but after what happened, I can’t say I’d blame you for not wanting to.”

  “Thanks for that. I’m not up for any therapy any time soon.”

  “If you need to talk, I’m willing to listen.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  “Well, it looks like we need to head to the station. We have one case to close, and a new one to open.”

  I nodded in agreement, although investigating why someone wanted to kill me made me want to get out of town in a hurry.

  ***

  The station was fairly empty when we pulled up. Chief Morris met us in the front lobby with a wide grin on his face. “You’re just in time. The M.E. is meeting us here so we can formalize the identity of the murder victim in the Maddox case."

  “That’s great news.” I tried to smile, but the memory of my last visit to the police station made me feel uneasy. “It is nice and warm in here today—did you get the heat fixed?”

  “Yes, ma'am. The guys from city maintenance came over and had it worked out quickly. Apparently, something happened to the heat exchanger.”

  “Oh, that’s weird. Did they say what caused it?” I asked.

  “No, they thought it was strange, too. I’m just glad everyone’s okay.”

  “We're all glad,” Genevieve said.

  The chief led us to his office. I was glad we weren’t headed back to the conference room. He pulled the keyboard out of its tray onto his lap and typed something in. “Since we heard from you about Ralph Maddox turning up alive and well in Canada, we’ve been searching the missing persons' database, trying to find a name for our John Doe.” He spun the monitor around to show us a picture of a man who looked very little like either Maddox brother. “We found this guy, Rick Norman. It turns out he's on the Maddox payroll as an assistant. Before that, he was a washed-up stunt double for a movie studio. His sister reported him missing a couple of days after the attack.”

  I squinted and leaned forward. “He sure doesn’t look much like the guy I saw on the slab.” I remembered the letter N embroidered on the blood-soaked handkerchief; it must've stood for Norman.

  “Are we certain of this ID?” Genevieve asked.

  “No, that’s why we have Dr. Turner, the M.E. coming in. We had a lot of blood from the murder victim—it was on most everything at the scene. We compared it to Bob Maddox's, and it’s not a match. We sent off samples from Rick Norman’s apartment, and the dental records are in. We should know today if he's the real vic."

  A knock at the door made me jump, and Dr. Turner strolled in without being invited. He looked as casual as ever. He dragged a chair over to the chief’s desk, plopped a file on it, and flipped open to the first page. “Well, David, it looks like he’s our guy. The DNA proves it. Boy, he's had a ton of dental work done, too. He was one of those total transformation folks, like the ladies on that TV show.”

  “So, you're sure this guy’s the victim? Looking at his DMV photo, no one would mistake him for Ralph Maddox,” the chief said.

  “Not like that, they wouldn’t, but after all of his work, he looked nothing like that picture.” The doctor held up the victim's x-ray, detailing his multiple facial implants and modifications.

  “Well, if you are certain, then he's our guy. I’ll send an officer out to notify the family.”

  “Why would Ralph Maddox kill his own body double?” Genevieve asked.

  “I think it’s stranger that he wanted one to begin with. He already had a twin brother,” the chief said.

  “When I talked to Ralph Maddox, I realized he was having problems. I think he wanted the double because he was freaked-out by attention in public, but somewhere along the line, when Ava came into play, his perception of things changed. I think he was afraid he was being replaced, both in her eyes and in his life.”

  “So, you think Ralph will need a psych consult when he's extradited?”

  I nodded. “I think any defense attorney worth two cents will have an insanity plea ready to go.”

  “Well, that means you're done with me. I'd best head back to the office.” Dr. Turner smirked. "They’ll miss me.”

  “Before you go, there's another matter I wanted to ask about,” Genevieve said.

  “For the FBI? Wow! You may have just given me a complex.”

  “Yes, anyway, what have you determined about Max Stevens's body?”

  “Was that the guy with the bullet through his head?”

  “Yes, the one we collected at Avery’s father’s home.”

  “Well, the bullet killed him.”

  “I assumed that was it.” Genevieve scowled. “Was there anything else you noticed?”

  “Well, he was high as a kite when he died. He had huge levels of Xanax and speed in his system. I’m surprised he didn’t die of a heart attack before the bullet got him.”

  “That’s unusual.”

  “Sure, but that’s for you to figure out. I try not to judge the dead. They can’t change anything once they get there.”

  “I guess not,” I said.

  The doctor shook the chief’s hand and nodded to Genevieve, and I headed back out the door.

  “So, that’s the other reason I’m glad you’re here. The murdered doctor's caused a problem for my investigators. I know he held Mr. Rich hostage, and he fought with both you and Jesse Moreno, but nobody can quite figure out how he ended up with a bullet in his brain or why he was carrying bee venom.”

  “Have you heard anything more about the problem I had in Canada?” I asked the chief. I knew Jesse had called him to give him the heads up.

  “Yeah, they still have an open investigation. They were thinking of an attempted murder charge, but they have no suspects."

  Genevieve raised her eyebrows. “I doubt they'll bring this one in. I’m sure the guy they're looking for is lying in the morgue, right here in Los Olivos.”

  Chief Morris stood up from his desk and gra
bbed a new folder from the top of a filing cabinet in which to store the new file on Max Stevens’s murder. “So, the bigger question is: why would Avery’s psychologist stalk her and try to kill her?” the chief asked.

  “Well, we can’t ask him that now. Somebody took that avenue out of the equation. What we can do is track Max Stevens’s travels and try to figure out what made him tick.”

  I cringed. “It thought it was his job to find out what drives me, not the other way around.”

  “I suppose that’s true.” Genevieve pulled out her favorite pair of designer glasses and put them on. “What do we know so far?”

  “We know he was here, in California. We're not sure if he was here the whole time Avery was visiting her father, but we know he arrived on flight eight-four-two on December twenty-third and checked into the Hilton, but he didn’t stay at the same place the whole time. He was here until the morning of December thirtieth, and then he checked out. He checked back in on January fifth."

  “Wait—you’re saying he checked out and took off the morning we almost died of carbon monoxide poisoning in this building?” I asked.

  The chief clenched his large fists as he thought through the timeline. “That's a strange overlap. I think we need more than just a maintenance person to look into the HVAC system. Is it possible that Max Steven was here tampering with something?”

  Genevieve was on her feet in one graceful motion. “Let’s get that scene processed. Where's the furnace system?”

  ***

  The chief assembled a team of crime scene analysts who swarmed the police station's basement within minutes. I followed two of the technicians down the stairs.

  The modern facilities didn't have the dungeon-like feel I was accustomed to in historical police departments, but in this situation, it made things easier.

  The team examined the heating equipment and then worked their way out over the vent system and the ventilation chimney.

  “Looks like we have fingerprints, but they could belong to the people who installed the machine or the guys who came to fix it,” the chief said.

  I looked at the system and the surrounding area. “It vents up this chimney?” I said, pointing to the cinderblock enclosure.