Lou quickly retrieved it and handed it to him. “How convenient,” he noted, as if sensing the thing was deliberately placed there for them to find.
Nick pounded the lock with the maul, when suddenly, he heard a trampling sound outside.
He stopped banging. “Did you hear that?” He whispered.
“Yeah, I'll check it out,” Lou said, rising to his feet and sliding the semi-automatic from its holster. He started toward the door, then cautiously advanced outside. As he circled the shed, gun held with both hands, he keenly panned the area. The stillness that had initially greeted them prevailed.
Finding nothing, Lou returned to the door. He slid his pistol back into its holster and was shocked when greeted by the business end of Nick's 9mm.
“Sorry, buddy,” Nick carefully holstered his weapon, upon recognizing him.
They immediately resumed their effort to unlock the toolbox and a few minutes later, the lock cracked open.
“Looks like you were right, Partner,” Nick said, as they stared into the box crammed to the brim with miniature bricks. “This is as concrete as you're gonna get.”
They began removing the bricks one by one. Then as they neared the bottom, Nick stopped abruptly and shook his head in disgust.
Lou leaned in. “This guy knew what he was talking about,” he muttered.
A human arm had been cleanly severed from the shoulder bone. Its shriveled wrist was embraced by four gold bracelets and three rings dangled around its bony fingers.
“Strange the killer left the jewelry behind,” Lou added.
“It's strange, all right,” Nick said, staring at the limb. He closed the lid, his mind now in overdrive. “We'd better get Forensics here.”
After Forensics came and collected the evidence, they all headed back to their vehicles. Unbeknownst to them, as they were driving off, two eyes peered at them with almost reptilian intensity from behind the old wooden shed.
ELEVEN
“Frank, I'm home!” Annie cried as she entered the house, kicking the front door closed behind her. She tugged the grocery bags into the kitchen and immediately started to unpack and store away. When she heard the television switch on, she placed the package of meat in the freezer and went into the living room.
“Hi, Frank.”
He reached for a legal pad and pen from the table nearby.
“I forgot to remind you about the new pot scrubber,” he wrote.
Annie smiled as if she had been moved by the words of a caring child. “I remembered, Frank. Thanks. Lunch will be ready soon, okay?” She bent over and kissed him on the forehead, then she went back into the kitchen.
At a quarter of two, they were both seated at the table. Annie said grace as Frank watched her, then they started to eat.
“I got your bourbon biscuits from the store. Anya McArthur said bourbon’s her favorite too,” Annie smiled devilishly fully aware that the cashier at the store had a huge crush on Frank.
Frank bit his burger.
“Frank, I've always wondered why you never tried to ... you know,” Annie proceeded cautiously. Frank began to chew more slowly.
“I know that Doctor Tomlinson didn't make us any promises, but he did offer us hope, didn't he? Do you remember when you stood up to Dad for the first time in your life, Frank, and how he hated it so darn much he whipped you with that leather belt of his sixteen times? Do you remember why you were then so determined not to be pushed around any longer by the person who was supposed to love and care for you?” Frank stared at her intensely now. “Do you remember who you took those sixteen whips for? I know you do, Frank. But this time, don't let this wheelchair win. Think of it as the monster who tried to hurt us; think of it as Dad,” she added. “And this time, when you stand up to him, don't just do it for me, do it for yourself. This time, there'd be no one to punish you for doing the right thing - just someone to praise you.”
Frank was slightly moved by the memories Annie had conjured up.
“All I'm asking is that you try, Frank. Try to use your lungs. Bring back that voice I miss so very much,” she said.
Although he was no longer looking at her, Frank soon scribbled, I'll try.
* * * *
Chief Tuyler met the detectives at the Crime Lab in order to view their latest piece of evidence.
“What the hell is this?” He asked, gazing down at his obvious answer. “Where did it come from?”
“We found it in the old shed on Coleman's Field,” Lou answered. “It’s that old, deserted place down…”
“I know where it is,” Tuyler interrupted. “What made you two think of going to Coleman's Field?”
“An anonymous tipster, sir,” Nick said. “Calls himself Richard Braxton. He claims to be following the perp and offers his assistance in the case.”
“Did you run a check on this Braxton fella?” Tuyler asked.
“Yes, we did, sir,” Nick replied. “We came across a few Richard Braxtons in this county and neighboring counties, but they all had pretty much clean records except for a few parking tickets or DUIs here and there. It’s highly likely that ‘Braxton’ is this guy's alias. I doubt he’d want to remain anonymous and still give us his real name.”
“You're right,” Tuyler said. “I think it'll be a good idea to run a tracer on him the next time he calls. What do you think?”
“I've spoken to this guy twice, and it's already evident to me that he knows the ropes, sir. If we try setting him up at this stage in the game just to retrieve identification, there’s a good chance we'll blow this case. I think that getting information that can possibly help solve the murders is more important right now. Later on, if necessary, we can target him.”
“I agree,” Lou said.
“All right, boys. Continue trusting your hunches, and let’s get that maniac off the streets… and pronto!” Tuyler commanded.
* * * *
At the sound of Lisa’s singing invite, Tim entered the room. “What's up?” He asked, sliding his hands in and out of his pants pockets.
Lisa was sprawled across her bed peering into a romance novel with soft music oozing from the stereo system. “Nothing,” she replied, not veering away from her reading. Awkwardly, Tim sat quietly at the foot of the bed.
“Timmy, can I help you with something?” Lisa granted him a moment’s attention.
“Ah...not really.” He simultaneously raised his eyebrows and shook his head.
Lisa resumed her reading as Tim sat there watching her. A couple of minutes later, she paused again. “Timmy, is there a reason you came in here other than to watch me read?” She flipped the book face-down on her tummy.
“Yeah, actually,” he began sheepishly. “I’m just trying to figure out how to say it to you.”
“Say what to me?” Lisa asked.
He shrugged. “Well, lately you just haven’t seemed like yourself, Lise. You seem to be in your own little world. You don't talk to your friends as much as you used to....”
“Timmy, what concern is it of yours - whether or not I talk to my friends?”
“It’s not just that,” he continued. “You’re always shut up in this room and for the past few days, you haven’t once asked me if I was okay and you always do that Lise. Hell, you don't even talk to me anymore! I mean, you've changed, little sister, and if something serious is going on inside that little head of yours, I'd like to know about it. Dad's constantly in a world of his own - now you too?”
Lisa sat up in bed. “Timmy, believe me, there's nothing serious going on inside my head, except for my schoolwork and the frequent thought of how much you guys mean to me. As for all the other stuff you mentioned, I don't know what to say.”
“Come on, Lise. Why are you holding out on me like this?” Tim pressed.
“I'm not holding out on you, Timothy. Why are you hassling me anyway?”
“Okay, so how do you explain the recent phone calls you’ve been getting from a guy who sounds much older than you are? Who is he and where'd yo
u meet him?”
Lisa was clearly becoming agitated. “This started out as a quiet, mature conversation, but now it's going far beyond my preference. I want you out of my room, Timothy Emerson, and I want you out now!” She pointed toward the door.
“Okay, if that's what you want, Lise, but I think Dad would want to know about this guy you’re constantly talking to.” Tim got up to leave, then suddenly felt a jerk of his shirt that forced him back onto the bed.
“No, Tim! Please don't tell Dad. He'd never let me go to Sally's party next Saturday night. He'd think...”
“You're meeting someone there,” Tim said.
“All right. I'll tell you who he is,” Lisa sighed.
“I'm listening.” Tim now felt a huge sense of leverage.
“His name's David.”
“David who?”
“I don't know. Would you please just let me continue? It all started with a phone call he made to me just recently claiming to be my secret admirer. Since then, we’ve talked every night and though I haven't met him yet, I...” Lisa was unsure whether or not she should continue.
“Yeah?"
“You've got to promise you won't tell Dad, Timmy.”
“You have my word.”
“I think I'm in love with him,” she shyly admitted.
“Really? So that explains your crazy behavior.” Tim was shocked by his sister’s revelation. “You're in love with a guy you don't even know! So, how old is this dude? And you'd better tell me the truth,” he warned.
“Twenty...five.”
“Twenty flipping five?!”
“Shhhh!!! Dad’ll hear us,” she stressed.
“Lise, where in the world do you get off falling for a twenty-five year old dude you never even saw before? Are you out of your mind!” He whispered loudly.
“Maybe I am.”
“Well, maybe you need to re-think this thing.”
“There's nothing for me to think about, Tim. Age is only a number,” Lisa replied.
“Just like experience is only an advantage, huh?” Tim rebutted. “Look Lise, I'm not gonna get into your business full-time, but I think you're taking a risk with your emotions. I want to meet this guy. Did you two arrange a date yet?”
“Not yet. His mother's staying with him right now, so he has to take care of her until she returns to the nursing home. I think he said she has one more week left with him.”
“He admitted his mother to a nursing home?”
“She’s very sick,” Lisa explained. “It's safer if she’s given constant medical care. In any event, I’ll let you know when we arrange a date; I promise. Just promise me you won't tell Dad about this, Timmy. David really is a very nice person. Trust me.”
Tim stood up. “All right, Lise. I won't tell, but you have to do me a favor.”
“What's that?” Lisa was curious.
“No matter how you might feel about this dude or how the relationship goes, just promise me you won't...”
“I won't be mischievous, Timmy. I'm only fourteen years old, remember?”
“You’re the one who’s got to remember, Lise.”
* * * *
At dawn, Lisa crawled out of bed and headed downstairs to the kitchen. She met her father there brewing a pot of coffee.
“Morning Dad,” she said sleepily.
“Morning honey. Did you sleep well?” Victor asked.
“Okay, I guess. Netta’s not here yet?” Lisa propped up onto the chair at the counter.
“Not yet, honey.” He poured some coffee into a mug. “Want some?”
“Sure. I could really use some this morning,” she replied.
“Tired huh?” He handed the coffee to her.
“Exhausted is more like it. I feel like I haven't slept in days.”
Victor leaned on the counter. “Lisa, I've been meaning to talk to you for some time now…”
“What's up, Dad?”
“I noticed you seemed a little… distant lately. Is anything wrong?”
Thoughts of Tim flashed into Lisa’s mind. “Nothing’s wrong, Dad. I've just been doing a lot of studying, that’s all.” She failed to make eye contact.
“Well, I guess that explains it then,” Victor stood uprightly again. “I’m certainly impressed by your commitment toward your studies, Lisa. Keep up the good work.”
Lisa was beyond relieved. “Thanks, Dad, and oh, I forgot to mention that Sally Pearson, a senior from school, is having a college acceptance party next Saturday night. Kelly and I both got invitations yesterday.”
“Oh? Where's the party going to be?” He asked.
“Two blocks up the road from here at her aunt's house. It starts at eight.”
Victor said, “Sure, you can go, but your curfew's at eleven - no later.”
“Thanks, Dad.” Lisa leaned over and kissed her father on the cheek, then picked up her coffee and headed for the door.
“Hey, where are you going?” Victor asked. “You know, one day, you're going to have to sit and eat at this table again.”
Lisa glanced at the infamous spot in the corner of the room. “Yeah, Dad - when hell freezes over,” she firmly declared. As the door swung behind her, Netta had just rounded the bend toward the kitchen.
“Good morning, Lisa. My goodness! You’re up early. Did the bed bugs bite?”
“Morning, Netta. Guess you could say they did,” Lisa responded dryly before retreating to the living room.
Netta tied the straps of her apron around her waist as she entered the kitchen. “Mr. Emerson, I see you two beat me to it this morning. I thought I was the cook in this place.”
“Why, you certainly are, Netta,” Victor sipped his coffee. “Believe me, we’re not trying to oust you from your royal post here, but each of us does have our own set of hands which means we’re quite capable of doing some things for ourselves.” He smiled.
“Maybe I need to come to work earlier so you can be doing other things while I make you breakfast, eh?”
“Absolutely not. Your hours are fine,” Victor returned. “Any earlier and you may as well move in.”
“Not a bad idea, Mr. Emerson,” she grinned.
Victor was not smiling.
“You need not say, sir; I know.” Netta was fully aware after working for Victor for well over a decade that he never wanted a live-in housekeeper and his wife’s discouragement of the idea when she was alive kept him steadfast in his decision.
“Is Timmy up yet?” Netta asked, taking some eggs from the refrigerator.
“No. He’s still asleep.”
“Well, I’ll start on his favorite. Would you like an omelette, sir? I see you’ve only had cereal.”
“No, thanks, Netta. The cereal did me just fine,” Victor replied getting up, a newspaper clutched beneath his arm.
“All right. Suit yourself then. But don’t blame me if gastritis hits you later.” She started beating the eggs in a bowl.
“Believe me, I won’t,” Victor said, leaving the kitchen.
TWELVE
As they drove the boulevard toward Joe and Betty Scholl’s house, Victor again found himself battling a series of negative thoughts that had quietly invaded his mind. It was like a recorder playing over and over again scenes of his aunt’s body on his kitchen floor, her photograph that surfaced at the scene of another apparent murder, the mysterious letters, and most recently, the incident at Sutton Creek.
After pulling up on the driveway, Victor trailed behind the children almost lifelessly.
“Come on in!” Betty greeted everyone at the door. She hugged the kids tightly, then gave Victor a suspicious look as he too, entered the house. He knew immediately that they had to talk.
“We've got the whole crew again!” Joe smiled widely, shaking Victor's hand.
Tim wasted no time retreating to the TV room and switching on the Sega, while Lisa slumped onto a nearby recliner and started to read.
“Wanna join me in the kitchen, Lise?” Betty asked.
Lisa readily
acquiesced, knowing that it meant she got to sample her aunt's cooking before anyone else had a chance to.
“So how’s things been going, Victor?” Joe asked.
“No use complaining, buddy. Same old routine, you know.” Victor sat down on the couch.
“Can I get you something to drink?”
“A beer will do just fine,” Victor answered.
As the men engaged in conversation, Betty and Lisa went to work setting the dining-room table for dinner. It had been a long-time tradition for the entire family to get together for dinner at least a couple of times each month and everyone looked forward to it. With four plates of crispy fried chicken on the table, french fries, corn on the cob and coleslaw, the aroma in the dining room instantly made everyone feel hungrier than they really were.
“Come on guys. Dinner is ready!” Betty cried.
“Yummy,” said Tim as he sat at the table smothering his fries with ketchup. Then he snuck a bite of a fried chicken leg before grace. “Ouch!” He shrieked at the sting of Betty's hand against the nape of his neck.
“You know better than that, boy!” She barked, forcing him to drop the chicken on the plate. “Now say grace for the family.”
Tim humbly said a short prayer, then quickly embarked upon the delight of gorging down the mouth-watering food. Ten minutes later, with an empty plate in front of him, he excused himself from the table while everyone else ate and chatted at length.
An hour later, Victor joined his sister in the kitchen.
“Anymore letters?” Betty asked as she sliced the cheesecake.
“No,” Victor replied, leaning backwards against the counter with his arms folded and feet crossed.
“Nothing's changed since the last time we spoke then?”
“No, but I just keep having this strange feeling that something terrible is going to happen,” Victor replied.
“Like what?” Betty stopped what she was doing and looked into his worried eyes.
“I don't know. I just feel so afraid these days, for everyone. I can’t seem to get rid of the anxiety.”
“I can only imagine what you’re going through, Victor, but I'm confident that whoever is behind this horrible charade is gonna slip up - and soon. My mind doesn't lead me wrong; I know it's gonna happen.”
Dangerous & Deadly- The Nick Myers Series Page 7