Dangerous & Deadly- The Nick Myers Series

by Tanya R. Taylor

  Lou looked on, but said nothing. Nick Myers had noticed Victor through the window and proceeded outside to speak with him. Victor was wiping his mouth with the tip of his shirt. His eyes were teary and his complexion ashen.

  “I guess it's safe to assume that you knew these people,” Nick said.

  Failing to restrain the tears and drying his face with another part of his shirt, Victor looked at the detective and replied: “They were good friends of mine. Who could have done this to them?!”

  “We don’t know yet, Mr. Emerson, but it’s just a matter of time before we find out,” Nick responded confidently.

  Victor looked toward the doorway. “I've known these people for many years. They’re like family. They didn't have any enemies.”

  “I understand that the husband was C.E.O. of a large firm downtown. Know anything about it?” Nick asked.

  “Harold was my boss,” Victor answered, still grappling for composure. “He just retired last Friday.”

  A plain-clothed officer approached Nick. “Sir, can you come this way for a moment?” He asked.

  “I'll be right back, Emerson,” Nick said before accompanying the man inside the house. Through the fixed laminated window, Victor watched them make a right turn toward the den. He drew closer, hoping to hear what might be said. Then suddenly, he remembered the note Harold had received just days before the murder. Instantly, he felt overwhelmed with guilt – convinced now that had he not listened to Harold, but informed the police of the mysterious note in advance, his friends might still be alive. He turned away from the window, tears building more weightily than before.

  “I have to speak with Detective Myers now,” he said to the officer at the door. “It's very urgent.”

  As he was speaking, he saw Nick enter the living room with a white cloth in hand, apparently concealing an object which he then placed into an evidence bag. He drew closer and attempted to get Nick’s attention.

  “I have to speak with you, detective.” Victor was sweating.

  “What is it?” Nick asked outside moments later.

  “I think the Guillespes might have been murdered by someone who threatened their lives several days ago,” Victor stated.

  Eyebrows arched, Nick asked, “Someone threatened to kill these people?”

  “Harold showed me an anonymous letter he had found under his front door after returning from an outing one night,” Victor gulped.

  “Did he notify the police?”

  Victor hung his head down briefly as he battled the tears again. “Harold thought it was a prank. I suggested that he report it to the police, but he refused. He didn't want to alarm his wife, so he kept the whole thing a secret.”

  Nick was dumbfounded. “You’re saying that the husband didn’t turn in a threatening letter because he didn’t want to upset his wife?”

  “Mary was an extremely sensitive woman, detective,” Victor replied.

  “So where is this alleged letter? Did he keep it?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe he hid it somewhere.”

  Nick walked over to Lou and a few other officers who were in the yard. “I want you guys to search the Guillespes’ car and every crevice of that house for a written death threat.”

  The officers got right on it as Nick ambled back over to Victor. “Thanks for your help, Mr. Emerson. If we have any further questions, we know where to find you. Now, if you'd kindly leave us to it...”

  “Sure, I understand,” Victor said, feeling no need for an explanation.

  “We'll keep in touch,” Nick assured him as he walked away.

  Allen Trundel, Harold and Mary Guillespe’s next door neighbor, told the police that he and Harold had planned to go for their usual early morning jog that day, and Harold had suggested the night before that Trundel phone him at 5:00a.m., just in case he had overslept.

  Trundel, a heavy-set man in his early sixties reported that after phoning Harold and receiving no answer, he went over and rang the doorbell of his house. With that unanswered as well, he went over to the front window and peered inside through a small slit where the curtains were joined. That is when he spotted the couple lying face-down on the floor in a pool of blood.

  It was later confirmed that Harold and Mary Guillespe each died as a result of a single gunshot wound to the head.

  * * * *

  Ray’s grey Jaguar was parked in the unlocked garage and his front door was widely ajar. Annie slowly headed for the door. Her emerald green mini-dress accentuated her long, slender legs. She allowed her hair to dangle loosely on her back and she knew, without a doubt, that she looked sensational.

  She walked into the condominium, then stood still for a moment, completely mesmerized by its luxury. The spacious interior was adorned with the most elegant chandeliers and ornaments she had ever laid eyes on and a mirrored wall covered each angle of the front room.

  “You look incredible,” Ray proceeded from what appeared to be a bedroom. He was dressed in a red and black silk robe that hung open at the chest. He handed her a glass of champagne. Annie returned an appreciative smile.

  “Any trouble finding the place?” He escorted her to a wide, cushiony sofa in the center of the room, one hand braced across her lower back.

  “No, not at all,” Annie replied. “This place is absolutely beautiful, Ray.”

  “Thanks, my dear. I try my best.” Then he looked into her eyes as he often did. “How’d you manage to get away?”

  I hired a nurse for the day and escaped in my lengthy overcoat,” she declared. “I swear - sometimes I feel like Frank’s wife instead of his sister.”

  “He’s just protective of you, and for good reason,” Ray said. “Seems like a good man.”

  “He is. He really is,” she affirmed. That day, Annie thought Ray looked ravishing. The long, silky robe he wore was definitely a factor in her analysis and his hypnotic stare was penetrating her very soul.

  He set his glass aside and, as if reading her mind, took hers and did the same. He caressed her face with the back of his huge, right hand and uttered tenderly, “You’re so beautiful, Annie.” He inched closer and kissed her passionately. He ached for her.

  TWENTY

  Daniel Thorn peeped inside the office. Victor was sitting at his desk with fingers clenched beneath his chin, blankly staring down at something in front of him. It had been a few days since the double murders of his friends. “Are you all right, sir?” Daniel asked at the door, his voice sincere.

  Victor looked up and quickly straightened the papers on his desk. “Oh, yes. I’m fine, Danny. Come on in.”

  Daniel Thorn was thirty-five years old, of medium stature and build. He had fine, narrow features. An employee of A.R. Trust for ten years, he held exceptional credentials and came highly recommended as the new Financial Controller at that time. Just days ago, he had been promoted to Victor’s former post as Vice-President.

  “How are you coping?” Daniel sat down with the intention of being there for only a short while.

  “As well as can be expected I guess, considering the circumstances,” Victor replied. “Since it happened, every time I walk into this office, I can almost see Harold sitting right here behind this desk.”

  “Mr. G. was one of a kind, all right,” Daniel said. “He and Mrs. G. didn’t deserve to go that way.”

  “No, they didn’t, and I hope to God that whoever murdered them will be brought to justice!” Victor snarled.

  Daniel was more of an avid worker than a long talker. Therefore, he spent no more than five minutes in Victor’s office before going about his business again. Victor was satisfied with his choice for the vice-presidency spot. He could not think of a better man for the job.

  * * * *

  The Guillespes’ funeral was held one week and three days after their demise. The sky was overcast and mostly everyone stood beneath an oversized umbrella near the couple’s final resting place.

  Lisa sobbed quietly in the front row, leaning on her Aunt Betty, who was also sobb
ing. Tim stood next to Lisa, and Victor next to him. Observing the two matte natural oak, French fold embroidered caskets seated side by side reminded Victor of the life Harold and Mary lived. They had lived lavishly and had been bonded in a way most people seldom ever experience. Evidently, the Guillespes were greatly missed by all who loved and respected them.

  As the funeral attendants lowered the caskets into the ground, Victor tried to indent Harold and Mary’s faces into his memory. He quietly promised them that he would find the man that had so brutally and abruptly ended their lives.

  * * * *

  “Sorry for screwing up that night,” Braxton said before Nick had a chance to accuse him. “I got to peep through his diary that day I spoke with you and he did have it laid out in black and white that his next victim was going to be that little Barnett girl.”

  “He keeps a diary about the murders?” Nick asked.

  “Yeah. I guess he sees nothing wrong with keeping a daily schedule like other people do,” Braxton remarked, almost defensively. “I know he saved that girl. I was there that night,” he added.

  “It was him, wasn’t it?” Nick probed as if a light bulb had flashed on inside his head. “But why did he save her?”

  “I don’t have the answer to that one, detective. Maybe he got a little sentimental or something,” Braxton said. “Maybe he liked her - thought she was cute. But listen up. I really just called to give you a heads up on someone you were investigating.”

  “Oh yeah? Who?” Nick could not be more attentive.

  “You know who I’m talking about,” Braxton replied. “He’s dirtier than you think. You’re going to discover something very interesting that would help you nail his ass.”

  Nick was silent for a moment.

  “I know you want this guy, Myers. If I’m wrong this time, you can write me off as a case of dementia and I won’t contact you ever again,” Braxton said.

  The phone call was odd. Braxton offered no leads, but he gave the detective much to think about.

  * * * *

  Four days after the Guillespes’ funeral, 5:54am:

  Still dressed in his night-robe, Victor answered the front door. Five police officers stood outside; he recognized two of them.

  “Victor Emerson, we have a warrant to search these premises,” Nick Myers said, handing him the official document.

  “What on earth for?” Victor was stupefied.

  “Are the children awake, sir?” Nick asked, choosing to ignore the question.

  “No. They’re not! I demand to know what’s going on here!”

  “You’re going to have to wake them up and have them come downstairs,” Nick said. By then, the officers had already started searching the house.

  Victor reluctantly conceded and led the way upstairs. He knocked at Lisa’s door and after detecting her weak response, urged her to get dressed and to meet him downstairs.

  Tim appeared in the hallway in pajamas, rubbing his eyes. “Dad, what’s going on?” He asked bemused, glancing at the detective.

  “The police are here to search the house, Tim. Everyone has to go downstairs now.”

  “What are they searching for?” Tim asked.

  “I don’t know, Son. I guess we’ll have to let them do their jobs since they have a search warrant. Maybe afterwards, someone here…” he looked at Nick disapprovingly, “…would consider it appropriate to explain why the hell they rummaged through my house!”

  As Tim and his father were speaking, Lisa exited her bedroom and spotted the detective. She had gotten dressed like her father had instructed and quietly headed downstairs with them.

  Fifteen minutes after the search had been initiated, Nick and Lou were called upstairs by another officer, and Victor stood up with piqued curiosity. As time crept on, anxiety and dread enveloped him. Nick descended the stairway moments later with a translucent evidence bag. He was looking at Victor with reprimanding eyes.

  “Mr. Emerson, you are charged with the murders of Harold and Mary Guillespe. Cuff him!” He told the officer behind him.

  “Wait, what are you doing?” Victor protested. “I didn’t kill those people. They were my friends!”

  “Leave him the hell alone! He didn’t do it!” Tim shouted, as they took his father away while reading to him his Miranda rights.

  Victor tried to assure the children that he would be okay and back home soon. Lisa was completely frozen; she thought she was dreaming. “What…what’s happening?” She asked softly as the officers left the house with her father.

  “They’re arresting him, stupid!” Tim yelled. “They think he killed Mr. and Mrs. Guillespe. Where the hell have you been!”

  “But… he didn’t. He couldn’t have,” she responded slowly.

  Just then, Netta rushed inside. “What on earth is going on here?” She asked. “What are they doing with your father? No one's speaking to me out there!”

  Lisa dashed into Netta's arms.

  “They found a gun and think he killed Mr. and Mrs. Guillespe,” Tim said.

  “But that can’t be. Mr. Emerson would never...”

  “You’re the housekeeper, right?” Nick interjected, approaching her.

  “Yes, that’s right,” Netta replied.

  “We can assume these children will be in your care until a relative is contacted?”

  “Yes, you most certainly can assume that,” Netta returned sharply, holding Lisa closely. “You're making a big mistake!”

  “We can’t let this happen! We have to call Aunt Bee!” Tim bellowed, as the detective joined his crew outside. He picked up the cordless phone and dialed his aunt’s number. “Aunt Bee, the police, they… took him,” he frantically said on the sound of her voice.

  Betty was confused. “Took who? What are you talking about, Timmy?”

  “Dad! They arrested Dad!” Tim exclaimed. “They found a gun in the house and think he used it to murder Mr. and Mrs. Guillespe.”

  “What? But Victor doesn’t own a gun. Does he?”

  “No, he doesn’t. We have to help him!”

  “All right, Timmy, calm down. Where’s your sister?” Betty asked.

  “She’s right here with Netta.”

  “All right. I’m coming for you two. Just hang in there, okay?”

  Tim and Lisa hurried upstairs to freshen up and change. They were all in a panic and time seemed to stand still as they waited for their aunt to get there. They were all standing outside when Betty's car pulled up onto the driveway.

  “Netta, lock the doors. Will you? And take the rest of the day off!” Betty said to her.

  Tim and Lisa hopped into the car.

  “Sure thing, Mrs. Scholl. You don’t have to worry. I will secure the house,” Netta said.

  “Thanks. I'll give you a call at home later.” Betty replied.

  “Okay, Mrs. Scholl. My prayers go with you.”

  Betty got a heads up on the horrid events of the morning. “Did your father call his lawyer?” She asked as they drove on.

  “After they found the gun, they just cuffed him and took him away. He didn’t get a chance to do nothing!” Tim cried, still furious at the police for barging in on his family.

  Betty thought for a moment. “Someone must have planted that gun in the house. Some sick individual is trying to frame your father! Is the alarm system always set?” She asked.

  “I think so. Dad usually sets it,” Tim replied.

  Lisa leaned toward the front seats. “What I don’t understand is how they could arrest Dad without knowing for sure if the gun was his.”

  “They don’t know if the gun belongs to him, Lise,” Tim responded. “They arrested him because the gun was found in our house.”

  “But why didn't they arrest us too? It could've belonged to any one of us,” Lisa deduced.

  Tim looked at his Aunt. “That's a good point, Aunt Bee. Wouldn't they normally arrest everyone in the place where the weapon is found if they can’t pinpoint who it belongs to?”

  “I think th
at's how it usually works Tim, but I guess they had a different agenda,” Betty replied. “That’s the way things are sometimes. I know they would have to interrogate your father at the police station since the gun was found in the house, and even though the law states that one is innocent until proven guilty, Victor would automatically carry the blame until he is proven innocent.”

  “I’m so worried, Aunt Bee. I can’t imagine how Dad will manage in jail,” Lisa said sadly.

  “Believe me, your father’s going to be all right. Everything will work out just fine. I promise.”

  Victor was confined to a tiny cell at the police station after refusing to answer any questions without his lawyer being present. He sat there worriedly, feeling like he had been jolted into a horrible nightmare. He no longer trusted the police, believing they meant every word of: Anything you say, can and will be used against you in a court of law. He was granted one phone call which he made to his attorney, Charles Martinez, and he eagerly awaited his arrival.

  Betty and the children arrived at the police station and she made them wait for her in the sitting area. After a rather lengthy wait, she was subjected to the routine search procedure, temporarily stripped of her purse, then led down the hallway to the cell.

  On seeing her brother behind bars, she was crushed. Willful tears streamed down her cheeks and she instantly felt like a failure. She wanted to be strong for him, but there she was crying like a helpless little child. Disgusted with herself, she turned away quickly and wiped her face with the back of both hands.

  “It’s all right, Bee,” Victor said to her, clenching the bars. “I called Charles Martinez already. He’s on his way here. Where are the kids?”

  “They’re with me. They’re okay,” she answered sniffing.

  “Tell them I love them and that I’ll be home soon,” he said.

  Betty was becoming furious. “I don’t know why they’re doing this to you, Victor. First Freda, then the picture, then…”