by Dobi Cross
Yes, tomorrow was definitely better. By then, she would be all rested and alert.
And maybe she would find something the police missed.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Drake stifled a yawn as he stretched with his legs spread apart and his arms above his head in front of the fifteen-foot floor-to-ceiling windows in his bachelor penthouse and absorbed the sun rays that lit up the room and magnified the opulence of his eight-thousand square foot suite. He had just finished his regular early morning swim in the infinity pool located in his private rooftop terrace and had taken a quick shower afterwards in his marble master bath. He was refreshed and energized considering how well the last two nights had gone. It was good to be young and alive.
His lip tugged up at the corners just thinking about her. Susie had been special. The rumors had been right about her. She had met his demands and then some. She had totally drained his energy, the first ever to do so. There had been lots of girls and women in his life, but Susie topped them all. He was so pleased with her that he had made arrangements with the club to make sure she was available to him whenever he called. The H Club had acquiesced to his request. They had to—a lot of money had changed hands.
Drake let out another big yawn and padded back on his warmed feet to the cavernous beige lounge that took up the bulk of the living room space. It was time to get ready for the day. He had business to take care of even though it was the weekend. He didn’t believe in going to church or all that nonsense his father tried to push on him. Church was for poor and desperate people as far as he was concerned. He was neither. He would start with his morning paper and then eat the breakfast that Tiny had prepared.
Drake picked up the Sunday paper from the coffee table and reclined on the lounge. The news about the death of Professor Oakley dominated the headlines and stared back at him. He remembered the guy, tall and pompous with a superior attitude. But Drake had been able to drive fear into him. As usual, he’d had a weakness that Drake had been able to exploit. If he was dead, it was probably his own fault. Only the strong survived.
Drake glossed over the rest of the page with disinterest. Murder was nothing new, and people died everyday. He was about to flip over the front page when a small section in the far left column caught his eye. The reporter stated that sources from the police indicated that Professor Oakley was likely the second victim for the killer with Martha Adams being the first.
Drake felt a tiny alarm ring in his head. Maybe it was a coincidence and his thoughts were mistaken. But Drake hadn’t survived this long in the business by ignoring his warning instincts. Somehow, he couldn’t dismiss the thought that something was wrong. He rapped his knuckles on the coffee table.
Tiny appeared at his side, his muscular build clad in black workout clothes. His bald head shone with sweat.
Drake jabbed at the front page of the newspaper. “I need you to find out more about these cases,” he said.
Tiny nodded in assent and left. He was typically a man of few words.
Drake flipped the front page and continued reading the rest of the paper.
There was no point in dwelling on the matter until he had all the information he had asked for.
Tiny would get him everything he needed to know.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
In the hovel he called an apartment, the man leaned forward towards his closet, and searched the pockets of his work uniforms for the pin he always carried. Each one came up empty. He couldn’t find the pin. It was his good luck charm; it calmed him and gave him the courage to take care of what needed to be done. He leaned his head against the door of the closet and tried to recall when he had last seen it.
He remembered holding it in his fingers and rubbing it while waiting in the backseat of the car. It had helped to get him in the zone. The killings, though necessary, didn’t come easy. And the pin helped. He couldn’t recall if he had put it back into his pocket.
He had always been careful about not leaving any evidence behind. He always wore latex gloves, a hair net over his grey-streaked hair, a mask over his long gaunt face, and the hooded jacket. But he hadn’t expected the professor to fight him so hard. The professor had put up a good struggle, but he was no match for him. The man had been able to subdue him and had injected the noxious fluid into his veins. He had then positioned him on the steering wheel so anyone seeing him would think he was asleep. He had changed his mind about bringing him back to the lab like he originally planned. Leaving him in the car had seemed like a better idea and had reduced the chances of discovery while he moved the body. Or the risk of leaving DNA behind. He couldn’t afford to get caught till everything was over.
The grey-haired man shuffled over to his bedside table and picked up the picture frame sitting on it. The face that stared back at him was smiling, her beautiful blond hair in wisps around her face, and her pale blue eyes shining with joy. He missed her greatly. It was all his fault. He hadn’t been able to protect her. He hadn’t noticed the warning signs, and by the time he did, she was already dead.
Life without her had become meaningless. She had loved to laugh and had teased him all the time. She had never complained about the small home they lived in— the old rickety furniture and faded curtains, the leaking bathroom with its constant dripping no matter how many times the plumbers looked at it, the tiny room where her bed barely fit in, the constant pungent smell from the open sewers around their building, and the heat that got turned off by the landlord at night. Instead, she tried all she could to make it a place worth coming home to. They had been poor, but she had treated everything he ever bought her like a treasure to be savored.
She had not only been the light of his life but of others as well. She was always bringing strays home, both human and animal. And she would share whatever she had with them. His thin lips curled upwards at the thought. He had complained at the time, but now he was willing to accept as many strays as she would want if only it would bring her back.
He placed the picture frame back on the bedside table and noticed a colorful brochure sticking out from under the books piled on the other end of it. He picked it up. It was a travel brochure for Bali, the place they had both dreamt of traveling to and vacationing in. He held it close to his nose. He could still smell the baby's breath scent, the smell she loved to wear. Baby's breaths had been her favorite flower.
The man’s stomach twisted. He still wished she was here. He could remember how excited she had been whenever they talked about the trip. She had kept a list of hundred and one things to accomplish there. She had wanted to go after college graduation before she got married, but he had insisted that they wait till he was retired. Now they would never go. Another dream destroyed.
He balled his fist and crushed the brochure in his hand. He would never forgive the monster who had snuffed out her light and had crushed her like a bug under his feet. And the others who had helped him drive the nail into her heart.
The man felt rage boiling up within him. They would pay, every last one of them. He would make them regret what they had done. A life for a life. None would go scot free. He already had a plan in motion for the next stage.
But first he wanted to find the pin; it had been a gift from her. Nothing like a good luck charm to keep you going.
The police hadn’t found the pin. That much he was sure of or they would have come looking for him. They were anxious to find the killer and close the cases, so he knew they would have put a rush lab job on it if it was in their custody. And he would have been informed.
That would only mean one thing: the pin was likely back at the crime scene.
He made his decision.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Zora parked her car a few spots away from the yellow tape cordoning off the area and headed to the crime scene. The professor’s car, which she had seen on the TV news broadcast, had been taken away. All that remained was a white outline marking the spot where the car had been parked on the oil-stained concrete floor. The smell of gaso
line and formaldehyde hung thick in the air.
She looked around the parking garage, but nothing else seemed amiss. She could see the section that was undergoing renovations illuminated by bright light. Zora had been in this parking lot before at night when she had been taking Genetics classes in the building, and this area of the garage had always had an eerie feel to it. It seemed the murder had forced the school to finally change the lighting.
Zora got closer to the cars packed near the crime scene tape. There was a white BMW on the left with a light sprinkling of dust on the body. The car must have been moved recently. She dismissed the thought of finding anything important there.
Zora made her way to the right side of the cordoned area. There was a red Ford pickup F150 truck parked there with a thick undisturbed dust coating on its cracked windshield and flattish worn tires already showing their threads. If there where any clues to be found, this would be the spot. Zora inspected the exterior of the car but found nothing. Careful not to disturb the dust layers, she bent down and looked under the cab. She didn’t see anything and was about to get up when she spotted a reflective glint off a small object.
Zora grabbed a Kleenex tissue from her pocket and extended her hand into the area where she had seen the sparkle. She picked up the object carefully. She pulled her hand out and saw the object was a small round pin with an American eagle head and a worn Vietnam war veteran insignia on it. Only a light film of dust rested on it. Which meant it had only been there recently.
Zora lifted the pin closer to her nose and smelled the faint noxious smell of formaldehyde mixed with what she could tell was baby's breath. As a coffee connoisseur who visited trendy coffee shops that offered flora-inspired lattes, baby's breath was a scent that she definitely knew. And formaldehyde was not a common scent found anywhere—typically only among those who handled embalmed dead bodies or body parts. Or a killer who worked with formalin.
Zora felt adrenaline rush through her. Maybe this was it. What she was hoping to find. She wrapped the tissue carefully around the pin and tucked it into her pocket. She would examine it in detail when she got home.
A further search of the area yielded nothing else. She decided it was time to head back home.
When Zora reached her car, there was a note on her windshield held in place by the wiper. It hadn't been there before. She picked up the note and opened it. There were four words written on it: LEAVE THE CASE ALONE.
Zora looked around the parking lot but didn’t see anyone. How had the note gotten there? And how had the killer known she would be there?
As she looked back down on the note, she heard the faint sounds of a heavy door closing. Her head jerked up in the direction of the sound and the only door she could see was the entrance leading from the basement up the stairwell.
Zora dropped the note into her pocket and took off running. Her guess was that whoever had gone through that door was the person who had dropped the note.
She pulled the door open and rushed in. She had never taken exercise seriously, and it soon showed in her heavy breathing. She looked up the stairwell to see a man of lean build in a hooded jacket scurrying up the stairs two floors above. Even though the man seemed stooped, he moved with unexpected agility.
Zora raced up the stairwell after him with all her strength. But the man was far ahead, and she couldn't catch up. By the time she got to the fourth floor where she had last seen him, huffing and puffing and bent over on the waist, the door leading into the building’s interior was locked. The door had a white sign at the top marked “Employees Only” in black, with a card reader on the side blinking a red light.
Zora pulled her student ID card from her jeans pocket and swiped it through the reader. The red light didn’t turn green. Zora pulled the door handle, but the door stayed shut. She tried again with no result. Did this mean the killer was an employee?
There was no way to continue following the man, so Zora trudged down the stairs and made her way to her car. It was time to go home. At least she had the pin with her.
Maybe it would yield some clues to the identity of the killer.
Now back at home, Zora picked up the pin using forceps from a pack of medical tools her mother had given her when she was admitted into medical school. She had never thought she would need it before her clinical years, but it had come in handy today.
The lamp on her desk cast a yellow glow on the pin surface as she sat at her desk and studied the pin. The surface of the pin appeared worn. Maybe the owner had rubbed its surface multiple times. That meant there was a high probability that the DNA of the owner might be on it.
Zora’s pulse quickened. Maybe this was the break they were looking for. She had called Marcus as soon as she had gotten home and told him what she had found. He had promised to be at her home in the next twenty minutes.
She checked her watch. He should have arrived by now.
Zora heard the front door bell ring. She got up and walked out of her room towards the front door. She could still feel the aches in her legs from the sprinting she had done up the stairwell. Her body was probably out of shape, but Zora hated working out and had broken the New Year’s resolutions far too many times.
She reached the door and looked through the peephole. Marcus was standing outside, looking very much at ease.
Zora turned the lock and slid the bolt before removing the chain latch and opening the door. Marcus stood tall, dressed in blue jeans and a white polo shirt with custom stitching on the front breast pocket that brought out the grey in his eyes; he had a small satchel slung over his shoulder. Seeing him looking so good reminded her of why she’d had a crush on him before.
Zora stepped aside to let him in. “Thanks for coming over.”
“No worries,” he responded.
“Do you need a drink?” Zora asked as she walked into the kitchen.
Marcus sat on one of the kitchen bar stools and dropped his satchel on the countertop. “Yes. Water is fine.” He looked around the living room. “Your apartment looks nice.”
“Thank you,” Zora said. “I guess it is your first time here since I moved in.” She grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and a glass from the cupboard and poured the water into the glass.
Zora could feel Marcus’ eyes on her. “I don’t recall ever being invited to a house warming party,” he said.
Zora placed the glass of water in front of him. “I didn’t have one. I barely moved in before classes started, so I nuked the idea.”
Marcus picked the glass and took a sip. Zora watched him drink. He was one handsome dude.
Marcus set the glass back down on the table. “Okay, let’s get down to business. Can I see the pin?”
“Give me one second.” Zora walked into her room and came out with the tissue. She moved instead to the coffee table in the living room and opened up the tissue on the surface to expose the pin. She wanted no chance of water getting on it.
Marcus got up from the kitchen stool and joined her next to the coffee table. He stooped down and stared at the pin. “This is an interesting one. It looks like something made for veterans.”
He took the forceps from Zora and turned it. “There is a tiny set of numbers here on the back. I think we can use that to track the owner.” He placed the pin back on the tissue and sat on his hunches.
“That would be great,” Zora said.
Marcus cast a stern look at her.
Zora braced herself for the lecture she was about to receive.
“By the way, what did you think you were doing going to the crime scene?” Marcus said, his steely grey eyes leveled at her. “What if the police had seen you? You could have been suspected of tampering with evidence!”
Zora bristled. This was her life they were talking about. She didn’t understand how anyone expected her to sit still and do nothing. “Well, they didn’t see me. I couldn’t just sit back and watch while my life went down the toilet,” she said, her eyes matching his.
Marcus rubbed his ha
nd across his brow. “I’m just worried about you,” he said gently. “What if your life becomes endangered from getting involved? What if the killer was there?”
Zora said nothing. She averted her eyes and rubbed the back of her neck.
Marcus narrowed his eyes. “Wait. What haven’t you told me?”
“It’s not a big deal.”
“Tell me,” he insisted.
Zora told him about the note and the man in the hooded jacket.
Marcus blew out his breath and ran his fingers through his hair. “Darn it, Zora! That’s it. You have to leave the investigation alone. Where is the note?”
Zora pulled the note gingerly from her pocket and placed it on the coffee table. She grabbed the forceps from Marcus and spread the note apart with it.
Marcus read the note and said nothing. He got up, strode back to the kitchen countertop, and pulled two small evidence bags from his satchel. He walked back to the coffee table and took the forceps from Zora. He bent down and used the forceps to put the pin and the note into the evidence bags. “I have a friend in forensics who owes me a favor. I’ll give these items to him to analyze.” Marcus straightened up. “Maybe we might be able to get something from them or not.”
“Do you think he’ll be able to get back to you quickly?”
“He should.” He walked back to the kitchen and put the evidence bags into his satchel and slung the bag over his shoulder. “I have to leave now so that I can get this to him as soon as possible.”
He walked towards the door and then turned. Zora was following closely behind and almost bumped into him.
“I mean it, Zora. No more investigating. Please. It’s too dangerous. Silas and I will help you get out of this mess, okay? I’ll let you know once I hear back from my friend,” he said.