by Dan Padavona
Thomas Shepherd balanced on a stool in complete darkness while Jack watched from the bed. Three wires slithered down from the bedroom ceiling. He aimed the flashlight and identified the black and white wires. He’d thrown the breaker for the master bedroom, which killed the power in the hallway, too. Even with the door open, the light from downstairs failed to cross the threshold.
Removing the new lighting fixture from the box, he connected the wires, set the fixture in place, and tightened the screws. With his eyes adjusted to the darkness, his gaze penetrated the night-cloaked yard below the window. Starlight reflected off Wolf Lake as waves sloshed against the shoreline.
He felt most calm at times like these. Though he’d taught himself to enjoy the camaraderie, the raised voices ruffled his nerves at the office. He loved working with his hands, installing appliances, and repairing the house.
LeVar hadn’t returned with Scout yet, and it was after nine-thirty. He spied his phone on the bed. If there was a problem, LeVar would text him. He trusted LeVar’s judgment, but the teenager was cutting it close with Scout’s curfew. He crawled down from the stool and placed the screwdriver in the top drawer of the toolbox. Always in the same place. Not because it would be easier for him to find, but because he was a creature of habit.
Jack’s head popped up, and the enormous dog pricked its ears. He didn’t growl, but his eyes focused on the yard.
Thomas moved to the dog’s side and stroked his fur. He followed Jack’s gaze to the yard until he spotted a shadow moving along the shoreline. Jack stood. Thomas continued to pet the dog, keeping him calm as he watched the unknown figure slip into the yard.
Jack barked.
The figure waved an arm above his head. “It’s only me.”
Thomas relaxed his shoulders. “It’s Darren, Jack. Let’s see what he wants.”
Jack followed Thomas down the staircase and through the kitchen. The state park ranger stood outside the sliding glass door when Thomas arrived.
“You’re out late,” Thomas said, motioning Darren inside. “You want a drink or something to eat? I’ve got leftover pasta in the fridge.”
“No thanks, but I could go for a tall glass of water. It’s hella-warm out there.” Thomas started toward the cupboard, but Darren held up a hand. “I’ll get it. How’s Jack tonight?”
Tongue hanging out, the dog panted at Darren’s feet. Darren ran the faucet and filled the glass. Thomas invited Darren to join him at the table.
“How’s the new trail coming along at Lucifer Falls?”
Darren gulped the drink and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “We’re almost finished. It will take a while to prune back the pricker bushes, but the trail should be open to hikers by autumn.”
Thomas rose and poured his own drink. “But you didn’t walk all the way down here in the dark to discuss the trail project.”
“LeVar mentioned Chelsey’s reaction after you suggested she hire Scout.”
Thomas hesitated before sitting down. “I remember. Something is stressing Chelsey lately.”
“I know what’s going on. But this has to stay between us. Chelsey trusted me to keep my yap shut, yet here I am, blabbing like a teenager with a hot rumor.”
“What am I missing?”
“You heard about the village reassessments?”
Setting his glass on the table, Thomas sat forward. “How could I not? The village raised the assessed value on the A-frame by twenty percent.”
Darren winced. “Well, they hit Chelsey pretty hard, both at her house and at Wolf Lake Consulting. If she doesn’t sell the house, the tax load will drain her savings.”
A shock moved through Thomas. “She hasn’t told me anything about this.”
“The firm dipped into the red. She’s worried she’ll lose Wolf Lake Consulting, if she doesn’t cut her investigators’ hours.”
“You mean Raven and LeVar. That explains why she won’t hire Scout.”
Darren shifted his chair to face Thomas. “A simple fix exists. Chelsey needs to raise her prices. I told her ten percent, but why stop there? Boost rates twenty percent to make up for the new tax bill, and the firm will turn profitable. Her prices are too low.”
“Chelsey still needs to sell her house. She moved her belongings into my place two weeks ago. The old house is just collecting dust.”
“There’s a problem with the realty agency. The agent did a lousy job with her listing. Look it up on the website. The pictures make the house appear dingy and rundown.”
“She has a beautiful house. Small, but well-maintained.”
“All the more reason for her to switch to a different agency.”
Thomas rubbed his eyes. Why hadn’t Chelsey divulged her problems?
“I’ll approach her as if you and I never spoke.”
Thomas got a faraway look in his eyes as he slumped in his chair.
“Sorry for upsetting you.”
Thomas refocused. “No, it’s not that. I’ve had a lot on my mind today. Remember the murdered television reporter?”
“It’s all over the news.”
“A few days before the murder, I responded to a call outside Treman Mills. A jogger fell off the cliffs and landed in the gorge. Treman Mills PD discovered the body and called us in, since the gorge is county jurisdiction.”
“What’s bugging you?”
“I’m not sure. I sense the cases are related, but I can’t say why.”
Darren scratched his shoulder. “The medical examiner declared the jogger’s death accidental, right?”
“Yeah. We never found signs of a struggle. Just a set of footprints leading straight off the cliff. I haven’t ruled out suicide, though the guy was married with kids and seemed to have his life together.”
Darren snapped his fingers. “That’s it. Both deaths appeared accidental. Didn’t the medical examiner initially conclude the television reporter died after falling in the tub?”
Thomas stood up from the table and paced the floor. “You’re right. We would have written her death off as a freak accident, except Claire Brookins discovered blunt force trauma that didn’t match the shape of the faucet. The killer concealed the attack by striking Garraway’s injured head.”
“There’s your connection. Two deaths that appear random and accidental.”
“That doesn’t prove they’re connected. But if you’re correct, I missed something important at the cliffs, and someone threw the jogger into the gorge.”
Darren carried the empty glass to the sink and washed it. “If I were you, I’d go over the report again and check the pictures. See if there’s evidence the jogger didn’t run off the cliffs on his own.” The state park ranger peered through the sliding glass door. “I’d better get back to the cabin before Raven worries I fell into the lake.”
“Thanks for telling me about Chelsey, Darren. Talk to you tomorrow.”
Thomas didn’t notice the deck door sliding open and closing. For a long time, he stood with his gaze fixed on the wall, not seeing the wall, but viewing the cliffs on the day Treman Mills PD called him to the gorge. Did the person who killed Tina Garraway murder Harding Little?
He jolted when the phone rang. It was Chelsey.
“Where are you?”
“Thomas, we need you in Treman Mills. Georgia Sims’s stalker is back.”
26
Thomas stopped his truck in front of Georgia Sims’s house. He recognized Detective Sandoval from the Harding Little investigation, as two uniformed officers took photographs outside the home. Hopping down from the hood of her car, Chelsey crossed the sidewalk and met Thomas. He spied LeVar over her shoulder. The teenager’s Chrysler Limited sat curbside, with Scout buckled into the passenger seat.
“What happened?”
Chelsey stared at the house and averted her eyes from Thomas. “I never should have left Georgia Sims alone.”
“Is anyone hurt?”
“No, she’s inside the house, speaking with Treman Mills PD. Darren and I installed sec
urity cameras to catch the stalker. Georgia told me someone turned the bedroom camera to face the wall, and the camera over the entryway caught nothing.”
Detective Sandoval waddled over to Thomas. His feet dragged, suggesting he’d worked a long day.
“Thanks for coming, Sheriff.”
“Detective.”
Sandoval tilted his head toward LeVar, who leaned against the Chrysler with his arms folded over his chest. “The boy says he knows you. That true?”
“I can vouch for LeVar Hopkins. He lives with me.”
The detective stammered and wiped a hand across his lips.
“According to Hopkins, he drove past Georgia Sims’s residence a little over an hour ago. Noticed nothing out of the ordinary. So he circled the neighborhood and came back. That’s when he spotted a shadow moving over the downstairs window.”
Thomas glanced back at LeVar, but the boy was busy talking to Scout through an open window.
“Claims he rounded the house to catch the prowler and found the dining-room window open. The prowler fled that way,” Sandoval said, pointing toward the backyards. “Hopkins says he didn’t enter the house. My officers are checking.”
“If that’s what he said, you can believe him. LeVar studies criminal justice, and he interns with Wolf Lake Consulting.”
“Georgia Sims hired my firm to watch the house,” Chelsey said. “I told LeVar to monitor the place while Sims was at work.”
Thomas met LeVar’s eyes. The teenager raised his palms in exasperation and Thomas motioned him forward.
“Are we searching for the prowler?” LeVar asked. “Or do the officers need to grill me again about why I’m hanging out in a white neighborhood?”
Sandoval licked his lips. “Now, now. That’s not what we asked. We needed to ensure you’re who you say you are.”
The way Sandoval’s eyes darted around worried Thomas. Had the officers profiled LeVar and allowed the stalker to escape?
“I showed you my driver’s license and told you why I’m here.” LeVar gestured at his vehicle. “If I wanted to rob the place, would I bring Scout with me?”
Scout fiddled with her phone in the passenger seat of LeVar’s car. Thomas knew it was past her curfew.
Reading the question on Thomas’s face, Chelsey spoke up. “I phoned Naomi. She’s aware of the situation and will stay awake until LeVar brings Scout home.”
Thomas set a hand on LeVar’s shoulder. The boy stared at the pavement. “I’ll speak with the officers about what happened. Tell me what you saw, and I’ll deal with the rest afterward.”
LeVar narrowed his eyes at Sandoval before focusing on Thomas. “It’s like the detective said. On our second pass, Scout and I noticed a shadow inside the living room. I didn’t want to leave Scout alone in the car, especially with the prowler inside. That’s when I heard someone climbing through a window behind the house. I locked the doors and told Scout to call Chelsey. By the time I circled the house, the prowler escaped through the backyard.”
“Did you see which direction he ran?”
LeVar lifted his chin at the neighbor’s property. “There’s a fence bordering the backyard. I found a broken board, large enough for someone to squeeze through.”
“What’s behind the fence?” Thomas asked Sandoval.
“An abandoned warehouse. There’s a shopping market across the road and a few restaurants.”
“Which means our prowler might have stowed his vehicle in the lot.”
Sandoval lifted his radio and ordered one of his officers to interview the manager at the shopping market.
“You’re finished with Mr. Hopkins, correct?”
Sandoval nodded.
Thomas turned to the teenager. “Take Scout home. We’ll talk in the morning.”
LeVar raised his eyes to Thomas. “Did I mess up again?”
“Not at all. You did the best anyone could do, given the circumstances. If it wasn’t for you, our stalker would still be inside Sims’s house, waiting for her to come home.”
LeVar straightened his shoulders without looking at Sandoval. “I’ll bounce, then. Catch you in the morning.”
As LeVar headed for the car, Chelsey touched Thomas’s arm. “I’ll check on Georgia. She’s a nervous wreck, and I don’t blame her.”
Now that Thomas was alone with Sandoval, he shifted his jaw and glared at the detective.
Sandoval shuffled back a step. “Sheriff, this isn’t what you think.”
“The officers didn’t question LeVar because he’s a black teenager in a white neighborhood?”
The detective coughed into his hand. “Treman Mills PD is a diverse department. We don’t have those sorts of problems.” After Thomas fixed him with a silent stare, Sandoval glanced toward the officers and pressed his lips together. “Look, they might have acted overzealous. Here’s this big tattooed teenager with dreadlocks, and his driver’s license says he lives in Wolf Lake. Wouldn’t you ask questions, if you were in our place?”
“I’d question any stranger at a scene. But LeVar displayed ID and explained why he was here. He’s unarmed, he’s driving with a paralyzed girl, and he works at a private investigation firm. That should have been enough, but clearly it wasn’t. And while the officers grilled LeVar, Georgia Sims’s stalker escaped.”
“I don’t like what you’re suggesting.”
“I’m not suggesting anything, just stating the facts.”
Sandoval puffed out his mustache.
“Now look here. My brother-in-law is black, and he’s at our house every holiday. If you’re claiming I’m racist—”
“I’m not calling anyone a racist. But the officers never would have spent that much time questioning a white teenager, and we both know that’s true.”
“I’m sorry and disappointed you feel that way, Sheriff. If you don’t mind, I’ll join the officers now. I have an investigation to conduct.”
Another cruiser arrived. Thomas lifted his eyes heavenward when Aguilar stepped over the curb.
“Tough night?” she asked.
“I don’t want to go into it.”
Thomas filled Aguilar in on the break-in. “There’s an open window around back that leads into the dining room.”
“I’ll dust for prints.”
“Tell me what you find.”
Even if the stalker left prints, Thomas doubted the guy had a criminal record. This person flew under the radar.
He found Chelsey on the stoop with Georgia Sims. After Chelsey made introductions, Georgia walked them inside.
Thomas stared at the security camera above the entryway. “Motion detector?”
“It records after the sensor picks up movement,” Chelsey said.
“The cameras send recordings to my phone,” Georgia said. The phone trembled in her hand. She set it on the counter so they could watch. “This is the entryway camera.”
Thomas bent close to the screen. A shadow moved across the floor and set off the motion detector. Then the footage stopped. “That’s the entire recording?”
“From that view, yes.”
Chelsey stiffened her back and cursed under her breath. “How about the camera inside the bedroom?”
Georgia switched views. Again, a shadow slid across the doorway before a figure crouched in the entryway and slid beneath the camera’s view.
“Stop the video,” Thomas said. “Can you rewind the footage to where the intruder steps into view?”
Georgia paused the video. The figure in the doorway appeared blurry, but he could see the intruder wore a black shirt and pants. The face was washed out. It took a moment before Thomas realized the stalker wore a stocking.
“I can send the video to you.”
“Please do. I’ll clean up the video and enlarge the picture. With any luck, I’ll make out a face.”
Chelsey exhaled through her nose. “It’s like the stalker knew where the cameras were. How is that possible?”
“You can buy devices that search for GPS signals,”
Thomas said. “Our unsub assumed Ms. Sims would install cameras or a security system. He’s one step ahead of us.”
27
Wade Tenny’s shoulders burned beneath the sun, and his body glistened with salty sweat as he trimmed the bushes fronting his house. The T-shirt lay draped over the porch rail. He glanced down at his belly and twisted his mouth. When had he gained twenty pounds of fat? Sure, he ate too many sugary treats and drank beer on the weekends. But he lifted weights at the gym and played pickup hoops at an outdoor court in the city park. He shouldn’t be fat, not with his thirtieth birthday five months into the future. It seemed God was out to get him.
Beneath the soft abdominals, he was the predator he’d been during high school and college. Attracting women came easily to guys like Tenny. So he wasn’t ashamed of working shirtless in the front yard. He was in better shape than his piggish neighbors.
He tossed the trimmings into a wheelbarrow, removed his gloves, and wiped his forehead. This morning, he’d received a text from Benny. Would you believe it? Tina Garraway died. Tenny had last seen Garraway three summers ago at the annual get-together. She’d acted standoffish, as if the bitch had outgrown her old friends. Now she was dead.
As much as the Garraway news stunned him, it had followed Harding Little’s freak death. What the hell was happening? Just last month, Tenny ran into Harding at the store. There had been the usual platitudes and a promise to shoot eighteen holes some weekend. It never happened, and now it never would. People in their twenties weren’t supposed to die.
Tenny wheeled the yard waste to the curb and dumped it in the street.
Then he saw her.
At first, he thought she was a mirage. A figment of his imagination. The woman’s long red curls spilled over her shoulders. She had a bounce to her step and long, muscular legs that commanded attention. Designer sunglasses. An orange minidress that left nothing to the imagination. Good lord, she was gorgeous. Tenny gawked as she strode down the sidewalk. It didn’t occur to him until he’d watched her for over a minute that she was heading his way.
He turned to see if anyone was behind him. Nobody. The woman grinned as she crossed the street and headed up his driveway. She held a tray a food covered in aluminum foil.