Girl Eight

by Melinda Woodhall

  How the hell did Eden Winthrop find me?

  Stunned into momentary indecision, Ace hovered inside the garage, not knowing what to do, unsure if she was alone. He watched her approach the front door to the house and knock, before turning a curious face toward the garage. His fear soon turned to anger. He would have to put a stop to the woman’s meddling now, before she could do any more damage.

  Ace leaned in and opened the truck’s glove box. He slid the little Ruger out and cradled it in his hand. It perfectly matched the gun he’d used to shoot Doc earlier that afternoon. He’d recommended the model to his late-partner in crime just the year before. He was tempted to laugh at the thought.

  I made a good choice. Just look how handy they’ve been.

  But as he stood and quietly closed the truck’s door behind him, his eyes fell on a cabinet by the door leading to the stairs. He’d almost forgotten that he’d stashed a clean white cloth and a bottle of chloroform in the cabinet. He’d planned to use it only in the event of an emergency, thinking it would come in useful if one of the girls escaped. And now, after all these years, he finally had a reason to use it.

  Keeping one eye on the open garage door, he crept to the cabinet and took out the bottle. He looked at the clear liquid inside with some trepidation. He’d never tried it on anyone before. How much was enough? How much would be too much?

  He didn’t want to kill the woman right away. He needed to find out how much she knew, and who she’d told, first. Then he could get rid of her. He could put this whole mess behind him before it got out of hand.

  A blonde head bobbed into sight beyond the roof of the truck, and Ace heard the dog give a low bark.

  “What’s wrong, boy? Is the rain bothering you?”

  The woman’s soft voice was soothing, but the dog barked again, and Ace tightened his hand around the Ruger. Dogs had never liked him, and he had never been too fond of them either. They always stared at him suspiciously and growled or barked, and he never missed the opportunity to give a kick to any flea-bitten mutt that got in his way.

  “Do you see something, Duke?”

  Eden stepped into the garage and lowered her umbrella. Rain dripped around her as she stared into the shadows.

  “Hello, is anybody in there?”

  Ace crouched behind the truck, knowing the dog would sniff him out, knowing he didn’t have a chance to get by her without being seen. He watched as Eden turned her head back toward the house, perhaps wondering why no one opened the door since a truck and a big shiny car sat in the garage. Didn’t that indicate someone must be at home?

  Knowing he may never get a better chance to take her by surprise, Ace tipped the chloroform into the rag, and sprang up behind Eden. Her scream was stifled by Ace’s big hand in the white cloth. She grabbed for the cloth and tore at his hands, but he held tight, his rage and hate numbing the searing pain inflicted by her nails as she clawed him and kicked backward, aiming for his shins.

  Suddenly, the dog appeared behind him, growling and snarling as he snapped at Ace’s legs. Ace raised a thick work boot and kicked hard at the dog’s head, his arms beginning to tire as the woman continued to struggle against him.

  Just when he began thinking he must have badly misjudged how much chloroform to use, Eden’s body slackened, going limp in an instant. Ace let her drop to the floor just in time to meet the dog’s charge head on.

  He threw the golden retriever back against the garage wall and grabbed for his gun, raising it toward the dog with weak, shaky hands. He squeezed off a shot that ricocheted against the wall, prompting the dog to scurry out the door and into the rain.

  Ace lunged out into the storm, aimed the gun at the dog’s retreating tail and pulled the trigger. Not waiting to see if he hit his mark, Ace hustled to the truck and rolled back the bed cover. Using his last bit of strength, he hefted Eden into the truck bed beside the girl in the tarp and surveyed his handiwork.

  “Two for the price of one,” he laughed, his voice a ragged croak.

  As he backed out of the driveway, the wind howled around the old truck, rattling the windows and battering the roof. Ace could barely see out of the front windshield, but he steered the truck’s wheels toward the old farm. The fury of the storm both worried him and reassured him.

  No one will be stupid enough to go out in this mess looking for anyone. By the time the hurricane passes Eden Winthrop will no longer be a problem, and the girl will be safely under the ground in stall eight.

  An almost sad smile played around his mouth as he navigated the wet streets and fallen branches.

  The mission is almost over.

  Once he’d buried the remaining evidence, it would be time to find another mission. Maybe something further from home next time.

  Maybe some international travel is in order.

  Ace had liked Germany when he’d been stationed there. The thought of heading back to Europe as a civilian appealed to him. It was about time to enjoy new experiences; getting away from Florida, with its hurricanes, hot weather and nosy people, sounded like a good idea.

  As the truck rattled closer to the farm, Ace began to whistle.

  Chapter Forty

  Nessa stood in the doorway and gazed in horror at the nightmarish scene. The thick spray of blood on the wall seemed to fade in and out as fatigue washed over her. She rubbed at her eyes and tried to focus on the evidence, tried to formulate a theory as to what had happened in the once-cozy room. But her lack of sleep was becoming a real problem, and even the shock of the grisly scene couldn’t seem to make her eyes stay open.

  “I’ve gotta get some water.”

  The ragged words vibrated into the quiet air of the house, making Jankowski turn to Nessa with an impatient frown. His frown deepened when he saw her ashen complexion and glassy eyes.

  “Don’t move. I’ll grab you a cup of water from the kitchen.”

  He fled down the hall, away from the gore, and Nessa glared after him in protest. She’d wanted to get away from the sights and smells that were making both her head and stomach spin.

  “Fine, Jankowksi,” Nessa muttered, moving a few inches into the room. “Whatever you say.”

  She stopped just inside the doorway, knowing she would risk contaminating the scene if she went any further without protective clothing. The crime scene unit still hadn’t arrived, and she wasn’t sure how long it might take them to get through streets that were flooded, closed or blocked by debris. She couldn’t do anything to destroy trace evidence that might reveal the tragic events that had gone on in the house.

  “Drink this.”

  Jankowski held out a glass of water.

  Nessa gripped the glass with an unsteady hand and took a long drink, glad for any excuse to close her eyes. But even with her eyes tightly shut, she could still see the distorted face of the dead woman in the wheelchair.

  “I tried to call Iris, but her voicemail just picks up right away. I’m guessing she’s lost service.”

  Jankowski’s comment stirred Nessa’s brain back to life.

  “Yes, she went out to help her parents. They live near the coast. She wanted to be with them when they evacuated.”

  “She sounds like a good daughter,” Jankowski said, “but what we need right now is a dedicated medical examiner.”

  Nessa thought of the pictures in Iris’s office, remembering the shy smile of her father, and the proud face of her mother.

  “There’s nothing she can do for the people here,” Nessa said, trying not to look at the bits of brain sticking to the side of the desk. “Her time is better spent helping her family.”

  She felt Jankowski studying her.

  He’s probably wondering why I’m not at home helping my family.

  The same question had already crossed Nessa’s mind a million times, but there she was, hovering at the edge of a horrendous crime scene, waiting for crime scene techs that may never show up.

  “Maybe I should try calling Archie Faraday,” Jankowski suggested. “I think
he lives nearby. Maybe he could help us out until Iris gets back.”

  “No!” Nessa snapped. “I don’t trust that man, and neither does Iris. She won’t thank us for involving him.”

  A flush of embarrassment and anger turned her cheeks pink as she looked away, not wanting to meet Jankowski’s surprised stare. She took out her cell phone and tapped on the camera icon.

  “Might as well start documenting the scene. If Alma and her crew can’t get here, we’ll have to do the best we can on our own.”

  “They’ll be here soon, I’m sure, but suit yourself.”

  Jankowski walked to the foot of the stairs and gazed up into the darkness above.

  “I’ll go scout around upstairs. Make sure we haven’t missed any other bodies.”

  “Yeah, and make sure no one’s hiding up there.”

  But as Jankowski started thudding up the stairs, Nessa was confident he wouldn’t find anyone else in the house. The scene clearly indicated a murder-suicide had occurred, and the perp was laying in front of her with his brains decorating the furniture. He wasn’t going to give anyone any more trouble.

  Nessa aimed her cell phone camera at different spots in the room, careful to get as many angles as she could without stepping further into the blood spatter. After getting several wide-angle shots of the full room, she took close-ups of the bodies, the spatter and the weapon, before taking pictures of the other objects in the room.

  She snapped a shot of the framed photos on the bookshelf. They showed the couple in much happier times: Terri Bellows in her wheelchair beaming at the camera, her husband cutting a birthday cake and wearing a pointy party hat, the loving couple raising champagne glasses in a celebratory toast.

  How did they go from that to this? Or was that all just an act?

  A large portrait on the wall displayed a young man in a military uniform. Nessa zoomed in and took a close-up. The uniform indicated that Dr. Adrian Bellows had been in the US Air Force.

  Jankowski thudded back down the stairs.

  “No blood, no bodies, no boogeyman,” Jankowksi called out, his voice artificially cheerful. “Nothing up there of any interest. At least not that I can see, but perhaps Alma and her crew can find something.”

  Nessa nodded and aimed her camera toward the desk. Jankowski stood close behind her, looking over her shoulder.

  “You notice that he used his left hand to shoot himself?”

  She jumped at his voice so close to her ear and spun around.

  “Christ, Jankowski, give me some room.”

  She pushed past him and stomped down the hall, entering the kitchen in a huff. The air was heavy and silent. The only sound she could hear came from the tempest raging outside. Rain pelted against the windows and the wind howled around the rafters.

  It makes sense that he used his left hand. So, what’s bugging me?

  Snippets of her recent conversation with Iris played through Nessa’s mind. The medical examiner had determined that Helena Steele and Penelope Yates were killed by a left-handed perp.

  Nessa glanced down at the suicide note on the table.

  He’s admitted to killing both women. So, it all fits together, right?

  But something was nagging at Nessa. She felt as if she’d forgotten something or was missing a crucial piece of the puzzle.

  If only I wasn’t so darn tired. I can’t seem to think straight.

  She inhaled deeply and shook her head, willing her brain to perk up and help her evaluate the scene.

  She aimed her cell phone camera at the note on the table, then began taking snaps of the rest of the room.

  A calendar hung on the kitchen wall. Big looping words had been written in the box for the upcoming Saturday.

  Ace coming for lasagna.

  Nessa took a close-up photo of the calendar. She wondered what Terri Bellows had been thinking when she’d written the note about the lasagna. Could she ever have imagined her life ending so brutally before Saturday ever came? And what about Ace?

  No lasagna for you this week, Ace. Whoever you are.

  Unable to stop a huge yawn, Nessa closed her eyes and stretched, tempted to sit down at the kitchen table and rest her head.

  What harm could a few minutes of shut-eye do?

  Before she could answer her own question, her eyes returned to the suicide note, and the mention of Hope House. The girl Dr. Bellows had mentioned in the note had to be Kara Stanislaus.

  I’ve got to tell Eden. She’ll want to know right away.

  Pity and regret surged through Nessa as she thought of the call she had to make. After so much loss and tragedy, Eden was once again going to be the recipient of bad news. The most devastating kind of news. Someone she cared about had been senselessly killed.

  She pictured Eden’s worried face at the police station only days before, warning them about Dr. Bellows. If only they’d listened then, a young woman might have been saved. They might have even been in time to save Penelope Yates and Terri Bellows.

  A sick feeling settled into the pit of Nessa’s stomach as she reached into her pocket and took out her phone. Had their reluctance to break protocol cost three innocent women their lives?

  Nessa grimaced at the message telling her she’d missed six calls and had a dozen new text messages. She’d have to call Eden first. The least she could do was let the poor woman know what had happened to the missing girl she’d been looking for.

  The phone rang four times then rolled to voicemail. Although Nessa was tempted to leave a message, she knew it wouldn’t be fair. Her tired eyes scanned her missed calls. Eden’s name was in the list, and she’d left a voicemail. Nessa tapped on the message and listened to Eden’s anxious voice.

  “Nessa, this is Eden. I’m sure you’re busy with the storm and…well, everything, but I think I may know where Dr. Bellows took Kara Stanislaus. I have an address…it’s 3278 Ironside Way.”

  The words sent a shiver down Nessa’s spine.

  Could Dr. Bellows have taken Kara to the address on Eden’s voicemail? Was her body buried there, waiting to be found?

  Nessa raced into the hall, calling out to Jankowski.

  “You wait for the crime scene techs. I think I might know where Bellows has buried Kara Stanislaus.”

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  Nessa cursed the flashing lights ahead.

  Another blocked road and another detour. She swerved around a barricade and pulled up behind a tiny car inching along the highway at ten miles an hour. Activating the bar of emergency lights on the Charger’s dashboard, she sped around the little car, spraying up waves of water as she passed by.

  The detour had taken her back by the police station, and she made a last-minute decision to pull in and see if she could corral a uniformed officer to go with her to the location on Ironside Way. The memory of arriving alone at the Old Canal Motel hovered in her mind, and she was starting to regret her hasty decision to go out alone.

  Nessa ran into the police station lobby, shrugging off her dripping raincoat and looking around in dismay. The station seemed deserted. It was clear that everyone other than essential personnel had gone home long ago. The remaining staff were probably manning the emergency response center they had set up at city hall.

  The lights flickered above Nessa’s head. She wondered if the generator would kick in once the electricity went out.

  Hopefully I won’t be here long enough to find out.

  She hurried past the front desk and into the back, ready to confront Chief Kramer and demand he call up one of the on-duty officers to go with her to find Kara’s body. Kramer had made the call not to question Bellows when Eden had first made her accusation. Now he needed to help her clean up the fallout from that decision.

  The lights in the executive wing were still on, and some of the doors were open, but they all appeared to be empty.

  Most likely they’re holding a press conference somewhere. Chief Kramer’s probably posing with Mayor Hadley and Archie Faraday.

  Of course, Kr
amer would be relegated to the back row as usual. He wasn’t as handsome as Mayor Hadley, or as distinguished as Dr. Faraday. Kramer was more of a man’s man. The rough, coarse type of man that always seemed to enter a room like a bull in a china shop.

  Nessa rolled her eyes at the image of the older men who’d pretty much run the town for years. They were the most visible members of the good old boys’ club that made the rules and wielded the power in Willow Bay. It was a club that would never allow her or any other woman in, even if she had been interested in joining.

  Which I’m not. I don’t give a fig about those old farts.

  Nessa stood in the doorway to Kramer’s office and confirmed what she’d suspected. He was nowhere to be seen. She had started to turn on her heel and leave, when she noticed the framed photo on the wall that she’d seen plenty of times before. But this time she couldn’t look away.

  A group of uniformed men stood at attention, their serious faces stoic under military caps. A young Kramer stood in the back line. Nessa instantly recognized his wide jaw and close-set eyes. Next to Kramer was a smaller man with unremarkable features. She’d seen the same man, in the same uniform, at the Bellows’ crime scene.

  Nessa walked into the office and stood in front of the photo. She bent forward and squinted at the tiny listing of names across the bottom of the group shot. Nessa’s blood ran cold as she read the names. Airman “Ace” Kramer stood next to Airman “Doc” Bellows.

  The red scrawling words on the calendar were starting to make sense now.

  Ace coming for lasagna.

  Nessa sank into the desk chair in front of Kramer’s computer. She would look up the address on Ironside, see who lived there. She looked around for the mouse and saw that it sat on a US Air Force mousepad, positioned on the left side of the keyboard.

  Nessa swallowed hard, trying to remember the last time she had been in Kramer’s office. She vaguely remembered him using his left hand. But was she just imagining it?

  No. I’m a detective for goodness sakes. I notice these things.

  A stab of fear shot through Nessa as her brain started to make connections. She took out her phone and opened up the photo app. She scrolled to the picture of Adrian Bellows cutting the cake, his eyes smiling under the party hat. He was cutting the cake with his right hand.