by Erin Lanter
“You want a search warrant without evidence of a crime?”
“That’s correct. You know I don’t believe in coincidences.” Al waited as the silence stretched between them.
At least he’s thinking about it, Al thought hopefully.
“That’s not really how we do things, Al. You know that,” the judge admonished. “If you thought there was anything to this, you would have requested a warrant days ago to gather fresh evidence. Not evidence that’s probably been destroyed.”
“I know it’s a little unorthodox, Your Honor, but I really think we need to get in that house to take a closer look,” Al pressed.
“And you say there’s no body?”
Al paused. “That’s right.” He felt his mouth droop. This was going nowhere.
The judge said, “I’ll think about it.”
The dial tone hummed in Al’s ear. He’d done the best he could, but with no evidence to tie that psychiatrist to a crime, he knew there wouldn’t be much he could do.
They needed to find that body. Without it, this case wouldn’t go anywhere.
In the meantime, he picked up his pen and paper and walked to his partner’s desk. It was time to find out if Isaac remembered anything about a suicide call a couple years ago.
f
As Al approached his partner’s desk, he noticed Isaac’s brows were furrowed in concentration. Without even looking at the file, he knew his partner was focusing on the Jane Doe case. He had been all morning. Al was slightly perturbed that Isaac had taken over a case that had clearly landed on his own desk, but he had to admit that he’d done the same thing with Tessa James and the maybe-murder.
“Hey, Isaac. How’s it going?” Al tilted his head toward the open file laying on the desk.
“Fine. We’re getting closer to having her identity. It’s tricky, since there was no identification on the body and nobody has reported her missing, but we’ll get there. I’m hoping her fingerprints are in the database. That would be the best-case scenario.” He paused and studied Al. “What’s up?”
“I had a question about a suicide call you responded to a couple years ago, just before you made detective.”
“Unfortunately, we get a lot of those calls,” Isaac said as his fingers clicked the keyboard. “Do you have any details that will help me out?”
Al looked up at the ceiling. “It was two, maybe two and a half years ago. A woman. Not really elderly. Late fifties, early sixties, maybe. Her daughter found her hanging from a banister in her stairwell and called 911.”
Detective Dunn’s fingers stopped typing. He looked up at his partner. “I remember that one. It was just before I took the detective exam.” He paused and shook his head. “That was a tough one. The daughter was a mess, almost hysterical. She claims she saw a man running away from the house when she got there and made some noise about him maybe killing her mom. There was no evidence to support that, and once we ruled it a suicide, she calmed down a bit. It was sad. She didn’t even seem surprised, almost like she expected it to happen.”
“Oh? Why was that?” Al’s internal radar was onto something.
“The mom had been struggling with mental illness for decades. Really paranoid, imagining things that weren’t there. I think the daughter said she had schizophrenia or something, but that she refused to get help. The impression I got was that the daughter felt she was responsible for taking care of her mom.” Isaac shook his head. “What a terrible way to live.”
“Do you happen to know the name of the victim?”
Isaac’s fingers tapped the keys again. Al watched as his eyes moved back forth as he read the report he’d just pulled up. His intuition again told him he was onto something.
“The victim’s name was Anita Wells.”
Al took a deep breath. “And the daughter’s name?”
“Let’s see…” Isaac’s eyes tracked the words again. “Looks like the daughter’s name is Tessa James.”
Al pressed his lips together, then, as the phone on his desk began ringing, said, “That’s my witness. Looks like she has a history of imagining crimes that never happened.”
53
Tessa frowned and pressed the button to disconnect her call. That was the coldest Detective Jefferson had ever been to her. He sounded almost skeptical when she told him about the newest email threat.
Is it just fatigue? she wondered. Why would he stop believing me now?
Again, she felt like it was up to her to keep herself safe. Sure, Drew was there, but things couldn’t go on like this. If that monster really was watching her, he’d know she was with Drew, and Drew would be in danger, too.
She couldn’t stay here. Unless the offer of a safe house was still good, there was nowhere she could go.
He was watching her, and she was certain he intended to kill her. So why was he toying with her?
Tessa shuddered.
Her gut told her that the game was almost over.
54
Camille looked over her shoulder and slipped the key into the lock. Hidden by the shadows, she twisted the knob and slipped noiselessly inside. She groped the walls on each side of her, searching for the light switch.
This wasn’t how she typically spent a Saturday night, letting herself into an ex-boyfriend’s ex-wife’s house, but the text had been clear.
It’s Tessa. I think we should talk. Come over to my place around 7:00 tonight. If I’m not home, use the key buried in the flowerpot to let yourself in.
Her fingers found a switch, and when she flipped it on the room was illuminated in a warm glow. Blinking at the light, she allowed her eyes to adjust and walked into the living room. She slipped the key in her pocket and sat on the sofa.
She placed a hand over her mouth to stifle a yawn. Her afternoon mai tai to celebrate what might happen when she and Tessa talked tonight had left her drowsy.
If she didn’t get up and move, she was going to fall asleep on Tessa’s couch. That wouldn’t leave a very good impression, would it? she told herself.
Deciding it couldn’t hurt to look around, Camille began moving through the small house. Just as she was about to walk down the short hallway toward the back of the house, she heard a thump from what she assumed was the bedroom. A scraping sound followed, then she heard a click.
Goosebumps pricked her spine. She wasn’t alone.
Is Tessa in there? Why didn’t she come out earlier? Certainly she must have heard me, Camille thought.
Her curiosity outweighed her fear, and she inched closer to the bedroom door. Just before she reached for the knob, the door flew open. Frozen in fear, she couldn’t run or scream.
Her heart beat wildly as two shots rang out, then Camille’s body crumpled to the floor.
55
Early Sunday morning, Lois Simmons was already busy in her kitchen. She’d run behind on her customers’ orders and hadn’t gotten to the pound cake she wanted to take to her neighbor.
“I feel so bad,” she’d lamented to Walt. “How could I have let this happen? I was supposed to take my pound cake to her on Friday.”
Walt sat at the kitchen table, reading the newspaper and drinking his coffee. “She didn’t even know you were planning to make one for her. No harm in being late, I say.”
“But Walt,” she’d protested, “I made a commitment. If I’m going to be this lazy, how can I possibly keep my home-based bakery afloat?” Worry lines creased Lois’s otherwise flawless face.
Walt lowered the paper and studied his wife. “Lois, dear, you’re anything but lazy. You haven’t come to bed before midnight a single night this week because you’ve been filling orders,” he soothed. “I’m proud of how hard you’ve been working.”
Lois beamed at him. Even with flour on the tip of her nose, she knew Walt still thought she was a beauty.
The egg-shaped timer that had been a wedding gift all those years ago buzzed.
“Ah, it’s done.” Lois grabbed her oven mitts from the drawer next to the stove and opened the oven door. She inha
led the intoxicating fragrance of warm blueberries and sugar as she pulled the pound cake out of the oven. “Perfect,” she announced as she slid it onto the cooling rack on the counter.
“How could it be anything but?” Walt said as he raised the newspaper again.
“Oh, Walt. You encourage me so…” Lois said wistfully.
After putting the finishing touches on a few more orders, Lois wrapped the pound cake in a cellophane bag and tied it with a ribbon. “I’m going to drop this off next door,” she said as she slid her feet into her orthopedic flip-flops. “And maybe I’ll get the scoop on the man who’s been hanging around there this week.”
Walt grunted in agreement. Lois knew he didn’t care about their neighbors’ personal lives but appreciated that he at least pretended to listen.
“By the way,” Lois said, fluffing the ribbon one last time. “Did you hear anything last night? It sounded like somebody’s car backfired a couple times.”
“No, I didn’t hear anything,” Walt said absently. “You always say I sleep the sleep of the dead.”
Lois shrugged. “Oh, well. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
She walked outside into the warm morning sun and turned her face up to the sky. Stuck in the kitchen all day, she didn’t get to enjoy the outdoors as much as she would like.
After walking the two dozen or so steps that separated their homes, Lois climbed the stairs to the porch. She frowned. Tessa’s car wasn’t there, but the front door was open a crack. “Hello?” she called, nudging it open a little more. “Anybody home?” Another nudge.
Lois squealed as a bird flew toward her. “What in the world?” she muttered, then walked carefully into the house. She didn’t want to get arrested for trespassing, but something just didn’t feel right.
“Hello? Anybody here?” she called again.
She took a few steps into the living room and stopped. Her eyes rested on a motionless figure on the living room floor.
“Sweet baby Jane!” she gasped and rushed toward the woman. She dropped the pound cake and squatted next to her.
Lois could tell she was breathing, though faintly. She sprang to her feet and looked around wildly for a phone.
“Why doesn’t anybody have landlines these days?” she snapped, then turned back to the woman on the floor. “I’m going to call 911. Help will come!” she yelled as she raced out the door to her own house.
That woman certainly wasn’t her neighbor. What was that poor thing doing getting herself shot in someone else’s home? Lois thought as she burst, panting, through her kitchen door and flung herself toward the phone.
56
Leaning against the door frame, coffee still in hand, Dr. Jacob Armistead scanned Samantha’s home office. For once, her silly career in fashion had benefited him.
She did always look gorgeous, though. The few times she’d accompanied him to social events, his friends and colleagues had commented on how beautiful she was. The men always said they wished their wives took care of themselves the way Samantha did. He never mentioned that she was at least a full decade younger than anyone else in the room.
In his opinion, none of it mattered anyway. Only the least intelligent people put so much effort into their appearance. Many times throughout their six-year marriage, he’d wondered how they’d ended up together. Of course, she’d managed to hide her least desirable qualities until after they were married. Typical woman.
The number of times they’d fought about these stupid mannequins… he’d been ready to call it quits. Now they’d finally come in handy. Perhaps he shouldn’t complain about them so much in the future. They had, after all provided him with the perfect explanation of what happened Monday night.
He groaned as the phone rang. “I sincerely hope it’s not that nosy detective again,” he muttered as he wove between the half-naked mannequins to answer the phone on Samantha’s desk.
“Hello?” he said with forced pleasantry while flipping through the sketchbook containing his wife’s ideas for a new clothing line. Even though her specialty was sales, she had an obvious talent for design.
This explains all those long hours she’s been spending in here, he thought.
“Hi, J!” Samantha’s enthusiastic greeting grated on his nerves.
Why can’t she manage my whole name? It’s not a difficult name to pronounce. Just say it. He clenched his teeth and asked, “How’s your trip?”
“Absolutely terrific! I sold one of my own designs to Bloomingdale’s. Can you believe it?” she gushed.
“That’s wonderful,” he said, continuing to flip through her sketchpad.
“Isn’t it? They bought the knee-length cobalt dress with the asymmetrical hem and peasant sleeves. I thought I was taking a gamble showing it to them, but they loved it. I guess that’s proof we should always trust our instincts, isn’t it?”
“Mm-hmm,” he agreed absently.
Near the back of the sketchbook, he came across a sketch of a bright blue dress with flowing sleeves and an uneven hem. Is that what Bloomingdale’s bought? It’s ghastly.
“And even better news,” Samantha continued, “is that I get to come home early.”
He snapped to full attention. “What?” he croaked.
“I get to come home early,” she repeated. “My meetings went quicker than I thought, so I don’t have to stay here another two days. When I get home, we’ll celebrate!”
“I couldn’t be happier,” he said, slamming the book shut. “What time will you be back?”
“I’m taking the red-eye home tonight. My flight lands at four twenty-six tomorrow morning.”
His mouth went dry when he checked his watch. Nineteen hours until she touched down. He picked up the mug he’d set beside the phone and took a final gulp of coffee, forcing it over the lump in his throat. “That won’t give me much time to get things ready for a celebration,” he said, laughing nervously.
“Oh, J,” Samantha said tenderly. “I’m so glad you’re happy for me. I know you sometimes think what I do is silly, but it means so much to me that you want to celebrate. I’m finally doing what I’ve always wanted to do.”
A momentary stab of regret pierced his stomach. Samantha really was a sweet woman, and a striking beauty with jet-black hair that flowed halfway down her back, large brown eyes, and perfectly symmetrical features. “I’m proud of you, Sam. You’ve worked hard for this, and I’m glad it’s finally happened for you.” He paused. “What should we do to celebrate?”
“Maybe a nice dinner, a bottle of wine, and a huge slab of chocolate cake.”
His eyebrows shot up at the last request. Samantha had an iron will when it came to what she ate, always saying she liked looking good in her clothes more than she liked any food on the planet. He chuckled. “Consider it done. I’ll find the biggest, richest, most delicious cake in town.”
“Good,” she agreed. “I need to get ready for my meeting this morning. I’ll call you before I get on the plane. I love you, J.”
“You, too,” he murmured, his palms suddenly slick with sweat.
He looked at his watch. He had exactly ten minutes to finish getting ready for work, but that was the least of his problems right now. In the midst of his busy day, he had to figure out where to hide the body that had been stuffed in the chest freezer in his garage all week. He only had nineteen hours to erase any evidence he might have left behind.
57
“Just answer the question, Ms. James,” Detective Jefferson demanded. “Do you own a forty-five-caliber pistol?”
Tessa’s head was spinning. This can’t be happening, she thought. Having a police detective show up at the front door to question her about a gun she’d bought a year ago and never used was the last thing she expected today. Of all days for Drew to decide to go into the office.
“Yes, I do. I bought it shortly after my divorce.”
“And what was your intention when you bought the gun?” he prodded.
“Protection,” she said, trying to
wrap her head around what Detective Jefferson might be implying. Why did her gun suddenly matter?
“Did you think you needed protection from anyone in particular?”
She cut her eyes to the younger detective, who so far hadn’t said anything. Detective Jefferson had introduced him as Detective Dunn. “No,” she said. “When I started living by myself, I felt like I needed a little extra security. I don’t exactly live in the best neighborhood.”
Tessa remembered the day she bought the gun like it was yesterday. She’d walked into the gun shop, picked out the one she wanted, and paid cash. The purchase had made a big dent in her savings, but with it she felt more prepared to handle the world and its unknowns. After filling out the necessary paperwork, the clerk had handed the gun over immediately.
“There’s no waiting period?” she’d asked, taken aback.
The clerk’s words were, “Nope. Welcome to the south ma’am.”
At that moment, she’d become a gun owner. Aside from the few trips to the shooting range to familiarize herself with the weapon, she hadn’t given it another thought.
Detective Jefferson changed directions. “Okay. Let’s talk about Camille Walker.”
“What about her?”
“How well did you know – “ Detective Dunn began. His partner didn’t let him finish.
“What was your relationship to her?”
Tessa squinted into the sun streaming through the living room window. “There wasn’t one. I met her once last week for about five minutes. Why?”
“And what were the circumstances of your meeting?” Detective Jefferson asked, pulling his notepad out of his breast pocket.
“She was poking around outside my living room window,” Tessa offered.
“What do you think she was doing?” Detective Dunn asked.
Before she could answer, Detective Jefferson interjected, “Someone was spying on you through your living room window, and you didn’t think to tell us? After what you witnessed?”
“I wouldn’t call it spying. She just wanted to talk.” Tessa’s eyes moved back and forth between the two detectives.