by Mia Sheridan
Jimmy shrugged. “Losing your position? Your career? Your family? Seems like a pretty solid motive to me.”
Professor Merrick gritted his teeth. “I did not harm those women, Detective. And we all know who harmed Josie Stratton. I’m sorry, but I’m done here. I’ll be calling my lawyer. If you have any additional questions, you can talk to him.”
**********
“Ms. Merrick? Detective Jimmy Keene with the CPD. Do you have time to answer a few questions?”
The pretty brunette woman who stood at the door looked surprised, then hesitant, but took a step back, allowing him admittance. “Of course, please, come in.”
Jimmy followed her through the ranch-style home, noting the fully furnished rooms. As he’d suspected, Ms. Merrick had taken the furniture in the divorce.
“Please, have a seat,” she said when they’d entered the living room, indicating a pale gray sectional strewn with lots of pillows. Jimmy took a seat on the edge of the sofa, turning toward Ms. Merrick who sat toward the other end, taking one of the many pillows and holding it against her stomach. “Can I offer you a beverage?”
“No, ma’am, thank you.”
She tilted her head, looking at him expectantly.
“Ms. Merrick—”
“Please, Alicia. And it will be Neely soon. I’m taking my maiden name back.”
“Ah. I see. I understand your divorce is very recent. I’m sorry about that. I’ve actually just spoken to your ex-husband.” He didn’t mention that he’d had a tail put on him, a car that would watch the professor’s comings and goings like a hawk. His connection to the three victims was too suspicious not to, though there was nothing at this point to hold him on. So the department would follow him, keep a log of his actions to the minute.
Alicia frowned. “Vaughn? Why?”
“Have you heard about the crimes involving the two women connected to UC?”
Alicia blinked. “Just that two women were murdered. Starved, right? It’s been all over the news and I’ve caught bits and pieces. I haven’t heard more than that. I’ve been busy getting my new home unpacked.” She paused, assessing him. “What do those women have to do with Vaughn?”
“Well, ma’am . . .” How to put this delicately? Jimmy wondered. “His name came up during the investigation and we weren’t sure of the connection until I spoke with him a little bit ago. It turns out—”
“He’d slept with them.” Alicia Merrick’s voice sounded dull, almost dead. She cast her eyes down, and scratched at her neck, which had suddenly developed red blotches. She shook her head. “Of course he had.” Her eyes snapped to Jimmy. “But what does that mean to your investigation?”
“We don’t know yet. Your ex-husband claims their disappearances and subsequent murders have nothing to do with him. He didn’t even know they were the ones in the news.”
Alicia looked to the side, squeezing the pillow against her body tightly. “Vaughn doesn’t watch much TV,” she murmured.
“You seem unsurprised your husband was sleeping with two university students.”
“I’m not,” she snapped, but then her shoulders curled inward and she looked down. Meek, Jimmy thought. Little fight left in her. Not surprising. She’d been married to a man who sounded like a chronic cheater. Years of that had to whittle away a woman’s self-esteem until it barely existed. “But I am surprised he was involved with those two women.”
“You had never heard their names before you saw them on the news?”
“Never. I . . . I knew Vaughn had started cheating on me again when I filed for divorce eight months ago. I didn’t care who it was. What did it matter? It was always a different version of the same young co-ed with perky boobs and a tight ass.” Despite her bitter words, her face was more sullen than angry, and she looked away again.
“I see.” Jimmy paused. “You said your husband had started cheating on you again. Do you know how many times he’d strayed before?”
Alicia laughed, but it sounded brittle and died a quick death. “Too many to count, and those are only the ones I knew about, or suspected. Vaughn craves attention, Detective. He’s a classic narcissist.”
Narcissist. Maybe. Maybe not. People liked to throw that word around without actually knowing what it meant. Selfish asshole? Yeah, Jimmy had diagnosed that the minute he’d met the professor. Jimmy gave Alicia Merrick a sympathetic look.
“Had you been to his office on campus recently, Ms. Merrick? Say February?” The girl, Aria Glazer, had written in her diary that she and the professor had almost been caught by the “W.” He and Cope were working under the assumption that it was the wife, she’d been referring to. Ms. Merrick. But, of course, them being almost caught, meant Ms. Merrick may not even have known about the close call. A small mercy for the poor woman in front of him.
Her brows drew in. “February? Probably. If I had paperwork or something to drop off to Vaughn, I went to his office and put it in his mailbox. It was quickest that way, and I wouldn’t necessarily have to see him.”
“I see.”
“One of them came to our house years ago,” she cut in, voice clipped. “She seemed high on something, stood in the yard and shouted for a while. We called the police. They escorted her away. I suppose there’d be a police report.” The look on her face remained glum. Jimmy made a note to look that up as soon as he got back to the office.
“Thank you, Ms. Merrick, that could be helpful.” He paused. “Do you remember Josie Stratton as one of the women your husband had a relationship with?”
Alicia frowned, giving her head a slight shake. “Josie Stratton . . . her name does sound familiar, but honestly, Detective, I tried not to learn any specific names. I caught him a couple of times, heard one or two in his office when I made a surprise visit to campus.” She lowered her eyes, swallowed as though she was remembering the sounds. Jimmy didn’t figure it was just conversation she’d overheard. She seemed to gather herself and look up. “Like I said, one of them even came to our home. But it only did me more harm than good to think of them by their names. I’m sure you can understand that.”
It’d been easier to dehumanize them. He wondered how she’d thought of them in her head? Those women, maybe? Those sluts? “Yes,” Jimmy answered. “I can understand that. The name Josie Stratton may sound familiar because she was the woman who was abducted nine years ago and bore her attacker’s baby before finally escaping.”
Alicia’s mouth opened in shock as she stared. “Oh my God. Yes.” She shook her head, closing her eyes for a moment as though in disbelief. “You’re saying that she was one of Vaughn’s s—” She cleared her throat, her cheeks going red. “She was one of the women Vaughn had an affair with?”
One of Vaughn’s sluts, was what she’d been about to say, Jimmy was sure of it. He’d been right. “Yes.”
“I don’t understand. Someone is abducting and killing women Vaughn had affairs with? Is that what you’re saying?”
“I don’t know that that is part of the suspect’s motive, or that it plays a part at all at this point. It sure is an interesting coincidence though, and one that raises all sorts of questions. For instance, if someone was harming these women because of their connection to the professor, who would be angry enough by these relationships to do such heinous things to these young victims?”
Alicia watched Jimmy for a moment, her eyes narrowing a fraction. “You’re not suggesting . . . oh my God, you are. You’re suggesting I was angry enough to kill these women? Or to . . . to have these women killed?” Her mouth fell open in what appeared to be abject shock as she brought a hand to her chest.
“I’m not suggesting, anything, ma’am. I’m simply trying to understand the connection between these three victims who suffered greatly, two of whom had their lives cut short, and the fact that they each had an illicit affair with your ex-husband.”
Alicia was quiet for a moment. She sat back against the pile of pillows behind her, looking as though if she leaned too far, she might be sucke
d into some void they created. “Wait, didn’t the police catch the man who abducted the Stratton woman?”
“He took his life before police could arrest him.”
“Right,” Alicia murmured, looking off to the side. “I remember that now. Vaughn was very . . .” Her voice trailed off as her eyes met Jimmy’s.
“What, ma’am?”
“Vaughn was very interested in that case. He stopped everything to watch any news segment about it that came on. I thought . . . I thought it was just because Josie Stratton had attended the university.” She chewed at the inside of her cheek. “But it wasn’t just that. It was because he knew her. Intimately.”
Jimmy didn’t say anything. Alicia Merrick looked very small suddenly, and it wasn’t the pillows engulfing her. She seemed to be shrinking emotionally. Was this woman capable of hiring someone to torture and kill women her husband had betrayed her with? Not just hire one killer, but two, after the first one blew his brains out? Jimmy would bank on no, unless she was a damn fine actress. And moreover, the crimes against Josie, Aria, and Miriam were personal, not the work of some hired hitman. Still, something was not right here. They just didn’t have enough information to figure out what it was.
Jimmy took a card from his pocket and leaned forward, handing it to Alicia Merrick. “If you think of anything else that might help this case, please don’t hesitate to call. We’ll be in touch if we have more questions.” He’d have a tail put on Ms. Merrick too, at least for a couple of days. It would be interesting to see what she’d do after digesting the news he’d just delivered.
He stood, and she extracted herself from the nest of throw pillows, standing as well. “I will. Let me show you out, Detective.”
As Jimmy walked to the front door, he noticed a large photograph of two pretty blonde girls hanging on the wall that he hadn’t noticed on the way in, because he’d been looking toward the living room where Ms. Merrick had led him. He slowed, stopping in front of the picture. “Your daughters?” he asked.
Ms. Merrick came up beside him, offering the first genuine-looking smile she’d given since he’d introduced himself to her. “Yes. Ophelia and Esme.” She glanced at Jimmy. “I guess you know their father teaches English literature,” she said, obviously in explanation of their literary names. She looked back to the picture. Both girls heavily resembled their father. “They took the divorce very hard.”
“I’m sorry,” Jimmy said sincerely, “for all that your family has gone through recently.”
She looked at him, something Jimmy didn’t know what to call snagging in her expression briefly before she gave a slight smile. “I’m not.” She looked back at the picture of her daughters again. “I should have put myself and my girls first far sooner. In every other case, I always did. I made excuses for Vaughn, but I shouldn’t have because it’s true what they say, Detective,” she murmured, almost as though to herself. She looked at him, something burning in her eyes despite her neutral expression. “Once a cheater, always a cheater.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Before
Josie was sick. She knew she was and yet was unsure what was wrong with her. An infection maybe? Please let it be slight. Please, she prayed. She’d heard somewhere—she had no earthly idea where—that infection was one of the leading causes of death among new mothers until the invention of antibiotics. She couldn’t die here now. She couldn’t die and leave Caleb alone.
Her baby lay next to her on the dirty mattress, the quilt wrapped around them. She’d used the last of the baby wipes Marshall had left behind so many months ago, and a few fast food napkins to clean herself and Caleb as much as possible after the birth. She’d had to save some of the napkins though to lay under Caleb, as she had no diapers.
Josie was hot, too hot, and so incredibly thirsty. She needed more water than the thin trickle that rolled down the wall now and again. She needed far more than she’d needed during her pregnancy. Breastfeeding was making her desperate with thirst. She knew she needed the water to make enough milk.
With each tug of Caleb’s hungry mouth, her uterus contracted painfully, causing a small gush of blood. Then again, her definition of pain had taken on new meaning since she’d endured an unmedicated birth while shackled to a wall.
She was so incredibly weary, thirsty, uncomfortable, terrified, and . . . ravenous. She was out of food. She eyed the rotting placenta that she’d pushed as far from her mattress as she could. Maybe she should have eaten some. But it was too late now. The temporary organ was rotting. It smelled like putrid flesh.
It’d been a week since Caleb was born, and three days since she’d eaten the last measly quarter of a hamburger and six cold fries.
She gazed at her son, her heart constricting as a tear escaped her eye. If her milk dried up, would she watch the small life she’d brought into the world against all odds and loved with her whole being, fade slowly away in her arms? Her imaginings alone caused pressure to build in her chest, and grief so profound it felt as though it physically rolled over her. Crushing.
Her eyes opened and she froze. Footsteps. She heard footsteps. She pulled herself into a sitting position, her breath coming rapidly.
Marshall opened the door and drew back slightly. “God, it s-stinks in here.” But then he froze where he stood when he saw what Josie held in her arms. He walked slowly to where she sat, one arm holding the baby, the quilt tucked up to his neck, her other hand chained.
Is giving birth easy?
Why yes. I could do it with one hand tied behind my back.
The thought rose unbidden in her mind, and she had the insane urge to howl with wild laughter until her mind cracked and she floated away on a peaceful sea of delirium. But madness would take her from her child. No, she wouldn’t go there. Not willingly.
Marshall’s movements seemed different as he made his way to her, squatting next to the mattress. He pulled the quilt back and she saw that his hand was trembling. It struck her. He’s afraid? Is he afraid or . . . what is he? “What is it?” His voice sounded strange too. Josie sat up taller.
“A boy. It’s a boy. He’s your son. And he’s perfect.” She licked her lips. “I need water. And I’m sick. I’m sick, and I think I’m getting worse, I—”
“What’s his n-name?”
“His name?” Something in Josie didn’t want to tell him, didn’t want to give this monster the gift of knowing her precious boy’s name. But she also needed Marshall to see him as human, to feel for him, to let him go. Let them go.
“Caleb. His name is Caleb.”
Marshall continued to look at the baby, something in his hazel eyes she couldn’t read. Curiosity? Fear. She saw his throat move beneath the mask as he swallowed. He reached out to touch him, and Josie’s instinct was to draw her baby toward her, away from the devil who’d fathered him, but she didn’t. She held her breath and remained unmoving. But before Marshall’s hand made contact with Caleb’s cheek, he drew back, standing swiftly.
“Please let us go. Please.” Josie began to cry. “We’ll both die here. Is that what you want? He’s your son. Please.”
“Shut up,” he barked, backing up. “Shut up. I thought you might already be dead. I thought today you’d be dead.”
Josie shook her head. “I’m not. We’re not. But we will be soon. Please, please—”
Marshall turned and walked out the door, tossing a bag of food and a bottle of water to Josie before slamming the door. Her hope plummeted and she cried out his name loudly, beseeching once and then again. She heard his footsteps ascend the stairs quickly as though he were running away.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Josie heard Zach on the porch talking on his phone, heard the creak of the old wood as he paced back and forth. Who was he talking to? Jimmy most likely. Talking through this case that now personally involved her.
Could Professor Vaughn Merrick be the copycat? The question Zach had asked Josie the night before repeated in her head and she still didn’t have an answer. Anyth
ing was possible, but the question had honestly shocked her. She’d been intimate with the man, but she had such hazy memories of who he’d really been as a person. She supposed it was because she hadn’t ever really known. Perhaps she hadn’t even really cared, though at the time she’d thought she did. She’d put her own ideals on him, never looking deep enough to consider that he wasn’t able or interested to meet them. Yes, she’d made so many mistakes all in a desperate attempt to finally win the love she’d been denied by her parents. And yet always choosing men who were incapable of loving her. What a warped merry-go-round she’d climbed upon.
All that aside, was Vaughn committing the heinous copycat killings? And if so, why?
She wished she had someone she could clarify some of her recollections with, but she didn’t talk to her friends from college anymore. They’d shown up in the hospital after she’d escaped, but she barely remembered their visit. And they’d called often when she’d finally been released. But she’d been in no place emotionally to talk to them. She’d let their calls go unanswered, never returned any of them, and eventually, they’d stopped trying completely.
She wandered into the kitchen. Zach had already put on a pot of coffee and the scent lured her. She poured herself a cup, added some milk, and went to stand in front of the kitchen window, sipping from her mug as she looked out at the side yard and beyond. The morning appeared peaceful, fluffy white clouds dotting the soft blue sky. Zach’s voice drifted to her. She couldn’t hear what he was saying, just the deep cadence of his voice. She thought back to everything they’d spoken about the night before and felt her expression twist as she drew in a breath. She still couldn’t believe her mother was dead. She’d been dying, Josie had known that. They’d even discussed that her mother wanted to be cremated when the time came. Yes, she’d been prepared for her mother’s death, even not knowing exactly when that would be. So she was surprised at the sadness that gripped her. Surprised that she was capable of feeling any loss for the woman who had caused her more pain than anything. Josie hadn’t truly known her mother, and her mother had never truly known her. They were related by blood, but not much else.