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Picture Perfect Murder

Page 13

by Rusty Ellis


  At the door, Teresa fished her keys out of her purse and inserted it into the lock below the door handle.

  She turned to Ransom, a foot away from him, “Thanks for dinner.” She stared deeper into his eyes, “This has been a great week. I mean besides the case and everything. You know, me and you…”

  Ransom saved her from herself by wrapping his right arm around her and pulling her in for a kiss. She reached up and slid her fingers to the back of his neck. Ransom leaned back and looked at her face. He pulled her close and kissed her again, feeling the weight of her body lean into his with his arm around her. He steadied himself on his cane and leaned back once again.

  “I agree,” he smugly responded, “talk tomorrow?”

  Teresa stood, a little shaky from the unexpected response, “Sure. I mean, yes, definitely.”

  “Goodnight,” Ransom offered and touched her forearm before turning to walk away.

  Teresa stood and stared momentarily, “Goodnight.”

  Ransom could hear Teresa’s front door shut behind him. He smiled as he rounded his truck and climbed inside, tossing his cane where Teresa had been sitting.

  It has been a good week.

  32

  Ransom laid in his bed, the television playing an episode of I Love Lucy in the background. He felt like a high school kid with a crush. The buzz of the evening kept his brain from slowing down and letting the Sandman visit. He’d surprised himself when he kissed Teresa. Not that he didn’t want to kiss her, but more so how comfortable and natural it felt. There was nothing awkward about the actual kiss or looking into her eyes.

  Ransom took in a deep breath and put his hand between his head and the pillow. His cellphone rang on his nightstand. Reaching over to pick it up, he noticed the time, 11:30 pm. Looking at the screen it was Leesa.

  Tapping the screen, he put the phone up to his ear, “Isn’t it past your bedtime?”

  “Mike just called me. He found something,” she cut the pleasantries.

  “Found what?” Ransom was confused by the claim and sat up in bed.

  “I’m going to put him on a three-way call, hang on.”

  The phone went silent momentarily.

  “You still there,” Leesa asked.

  “Yeah, I’m here,” Ransom answered.

  “Go ahead Mike,” Leesa said.

  “Hey Ransom,” Mike spoke up, “I was going over the body, you know, checking the boxes off, when I found three things.”

  Ransom and Leesa waited for Mike to continue, both hesitant as to where Mike was taking this.

  “First, I did a routine swab for gunshot residue on the right hand,” Mike paused, “and there wasn’t any.”

  Ransom and Leesa waited while Mike continued to the second issue.

  “Second, I checked the bullet wound and there were tiny strands of polyester in the entry wound.”

  “Polyester?” Leesa said out loud.

  “The bullet passed through a polyester material before entering his right temple,” Mike explained.

  “Polyester,” Ransom repeated, “like a pillow or something?”

  “That’s what I was thinking,” Mike agreed. “Something to muffle the gunshot. Only I didn’t find any pillows by the body.”

  Letting the information settle, Ransom requested, “What’s the third thing, Mike?”

  “There were two small burn-like marks on his right upper arm consistent with some type of stun gun or taser.”

  Again Leesa and Ransom fell silent, processing the new found information. Information that was now changing everything. Information that was pulling the lid off the solved case.

  “Sorry, guys,” Mike broke the silence. “Looks like you have another murder instead of finding the murderer.”

  * * *

  An audible click sounded on the line as Mike hung up the phone. Ransom sat with his legs hanging over the edge of his bed. He unconsciously rubbed his right knee with the palm of his hand while thinking over the information Mike dropped on them.

  “Still there?” Leesa’s voice sounded distant.

  “Yeah,” was all Ransom could mutter.

  The two sat in silence, phones held to their ears. Ransom’s thoughts were churning too fast in his head to put into words. His gut-feeling had been correct. Something hadn’t been right. And now Mike was able to verify the unfinished feelings that had him holding his breath.

  Ransom broke the silence first, “We need to go back to the gym again and talk to Corey and Damien.”

  “Agreed. Want me to pick you up?”

  “Sure. Grab me about 7:30?” he asked.

  “Sounds good, see you then. Good luck sleeping,” Leesa finished and hung up the phone.

  Ransom hung up the phone and set it back on the nightstand. He sat on the edge of the bed staring at the wall.

  Polyester fibers. No gun powder residue. Taser marks on his upper arm. Mix the three ingredients and you have a homicide, not a suicide.

  A sound in the kitchen caught his attention. Looking at the clock, he realized it was about time for Maddie to get home. He looked toward his bedroom door and watched as Maddie stepped into the frame.

  “Hey, daddy. What are you doing up?” She reached down and dropped her phone and keys into the small purse hanging on her forearm.

  “Just waiting for you to get home,” he smiled.

  Maddie gave him a suspicious look, “Yeah, right. Since when did you start doing that? You’re usually snoring away by the time I get home.”

  “I fake snoring so you only think I’m sleeping,” Ransom raised his hands to his sides in his own defense.

  Maddie laughed and walked around the far-side of the bed where Ransom was sitting. She reached down and kissed him on the forehead and he patted her on the leg.

  “How was work?” Ransom switched the subject to Maddie.

  “The usual, mostly just transports to the hospital, non-threatening,” she shrugged. “All in all it was pretty quiet.”

  “Glad you’re home safe, babe.”

  Maddie stepped away and toward the door, “I’m going to grab a quick shower and go to bed. Sweet dreams.”

  “Night.”

  Maddie disappeared down the hallway and Ransom could hear her bedroom door shut. Ransom reached for the glass of water on his nightstand and finished off the last half. Getting back to sleep when the wheels in his mind were churning would be near impossible. Pulling his legs back onto the bed, he propped up his head with two pillows and reached for the remote next to the clock on the nightstand. Pressing the power button, the glow from the screen filled his room. Infomercials and reruns from old television series filled the channels. He settled on an old John Wayne movie that had 35 minutes left and turned down the volume to not disturb Maddie. He had to grin at the thought of the dreams he was setting himself up for. A mash-up of real-life murders and John Wayne. The pending dream edition of these elements was actually a little intriguing…if he could get to sleep.

  * * *

  The little black Honda Accord was parallel parked between two larger, imposing vehicles on the street. The dry Las Vegas heat hung in the air, no breeze, no relief. Darkness gave little relief from the heat. The desert oven retained its heat long after the sun made its exit. The man breathed in the heat through his nose, the dryness pulled into his lungs as he watched the house. The red truck was parked on the curb in front of the home, in its usual spot. He was content to just sit on the now familiar street…and watch. A sense of power and control as to what he’d done. It wasn’t payback, it was justice. He looked down at the curled edges of the two pictures sitting in the hollow area in front of the dash gauges. Him and his mother. One before her arrest, the other after her release from prison. They took her from him. They took the years most important to him. Someone else filled those years, several “families” to be exact. He was never a good fit and was moved from home to home until he was 18 years old and able to choose his own home.

  Car lights caught his side mirror and he inst
inctively slid down a little lower into the driver seat. The car slowed as it approached his. As the car slowed and passed, he was able to see the female driver reach for the top of her steering wheel before turning into the driveway of the home. She exited the vehicle and shut the door. She was wearing the uniform of an ambulance paramedic. Walking toward the front door, she reached her hand over her shoulder in the direction of the car and hit the lock button on the remote. The car responded with a chirping sound. She paused momentarily at the front door and disappeared into the house.

  Taking another deep breath through his nose, he looked again at the pictures. She would have been proud of him. The things he accomplished in spite of her not being there. But it wasn’t her fault. They took her away. They chose for this to happen. All of this. It was on their heads. Not his. Not hers. Theirs. Theirs and the people like them. They took away his happiness. They took away his memories. They took away his chance to be part of a normal family.

  Reaching and turning the key, the little Honda engine purred to life. Looking up and down the quiet street, he pulled from his spot and drove past the front of the house. Pointing his right hand at the door as he passed, he pulled the imaginary trigger with his finger.

  Part V

  Friday

  33

  Ransom’s phone chirped from the text message, “Leesa: almost there.”

  “Ransom: Ok. Meet out front.”

  Leesa pulled the sedan up parallel to the driveway and waited. Ransom made his way down the short driveway and got in. Leesa looked about the same as he felt, like she got into a fistfight with the Sandman as well.

  “Rough night?” Ransom tossed out and buckled his seatbelt.

  “About the same as you by the looks,” Leesa let her foot off the brake and pushed the accelerator.

  Leesa drove in the general direction of the gym.

  “I’m thinking we should work our way up the ladder,” she suggested, “Damien, Corey, then Lambert.”

  Ransom thought for a second then answered, “Sounds good to me.”

  The two rode in silence, the suicide-turned-homicide thoughts obvious on their minds. They hadn’t missed anything. The puzzle pieces added up. Fortunately, their CSI team did their job — more namely Mike did his job— and it paid off. Everyone did their part. Ransom knew it was time for him and Leesa to once again do their part. Something had to be there they missed on the first pass. They might have caught it had they not been interrupted by the suicide ruse.

  Leesa pulled into the parking lot and was unable to find a parking spot close to the front door. The gym was bustling with bodies and cars. She found an opening a fair distance from the front door and parked. Grabbing her satchel she met Ransom at the back of the car and the two walked toward the gym for the third time.

  Damien was standing next to another employee at the front desk and noticed Ransom and Leesa walking in.

  He rushed up to greet them at the door, “Corey’s not here. Neither is Trevor.”

  Ransom looked at Leesa, both realizing the young man hadn’t heard the news about Trevor.

  * * *

  The man watched as Walsh walked down his driveway and got into the dark sedan being driven by Detective Gardner. He waited several minutes to make sure the vehicle didn’t return before exiting his vehicle and walking to the front door of the house. He was wearing a brown shirt, brown cargo shorts, a brown baseball cap, and was carrying a letter-sized padded envelope in his left hand. At the front door, he took a deep breath through his nose and reached up with the packaged hand and used his knuckle to push the doorbell. He took a short step back so the occupant could see him through the peephole on the door.

  The door slowly opened, revealing a young woman holding a coffee cup in her left hand, “Yes?”

  The man smiled and lifted the package from his side, “You have a package.”

  She looked through the crack in the door and saw the package in the man’s hand. She opened the door further and the man extended the package. She reached out to take the package when the man swung his right arm around and pressed the end of a device he was holding against her forearm. The two metal studs on the end of the device contacted her skin and made a crackling noise. She let out a short scream and involuntarily threw the cup of coffee into the air. She instantly crumpled to the ground just inside the doorway, followed by the shattering of the cup as it shattered around her.

  The man stepped inside and pushed her away from the front door with his foot. As he shut the door, he looked to see the same lack of movement outside, he smiled and shut the door.

  * * *

  Damien sat staring at Ransom and Leesa. The small room seemed to be void of air as he looked around confused and lost about Trevor being dead. He spoke about Trevor in the present tense, a good sign, helping eliminate him as a possible suspect. Ransom listened intently to this cue as Leesa broke the news to Damien, a little tactic common in homicide investigation. When a missing person is actually dead and the killer knows it, they inherently speak in past tense about the person, a human fallacy.

  “We have a few questions for you if that’s okay?” Leesa asked the young man.

  Damien looked up and caught her gaze, “Uh, okay.”

  Leesa continued, “How often did you call your clients?”

  Damien was thrown off by the question, “Every two weeks.”

  Leesa reached into her bag and pulled out the Comber’s membership application and slid it on the desk in front of Damien.

  “How often did you contact them?” she asked.

  Damien took a minute to think about his last contact with the Combers, “About three weeks ago, I think.”

  “Do you remember what you talked about?” Ransom chimed in.

  Damien shook his head, “But I could show you. We have to keep a ‘Follow-Up’ sheet from our phone calls and contacts. I can grab it for you.”

  “That would be great,” Leesa nodded.

  Damien smiled and hurried from the room. He returned in under a minute with a stack of papers in his hand. He sat down and started rifling through the stack, running his index finger down the names along the left edge of the page. After four pages he stopped and spun the paper around for Ransom and Leesa to see, “Right here, the Combers. I called them three weeks ago on a Thursday morning and spoke to Mrs. Comber.”

  Ransom looked at the scribbled note and read out loud, “happy with their membership…no friends need membership…not coming in today…going to park so kids can get in some exercise…”

  Ransom ran his finger over the word “park.” The park. The Combers were found in a park. A chill ran down Ransom’s back. He looked at Leesa and could tell she made the same connection.

  Ransom kept his finger on the page and looked back at Damien, “Does everyone use these sheets?”

  Damien nodded.

  “We have to turn them in every week,” he added.

  Leesa asked, “Who gets the sheets?”

  Ransom and Leesa leaned forward, waiting for Damien’s response.

  “We give them to Trevor.”

  Ransom and Leesa looked at each other again. Dead end.

  “And then he gives them to Corey.”

  “So, Corey gets all the sheets?” Leesa pressed.

  “Yep, every week. We get in trouble if we don’t turn them in with good notes about the calls,” Damien explained.

  Ransom quickly jumped in before Leesa, “And where’s Corey?”

  Damien leaned back in the chair and answered, “He called and said he would be in by lunchtime.”

  “Could you get us Trevor’s sheets?” Leesa tapped on the sheet in front of Ransom.

  “Sure, be just a minute,” he disappeared again through the door.

  “Corey,” Leesa said out loud.

  “The Yukon isn’t fitting though,” Ransom replied. “The Yukon belonged to Trevor.”

  Ransom leaned his head back and rolled his eyes and let out a long breath of air.

  “What
?” Leesa questioned.

  “What do you want to bet that Corey owns a little dark Honda?”

  “Why do you say that?”

  Ransom turned to face her, “Remember when Trevor pulled in at work the other day?”

  “Sure.”

  “He was driving a little Honda. His mom was driving an American brand, so it wasn’t her car. What do you want to bet the car belonged to Corey?”

  Damien popped the door open and set the stack of sheets in front of Ransom. Ransom handed half the stack to Leesa and the two began reading down through the names. Leesa made the first discovery.

  “Ford. Called two and a half weeks ago. Happy with their membership…no referrals…need to come to the gym more and skip going out for ice cream,” Leesa stopped reading and looked at Ransom.

  Ransom and Leesa both returned to their stacks in search of the Jones. Ransom found the name and reached over to stop Leesa from searching.

  “Jones. Doing good…no referrals…husband working a lot…traveling to Disneyland with kids start of summer.”

  The two sat stunned. The connections solid. The families had unknowingly preselected their brutal demises.

  Damien interrupted, “Is there anything else you need?”

  Leesa snapped out of it first, “Could we get a copy of these three pages?”

  She handed the documents to Damien.

  As he started out of the room, Ransom stopped him, “What kind of car does Corey drive?”

  “He’s been driving Trevor’s GMC lately, said he was moving,” Damien squinted and thought for a moment then perked up, “but he usually drives his Honda Accord.”

  34

  Maddie woke up with a sickened feeling. Her limbs ached and she felt nauseous. Her bed felt hard and it was pitch black in her room. She tried to sit up and hit her head. She tried to reach up to feel what she had hit but her wrists wouldn’t separate. She stretched her legs and they were stuck together as well. Rolling from her side onto her back, she reached up with both hands and felt metal above her head. Closing her eyes she worked to remember the last thing that happened to her.

 

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