“Mom, you don’t know what he’s capable of. Don’t let him in the house. Promise me you’ll call the police if he shows up.”
“The police have already been here. They have a police car down the street. What will the neighbors think?”
It was useless trying to convince her mother that Theodore was anything but an angel. “I need to pick up Ashley. I’ll call you tonight. Please don’t let him in the house.”
“I’m sure he’ll turn himself in. He just wants to set the record straight,” Dorothy Glenn said.
Sherry couldn’t take any more of this conversation. “’Bye, Mom.” She hung up, angry and sad. She just wanted her parents to see who Theodore was-the person he really was. It wasn’t their fault they only saw good in their son. Carl and Dorothy were loving parents. Gave their children everything they could without spoiling them. A nice house, good neighborhood, a top school. Paid for two college educations and Theodore’s law school.
Why couldn’t they see the monster in Theodore? Sherry did. Her entire life she’d walked on eggshells around her brother. Testifying for the prosecution had been cathartic. Telling the world that she’d always known he was bad. He’d hurt Sherry for the sole purpose of hurting her. Because he could.
Most of her testimony had been thrown out. The most difficult thing she’d ever done in her life-harder even than getting clean after years of drug use-was facing Theodore in that court and telling the jury how he had tormented her when they were younger. About the time he’d broken her kitten’s neck in front of her.
Crying, he’d told their parents it was an accident.
But Sherry had watched him squeeze the life out of Muffin. She’d heard the snap of breaking bones. She’d buried the poor creature’s little body in the backyard and cried. Sherry had cried not only for the helpless dead animal, but because no one would believe her.
It was an accident, Theodore sobbed.
He did it on purpose! Sherry screamed.
He’d played everyone so well. Everyone but her. And he relished that only she had seen his true nature. Played with her, tormenting her until she ran away from home just to get away from him. She’d been branded a problem child and was in and out of juvenile homes. None of it was fun, but it was better than living with her brother.
At his trial, Theodore had objected. Nothing she said had any relevance to the murders. And the judge agreed with him. Did she have firsthand information about the murders? No, she didn’t. The nice woman from the District Attorney’s office insisted that Sherry’s testimony was important because it went to Theodore’s character. The judge didn’t agree.
Theodore had called their parents to the stand. They told the court what a wonderful child Theodore had been. A straight-A student. Graduated top in his law school. Kind, thoughtful, a good son.
“He never gave us any trouble,” her father had said to the jury.
The D.A. refused to cross-examine, and Ms. Chandler told her later that it would do more damage to their case if they went after two elderly parents than if they simply let the testimony stand. “They’re not lying,” Ms. Chandler said. “They believe every word they said, and anything I do or ask will only make us seem heartless to the jury.”
At the time, Sherry had never been so scared in her life. She’d been so certain the jury would acquit. Who wouldn’t believe Carl and Dorothy Glenn? They were good people. So good they couldn’t see the bad in anyone. Until Theodore was convicted, Sherry had planned to change her name and flee California. Go somewhere her brother couldn’t find her.
Because Sherry knew Theodore would kill her.
Two-oh-two. She had to go. It seemed ridiculous to drive four blocks to the school. A waste of gas. She’d always loved her walk, the time alone with Ashley listening to her talk nonstop about her day and her teacher and friends.
But she was scared. Her car seemed so much safer than walking. If she saw her brother, she’d run him down.
Sherry grabbed her purse and went out to the garage. Her hand automatically went to the garage door opener and pressed it.
Nothing happened. She heard the mewling of a kitten. Sherry didn’t have a cat. She’d never been able to have another pet, not after what Theodore did.
The neighbors next door had a cat.
“Hello, Sherry.” In the dim light, Theodore smiled. He was wedged between two boxes. He’d probably overheard Sherry’s entire conversation with their mother.
Her face froze, then her bottom lip trembled. He watched her face closely as he broke the neck of the animal with a quick movement of his hands, the snap surprisingly sharp.
Eyes wide, terrified, Sherry’s scream came out too high-pitched to be heard by anyone outside the garage. She stepped toward the kitchen door.
Theodore acted fast. He probably shouldn’t have played with his sister, but it had been fun. He took no pleasure in killing the animal, but he enjoyed the reaction he caused. When he’d killed Sherry’s furry little pet all those years ago, he’d laughed at her anguish. But what was truly the most fun was digging up the dead cat and putting it in her bed. Her scream then was even better than the pathetic yelp today.
Before she could even reach the doorknob, he grabbed her from behind. She kicked and bit at his hand. Feisty bitch. Too little, too late. He’d always been stronger, and prison made him more so. Be strong or be killed.
Sherry had been such fun for him to torment over the years. Then she’d betrayed him in the worst way. Shared their private games with the world. Told everyone he was sick. Thought she’d have the last laugh. Wrong.
He wasn’t sick. He acknowledged that he was probably evil, but doing whatever he damn well pleased was so much fun. But sick? Hell no. That accusation had grated on him for years, as if something were wrong with him.
He’d pay her back for turning against him.
He whispered in her ear, “You thought you were going to get away with talking? Sis, I told you I’d kill you. Now you’re dead.”
He snapped her neck, holding her close to him while she fell slack, then dropped her dying body to the concrete floor. He knelt over her, looked into her eyes as they lost focus, faded, taking satisfaction that he was the last face she’d ever see. Sherry’s face was frozen in fear, her mouth open, silently moving, blood trickling from the corner.
He stood, found the cat where he’d dropped it, and tossed it on Sherry’s body.
One down.
He almost left, but had an idea. Something that would fuck with William Hooper like a bitch in heat.
Theodore went into his dead sister’s house as if he owned the place and quickly got to work. He had a message for William. The only thing he regretted was that he wouldn’t be here to see his face.
But he couldn’t hang around too long. He had places to go. First the library in downtown San Diego.
Glenn had left something there seven years ago, and couldn’t wait to get his hands on it. When Hooper saw it, he would go through the roof.
Robin left the gun range an hour later with renewed confidence. She could defend herself if she had to.
Before she left, Hank said, “Robin, you should consider hiring a bodyguard.”
“I don’t need a bodyguard.”
“What about added security for the club? What about the people who work for you? Glenn is a sadistic killer. He wants to hurt you, and the best way to do that is hurt those around you.”
Like he did last time.
She cleared her throat. “Can you recommend anyone?”
Hank flipped through his Rolodex and came up with a card. “Take it, I have more. Tell Mario I sent you.”
The card was blank except for MEDINA SECURITY and a phone number.
“Thanks.” She pocketed the card and left.
She ran some errands, then went to the club. What else could she do? Sit home and do nothing but be scared? She certainly couldn’t paint with the fear and worry consuming her.
Today there was a private lunch at the Sin. Laug
hter and good humor emanated from the special dining hall. That was the way the game was played at The Eighth Sin. Leave your problems at the door and have a good time.
The atmosphere was sexy, the allure was sensual, but no stripping, though she allowed it for private bachelor and bachelorette parties. It was all image. All on the outside. The public persona.
Much like her. Few saw the real Robin McKenna. That was the way she wanted it. Needed it.
Screw the men in her life. Seriously, what did she expect from them? First her father got her mom pregnant and told her to have an abortion because he didn’t want to pay for a kid. Then her first college boyfriend who, when he found out she was a stripper, brought all his friends to watch her perform. And did she give the performance of her life, before breaking up with him. The problem was that word traveled fast and just because she was a stripper, the guys on campus thought she’d be an easy lay.
She’d become a stripper in the first place to pay for her college education. Her first week on campus she’d answered a casting call for dancers in a school production. She’d gotten the part, but the rehearsals conflicted with her schedule and she reluctantly backed out. The production’s dance instructor, Brandi, told Robin that she moonlighted as a stripper and thought Robin would fit in at RJ’s. “And RJ pays well. You do your job, you get paid a helluva lot more than waitressing at some grease pit.”
At first, Robin didn’t think she could do it. But she found she had a knack for putting on a show. For creating an image that she wanted people to see. She put up necessary shields to protect her from the catcalls and the letches, and she danced so well she made great tips and RJ was happy. Or as happy as the sour old man could be.
Robin kept her two lives separate after that first boyfriend humiliated her. She never told the guys she dated what she did, and since she was in college they didn’t always assume she also had a job. The lack of honesty bothered her, but her heart needed to be protected. In her childish fantasies, she believed that when she fell in love, when someone loved her, it wouldn’t matter that she was a stripper working her way through college.
She’d kept the secret from Sean for over a year. They were in love. He proposed when she was a senior in college and he was a pediatric resident at a local hospital. He loved her, said he loved her, and wanted to marry her. So she told him the truth.
“Slut.”
She could still hear him whisper that word with such hatred and disdain.
She pushed back the tears. What had she expected? She’d taken her clothes off in front of men for money. Money to pay for college and help support her mother, but as Sean pointed out so crudely, she could get a different job that didn’t require her showing horny men her tits.
How could love turn to hate so fast?
Sean had been the last man in her life for a long, long time. Until she opened her heart just a little, just enough to make it bleed again.
She opened the club’s back door and walked down the hall to the Back Room. And there he was, sitting alone at her bar. In her club.
She’d seen Will Hooper on the news, but that was nothing compared to his physical presence. She couldn’t swallow, could barely move, her heart pounding loud in her ears, her eyes dry. He saw her at the same time, put down his coffee mug, and stood. He was tall, over six feet, lanky, and far too sexy. He could have been a model, with those GQ good looks, sun-bleached brown hair cut short on the sides and longer on the top, strong jaw, and dark ocean-blue eyes. But he wasn’t a sex god or a model, he was a cop. A cop who hadn’t trusted her, even when she thought he understood her. A cop who hadn’t loved her as she had loved him.
Robin realized that her act, her public persona, was all she had. No one believed she had anything inside, anything that needed love and respect and care. All she was to men was a body, a smile, and a wink. And whose fault was that? Stripping had been her choice. She had only herself to blame.
“Hi, Robin.”
She walked behind the bar, putting the solid mahogany counter between them. She pulled a water bottle out of the cooler. Opened it. Drank half of it. Tried to slow her racing heart, cool her hot blood.
He’d hurt her, betrayed her, and still she reacted to him. Still she remembered his lips on hers, felt his hands on the back of her neck. She’d once felt like she was the only person in his world, the only woman in his universe.
An act. Like her, Will Hooper was all about the attitude. The public act. Did he care about anything or anyone other than himself?
“Shouldn’t you be out looking for a certain psychopathic killer?”
His jaw tensed. “I’m heading the task force-”
She cut him off. “I saw the news conference.” She wanted him out of her club. Her emotions were too exposed, her fears too raw. She could picture herself falling into his arms, letting him hold her. Touch her. Kiss her. Make love to her. In Will’s arms, she had felt safe. Real. Loved.
But she wouldn’t do that to herself. She was far too valuable a human being to allow her body to be used by a man who didn’t respect her, who didn’t love her, who didn’t believe in her.
“Robin, please-”
“I don’t want you here.”
“Hear me out.”
She shook her head. She couldn’t listen to his excuses. She didn’t want his lies. “I can take care of myself, Will. I’ve been doing it a long time. I did it before you came into my life, and I did it after you left. I’m ready for Theodore Glenn. I won’t let him walk away.”
Will’s temper rose, his face deepening in color, his jaw even tighter. He leaned forward. She stood firm.
“Dammit, Robin! Listen to yourself. The Lone Ranger. Just because you have a gun and some self-defense training, you think you can protect yourself against that crazy bastard?”
She leaned forward, hands on the bar. “You investigated me?”
“Damn straight! I had to find out where you lived so I could increase patrols in your neighborhood. I ran your record and found out you managed to snag a concealed carry permit. Well, good for you. But do you think that Glenn isn’t prepared?”
“Oh, and only you, the big and mighty Will Hooper can stop him?” She barked out a laugh. “A lot of good you did for Anna!”
Robin had gone too far. She saw it in Will’s face. He pushed back from the bar. Hurt and angry. Just like her.
She swallowed her own guilt. She was just as much to blame for Anna’s death as Will. Maybe even more so.
What Will was about to say, Robin didn’t know. His cell phone rang and he turned from her, answered it. “Hooper.”
A moment later he exclaimed, “What the fuck happened? Where were the-” He stopped, glanced at Robin with a mixture of anger and worry. “I’m on my way. Call Detective Kincaid and have her meet me there.”
He hung up and stared at Robin with a pained expression. “Sherry Jeffries, Theodore’s sister, is dead.”
SIX
Sherry Glenn Jeffries had lived in El Cajon, a suburb north of San Diego. Technically out of the jurisdiction of SDPD, Police Chief Causey had been called when the arriving officers identified the victim.
Will arrived before Carina. The Jeffries lived in a two-story house in an upper middle class neighborhood where similar two-story homes stood close together. Judging by the size of the trees, the neighborhood was less than five years old.
Sherry and her family had a confidential address. How had Glenn found out where she lived?
“Detective Hooper?” A uniformed cop approached. “I’m Lieutenant Ken Black.”
Will nodded. “Thanks for calling us so quickly.”
They stood on the driveway. The garage doors were open and Will saw the corpse lying on the floor right by the inside door. Glenn had waited for her in the garage. For how long?
“What happened?” Will asked Black.
“When Mrs. Jeffries didn’t pick up her daughter from school, the principal called the house and got no answer. Normally they wouldn’t do that, but
Mrs. Jeffries had told the school that Ashley’s uncle was in town and might want to harm the girl. When Mrs. Jeffries didn’t pick up on the house or cell phone, the principal phoned Dr. Jeffries at the hospital.”
Sherry Jeffries’s husband was a surgeon, Will recalled.
The lieutenant continued. “Dr. Jeffries called police to check on the house, then went to pick up his daughter. He has a solid alibi. He was in surgery when the teacher called, had been since ten this morning.”
It was common to immediately rule out the spouse or boyfriend whenever a woman was killed.
“Police arrived on scene and when there was no answer, they walked the perimeter of the home. Looked in through the window of the garage door and saw the body. The officers called for backup, broke in to determine whether the victim was still alive. She wasn’t. When backup arrived, they searched the house and found no one. However, the killer left a message in the kitchen.”
Carina drove up then and joined them. Will filled her in. He wanted to see the message, but said, “Let’s check out the body first.”
Sherry Jeffries had died quickly. Her neck had been broken and she lay crumpled on the smooth concrete floor next to her minivan. Her purse and keys lay next to her body. A dead cat lay on top of her. Will vividly remembered Sherry’s testimony about her brother killing her kitten in front of her. This psychological torment practically screamed Theodore Glenn.
Sherry Jeffries’s wallet had either fallen out of her purse, or was dropped there. “Has the body been photographed?” Will asked.
“Yes.”
Will pulled on gloves and picked up the wallet. Empty. Credit cards gone, no money.
But this wasn’t a robbery. Glenn might have needed the money, but he didn’t kill his sister for it.
He killed her for revenge.
“Let’s see the message.”
They walked through the house. In the kitchen, the crime scene techs were still working, so Will and Carina stood back.
“Shit,” Carina murmured.
Will stared at the message meant only for one person.
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