The Forgotten Widow

by Layne, Kennedy

  “I’m not sure I even want to know the headcount for such a distinction,” Kenna murmured, tucking the lone strand of black hair behind her ear. He’d noticed that the lock kept brushing against her cheek every time she tilted her head. She was a very striking woman, even more so than her picture had let on. “I think I’ll make myself a cup of coffee.”

  Dean moved back so that Kenna had room to step down from the stool. She must have put some hand lotion on recently, because he caught the faintest scent of lavender oil. On the other hand, there were a lot of lit candles strategically placed throughout the kitchen and living room. He could appreciate her need to be prepared.

  He’d done some research on the widows who were on his list to visit today, and he’d glanced over the notes on McKenzie before leaving the warmth of his vehicle. She was five feet, and five inches tall, weighed approximately a hundred and twenty-nine pounds, and had green eyes and black hair according to her license. All of those details seemed to be true, even her slight build. That alone told him that she was honest to a fault. A rule follower. Her sense of decency would come in handy for gathering information, if there were any pertinent aspects in this case to be had.

  The fact that she’d kept her cell phone in her hand this entire time told him that she took some precautions. He could respect her vigilance, along with her forethought to do something that might actually save her life one of these days. There’d been no missing the way she’d tried to discreetly enter those three emergency digits when she thought he hadn’t been looking. However, she had answered the door without peering out the side window. She’d gotten comfortable with her surroundings, and that could be an issue down the road.

  Dean took off his dress coat, hanging it over the back of the stool before reclaiming his seat. Such a casual position might put her more at ease, thus opening her up a bit more about her daily schedule and if she’d seen anything or anyone out of place. If she was still being guarded, he would have a much more difficult time drawing personal information out of her.

  “So, let me understand something. You’re stopping by in the middle of a full-blown blizzard to let me know that I somehow fit a set of loose criteria against the Widow Taker’s victims that has been determined by your team of experts.” Kenna had popped out the empty pod of coffee she’d used to make his cup and promptly tossed it in the garbage, which happened to be hidden inside a bottom cabinet next to the sink. She grabbed a new one out of the round metal pod holder, only to turn back around to face him with a pensive expression. “I don’t believe that for a second, Agent Malone.”

  So much for his conviction that he could alleviate her worries. He mentally added smart as a whip and a little bit sarcastic to his list of adjectives.

  “I know this sounds foolish, but I haven’t been reading or watching the news lately. It’s the end of the year, and I’m about to go into my busiest months until mid-April,” Kenna explained, her frown becoming quite pensive. “Three widows have been murdered in five months? What’s the connection between those women and me, besides the obvious theme?”

  Dean picked up his pen and tapped it on his notepad, not wanting to reveal too much information about the case. He had no doubt that she would look up everything the media had covered the second he walked out her front door, but there were certain aspects of the investigation that miraculously hadn’t ended up splashed across the front page of the newspaper.

  It was bad enough that some of the more obvious crime details had been leaked to the press, as well as the recent involvement of the FBI, but Sheriff Chaz Hopkins ought to be thanking Miss Lady Luck herself that he’d weeded out the culprit within his own department before their only ace was revealed to the world.

  “During our investigation, we’ve actually found a couple of connections that could mean either something significant or prove to be completely meaningless,” Dean said truthfully, monitoring Kenna’s progress as she turned back around to the Keurig. She’d tucked her cell phone into the back pocket of her jeans, telling him that she was more comfortable in his presence now that she had been armed with more facts. “Your name, along with five other widows in Winter Heights, fit two of those rather obscure associations.”

  “There are six widows in this small town?” Kenna’s coffee had brewed, but she didn’t take it black. She went about ruining a good cup of coffee by stirring in some sugar and cream. “That’s…well, horrible.”

  “There are actually over thirty widows in Winter Heights,” Dean corrected her as she brought her coffee over to the island. He’d caught her by surprise with the number he’d thrown out, so he explained the reason for such a high count. “Most of them are in their eighties and nineties, and that number doesn’t include widowers.”

  “At least they can be comforted by having led a long life with one another,” Kenna surmised with a sorrowful smile. It slowly faded as if the reason for his visit had suddenly sunk in. She bit her lower lip in concern before asking the inevitable question that he’d received from the other two widows on his list. “How were they killed?”

  Chaz was most likely answering that same inquiry, as he was paying a visit to the other two women before calling it a night. The profession of law enforcement wasn’t dictated by the weather or bad roads.

  “The victims were stabbed,” Dean replied honestly, drinking the coffee that he normally would have declined. He shouldn’t be sitting in her kitchen as if this were a social visit. He’d always been very cautious to never appear more than a federal agent doing his professional best to solve a crime through the systematic collection of evidence. “Repeatedly.”

  Dean gave Kenna a moment to absorb his answer, tensing a bit when the lights flickered. The winds were picking up, the snow was falling at a faster rate outside the kitchen window, and the roads were no doubt becoming more hazardous with each passing minute. It was time to shorten this visit in order for him to make it back to the station or a hotel. He’d been commuting back and forth from his apartment in New Haven, but he’d already resigned himself that he wouldn’t be making that trip before the roads were cleared tomorrow morning.

  “Ms. Burke, you’re part of a couple of widow support groups on social media. May I ask if you frequently engage in the comments or have met any of the other members in person?” Dean gave Kenna a moment to answer but she remained silent, even taking a tentative sip of the beverage she called coffee. “Maybe you exchanged a direct message with someone recently?”

  Two of the victims had been very active on social media, almost using the platforms as a personal diary to record their feelings. There were detriments and benefits to such sites, but the groups these women had participated in were very beneficial to improving their mental health. Unfortunately, the detriment was a possible way for this sadistic killer to find his prey. It was nothing for these types of individuals to create a profile, pretending to be someone with whom they could commiserate.

  Unfortunately, a lot of judges were wary of signing warrants pertaining to social media sites unless there was direct, compelling evidence linking them to the commission of a crime. Dean had lucked out in discovering the support group, as well as the fact that it hadn’t been set up as private. The problem rested with any messages being exchanged directly between participants, and no judge was going to execute a warrant to invade the other members’ privacy without cause.

  “I don’t go on social media a lot, and I haven’t been online in the last few days,” Kenna replied warily, still keeping a firm hold on her coffee mug. “I honestly haven’t visited those groups in a very long time. As for exchanging DMs, I never do so with anyone I don’t know personally. Is that how the victims were contacted?”

  “Actually, we’re not completely sure at this time,” Dean replied, though the laptops of the victims had all been transferred from the sheriff’s office to one of the finest forensics technicians at the FBI. If anything had been deleted, he’d know soon enough. “That possibility is still being investigated.”
r />   “You mentioned that I had two connections with the victims. What is the second?”

  “The second link is tentative at best, but I’m not willing to overlook any lead if it helps us locate the unsub.” Dean did take the time to write down in his notepad that Kenna hadn’t exchanged any DMs with anyone belonging to the support group. He was basically batting a thousand now. “You recently went to the DMV to renew your license. I realize that it can be a grueling process knocking elbows with the masses, but did you notice anyone or anything out of the ordinary?”

  Kenna had that peculiar ability to raise only one eyebrow, which she did so now in response to his question. He’d figured it was a long shot. The timeframe for which each of the victims had renewed their licenses was quite spread out, but the profiler who’d been chosen to handle the case had emphasized the patience of their unsub. Nothing should be discarded in the name of identifying potential victims.

  “I renewed my license around three weeks ago.” Kenna carefully set down her coffee, aligning her forearms on the counter. “I probably couldn’t even tell you anything about the person who took my picture, other than she had blonde hair. I’m not even sure if she was wearing glasses or not.”

  Dean nodded his understanding, having accepted that the majority of society wouldn’t even recognize the person sitting next to him or her on a subway, train, or bus. Technology had made it possible for the general public to neglect awareness of their surroundings. The transition of civilization to self-imposed obscurity certainly wasn’t making his job any easier. On the other hand, it was also harder to commit crimes without being recorded by a street camera, a phone, or even overheard by a smart speaker that a large segment of the population had in their homes to make their lives easier. It was definitely a trade-off, but this unsub wasn’t any different than those who had gone before him. He wasn’t perfect. No one was perfect. Chances were he’d fucked up somewhere, somehow, and some way that could be linked to him personally. It was Dean’s job to find that single mistake and run it to ground before the killer struck again.

  “I appreciate you answering my questions, Ms. Burke.” Dean stood after draining the rest of his coffee. He made sure to retrieve one of his business cards, sliding it over to her. His work cell number was printed on the front. “Don’t be alarmed to see extra patrols in your area. Sheriff Hopkins has added a specific detail to tour your neighborhood regularly, but please call that number should you have any concerns or notice anything out of the ordinary.”

  Kenna took the card in her hand, studying the information as if her life depended on it. It just might. It wasn’t his intention to have her panicking over the slightest shadow, but he needed her to do the right thing should she find herself in danger.

  “For future reference, you don’t have to press 911 into your cell phone.” Dean couldn’t help but lift the corner of his mouth at her reaction. The way both of her perfectly arched eyebrows shot up together caused him to smile. She was so expressive that she would have made a horrible poker player. “If you press the side button and the volume button at the same time, an Emergency SOS appears. Just slide that button, and you’ll be connected to 911 in seconds.”

  “It appears that you are way more observant than me,” Kenna said, though she couldn’t pull off the lighthearted smile she’d intended. He’d given her cause to believe that someone out in the world wanted to do her harm. Regrettably, she wouldn’t be wrong. “And please, call me Kenna. I’m sorry that I wasn’t more help. I can’t imagine what those victims’ families are going through.”

  Kenna didn’t need to expand on her meaning. These families had already been dealt a blow by losing one of their own, and now they were once again left picking up the pieces of their shattered families. He couldn’t have imagined anyone taking away his mother after they’d lost his father. That alone gave him the fuel he needed to solve this case quickly.

  “Do you have somewhere you can stay for a while?” Dean reluctantly slid both his notepad and pen inside the interior pocket of his suit jacket. “Family? Friends?”

  “Are you asking me that because you know something more?” Kenna held his business card in her hand, pressing it close to her chest. A hint of fear filled those green eyes of hers like cold milk being poured into a glass. “You spoke with multiple other widows, Agent Malone. Do you know for certain that he’s targeting me?”

  There was something in Dean’s gut that told him to lie, to force her to leave this house, this town, this state. It should be enough that Chaz had an extra patrol car canvassing the neighborhood. These women had been warned to take precautions and to be mindful of anything unusual. He couldn’t shake that innate gut feeling that he should urge her to go, but he had no facts to back up his intuition. He also shouldn’t treat her differently just because there was something about her that stood out from the others.

  “We don’t know anything for certain,” Dean relayed truthfully, attempting to back up a mental step. Hell, maybe this case was becoming a bit too personal. He’d done his job, warned those women most likely to be of interest to this unsub, and hadn’t been able to glean any new information. For all he knew, the killer had already left this area and moved on. Only time would tell. “I’m just saying that it’s not a bad idea to take a vacation sooner rather than later, if one happened to be on the horizon.”

  Dean hoped that Chaz had more luck than he had tonight. The newly appointed sheriff was eager to see that this reign of terror over his town ended as soon as possible. It was a fresh breath of air, as far as Dean was concerned. The majority of the time, local law enforcement officers either didn’t appreciate the feds entering their territory or were only all too happy to wipe their hands from any responsibility. Chaz was one of the few who was willing to do whatever it took to help catch this son of a bitch. He wasn’t willing to allow anyone’s ego to get in the way of catching this killer.

  “I’ll take your warning under—”

  Whatever Kenna had been going to say to him was interrupted when the lights went out, plunging the kitchen into darkness. Eventually, Dean’s sight adjusted and he was able to make out Kenna coming around the corner of the island just in time to stop her from colliding into him. He automatically reached for her.

  “Sorry,” Kenna murmured, a little out of breath. That wasn’t so surprising given that he’d just told her that there was a potential chance she could be the target of a serial killer right before she lost power. “I was going to walk you to the door when the lights went out.”

  Dean had wrapped his hands around her shoulders, which he immediately released now that their vision had adjusted thanks to the illumination of the fire and the numerous candles set around the living room. An open layout was beneficial in times like these, but she really should have a generator. He caught himself from saying just that, reminding himself that it wasn’t his place to give that kind of advice to anyone. He’d been keeping himself in check quite a lot in the last twenty minutes or so.

  “Are you sure you’ll be able to drive in this?” Kenna asked over her shoulder, advancing toward the living room where they would be able to see a little better. “I haven’t heard a snowplow come through since the start of the storm.”

  “They’re busy clearing the emergency routes first,” Dean informed her, fastening the button on his dress coat. A quick glance at all the candles around the room told him that she would be okay until morning, though there was no guarantee that she would have power back by then. “I’ll be fine. You just take care of yourself, and please use extra precautions.”

  “I will,” Kenna replied softly, holding up the card as if to prove her point. “I’ll touch base with you if I notice anything out of the ordinary or call 911 if there’s an emergency.”

  Dean nodded, though the graphic images captured by the crime scene photographer were still fresh in his mind. He tightened his jaw and grit his teeth in an effort to clear his thoughts. What he needed was a good night’s sleep, which he was unlikely t
o get at the local hotel.

  “Goodnight, Kenna.”

  Dean made his way to the front door, slowing his step so that she’d be able to throw the deadbolt the moment he left. He braced himself for the bitter cold. It was of no use, though. A gust of wind practically tore the doorknob from his tight grip.

  Neither one of them expected what sounded like the crack of a high-powered rifle to ring through the air. Dean instinctively spun around to protect Kenna, but not before a scream of terror escaped her throat.

  Chapter Five

  Kenna didn’t like being on edge, and the fact that she’d nearly panicked at the first sound of trouble irritated her to no end. Agent Malone had definitely gotten under her skin with his suggestion of staying with family or friends. She was quite capable on her own. It wasn’t that she was being ignorant of the threat that this kind of killer posed, but this was her home. It was her sanctuary, and one she’d spent the last two years and a handful of months creating for herself. Her home was an expression of herself and reflected who she was and much of what she’d become since Justin’s death.

  “That is definitely going to be a problem,” Dean muttered underneath his breath as they both stood side by side in her driveway. The condensation from his breath was erased quickly by the gusts of winds. “The weight of the wet snow must have been too much for that large branch.”

  The so-called branch blocking his exit from her driveway was an understatement. At least a third of the red maple tree that had been in her front yard for many years was now lying across the bottom half of her driveway. It would take a crew of men and a chainsaw or two to remove the obstacle it had become. The only saving grace was that it had missed the trunk of his vehicle by inches, which would take less work for him to explain this to his superiors.