The Forgotten Widow

by Layne, Kennedy

  The man that Sheriff Hopkins was having lunch with was the man who worked at the phone store where she and Justin used to have their account. He’d been the one to cancel Justin’s line. She lifted her gaze from her phone back to the table with the three men, only to find the man in question was staring right back at her.

  “Kenna, I looked everywhere,” Rhonda said as she appeared in Kenna’s line of vision. “I can’t find the receipts.”

  “That’s okay.” Kenna dropped her phone back inside her purse, not bothering to put her gloves back on. She clasped them in her left hand as she used her right to slide the strap of her purse over her shoulder. “I appreciate it.”

  “I’m sure he’ll get them to you somehow,” Rhonda replied with an apologetic shrug. She appeared to want to say more, but she must have thought better. Kenna figured it had to do with the police questioning Bright yesterday. As far as she was aware, Bright had good relationships with those employees he’d hired early on. She figured that Rhonda and Paul were friends from way back, so they would feel a sense of loyalty to him. “Have a good day.”

  Kenna began to make her way to the exit, thinking it best not to say anything to the sheriff. She’d already acknowledged him, and she certainly didn’t want to interrupt whatever meeting he was conducting over lunch. She hadn’t realized that they’d already paid for their meal and were heading for the door. She came up short when she almost ran into them.

  “Ms. Burke,” Sheriff Hopkins greeted, opening the door for her. “It’s nice to see you again.”

  “You, too,” Kenna replied with a small nod, while smiling at the two other men who waited for her to exit first. “I was just picking up some paperwork.”

  Kenna didn’t add that she’d been unsuccessful in her endeavor, but she didn’t want to draw attention to the fact that she hadn’t taken Dean’s warning under advisement. She had, but she wasn’t so sure that was how the sheriff would see her visit.

  “Burke?” the bald man reiterated with a frown. “McKenzie Burke?”

  “Kenna, please,” she corrected him, turning on the sidewalk so that she could speak to him face to face.

  “Special Agent Frank Rowe,” the man said, offering his hand. She returned his gesture. “I’m Agent Malone’s partner. It’s nice to meet you.”

  The fact that Mr. Rowe had addressed Dean by his surname told Kenna that he hadn’t shared where he’d been spending his nights. She wasn’t sure how to take that revelation, so she carried on the conversation without missing a beat.

  “Likewise,” Kenna replied, surprised when the employee from the phone store offered his hand. “I remember you from a long time ago. You helped me cancel my husband’s line after he passed away.”

  “I’m Oliver Stevens, Agent Rowe’s nephew,” he replied, holding onto her hand a few seconds longer than necessary. “I remember you as well. I hope things are going better for you.”

  If it hadn’t been for motors of the passing vehicles, the silence would have been deafening. Agent Rowe’s demeanor changed instantly, and Sheriff Hopkin’s gaze narrowed to little slits as he regarded Oliver closely. There was something wrong with this situation that Kenna couldn’t put her finger on. Oliver was Agent Rowe’s nephew, so it wasn’t like he could actually be a suspect.

  “Things are going well, thank you.” Kenna didn’t like the tension that had settled over them as if they were inside a sealed bubble. “I should get going. I’m having an alarm system installed in my house today, and I’m due to meet the technician soon. It was nice to meet you both. Sheriff, it was good to see you again.”

  Kenna didn’t waste time as she walked toward her car, which was parked near the café. The entire exchange had been uncomfortable, and she could feel the weight of their stares the farther she got from the pub. She’d purposefully inserted the fact that she was getting an alarm system, though it really had been none of their business. Was it due to the fact that Oliver had made her feel slightly uncomfortable? Once again, she reminded herself that he was the nephew of a federal agent. She hated to overreact, but that was exactly what she’d done.

  Maybe it was because she slightly upset over the fact that Dean’s partner had no idea where he was spending his nights. Granted, Dean had mentioned that the line between them was rather gray. Him wanting to keep things quiet wasn’t hard to understand. She’d reminded herself many times today that she should just enjoy the present, and that the past and future shouldn’t be obsessed over. It went against her nature, but that’s exactly what she was going to do, and she was going to start by replying to Dean’s message that she would love to drive to New Haven with him this evening.

  She looked so beautiful today. It was amazing how she lifted her chin in defiance of adversity when the weight of her grief must be soul crushing. He could help relieve her of that burden, and he would…as soon as Quinn Simmons told his true story to the community.

  Couldn’t the widows see that they had nothing to fear from him?

  He was helping them in ways no one else would.

  He needed to make sure that Quinn wouldn’t turn down his offer. After all, she must see the true value in his actions. She also wouldn’t want her secret to be exposed, which played well for both of them. A little coaxing was all that was needed, and she would eventually come around to his way of thinking.

  It was time to send Quinn Simmons proof of his knowledge.

  Chapter Twenty

  Dean had spent the last twelve hours cleaning up the mess that had been left in the wake of his partner. After one a hell of a confrontation that had been witnessed by everyone at the station, Frank had managed to control his temper long enough to hear Linc confirm that Oliver Stevens didn’t fit the profile. Chaz had still needed to interview him though, which was why they’d opted to have an informal lunch. Dean had been given the play by play, and apparently the meeting had been blown to hell when they’d run into Kenna, who’d confirmed having dealings with Oliver right after her husband’s death.

  The fallout from that was Frank instructing Oliver not to answer any more questions without a lawyer present. Had Dean been in Frank’s shoes, he would have given his nephew the same advice. The result had been a thirty-minute conversation with Archer that had Frank heading back to New Haven. Linc was still confident that Oliver wasn’t their unsub, and a lot of paperwork had been filled out to make sure that every I was dotted and every T was crossed.

  Dwight had spent some of the day researching the widows’ husbands’ cell phone records to see if they were all connected. Tamara Johnson and Meghan Vance’s husbands had used the same cell phone provider, but Viola Chambers’ husband had been with a competitor. That alone didn’t vindicate Oliver.

  “I’m heading over to the pub,” Evans said, adjusting the baseball cap a little lower on his forehead. “That place is doing a hell of a business ever since Brighton took over.”

  Dean purposefully didn’t react, knowing full well that word had gotten out from the patrol units that he’d been spending his nights at Kenna’s place. His involvement with her didn’t negate the fact that Daryl Brighton or his place of business could somehow be linked to the murders. After an extensive search, Dwight had been able to find that all three victims had visited the bar within the last eight months, though only two had done so since Brighton took ownership. Considering he’d been a staple at the place before fully taking over, it was conceivable that he was the connection. Until the man’s alibis fell apart or they were able to match his DNA to the crime scenes, they could only continue to monitor his movements.

  “Leave your timesheet behind,” Dean instructed, looking up from Benjamin Henry’s file. “I’ll sign off on your overtime.”

  “It doesn’t feel like overtime when I’m literally meeting up with some friends,” Evans replied with a smile. He gestured toward a tray that was filled with incoming messages from the hotline. “My timesheet is in with the other papers you need to look at before leaving tonight.”

  “Have
a beer for me,” Linc called out without looking up from his laptop. He’d had the same one for years, and Dean could just imagine the numerous reports that were filled with gruesome details of the various serial killers and terrorists that he’d profiled over the years. “Hell, I might just meet you there in an hour.”

  Linc was confident that the unsub’s mother was the one who was widowed, thereby putting Daryll Brighton on the lower end of the suspect list. There was something about the man that didn’t sit right with Dean, but in the end, it didn’t matter. They had no evidence to bring him in for questioning.

  “Let’s take a look at Benjamin Henry again,” Dean said once Evans had closed the conference room door. “He fits your profile more than the others. Caucasian, thirty-three years old, and lives with his widowed mother on the east side in the two-story house he was born in. The two trespassing arrests could have been foreplay to him.”

  “I agree that he’s your most likely suspect.” Linc continued to type away on his keyboard. “I know this department is stretched thin, but is there a way for you to have his movements monitored? After listening to the two messages that Quinn Simmons’ received from the unsub, it’s clear that he’s not going to stop until she spins the story into some fairytale bullshit. If that individual happens to be Benjamin Henry, you’ll know soon enough.”

  The meeting with Quinn Simmons had pretty much gone the way Dean had expected, with Linc and Quinn butting heads on how to handle the situation. She wanted to write tomorrow’s headline for the local paper and then record a live podcast at noon with the details about what had transpired in the last twenty-four hours. She wasn’t doing so to give the unsub a voice, but to instead share her experience about being in contact with The Widow Taker.

  Her strategy was nothing more than a ratings hook, and everyone knew it. Linc’s argument against such a tactic was that they needed additional time to see what the ramifications were going to be if she ignored the message. They needed to tread carefully, or her plan would most likely end up antagonizing the unsub.

  “We’re already exceeding the overtime budget of the department,” Dean replied, having had many discussions regarding this very topic with Chaz on multiple occasions. “We have someone stationed outside of Quinn Simmons’ residence. That should produce the same result.”

  “Not necessarily.” Linc finished whatever sentence he was typing before leaning back in his chair. He linked his fingers together and put his hands behind his head as he finally gave Dean his full attention. “Quinn Simmons has a secret, and the unsub figured it out. He’ll definitely be in touch with her, but he’s smart enough not to do it in person. He won’t risk calling anymore, either.”

  Dean was in complete agreement about Quinn Simmons having a secret. He’d come to the same conclusion last night, but she refused to admit that the unsub was blackmailing her. He was still waiting on the background check he’d requested from headquarters. Hell, he was still waiting on forensics to see if they’d discovered any foreign DNA at the last murder scene. So far, the unsub had been meticulous in his endeavors to leave no physical evidence of himself.

  “Email?” Dean asked, although that manner would be relatively easy to trace.

  “I’m thinking good old-fashioned snail mail.” Linc dropped his hands and reached for his coffee cup. He ran on pure caffeine. “We already have the unsub’s handwriting to compare with other suspects who we bring in for questioning on the note he left at Miss Simmons’ place, but more evidence for the analyst to compare to any suspects’ handwritings we obtain couldn’t hurt. Call it a night, Malone. I’m still fine-tuning my profile, but we already covered the gist of it this morning. I’m confident the unsub lost his father and the community stepped in to help his mother, especially after reaching out to Quinn Simmons about how she’s not properly portraying him to the public.”

  “I’m driving back to New Haven tonight to drop off and replenish. I’ll make sure to be back by morning, but if anything happens before then—”

  “The sheriff and I get along just fine, unlike Frank.” Linc stood from the conference room table, stretching his back muscles with the aid of his mug. When he was done, he finally said what was on his mind. “He’s burnt out, Dean. He needs a break, and he needs to spend it doing what he can to keep his marriage together. This thing with his nephew doesn’t help things, but you made the right call.”

  “Archer has it handled, but I don’t think it’s wise to take away the only thing Frank has any control over right now. This job has been his entire life. Two weeks off discussing the downhill side of his broken marriage isn’t going to fix what’s wrong.”

  “And look where that’s got him right now.” Linc closed the distance to the door. “Take a lesson from it, Malone. I sure as hell don’t want to end up like Frank come twenty years from now.”

  Dean monitored Linc’s progress as he walked through the bullpen. The man wasn’t even in a serious relationship, yet he was picking apart Frank’s downward spiral and looking for the meaning in his life. Linc had been born a profiler. Picking people apart was his bread and butter. It was like breathing to him.

  It didn’t take long for Dean to look through the messages taken by the hotline. Most of the leads had already been confirmed or denied by the patrols on duty, with ninety-nine point nine percent of them amounting to nothing. The point one percent would be followed up by Chaz either tonight or tomorrow morning. With a quick signature on Evans’ overtime form, Dean was ready to pick up Kenna for the drive to New Haven. She’d been on his mind most of the day. If he were honest, she’d been in his thoughts every waking second. It had been all he could to do not to ask her to come into the station after he’d heard about what had taken place at the pub.

  Dean grabbed his dress coat and gave the table a once over to make sure there wasn’t anything he missed before leaving for the night. Evans had Brighton covered, one of the deputies was keeping a watch on Quinn Simmons, and patrols had been ramped up in the areas where they’d covered potential victims. There wasn’t much more they could do now until another lead materialized, or the unsub reached out to Quinn.

  “I thought you’d left for the evening,” Dean said to Chaz, who was currently walking out of his office with a stack of files.

  “I needed to make sure my wife hadn’t served me divorce papers when I wasn’t looking,” Chaz replied wryly, lifting the thick folders in his hand. It was evident that he’d been catching up on the paperwork he’d let slide since this case had stolen every minute of the day. “Listen, I’ve been thinking about the suspects we’ve chosen to concentrate on given the profile. We’ve checked every flower shop and greenhouse in a sixty-mile radius. We also looked into business owners and their employees, but what if we’re missing the obvious?”

  “The obvious being?” Dean asked, having looked at this case from every angle. By this time, Linc had walked out of the kitchen with a hot cup of coffee. Chaz motioned him over to where they stood in front of Joanne’s office. “We’ve spent the last three to four weeks poring over every single individual who had links with those flower shops and greenhouses, all the way down to the siblings and grandchildren of the staff.”

  “We did, but what about the owners of the buildings?” Chaz pointed out, holding up his free hand when the deputy riding the evening desk called out that he had a call on line one. “I know it’s a long shot, but Oliver Stevens mentioned something about the rent being raised in certain buildings along the main thoroughfare. We’ve established that the perp is someone from the area, so it stands to reason that he’d have access to the flower shops or greenhouses.”

  “Unless the unsub has a green thumb, which is a viable theory,” Linc added, leaning a shoulder against the small area between Joanne’s office and the smaller conference room that held the phones for the hotline. Will and Angie were the ones fielding the calls this evening, though nothing of substance was being yielded from the public. “We’re not dealing with someone lacking intelligence. T
he unsub had friends and neighbors involved in his life, leading him toward a stable job. There’s nothing to say he couldn’t own his business and blend in with the same community he feels an obligation to return the favor to.”

  “How is killing widows helping the community?” Chaz asked, still clearly not on board with the profile. It wasn’t that he didn’t believe the parameters, but more that he had trouble identifying with the reasoning behind Linc’s profile. “Did one of his friends or neighbors do something to him when he was a kid? His mother, maybe? Was he so abused that he wants revenge in some twisted way that involves killing someone like his mother?”

  Dean didn’t have the answers to those questions, but Linc was in his element.

  “You might not agree with me, Chaz, but I do believe we’ll find that the unsub thinks he’s not only helping the widows by relieving them of the pain he witnessed his own mother go through, but also the community he looks upon as his own family. I’m not denying that the reasoning is sick and twisted, but serial killers rationalize their behaviors in ways we have a hard time understanding.”

  Dean was still focused on the revelation that the unsub could own a business. Daryll Brighton fit most of the profile, had loose alibis that could easily be picked apart, and he came to town right before the murders. One of the first things Frank had taught him on cases such as these was to never take the leads at face value, which was why Dean was having another background check done on Brighton. Confirmation was better than uncertainty.

  “I’m still typing up the changes I’ve made to the profile, but I can make a few calls to find out the name of the owners of the real estate in question. Do you have a list of businesses I can cross reference?”

  Dean bid the two men goodnight as they continued to talk about possible new leads. They wouldn’t act on any information obtained until tomorrow, anyway. His main focus was driving to Kenna’s house. He didn’t regret becoming personally involved with Kenna, but such a relationship did alter his perception about this case. He didn’t like that she was so involved with Brighton on a professional level, yet he had no right to tell her who she could and couldn’t have as a client.