Simon Says... Ride (Kate Morgan Thrillers Book 3)

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Simon Says... Ride (Kate Morgan Thrillers Book 3) Page 19

by Dale Mayer


  “My thought exactly. Anyway, if you do hear something …” She pulled out her card and handed it to him.

  He nodded. “I can do that. Particularly if you’re paying for my pizza.”

  She rolled her eyes at that one but paid for his pizza, ordered herself a coffee to go, and walked outside. She didn’t know whether she believed Bill or not, but it was interesting that he sat here all the time. Did he have any attachment to this place, or did it just happen to be a cheap place to get food on a limited budget? Despite his disability claim, he looked very healthy, so she didn’t know what the hell was going on. She didn’t even know his full name and considered whether she should interview Bill further at the station. She frowned at that, and, as she walked back inside and looked around to find Bill, he wasn’t here. She looked at the kid. “Where’d he go?”

  “As you went out the front, he went out the back. Bill muttered something about the air no longer being as fresh and clean.”

  “Interesting. I don’t suppose you know his last name.”

  “Huh.” The kid frowned. “You know what? I don’t think I do.” He paused, as if thinking. “No, I don’t think I’ve ever heard it mentioned. Bill is all I know.”

  She nodded. “Any idea where he lives?”

  He shrugged. “Nope. He just shows up and buys stuff and sits here a while, then leaves. Just the way we like it.”

  She nodded and headed out the rear exit. She went outside, seeing that the back of the pizza place connected to an alley that went around the corner and came out at the block again. She kept walking down the same direction, wondering where Bill had gone and why he’d left so suddenly. Was it really because he didn’t like cops and had a bad taste from all of it? Or was it something else?

  Instinctively she felt like something else was going on, but she had no idea what it could possibly be. She wanted it to be connected, but just because she wanted it to be didn’t mean it was. She kept on walking, until she saw him up ahead. He turned to look back, saw her, froze for a moment, then bolted. She tossed her coffee and raced after him.

  Now she really wanted to have a talk with him.

  Then lost him around the next corner.

  *

  “Son of a bitch.” He wondered how long it would take to have somebody come in and check out the coffee shop. The fact that they had finally gotten around to it made him laugh, but, at the same time, it pissed him off because he didn’t want them to have connected it. He wanted to have his safe little coffee spot and enjoy the view. After all, there was little enough in his world that he could really enjoy. And this was definitely one of them.

  After the cop had left, he’d laughed because it seemed like all he could do was play games with the coppers, and that suited him and the other guy, fleeing her now; the police were kind of boring and stupid. But when she came after the other guy, he realized she must have suspicions. He’d been looking after this for a long time now, and he wouldn’t let them get in his way, not when he was finally down to the wire. He needed to finish this, and, as soon as he did, he would stop. That was the plan.

  He hoped he could stop; it had at least been something he had looked forward to every year. The fact that things were off this year wasn’t his fault. It was the damn rich kid’s fault. If he and his crew hadn’t done what they had done, then he wouldn’t have done what he’d done. At least that was the theory, but a part of him, that tiny sneaky part of him, was staring at him sideways, reminding him that he was enjoying it a little too much.

  He didn’t think anything could be a little too much. Yet it was too risky to keep this up, so he couldn’t. He had to finish. But knowing he should versus doing what he should was like getting a gym membership because he knew it was good for him, yet, at the same time, he hated it. So he found any excuse to not go. Thus he was now finding any excuse to not stop because it really was far too much fun. Something about the control and regaining a sense of purpose in his life and the sensation of not being a victim to the world around him anymore.

  That was an inescapable pleasure.

  Putting it on other people, letting them be the victims, made it even better and was something he really wanted to pursue. But, if he didn’t stop doing what he was doing, he knew that, at some point in time, the cops would catch him. They might be stupid now, but they wouldn’t be stupid forever. And the thought of having to go to jail for this and to be a victim all over again made him sick to his stomach.

  If he continued this—and here he was, already trying to set up alternate plans in order to give himself permission—then he would have to find a way to get out of it permanently at some point. Whether that meant killing himself before the cops found him or suicide by cop was something else; it would have to be an all-or-nothing deal.

  So what the hell would he do about it?

  He had pondered his options, as the day had turned from morning to afternoon. And finally he shrugged and parked it.

  “We’ll finish this. That was my original plan. That was my initial commitment. That was my promise. Then after that,” he muttered, “we’ll see.”

  He still had a couple more to do, a couple more years, although he wasn’t sure that would happen, considering that he’d already killed this year. But, when they said that practice made perfect, they weren’t kidding. It also made it so much easier in that he stopped thinking about the consequences. And that was the dangerous part because, if there were no consequences, what the hell was stopping him from taking out any asshole who he didn’t like in the world?

  Nothing.

  Still, that was not today’s problem. Today’s issue was getting rid of the cop who was hanging around this corner, wondering what the hell was going on. He knew something was in her head, something a little more than he wanted her thinking about. Did he need to do something about it now? That was the question.

  Then he realized he was talking about killing a cop for the first time, and, instead of fear, all he felt was a buzz of pure pleasure.

  Chapter 16

  Two days later Kate sat at her desk. Reams of paper were in front of her, plus her screens. Her whiteboards were beside her. Each day was a repeat of the previous one. If not for the fire in her belly, Kate would have given up long ago.

  “What are you doing now?” Rodney asked.

  “I’m going back over the previous incidents at this intersection or nearby to see if I can find any similarities, any connections.”

  “And you’re thinking they have something to do with these two recent deaths of Candy and Paula now?”

  “I don’t know if they do or not. I’m grasping at straws. We have very little in the way of forensics. We’re still waiting on the autopsies on Candy and Paula, and, so far, no witnesses saw anything. And, of course, spoiled-brat bully Brandon is at home, smug as a cat in front of the fire, thinking he can completely walk free. Again. As soon as I’ve done this, I’m hoping to talk to Dr. Paul Agress myself to ask him about these previous victims.”

  “You think he’ll know any of them?”

  “I looked it up, and he has been there for fifteen years.” She eyed Rodney over her sheath of papers. “So, in theory, if he wanted to cooperate, the answer to that question would be yes.”

  “And if he doesn’t?”

  “Then I suspect he’s protecting the university.”

  “Which would be his position anyway,” he said.

  “True, but we have to do something here. I should reach out to the RCMP and see if they have any similar reported cases. I’ve been trying to search these victims’ names to see if anything comes up that could connect any of them, but I haven’t had a whole lot of success.”

  “Give me the names again. I’ll sit down and work on that.”

  “Or maybe try one of Reese’s assistants?”

  “I’ve got the time.”

  She ran off the names. When he had them in front of him, she asked, “What are the chances it was just luck? What if it was just somebody testing his prowe
ss for staging deaths as accidents and deciding if this game was worthwhile? I just … I don’t get it. Are people so bored in life that this becomes something new for them?”

  “I don’t know.” He shrugged, turned, as he started running through searches. He frowned. “There really isn’t a whole lot on these cases, is there?”

  She shook her head. “Not on the internet anyway. There’s the odd mention and that group of locals trying to get that whole traffic pattern changed because of the accidents, but they never really got anywhere with it.”

  “No, because you’d have to prove that the traffic pattern is causing the accidents, which, in this case, I agree with the city, and it isn’t.”

  “Maybe, but you know what we do have? Five cyclist accidents, one a year for the last five years.”

  “But that’s the problem. It’s been one a year there until recently but also probably fifteen over the last ten years in that same area.”

  “Do we think any of them are connected?” she asked.

  “I don’t know. We’ll have to run through the database and see just how many there are, see if it’s the same vehicle, same drivers, same anything.”

  “I doubt it will be,” she said.

  “You’re not really thinking more than one person is involved, are you?”

  “I don’t know,” she said. “But think about it. Five annually at the same time at or near the same place seems like a revenge thing. So someone died six years ago—or, hell, ten years ago for all we know—that meant a lot to someone who got no closure, so he’s doing this. Then we’ve got Brandon. I can’t make a connection between the possible revenge thing and the sheer bullying thing gone wrong. None of this is making any sense. I can’t help thinking that Candy was killed because she knew something about what Brandon and his gang had done.”

  “Knew something or saw something.” Rodney nodded, sitting back.

  She stood. “I think I’d like to go back to the scene.”

  He agreed. “That’s fine. I’ll come with you, if you want.”

  She shook her head. “Better if you keep running through these to see if you see anything that links them. Fresh eyes and all that.”

  “I can do that,” he said.

  She took related stacks of paper and shoved them into a big envelope. “I’ll take these with me too.”

  “Good enough. You’re sure spending a lot of time up there.”

  “I know. It’s as if I feel like somehow I’ll be on the spot when the next one happens.” She almost laughed at her own statement, sounding like Simon, with the jumpers. “It’s just that weird sensation that I should see something that I’m not otherwise seeing.”

  He nodded. “Just don’t get obsessed over it.”

  “Of course I will.” She gave him a half smile. “It’s an open case. Obsessed is what I do best.”

  He snorted. “I get it, but it’s also not a good way to live.”

  “Neither is not having any answers,” she said quietly. “For us or for the families.”

  And, on that note, she headed to her vehicle, thankful she had driven in today. The drive across town wasn’t too bad, but it was still about forty minutes before she pulled into the pizza place. As she hopped out, she walked into the place, studying the intersection through the big front windows and ordered coffee. The same kid was behind the counter.

  He looked at her in surprise, and she shrugged. “I’m back, just looking at the intersection again.”

  “I don’t know what you’ll see. It’s not like it’s changed much in the last few days.”

  “How long have you worked here?”

  “A couple years.” He shrugged.

  “You’ve seen any other accidents around here?”

  “Sure, but nothing where anybody got badly hurt. The one with a couple pedestrians. One where they were playing around, and she got pushed into the road. She was lightly tapped by a car, but that was it.”

  She nodded. “Did you know any of the victims?”

  “Nope, I stay away from the university crowd. Not that the people in the accidents were all students—or maybe they were. I don’t know.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Partly because it’s not my scene. Another part is because I don’t think they see me as part of their scene.”

  “I can understand that. Thanks for the coffee.” She paid and turned to walk out.

  “You haven’t found anything yet, have you?”

  “Not yet,” she said sadly, “but we’re on it.”

  “Yeah, it must be hard to figure out though.”

  “Trouble is, it takes time to get forensics. It takes time to get anything. So, as much as it might look like we’re not doing anything, we are.”

  He nodded. “I didn’t mean that the wrong way.”

  “Not a problem. It’s a misconception that we deal with all the time.”

  “Yeah, good point. Sorry about that.”

  She walked outside and stood in front of the pizza parlor. It was empty at the time, but, as she took a sip of her coffee, she wondered. Stepping back inside, she asked, “Hey, have you seen that guy again. Bill?”

  “Now that you mention it, no. I haven’t seen him since that day you both were here last.”

  She nodded and stepped back outside again. If the ice-bullet shooter was Bill, he didn’t want to show up in his same spot, and, if the five annual deaths at this intersection wasn’t about Bill either, he was doing his best to keep a low profile.

  While she stood here, Rodney called. “Did you find anything?” she asked.

  “The only thing I could confirm was that they were all students.”

  “Which I was assuming, so I didn’t take time to verify it, but I’m glad you did.”

  “Why would you assume that?”

  “I don’t know, but they were all on bikes, and it seemed like a student thing to do.”

  “No, you’ll find a lot of the faculty and staff there ride bikes as well. And there is a lot of staff. Don’t kid yourself. That university is a small city.”

  “My bad, but our victims were all students, huh?”

  “Yes. And these ones in particular are from the Faculty of Arts.”

  “Okay,” she said, “thanks for covering me on that then.”

  “What are you up to now?”

  “I just stopped in at that pizza parlor, grabbing a coffee and asking if that Bill guy had been back again, but he hasn’t been in.”

  “Either way, if he’s involved in this, he won’t want you to see him, and, if he’s not involved, you probably chased him away from his favorite haunt for now.”

  “I know. I’m heading over to get answers now,” she muttered, “still looking for a connection, still looking for something that would tell us what the hell is going on.”

  “And yet, we have connections. It’s just not close enough to pin anything on.”

  “I know. Track any of those victims against Brandon and his crew, will you? Cross-reference everything from previous schools, parents, siblings, charges, if there are any. Look at anywhere they might have crossed paths.”

  “You’re still thinking they’re connected, these repeat anniversary killings and Brandon?”

  “Yeah, I know. Brandon wasn’t around five or six years ago and would have made for a younger suspect. But, the trouble is, because of the way Candy was killed, either it’s a copycat of Sally’s death or it’s a connection.”

  “Either way, it’s a connection. It’s just whether it’s … Yeah, got it,” he said.

  And, with that, she hung up. She walked around to her vehicle, hopped in, and went around the block, so she could hit the intersection the right way, then turned the corner and drove down to the boulevard.

  As she got close to the admin building, she parked and walked in to find the Executive Assistant for the Dean, Faculty of the Arts, on the phone. Kate waited until she got off her call, held out her badge, and said that she needed to see her boss for a few moments. The woma
n immediately looked worried. Kate tried to reassure her. “I just need a few moments to ask him a couple questions about this trouble on campus.”

  “I know he’s pretty booked, but let me go see.” She hopped up and disappeared into the room behind her. When she came back out a few minutes later, she looked more relieved. “He’ll see you now,” she said, with a bright smile to Kate.

  Kate muttered, “Thanks,” as she walked past and inside the office to find Dr. Agress, sitting behind a huge desk.

  He looked up, frowned. “Sorry, I don’t have very long. Hope this can be fast.”

  “That’s fine. Even a few minutes for a few questions will help.”

  “How can I help you?” He crossed his hands, resting them in front of him. “I have to admit I’m more accustomed to working with students. Surely this is for the UBC Legal Department to handle or maybe the Committee of Student Affairs. At least the RCMP over the VPD.”

  “Both law enforcement departments work together as needed. I can bring them in on this, if necessary. Have you heard about Candy yet?”

  “Did you find her?” His face lit up. “I really hate it when we can’t keep track of the students, but they’re all expected to be adults.”

  “In this case, it’s a little bit different.”

  He looked at her, a frown forming. “Oh, dear, what do you mean?”

  “She was found dead at the intersection at the entrance to the boulevard.”

  He winced at that. “That intersection, most of the time I don’t even think about it. Then we have an accident, and it brings back every other accident that’s happened there.”

  “I understand there have been quite a few.”

  “Yes, over the years, there definitely have been. I was part of a group who tried to get the traffic pattern there changed, so we could minimize the accidents—at least get a bike path over the top or something. Unfortunately it’s such a small intersection compared to some of the bigger ones in the actual downtown core that it didn’t make sense for the city to put that kind of money into it.”

  “I think they would have, if you could prove that the accidents were caused by the traffic pattern.”

 

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