An Evil Mind--A Suspense Novel

by Tim Kizer

  “Hi, Mark. This is Detective Aguero,” Aguero said.

  “How are you doing, Detective?”

  “Not bad. I visited Edward Phillips in prison a week ago. I assume you know who he is.”

  “What did you talk about?”

  “We talked about Laura Sumner. I asked if he knew who might have killed her, and he said that he didn’t. I can send you a recording of our conversation, if you want.”

  “Thank you, Carlos. Yes, please send it to me.”

  “I’ll do it today.”

  “Did you mention that it was me who told you about Laura?”

  “No.”

  “Did you offer him anything for information?”

  “I offered him a very good deal. I promised that we’d get his death sentence commuted if he helped us catch Laura’s killer.”

  Should he tell Aguero about Sam Curtis? The police had the resources to monitor Curtis twenty-four/seven. He could warn Aguero that Curtis would disappear if he found out that the cops were onto him.

  The Austin Police Department might screw up and scare Curtis off. Besides, it could be several months before Curtis killed again, and Mark doubted that Aguero would be allowed to keep him under surveillance for that long.

  “Do you think he’s telling the truth?” Mark said.

  “I believe he’s hiding something.”

  “Are you going to try to get him to talk?”

  “No. I’m going to talk to his parents. They might know something useful.”

  “I believe Phillips’s father might be involved in Laura’s murder.”

  “This thought crossed my mind, too. I have a theory. Do you want to hear it?”

  “Yes.”

  “I think Phillips had a partner, who helped him kill your daughter. And this partner killed Laura Sumner. Maybe Helen wasn’t their first victim.”

  “When do you plan to talk to Phillips’s parents?”

  “Next week.”

  “Thanks for the call, Carlos. Please keep me posted.”

  “Sure.”

  After terminating the call, Mark realized he had never checked to see if Jeff Phillips had used any of his credit cards in Austin on August 23 or 24. When he got to police headquarters, he requested a search warrant for information on all of Jeff Phillips’s credit card and bank card transactions that had taken place last August. While Mark was preparing the warrant application, he received the audio file of Detective Aguero’s conversation with Edward Phillips. He copied the file to a flash drive to listen to it later at home.

  3

  Mark came home at a quarter to eight. Joan had cooked a shepherd’s pie for dinner, which was one of his favorite dishes. While Mark was eating, the landline phone rang. Joan muted the TV and picked up the receiver.

  “Hello,” she said.

  “Hello, can I talk to Joan Hinton?” said a man’s voice. The voice sounded artificial, robotic.

  “This is Joan.”

  He’s using a voice changer, she thought.

  Honest people didn’t need a voice changer. A vague uneasiness crept into Joan’s mind.

  “My name is Chuck. I have something important to tell you.”

  “I’m listening.”

  She looked at the caller ID. The area code was 214. It was a Dallas number.

  “It’s about your daughter, Helen. She was murdered last year, wasn’t she?”

  A dull pain gripped Joan’s heart when she heard Helen’s name.

  “Yes, she was,” she said.

  “I found the knife.”

  “What knife?”

  “The knife Helen was killed with. I think it’s that knife. I want you to have it.”

  “Where did you find it?”

  “Not far from the place where your daughter was murdered. I found it before the police got there.”

  “Why didn’t you give the knife to the police?”

  “I was afraid they’d think I was involved.”

  “Why do you want me to have it?”

  “I’m giving it to you so you’ll turn it over to the police. I think the killer might have left his fingerprints on it.” He paused, then added, “I didn’t clean the knife. It’s in the same condition as when I found it. Please put on gloves before you touch it.”

  “When do you want to meet?”

  “I’ll mail it to you.”

  Why had he waited over ten months to come forward?

  “Do you know my address?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  He told Joan her address and asked if that was the correct address.

  “Yes,” Joan replied. “All right, mail it.”

  “I’ll do it tomorrow morning. I’m very sorry about your daughter, Joan.”

  “Where did you get my number?”

  “I found it online. I’m sorry if I scared you.”

  “Your voice sounds odd.”

  “I changed it because I want to stay anonymous. Do you have any more questions?”

  “No.”

  “Goodbye, then.”

  “Goodbye.” Joan hung up.

  She stood by the phone for a few moments, then went to the dining room.

  “Did someone call?” asked Mark, who was finishing his meal.

  “Yes. Some guy named Chuck. He said he has the knife Helen was killed with. He said he’s going to send it to me.” Joan sat across the table from her husband.

  Mark set down his fork. “Did he tell you his last name?”

  “No.”

  “Where did he get that knife?”

  “He found it near the place where Helen was killed. He said he didn’t clean it. He wants me to give it to the police.”

  “Did he witness the murder?”

  “I didn’t ask him about it.” Joan pushed a strand of hair from her forehead. “He used a voice changer.”

  “What else did he say?”

  “Nothing. Do you think he’s some kind of lunatic?”

  “You think he’s a lunatic?”

  “Why did he keep the knife? Normal people don’t do that.”

  “Sometimes normal people do strange things.”

  That was true.

  Chuck could be one of those murder memorabilia collectors she had read about on the Internet.

  4

  Before listening to the recording of Detective Aguero’s conversation with Edward Phillips, Mark did a reverse lookup of the number Chuck had called from on the Internet and found that it belonged to a pay phone.

  This could be a hoax, Mark thought as he opened the audio file sent by Aguero.

  Fortunately, it would be very easy to determine if it was a hoax: the real murder weapon should have traces of Helen’s blood on it.

  He would test the blood from the knife at a private DNA lab. And he would dust the knife for fingerprints himself so there could be no tampering.

  Would the police reopen Helen’s case if the fingerprints on the knife didn’t belong to Edward Phillips?

  They would certainly interview the person who had left the prints (if they managed to find him). If the guy confessed to Helen’s murder, he would go to prison, but if he said that he had found the knife in the street, picked it up and then dropped it (or told another story that didn’t involve murder), the police would have to let him go unless they proved that the fingerprints belonged to the killer.

  How do you prove that the fingerprints got on the knife during the murder?

  I’ll think about it when I receive the knife.

  What was he going to do if the person who had left the prints escaped conviction only because there was no proof that the prints belonged to the killer? He would kill the guy. Yes, he would take the law into his own hands.

  I’ll make him confess to Helen’s murder before I kill him.

  Would Chuck wipe away his fingerprints before mailing the knife? Mark was sure that he would. Anyone with half a brain would have done that. Hopefully, he wouldn’t wipe away all of the killer’s prints along with his.

  If th
ere was no match in the system for the prints on the knife, they might never find out the identity of Helen’s killer and that bastard would go unpunished.

  The thought of Helen’s murderer roaming free and having fun made Mark’s stomach turn over.

  What if the fingerprints turned out to belong to Edward Phillips?

  He would be pissed at Phillips for wasting his time, and he would do his best to make sure that Phillips was executed.

  When the recording of Aguero’s conversation with Phillips ended, Mark went to the living room and said to Joan, “When you receive the knife, don’t touch it. I don’t want you to mess up the fingerprints.”

  “Okay.” Joan took his hand. “If they find Phillips’s fingerprints on the knife, his appeal will fail for sure, right?”

  “I think so, yes.” Mark nodded.

  “If the fingerprints belong to someone else, will they reopen the case?”

  “I’ll make sure that they reopen it.”

  Chapter 13

  1

  Phillips looked as dejected as he had two weeks ago. This time it gave Mark no pleasure.

  “I’m glad to see you, Mark.” Phillips tried to smile but managed only a grimace.

  “You haven’t had many visitors, have you?” Mark said.

  “It’s my birthday today. Did you know that?”

  “No. Don’t tell the others.”

  “Why?”

  “They’ll beat the shit out of you.”

  “Thanks for the heads-up.”

  Staring at Phillips, Mark remembered that when he was a child, he had been very nervous every time he blew out his birthday candles: he had feared he would fail to blow them out in one breath and thus would prevent his wish from coming true. He had stopped believing in birthday wishes at the age of fifteen—but he kept making them nonetheless, just in case.

  “Why did your parents stop visiting you?”

  “I don’t know. You should ask them.”

  “Do you keep in touch with them?”

  Phillips shook his head.

  “Why?” Mark asked.

  “I guess we have nothing to talk about.” Phillips’s face remained emotionless; there was not a hint of sadness in it. He didn’t seem to miss his parents at all.

  “Did you get my letter?”

  “No.”

  “I followed Sam last Saturday from six p.m. to midnight. I saw nothing strange.”

  “Thank you, Mark. I really appreciate it. Did Curtis see you following him?”

  “No.”

  “Are you going to follow him again?”

  “Maybe next week.”

  “Thank you. You need to follow him every day. The only way to stop Sam is catch him in the act, and to do that, you need to follow him every day.”

  “I understand that.”

  “He might kill someone tonight.”

  “I’ll follow him tonight if I have time.”

  “Have there been any new cases similar to your daughter’s?”

  “I don’t know. I’ll look into it. Have you heard what happened to your lawyer?”

  “No. What happened to him?”

  “He’s been murdered.”

  Phillips’s eyes widened in surprise. Frowning, he asked, “Are you talking about Leonard?”

  “Yes.”

  “When?”

  “Last Monday.”

  “How was he killed?”

  “He was stabbed in the chest and his neck was cut open. He was in his car in the parking lot of his office building when it happened.”

  Phillips put the phone on the counter and dropped his head to his chest. He was silent for a long time, then he picked up the receiver and said hoarsely, “Do they know who killed him?”

  There were tears in the corners of his eyes. It wasn’t the first time Mark had seen Phillips cry. He had wept when the jury returned its guilty verdict and when the judge sentenced him to death.

  “No. Who do you think did it?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “Just before he was killed, Leonard asked me to meet him. He said he wanted to tell me something about your case. Could his murder have anything to do with your case?”

  “I don’t know.” Phillips wiped his eyes. “He was a good man. This is just terrible. Terrible.”

  “I’m very sorry.”

  “He was a good man.” Phillips clenched his free hand into a fist.

  “Did you tell Barlow about Sam Curtis?”

  “Yes.”

  “And what did he do about it?”

  “Nothing. He said it was too expensive to hire a private detective to follow Curtis.”

  “Did you ask him not to tell the police about Curtis?”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “I could help you find a new attorney. I know some good lawyers.”

  “I can’t afford a private lawyer.”

  “What about your mother?”

  “My parents hate me. I already told you that.”

  “You said your father hated you.”

  “My mother hates me, too.”

  “Who paid Barlow?”

  “My parents paid Leonard some money when they hired him, but then they said they couldn’t afford to pay him anymore. Leonard agreed to keep working on my case, for free.”

  The odds of Phillips winning the appeal had been slim when Barlow represented him, but they would be infinitesimal with a public defender.

  Phillips must be in a very bad mood now.

  “Detective Aguero told me he talked to you,” Mark said.

  “Yes, we talked.”

  “He asked you to help him catch Laura Sumner’s killer, and you said you didn’t know who killed her.”

  “Yes, that’s what I said.”

  “You didn’t tell him about Sam Curtis. Why?”

  “You know why. As soon as Sam finds out he’s under suspicion, he’ll skip town, and the police will never find him.”

  “Why would he skip town if there’s no evidence that he killed Laura Sumner?”

  “Because he doesn’t like to take chances.”

  Mark opened his mouth to say that Curtis couldn’t hide forever, but then he thought: the police are not going to look for Curtis because there’s no evidence linking him to Laura Sumner’s or Helen’s murder. Edward Phillips’s claim that Curtis had confessed to killing Helen would be disregarded: he was convicted of Helen’s murder and therefore had every reason to lie.

  “Did you tell Aguero about Sam?” Phillips asked.

  “No, I didn’t.”

  “Was it you who told him about Helen?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you tell him that Helen and Laura were killed by the same person?”

  “I told him these murders could be connected.”

  Phillips said nothing.

  “Did Curtis tell you why it took him four weeks to post bail?” Mark asked.

  “He said he didn’t have enough money.”

  “What about his family?”

  “His parents refused to help him because they wanted to teach him a lesson.”

  “What about his friends?”

  “He said that both of his best friends were in prison for selling weed.” Phillips switched the phone to his other ear. “Do you believe me, Mark? Do you believe what I said about Curtis?”

  “I haven’t made up my mind yet. I know that you passed a lie detector test.”

  “Yes, I did. I wouldn’t have passed it if I was Helen’s killer.”

  “I’d have an easier time believing you if you explained how Helen’s blood got on your shoes and jeans.”

  “I don’t know how it got there. Maybe someone sprinkled your daughter’s blood on my clothes to frame me.”

  The pitch and tone of Phillips’s voice remained unchanged. Mark searched Phillips’s face for any sign that he was lying, and saw none.

  “Who?”

  “I don’t know. Cops, maybe. Sometimes cops plant evidence.”

  “What about your fing
erprint on Helen’s belt buckle? How did it get there?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Cops didn’t put it there, that’s for sure.”

  Phillips said nothing.

  “Maybe you found my daughter’s body after she was killed?”

  “No, I didn’t.”

  “You have to come up with an explanation if you want me to believe you.”

  “I’ll try.”

  “Did Curtis tell you why he killed my daughter?”

  “No.”

  “I checked Curtis’s credit card records. He used his credit card at a gas station in Austin on the day of Laura Sumner’s murder.”

  “You see. He did it. He killed Laura Sumner. And he’ll kill again. Please follow him every day, I’m begging you.”

  Mark hesitated, then said, “Did you ask one of your friends to imitate Helen’s murder?”

  Phillips raised his eyebrows slightly. “What do you mean?”

  “I have a suspicion that Laura Sumner was killed by one of your friends at your request.”

  It felt good to let Phillips know that Detective Mark Hinton was a hard man to deceive.

  Phillips’s lips curved in a small smile. “I see. You think I’m some kind of mastermind. Do I look like a mastermind?”

  “Did you ask one of your friends to imitate Helen’s murder?”

  Phillips shook his head. “No, I didn’t.”

  He seemed to be telling the truth.

  “Sam Curtis killed Laura Sumner, and I didn’t ask him to do it,” Phillips said. “Sam Curtis killed your daughter. Please believe me, Mark.”

  “By the way, I saw your father drinking with Curtis in a bar last Saturday.”

  “Are you sure it was my father?”

  “Yes.”

  Phillips thought for a moment, then said, “Have you talked to Sam?”

  “No, I haven’t.”

  “If Sam finds out he’s under suspicion, he’ll disappear and you’ll never find him. You need to remember that.”

  “I remember it.”

  “Have you talked to my dad?”

  “No. Is your father friends with Sam Curtis?”

  “Did they look like they were friends?”

  “Yes. They spent two hours together.”

  “Then I guess they are friends.”

  “Did you tell your father about Curtis’s confession?”

  “Yes. I told him not to confront Sam.”

  “Did he believe you?”