Four (Count to Ten Book 4)

by Jane Blythe

  “Do you think it could have been Harry who assaulted you last night?”

  “It could have been. I never saw his face, but the man was the right size.” Growing agitated, she raised her voice. “Do you think it was Harry who killed Mr. Milford? Because he stopped Harry from assaulting me that night?”

  There was no point in lying to the girl. If it did turn out to be Harry who raped her and killed her neighbor, then she was going to find out at some point anyway. “Maybe,” he answered gently.

  She dropped her head to her hands. “This is all my fault.”

  “No, it’s not,” he told her firmly.

  “If I had listened to Mr. Milford, then he might still be alive.” Judith was crying again.

  “There’s no way to know that,” he reminded her gently. “If Harry was determined to finish what he’d started, then there could have been no stopping him. Do you have Harry’s contact information?”

  Giving a shaky nod, she rattled off an address and phone number, which Rose jotted down.

  “If Harry is the man who did this, we’re going to get him, Judith,” Jack promised. “We have DNA from your assault and fingerprints from Mr. Milford’s apartment. If they match Harry’s, then he’s going to go to jail for a long time.”

  * * * * *

  10:11 A.M.

  “Think it’s him?” Rose asked her partner as they watched the man in the interview room.

  “I hope it’s him,” Jack replied. “If it’s him, then this is over. No one else is going to get hurt. At least no one is going to get hurt by this guy,” he added wearily.

  Casting her partner a covert glance, Rose was worried about him. Had been for a while now. Everyone who knew him knew that something had changed a few years ago. He’d gone away on a vacation and come back different. But the last few months it had gotten worse. Rose knew that he’d been feeling lonely. Seeing both his brothers with families of their own now was leaving him feeling left out. And yet, no matter how many times she tried to set him up with someone, he always refused. She hoped he took his own advice and opened up to his family and friends and let them in—let them help him with whatever it was that had happened.

  As much as Jack seemingly longed to be in a committed relationship, she, on the other hand, was happily single. She dated casually, sporadically, whenever she felt like it, or when she crossed paths with a guy who was too hot to pass up. However, that was enough for her. She wasn't interested in marriage at this stage in her life. She was only thirty-five and she had spent most of her life caring for her disabled mother. Now, she just wanted to get out there and enjoy life without the weight of responsibility hanging around her neck.

  “So, you ready to go in?” Jack asked.

  “Yep.” Rose had already formed her mental list of questions she wanted to ask. While Jack was always the one to interview victims and witnesses, she was always the one to interview suspects. Her partner was amazing with people who had suffered a trauma. She’d seen plenty of cops conduct interviews, and she herself had done it hundreds of time. None of them seemed to say or do anything differently than what Jack did, but they never seemed to manage to connect in the same way he could. He seemed to be able to get victims to trust him in a way few others could.

  Maybe it was his demeanor. Jack oozed calm, strong confidence. He was a big guy, over six feet tall, well-muscled, good-looking. So good-looking, in fact, that if they weren’t partners and friends, then Rose would have him in bed in an instant. He had bright blue eyes, dimples, and blond hair that he kept cut really short.

  He gave out an air of having everything under control and taking control of every situation, making victims and witnesses feel confident in his hands. He was a little bossy, too. She knew he thought he was only bossy with his younger brothers, but his bossiness often seeped over into other aspects of his life, like work. When they’d first become partners, it used to infuriate her, especially since she was older and had been a cop longer. But these days, she just let it wash over her.

  Getting herself in the zone, she studied Harry Kinkirk through the one-way glass. To look at, he wasn't much. Tall and beanpole thin, he looked young, much younger than his twenty-four years—he could easily still pass as a teenager. His light brown eyes were wide and innocent; his brown hair worn a little too long and shaggy. Both belied the violent temper lurking inside him.

  He hadn’t put up a fight when they’d gone to his apartment. In fact, he had remained cool and collected when they informed him that they needed to speak with him and that they would be conducting their interview at the station. However, the flash of pure rage that had flashed through his eyes at the mention of Judith Barclay had revealed a glimpse of the real Harry Kinkirk.

  Now he was sitting, calm and composed, and waiting for them in an interview room. He had declined to have a lawyer present during questioning, so they were free to start whenever they liked. Rose had elected to make him sit and squirm for a while before they began. Although Harry didn’t look like he’d been doing much squirming.

  She stepped into the room. “Good morning, Mr. Kinkirk; sorry to keep you waiting.” Rose kept her voice just shy of insincere.

  “No problem.” Harry smiled congenially, with a small tilt of one eyebrow to indicate he knew perfectly well they had kept him waiting so long on purpose.

  “Thanks for agreeing to come down here and answer some questions,” she continued, taking a seat at the table and arranging her papers into a neat pile.

  “Didn’t seem like I had a choice,” Harry shot back. “You said this had something to do with Judith?”

  “Judith was attacked in her home last night,” Rose told him.

  “Yeah, so?” Harry looked bored, but the hint of anger was back in his eyes. He clearly still had unresolved anger issues regarding his ex.

  “She was raped,” Rose added.

  “Yeah, so?”

  “So, she told us an interesting story about you.”

  The lid broke off the bottle of his emotions and fury came bubbling out. “She’s a liar,” he growled. “Whatever she told you is just lies.”

  “And what is it exactly that you think she told us?”

  “That several months back I tried to force her to have sex.” Harry’s features had contorted from schoolboy innocent to pure evil.

  “You didn’t try to force her to have sex?” Rose asked, raising a disbelieving eyebrow.

  “No, I didn’t,” Harry spat out. “She was a tease. I knew her reputation. She slept with anyone, everyone. Then she decides to go all prude-like virgin on me? Uh-uh, I wasn't having none of that. She was playing games. She wanted it. I know she did.”

  “You hit her.”

  He shrugged disinterestedly. “I may have had a few too many drinks that night. I didn’t like her playing games. I was only with her because I'd heard how good she was in bed. I put in my time. Dated her for a few weeks. Took her out to fancy restaurants, bought her flowers, made nice with her friends. I did my part; she was the one that wouldn’t put out for what she owed me. That made me mad.” He turned to Jack as though she wasn't getting it simply because she was a woman. “You know what I'm saying, right? Some girls, you do everything for them and then they hold back. It’s not right. They shouldn’t be allowed to play games and get away with it.”

  The glare Jack shot Harry’s way was so cold, the young man actually shivered.

  “She shouldn’t be a tease,” Harry repeated sullenly.

  “So, you went back last night to collect what you believed she owed you,” Rose continued. “You broke into her apartment and raped her.”

  “No. I didn’t,” Harry protested.

  “Oh, come on, Harry.” Rose gave him a disappointed frown. “You were angry that she wouldn’t have sex with you. You tried to rape her once before, only you got interrupted. This time, Judith wasn't so lucky. This time there was no one to save her.”

  “I didn’t rape Judith.” Harry’s face went dark with anger as he over enunci
ated each word.

  “Of course, you did. You got your revenge on her last night, and the night before that, you got your revenge on Tarek Milford for stopping your first rape attempt.”

  “No, I did—wait,” Harry looked confused. “Who’s Tarek Milford?”

  “He’s Judith's downstairs neighbor. He’s the man who stopped you that night. You were angry with him. Wanted revenge on him too. So, you killed him.”

  His face paled. “I didn’t kill anyone.”

  “Yes, you did,” Rose persisted. “You raped Judith and you killed Tarek Milford because you were angry with them.”

  “Really, I swear I didn’t.” All traces of anger were gone from his face and voice, replaced by fear. “I didn’t rape Judith and I didn’t kill anybody. Look, maybe I would have forced her to have sex that night. But I really thought she wanted to. I thought she was just playing games. Playing hard to get or something. It made me mad. But I swear I didn’t go to her place last night and I certainly didn’t kill anybody. Besides, I couldn’t have done it. I have an alibi.”

  “An alibi?” Rose raised a skeptical brow.

  “Yeah, an alibi. I have a new girl. Unlike Judith, she is totally into me in every way. We were together last night. All night. She didn’t leave until like seven or eight this morning.”

  “We’re going to need to confirm that with her,” Rose informed him.

  “I got no problem with that. How many times do I have to tell you that I didn’t do anything to Judith or that man? I didn’t rape anybody. I didn’t kill anybody. I didn’t do anything,” Harry all but shouted at them.

  She was beginning to doubt that Harry Kinkirk was their rapist and killer. He had been upfront about the night he had first assaulted Judith Barclay and yet he was vehemently denying raping her and killing her neighbor. “Then prove it to us. Give us a DNA sample and your fingerprints so we can compare them to what we found at the crime scenes.”

  His brow furrowed as though they were trying to trick him. “I’ve been to Judith’s apartment tons of times. I'm sure my fingerprints are going to be there. My DNA, too.”

  “But your fingerprints won’t be on the tape that was put over Judith's mouth. And your DNA won't have been found inside her,” Rose reminded him. “And you said that you didn’t know Tarek Milford was the man who stopped you from attacking Judith, so your fingerprints shouldn’t turn up in his apartment.”

  “Sure, fine, whatever. You can take my fingerprints and my DNA,” Harry agreed.

  “You're awfully adamant that you didn’t commit these crimes,” Jack spoke up. “But did you get a friend to do it instead?”

  “Why would I do that?” Harry threw him an irritated glare.

  “Maybe you knew that Judith would talk, tell us all about the first time you tried to sexually assault her and implicate you as her attacker. So, maybe you thought it would be safer to get a friend to do your dirty work for you. Then you get your revenge but you won't go down for the crimes.”

  “Why would I go to all that trouble?”

  “Who knows?” Jack shrugged. “Who knows why criminals do the things they do.”

  “Well I'm not a criminal,” Harry retorted sulkily.

  He arched a blond brow. “You beat up a woman and tried to rape her; that makes you a criminal in my books,” Jack replied frostily.

  “Let me say it again.” Harry was looking frustrated now. “I did not rape Judith. I did not kill Tarek Milford. I did not ask a friend to rape Judith. I did not ask a friend to kill Tarek Milford. I don’t even know anyone who would rape or murder someone just because I asked them to. Is that clear enough for you?”

  A glance at Jack confirmed her partner agreed with her; Harry Kinkirk was not their guy. “Okay,” Rose nodded slowly, “Let’s say we believe you, which we won't until we get your fingerprints and DNA sample and find they’re not a match to what we have,” she warned. “If you're not the guy we’re looking for, do you know anyone who might want to hurt Judith?”

  “No, I mean yes, or maybe, I don’t know.” Harry looked confused and overwhelmed now. “I guess not, but I told you she slept around a lot, she had a reputation. That’s the only reason I was dating her. Maybe someone didn’t like her giving it up to so many guys.”

  “So, that’s a no, you can't think of anyone who would want to hurt her?” Rose confirmed dryly. She was getting tired of Harry’s attitude.

  “I suppose it’s a no,” he somewhat reluctantly agreed.

  “No one hanging around her, paying her an inordinate amount of attention, following her, sending her email or texts or calling her?” Rose prodded.

  “Not that I know of.”

  Rose suppressed a sigh. They were back to square one. Harry Kinkirk didn’t rape Judith Barclay or murder Tarek Milford. Forensics would confirm it, but she already knew it wasn't him. So, they were right back where they started. And they didn’t even know if the two cases were related.

  * * * * *

  6:00 P.M.

  Jack’s eyes were tired. Too many hours reading files and staring at a computer screen.

  At least they’d made good progress today.

  Well, maybe not good progress.

  Really, they hadn’t made any progress at all. But they had managed to clear almost all of Tarek Milford’s old parolees. In the three years since he had retired, most of his old cases had either died or were back in prison. A few had managed to fix up their lives. And some were in between prison stints. So far, none of them seemed to be panning out as a viable suspect in Tarek Milford’s murder.

  They had also gone back and spoken to Jordanna Milford again. She had been calmer, and getting information out of her had been easier. She had been adamant that there were no crazy ex-girlfriends; in fact, she had said that there were no exes at all. Apparently, Tarek hadn’t dated anyone since his wife had died nearly seventeen years ago. Jack wasn't quite sure that was true, but a search of Tarek’ apartment hadn’t turned up any evidence of any old girlfriends.

  Which meant they might be looking at something random.

  And that was worrying.

  Anyone who would randomly kill a stranger wasn't going to stop. He was going to keep killing.

  A serial killer was the last thing Jack wanted to be dealing with right now.

  “All right, Frankie, you start,” Lieutenant Belinda Jersey announced, turning her dark brown eyes to the medical examiner.

  Frankie nodded. “Like I already told Rose and Jack, cause of death was exsanguination from a single knife wound to the heart.”

  “Seems personal,” Belinda observed.

  “We were thinking that,” Jack told his boss. “Only, as far as we know, there are no jealous exes, and the guy was in an accident several months ago—he never physically recovered and became depressed.”

  Belinda nodded once, then reverted her attention to Frankie.

  “No defensive wounds anywhere on his body,” the ME continued. “In fact, the only wound was the one to his heart.”

  “Might have gotten him by surprise,” Rose suggested.

  “Or threatened him,” Belinda added.

  “Or maybe he was depressed and ready to die and he just didn’t put up a fight,” Jack put forward. From Tarek’s daughter’s account of her father’s mental well-being since his accident, Jack wouldn’t have been surprised at all if the man had simply quietly accepted his fate and not fought back when he came face-to-face with his killer.

  “Maybe,” Belinda acknowledged. “Stephanie, forensics?”

  “As you know, we got great fingerprints from the stars on the ceiling of the Milford apartment,” the crime scene tech began. “So far, I haven’t gotten any hits in AFIS.”

  “What about the DNA and fingerprints from the Barclay scene?” Belinda demanded.

  “Same,” Stephanie replied. “No hits in AFIS or CODIS.”

  “Didn’t we have a suspect?” Belinda directed this question to Jack and Rose.

  “We did, but we cut him loose
,” Rose explained. “He had an alibi that checked out for last night.”

  “Any alibi for the night of the Milford murder?” Belinda asked.

  “Yep,” Jack nodded. “He has a new girlfriend. They spend a lot of time together. Are we still working the two crimes as related, just because they happened at the same building?”

  “Your crimes are related,” Stephanie inserted. “I ran the prints from the stars at the Milford apartment with the print from the duct tape from the Barclay apartment and they were a match.”

  “And we’re sure it wasn't the Kinkirk kid?” Belinda persisted. “Maybe he faked his alibi. Got his girlfriend to lie for him to get him off the hook?”

  “Nope,” Stephanie answered. “I ran his prints and his DNA against our samples from the crime scenes, and neither were a match. Harry Kinkirk is not your guy.”

  “But the same guy committed both the murder and the rape?” Belinda looked baffled.

  “That’s what the forensics say,” Stephanie reconfirmed.

  Jack hadn’t really expected the forensics to prove that the same person who had killed Tarek had also raped Judith. When they thought it could be Judith’s ex, he had considered it a possibility given how Tarek Milford had played into their relationship. But as soon as they had ruled him out, in Jack’s mind, the two cases had once again separated. “I don’t get what kind of killer starts with murder and then works backward to rape,” Jack pondered aloud.

  “It’s definitely not the norm,” Belinda agreed. “But maybe it’s not about what he does to the victim but the victim themselves. Maybe he reacts to them based on his interaction with them. He sees Judith Barclay somewhere, she’s a pretty young woman, he’s attracted to her, he wants her, so he follows her home and rapes her. He sees Tarek Milford somewhere, perhaps they have an altercation of some kind, he’s angry with him, and decides to kill him.”