One (Count to Ten Book 1)

by Jane Blythe

  “You think these murders are the guy’s first and that’s why he’s not in the system?” Diane asked.

  “It seems hard to believe he could go from nothing to murder overnight,” Billy looked doubtful.

  “I think he knows we’re not going to catch him through forensics,” Xavier replied.

  “I think when we find out why he’s doing this, we’ll find him,” Kate proposed. “He’s not killing for profit; nothing was stolen from either the Englewood or the Jenner house. I don’t think he’s killing for the thrill of it. He seems to not even want his victims to know they’re about to die, killing them in their sleep. Maybe he’s killing for control, which could be why he always leaves one family member alive. Or maybe,” she paused and cast her partner an anxious glance, “his motives are sexual.”

  Xavier tensed instantly and went completely still, the others joined her in watching him warily. “Were any of the victims raped?” he asked tightly.

  “Katherine and Kathy Englewood weren’t and neither was Callie Jenner,” Billy assured him.

  “Hospital said Nicole Jenner wasn’t either,” Diane added.

  “What about Annabelle?” Xavier demanded fiercely.

  Too fiercely, Kate thought, and worried once again that her partner was falling for Annabelle Englewood. She did not want to see history repeat itself. It was nothing personal against Annabelle; she was sure the girl was a lovely person, as every single friend and colleague they had interviewed had attested. But Xavier was not in a position to be helping anyone deal with trauma right now, and Annabelle was going to need a lot of help to get through her family’s murders. Plus, from Annabelle’s point of view, she was pretty sure that Xavier would be about the last person in the world she would want to help her come to terms with all that had happened, since he had accused her of murder.

  “I don’t know,” Diane replied, then continued quickly, “when she was admitted to the hospital, they thought she had just slaughtered her family then attempted suicide. Under those circumstances, there was no need for a rape kit.”

  Xavier swallowed audibly. “We’ll ask her when we speak with her again, but if Nicole Jenner wasn’t raped, then chances are Annabelle wasn’t either.” Xavier sounded like he was trying to convince himself.

  “All right,” Rob began to summarize so he had things straight in his head, “so method of murder was the same, same post-mortem mutilation…”

  “He used a hacksaw to cut off the hands, but probably just an everyday carving knife to slit their throats and remove the tongue and eyeballs,” Billy inserted. “It was pretty crudely done; this guy didn’t have any medical training.”

  Rob nodded, taking this in, then resumed, “…and he left one family member alive both times. He painted the feet again, Diane?”

  “Yes, paintbrush hairs in the bed and blood pools, same as there were with Annabelle.”

  “Okay,” Rob continued, “but this time he breaks in, he calls it in himself, and he goes crazy and dances in the blood.”

  “And he used tape to cover Nicole’s eyes and mouth,” Diane added. “The hospital said there was irritation in the skin around the mouth, and her eyelashes had been pulled out. He didn’t do that last time; I guess since he didn’t use drugs, she woke up while he was killing the husband.”

  “So far our best bet at finding this guy are Annabelle and Nicole,” Rob stood. “Kate, Xavier—talk to them, try and get them to remember something. Then re-interview friends and family of the Englewoods and interview friends and family of the Jenners, see if anyone matches up. There has to be a link there somewhere.”

  * * * * *

  10:27 A.M.

  She couldn’t take one more second of these people looking at her.

  Annabelle needed to get away. She needed to be someplace where she could be by herself. And here at the hospital that was all but impossible.

  Every time the doctors and nurses came to check on her, they looked at her with such pity that it made her want to scream. She was beginning to wish they just looked at her accusingly again like they had when everyone thought she was a killer. Annabelle wasn’t used to people feeling sorry for her or fussing over her; she had been self-sufficient ever since she was about five. It made her uncomfortable when people paid her too much attention.

  Climbing out of bed, Annabelle didn’t even care that she had no clothes to wear, the hospital pajamas would do till she got home.

  “Annabelle, what are you doing out of bed?”

  Spinning toward the door, her face fell when she saw who was standing there.

  “You shouldn’t be up.” Dr. Daniels came and took her arm, attempting to maneuver her back into the bed.

  She shook him off. “I’m leaving,” she announced a lot more forcefully than she felt. If she could just get out of this hospital, then she was sure she could sort through the tangle of emotions tying themselves into knots inside her.

  “You're not ready to go home yet.” The doctor reclaimed her arm and managed to get her halfway back to the bed.

  “Well, I'm leaving anyway.” Annabelle disengaged herself once more and took a determined step away, hoping that he wouldn’t push her too much; she always caved when someone pressured her.

  “You know you can’t go back to your house,” Dr. Daniels changed track, “it’s still a crime scene.”

  She cringed as she thought of the bloody mess her home must be. The home where she had lived her entire life. She still couldn’t believe that her parents were dead, and her brothers and her baby sister. That she had been left completely and utterly alone. It just didn’t feel real. She kept expecting to wake up at any second.

  While she couldn’t change what had happened by wishing, she could at least give herself space to deal with it. “I need to go,” she didn’t have enough energy to hide the begging from her voice. “I need to get out of here. I’m okay now, my shoulder doesn’t hurt too bad, I can take care of myself…I just need to be away from here,” she finished desperately.

  Dr. Daniels wavered. “I don’t know, Annabelle.” He was studying her with kind blue eyes. “I’d rather you stayed here for another day or two.”

  “Well, I’m not,” she stood her ground defiantly. She was alone now, and she was going to have to learn to stand up for herself. “I’m not asking for your permission. I’ll sign myself out, absolve you of any responsibility if something goes wrong, but I’m leaving whether you like it or not.” She liked Dr. Daniels, he was nice and he’d been very kind to her, but she wasn’t going to let him dictate her life.

  “Well, if you're sure I can't talk you out of it, then okay,” he sighed reluctantly. “But you’ll have to stay in a motel, and I want you to make sure you come back in a week to let me check on your shoulder, and if you have any problems you can call me on this number,” he jotted down a number on a scrap of paper. “Any time, day or night.”

  “Thank you,” Annabelle smiled in relief. She wasn’t sure she would have been able to fight for what she wanted if he had put up even a little more of a fight. Annabelle hated that she always needed people to be happy with her, even if it meant missing out or backing down if she knew she was right.

  “I’ll get you something to wear,” he eyed her thin hospital pajamas. “Wait here.”

  “Thank you,” she called to the doctor’s disappearing back. While she waited, she sat on the bed swinging her dangling legs and keeping her mind carefully empty. She didn’t want to think about things right now, because if she did, she was terribly afraid she would lose control and never be able to get it back.

  “Here you go,” Dr. Daniels appeared in front of her holding out a pair of sweat pants and a t-shirt. “I called you a cab.”

  “Why are you being so nice to me?” she asked. “You don’t even know me and I’m sure you have hundreds of patients to deal with every day. Why are you looking out for me?”

  “Because you’re a nice girl who’s just been through hell,” he answered, his gaze taking on a deadly
serious glint that made her turn away. “Call me when you’ve decided where you’re staying.”

  “Why?”

  “So when those detectives come back looking for you, I can tell them where you are.”

  She was instantly hit by a rocketing wave of rage.

  Right now, Annabelle hated those detectives more than anyone else on the planet. She didn’t remember what had happened the night her family had been murdered and she didn’t know who had hurt her so she couldn’t be angry with that person, whoever he may be. She was angry with her parents and her brothers for leaving her alone again. However, they were gone, so being angry with them didn’t really do any good. But the detectives had been the ones who had told her that her family was gone and then accused her of doing it, so they were an easy target for her anger to hone in on.

  She remembered the last time they had been here, telling her that they had changed their minds and they didn’t think she was a killer anymore, acting like she ought to thank them for this change of heart. They’d asked her to help them like she owed them something, and then they’d implied that someone she knew was capable of killing her family in cold blood. The male detective, she thought his name was Xavier Montague, had promised her that he would find the man who had tried to frame her for her family’s murders, but she didn’t want to find him; she just wanted to pretend that none of this had ever happened.

  “I’ll let you know when I get there,” she answered tightly, taking the clothes from his outstretched hand and slipping into the bathroom. She managed, with some difficulty, to change out of the pajamas and into the outfit Dr. Daniels had scrounged up for her. When she emerged, she was surprised to see that the doctor was still standing in her room.

  “You need money for a cab,” he held out a wad of cash.

  “I can’t take that,” she protested.

  “Of course you can. You didn’t ask; I offered,” he continued to hold out his hand.

  Hesitantly she took it, only because she didn’t have any of her own money or credit cards on her. “I’ll pay you back,” she promised.

  “You don’t have to.”

  “I want to, when I come back to let you check my shoulder,” she countered adamantly.

  “Okay, whatever you want,” he smiled at her shyly.

  She hoped the doctor hadn’t developed a crush on her. The doctor was good-looking; in fact, he was more than good-looking. He was handsome and well built, kind of like a hunky TV doctor. But Annabelle didn’t date. Ever. “Thanks again,” she gave an awkward smile and made a move for the door.

  “Be careful, Annabelle,” Dr. Daniels called out. “Don’t take any chances.”

  Catching something in his voice, she froze. “Has something else happened?”

  “This guy has struck again,” the doctor told her. “Another family killed. This time he left behind the wife.”

  She felt the blood drain from her head in a rush, leaving her brain feeling like it was floating through the clouds. “He did it again?” she repeated faintly.

  “Annabelle,” the doctor began anxiously, “you look pale. I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to…”

  Annabelle never heard the rest of his sentence, because she turned and began to jog towards the exit. A couple of minutes later she burst out of the hospital’s doors and drank in the fresh air, felt the sun on her skin, and saw the deep blue summer sky.

  For a second Annabelle felt like bursting into tears, but she resolutely pushed those feelings away, squared her shoulders, and determinedly faced the world.

  * * * * *

  1:34 P.M.

  “What’re you thinking about?” Kate asked Xavier. Her partner had been uncharacteristically quiet today.

  Xavier shrugged.

  “Let me guess, Annabelle Englewood.”

  Glaring at her with his piercing hazel eyes, “I was thinking about Annabelle as she relates to the case, yes.”

  “Xavier…”

  “We’re here,” her partner cut her off as he pulled the car to a stop outside a modest two-story house.

  The home they’d just arrived at belonged to Lachlan Thompson, Nicole Jenner’s father. Kate wasn’t relishing the prospect of talking to the man who had just lost his son-in-law, his two grandchildren, and almost lost his only daughter.

  “The topic of Annabelle is not closed,” she warned Xavier as they both climbed from the car and walked down the short garden path to the front door.

  Xavier knocked, and as they waited Kate studied the beautiful garden; obviously Lachlan was quite the avid gardener. The place was full of flowers, most of which she had no idea of the names, but she spotted a couple of roses by the front gate. Her husband, David, was the designated yard tender at their house, but this garden was almost inspiring her to go home and plan something special for her own garden.

  “Yes?” The door flew open and a stony face stared back at them.

  “Mr. Thompson?” Kate asked.

  “Yes.”

  “I'm Detective Hannah and this is Detective Montague; we need to talk to you about what happened last night. May we come in?” she added when the man made no move to allow them entry to his home.

  “I'm pretty busy at the moment.”

  Trying not to let her brow crinkle disapprovingly, she knew people dealt with grief in all kinds of ways. “Actually, it’s very important that we speak with you now. The man who killed your son-in-law and grandchildren has already done this once before. We’re hoping that you might be able to help us establish a link between your family and the previous family that might lead us to who this man might be,” she explained patiently.

  He exhaled deeply. “Fine.” Lachlan Thompson stood back to allow them passage into his house.

  The inside of the house, while nicely furnished, was plain. There were no personal touches, no paintings or photos on the walls, no knick-knacks on shelves, no newspapers or magazines lying about, nothing to give any indication of who the person was who lived here. What Kate found most strange, though, was that there was not a single picture of his daughter or grandchildren to be seen. If she hadn’t known better, she would have thought this man was completely alone in the world.

  Reaching the living room, Lachlan sunk sullenly into a well-worn armchair. “Go. Ask your questions.”

  She exchanged a discreet glance with Xavier, who nodded, indicating she should continue with the questioning. “We’re very sorry for your loss,” she began.

  “Well, I'm not,” Lachlan spat venomously.

  Caught by surprise, Kate couldn’t stop her mouth from falling open. “I beg your pardon?”

  “I never liked that Henry Jenner.” His face was dark, his blue eyes cold, and he crossed arms like tree trunks over a chest so muscled his t-shirt barely stretched across it. “And I’m not sorry he’s dead.”

  “He’s not the only one who is dead, sir,” Xavier spoke up, his hazel eyes hot with anger. “So are your daughter’s children.”

  Lachlan shrugged indifferently, “They’re his children, too.”

  “And they were viciously murdered in their own beds,” Kate reminded him. She wanted to add that his daughter was now a widow who had lost her entire family in one night, but she was pretty sure his comeback would be that Nicole was better off without her husband.

  “I said I’d answer your questions,” Lachlan bit back.

  “Have you ever met or heard your daughter mention anyone with the last name Englewood?” Xavier asked.

  “Never heard that name before.”

  “John Englewood is an electrician; do you know if Nicole had any electrical work done at her house recently?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Annabelle Englewood is a teacher; do you know if she’s a teacher at the school your grandchildren attend or attended?”

  “Not a clue.”

  She produced a picture of the Englewood family. “Do you recognize any of these people?” Kate asked.

  He hardly bothered to glance at th
e picture, “I've never seen them before.”

  “You didn’t even look,” Xavier glared.

  Huffing, Lachlan pulled out a pair of glasses, slipped them on, snatched the photo and studied it for a full minute. “I've never seen them before,” he repeated, practically throwing the photo back. “Look, I don’t have much to do with Nicole’s family. We don’t have dinner, we don’t spend Christmas together, and I don’t see them on their birthdays. It’s been close to two years since I last saw that man and his children.”

  “What about Nicole? Do you see your daughter?”

  “We have lunch occasionally.”

  “Can I ask what happened to make you hate your son-in-law so deeply that you're willing to give up being a part of your grandchildren’s lives?” Kate couldn’t imagine anything coming between her and her family. Neither of her parents had been happy when she had announced at age eight that she was going to be a police officer when she grew up, but they had supported her when she turned eighteen and entered the academy. And when her older sister had dropped out of school at sixteen after declaring she was deeply in love with her eighteen-year-old-ex-con-high-school-dropout-boyfriend, and turned her backs on all of them; they had all been thrilled when she had finally returned. Five years later, with two children in tow, Lisa had realized what a mistake she’d made, and returned to her family because she knew they would help her no matter what. Kate hadn’t wanted to settle and start her own family until she’d known that she’d met someone who valued family as much as she did. She knew David was that person.

  “Henry Jenner took my daughter away from me,” Lachlan answered simply. “My wife died when Nicole was four; I raised her myself. She was my daughter, and she should have stayed here with me, and then nothing like this could ever have happened.”

  “But he never laid a hand on her or the children?” Kate asked, feeling completely creeped out by this man, and wondering whether Lachlan had attempted to replace his dead wife with his daughter, and just how far he had gone to do that.