by Ana Valen
“What do you mean?”
“Somebody really wanted him dead. He was shot over and over.”
“Really? When I spoke with the detectives, they floated a robbery idea.”
“They told me the same thing. But they also said that Jessie’s death differed from most robberies. There were elements that hinted at a targeted killing.”
“Jeez. You think there’s any truth to that?”
“I don’t know. But maybe. Jessie was wealthy after all.”
Susan looked away and clenched her jaw.
“What?”
Susan refocused. “When the detectives were here, they also mentioned that—that someone might have killed Jessie for money. Well, one of them mentioned this.”
“Let me guess. The female?”
“Yeah. She was really getting on my nerves. She made it seem like I was involved because I wanted Jessie’s inheritance.”
“I’m not taking her side, but look at this from her perspective. Jessie receiving a large amount of money, then getting killed…”
“I get that. But her insinuating that I was involved really pissed me off. I loved Jessie to death. Wait. Horrible choice of words.”
Claire smiled and took another drink.
“But yeah,” Susan continued, “the female detective kept pushing that angle. It made me so mad. Jessie was everything to me. And I was everything to him. We had all sorts of plans, including having a family. And I’m sure you know that…”
“That you’re pregnant? I know.”
Susan reddened slightly. “By the way, that was an accident.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. Sometimes when we were making love, we would get carried away and forget our preventive measures.”
“I see.” Claire took another drink.
“But I’m still happy about the pregnancy. It means I still have a part of Jessie. It just sucks that our child will grow up without him.”
“You never considered taking care of it?”
Susan furrowed her brow. “Of course not. I would never do something like that.”
“I didn’t mean anything by it. And if you did, I wouldn’t judge you. In fact, I figured you would want a clean separation.”
Susan shook her head. “No. I’m not destroying the last part of Jessie. I don’t even care that this is bad for me.”
“What makes you say that?”
“Stress. Whenever something reminds me of Jessie, I get these intense bouts of stress. And his baby is a serious reminder. In addition to this, I still have his clothes, his personal items—everything.” Susan looked down. “Even my bed still has his scent. And while I love breathing him in, it reminds me that he’s gone.” She wiped at her eyes. She then grimaced and reached for her stomach.
“You okay?” Claire asked.
“I’m fine. And this is what I’m talking about.”
“You should see a doctor. Maybe your stress is affecting the baby.”
“My doctor said the baby was okay. He also said I need to take it easy.”
“With all of these reminders, how can you?”
“I know. I should get rid of Jessie’s things. Or at the very least, I should move his stuff into the garage.”
“That’s a good idea.” Claire finished her tea. “I’m sorry. Do you mind if I use the restroom? This tea went straight through me.”
“That’s fine. Do you remember where it is?”
“Yeah.”
Claire set her glass on the coffee table, rose, and started for the hallway. Before entering, she glanced back towards Susan. Susan continued sitting there, her face tensed while she pressed around her midsection. Claire knew the feeling.
She continued into the hallway and walked past the bathroom. After quietly heading upstairs, she eased along the second story carpet.
She searched for places to hide the second motion sensor. She stopped scanning after spotting a wall-mounted picture. That would work. She approached the picture, pulled the device, and balanced it on top. She then entered Susan’s bedroom.
She walked to the dresser on the left side of the bed. That was Jessie’s side. She opened the top drawer, pushed aside some miscellaneous items, and grabbed the spare set of keys. With these keys, Harlan could get inside later tonight.
She closed the drawer, walked to Susan’s computer, and woke the screen. After opening an Internet browser, she got to work. A minute later, she closed the browser, hustled into the upstairs bathroom, and flushed the toilet. She also washed her hands, thereby keeping up the charade. All done, she came downstairs.
“You used the upstairs bathroom?” Susan asked, back in the kitchen and washing the glasses.
“Yeah. I’m more familiar with that one. Well,” Claire continued, “I should get going.”
“No problem.” Susan grabbed a towel and dried her hands. “And thanks for stopping by. I can’t stand being alone for too long.”
“Of course. And if you ever want more company, just give me a buzz.”
Susan smiled. “Thanks.” She approached for another hug.
Claire again embraced her. Like before, Susan’s Goddamn perfume filled her nose.
After letting go, they walked to the door. Susan opened the door, and Claire went on her way.
***
Claire knocked on Harlan’s apartment door. A moment later, he opened up and stepped aside. She didn’t enter. She stood there looking at him.
Harlan wore black pants, black boots, and a black hooded sweatshirt with the cover pulled over. This is what he wore on the night they met. The only difference was his black shawl. It was down around his neck, not covering his face. This was the real Harlan.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“Nothing.” She shook off her unease and entered.
Harlan closed the door, locked it, and turned back.
“So,” she continued, remaining in the entry area, “did you receive the video footage?”
“Yeah. I saw everything. That includes where you placed the motion sensors. Those locations will work.”
“Do you think she’ll see them?”
“I doubt it. People usually don’t notice things unless they’re actively looking for them. And besides, I’ll grab the units before I leave.”
“Okay. Was there anything else?”
“What about the keys you took from the upstairs bedroom?”
“Right. Sorry.” She pulled the keys from her jacket and handed them over. “By the way, did you also see the computer upstairs?”
“Yeah. But I didn’t see what you did on there. Your wrist was turned from the screen.”
“I checked her Internet search history. But I didn’t learn anything useful. Still, I think we should take a closer look.”
“I agree. That’s why I’m taking a computer imager.”
“A what?”
“A computer imager. It’s a device for copying computers. After I make a duplicate, I’ll bring back the files and go over everything.”
“Good. That’s perfect. And good luck tonight.”
He nodded without responding.
She smiled and turned towards the door. With Harlan in work mode, she shouldn’t stick around.
Chapter 16
Harlan drove north towards Susan’s Brentwood home. After turning onto Montana, he followed his normal routine—activating his police scanner and observing his operational area.
The observational effort seemed useless. The neighborhood was largely quiet. To the left, two-story dwellings lined the street. To the right, a country club lay silent and dark. Plus, the police scanner barely chirped. He expected that in this neighborhood. Nevertheless, he made a couple of passes, just to be sure. With nothing noteworthy spotted, he parked across the street from her house.
He shut off the engine and slunk in his seat. After lifting his wrist, he checked his analogue watch. The luminescent dials read 8:30pm. He would wait one hour. By then, he should get a feel for the home. That was especia
lly true with the aid of his equipment.
He opened the armrest compartment, pulled a set of wireless headphones, and slipped the earbuds into place. He then retrieved his cellphone and brought up the motion sensor app. With the app activated, he continued observing the home. Minutes later, the earbuds beep-beep-beeped.
The beeps were high-pitched, meaning they came from the upstairs sensor. Correspondingly, Susan passed by an upstairs window. A few minutes later, a series of lower-pitched beeps sounded. That was the downstairs sensor.
After some thirty minutes, Susan’s activities materialized. She was getting some work done. Specifically, she was moving between the upstairs and downstairs, and doing so every ten minutes. That was good to know. Now he could time his movements. Might as well get started.
He pulled a pair of black gloves from his sweatshirt. After slipping them on, he went into his glovebox and grabbed his pistol. With a round chambered, he retrieved the pistol’s suppressor and screwed it into place. Lastly, he slipped the pistol into his sweatshirt pocket and threw over his hood.
He exited and quietly closed the door. While crossing the street, he glanced around. Nobody was present. He refocused on the house and lifted his shawl up over his nose.
He walked up the driveway and stopped by an outward facing window. While keeping out of sight, he peered inside. A low-pitched boop-boop-boop sounded. Sure enough, Susan eased into view.
Susan was doing work. She had on denim jeans, casual street shoes, and a long-sleeved t-shirt. She also had her hair in a ponytail. She continued past the living room and started up the stairs. According to her movement patterns, she would be up there for ten minutes.
He walked to the front door and pulled the keys. He cautiously opened the door, entered, and just as cautiously locked everything up. He then cut through the living room.
He maneuvered the interior with ease thanks to Claire’s visual intelligence. Upon reaching the far end, he ducked inside a storage room and closed the door, save for a few inches. Eight minutes later, Susan rounded into the living room.
She entered carrying a brown box. She walked to a door, shifted the box onto her hip, and used her free hand to work the knob. After entering what seemed like the garage, the door closed behind her.
Her work duties came into sharper focus. She was moving items from upstairs down into storage. And because she would be in the garage for another ten minutes, he had his window of opportunity.
He cut across the living room, hurried upstairs, and entered Susan’s bedroom. Empty boxes were stacked by the wall, while men’s clothing were scattered on her bed. That must have been what she was moving.
He darted to her computer, reached into his sweatshirt pocket, and pulled the imaging unit. After connecting the device, the program automatically started.
The program would take ten minutes to download everything. This included the hard drive and Internet search history. Susan would likely return before then, so he hid the device behind the computer. Now he needed to hide himself.
He started for the door, but stopped while passing a cabinet. The cabinet held up framed photos, most of them showing Susan and Jessie. These photos had no effect, but one caught his attention—a sonogram of their unborn baby.
He stood there eyeing the image. Something about the developing fetus had him transfixed. But why? It shouldn’t have mattered. Like he always contended—like he unequivocally knew—nothing mattered. Everything was inconsequential data destined for oblivion. So why did the photo stop him in his tracks?
A beep-beep-beep sounded. That was the high-pitched upstairs sensor. This meant that Susan was…
He rapidly scanned the room, searching for hiding places. Seeing the closet, he flew towards it, slid open the door, and slipped inside. He closed the door save for an inch. He then pulled his pistol and thumbed back the hammer. Fuck. That was second time someone snuck up on him. He needed to address these lapses in attention, but not now.
He observed Susan as she entered the room. She walked to the far side, grabbed a box, and placed it on the bed. She started placing items inside, and she shouldn’t be here long. At the rate she was going, she would have the box filled in five minutes. Then she stopped.
Susan was about to place a men’s shirt in the box when she halted. She now stood there staring at the garment. A moment later, she lifted the shirt to her nose and inhaled. With the garment pressed against her face, she shut her eyes and started crying.
Harlan remained in place, his pistol up and ready. He took advantage of the break in the tension to search inside himself. Nothing. He didn’t find a single emotion. Good. Now he could murder Susan without hesitation… if need be.
Susan abruptly lowered the shirt. While grimacing, she reached for her stomach.
What was happening?
He kept observing her. He then glanced at the sonogram and quickly looked back. The baby. It was in trouble.
Susan placed the shirt on her bed and walked to her desk. Shit. His computer equipment was there.
He brought up the pistol and drew a bead on her head. He also moved his free hand towards the door. The moment she spotted the imager, he would fling open the door and fire a bullet into her skull. However, she didn’t go to her computer. She grabbed her cellphone from a dresser, placed a call, and brought the phone to her ear.
“Dr. Feldman,” she said, “it’s Susan Wright. I’m sorry to call you so late, but I keep having these cramps. I know you said the baby was fine, but I’m starting to get worried. If you’re available, please call me back. Again, I’m sorry for how late it is.”
She placed her phone on the dresser and walked back to her bed. He lowered his weapon slightly.
Susan grabbed the same shirt and went to place it inside the box. She stopped once more.
“No,” she whispered. “I’m hanging onto this.”
She turned towards the closet and started walking.
Fuck.
He again readied his weapon. With his gunsights locked on her face, he underwent something foreign—a rapid heartbeat. As his heart thrummed, he glanced at the sonogram, then back to Susan.
Kill her or no? Kill her or no? Kill her or no?
Susan stopped at the closet, reached out, and placed her fingers into the opening. She quickly turned away when her phone started ringing. She hustled to her phone, checked the screen, and rapidly answered.
“Dr. Feldman?” she said. “Yes, yes. I’m sorry for the late call.” She paused. “No, they’re happening more frequently. Probably every half hour.” Another pause. “Yes, I can be at your office tomorrow morning. That’s no problem at all. I very much want to go.” Another pause. “I’ve been trying. I’m trying to decrease my stress. But things are so damn hard. I’m surrounded by reminders of him.” She fought back tears while nodding. “You’re right. You’re absolutely right. Okay. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
She hung up and placed her phone on her dresser. With the shirt still in hand, she looked towards the closet.
She stared intently in this direction. He stared right back. Had she spotted him? Probably. She was looking directly at him. After what seemed like hours, she pivoted away and walked to her bed. She placed the shirt inside the box, moved some other items inside, and closed the lid. With the box full, she picked it up and exited the room.
Harlan let a moment pass to ensure she was gone. All the while, confusion clawed at his mind. What was going on with him? He shook away the question, moved the pistol’s hammer forward, and stowed the weapon.
After emerging from the closet, he went to the computer. He unplugged the imagining unit, likewise stowed this item, and started for the door. While walking, he forced himself not to look at the sonogram. It wasn’t easy.
Outside of the room, he grabbed the sensor from the picture frame. He hustled downstairs, reentered the living room, and grabbed the other sensor as well. With his equipment accounted for, he hurried to the front door, slipped outside, and again locked everything bac
k up.
That was that.
He continued to his car, grateful that the assignment concluded without incident. Or rather, it concluded without detection. An incident undoubtedly occurred… with himself.
What would come of this?
Chapter 17
Raven sat inside her two-bedroom apartment. While planted on her living room couch, she leaned into her laptop that sat atop her coffee table. Standing next to her laptop was her beer bottle.
She had decided to get an early start on her and Adams’ plan—looking into Jessie’s life and seeing if he had betrayed a female. More specifically, they wanted to know if Jessie had betrayed someone so much that they decided to kill him. So far, nothing.
Over the past hour, she had researched Jessie’s high school years, his college years, his work years—everything. During that time, Jessie had met numerous females, but he was on good terms with all of them. This included his romantic partners. In summary, no females had reason to him harm, let alone fire bullets into him.
She grabbed her beer bottle and took the last swig. With the bottle empty, she rose to grab another.
In the kitchen, she placed the empty in the recycler, continued to the refrigerator, and pulled open the door. After grabbing a new bottle, she half-mindedly closed the door.
Who the hell was the shooter? Which female did Jessie piss off so much that they gunned him down? It didn’t seem like there was anyone. Every female loved him.
She grabbed the bottle opener from the counter, moved it into position, and froze. Wait a second.
She tossed the opener back onto the counter, hustled to the fridge, and placed the bottle inside. After hurrying back to her couch, she reseated herself and leaned into her laptop.
Claire. Raven had never accounted for her. And while Claire probably didn’t murder Jessie for money, maybe there was another reason.
Raven went back to researching. She now looked into Claire’s life, including her school years and work years. There wasn’t anything there, so she researched her romantic history.
Claire’s romantic experience was limited. She had some middle school crushes, and one long-term relationship that started in high school. This was with James Reed, who happened to be Jessie’s best friend. That was interesting. Furthermore, James and Jessie worked at the same law firm. Also interesting. But more interesting than anything was that Claire was hospitalized in her mid-twenties.