Games of Guilt: A Crime Thriller (Hidden Guilt Book 3 of 3)

by Terry Keys

  Chapter 29

  I wanted to start piecing together Caleb’s childhood. I started with his elementary school teachers. I hoped I could find some that were still employed at the schools he’d attended. I’d sent Fingers Caleb’s transcript, and asked him to cross-reference it for teachers still in the school district.

  Fingers, as usual, had gone above and beyond my original request. I’d gotten two elementary, one middle school, and a handful of high school teachers. It seemed like plenty, but there was a huge chance that several of them would pass on talking to me, especially over the phone. I took out my notepad, just in case.

  First on my list was Francis Woods, former third-grade teacher. I had my doubts about how good this exercise of mine would prove to be.

  I let the phone ring and waited for voice mail to pick up. I left her a message and moved on to the next teacher on my list.

  Again, no answer. Lots of people nowadays don’t answer calls from unknown numbers. I got that.

  My next call was to a seventh-grade math teacher, Mrs. Lovelace.

  “Hello?”

  “Good afternoon, ma’am. This is Detective David Porter of the Houston Police Department. I apologize for the intrusion, but I could really use a few minutes of your time.”

  “Who is this again? I don’t believe I know a David Porter.”

  “No, ma’am, I don’t believe you know me. I have—”

  “What’s this about anyway?”

  “I’ll be as brief as I can, ma’am. I am currently in the middle of an investigation, and it led me to one of your former students.”

  “Well, I don’t really know if you are who you say you are. You could be the boogeyman, for all I know, son.”

  “Yes, ma’am, I understand. His name is Caleb DeMornay.”

  The once overly talkative woman had been reduced to silence the instant I said Caleb’s name.

  “Mrs. Lovelace, are you still there? Did you have Caleb as a student?”

  “Of course I remember Caleb. Who are you again? And what are you investigating, exactly?”

  “My name is Detective Porter—David. If it makes you more comfortable, you can call HPD headquarters and verify my name and identity. And you can call me back once you’ve done so. Unfortunately, I’m unable to disclose any details from the case. But I could really use your help answering a few questions.”

  The line went quiet again. I hoped she was considering opening up to me.

  “Okay, so what do you want to know about Caleb?”

  “Thank you. Well, first off, what kind of student was he?”

  “I’ve been teaching for thirty-one years, and I can honestly say I don’t think I’ve ever had a more promising student than Caleb. And I always wondered what would become of him. Just seemed like such a waste.”

  I scratched my head. “You’ll have to excuse me, but I’m not certain I follow. You said he was promising but a waste all the same?”

  “Well, he was both. Caleb was an all-A student and, when he wanted to be, an A-plus student. I graded papers of his where I thought I’d done the calculations myself. He was that brilliant. But he was one of the least driven kids I’ve ever taught as well. And he had a ton of emotional issues. Me and the other teachers talked about it. We never met either of his parents, and phone calls home were never returned.”

  “Phone calls regarding what, exactly?”

  “Just his overall classroom behavior. Some days Caleb would be the life of the class, and others I thought he was going to kill someone. To the point where he really scared me and the other students. But when Caleb decided it was going to be a good day, his brilliance was unmatched. I never could figure out what he was dealing with socially or at home, but whatever it was, it was a far cry from normal. I tried to talk to him on a few of those bad days, but I never could get him to open up.”

  “You’ve kind of already answered my next question, but I’ll ask it anyway. What was Caleb like socially? Did he have a lot of friends?”

  “I wouldn’t label any of the people Caleb talked to as friends. Kids at that age are very unforgiving, and Caleb was too unstable. The kids were probably scared to get too close to him.”

  “Is there anything else you can tell me about him that might be useful?”

  “No, Detective, and I believe I’ve already said too much.”

  I disconnected with Mrs. Lovelace feeling validated with everything that I’d already presumed about Caleb.

  I called the last two teachers on my list, but both calls went straight to voicemail as well.

  Then suddenly my phone was vibrating in my hand. Maybe it was another teacher calling me.

  “Porter speaking.”

  “Detective Porter, this is Mrs. Lovelace again.”

  “Hello, ma’am. Is there something I can help you with?”

  “After we hung up, I thought of one more thing. Caleb wrote a paper, an English paper, when he was in the eighth grade. Year’s after I taught him – teachers talk ya know. He was supposed to be writing a paper on crime—specifically on ways we can improve our justice system. Caleb’s paper was . . . let’s see, how can I put this—”

  “No need to sugarcoat it, Mrs. Lovelace. What did Caleb’s paper say?”

  “Well, his views on aggravated crimes—like rape, primarily—and how we should deal with those types of criminals were . . .”

  She went silent on me. I could tell this was difficult for her to talk about. It still bothered her pretty deeply. I waited.

  “He felt like . . . well, Mr. Porter, like they should all be killed. No jail time—just convicted and then stoned. It was pretty disturbing and vivid. Which is why the content of what he’d written made it around to all the teachers. It was a pretty big to-do. They called him into the principal’s office and everything.”

  “I understand. In fact, I’d find it hard to believe that Caleb was the only student to feel that way.”

  “Oh no, he wasn’t. He just took it a step further.”

  “How so?”

  “I don’t know if I should say, really, over the phone and all.”

  What had Caleb said that caused such an uproar? I had to find a way to get her to tell me.

  “Mrs. Lovelace, this could really help me with the case. I wouldn’t have called you earlier if this hadn’t been of the utmost importance. My job is to protect and serve and keep people safe.”

  “Well, like I said, many students felt domestic violence, armed robberies, muggings, rapes and the likes deserved harsher punishments, including death. So Caleb wasn’t the first to suggest the death sentence, though maybe the first to suggest stoning. It was something else he said that made everyone take note.”

  She had my full attention now. It looked like my decision to call was about to pay off big-time. I was overly eager to hear what she had to say, but I wanted to play it cool here.

  “So, Mrs. Lovelace, in your opinion, what made what Caleb said different?”

  “Well, he gave his opinion on who should carry out these death sentences.”

  I wasn’t sure why that in itself had been so earth shattering. Unless . . .

  “Who, Mrs. Lovelace? Who did Caleb say should carry out the death sentences?” I asked.

  “Himself. Caleb said God told him it would be his job to rid the world of bad men.”

  Chapter 30

  Now I understood why Caleb was able to kill with no regard for the lives lost or the potential consequences. I didn’t always get that level of clarity when dealing with killers. And sometimes it came in roundabout ways, or I made educated guesses. Not the case here. Caleb had been coerced into believing he was destined to be a vigilante. Everything that’d happened with his mom, Stacy, just reinforced what he’d been taught—which, in turn, solidified Caleb’s belief that what he was doing was the right thing, despite how wrong it really was. Children are impressionable to a fault, and this kid never had a chance. He was doomed from birth. We all have obstacles to overcome, but this one just see
med completely unfair. Or maybe I was rationalizing so much because Caleb was flesh and blood. I couldn’t be sure. But I decided right then and there that I wanted—no, I needed—to bring Caleb in safely.

  I called DeLuca and filled her in on what I’d learned about Caleb and the latest on Lafitte. As my truck came to a stop I was in front of the diner my friends Joe and Judy owned.

  I walked in and my usual spot was open. My friends spotted me straight off and came over to greet me. I loved seeing these two but didn’t look forward to fielding fifty questions from Judy today.

  Judy put her hands on her hips. “You look. . . hmm. . . how can I put this nicely? Well, to be frank, you look like shit, David.”

  I laughed. Maybe coming here was a good idea. Laughing was good for me right now. Judy wasn’t the swearing type, which made it even funnier. It also meant that I really looked like shit. She was also never short on words-which meant she was going to give it to me straight.

  “Been a rough few days, Judy.”

  She laughed too. “Looking like shit funny to you?” She asked managing a grin.

  “A little, yes.”

  I shrugged off my jacket and took a seat. It was overcast and slightly darker outside than usual for this time of day. The weathermen from all the local news stations had predicted the possibility of snow here in Houston on Christmas Day. Snow anytime in Houston was a rarity—even more so on Christmas Day. I couldn’t imagine not spending Christmas with my girls. Hugging my wife and watching my daughters open gifts was special for me. I was deeply troubled by the possibility of it.

  I finished my meal in relative peace. Even had a piece of sweet potato pie, which was one of my favorites. I couldn’t figure out why, but Judy didn’t go through her Rolodex of questions. Oddly enough, it made me feel strange that she hadn’t. Sometimes even things that bug us are needed for a sense of normalcy.

  I felt a tap on my shoulder and whirled around to see who it was.

  “Excuse me, sir. May I join you?”

  Much to my surprise—which maybe it shouldn’t have been—Tess stood there, a bright-white smile on her face.

  I frowned, stuttering as I tried to speak, which never happened to me. “Uhh. . . I guess,” I said, pointing at the chair across from me.

  What in the hell is this about? I wondered.

  “You don’t look happy to see me,” Tess said.

  I folded my arms across my chest. “Well, it’s kind of strange, Tess, and borderline inappropriate.”

  “Come on, David. I’m not going to rip your clothes off. Calm down. I just wanted to talk. Can’t two old friends talk?”

  Tess had become quite the manipulator as we’d grown into adulthood. She always had an angle, and I didn’t trust her. She’d never done anything to me personally, but I knew the type nonetheless.

  “How did you even know I’d be here? I didn’t even know I’d be here. You following me?”

  Just then Judy walked up, hands back on her hips. “Well, hell, she’s been here a dozen times over the last two weeks. She was bound to run into you sooner or later,” she said, rolling her eyes.

  Tess aimed her gaze at Judy. “Maybe I like the food here. This is a restaurant, isn’t it? Anyway, you should be happy that you have another customer in this—”

  I reached across the table and touched Tess’s arm. “No.”

  Judy set another cup of coffee in front of me and marched off in a huff, rolling her eyes in the process.

  “That true, Tess? You been coming here waiting on me? Really? What’s this about?”

  A wry smile formed on her face. “I heard you liked coming here. Figured I’d run into you eventually.

  Like I said, I just wanted to talk. Seeing you the other day . . . I don’t know . . . it felt good.”

  I smiled.

  “What’s so funny?” Tess asked.

  “An attractive woman has been stalking me. That’s pretty damn funny, Tess. Other than conversation, I’m afraid I don’t have much to offer. You know I’m married. I’d never do anything to hurt Miranda.”

  “Miranda. Miranda. Miranda. What’s she got that I don’t have?”

  “Me,” I said with a grin.

  “Hahaha. Well, you got that one right, detective.”

  “I’m pretty good at my job.” I winked at her; I shouldn’t have.

  We talked for another fifteen minutes, catching up on life since we’d been a couple all those years ago. I was easily reminded why I’d fallen for Tess to begin with. She spent most of her time talking about her twelve-year-old son. It gave us a good conversation piece that helped stave off the awkwardness. Everyone liked talking about their kids.

  “I should go,” Tess said.

  “Yeah, I’ve got to get back to the office. I got a few killers I’m trying to catch.”

  “Heard a rumor that one of them is a relative of yours.”

  “Yes, it’s true. How in the hell did you know Caleb is—”

  She put a finger on my lips. “I’m pretty good at my job too, darling.”

  I spied Judy across the room, gawking at us, a look of displeasure on her face. I left enough money on the table to cover the check, stood up, and put my jacket back on. I waived to Judy and Tess and I headed for the exit. I hadn’t thought about it until now but Tess hadn’t ordered anything to eat or drink.

  As I escorted Tess to her car, her mood seemed to change, like she’d suddenly been reminded of something.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked.

  “It’s stupid.”

  “What’s stupid?”

  “I just wish things would have ended differently with us. You’re a great guy, and Miranda is a lucky girl. I’m not certain I’d find another David Porter if I searched for a million years. Just makes me sad that I let you get away.”

  “Tess, there’s gotta be some other good guys out there. You’ll find your Mr. Right one day.”

  “I’m glad you’re optimistic. I’m not so certain. Hugs?” She stretched her arms toward me.

  I hesitated. I didn’t want to do anything with Tess that could be misconstrued as inappropriate.

  “Just asking for a hug,” she said, a sad puppy dog look on her face.

  Slowly, I reached over and hugged her. I’m such a sucker. After a few seconds, when I thought the hug should have ended, she placed her head on my shoulders. What in the hell is she trying to do here?

  I backed away. Thanks to Miranda’s kidnapping, I knew firsthand what it felt like to be alone. On that level, I did empathize with Tess. But that was about the only thing I felt toward her.

  We climbed into our vehicles, and I headed back to the office to meet with DeLuca.

  I still couldn’t put my finger on why Tess had stalked me. And why now? What could have changed in the last few weeks that she would all of a sudden reach out to me? The whole thing was odd, but I had way more important things to do than waste my time and energy on an old girlfriend.

  Chapter 31

  Caleb looked down to see if the heater in the car would go any higher. He sat watching, waiting for any sign of her. He slouched down in the seat so as not to be too noticeable, but not so much that he looked out of place. He couldn’t really put a finger on it, but he hated the upper class, as they called themselves. He found most of them to be spoiled, pampered jerks that were out of touch with reality. From what he could tell, she was no different.

  Caleb had talked Marci out of wanting to kidnap Miranda’s mother, but now they had a new target. One that would hit Porter right in the heart. He’d been sitting in front of the Bellaire estate for half an hour now with no sign of her. What the hell was she doing? He thought. Why was she late today? She was never late.

  As he waited, he wondered why the hell anyone needed a house that goddamn big anyway. Especially a single mother of one with no boyfriend.

  The thin jacket he’d grabbed before leaving had definitely been a poor choice. There was no sun today. Caleb rubbed his hands together to warm them.


  Just then, the front door opened and she stepped outside, locking the door behind her before skipping down the steps and sliding behind the wheel of her BMW. He watched as she backed out of the driveway. She was a beautiful woman, but she had to die. It was her turn. She’d picked the wrong person to be friends with. But why didn’t she have the kid? She did the same thing every day—dropped the kid off at daycare and then went to the station. Why in the hell was she changing up her routine today? And where in the hell was the kid? He was the insurance policy.

  Caleb followed cautiously about four car lengths back, determined not to spook her. Other than the kid, everything else was going as it should. She took the same path down Interstate 45 and then onto 610. As he watched traffic bog down ahead of them, Caleb move up two car lengths to avoid getting lost in the shuffle.

  He sent Marci a text.

  No kid today not sure what’s up with that. Still heading toward work though.

  Twenty minutes later, she turned into the news station’s parking garage. She went up ten floors before finding a parking spot. Caleb parked too. He’d watched her for several days now, so he knew what she’d do next: finish applying her makeup, turn the car off, step out and shut the door, open the passenger-side door and get out her laptop and camera, lock up and head for the elevator. That’s when he planned to make his move.

  He sent Marci a text which let her know it was time to set the videos in the parking garage on a continuous loop for the next five to ten minutes. Or whenever he gave her the green light to turn the loop off.

  He reached into the backseat and grabbed the kitchen towel that had been doused with chloroform. He opened his door and climbed out, leaving the door just barely ajar. He looked around to make sure no one else was in sight.

  As she bent over to retrieve her belongings from the backseat, Caleb slipped the towel over her nose and mouth. She struggled for a good three seconds, her arms flailing. She reached back and grabbed at him, scratching his ear in the process, before falling limp against the leather seat. Caleb dragged her to his car, dumped her into the trunk, and slipped out of the parking garage unnoticed.