by Roger Hayden
“I have to inform you that the conversation between us will be recorded.”
“That’s fine,” she said.
He stated the time, date, place, the names of those present. “So, Mrs. Owens. What can you tell me about the Susan Shields murder?”
Victoria felt immediately on the spot and unsure of what to say. She began by taking the letter from her purse and sliding it over to the detective. “I received this in the mail two days ago. It reads like an invitation to my high school reunion, but it’s actually nothing more than a chain letter.” She paused and opened the gift box as Weaver held the letter, studying it.
“The woman who sent it to me is Elizabeth, a friend from high school. She was murdered two weeks ago in her home in Connecticut.”
Weaver’s attention remained on the letter, eyes scrolling every line.
“The next day, someone sent flowers to my work. It wasn’t my husband, but it happened the day after I got this letter. I thought it was weird but didn’t get nervous until I found this box on my doorstep with these pictures a few days later.” She then passed him the cutout images of her high school class. Weaver set the letter to the side and examined the pictures.
“Today someone called me at work and spoke in this weird, hissing voice. A man, I think, his voice disguised. He said that I would see them soon or something like that. I wrote down the phone number and everything, but when I called it right back, it was already disconnected.”
Victoria paused again, waiting for Weaver’s response. He flipped through the pictures and then went back to the letter, seemingly hesitant.
“This is harassment, Detective,” she continued. “Someone is watching me and sending me these things. They know where I work, where I live. They know about my husband and daughter. I don’t think Liz sent me the chain letter. I think her murderer did. Whoever it is, they’re here now, and I think they’re the same people, or person, who killed Susan Shields.”
Weaver looked up and sighed. He then leaned back in his chair with his arms crossed, presumably in thought. “Did you know Mrs. Shields?”
“No,” Victoria said.
“So, she didn’t go to high school with you?”
“I don’t think so. I went to Summerville High in South Carolina. The likelihood that we went to the same school, well… that’s doubtful.”
“We’ll look into it,” he said with a courteous smile. “Is there anything else you can tell us? Any thoughts on who this person might be?”
“I have no idea,” she said, feeling her forehead. “I need this harassment to stop. What can the police do to help? I don’t feel safe in my own home anymore. And it started with that letter.”
Weaver glanced through the photos again, offering no immediate opinion, and then pushed the letter and photos back to Victoria. “Our current profile of Susan Shield’s attacker fits that of a drifter. White male, late thirties to early forties. We’re almost positive that he’s left the area. Might have made it as far as New Brunswick. We’re working with the Canadian authorities to find him.”
“What does that have to do with me?” Victoria asked, pulling her chair forward, anger rising.
“It means that it’s unlikely the two are related, but we’ll certainly look into it,” he said.
Victoria shook her head. “I have to say, Detective. That doesn’t necessarily make me feel any safer.” She paused and pointed at the pictures in front of her. “This is real, and it’s not going to stop. Don’t you understand? Don’t you believe me?” Her distraught tone echoed through the room as Weaver stood up with a sympathetic look. She felt guilty, not telling him about the photos of Todd and the woman, but they were irrelevant, and she couldn’t do it.
Weaver pushed a sheet a paper toward her. “I understand, but we need your help. A list of names would be a good start. Anyone you know who may be capable of this kind of harassment.”
Victoria suddenly held the box up high above her head with both hands. “What about fingerprints? You can test this box, right?” She then lowered it and pulled out the smaller box of chocolates, tossing them on the table. “How about these? A box of chocolates! What more does it take!” She abruptly stopped herself, feeling warm tears on her cheeks.
“I apologize, Detective,” she said as she lowered her head, blonde strands covering her face. “This whole ordeal has been a nightmare.”
He approached her and pulled out a small card, handing it to her. “This is my card. It’s got my personal and work cell on it. Feel free to call me anytime.”
She took his card in her shaky hand and looked at it.
“I want to help, Mrs. Owens. My priority, however, is this murder case. That’s why I’m here. If you’re right, and this person harassing you is connected to this case, I’m certain that we’ll find him. In the meantime, I suggest that you file a statement with the department, along with some names we can investigate.”
“That’s it?” she said, feeling the throes of hopelessness consume her.
“Not at all,” he promised. “If it happens again, call us. Then we’ll go from there.”
Victoria placed both hands on the table and pushed herself up, numb from head to toe. She wiped at her eyes and placed her sunglasses on. “Thanks for your time, Detective.”
She shoved the pictures back into the box, slung her purse straps on her shoulder, and quickly walked past him as he tried to offer reassurances.
“We’ll keep an eye out,” he said, as she approached the door. “I’ll even have a patrol car drive by your house, by the hour if that helps.”
“Thanks,” she said, opening the door and walking out.
As she continued down the hall, she had never felt so alone. The police, it seemed, could do little to protect her, but she also understood that the bits and pieces she had offered didn’t make for a compelling case. The detective could easily have dismissed her as a crazy woman, but didn’t. She moved quickly through the lobby and glanced at the wall clock. Fifteen minutes had passed, and she was no closer to figuring anything out.
She skipped filing a report and stormed through the front doors and out into the parking lot. She needed to make it to Brooke’s school right after class ended, so her daughter would not be alone for a single moment. There was just one last place she needed to go first.
Al’s Gun and Ammo was a small arms dealer in town; the only arms dealer she could find within a fifty-mile radius. She parallel parked along the sidewalk outside the small one-story building, with its garish sign and caged windows. She had never purchased a gun before. The thought had never crossed her mind.
Her father, George, was an avid hunter. Todd, however, never showed interest in firearms. At work, she had learned the necessary requirements to purchase a weapon from Al’s shop, including a valid driver’s license and background check. From there, she hoped to have her gun.
She sat parked in her idling car with her hands gripping the wheel, deeply conflicted. Nervous hesitation held her back. Was a gun necessary? She didn’t even know what kind she’d get, though a brief search through Al’s website gave her a few options. The .38 special snub nose revolver seemed compact and easy enough to use for close range protection. From the description, she thought it was something she could fit in her purse. She shut off her ignition, having made up her mind. She was going in.
The bell atop the door rang as she pushed the door open and made her way inside. There were dozens of racks and shelves with hunting gear, weapon accessories, and more camouflaged backpacks and tents than she could count. The store was empty aside from an older, white-haired man standing behind a glass counter ahead. Behind him hung rifles of all kinds and models, proudly displayed on racks. She passed a glass case of hunting knives, heart pounding, as he looked up at her, adjusting his large glasses.
“Afternoon, Ma’am. Can I help you with anything?”
He wore a plaid long-sleeved shirt tucked into blue jeans, and his kindly grandfather persona put her at ease.
“Yes,” she said rather timidly. “I’d like to purchase a gun.”
The man closed his magazine and slipped it under the counter as she approached. “We can definitely help you out there. What kind of firearm are you looking for?”
Victoria glanced upward at the deer heads on display and couldn’t believe that she was actually walking into a place like this.
“I want a small gun. Like, a revolver,” she said, having now reached the counter, where she rested her purse.
“Got plenty of those too,” he said with a folksy tone and a smile. “Do you currently own any firearms?”
“No,” she said, shaking her head. “This is my first one.”
The man put his hands in his pockets and stretched his back. “Okie-dokie. Let’s see what we can find you.”
“Something small,” she reiterated. “I saw some .38 special revolvers on your website. Something like that. And the ammunition.”
The man nodded and then extended his hand. “Sure. My name’s Walt. Nice to meet you.”
She shook his hand and tried to smile. “Victoria. It’s a pleasure.”
“Okay, Victoria. Thirty-eight it is.” He walked along the counter and stopped at the corner, where a dozen different handguns were displayed under the glass. Somewhere in the middle, Victoria saw the .38 and pointed to it. Its shiny exterior and black handle-grip instantly tantalized her. She felt safer already. “That one,” she said, pressing her index finger against the glass.
He crouched down behind the counter and removed the .38 revolver from the display case. A tag was tied around the grip: the price, $400. Walt stood up, pointing the revolver in the air. “Smith and Wesson five-round, Model four-four-two. A fine pick all around. Light, compact, and easy to use. Excellent for home defense.”
Victoria nodded and then glanced behind her, completely on edge. He must have sensed her nervous apprehension, prompting his next question. “Have you, uh… fired one of these before?”
“No,” she said. “I haven’t shot a gun since I was a teenager. My Dad took me hunting a few times. Never actually hit anything. Never wanted to.”
Walt offered a friendly smile and set the revolver and a plastic carry-case on the glass counter. “I see. Not a problem.” He took the revolver and turned from the counter, extending his arms. “You just aim forward with both hands, arch your back a little, and keep your arms straight. Helps sometimes if you hold it against your chest and then bring your arms out to aim. Lock on your sight and fire.” He paused and turned to her with a nod. “Sound easy enough?”
“Sure. Thank you,” she said.
He turned back to the counter and set the revolver down, scratching at his chest. “I’ll throw in the carry case for free. How many boxes of ammo do you want?”
Victoria thought to herself. “I don’t know. Two?”
“Not a problem,” he said, ducking back behind the counter. He returned with two boxes of fifty rounds each. “So, let’s get your account set up, get you a background check, and once that’s cleared, you’ll be good to go.”
She felt relieved at the prospect of leaving with the gun and not having to wait or come back. He then produced a clipboard thick with paperwork and handed it to her with a pen. “Just fill this out and give me twenty minutes to process it, plus the fee, and we’ll get you out of here.”
Victoria glanced at the wall clock behind him. It was already 2:30. She’d never make it to Brooke’s school by three. “Thank you,” she said, examining the documents and making a decision. She had come too far, and she wasn’t leaving without a gun in her hand.
Victoria called Brooke the moment she left Al’s Gun and Ammo, five minutes to three. A black plastic bag rested in the back seat with a plastic case inside, two boxes of ammo, and her receipt.
“Brooke, it’s Mom. Pick up,” she said after the call went to voicemail. She drove erratically and frequently switched lanes through the busy downtown district in search for backroads that would get her to Clearwater Middle School faster. “I want you to wait for me like we discussed. Do not take the bus, understand? It’s very important.” She paused, slamming on her brakes as a minivan cut in front of her, which slowed as an upcoming traffic light turned red. “Just call or text back and let me know that you’ve gotten my message. Love you, bye.”
She slammed her steering wheel with both hands as traffic came to a halt and shouted, “Damn it!” She slipped her way into the left lane, amidst the honking of a truck she’d cut off, and proceeded to turn at the light, passing the public library, the school not more than five minutes away. She only hoped that Brooke would listen to her.
Her phone rang, much to her relief. “Brooke, did you get my message?” she said immediately after picking up.
Brooke, however, sounded decidedly less panicked. “Yeah, I got it. Mom, what’s wrong? Why do you sound so weird?”
“Nothing, honey. I just want to pick you up from school, okay? Do not ride the bus.”
“I didn’t. It already left. I’m standing at the pick-up lot waiting for you.”
“Good,” Victoria said, taking a deep breath. “I’ll be there in a couple of minutes.”
“Okay, Mom,” Brooke said.
She hung up as Victoria took a sharp right turn and passed a small plaza on the corner. Her relief at catching Brooke in time subsided the moment she thought of Todd. They couldn’t keep it from her much longer. One day without seeing her father was questionable, but two days would demand an answer. And what of the stalker? Victoria couldn’t race home before three to pick up Brooke every day. Something would have to give.
Ahead, the school came into view with its high chain-link fence, brick buildings, and teal-colored rooftops. Victoria pulled into the parent pick-up loop to where the children waited under a pavilion, backpacks on their shoulders, sitting on benches and scrolling on their cell phones. As she pulled up, she saw Brooke standing against a pole on the edge of the sidewalk, head down and typing on her phone.
Need to confiscate that thing, she thought, lest Todd gets a hold of her. She feared he had already done so. Brooke nodded as she pulled up, opened the passenger-side door, tossed her backpack inside, and then sat down heavily. She stared ahead through her sunglasses and didn’t say a word as Victoria drove on and thanked her for waiting.
The drive home was mostly silent until Brooke flung her head in Victoria’s direction with her ponytail whipping to the side. “Are you going to tell me what’s wrong now?”
“There’s nothing wrong,” Victoria said in her most assuring tone. “I got out of work a bit early and wanted to pick you up.”
“Mm hmm,” Brooke said. She then moved her backpack from the floor and placed it in the back seat, glancing at the black plastic bag. “What’s that?”
“Just some stuff I picked up at the store.”
“Al’s Gun and Ammo?” she asked, reading the bag. “Did you buy a gun?”
“That’s none of your concern,” Victoria said.
“You did, didn’t you?” Brooke said. “Does Dad know?”
“Brooke Julianne,” she said in a stern tone. “Enough.”
“Gosh!” Brooke said, bring her hands down. “What is going on with you?”
“Did your father call you today?” Victoria asked.
Brooke glanced at her with large, inquisitive eyes. “No. Why?”
“Just curious. He had to go on a last-minute business trip and won’t be home for the weekend.” She then placed a hand on Brooke’s knee. “It’ll just be the two of us.” Guilty about lying to her about Todd, she said, “We can start looking for that birthday present if you want.”
“Really?” she said, her face lighting up.
“Certainly,” Victoria said, smiling. She turned onto their street, passing neatly kept homes on both sides, elm trees aligning the road, and neighbors outside in their yards, some waving. She was glad to see their driveway empty and the house seemingly undisturbed, the blinds closed on all the windows, and two empty trashcans
flipped at the end of the driveway. “Are you excited for the weekend?” she asked Brooke.
“Yeah. I’ve got that slumber party on Saturday. Remember?”
“I do. Just let me know what time you need to be dropped off,” she said, pulling into the driveway. She parked inches from the garage door as Brooke quickly reached for her backpack and got out of the car, engine still running. Veronica switched off the ignition with her eyes on the front porch, scanning for anything out of the ordinary. She saw no package or anything else left for her, and for a moment, everything seemed normal.
Once inside, Veronica turned down the air conditioning and made her way to the kitchen just as Brooke ran off to her room. She flipped the light and set her purse on the counter, then the black plastic bag. She looked around and next pulled out the plastic carry case, opening it to see the revolver. She set the gun down and opened the first box of shiny brass ammo. The rounds looked tiny but lethal, her earlier fear and vulnerability all but vanquished by her new purchase.
She took the revolver and opened the cylinder, just as Walt had instructed her, and meticulously loaded a round in each chamber. She closed the cylinder and held the revolver tight, scanning the kitchen in thought. Her eyes suddenly stopped at the table in the corner, where a letter had been placed atop the red tablecloth.
She lowered the revolver and slowly approached the table, a cold chill running down her back. Not another letter, she thought. Anything but another letter. She dashed toward the table and instantly recognized the handwriting, her hand shaking as she picked it up. She felt overcome by a feeling of relief, which was quickly replaced by resentment. The letter was from Todd. It began with her name at the top. Todd’s handwriting, but more careful than usual, written in an elegant cursive fashion she didn’t know he was capable of.
Victoria,
I understand that I’ve done an awful thing and very well may have destroyed our marriage and our family for good. I take full responsibility for my actions. I was weak, and I was wrong. It was not my intent to hurt you, but that is no excuse. I’m sending you this letter to let you know that I’ll be out of town for a few days and will not bother you.