No, he would be smart about this and not open himself up to being identified and apprehended.
Unless she made the mistake of coming inside the apartment. Then he would have no choice.
“Well, I guess you’re busy or not home,” Gail said. “Talk to you later, girl.”
He listened as she walked away.
After waiting several minutes, just to be on the safe side, he opened the door.
The coast was clear.
He stepped outside and was on his way. A self-satisfied grin formed on his lips and he began to contemplate the next unlucky woman whose path would cross his in a deadly way.
* * *
Gail Duvall came back from the store with a bag full of baby food and a pacifier for her six month old. She hoped her boyfriend had stayed put like he was supposed to and watched their son while she was gone, instead of leaving him to the care of her mother, who had been living with them for the last month and a half.
Gail approached the apartment complex. She had hoped that walking to the store would help in her effort to take off some of the extra pounds she’d gained after having the baby. It had been hard, but she wasn’t giving up. Maybe then her boyfriend would find her attractive again.
She decided to drop by Lynda’s place again on the way to her apartment. Not to say that she was worried about her friend. Well, maybe just a little, with those murders happening in The Woods. You had to be extra careful these days.
It was obvious that someone was home when she knocked on Lynda’s door earlier. She could see the shadow. So why wouldn’t Lynda answer? Gail assumed she probably had a man in there. Probably that no good boyfriend of hers. Maybe Lynda decided to give him another chance.
Gail knocked on her friend’s door. She heard nothing.
“Lynda, it’s me, Gail. You in there?”
Again no response, though the light was on in the living room.
Gail knew instinctively that something was wrong. Or maybe she’d just freaked herself out when thinking about that serial killer.
She decided to go in if the door was unlocked. She’d simply stick her head in and make sure no harm had come to her friend.
The door opened with a slight twist of the knob. It took only a moment for Gail to see more than she ever wanted to. Lynda was lying on the floor perfectly still, one leg bent unnaturally away from her body. There were two empty glasses on either side of her, their contents spilled on the carpet.
Lynda Franklin’s mouth was open slightly, but Gail knew that her friend would never talk again.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Detective Cramer had gone home for the day when he got the call that there had been another murder that had all the earmarks of The Woods Strangler. He hated to leave his wife and daughter, but they understood it was part of his job and personal sacrifices were necessary till they got their man.
Cramer approached the apartment complex where the latest victim was found. The media had gotten wind of the homicide and were already swarming over the scene like vultures, but the police were doing a good job to keep them at bay. They huddled around Cramer as he made his way through.
“What can you tell us about this latest murder, Detective?” a female reporter asked.
“Can’t tell you anything I don’t know myself,” he said cynically.
“Why is the killer just going after women in The Woods?” she persisted.
“Hell if I know,” Cramer replied, then decided to speculate. “Maybe he’s got a grudge against them or targets women who are most accessible to him.”
“Then you think he lives in The Woods?” another reporter asked.
“I never said that,” Cramer said. It certainly made sense, but there was no need to start pointing fingers and creating more panic just to appease the media’s insatiable appetite.
A male reporter stuck his microphone in Cramer’s face. “Is this really the work of the so-called Woods Strangler? Maybe it’s a copycat killer. Or a domestic homicide—”
Cramer was getting irritated. He pushed the mic aside. “Like I said, I can’t draw any conclusions right now. I haven’t even seen the body yet—”
The female reporter tried to keep up with him. “Don’t you think the public wants—demands—more from you than that, Detective?”
Cramer stopped for a moment, glaring at her. “The public wants us to investigate every murder that takes place in this city. And that’s exactly what we’re doing. Now if you’ll excuse me...” He moved past them to the official crime scene perimeter, where the throng was blocked from going any further.
Investigator Rawlings greeted Cramer. The grim look on his face matched Cramer’s mood.
“Gets worse every damn time,” Rawlings muttered irritably, glancing at the media congregated like cattle in a pen.
Cramer sighed. “Yeah, tell me about it.”
“People living here are in shock,” Rawlings said. “Nobody wants to believe it can happen right under their nose. Even though that’s exactly what’s been going on.”
“You don’t have to tell me,” Cramer said. “Give me the rundown.”
“Same old, same old. Pretty young woman—and the second African-American victim of this asshole. She appears to have been strangled, like the others.”
“Got a name yet?”
Rawlings took out his pad. “Yeah. Lynda Franklin.”
“Lynda Franklin.” Cramer repeated like it might somehow bring her back to life. “Where is she?”
“Follow me.”
Rawlings led Cramer inside the apartment where crime scene techs were busy collecting evidence without disturbing the body. The victim was lying in the living room just outside the kitchen. There were two glasses on the carpet, their contents spilled.
“Looks like she had company,” Cramer said. “Someone she knew and invited in.”
“Yeah,” Rawlings agreed. “Either that or he coaxed his way in, got her to go in the kitchen, and then caught her by surprise when she came back.”
“I doubt he was a total stranger,” Cramer said. “Not many women in The Woods are going to be coaxed into letting in a killer, unless it was someone they felt they could trust. This could be the break we’ve been looking for.”
“If it is, I’ll take it.”
“Who discovered the body?”
“A neighbor a couple of doors down. Name’s Gail Duvall,” Rawlings said. “She thinks she might have seen the killer in here...or at least his shadow.”
Cramer scratched his head. “I want a full statement from her,” he ordered. “And get a list of any boyfriends or male friends—one of them could’ve dropped by with a single thing on his mind.”
Rawlings nodded, taking notes.
A female technician came up to them holding a piece of paper in a gloved hand.
“Detective Cramer, here’s something I think you may want to see.”
“What is it?”
“Looks like a newsletter from the meeting at the Community Center,” she said. “Could have been used to get the victim to open her door and let him in.”
Cramer glanced at the newsletter. Had the killer actually been at the meeting? Or was the victim there and brought this home with her?
“Good work,” Cramer told the technician. His mind was already racing. “Let’s see if we can get any prints off that newsletter.”
“Will do.”
Cramer and Rawlings stepped outside just as a team from the coroner’s office arrived to remove the body.
“What do you think?” asked Rawlings. “Is our killer local?”
“Maybe.”
Cramer wanted to keep his options open, even if he was leaning in that direction. He hated to think that someone who was supposed to be on the lookout for the killer was merely playing games with the police and community. But he had to concede that it was beginning to look that way, given the proximate nature of the killings and the perpetrator’s apparent ability to blend in effortlessly and disappear the same way.
>
“I need the names of everyone who was at that meeting tonight,” Cramer said, knowing it would not be easy.
“You think that’s possible?” Rawlings asked.
“Probably not. But there are security cameras on the building and in the parking lot that should help. I’ll also enlist the aid of Quinn Herrera. Maybe he’s been keeping tabs on everyone who comes to the meetings.”
Cramer was looking for any help he could get to nail this guy.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
The phone rang, startling Selene awake. She glanced at the clock. Two-forty a.m. Her heart skipped a beat. She looked at Quinn, who was sound asleep.
Should I answer it?
What if it’s him again?
He wants me to be afraid.
Selene decided she wouldn’t be a prisoner in her home.
She slipped out of bed and into her robe. She made her way to the spare bedroom at the end of the hall, turned on the light, and picked up the cordless phone.
“Hello...” she said.
“You didn’t get the message last time,” the muffled voice said. “Now you let it happen again... You’re living with a crazed, cold-blooded killer!”
Happen again? Had someone else been killed?
Selene’s knees were shaking. “Why are you doing this?”
“To protect the citizens of The Woods from a serial killer. It’s too late for some, but not for others...”
“Is that you, Michel?” Selene asked. “Is this your sick attempt to circumvent the court order to stay away from me? If it is—”
“I don’t know anyone named Michel,” the man said. “Even if I did, it ain’t about him. It’s about that murdering bastard you call your husband!”
“You couldn’t be more wrong!” She lowered her voice so she wouldn’t wake Quinn. “He had nothing to do with those murders. Slandering Quinn’s name won’t change that.”
“You think you know him, but you only know what he tells you. He’s guilty! Don’t be fooled by his God-fearing, easygoing, warmhearted image. He’s your worst enemy—and the enemy of every woman who lives in The Woods!”
Selene closed her eyes for a moment, leaning on the wall for support. “If you really believe that, you’d be going to the police instead of harassing me!”
“I don’t wanna get involved with the cops. I’ve got my reasons. I’m telling you, so you’ll put a stop to his homicidal rage one way or the other.”
What type of nut was he?
“Were you at the meeting last night?” Selene asked. She tried to envision which man it could be. Robert Leighton came to mind.
“That’s not important,” the caller said. “The only thing you need to know is the reward money is there even for a killer’s wife. Think about it...before he squeezes the life out of another woman!”
Before Selene could respond, the line went dead.
She slumped down to the floor.
Why is he doing this to me—to us?
She assumed it was Michel. But what if it wasn’t?
Selene refused to take the allegations seriously. But it was hard to ignore the caller’s scathing words.
Was it possible that Quinn was a totally different person than the man she knew?
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Selene had to confide in someone other than Quinn, even though she believed in him and was trying hard to dismiss the caller’s accusations. So she chose Elisa.
It was the following afternoon, and the news about the strangulation murder of Lynda Franklin had spread like wildfire. Coming off the caller’s chilling words last night, Selene was a bundle of nerves.
They were sitting on the back patio at Elisa’s house, surrounded by plants.
“Hearing that creepy voice telling me that Quinn’s the killer is really freaking me out,” Selene said. “Especially when another woman was found strangled last night.”
“Yeah, I know what you mean,” Elisa said. “I’d be climbing the walls too if someone told me that. You think it’s your ex calling you?”
Selene frowned. “I don’t know. It could be.” She paused. “Whoever it is, he won’t leave me alone. I just don’t know where to go with this or what to think!”
“Did you tell Quinn?”
“God knows I’ve wanted to,” Selene said. “But I didn’t know how. It’s not exactly dinner table or bedtime conversation.”
Elisa stared at her. “You don’t actually think it could be true that Quinn really is the—?”
“Of course not!” Selene snapped. “He’s no more of a killer than you or me. Or Marvin, for that matter,” she added. “I’m afraid I’d be playing right into the caller’s hands if I brought it up to Quinn.”
“I understand where you’re coming from,” Elisa said sympathetically. “Just because Quinn writes novels about killers, it doesn’t make him one. But ignoring it won’t make it go away either. You can’t keep this bottled up inside you, girl. If someone’s badmouthing Quinn, don’t you think he has a right to know so he can defend himself?”
Selene nodded. She knew that Quinn needed to hear it from her, before the police came and questioned him as if he was a suspect in the murders.
She smiled faintly. “I’ll tell him tonight at dinner.”
“Smart move,” Elisa said. “He’ll know how to deal with it.”
“Deal with what?” A voice said behind them.
Selene turned to see Marvin standing there. He looked slightly disheveled in a wool suit. He had a leather briefcase in hand. She gave Elisa a warning look, imploring her not to break her confidence.
“Oh, we’re just talking girl stuff, honey,” Elisa told him. “You’re home early.”
“Yeah, slow day so I decided I’d rather spend it with you.” He bent down and kissed her lightly on the mouth. “But it looks like you and Selene are doing fine without me.”
Selene took that as her cue to leave. “Actually, I’ve got a few errands to run. She’s all yours, Marvin.”
Elisa stood. “Let me walk you out, Selene.” She told Marvin, “Now don’t you dare go anywhere. I’ll be right back.”
He grinned. “Yes, Ma’am.”
Selene wondered what Marvin would think about the accusatory phone calls. After all, he was in the security business. He might have some added insight about how she should handle the situation.
Selene decided against it. She would have to tell Quinn what was going on before she told anyone else.
Elisa hugged her and said, “Don’t worry. Everything will work out. You and Quinn are strong enough to deal with this.”
“You think so?”
“I know so. Don’t let the caller scare you into thinking otherwise.”
“I’ll try not to,” Selene said. But he had already gotten under her skin.
* * *
Selene had prepared Quinn’s favorite meal. She wanted him to enjoy his dinner before she brought up the caller’s accusations, which could potentially turn their relationship upside down.
Selene set the dining room table and called Quinn in from his office. She’d observed his body language all day and didn’t see anything to indicate that Quinn was someone other than the person she believed she married.
Don’t be fooled by the God-fearing, easygoing, warmhearted image.
The caller had insinuated that Quinn was a phony. Selene didn’t buy it. And yet she’d once trusted another man who was still disappointing her to this day. Could she also be wrong about Quinn? Could he actually be a serial killer?
When he walked in and sat down, Selene brought in the food, trying to act as normal as possible.
“Looks delicious,” he said. “Is it a special occasion or something?”
“Not exactly,” she said. “I just felt like making one of your favorite meals.”
“Well I’m lucky to have a wife who knows how to take good care of me.”
But will you always be here to take good care of me?
Halfway through the meal Selene said, �
�By the way, someone called last night...while you were asleep.”
“Who?”
“That’s just it—I don’t know.”
He put down his fork. “Well, did you answer the phone?”
“Yes...”
“So what did they want?”
Selene sucked in a deep breath. I have to do this. “He accused you of being The Woods Strangler.”
Quinn’s eyes bulged. “What—?”
“It’s the second time he’s called,” she admitted. “Both times he said that you were responsible for killing those women.”
Quinn’s forehead crinkled in three places. “I can’t believe this! Why didn’t you tell me the first time he called?”
Selene nearly melted under the heat of his burning stare. “I didn’t want to bother you with what seemed like a crank call.” She paused. “Then he called again...and repeated the accusations—”
“Well it’s total rubbish,” Quinn said. “Someone’s playing with your head. Probably that damned, no good ex-husband of yours who doesn’t seem to know when to quit.”
“The voice was muffled, so I couldn’t really tell,” Selene said. “It could be anyone.” She wasn’t ruling Michel out. But it could be someone else with an agenda—like Robert Leighton.
Quinn peered at her. “Don’t tell me you actually believe that I’m the killer?”
She met his hard gaze. “No, of course not.” How could I? It would make our relationship and marriage a lie.
“You sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure,” she said confidently.
Quinn’s mouth tightened and the lines in his forehead deepened. “Good! Now if this bastard calls again, let me know!”
Selene was already dreading the thought of another early morning call with outrageous allegations about her husband.
* * *
Quinn labored to finish the rest of his food. The caller had clearly unnerved Selene and he could understand why. He was sure he’d detected a hint of uncertainty from her that he just might be a killer. But it seemed to vanish rather quickly, as if her natural instincts kicked in when she looked at things squarely.
Killer in The Woods: A Psychological Thriller Page 13