Killer in The Woods: A Psychological Thriller

by Flowers, R. Barri

  Desperation called for drastic measures, Cramer thought. If one of the men in his jurisdiction was a serial killer, they had to identify him before there was another victim.

  And if the killer was someone outside of the community, they couldn’t afford to leave any stone unturned.

  They owed the victims at least that much.

  Cramer stood up, his muscles aching as if he had been working out all day. When this was over, he just might have to visit Todd Foxworth’s spa for one of those massages his neighbors were constantly raving about.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

  “You did the right thing,” Quinn told Selene as they ate lunch at a downtown deli.

  “I keep telling myself that,” Selene said, “but it doesn’t always help.”

  Quinn frowned. “Just because Leighton was released on bail doesn’t mean he shouldn’t have been arrested. You know how the system works.”

  She knew all too well. That doesn’t mean I have to like it. But what else could she do? Ashley Leighton was in danger and needed to get out of that house, at least until a restraining order was issued.

  The temporary protective order set that in motion, making it clear to Robert Leighton that the authorities were on to him and that if he tried anything, he would only be making more trouble for himself than he knew what to do with.

  Selene hoped the attorney part of him would override his arrogance and proprietary mentality concerning his wife and he’d leave her alone.

  The rest was up to Ashley. Selene could only advise, but it ultimately came down to the victim using common sense and survival instincts.

  “I suppose I’m always worried about the women who come to S.A.W. House,” Selene said. “The first few days after a woman decides to leave her abuser are always the most critical.”

  Quinn finished his turkey sandwich and said, “I’m sure she’ll be fine. She’s a cop, for heaven’s sake. She’s got plenty of people to help her deal with this—”

  Selene wanted to believe that with all her heart. But there was something about Robert Leighton that scared her. He seemed to think that he was the answer to everything a woman wanted—or at least his wife. She sensed that he wouldn’t give up without a fight, even though he faced serious jail time and a tarnished career. She wondered how far he would go to prevent Ashley from walking out of his life for good.

  The thought was very unsettling.

  * * *

  That evening the Herreras were on their nightly patrol of The Woods, accompanied by the Bonets and Julian McKenzie. The walk up and down the long, tree-lined blocks was tiring, but Selene didn’t complain. They each had to do their part to try to thwart the killer.

  “Wonder if he’s hiding behind one of those doors,” Julian said. He was walking between Selene and Elisa, while Quinn and Marvin took up the rear.

  “Why not?” Elisa said. “Didn’t Detective Cramer say that it could be anyone and he’s probably not a stranger to The Woods?”

  “None of us want to believe he’d kill the women in his own community,” Julian said. “But he’s obviously able to disappear into the woodwork quickly...”

  “That doesn’t mean he has to be a local,” Selene said. As far as she was concerned, Michel could still be behind the murders.

  “Will you wake up, girlfriend,” argued Elisa. “The killer clearly knows his way around our part of Bluffs Bay. He’s probably picking women he knows instead of randomly.”

  “The last I heard, The Woods was not an island,” Selene said. “A clever and determined killer can come and go just as easily as someone who lives here. Let’s face it. Most people are too trusting. You can’t always tell if they’re friend or foe till it’s too late...”

  “I’m with your there, Selene,” Marvin said. “If you guys aren’t my friends, then you sure as hell are putting on a good act.”

  The group chuckled uneasily.

  “Of course, we’re the real deal,” Quinn said. “The point Selene’s making is that this killer could be an outsider with an insider’s way of thinking. He preys on the vulnerabilities of women who let their guard down even just a little.”

  “My wife keeps telling me that if someone even looks at her twice, she’s ready to use her whistle and pepper mace,” Julian said.

  “If the son of a bitch is out there, I wish to hell he’d show his face and let me at him,” Marvin said. “Then we’ll see what he’s got.”

  “I think we’d all like that,” Quinn muttered. “But I have a feeling he’ll never make it that easy.”

  “He certainly hasn’t so far,” Selene said.

  She was worried about what might happen next in The Woods in spite of their best efforts to prevent it.

  CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

  He felt the hunger build in him like an inferno and knew it needed to be released this night.

  But picking someone to appease his desire had become increasingly more difficult. Between the cops and the neighborhood watch, being inconspicuous was all but impossible. So he allowed himself to be seen, to a certain degree, feeding on the terror in the community to prey even more on the weaknesses of the fine women who came into his line of vision.

  Of course, some were easier to target than others.

  He watched as the attractive dark-haired woman left the spa, looking even better and more refreshed than when she entered. She sashayed across the well-lit parking lot and got in her car. He waited patiently in his car till she drove off in the opposite direction from where he was parked.

  His heart was racing in anticipation. Yet he waited, resisting the urge to go after her. He tore the wrapper off a candy bar and took a bite.

  Show a little patience.

  After all, he knew where she lived.

  And that she would be alone tonight.

  * * *

  Cyndi Gordon felt refreshed after spending half a day at the spa. Her muscles were a bit sore from the deep massage, but in a good way. She planned to hop into the tub a little later to relax.

  She entered the condo and went to the kitchen. She got out a bottle of water and drank half of it as she thought about her previous life as an exotic dancer and occasional playmate for men with deep pockets. She wasn’t proud of her past, even if the money had been a lot better than what she made now as an administrative assistant. At the time, it had seemed like the only way to go as a high school dropout with no future.

  Now her life was starting to change for the better. She’d found a man who really seemed to like her for who she was and the future seemed bright.

  When she heard the doorbell ring, Cyndi assumed it was the pizza delivery she’d ordered. She grabbed her wallet and headed for the door. She peeked out and saw a man with his back to her, wearing a green cap. There was no pizza in his hands.

  Cyndi was just about to tell him she wasn’t buying whatever he was selling, when he turned around with a big smile on his face. She realized then who he was; surprised that she hadn’t recognized him right away.

  She opened the door with a smile. “Hey, you.”

  “Hey,” he said. “I was in the neighborhood and thought I’d drop by. Is this a bad time?”

  “Not at all,” she said. “I’m waiting for a pizza delivery. You’re welcome to join me.”

  He grinned crookedly. “Now that’s an offer I can’t refuse.”

  * * *

  He’d used his charm to get what he wanted, but almost wished she’d turned him away. Almost. His urge to kill was too overpowering to walk away when the opportunity presented itself with such a sweet package.

  She led him into the living room.

  “So what’s up?” she asked him.

  “Oh, nothing much,” he said, pulling the scarf out of his pocket. “I meant to come over and say hello to you at the spa—”

  Cyndi reacted and met his eyes warily when she saw the scarf stretched between his hands.

  Her eyes widened. “What’s that for?”

  “You don’t really want to know.”<
br />
  “What are you doing?” she sputtered, as he moved closer.

  “Something I have to do,” he said. “It’s nothing personal, Cyndi. It’s just me—and now you—I’m afraid...”

  Like a cornered rat, Cyndi tried to attack her attacker. But he dodged her attempt to claw his face. In his counter move, he quickly placed the scarf over her head and around her neck.

  She squirmed and managed to let out a scream before he silenced her into nothing more than gasps and gurgles as he twisted and tightened the scarf till Cyndi lost consciousness.

  He kept the pressure on a bit longer, not wanting her to come to.

  Finally, he checked for a pulse. There was none. The job had been completed.

  Feeling compelled, he kissed Cyndi Gordon’s reddened cheek and then lowered her to the couch.

  Bye, bye, Cyndi.

  It was time for him to go.

  * * *

  Jamal Baroney went through the motions of delivering pizza all over Bluffs Bay. The restaurant guaranteed a twenty-minute or less turnaround or the pizza was free. He struggled to keep up with the demand, but for the most part kept giveaways to a minimum.

  Even then, Jamal looked beyond this part-time gig to his college studies and desire to practice law someday. At nineteen, he knew time was on his side. For now, though, he had to pay the bills.

  Jamal balanced the pepperoni and sausage pizza rather precariously in one hand and rang the doorbell with the other. He noticed the door was partially ajar. Not a smart idea. That’s exactly what a killer might look for when sizing up a possible target.

  Jamal rang the bell again and got no answer. “Hello,” he yelled. “Uh, you ordered a pizza, lady...”

  Still no response.

  Damn it! I can’t bring it back or they’ll take it out of my paycheck.

  He gently nudged the door open, bellowing again that he had a pizza to deliver and the clock was ticking.

  When no one came to the door, Jamal decided instinctively to step inside, hoping she wouldn’t mistake him for a burglar.

  He moved cautiously through the foyer and into the living room. “I’ve got a pizza delivery for Cyndi Gordon. Is anyone—”

  Jamal stopped dead in his tracks when he saw the body half slumped over the couch in a way that told him she was definitely not taking a nap.

  CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

  Michel made his way to the tavern around the block. He needed something stronger than the beer he had grown accustomed to drinking. The place was mostly empty this night, which suited him just fine. He wasn’t in the mood to talk. Unless Selene walked in the door. But he didn’t expect that to happen.

  He didn’t believe in miracles, other than the kind brought about by a man’s raw determination. As far as he was concerned, you had to meet the ship at least halfway rather than wait for it to come in.

  Somehow he had to convince Selene to see things his way. Michel expected he would be able to do just that when the dust settled and she realized it was in their best interests.

  Michel sat at the bar and ordered a drink. A moment later, he was drinking alone as he listened to a B. B. King song blaring from two speakers hanging above the bar.

  “Mind if I join you?” a silky voice whispered in his ear.

  Michel looked into the face of an attractive woman. A quick scan revealed that she was shapely with big breasts and an even bigger ass. She had on tight little red dress and matching heels.

  Was she a hooker?

  Not that it made any difference. Selene wasn’t there to keep him company so the buxom blonde would have to do.

  He shrugged, meeting the woman’s enchanting eyes. “Sure, why not?”

  She sat on the stool beside him. “I’m Lesley.”

  “Michel,” he said.

  “Buy me a drink, Michel?”

  He thought about it. Somehow it didn’t seem right. It was like he was being unfaithful to Selene. Then Michel realized that the bitch was being unfaithful to him with that bastard she was living with. So why not buy the pretty lady a drink or two?

  “Yeah, sure,” he told her. “What do you want?”

  “Whatever you’re having, sugar.” She licked her glossy lips.

  Michel was starting to like her.

  “So what’s a good looking man like you doing sulking around in here?”

  “Just needed to get away,” he muttered. “You know what I mean?”

  “I think so.” She touched his hand. “You know, sometimes it helps to talk about it.”

  Michel doubted that. Some things were better kept to himself.

  “Why don’t we talk about you instead?” he countered.

  Lesley flashed him a look of disappointment, but just as quickly seemed more than willing to do so.

  As Michel listened, his hesitation started to wear away like the tread on a tire.

  CHAPTER FIFTY

  Detective Cramer entered the victim’s condo. Her name sounded familiar, but it wasn’t until he actually saw Cyndi Gordon’s lifeless face that he put two and two together. Todd Foxworth had brought her to his backyard barbecue. And now she was dead—the apparent victim of foul play that showed all the signs it was the work of The Woods Strangler.

  As had become a bad habit of late, Cramer danced around crime scene investigators and the supplementary cast of police personnel. He walked up to Geoffrey Rawlings.

  “It’s really getting scary in this part of town,” Rawlings told him. “Our man has struck again, right under our damned noses—and it stinks all to hell.”

  “It’s draining the life out of all of us,” Cramer said.

  “It certainly drained one life tonight. The victim’s been identified as Cyndi Gordon, age twenty-five.”

  “Yeah, I know her.”

  Rawlings lifted a brow. “No kidding?”

  “Well, sort of. She was at the barbecue, riding high on the arm of Todd Foxworth.”

  “The dude who owns the spa?”

  “One and the same.”

  Rawlings met Cramer’s eyes. “Real interesting. Especially since, according to a neighbor, Ms. Gordon was at the spa today.”

  Cramer flinched. The last thing he wanted to believe was that Todd Foxworth had killed his girlfriend as part of a string of strangulation homicides. But stranger things had happened. And Foxworth had been at the last community meeting as well as the barbecue.

  “We need to have a talk with him,” Cramer said. “If for no other reason than to notify him that his lady friend is dead.”

  “Maybe I’ll just double-check to see if we have anything on him that could be considered suspicious, if he’s not an outright criminal,” Rawlings said.

  “Yeah, do that.”

  The two men stepped outside for some fresh air.

  “Who found her?” Cramer asked.

  Rawlings tilted his head in the direction where an officer was talking to a young African-American male in a pizza restaurant uniform.

  “Name’s Jamal Baroney. He was delivering a pizza to the victim when he found her lying there—”

  “How’d he get in?”

  “Says the door was open,” Rawlings said. “And he just walked right in.”

  “Hmm...” Cramer mused. “Either he’s lying or the killer’s getting sloppy.”

  “Or he’s getting more confident that he can come and go as he damn well pleases and doesn’t need to close up shop anymore after he kills.”

  “See what else you can come up while I go talk to the kid,” Cramer told Rawlings.

  Cramer studied the young man who looked visibly shaken. “Do you make a habit of entering residences uninvited?”

  Jamal shook his head. “No, man. I-I, uh, I just wanted to deliver the pizza. When nobody came to the door, I went inside since it was open—you know, to make sure she knew I was there.”

  “And that’s when you found the body?”

  “Yeah,” he said sadly. “Last thing I wanted was to be blamed for something I didn’t do, but I couldn
’t just leave her there with no one knowing...”

  “No one’s pinning this on you, kid,” Cramer told him sympathetically. The truth was he didn’t fit the profile. And it was doubtful that The Woods Strangler would call in his kill and hang around till the authorities arrived. “But we have a job to do,” Cramer continued. “And that means we need your help. Did you see anyone coming or going?”

  “I never saw anybody,” Jamal said.

  “You didn’t see anyone outside at all—someone walking, running, or getting into a car?”

  Jamal thought about it. “Well, uh, when I first drove up I saw a dude crossing the street near the front of the complex. But he didn’t seem like he was in a big hurry or anything.”

  “What did he look like?”

  “Can’t really say ‘cause I barely got a look at him. All I remember is he was wearing a cap—”

  “A baseball cap?”

  Jamal shrugged. “I don’t know. Can’t say for sure.”

  “Was he African-American? Latino? White...?”

  “Don’t know that either. Sorry.”

  Cramer narrowed his eyes. “That isn’t good enough. Maybe if you just focused a bit more—”

  Jamal gulped. “I guess he could’ve been Latino, or maybe a light-skinned African-American...or a white man with a tan. Sorry. I was just trying to get the pizza here on time and not paying attention to what was going on around me. If I could do it over—”

  Cramer hid his disappointment while directing an officer to get a sketch artist over there to try to jog the kid’s memory.

  Suddenly there was a commotion, and Cramer spotted Todd Foxworth trying to storm through the police barricade at about the same time the coroner arrived.

  “I want to see her!” Todd demanded.

  “I don’t think so,” said a brawny officer, holding him back.