A Killer's Watch

by Tallulah Grace

  “No, Mr. Grant is out. Here is the door to the basement. Pardon me if I leave you to it.” Thomas opened the locked door with a set of keys he pulled from his pocket. “The light switch is on the left.”

  “Certainly, thank you. We won’t be long,” Chloe answered, surprised that he didn’t escort them down.

  Flipping the lights on did little to illuminate the stairs, but the space became brighter as they descended. The ceilings were low, compared to the twelve-foot height of the upper floors, but they were still high enough for both women to stand.

  “There’s nothing here,” Monique turned in a circle when they reached the concrete floor.

  “That’s probably why Thomas didn’t mind us coming down here alone,” Chloe commented, listening for sounds of dripping water. There were none.

  “We may as well walk the perimeter, check it out while we’re here. There may be a doorway that we can’t see from here,” Monique told her, then followed the wall away from Chloe.

  “I’ll go this way,” Chloe turned in the opposite direction. “Why would you have all of this space, and not even use it. It’s great for storage.”

  “Maybe they have nothing to store. Did you notice the furnishings? Everything was an antique, but still in excellent shape.”

  “Surely they have a Christmas tree, or garden tools, something that normal people store in cellars.”

  “There’s an attic, or three, I’m sure,” Monique answered, finding nothing but more space as she walked. “And they probably have a gardener, so no need for tools.”

  “True.” Chloe stopped talking as she got farther away from Monique. Searching this basement was certainly easier than the other two they had searched so far. Most people had spaces like this crammed with forgotten furniture, boxes of trinkets, old books, and anything else that no longer fit their lifestyle.

  “There’s nothing here, let’s go,” Monique said, as the women met in the middle of the opposite wall.

  “Nope, nothing here,” Chloe agreed.

  Thomas met them at the top of the stairs, his face devoid of expression.

  “Thank you, we found nothing,” Chloe told him.

  “Of course not,” he responded. “Follow me, please.”

  He led them to the front door via a different route, one that did not pass through the parlor. Both women noted that the doors to Belinda Grant’s sitting room were closed.

  “Please thank Mrs. Grant for us,” Chloe told him, as he opened the door.

  Without a word, he nodded and closed the door behind them.

  “Here’s your hat, what’s your hurry,” Chloe mumbled as they crossed the wide front porch.

  “What?” Monique asked, not familiar with the expression.

  “Nothing, he wasn’t sorry to see us go.”

  “No, but at least we can chalk this place off the list.”

  “Yep, one more down, fourteen to go.”

  ~~~

  “That never gets easier.” Jeri placed the phone on the car seat beside her. “She’s destroyed, the whole family is destroyed. One son of a bitch, intent on his own disgusting depravities, destroys the lives of so many people.”

  “And he’ll keep doing it, until we stop him,” Ethan felt Jeri’s impotent rage. “It was a good call, not telling her about the video. What mother wants to know that her daughter’s death was fodder for God knows how many perverts across the globe?”

  “I couldn’t tell her, she’s not in the space to hear it, now. But she’ll have to know, when we catch him, and it goes to trial.” Jeri tilted her head against the headrest. “I only hope we don’t have to make the same phone call to Trudy Wells.”

  “We need something more to go on than just a concrete room, and a possible connection to water,” Ethan guided the car to the highway. “Based on the videos, we know his height is between six-feet and six-three. Anna should be able to design a program to isolate men of that height who own the type of property that we’re looking for.”

  “That only works if he’s the owner, not if he’s renting, or squatting,” Jeri raised her head, reaching for her phone. “But it’s worth a shot. Squatters wouldn’t have the wardrobe that our killer does.”

  Ethan remained silent as Jeri spoke to Anna.

  “If we could somehow figure out his connection to Clevestone, that would help narrow things down as well,” he said, when Jeri disconnected.

  “I’ve been thinking about that,” she turned to face him. “Anson’s tutorials would have included a warning about dumping the bodies in the same location. Yet, our killer is ignoring that risk. I don’t think he lives there, he’s too affluent for that community, but someone he cares about does.”

  “You think he’s making a point? Trying to capture the attention of someone living in Clevestone?”

  “Exactly. Based on the age range of his victims, I’d even go so far as to say that it’s someone he knew, cared about, at the same age.”

  “He’s fixated on teenage girls because he fell in love in high school?” Ethan frowned, thinking that Jeri’s hypothesis was a stretch.

  “Yes. Why do you sound so skeptical?”

  “I didn’t think pedophilia could be caused by a lost, or rejected, love as a teenager. I thought it started long before that, in childhood, based on some kind of psychological issue, like most other serials.”

  “There’s a new field of study that considers pedophilia the same as other sexual deviances. Basically they’re saying that the desires are intrinsic, they’re born with it,” Jeri explained. “But that’s not what I’m talking about. What if he isn’t a pedophile at all? What if he is killing these girls because they remind him of someone? And he’s leaving them in Clevestone, because that’s where she is?”

  “Okay, you’ve lost me. I thought anyone who molested adolescents and children was a pedophile.”

  “No, not always. Some people do it because they can, because it’s easy, or because they are simply deranged, evil. But they aren’t necessarily attracted to the child. That’s where pedophilia differs from, say, a serial rapist who happens to attack a sixteen-year-old. Pedophiles are attracted to children. Typically, they kill them to keep them silent, as a means of protecting their identity. But our guy could be selecting his victims, not because he’s attracted to the age group, but because he’s attracted to their type, because they remind him of her.”

  “And that’s different?”

  “Sure it is,” Jeri warmed to the theory. “If we can figure out who she is, then we can backtrack to her experiences when she was a teenager. See who she dated, rejected, or who rejected her. It could go either way, at this point.”

  “Okay, assuming that this theory has merit, how do we find her?” Ethan still thought Jeri was reaching. But he’d seen her solve cases before, based on hunches he would have never considered.

  “We look at the girls. They both have long, blond hair, both around five feet, five. I need to see the images they put online.” Jeri reached for her tablet. “Since they live so far apart, and have no activities in common, he probably found them, trolling for pictures online. Maybe we’ll see what he sees.”

  “We checked for similarities last night,” Ethan reminded her.

  “Yes, but we didn’t take the time to view them, side by side. Once the videos were available, we focused on those. Now I want to focus on the girls, on the part of their lives they choose to share.”

  “Just because a woman has long blond hair in high school, doesn’t mean that she’ll have long blond hair as an adult.”

  “True, but it’s a place to start. I need to see what other characteristics these girls have, what stands out in their online images.” Jeri arranged Shelby’s and Allison’s Instagram pages, side by side.

  “They’re both obviously very feminine, as their room décor suggested. Shelby even put up a series of makeup tutorials,” Jeri told him, studying the pages. “Both girls were popular, both liked the same boy bands….oh crap!” she looked up from the scree
n.

  “What is it?” Ethan asked, turning into the driveway of the next home on their list.

  “I’m using the past tense, for Shelby and Allison. I didn’t mean to do that.”

  “Saying it doesn’t make it true. Anna is monitoring the live feed, she’ll let us know if something happens to Allison.”

  “I know, but still,” Jeri put down her tablet. “Maybe this house will be the one we’re looking for.”

  “Let’s see.”

  ~~~

  “Graham, darling, come in here a moment, please,” Belinda Grant called to her son as he passed by the parlor door.

  “Yes, Mother?” Graham stood politely, just inside the door.

  “We had visitors earlier, two ladies from the FBI.”

  Graham felt his blood run cold, but he kept a smile, firmly in place.

  “Oh? Whatever for?”

  “They wanted to search the basement. They’re looking for two girls who ran away.” Belinda didn’t realize that she’d gotten the facts wrong.

  Graham did.

  “And did they? Search the basement?” he asked, quietly.

  “Yes, of course. It didn’t take long, as there’s nothing down there. Which reminds me, did you ever call anyone to check for mold? You know that Emma Watson had a dreadful time getting rid of mold in her house.”

  “Yes, Mother,” Graham’s sigh of relief was undetectable. “I’ll do that. Did they want anything else?”

  “What? Who? Oh, the FBI? No, that was all. They said something about believing the girls were in a concrete room. They were searching homes in the area.”

  “How did they know that?” Graham asked, sharply.

  “How did they know what, dear?”

  “How did they know that the girls are in a concrete room?” Graham repeated the question, but he knew the answer. Somehow, they had found his video feed. A cold sweat broke out on his brow, but he ignored it.

  “How should I know? They’re the FBI, they have their ways, I suppose.” Belinda looked up, noticed that Graham looked pale. “Son, you look ill, are you not feeling well?”

  “I’m fine, Mother, thanks.” Graham struggled to get himself under control. “I’m sorry, but I won’t be able to join you for lunch today. I have a meeting in town.”

  “That’s fine, dear. Make sure that you wear a jacket, it’s chilly today.”

  “Yes, Mother.” Turning on his heel, Graham purposefully made his steps even and steady as he walked to the office.

  Sitting at his desk, he allowed himself a few moments to panic, before accessing the computer. Once there, he dismantled the live feed, before running checks on the firewalls for any signs of penetration.

  Good. The server was undisturbed, no evidence that they had traced the feed to him. How could they, reason demanded? He’d routed the signal around the world three times.

  Next, he sent a quick message to his subscribers, alerting them to the fact that he would be offline for a time. Promising that he would record and publish his time with the lovely Allison at a later date, he also teased them with a line about a second girl, when he came back online.

  Assuming his bases were covered, he sat back to reflect on the visit from the FBI. It could be a good thing that they’d come, now he was off of their radar.

  With no way to track his internet signal, no reason to suspect that he had a second underground room on the property, he was home free.

  Relief flooded his soul as he realized that he was safe.

  Reveling in the thought for a moment, he briefly considered shutting down the internet enterprise, altogether. After all, he didn’t need the money, collecting subscriptions was merely a way to ensure the seriousness of his clientele. If they paid to view the murders, technically, they were in collusion.

  Pushing the thought aside, he smiled at the image of Allison, laying still and resigned, on the disgusting mattress. He couldn’t deprive his fellow enthusiasts any more than he could deprive himself. The live feeds would continue, as soon as the heat was off.

  Knowing that he had an audience also boosted his ego, though he would never admit it.

  “For now, you’re all mine, little Allison,” he crooned softly to the screen. “And soon, you’ll have company.”

  Checking the time, he realized that he only had an hour to get the bed and cameras in place. The drive to Fremont required another hour, then he had to find a way inside the house, to wait for the lovely Diana.

  Anson would never approve of such a risky move, but he was not Anson. He was better than Anson, the fact that he’d outwitted the FBI proved it. They would not be looking here again, he was certain of it. Hacking the video feed was child’s play, compared to tracing the signal.

  Confident in his success, Graham headed for the garage. He would ready the room, then leave for Missouri. By tonight, he would have two playmates, primed for his every whim.

  ~~~

  Thomas watched as Graham’s truck rolled slowly across the field toward the old storage cellar. Mr. Grant had been spending a great deal of time in the cellar lately, a fact that hadn’t interested Thomas, until today.

  The two women made it clear that they were searching for a concrete room, where they believed that the two missing girls were hiding. They had not asked to search the old cellar, and Thomas saw no reason to mention it. It was not his place, after all. The Grants paid him handsomely to run the household, nothing more. Whatever Mr. Grant was hiding in the cellar was none of his business, and it certainly was no business of the FBI.

  Besides, Graham Grant was no kidnapper. He was spoiled, entitled, and thoroughly particular about every aspect of the staff’s duties. But he wasn’t a murderer. Was he?

  Chapter Eleven

  “The live feed stopped about a minute ago,” Anna reported to Jeri and Ethan. “It just shut down, with no warning.”

  “Why would he do that, especially if he was following Anson’s model, and selling the feed?” Ethan turned in to the packed parking lot of a fast food chain.

  “Maybe he got spooked,” Jeri offered. “Anna, could he tell that you were trying to trace the signal?”

  “No way, not the way I do it,” Anna replied, confidently.

  “Well, something made him take it down,” Ethan frowned, shoving the car in park. “Let us know if it comes back up.”

  “Will do.” Anna ended the call.

  “I’m calling Dylan, maybe he did something that would alert the killer that we were onto him.”

  “You do that, I’ll call Monique, see if they’ve come up with anything.” Ethan stepped outside the car.

  “Hey, Dylan, how’s it going?” Jeri asked, as soon as she heard his growl on the other end of the line.

  “Not worth a damn, thanks. Did you see that he stopped the feed? Bastard knows that we’re onto him.”

  “Yeah, but how? That’s actually why I’m calling. Is it possible that he knows you’re tracing him? Anna said that it wasn’t her.”

  “I’ll forgive you asking me that, this time, Jer. You know that I’m better than that.”

  “Hey, I didn’t mean to offend you,” Jeri laughed. “We’re just covering the bases.”

  “I know, no worries. Have you considered that you tipped him off? Aren’t you searching basement properties? Maybe you got a little too close for comfort.”

  “That’s a thought,” Jeri scanned over the list of properties they’d already searched. “We’ll check into it. Hey, while I’ve got you, how’s the fam?”

  “Owen’s growing like a weed, and Roni is as perfect as ever,” Dylan’s voice softened as he spoke of his wife and child. “You guys should make time to come for a weekend, soon.”

  “We’d love it, but you know how it goes. One job tends to bleed into another.” Jeri sounded wistful.

  “Don’t I know it,” Dylan sighed. “Speaking of, Anna tells me that you’re pursuing a different angle, that you think the killer might be trying to impress someone from his past.” Dylan brought the sub
ject back to the case at hand.

  “It’s possible. She’s looking into women who, fifteen to twenty years ago, both resembled, and were similar to, our victims. It’s a long shot, but it something to try.”

  “I think it’s good. We both know there’s a reason he’s leaving the bodies in Clevestone.”

  “Yep. If he’s reaching out to a woman, we’ll find her,” Jeri agreed. “Hey, I’ve gotta run. Give Owen a kiss from me, and tell Roni hello.”

  “Sure thing. You be careful out there,” Dylan reminded her.

  “Always.”

  Jeri glanced up as Ethan opened the car door.

  “We may be going at this all wrong,” he told her, without preamble.

  “How so?”

  “What if we’re the ones who tipped him off? Us, or Monique and Chloe? What if he owns, or lives in, one of the houses we’ve already searched?”

  “That’s what Dylan said. But how would we have missed it? We searched the basements, and storm shelters, very carefully. I’m sure that Monique and Chloe did the same.”

  “Maybe there’s another cellar on the property, one that isn’t on any of the records.”

  “That’s possible,” Jeri frowned, then shook her head. “It’s also possible that nothing spooked him, that the feed stopped due to a power outage, or because he’s doing maintenance.”

  “If it comes back up in the next day or so, that may be true. But I think we scared him.”

  “If we focus on all of the properties we’ve already searched, we may miss something important on the ones we haven’t searched. Allison doesn’t have time for us to make mistakes,” Jeri reminded him.

  “What we need is an aerial search, preferably one with heat sensor capabilities.” Ethan tapped his fingers on the steering wheel.

  “For something to read a heat sensor underground, through concrete, you’re talking military grade equipment.”

  “Not necessarily. Who do you think designs and sells that stuff to the government? Private contractors, that’s who. We just need to find one willing to lease us the right equipment.”