by J. E. Taylor
Steve met Tom’s gaze. “How long have you been here?” Steve signed, trying not to let his irritation show. Tom had compromised the crime scene and Steve glanced toward the river a few hundred feet away, knowing any trail they found would end at the water’s edge, but this time, he was sure the local cops wouldn’t look any farther than the boy covered with his ex-girlfriend’s blood.
“Coup miues,” Tom said. A couple minutes ago. I wanted to talk, to try to convince her to come back and when I jogged by, I saw her in the stream. I didn’t know it was her until I saw the bracelet and then I tried to get her out of the water and slipped and that’s when the police showed up. Did you see what that bastard did to her?
He knew. He had seen half a dozen victims over the last year in the same condition, all left in remote areas, and all with water access. He crouched and took Tanya’s wrist, checking for a pulse he knew wasn’t there. Even if she had a pulse, his power to heal wouldn’t bring her face back. A limitation he learned with Tom. If it’s gone, it won’t grow back no matter how much mojo Steve pumped into the person. And he certainly couldn’t resurrect the dead.
Tom bit his lip and blinked, sending another trail of tears down his smudged cheeks while the cops read him his rights. I used to run with her on this trail and if we hadn’t broke up…
You would have been with her, Steve finished the thought and took a deep breath, keeping the anger and worry at bay. Everyone was itching to solve the Windwalker case and Tom just handed them an easy scapegoat.
Did you see anything? Steve asked, sending the thought and the ball of stress tightened at Tom’s slight shake of his head.
Steve stood, meeting Officer Callaway’s gaze. “He isn’t the killer.”
Tom took another glance at the body and visibly shuddered.
“Until we find evidence to the contrary, we’ll be keeping him in custody,” Callaway said and pulled Tom away from the scene.
Steve nodded and snapped his gaze to Tom. “Don’t say anything until I get there, Tom.”
Officer Callaway glared at Steve a moment and then continued on his way down the path, leaving the other officer to secure the scene.
Steve turned away, following the stream looking for signs of evidence to exonerate Tom but the muck on either side of the waterway along with the turning tide eradicated any signs of evidence. At the mouth of the river, he scanned the water with both his eyes and his mind and nothing stirred but an eerie silence.
Anger danced over his skin, seeping into his bones. “You bastard! I swear I’ll find you. You hear me?” he bellowed and the echo reached the far side of the river and beyond.
Chapter 6
He heard the warrior’s cry and chuckled, rowing the black kayak behind an open boathouse on the opposite side of the river. Twilight keeping him in the shadows, out of sight, invisible, just like all his adventures up and down the inlets from York and Kittery all the way to Berwick and Sommersworth. He rowed farther, watching the shoreline for any sign of police beyond the lone figure receding with each stroke. His car was close to two miles upstream and he rowed with powerful strokes, moving silently with the tide, like he planned. His precious trinket bound in a plastic bag under the forward bay.
He had plans for this one, the clear coating was already set in the mold, just waiting for the pattern, the screaming lips, the pointed nose, the pale cheeks he would paint, and the blond hair he’d cut and put aside for the final mask.
He glanced behind him, thinking of the warrior in the woods who found the remains of his hunt and smiled.
Doesn’t dear Agent Williams know?
There’s no catching the wind.
Chapter 7
“Everything you have is circumstantial,” Steve said outside the interrogation room.
“I know he’s your son, but he was found at the scene covered in her blood and he has motive,” Detective O’Keefe said.
“Where’s the murder weapon?” Steve asked, frustrated with the inability of the police force to hear reason.
“He could have ditched it in the river before we arrived.”
Steve wiped his face, resisting the urge to make the detective do what he wanted. The only time he allowed himself to use the ability to influence was in an emergency where life and death was a factor. And while this was worrisome, it didn’t qualify under the strict guidelines he imposed on himself for utilizing his powers. Instead, he counted to ten and then met the Detective’s gaze. “You can’t question him without a legal guardian present or without legal representation.”
Detective O’Keefe waved his hand toward the room. “You’re welcome to sit in, and while we’re on the topic, do you want me to get you a public defender?”
Steve huffed and narrowed his eyes, digging into the Detective’s private thoughts, pulling out his assessment of the case and Steve bristled. “Your charges will never stick.” He turned away from the detective and paused with his hand on the doorknob. “And you’d better get that warrant to search my house, because I’m not feeling all that cooperative right now.” He stepped inside the room and closed the door, meeting Tom’s gaze.
You’re in a shitload of trouble right now. Steve signed and took a seat next to him. He inhaled and ran his palm down his face before he added, it’s time for us to lawyer up.
Tom’s eyes widened. They think I killed her?
Steve nodded and a fresh set of tear tracks flowed down Tom’s cheeks before he folded his arms on the table, burying his face in the crook of his blood-smeared arms. His sobs filled the room and Steve put his hand on Tom’s back and closed his eyes, buffering his soul from Tom’s sorrow and fear.
The door opened and Tom raised his head. Steve pulled his hand away from Tom’s back and folded his arms across his chest, staring down Detective O’Keefe. “You could have at least let him clean up.”
“We gave him a fresh uniform,” he said waving toward the standard issue jumpsuit. “Besides, he didn’t seem to mind the blood when he slit her throat.” The detective threw the case file on the table and took a seat on the opposite side of the table.
“I…” Tom started, but Steve raised his hand silencing him.
“I’m advising my son not to answer any questions.”
Detective O’Keefe’s lips pressed together and his eyes narrowed in disgust at the trump card Steve just played. “When can he answer questions?”
“After his lawyer arrives. When is his arraignment?”
“Monday morning,” he said through a smug smile “Is this why you haven’t been able to crack this case as quickly as the others?” He waved his hand toward Tom.
Steve balled his hands into fists, glaring at the Detective. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that,” he said trying to keep his voice even, but his words bristled with the snarl of anger. “I trust until I can post bail, he will be kept away from the adult population?”
“Yes,” Detective O’Keefe his answer clipped short and his glare just as telling as Steve’s.
“Wha?” Tom said, his gaze bouncing from the detective to Steve and back.
“You’re going to have to stay in here until Monday.”
Tom’s eyes flashed over with fear. “Why?”
Reading more than just Detective O’Keefe’s mind, Steve said, “They think you’re the Windwalker.”
Chapter 8
Steve walked into the house and threw his keys on the table in disgust.
“The school called. Tom never showed up this morning. Do you know where he is?” Jennifer asked from the stairway.
Steve met her gaze. “He’s in jail.”
Her eyes went wide and before Steve could answer, the buzzer sounded and he pressed the button to open the driveway gate.
“They have a search warrant,” Steve said nodding to the approaching squad cars before turning away from the wide-eyed shock in her face. “Neither of us got there in time.”
“Tom was there?”
“Yes. He took off early to try to talk to her. She was already dead
when he found her and I was about five minutes too late. The cops found him first.”
“You mean the Windwalker could have been close enough to kill Tom?”
Steve hadn’t considered this and the hair on the back of his neck bristled at the thought. The Windwalker didn’t discriminate between men and women, the only common thread was all his victims were exceptionally good looking, and Tom certainly fit the bill.
“Probably,” he said and crossed to the door when Jennifer didn’t move from the spot on the stairs.
Detective O’Keefe stood on the front step with Officer Callaway slapping a folded warrant in his palm, handing it to Steve with an expression bordering on hostile. Steve opened the paper and waved the officers inside. “Just don’t make a mess,” Steve said as they stepped into the living room.
“We’ll do our best,” Officer Callaway said with a nod.
Steve headed out to the backyard, ignoring the chill in the air and slipped his phone out. He scrolled down the list of names until he found the one he wanted. It was time to call in some favors.
“District Attorney Kincaid’s office. How may I help you?”
“Is Mrs. Kincaid in the office?”
“Who may I say is on the line?”
“Tell her it’s Special Agent Williams,” Steve answered. Hold music replaced the chipper receptionist’s voice.
“Steve?” Carolyn Kincaid’s familiar voice filled the line.
“Hey, Carolyn. I’m calling to ask a favor.”
“What do you need?”
“I need the best criminal defense lawyer in Maine. Tom’s been arrested.”
Silence filled the line and papers shuffled in the background. “Why?”
“Have you been following the Windwalker case in the news at all?”
Another pause. “They can’t possibly think that sweet boy is the Windwalker?”
“That sweet boy is seventeen and yes, that’s exactly what they think and they’re going to try him as an adult.”
“I’ve got a name for you. Sheldon Kryminski. He’s out of Portland and he’s supposed to be the best in New England,” she said and rattled off the phone number.
“Thanks, Carolyn.”
“Let me know if there’s anything else I can do.”
“I will, and the next time we’re in New York, we’ll have to catch up.” Steve ended the call and walked to the stone wall, ignoring the slide of the door behind him. He stood watching the flow of boats in and out of the harbor and when Jennifer stepped next to him and sat on the stone ledge, he met her gaze.
“What happened?”
Steve sighed. “Tom wasn’t in his room this morning when I checked,” he said and scanned the water. “And while I know he’s not the Windwalker, I’m thinking back to every murder and trying to place where he was at the time. The bitch of it is, I can’t.” He paused and met her gaze. “I’m hoping you and CJ can vouch for his whereabouts, because Tanya certainly can’t.”
Invisible wings fluttered. “You know…”
“Ty, not now,” Steve snapped dismissing the invisible angel.
“Fine, but it’s your funeral,” Ty Ryan said.
Steve paused and cocked his head, turning toward the house. “What are you talking about?”
“If they search the attic, they might find a few things of mine.”
A chill skittered down Steve’s spine and he clenched his jaw trading a glance at Jennifer. “Like what?”
A flash of annoyance crossed Jennifer’s features and she crossed her arms. Steve knew she hated it when he had half conversations with his guardian angel.
“Like DVDs.”
Steve raised an eyebrow.
“From the complex.”
“Shit, Ty,” Steve spun and stared out at the bay. “Is there anything in there that implicated Chris?”
Silence met the question.
“That’s just fucking wonderful.”
“What?” Jennifer asked, her voice clipped with sarcasm.
“He says there are DVDs in the attic that incriminate Chris. This day just gets better and better.”
Jennifer’s brow creased for a moment and then the wrinkle smoothed and her face transitioned into a hard glare. “He kept DVDs?”
“Apparently.” Steve closed his eyes and mentally scanned the house, honing in on Detective O’Keefe’s train of thought. His eyes snapped open and he spun, nearly sprinting to the house with Jennifer following.
Steve bounded up the stairs and swung Tom’s bedroom door open. His gaze landed on the mutilated photographs the detectives found under Tom’s bed. He stared at the number of slashes scored into each picture and his stomach tightened, sending cramps through his abdomen but he stood fast.
“Tell me about these?” Detective O’Keefe asked.
“Tanya broke up with him recently,” Steve answered. “He wasn’t taking it very well.”
The detective’s eyebrows rose. “Considering what he did, I’d call that an understatement.”
“Tommy didn’t kill anyone,” Jennifer said from behind Steve before sliding in front of him. “He was upset and hurt and angry, but that doesn’t mean he killed her.”
“Then what was he doing this morning?”
“They jogged together every day and that was one of their favorite paths. He was going to talk to her,” Steve said and looked at the pictures in the detective’s hands. “He wanted to try to patch things up.”
The detective fanned out the pictures so Steve could see them. “These don’t look like they’re from someone who wants to patch things up.”
Steve couldn’t argue with the detective’s deduction, because if the tables were turned, he would think the same way. “I believe my son, detective.”
“Jeffrey Dahmer’s parent’s believed in him too.”
“You did not just compare my son to that monster,” Jennifer snapped, her green eyes flashing with the anger etched in her features.
“Sir?” Officer Callaway said holding up a hunting knife, the edge sprayed to reveal traces of blood.
Shock filled every fiber of Steve’s body, tingling his skin, but he kept his features neutral, like having a hunting knife in the bedroom was the most natural thing for a teenage boy. Don’t react, he sent the thought to Jennifer, but it was too late.
“So he has a hunting knife,” she said. “He also has a fishing pole in the garage and a fish cleaning station too.”
Steve put his hand on her shoulder to stop the beginning of a full out angry rant and she shook it off, sending a glare in his direction. Despite his recent antics, Tom and Jennifer had become very close over the years and she was in mother bear mode right now, protecting him at all costs.
After a moment, he cleared his throat. “Jen, we should let them do their job.”
“What? So they can fabricate evidence against our son? I don’t think so,” she snapped, leveling her famous glare in the direction of Detective O’Keefe.
“They have a warrant and we have nothing to hide,” Steve said through clenched teeth. He wrapped his hand around her arm and pulled her away from Tom’s bedroom, but not before he saw the knife drop into an evidence bag.
He didn’t stop until he was in the backyard out of hearing range. “What the hell were you trying to do back there?”
“I am trying to protect Tom,” she snarled. “What are you doing to protect him?”
“I’m not obstructing justice.” Steve closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “I’m also getting the best defense lawyer in the state for Tom and while you and I know he didn’t do it, we will need to sit down and figure out where he was for every murder once the police leave. Understand?” Steve opened his eyes and met her gaze.
“CJ’s going to flip.”
“I know.” He wiped his hand over his face and glanced over his shoulder at the house. “I hope they’re out of here before he gets home from school.” And I hope like hell they don’t find those DVDs because that would bring on a shit storm of epic proporti
on.
Chapter 9
Tom sat in the jail cell staring at the floor and shivering. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw what remained of her once beautiful face and his stomach rolled. He decided the stained grey floor was a better alternative. His gaze traveled to his arms and the streaks still marring them and his fists balled against the urge to scrub until his skin was as raw as hers had been.
Tears burned the back of his throat and he blinked back the sudden blur, tightening his jaw against the unwanted tears. He was damned if he’d let them see him cry again.
“Boy, when we get a hold of you, we’ll give you something to cry about,” the prisoner in the next cell said.
Tom had had enough of the threats from the surrounding inmates and shifted his gaze to the adjoining cell. He raised his middle finger and flashed a smug smile.
“You’re a dead man, Windwalker,” the man hissed.
Tom shrugged off the threat and looked out the tiny window at the afternoon sky. Monday was a long ways away and he sighed, wondering if Uncle Steve would be able to pull some strings and get him out early.
The door on his cell rattled open, pulling his attention away from the window. Shock skittered down his spine at the hulking mass in the doorway and he stood, backing up against the concrete wall behind him. His gaze darted to the officer standing next to the man with the sadistic grin.
The officer sent a glare in Tom’s direction and pushed the large man into the cell, closing the door behind him. “Enjoy,” he laughed as he walked away.
Tom’s heart pounded in his chest with the rush of adrenaline and he blinked, his gaze bouncing between the danger in front of him and the cackling man in the adjoining cell, egging the man on. He thought about sending an SOS to CJ or Steve or calling on Ty for help, but he didn’t have time.
The man lurched forward, bringing a knife from his pocket. “I’m going to make you squeal, boy,” he growled.
Anger bubbled to the surface, wiping out any fear or sorrow left in Tom’s heart. Years of martial arts training kicked in, and Tom parried, grabbed the wrist of the hand holding the knife and twisted while pulling the giant closer and rolling him over his hip and into a flip that threw the man into the back wall. Instead of going in for the kill, Tom stepped into the center of the cell, waiting for the attacker to regain his faculties.