by Angela Kay
The phone stopped ringing, then started again.
Rolling off the bed, he found his pants kicked halfway underneath his bed. Aidan snatched it from the floor and removed his phone from its holster. He let out a low curse when he saw the battery was almost dead since he’d forgotten to charge it.
“Yeah?” he answered.
“Aidan.” It was Shaun. “We’ve got a lead. You need to get to the office ASAP.”
“Wh-what is it?” Aidan stammered. He scurried around the room and the closet, searching for fresh clothes. The first pair of pants he tried to slip on was too small, then he realized they belonged to Cheyenne. He tossed it on the ground with a moan.
“Annie found something about Bryce Van Camp’s death,” Shaun told him excitedly. “The connections, Aidan, it’s beginning to make some sense.”
“What’d she find?” Aidan found a shirt and walked out of the closet with it, removing it from the hanger.
“A woman was driving the car, Aidan,” Shaun said. “Her involvement was covered up by the presiding judge.”
“Hold on a second,” Aidan said. He set the phone on the dresser, slipped on a white T-shirt, then put the phone to his ear again. “A judge covered her involvement?”
“It was said the boyfriend was driving, but she wasn’t,” Shaun said. “When they prosecuted the judge…”
“The court of justice couldn’t come to an agreement,” Aidan finished.
“And suspended him for ninety days and fined the judge.”
The pieces of the puzzle were finally falling into place.
“I’ll be at the office within thirty minutes,” Aidan said.
35
Judge Paris leaned forward in his chair, his fingers creating a steeple over his mouth as he listened to Shaun and Aidan explain to him what they’d found out.
He made no sound, but Aidan could see the anger and frustration bubbling up as the tears slowly slipped from his eyes. The judge’s wife had gone out to the supermarket, so she wasn’t around to hear the terrible truth about why not one, but two sons were slaughtered in the middle of nowhere, as they played an innocent game.
Aidan could tell it was quite an effort for the judge to think back on that part of his past, a regret he had to live with every day. The judge rose, pacing the floor, stopping to look at a framed photo of his sons sitting on the mantle above the fireplace.
Twelve years ago, Bryce Van Camp was walking home from a friend’s house. It was late, almost midnight. Jessie Barcliff and Ryan James were driving, with Jessie behind the wheel. The couple were having a heated argument over something that happened at a party. Jessie looked away from the road at the same moment Bryce started to cross, to where the apartment complex was located. They saw him, but Jessie was unable to stop in enough time. Evidence recorded tread marks where the tires spun after Jessie slammed on the breaks. Bryce was hit head-on, hanging onto the hood of the vehicle, until it smashed into a tree, pinning him.
The original investigators had obtained the nine-one-one recording, where a frantic Jessie had called the ambulance, at which time Bryce was still alive. The ambulance arrived ten minutes later. After removing the car from his broken body, he was rushed to the hospital, however, after close to an hour in surgery, he died on the table.
At the request of his friend, Judge Paris agreed to fudge the evidence to make it appear Jessie was not the driver; therefore, she would not be blamed. They were attempting to protect Jessie, who had already had too many points in her license. After an intensive investigation into the accident, the truth was found out.
The judge received his ninety-day suspension and fine, while the couple paid a fine and had three months each of community service.
The pieces soon fell into place, and now Aidan and Shaun understood the motives of their offender, and the threads that connected them all.
Carson Carpenter, Stephanie Carpenter’s father, was the couple’s defense attorney, while Aimee Hollander’s father was the assistant district attorney in the case, who offered the slap on the wrist in return for a guilty verdict. Ray Parsons' father was the surgeon, who pronounced Bryce Van Camp dead at one fifteen in the morning, after spending an hour working, but failing, to revive him.
When the judge finished the story that had weighed on him for many years, a harsh silence fell over the small house. Finally, Judge Paris turned from the photo of his boys with more tears streaking his cheeks.
“My boys are dead because Bryce Van Camp was killed in the accident?” His voice was harsh and complete with undeniable pain. “Because I tried to cover some of the details?”
“We think the offender is taking vengeance on everyone involved in the investigation and the case,” Aidan explained. “On everyone whom he blames for the death of Bryce Van Camp.”
“Do you have leads on who the killer might be?”
“At this time, no,” Aidan said. “We’re currently in the process of locating Bryce’s parents. We’ll know more once we find them and can talk to them.”
“Judge Paris, do you know what may have happened to Jessie and Ryan?” Shaun asked. “Do you know if they are still living in Augusta, or did they move on?”
The judge sighed, shaking his head. He moved to reclaim his seat. “Unfortunately, I do not. Jessie’s parents told me they both went missing a couple of months ago. Of course, there has been a search for them, but nothing’s been found yet.” The judge paused to reflect on what he had said, then his face clouded with understanding. “You don’t suppose…”
“The Scavenger Hunter already got to them?” Aidan finished. “It’s very likely.”
“Then why haven’t the police found their bodies, like you’ve found the others?”
“Sometimes, killing the one who caused the most pain isn’t enough to feel the void inside,” Shaun replied. “Maybe our offender killed Jessie and Ryan and buried their bodies. But then realized it didn’t bring him peace.”
“Revenge doesn’t bring peace,” the judge said. “It doesn’t bring them back.”
“No,” Aidan agreed, “But you know that not everyone realizes it. The offender may keep on killing.”
“Even after he’s finished,” Shaun added. “Judge Paris, do you have the contact information for Jessie’s and Ryan’s families?”
“Only Jessie’s,” the judge said as he rose. “It’s in my office. I’ll jot it down for you.”
“Thanks, Judge,” Shaun said. He looked over at Aidan, his eyes searching his face as if trying to see into his mind. “Do you suppose our killer is done yet?”
With the smallest of shrugs, Aidan said, “Hard to tell, really. If he’s in the blaming everyone mood for the death of his son, he may be targeting the arresting officer, the other doctors, and nurses in the operation room, twelve jurors…just about anyone who even looked at the case.”
“Pain and rage,” Shaun said with a shake of his head. “Can be a very deadly combination depending on the person. He—or she—must have loved Bryce very much.”
“That, and it’s possible the offender had dealt with so much pain in his life, he went over the edge. Serial killers often have dark pasts, you know.”
Aidan reflected on the statement Agent Burrows had said in the conference room.
Maybe he just doesn’t like the justice system.
Maybe.
What if the killer fancied himself as a good deed killer?
What if he wanted to teach the justice system the pain of losing someone they cared about?
Was that the offender’s intent? Or was it something deeper at play?
The judge returned a moment later and handed Shaun the number of Jessie’s parents.
“Thank you for your time, Judge Paris,” Shaun said as he pushed to his feet. “I know nothing we can say or do can help ease your pain. But I hope you realize that you are not at fault for any of these deaths.”
“I wish I believed that.”
“Judge…,” Aidan began, but found himself at a loss
for words.
“Let me know the second you arrest him,” the judge replied, his eyes growing dark. “I want to look in his eyes. I want to ask him why. Why he killed my sons and not me? Why he murdered the others and not their parents? Our children were not the ones who hurt that boy. They were innocent of our guilt.”
Our guilt. The judge’s words created a shudder in Aidan, echoing through his mind.
How terrible it was to spend years feeling guilt over tragedies beyond control. Aidan, himself, knew how it eats the soul. He’d been there in the dark before and it wasn’t until ten years later he’d made peace with the past.
Aidan exchanged glances with Shaun with a frown, before looking back at the judge.
“You know you may not get the answer you want,” Aidan pointed out.
“Maybe not,” Judge Paris said. “But I cannot go through life any longer without facing my sons’ assassins.”
36
Kristen McCoy anxiously watched as Luke pulled out from the driveway. He told her he was going to get her a bouquet because she deserved to be treated like a princess. She admitted to herself, the idea charmed her. Her boyfriend didn’t bring her flowers. She had friends, whose significant others brought them flowers, and Kristen always felt a twinge of jealousy.
Was there something wrong with a little change, here and there? A little difference in routines?
Therein lied the problem with good guys. There didn’t seem to be any excitement, any drive. Everything seemed to be on a straight, one-way street when Kristen had the desire for it to get bumpy every once in a while.
Wasn’t life supposed to throw curveballs?
Luke was such a smooth talker, Kristen thought to herself, but still, a little voice seeped into the back of her mind, reminding her that something was off. Was she being paranoid? After all, she did meet him at a club.
She’d been warned by her mother about picking up guys at clubs and bars. They only wanted one thing, she said. Going home could be fatal, she added. Her uncle, the cop, had seen many circumstances where one-night stands turned deadly.
Obviously, Kristen didn’t take the advice.
But there was an easy way to find out if the small voice in her head was crazy, or if it was truly warning her of something sinister.
Kristen waited until Luke’s car was out of sight, then she slowly shut the door. But before it closed all the way, she watched as the elderly man from across the street watched her.
Kristen could tell immediately that the man wasn’t very friendly, however, his wife was extremely talkative. But now, the way he gazed at her, she couldn’t help but wonder if he knew something she didn’t.
She shut the door and locked it, then turned around, scanning the empty house she knew so well.
The only place she hadn’t been was the basement, which was normally fine by her because she wasn’t too fond of basements. Once, as a small child, she got locked in a cellar, and huddled in a corner, her legs tucked under her chin for at least an hour, though to a child, it felt much longer. There were roaches and rats down there and she hated both.
Luke had told her his basement contained nothing but old furniture and boxes, but when he went downstairs one time, he found a dead rat.
The thought of it now created a rise in her and as she made her way to the basement door, she paused, wondering how worth it would it be to go down there.
Ever since she started hanging out at his place, she’d noticed Luke would go downstairs quite often. He claimed he had to work in his office and asked her not to bother him.
Of course, it wasn’t a problem with her.
But now…
Kristen tried the door, but it didn’t open.
The hunter pulled into a driveway, backed out, then made his way back to the house. Among other tasks, he planned on getting a bouquet, but he didn’t know what kind, if any, she preferred. Since he hadn’t gone too far, he decided to turn around.
He pulled into the driveway and got out of the car.
“Hello, young man.”
The hunter turned to see Mrs. Sherman at her mailbox. She opened it and pulled out a stack of mail.
“How are you?” he replied, feeling tired of playing niceties to the old couple across the street.
“I’m doing quite well,” she said. Mrs. Sherman looked behind her, then began to make her way across the street, toward him.
Kristen used a credit card from her wallet and manipulated the lock, sliding it with ease to force the door open.
She stood for half a second, drawing several deep breaths, then slowly crept down the creaky stairs, the dust and mildew greeting her nostrils. There was another stench, a strong stench, she couldn’t make out. She wrinkled her nose and used her shirt to mask the smell.
The basement was small and didn’t contain a lot of things as she thought it would. In fact, it held practically nothing. Only a door laying on two stands as a makeshift desk. A computer monitor was sitting on top, and above was a pegboard. There was also a cot and ratty blanket, and a refrigerator.
Kristen walked up to the pegboard, then covered her mouth with her hands in a gasp.
“I’d like to apologize for the way that husband of my acts,” Mrs. Sherman said, forcing a smile. “There is really no reason for him to not be neighborly.”
The hunter returned the forced smile. “It’s no worries, Mrs. Sherman. I’m not one for conversation, anyway.”
He tried to turn to walk away, but she touched his shoulder.
“Who is that young lady spending so much time with you these days? Someone special?”
Yes, very special.
The hunter shrugged, trying to act sheepish. “She’s just someone I met recently. I’m not sure where it’ll lead. Now, if you’ll excuse me, ma’am, I’m running a bit late.”
Kristen leaned in closer, seeing her face staring back at her. Attached to several lines were other photos, most with a large X drawn across the pictures.
She recognized them as the victims of whom the news referred to as The Scavenger Hunter.
Kristen’s heart pounded, pounded, and she took a quick step back, almost tumbling to her bottom.
The sickening smell seemed to get stronger, and it appeared to come from the refrigerator. She walked over, forcing her eyes from the table.
Kristen opened the door.
A bloodcurdling scream echoed in the basement.
She wasn’t sure where it was originating, but she wished it would stop.
Then she realized it was coming from her.
“My dear, what’s that?” Mrs. Sherman gasped.
The hunter didn’t answer her. He only pushed through his door, shutting it behind him. He locked the knob, deadbolted it, and latched it.
Kristen stumbled backward, losing her balance until she fell hard onto the surface of the basement.
The severed head stared down at her, dried blood clinging to the jagged edges.
She covered her mouth tightly to quiet the screaming and to keep herself from vomiting. It didn’t work. Kristen turned over and bile spilled to the floor from her mouth.
It was then, she noticed another long white box sitting underneath the stairs.
Kristen, her entire body shaken, forced herself to her feet and walked unsteadily under the stairs.
It was then, light from above broke through the darkness.
With a scan around the basement, Kristen realized in horror that she was trapped.
37
The hunter walked down the steps slowly, his gaze focused on Kristen. She was certain her face showed the horror of what she’d discovered. He watched her for a few seconds.
He stepped down the last rung of the stairs, slowly still. Kristen backed up.
“Luke,” she croaked.
The hunter made no response, but to look at the refrigerator, still open, still revealing the severed head.
He walked to shut the refrigerator, keeping his eyes on Kristen.
“You shouldn’t be
down here,” he told her.
Kristen bit her bottom lip, her eyes flickering to the box.
“You want to know what’s in there?” he asked her.
“I-is i-it his body?” she stammered dryly. A flow of tears fell from the corner of her eyes.
“Come,” he said. “I’ll show you.”
To be sure she didn’t make a run for it, the hunter grabbed her by the arm and pulled her over to the long, white box.
“Open it.”
She hesitated, then swallowed hard as she obeyed his command.
The hinges creaked and Kristen peered inside, letting out a tearful gasp, dropping the lid with a loud clang.
“You’re sick.”
He opened it again, viewing the body inside, staring down admiringly at what used to be Jessie Barcliff, head intact. Her body appeared as it had the day she died two months ago. He embalmed them to keep both from decomposing. He wanted to remember that he was the one who took their life. He wanted to remember he was in charge.
“Doesn’t she look like a perfect angel?” he said. He looked at Kristen, his eyes cold and hard. “Well, she’s not.”
“Y-you killed her?”
“I did,” the hunter admitted. “And her boyfriend over there.”
Kristen’s eyes looked at the refrigerator and remained there until she found the nerves to speak again.
“Why did you want them dead?”
“They took something from me,” the hunter said. “Something I can never get back.”
He told her the story of Bryce’s death. The anger he felt when Jessie and Ryan got no jail time. Not even a real punishment. In fact, Jessie had continued to work with the children at the YMCA for years after her sentence. Not once did she have remorse or feel punishment.
“I watched her. And I watched him. They lived their lives, laughing, joking around, living. Bryce can never do that. He can never marry, never have…kids. He couldn’t even experience the joy of life after high school.”