Later on while I’m eating dinner and catching up on a few shows I like to watch, I remember something Grayson said. About the local DEA agent. The man told him that many times when you read about a murder where the victim was shot to death in their car or it was listed as a murder suicide…that most of those were really drug cartel hits. People owing money to the cartel, who in turn sent hitmen after them.
It’s another thing that may help keep me off the radar of law enforcement. I was careful with a few early mishaps. And as the gun isn’t registered, all they have to go on is the bullets. And being spread out across the state, I have to believe it will take them longer to figure out what’s going on. Plus they ought to think they have two killers on their hands—unless they’ve figured out it was one killer with two different guns?
Most people are horrified to find out there’s a significant amount of gang activity in their state. I’m glad there is a gang and drug problem. It makes my job that much easier.
3D printers can now print guns that fire bullets. I’ve been doing research, watching videos online. Now that I’m unemployed, I have time to figure it all out. Continuing with my work, I need different guns to keep the police from finding me.
CHAPTER 44
I’VE SPENT THE LAST THREE days following Alice Winter. The woman has a serious meth problem. Her teeth make me cringe. Jackson teases me about my obsession with teeth. If there’s something off, I’ll notice it. After I eat, I always have to brush. There’s a toothbrush and toothpaste in my purse and in my car. Before I got fired, I kept them in my desk too.
When I’m really stressed out I have dreams my teeth are falling out. I know it’s crazy. We all have our quirks.
So far Alice has hidden her problem from her husband and three kids. They live in Winston-Salem in a nice neighborhood. She’s a stay-at-home mom and fills her days doing heaven knows what. Taking care of her horse is not one of those things. Who knows what goes on between two people? Maybe she tells her husband she’s feeding the animal, but in reality she’s spending all the money on drugs. And the poor horse? He was so far gone by the time animal control officers found out about it he had to be put down. The story itself is horrific, and I can imagine what it must have been like to see in person.
And so I find myself with the blue gun in my bag as I trail behind Alice. It’s sticky outside. The forecast said we’ll hit a hundred today. The breeze shifts and the smell of rotting garbage fills my throat, making me cough. She’s so intent on finding whatever she’s looking for, Alice doesn’t even look behind her.
I watched her buy drugs and followed her as she purposely walked toward her destination. It’s now midafternoon. I know I’m taking a huge risk. But in the evenings she’s always home with the husband and kids. While they are partially to blame for not knowing something is wrong with Alice, they weren’t responsible for the horse’s death. She kept the animal on neighboring land. It was her alone who cared for the animal. She was the one who wanted it. They have no other pets. The children have no interest in animals and her husband works all the time, frequently coming home late at night and leaving early in the morning.
So if I can help it, I don’t want to kill her in the house, where the children will find their mommy dead. Seeing something like that screws you up so badly in the head you never recover. Look at me.
At the end of the alley, she sits down, her back against the dumpster, legs stretched out in front of her, resting on trash. She seems oblivious to her surroundings, or maybe she just doesn’t care. I watch her as she prepares the meth. Smokes it. Leans her head back, eyes closing, a dreamy smile on her face. I hope her high is a good one. It’s going to cost her dearly.
The alley is cluttered with two other dumpsters and various boxes and pallets. Unless they come into the alley all the way to the back where Alice is, no one will see me. The only problem is I’m going to have to go back out the way I came. There is no other exit.
My hands are sweaty inside the plastic gloves, and the long, curly black wig itches in the hot sun. Not to mention I’m wearing black leggings and a black t-shirt. The woman doesn’t even open her eyes as I approach. When I shift the strap of the messenger bag, sweat trickles down my ribcage. Bringing the gun up, I take careful aim. No more mistakes like at Lake Johnson. The shot hits her in the face. I’ve learned the hard way to stand far enough back I don’t end up spattered. She wheezes out her final breath, blood sprays out in a fine mist, and she goes still. But to be sure, I take the second shot. There’s no way I’m taking a chance on someone surviving to identify me.
Given the state of the neighborhood we’re in, no one will investigate. People here mind their own business. And gunshots are a sound they tend to ignore. I make my way to a stack of wooden pallets and look around them. I still don’t see anyone, but the walls are high and anyone could be looking out a window. I keep my face turned down and purposefully stride forward, as if I have a right to be there.
At the end of the alley, I kneel down to tie my shoe. Then I look to the left and to the right. There are two homeless men across the street in the doorway. Neither one of them is looking my way, so I quickly turn to the right and walk as if I’m just out taking a stroll. Any moment I keep expecting someone to yell stop or tackle me to the ground. I listen for the sound of sirens, yet none are to be heard.
As I make it to my car parked three blocks away, I hear the sirens. Inside the car I pull off the wig, running my fingers through my hair, happy it’s finally getting longer. I sit in the car motionless as two police cars speed by me. Once they turn the corner I start the engine and drive. As I turn on to the exit ramp, a sleek black car goes past. It’s a Maserati. Ever since one almost ran me over, I’ve been noticing them. Talk about a beautiful vehicle, and the tinted windows are fantastic. Of course, if I drove around in a car like that, someone would easily recognize me. I pick a random exit on the way back to Raleigh, and at a gas station I go into the bathroom, where I change clothes and clean up. I come back out to the car stuffing the rest of the plastic into the trash bag along with my clothes, then pour bleach over the lot, tossing in the empty bottle as well.
Soon Alice’s husband and children will wonder what happened to their mother. But I have to think on some level they know something is wrong. You can only hide a drug problem for so long. Based on the way she acted, it looked like she’d had a problem for a long time. But what I can’t understand is why she didn’t just give the horse away. Unless it was the cover for her to funnel money away from the horse to feed her drug habit. And that’s unacceptable. Starving the poor animal who was dependent on her for its care…that’s why she found herself on my list. And why she’s dead.
CHAPTER 45
GRAYSON WAS ON HIS WAY back to the office with three feral cats. They’d be neutered and spayed, checked out. Then he’d take them back and release them. Too feral to be socialized, they would live out the rest of their days in the colony. People in the neighborhood had agreed to care for the colony, and this way they wouldn’t continue reproducing.
Gray fur darted across the road up ahead. The ever-elusive sheepdog. Today was Grayson’s lucky day. He could feel it.
He parked the truck on the side of the road next to some sorry-looking plants. There was a path through the trees and he followed it, circling around the house, coming out down the road from where he had seen the dog. Another flash of fur and he broke into a jog as the dog galloped through yards and bushes. This time he was going to catch the beast. He picked up the pace, closing the distance. As he hurdled a bush and ran down the slope, his foot slipped in something squishy and he went down hard on his ass, sliding the rest of the way down across the grass.
“Damn.”
It was a big pile of dog poop. With a grimace, he scraped his shoes off on the grass and felt eyes on him. There was the sheepdog sitting in the trees, tongue hanging out.
“What are you looking at?”
He swore the dog laughed at him.
“
We’ll see who has the last laugh. Your day is coming.”
Grayson met Zane and the guys for drinks at one of those dive bars downtown. The place reeked of beer, and your shoes stuck to the peanut-shell-covered floor, but being close to the police station made it convenient.
Zane huffed out a breath as he sat down. “Sorry I’m late. I hate paperwork.”
“At least you didn’t fall on your ass in front of the dog you’re trying to catch. He took a shit on the grass on purpose so I’d step in it. I swear he was laughing at me.” Grayson shook his head remembering the sheepdog.
Kevin grinned. “I think this dog is your Moby Dick. Some kind of metaphor for life. I don’t think he’s actually a real dog.”
“Well, aren’t we deep tonight.” Grayson took a drink of his beer.
Talk turned to work. He thought about how he’d made the right choice. While he came from a family of law enforcement, he’d always felt an affinity for animals. So he chose the path to becoming an animal control officer instead of a cop.
Grayson was watching the game when part of the conversation drew his attention. “What was that?”
One of the cops grimaced. “Some druggie got herself shot to death. I swear it would save us a lot of paperwork if we could just take all the drug- and gang-related shootings and fill out some kind of short form. Check here if they’re a gang banger, here if they’re scumbag druggies. Check. Check here if you’ll never find who did it. Check.” A couple of the other cops agreed.
One of the newer guys spoke up. “Heard about the kid at the mall. You guys remember the Belk geese?”
“Yeah, they come back every year or something?” Zane poured another beer looking across the table at the new guy.
The cop went on. “Some kid and his friends were throwing rocks at them. Kid broke the male’s wing. He did community service. He’s the one who got shot.”
Grayson had that electrical jolt run through his body. Another connection.
Kevin looked interested. “There’s another murder that popped in Wilmington, but the thought is they’re drug-related. No tie to the drug addict in the alley. Different gun.”
Warning bells sounded in Grayson’s head. “Drugs might be a commonality, but there’s more. I know the ACO who worked the case in Wilmington. Both cases have animals involved.”
“You mean dog fighting?” One of the cops scratched his beard.
“They all had cruelty charges.” Now Grayson had their attention. They all looked at him.
“Hear me out. I think you’ve got a vigilante running around offing people who are cruel to animals.”
Several of the cops looked skeptical. “If there were more I might be inclined to think there was a connection, but these are criminals. They hit their dogs, kids, and wives. I’m not buying it.”
Walt agreed. “Then explain the different gun for the druggie. Are there two vigilantes?”
The cop with the gut laughed. “Maybe a deer is shooting hunters.”
“Or a bear with an AK taking out zookeepers.” His equally chunky partner high-fived him.
They laughed and laughed, coming up with more outrageous ideas. Kevin looked thoughtful and leaned over to Grayson. “It’s a theory, but unless there are more shootings, I’m inclined to go with drugs.”
They’d reacted the same way Jackson had. Was Grayson the one off base? If he wasn’t, there would be more killings. He decided he’d start paying closer attention to any murder he saw on the news, check if they victim had animal neglect or cruelty charges. And if he was right? How many more would die before law enforcement figured it out and the media got hold of it?
Jackson and I are out to dinner getting our sushi fix—well, I am. He’s more the Asian fusion type, whatever that means. No raw fish for him. Then I feel it. A sense of wrongness. As I look around the restaurant to pinpoint the source, I catch sight of a man and woman eating together.
It isn’t her—it’s him. I narrow my eyes, looking him over from head to toe. My stomach drops like I’m going down the first hill of a roller coaster. He is well dressed, and good-looking in that bad-boy sort of way women find attractive. And his date is all about him. From the way they’re interacting, I’m guessing it must be their first, maybe second date. He looks like the kind of guy that will sleep with her then vanish. Ghosting away while she frantically worries, wondering what she did wrong. What she could have said to make him stay.
The desperation rolling off her almost looks orange to me as it hovers above her skin. Doesn’t she know he can sense it? He’ll have sex with her. But afterward, she’ll never hear from him again.
But what is it about him? Evil. That’s what I sense.
“I’ve got to take this call. I’m really sorry.” Jackson’s eyes look bright green in the light, reminding me of Gram’s favorite gems—emeralds. He puts the phone to his ear and leaves the table. So much politer than talking while I sit there. When he’s gone, I go back to studying the couple. Under the pretense of taking a picture of my meal to post on social media, I angle the phone, keeping my finger pressed down, taking a picture of them both.
When Jackson comes back, he leans back in the chair, the fatigue of his workload showing on his face.
“I’m sorry. This case is going to kill me.”
“No biggie. I understand when work is crazy. I’m in the mood for dessert. How about you?”
“Absolutely.” He motions the waiter over. “Two dessert menus?”
The man nods and goes away.
“The lemon sorbet looks really good.”
Jackson looks up at me. “I was thinking more along the lines of that crazy chocolate cake.”
“That sounds heavenly.”
“Ready to order?” The waiter stands there, pen poised above his pad.
“We’d each like a slice of the chocolate ganache cake with a side of lemon sorbet. And another glass of wine for the lady, and I’ll take a scotch on the rocks.”
The sound of the phone vibrating makes Jackson swear under his breath. He pantomimes he’s sorry and gets up to take the call. I’m close enough that when our waiter gives the creepy guy his check, I hear him call the man by name.
Mr. Erinton. How nice that salesclerks and waitstaff are trying to be more personable. Calling out people’s names. Makes it easy for someone up to no good.
I angle my chair so I can listen to the guy impress his date. Mr. Erinton is going on about how he’s such a big real estate guy. Boasting about the number of homes he’s sold. How he bought inside the beltline, behind Whole Foods. In a great little neighborhood. The house was an old cottage on a big corner lot. He tore the thing down and built a mansion. After all, he earned it.
I make note of his name and the neighborhood on my black phone. The waiter brings our desserts and I decide I’ll look Mr. Erinton up when I get home. Find out exactly where he lives, and then, based on his name and address, I can find out what it is that’s got my radar pinging.
Jackson comes back. “I’m really sorry. You know I normally never take a call during a meal. But there’s a lot going on at the firm right now. I’ve completely ruined our dinner.”
I smile magnanimously. “Don’t worry about it, sweetie. I’m sure I have my moments too.”
Wisely, he refrains from saying anything. We both know how touchy I’ve been lately. While we finish our dessert, I keep shooting glances at the man and his date. As we leave the restaurant, I have a clear view through the doors. The valet pulls up in a banana-yellow Porsche. Could Mr. Erinton be any more of a cliché?
Oh well, soon it won’t matter. One thing I’ve learned on this journey, wherever it’s leading me, is to trust my instincts. And my instincts tell me he’s going to end up on the list.
CHAPTER 46
JACKSON FOLLOWS ME INTO THE apartment. “This is getting ridiculous, wouldn’t you agree?”
“What are you talking about?”
“I saw the way you were looking at that guy in the restaurant. Don’t think I di
dn’t notice. Who is he?”
“I have no idea. There was something about him that seemed off. Couldn’t you feel it?”
He lets out a long-suffering sigh as he opens the refrigerator door. The smell of beer fills the room. When he turns to face me, there’s a look on his face I haven’t seen before.
“You’ve changed. You used to be so sweet. Never raised your voice.” His posture is ramrod straight, as if he’s delivering a practiced speech. “We need a break. I don’t like the person you’ve become. Your smile used to light up your entire face when you saw me. Now it’s like, oh, it’s you.”
It stings—I admit it. Instead of saying anything, I wait. There’s more coming. I can feel it. “I know you’re dealing with a lot since you lost your job. But you’ve been distracted and distant for a long time. Hope, just tell me what’s going on.”
Jackson finishes half his beer in the time it takes him to walk the few steps from the kitchen to the sofa. He sits down, scrubbing a hand over his face.
“What’s going on? I’ve worked since I was sixteen years old. And now I don’t have a job. And you wonder what’s wrong?”
He slams the bottle down on the table next to the sofa. Thank goodness it wasn’t full, or it would have gone over.
“You’re hiding something. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about us. Everything changed right around the time you moved into this apartment. I don’t know what it is, but now you’re angry all the time. Screaming and yelling over stupid stuff.”
The blackness is bubbling up inside me. I dig my fingers into the cushion of the oversized chair across from him. It doesn’t help, so I stand up and go to the kitchen. I rummage in the refrigerator, throwing away old containers of food and anything else that looks sketchy, like bottles of salad dressing I can’t even remember the last time I used. A bottle hits the trash with a bang.
There Was a Little Girl Page 19