Mr. Erinton has been easy to follow. His car’s so bright I swear you could see it in the dark of night. Several days I follow him, staking out his office, watching him come and go. On Saturday, he leaves the house for work.
There’s a service entrance around the back. Faint barking is coming from inside. Not a guarding-the-house bark or a happy bark. This bark makes my head pound.
I know he’ll have an alarm, so I’m not sure how to get in. But one thing I do know? He’s a total player. All I have to do is bide my time.
After all, it’s Saturday. He’ll be out tonight looking for someone to hook up with. So I settle in and wait. When I wake later, I’m annoyed that I fell asleep. And I worry I’ve missed him. But about twenty-five minutes later, the yellow Porsche comes roaring down the street and pulls into the garage. Bet the neighbors hate him.
I sit up straight, using the binoculars to peer into the windows. Watch him move from the first floor to the second and what must be his bedroom.
Three hours pass and I’m just about ready to give up when the garage door goes back up. When he blows by me, I smile.
The loud music clears my head as I follow him. He pulls up in front of some pretentious new club with velvet ropes outside. I guess they think they’re in New York City, not Raleigh.
He tosses the keys to the valet and I watch his mouth move. I’m sure he’s lecturing the guy about his precious car. Now that I know where he’s going, I’ve decided I have to put myself in a position to speak to him. I had a simple rule: never speak to them. But I was naïve thinking it would be so easy to get to them. Guys like this? They’re harder. So I go back home. It’s time for me to become someone else for the night. I’m thinking…a toned-down version of a hooker.
Fresh from the shower, I stand in front of the closet pondering my choices. Take another sip of wine. The third dress I try on is a winner. It’s one Jackson bought me. Horribly expensive. It fits like a glove and I feel like a million bucks. It’s a simple tank-style bandage dress, and it’s shocking pink. Not the typical black or red choice for tonight.
I pull out a pair of platform wedges to complete the look. My makeup and hair are done to dramatic levels. I look in the mirror one more time and smile.
Since I’m no longer employed, I have to watch my pennies, so I bypass the valet and park in a lot a block away. I intend to get in line, but the doorman waves me forward, unhooks the rope, and smiles.
“Have a nice night.”
It’s gotta be the dress. The bar’s dark, the music pounds, and I make my way to the bar. I need a prop. The guy next to me gives me the once-over, nods to the bartender, and raises his brows.
“Old Fashioned, thanks.”
When he tries to make conversation, I touch his arm. “I appreciate the drink, but I’m waiting for my girlfriend.”
“Great. We can make it a party.”
“No. My girlfriend.”
“No men?”
“Never.”
“Well, it was worth a try.” He moves down the bar to a pretty redhead.
My blond wig is long and sleek, glowing under the lights as I survey the patrons. Two different guys try to pick me up and I ignore them both.
The bartender says, “If you smile at them you won’t have to pay for a single drink all night.”
I look over my shoulder. “Yes, but then they think they own me for the length of time it takes me to finish the drink, and that’s just not acceptable.”
He smiles. “Smart girl.”
A circuit around the club and I spot him. He’s dancing with some girl. When the song ends for a moment he looks like he’s going to leave with her, but then he spies someone else and leaves her standing there open-mouthed. I purposely angle my body so I bump into him. My drink sloshes over onto my hand.
“Didn’t see you there. Don’t know how I could have missed someone as smoking hot as you.”
It takes effort not to roll my eyes. “It is awfully crowded in here.”
“Buy you another?”
I nod and follow him to the back bar near the courtyard.
“What are you drinking?”
“Old Fashioned, thanks.”
He nods and orders.
“I’m Gary. Gary Erinton. And you are?”
“Caroline. Caroline Pope.”
“Pope, huh? You can’t take Command.”
My laugh rings out. “A Scandal fan. Papa Pope rocks.”
“Hell yes.”
We make small talk. My chance comes when he turns his head to check out a trio of girls prancing by. The drink goes into the planter next to the door, the empty glass on the bar.
He turns back to me. “Let’s get another.” He motions to the bartender, but I touch his hand.
“Please. Let me buy this round.”
He practically leers. “I like a woman who knows how to take turns.” I don’t miss the innuendo, and give him a look like I know exactly what he’s saying.
It’s loud, so I lean over the bar to the bartender and speak next to his ear. I order the drink for Gary, but for myself I ask for a club soda with lime. I need to keep my wits about me for what’s coming.
Another hour and a half passes and I make a show of looking at the time on my phone. “This has been fun, but I should get going.”
He’s invested too much time to let me leave. “Not now. We’re just getting to know each other.”
“I need some air. Let’s go out to the courtyard.” I giggle and fake-stumble as we walk out into the sultry night. The club has fans set up blowing the humid air around. The scent of booze and perfume is strong. His arm comes around my waist, resting a little too low on my back.
I smile up at him stupidly. “So you’re in real estate. How’s the market?”
He goes on and on about his job, telling me how good he is.
“I just love big houses.”
“I’ve got a big house I could show you, baby.”
I throw up a little in my mouth, but still fake a smile. “Well, sugar, I’d die to see your house, but you’re in no shape to drive.”
“I’m fine. I drink like this every weekend.” I feign looking slightly uncomfortable, and he backpedals. “What about you?”
“I’m good. High tolerance.”
“Then how about you follow me? I make a great cup of coffee.”
And just like that, I’m in.
CHAPTER 49
STUPID GUY. I FOLLOW HIM outside. “Give me the address and I’ll meet you there.” Batting my eyes, I lean my breasts against his arm. “A girl’s gotta watch her reputation.”
He grins at me and pulls me close, slobbering all over my face. More like I’ve been licked than kissed. I try not to look as disgusted as I feel.
“Give me your phone.”
I hand him the black phone and he types in the address.
“Now you know how to find me. Promise you’re coming?”
“Bet I can beat you there.” I giggle and walk away, making sure to swing my hips back and forth.
On my way to the Jeep, the valet passes me in the banana Porsche. Behind it is a black Maserati. Gary beats me to the house. I feign indignation as I stumble out of the car.
“You must have been flying to beat me here.”
He sways as he leans against the car. “Come on in. I’ll fix us a drink.”
“I thought you said coffee?”
He waves a hand. “Coffee. Drinks. Whatever.”
When he opens the door, there’s no beep-beep signaling an alarm.
“No alarm system? Aren’t you worried about break-ins in such a big fancy house?”
He hits the button for the garage door and shuts it. “This is a safe neighborhood. I have the signs and the stickers. Works just as well as the actual system. You’d be surprised how many houses use the same trick.”
The door from the garage leads through a mudroom into the kitchen. Standing in the mudroom, I hear whimpering.
“Do you have a dog? Sounds like he wa
nts to go out.”
His face turns ugly. “The mutt belonged to my ex. I hate that animal. Leave him in there. I’ll deal with it later.”
Pain explodes in my palm. Looking down, I see my fist clenched so tight the bones in my hand stand out. There’s a drop of blood where the nail pierced the skin. I count to thirteen, taking a few deep breaths. Be smart. You’ve got plenty of time.
The kitchen is all stainless steel and concrete. Cold and unwelcoming. I perch on a gray barstool at the island. My back is to the concrete, and Gary places his arms on either side, trapping me. The guy slobbers all over me again.
“Give me one little minute… Where’s the little girls’ room?”
He points down the hallway. “Second door.”
As I walk down the hallway, the smell hits me. It smells like the swamp. Mud and something cold. Reptilian. Gooseflesh breaks out across my arms and my blood pulses with each heartbeat. The door across from the bathroom is slightly ajar. Just in time, I clap my hand over my mouth to keep from gasping.
There must be at least ten aquariums in here, each one containing a dead snake. Swallowing my revulsion, I step closer. They all look like they’ve starved to death, but as little as I know about snakes, I can’t be certain. The ever-present blackness rattles the door and gnashes its teeth, desperate to get out. To finish off the man where he stands. Not yet. I use the restroom and take out the baggie of powder from the zippered pocket of my tiny purse.
Jackson left a partial bottle of sleeping pills at my apartment, and I saw no reason to return them. I’ve never taken a sleeping pill, but I figured they might come in handy one day.
On my way to the kitchen I hear soft music playing and follow the sound. In the living room he sits up on the couch. His shirt’s untucked, shoes off, and his belt lies on the hardwood floor.
“Let me make you that cup of coffee…”
“You know, on second thought, I’d love a drink. Will you join me?”
“I’d love to. But you might need to sleep here…of course, I have a guest room if you’d prefer. But you can’t drink and drive.”
I pretend to think about it, match his smile. “Let’s see how the evening plays out, shall we?” The idiot. Like we didn’t drink and drive to get here?
He picks up the empty glass, and I stop him with a hand on his arm. “Let me take care of it. Why don’t you light a few candles?”
He thinks he’s going to get lucky. He has no idea. I take the glass into the kitchen and make two drinks, adding one snack-size baggie containing two crushed-up sleeping pills to his. Once I stir it, you can’t tell what I put in there.
He dims the lights and sits close, putting his arm around me.
I raise my glass. “To new friends.”
He clinks his glass to mine. By the time he passes out, my face, neck, and chest are wet. Yuck. Who thinks it’s sexy to lick someone?
Outside the mudroom, I turn the knob on the door and can’t hold back the soft cry.
The dog’s nothing more than skin and bone. I press my lips together, biting down until I taste blood. But I can’t do this now. I have to be smart. Who knows who might have seen us leave together, could connect me to him at the club? The wig and makeup may not be enough. From the various news snippets, I know the police are looking for two individuals with drug connections. Possible cartel members. All it takes is one screw-up and they’ll know it’s only one little girl.
The tiny room is a disaster. I clean up the waste and shredded papers, disposing of everything. In the kitchen I rummage around until I find a can of dog food. I mix a few spoonful’s with water.
“Just a little at a time. I don’t know how long it’s been since you’ve eaten. By the looks of these dishes, it’s been a while.” I stroke the matted brown fur, counting bones.
The dog eats what I’ve put in front of him and drinks the water. After waiting to make sure he won’t throw up, I give him a little bit more to eat and drink. His ribs feel like a row of pencils lined up on a desk.
“Please forgive me. I can’t do it tonight. But I promise you. I’ll be back tomorrow. You just have to hang in there and some nice people will come and help you. If I call it in, he’ll do the same thing again to another sweet doggie like you. My way stops him for good.”
I know he doesn’t understand me, but he likes my tone, his nose coming up under my hand. It always amazes me the capacity animals have to forgive. If only people could be the same way.
My heart shatters as I pull the door shut behind me, the soft whimper stabbing into my gut. Back in the kitchen I rummage through the drawers. Gary bragged how he keeps a handful of spare keys. Intimating how virile he was, how many women came and went. He jokingly said half the female population of Raleigh has keys to his place. I guess I was supposed to find that attractive.
The drawer closest to the door has what I’m looking for. Using a paper towel to take one of the spare keys, I put it in my bag. With a dishrag and soap and water, I scrub down the doorknobs, the table, and the counters. I go to the living room and take both glasses back to the kitchen, wash them out, run the disposal. I dry the glasses and put one in the cabinet, but the other I leave out so it looks like he came home alone.
“Be patient,” I whisper. “I’ll set you free tomorrow.”
CHAPTER 50
GRAYSON WAS LOOKING FORWARD TO catching up with colleagues across the state at the annual NCARCA—North Carolina Animal and Rabies Control Association—conference. It was held in late October. He stood on the balcony overlooking the ocean. Wrightsville Beach. This had been the hottest year on record. Normally he’d complain, but the pool was open and he’d walked on the beach, letting the waves wash over his feet.
The conference was a great time for him to talk with colleagues, share best practices, and, of course, everyone always shared their most bizarre cases. Malcolm ribbed him, saying he should tell the ghost dog story, but Grayson thought it was more embarrassing than funny. Being unable to catch one single dog after almost a year stung his pride. Maybe the dog was a ghost? Some manifestation of his imagination.
At the end of the second day, a large group met up at the bar on the water.
“Guy beat his dog to death with a baseball bat. Had a nasty habit of beating up his wife. Found him shot to death. Can’t say I felt bad for him.”
Another officer spoke up. “My case in Whiteville. He put a plastic bag over the dog’s head and stomped on him. He was shot as well.”
“You guys remember hearing about the four horses the guy from Fayetteville starved? He died, but I don’t remember the cause.” The officer pointed to the table to signal another round of beer.
His law enforcement contacts. Jackson. They’d all said drugs. No connection to animal cruelty. Grayson started to get that feeling. He was right. Were there others? Before he could ask, a woman—he couldn’t remember her name—spoke up.
“It’s that time of year. A lot of us work in areas with high rates of gang and drug activity. Did you hear Durham had its ninetieth murder?”
A soft-spoken officer held up a hand. “I’m out of Durham. We hit one hundred murders this year as of Monday, but nobody in my office has had what y’all are talking about. Go figure.”
“People are crazy.” The woman looked around the table. “I had a case I was working out on Ocracoke. The guy drowned his dog. Oh, excuse me.” She made air quotes with her fingers. “‘Allegedly’ drowned his dog.” She rolled her eyes. “He tied it to a stake at the beach, and when the tide came in the poor animal drowned.” She accepted another beer. “He died, but it happened at the zoo. People heard shots and thought maybe one of the animals had escaped. By the time they found him in the brush, he’d been partially eaten.”
“Lion was probably like, ‘Sure, I’d like a manburger.’”
“Want a brain with your steak?”
There were a lot of groans.
Grayson pulled out the small notebook and pen he kept with him. Made notes. He looked around th
e table.
“I’m curious—who else remembers one of the cases they worked where the person died?” He turned to the ACO to his right. “Didn’t you tell me there was one in Clayton?”
“Yep. She was that devil woman who practiced black magic with the dead cats.” She crossed herself.
“Oh, I remember hearing about that one. That gave me the willies. I don’t think I slept well for a week. Of course, I couldn’t watch scary movies as a child either.” A woman from Asheville looked rattled. “I don’t mess with devil worship. Those people are scary.”
“There was one in Winston-Salem. It was drug-related. The woman was a meth addict. She’d starved the horse to death. Using the money for its food to support her drug habit. The husband and kids were morbidly obese.” The guy shook his head. “I don’t feel sorry for her at all. Actually, I think she got what she deserved.”
“I’ve got a good one.” A guy with dark hair and a faded scar at the corner of his eye spoke up. Grayson couldn’t remember his name. He must be new. No one else seemed to know him either.
“Out in Greensboro, there was a trucker, I won’t use his name because you guys might know who I’m talking about, but he took a cat and cut off its tail and back paws because it was meowing too loudly. He also liked to visit prostitutes at the truck stop. Beat them up. The smell had someone calling it in. He was found shot to death in his truck, pants around his knees. And get this: he shit himself. Between the blood and tissue and the shit, two of the cops puked on the spot. They’re looking for a prostitute. Obviously a revenge killing. Purely a coincidence on the cruelty charge.”
Grayson was leaning forward to ask questions when the waitress showed up with their food. He didn’t want to say anything in front of her, so he waited while all the food was passed around. That made nine that he knew about. Nine was not a coincidence. No matter if the murder rates were higher this year, no matter if the heat wave contributed to part of it, and no matter if law enforcement said there were three shooters—his gut was screaming at him that there was a single killer on the loose.
There Was a Little Girl Page 21