Glimpse of Death: A Riveting Serial Killer Thriller

by Leslie Wolfe

  “You got it,” he replied and hung up.

  “What are you thinking?” Michowsky asked. “That gut of yours still talking to you?”

  “All the time, Gary,” she chuckled bitterly, “the damn thing won’t shut up. Too bad I can’t make much sense out of what it’s telling me.” She stopped talking for a little while, thinking through the information again. “This doesn’t make sense, any sense whatsoever. Melissa doesn’t fit the profile, and that means either something changed dramatically in the killing team dynamics, making them shift from their target victimology and signature, or something else happened, and Melissa’s disappearance is not related to our case. We have to consider that, you know.”

  “Do you think it’s possible she just left the guy?” Michowsky asked. “Maybe they argued and it got ugly. It’s known to happen.”

  “Nah… I don’t think so. She seems so responsible. She wouldn’t just walk out on her job, on everyone. She’d send a note, a text, something.”

  Fradella came to a screeching stop in front of the Henderson residence, followed closely by two marked cars. Tess stepped out of the car, and beckoned the uniformed officers.

  “Ask around, knock on doors, figure out the last time anyone saw her. Go!” She watched them scamper away, and ignored their grumbling about chain of command and her authority over them.

  Todd rang the bell, then pounded on the door. “This is the police, open up!”

  His call remained unanswered, and, after looking in Tess’s direction for approval, he kicked the door open. A minute later, the three of them reconvened in the living room.

  “No one’s here. No signs of struggle, nothing seems wrong,” Michowsky said.

  “Where’s her kid? Do we need to put out an amber alert?” Tess asked, then immediately texted Donovan. Within a minute, he texted back, “Kid in PHX w Grandma, was on open ticket flight on 2/18. All good.”

  Tess swallowed a sigh of relief mixed with frustration, and, while thinking about the next steps, stared at the walls. Neatly framed photographs of the Henderson family hung in various spots on the cream-colored walls. The two Hendersons getting married; Melissa was beautiful, stunning in her wedding dress, and her husband was handsome too, looking proud. The two of them with their newborn child, smiling widely. The three of them on a camping trip, when the little boy was about four years old. That was the latest photo, although there was plenty room left on the wall to hang more recent snapshots of their life together. She turned to leave, and in passing, gave the wedding picture another look. They were beautiful people, the two of them, and Derek Henderson looked somewhat familiar, although she was sure they’d never met. An indistinct thought gnawed at the edges of her mind, but she shrugged it off and left the house, heading for the car.

  “Time to have a conversation with Mr. Henderson,” she said, and a frown slowly furrowed her brow. Nothing made sense; the entire case had been a senseless, agonizing mess.

  Twelve minutes later, they waited for Derek Henderson to be called downstairs, to the reception lobby at the accounting firm he worked for. The lobby was neatly decorated and lush, a statement that the company, although midsized, was doing quite well financially. Tess studied the awards for professional excellence lined up on a side display, checking the time every minute and trying to refrain from stomping her foot.

  “Yes, I’m Derek Henderson,” a man said, approaching them with a spring in his step. “How can I help you?”

  “Mr. Henderson,” Tess said, then flashed her badge. “Special Agent Winnett, FBI; Detectives Michowsky and Fradella, Palm Beach County Sheriff’s Office.”

  He turned pale. “What is this about?”

  “It’s about your wife. She hasn’t shown up for work this morning, and she’s not at home. Due to a series of circumstances, the hospital has contacted us and requested we look into her absence.”

  “What circumstances?” he asked, frowning. He had thick eyebrows, and the frown ruffled them, making them look thicker.

  “Let’s focus on your wife,” Tess replied coldly. “When’s the last time you saw her?”

  He swallowed hard, and almost covered his mouth with his hand. There was panic in his eyes, and a thousand questions.

  “This morning,” he replied, stammering a little. “She was running a little late for work, but otherwise, everything seemed normal,” he added, then gasped. “Oh, my God… Do you think they took her? Those people they were talking about on TV?”

  “We don’t know that yet, Mr. Henderson, and we can’t assume. We’ll be in touch,” Tess added, and turned to leave.

  “What can I do? You have to let me help,” the man pleaded. “Just tell me what to do.”

  She stopped and gave Derek Henderson another scrutinizing look. He seemed genuinely worried, and acted normally, given the situation. No one would have stayed calm in his place; people tend to freak out when their families are threatened, and need something to do, to regain some illusion of control over their existence.

  “Just go home, Mr. Henderson, and wait by the phone, in case there’s a ransom call,” she said. “We’ll be in touch,” she repeated, then walked out of the building, followed by Michowsky and Fradella.

  “You’re both awfully quiet,” she said, “you didn’t say a word in there. What’s on your mind?”

  Michowsky and Fradella exchanged a quick glance, and Tess could sense the frustration brewing in both of them. Countless hours, day after day, and they had very little to show for it. Another victim, snatched from right under their noses, and that only meant Stacy’s hours were numbered.

  “It just doesn’t tie up right,” Michowsky eventually said. “You know, when we’re close to solving a case, the pieces of the puzzle fall where they belong, and you have the big picture? This time, it just isn’t that way, and that means we’re not getting any closer.”

  “Yeah, exactly what I’m thinking,” Fradella added. “This guy, he doesn’t know anything, and his wife, your nurse, doesn’t belong on the victimology matrix. I was thinking we should have asked him if she was depressed, or if she’d seen the glimpse of death. I only thought of it now. But I don’t think the same unsubs took her.”

  “Yeah, you’re right about that, Todd,” she admitted. “Melissa doesn’t really fit. But I can’t help thinking there’s a connection, maybe because of the hospital. That place somehow ties in to all this.”

  “And he seems familiar somehow,” Fradella added. “I keep racking my brain and can’t figure out where I’ve seen him before. He’s some hotshot forensic accounting investigator; maybe he was on TV.”

  “Yeah… maybe,” Tess replied, frowning. The same thought bothered her. She tried to remember whether Melissa had his picture somewhere, in her room at the hospital, or maybe on her phone. Maybe he’d come to visit her while she was there… yeah, that must have been it. That’s how Fradella remembered him too.

  “Maybe he dropped by the hospital to see her while you guys were there?” she asked.

  “I bet that’s it,” Michowsky replied. “I’ve definitely seen him before.”

  “Uh-huh,” Fradella added.

  The moment Fradella started the car, a call came through, from an unknown number.

  “Yeah, this is Officer Naylor, down at the Henderson residence,” the caller said.

  “Yeah, what’s up?” Fradella asked.

  “The neighbor across the street saw Melissa Henderson climb into the next-door neighbor’s car last night, at about seven o’clock, and they left together. She’s one of those curious old ladies; she said the house stayed dark the entire evening, and she doesn’t think anyone came home after Melissa left with the neighbor.”

  “How about the neighbor? Did he come back?”

  “She doesn’t know. I tracked down the guy. His name is Ryan Stafford. He’s thirty-seven, and he runs an art gallery downtown, Stafford Art World. Want the address?”

  “You need to ask?” she quipped, then disconnected the call.

  Sh
e stayed silent, sunk in thought. How did the neighbor play in? She looked him up on the Internet and found a photo. He was also a bit intense, but not in a bad way. Darker hair, but still closer to blond, not brown. He was a little too old for the DNA profiles, but she was willing to assume there was a higher margin of error than they’d built into the physical profile. She stared at the photo for a while longer, then bit her lip angrily. There was no way she could be sure, one way or another. Maybe those DNA physical profiles were worthless after all.

  They found Ryan Stafford behind his desk at the gallery, and he greeted them with a pleasant smile that died on his lips the second he heard what the visit was about.

  “Oh, no,” he whispered. “We had coffee together last night.”

  “Where did you two go?” Tess asked.

  “I took her to the Bayside Café, at Biscayne and Port, by the water. She deserved a little break.”

  “What time was that?” Michowsky asked.

  “We left the house about seven, and we were there until closing time, which is 8:30PM.”

  “Then where did you two go?”

  Tess watched Ryan closely, noticing the signs of distress on his face. The pallor that painted a grayish hue on his skin. The hunched shoulders and the lowered head. The dilated pupils, overtaking the deep hazel of his irises, the small, beaded teardrops accumulating at the corners of his eyes. The slight tremble in his chin.

  “You’re in love with her, aren’t you, Mr. Stafford?” she asked, not waiting for him to answer Michowsky’s question.

  He smiled awkwardly, staring at the floor. “Yes, that’s me, the idiot who fell in love with the married woman next door.”

  “Where did you go, after the café closed?” Tess repeated the earlier question, but in a kinder tone of voice.

  “I dropped her off at the hospital, at the main entrance. She said she had something to do at the lab, and she didn’t want me to wait. She said she’d take a cab home. I would have waited, you know,” he said, averting his eyes and clasping his hands together, anguished.

  “Are you involved with her, Mr. Stafford?” Fradella asked.

  “No… she doesn’t know how I feel. I’ve been… I didn’t want to tell her; I’m not a homewrecker. She might have noticed something, but no, we’re not involved. I was just trying to be there for her. She’s having a rough time lately.”

  “With what?” Tess asked.

  “They argue sometimes, and I can hear them. I didn’t tell her that, so she wouldn’t feel embarrassed. One night, a few days ago, I heard her sobbing in the shower, and I think I heard her scream too, before that, but it was muffled, and I couldn’t be sure. It could’ve been the TV; I could be wrong. I… didn’t know what to do, so I didn’t say anything, but now I sleep with the side window open and the AC cranked up, so in case she screams again, I’ll hear her. If that man lays a hand—”

  “So, these were more than the typical marriage disputes, you’d say?” Tess probed.

  “Way more. Last night she was telling me about a former patient of hers, a fed, whom she thought about calling and asking for advice.”

  “So, you talked about her marriage problems yesterday?”

  “She brought it up. I’d never… But she was visibly struggling lately, and I wanted her to know I was there for her, no matter what. If she felt threatened, or scared, all she had to do was knock on my door and I’d do anything for her. She said she thought her husband was cheating on her, but was terrified of asking him.”

  “I wish she’d have called me, Mr. Stafford, I really do.”

  “You’re that fed?”

  Tess nodded a couple of times, then touched his arm. “I like her too, you know. She’s one hell of a gal. If you can think of anything else, give me a call.” She extended her hand and Ryan Stafford shook it. “We’ll find her, Mr. Stafford, I promise.”

  Back at the car, Fradella gave her a long look.

  “What the hell was that all about?”

  “What?” she asked, genuinely surprised.

  “You were almost mushy in there, with that guy. That wasn’t the Tess Winnett I know.”

  “Ah, Todd, it’s a bit personal, but here goes. I don’t know how Derek Henderson really fits in all this nightmare, but after we close this case, I need to have a sit-down with him. I’ll give him a talk he’ll remember so well, he won’t even be able to raise his voice ever again. Not even to cheer for his favorite NFL team anymore, you hear me?” She grumbled a few well-chosen cusswords under her breath, and Fradella knew better than to ask more questions.

  “Tess, Todd, we have a problem,” Michowsky intervened, after checking a text message. “Michael Walden didn’t show up for work today.”

  53

  Through the Looking Glass

  Melissa sat on the floor, in the farthest corner away from that horrible, dark window, and brought her knees up, hugging them, tightly interlacing her frozen fingers. She leaned her face against the cold wall and closed her eyes, finding little solace in her own internal abyss, where her unspeakable fears took more dimensions than she’d ever thought possible.

  It felt like one of those nightmares that never ends, despite waking up screaming in the dead of the night. As soon as sleep returns, so does the nightmare. She couldn’t believe how fast her life had been uprooted, and the only thing she was grateful for was that Charlie was safe with her mother. At least he wasn’t home, wondering why his mom didn’t come home last night.

  Thinking of Charlie choked her. She wiped a tear from her eye but kept her eyes stubbornly closed. She couldn’t stand to look at Stacy anymore. She felt she was about to scream at her and scratch her eyes out. After all, she was the woman her husband preferred to chase, instead of coming home to his family. She was to blame for all this…

  She shook her head quickly, pushing away the irrational thoughts that troubled her mind. How could it be this young woman’s fault, any of it, even Melissa’s wandering spouse? Stacy was nothing more than a victim, one who was about to die.

  Curled up in the armchair, the woman hadn’t moved in what seemed like hours, other than to shudder or tremble every now and then, as if touched by a wintry gust. Earlier, Melissa had tried to lift her spirits, but she wasn’t responding; she pulled away from her and even rejected the blanket Melissa had quietly offered. The unspoken word in that dreadful room was death, waiting for Stacy beyond the dark, deeply tinted window.

  Melissa felt her gut twist in a knot, fearing the moment Stacy would die, fearing her turn would come to endure the torture, with no hope left. Earlier, with a trembling hand, she’d scribbled her name on the wall behind the bedpost, and tried to say her goodbyes to the world. Restless, she blamed herself for not opening up to Tess Winnett, who might have prevented this nightmare. What a ridiculous way to express loyalty to Derek, the man who’d been ignoring her for so long while chasing other women, the man who’d abused her son. She’d been so stupid…

  Still, she didn’t know if Derek was the strangler beyond that dark window. Stacy couldn’t describe him; she’d only seen his hands holding that bloodied rope while he strangled Katherine. Melissa’s worst fears haunted her, filling her blood with searing ice crystals that burned her mind and raced her heart. Anguish clenched with hope and denial in her weary mind, fighting to the death.

  When did she take the leap from suspecting her husband of cheating, to assuming he was a cold-blooded serial killer? In which contorted reality was that making any sense? Just because the woman he showed interest in happened to be kidnapped? Many men lose their way and wander; some only once, then regret it forever, while others habitually turn matrimony into a farce and their extramarital affairs into a sport. And still, the vast majority of the philandering husbands of the world were just that: unfaithful. A far cry from serial killers.

  Which one was Derek? Maybe it was her twisted imagination that spawned monsters, fueled by the hurt she’d felt watching Derek transformed by Stacy’s presence. Maybe he’d just lost pass
ion for her, the practical, chronically overworked wife, and soon enough, some other woman filled the void in his heart, while the rest was a coincidence. It just so happened that her husband coveted the woman who was later kidnapped and held hostage by a serial killing duo. Derek might have been a cheater, but Melissa couldn’t conceive the reality in which he was a killer; she could only fear it.

  The door opened and she startled, pulling farther away into her corner. A man she didn’t recognize came in and, within two steps, stopped next to the armchair where Stacy whimpered.

  “No… no…” Stacy pleaded.

  Paralyzed, Melissa looked at the man, wondering where she’d seen him before. He looked familiar, but also wasn’t.

  The man grabbed a handful of Stacy’s hair, pulling her away. She fought to free herself, kicked and screamed and pleaded, but the man laughed in a raspy voice and slapped her across the face, hard. Stacy fell inert, and he just dragged her out of there, slamming the door behind him and closing the latch.

  His laughter resonated in Melissa’s mind, his voice sounding eerily familiar. Yet she’d never met someone so awful, or she would have remembered it. Obsessed that Derek could be the strangler in that terrifying duo, she racked her brain trying to remember the faces of his friends, colleagues, and old buddies from college. She came up empty.

  The light turned on in the adjacent room, drawing a yellowish trapeze of light on the cement floor, and Melissa whimpered, knowing what was to come. Soon, Stacy’s cries of pain would resonate through the tinted glass, while she could do nothing more than watch and listen, unable to help Stacy, unable to help herself.

  Would they kill Stacy now? Was that it for her? Or would they just have their way with her again, and bring her back, bloody and broken, yet alive?

  Melissa couldn’t bear the thought, couldn’t bear to be a part of something so horrifying, without being able to do anything about it. She didn’t want to hear or see any of what was to come, and she wanted to cover her ears and squeeze her eyes shut until it was over. Yet she was drawn to that window, a helpless moth to the light, needing to see and hear what she didn’t want, needing to be there for Stacy, even if just locking her eyes with Stacy’s in her dire moments. She wanted to see if the man holding the rope was her husband, Derek. Not knowing was the worst.