The Collector (Emergence Book 1)

by Kelly Lynn Colby

  Gregory squinted at the rows of numbers and letters. His mouth dropped open, but he quickly recovered his tough guy act and glared at Flores. “What are all those numbers? Can you even keep holding me without charging me with anything?”

  Collins came through right on cue. “Sorry, I’m late. The printer was out of paper.” He handed Flores a stack of printouts. All I could make out from my vantage point was a bank logo at the top.

  What little color there was drained from Gregory’s face when Flores smiled down at him and set the bank statements on top of the ledger.

  Flores still hadn’t said a word. This guy would drive me crazy with the no questions. Apparently, it worked on Gregory as well.

  “Look, those are donations to a youth program.” Sweat dripped from his forehead and beaded at the tip of his nose. “I have no idea why you’ve brought me in to ask me about my charity.”

  Damn, he had an answer for everything, didn’t he? The image of the little girl popped into my head, and all I wanted to do was strangle him. I didn’t know how Flores was able to keep his cool when he knew damn well the guy was lying.

  Collins straddled the chair he had been sitting in before. “So,” he turned over the bank statement so he could read it, “$5000 every other month or so for a youth program? I’m a public servant myself and that kind of donation would leave me homeless quick. How much does an elementary school principal make exactly?”

  At that bit of info, my knees bent and almost collapsed. I sat down before I fell down. This sicko was exposed to children on a daily basis, and Albert knew. Instead of reporting the pedophile, he cashed in on the knowledge. What kind of man was the illusive Collector?

  Sweat beaded on Gregory’s already pale forehead. “We’re a private school…”

  Apparently, Flores had had enough of the suspect’s bullshit. He pulled out the teddy bear from the evidence box and set it gently on the table, like it was a delicate heirloom.

  Gregory’s mouth popped open. His hands dropped into his lap.

  “How did you?” His eyes roamed from the stuffed animal to the two detectives to the ledger. He couldn’t seem to organize his lies any longer.

  Why didn’t Flores go at him now? Why did he just stand there, staring?

  With a flip of the tag tied around a fuzzy foot, Flores placed the number next to a Post-It marked spot on the ledger. Collins arranged the bank statement to a column next to it. I couldn’t read them from the other side of the mirror, but I suspected those numbers matched up. They had him. They had proof he was being blackmailed. Why didn’t the detectives yell or argue or bully him into confessing? This wasn’t like TV at all. My fingers dug into my upper arms as I resisted the urge to dive into the interrogation with everything I’d seen.

  Somehow, the intense stares worked.

  Gregory’s head fell into his hands. “He was blackmailing me. Somehow he knew what she said about me.” His head shot up and his bloodshot eyes pleaded. “I didn’t hurt her. I could never hurt her, but I knew no one would understand.”

  Collins exchanged a confused look with Flores. His partner put him off with an almost imperceptible shake of his head.

  Interesting. Flores hadn’t shared my insight with Collins. I rubbed my hands on my sore arms from all the squeezing. Of course, Flores didn’t tell him anything. His source was a nut job.

  Collins jumped back on track. “Is that why you killed the Collector? To make the payments stop?”

  All of Gregory’s muscles tensed as he shot straight backed in his chair. “Killed? I didn’t kill anyone.”

  Flores spoke for the first time. “How did you know he would be at the Tracy Gee?”

  “I’ve got some friends who tracked the IP address from the blackmail emails to the WiFi at that center. Since I didn’t know his real name or where he lived, it was my best bet to confront the man I only knew as the Collector and make him give up whatever evidence he had.” Gregory cocked his head at the teddy bear as if trying to interpret how the stuffed animal functioned as evidence. “But then I heard that woman call you ‘detective’ and I freaked out. I still don’t know what the Collector looks like. You should be arresting him for blackmail.”

  Flores cocked his head at the suspect. “Well, that’s a bit difficult since he’s been murdered.”

  Something must have broken in Gregory’s brain, because his focus continuously shifted between the ledger and the bear and the two detectives. Long gone was the cocky, self-confident man from a few minutes ago. “I told you I didn’t kill anyone. I couldn’t.”

  Collins’s eyes narrowed. “Where were you Saturday night?”

  Gregory relaxed and met Collins’s accusatory stare. “Is that when it happened? Then I can prove I didn’t do it. I was in the ER with my girlfriend’s little girl. She had a fever when I got home that afternoon, and we rushed her to the hospital.”

  Oh my god, this monster was living with another little girl? I flattened my hand on the glass in front of me and wished I could communicate my horror to Flores.

  Flores half-faced the two-way mirror as if he could sense me. “Until we can verify your alibi.” He pulled handcuffs from the back of his belt, and lifted Gregory up from his chair. The detective turned him around and restrained his hands behind his back in one practiced movement.

  “Mr. Willis, you’re under arrest for the murder of Albert Johnson.” Flores pushed the man to an officer just outside the door. “Book him please.”

  Collins’s face twisted in confusion as soon as the interrogation door closed. “What are you doing? He was talking freely without his lawyer. Now we’ll be lucky to get a few grunts.”

  Flores held up the teddy bear. “I got a tip that Willis abused a little girl, but the caller didn’t catch a name. I need to hold him on these charges while I see if I can dig up the victim.”

  Collins rubbed the top of his bald head. “Man, you youngins are going to wear me to the grave. I’ll check out his alibi.” Flores’s pleading look made the older man sigh. “And I’ll take my time.”

  “Thank you.” Flores winked at me through the mirror.

  I could breathe again, but we were still no closer to the killer. I left the room to meet Flores and discuss how I could help with the Willis case. I couldn’t let him have such intimate contact with a little girl when I knew he’d molested another one. He had to be stopped. The Collector failed to protect those children.

  I wouldn’t.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Saturday morning, I opened up Chipped half an hour early. To my delight, Jeff wasn't rolling out of bed, and no remnants of an evening meal littered the floor. A bit of peace and quiet was exactly what I needed. Ironically, it was more peaceful at my place of business, surrounded by non-remnant holding electronics, than at home where Walter's conglomeration of impressions tainted the very atmosphere.

  Just as I finished counting the cash drawer and checking the voicemail, the chime on the door rang. I hunkered behind the counter to retrieve Heather's phone, assuming she'd come in to collect it, when my lady bits sensed lust in the air. She must be incredibly grateful her phone was fixed.

  I popped up to greet my customer. “She looks good as...” My mouth stopped working as the god-like image of Tucker Wickman stood before me. All those TV medical dramas with their sexy doctors didn't hold a candle to this hunk.

  His light blond hair fell across his forehead, as he rubbed the back of his neck. The strong lustful feelings faded to the background and my head started to itch so insistently that I had to squeeze the edge of the counter to stop me from scratching it. What was he anxious about? I didn't surprise him at his work?

  I swallowed and put on my customer service face, though I couldn't seem to stop my cheeks from burning. “Hey, Tucker.” This wouldn't be the first time a one-night stand tracked me down, but usually we ran into each other at the same club. This was why I didn't take home guys who knew anything about me. Why did I break my rule with Tucker?

  “Hey, F
auna.” When his eyes met mine with a pleading, instead of accusatory, look, I breathed in a bit easier. That explained why I sensed anxiety, not anger. It was actually kind of adorable; so, I gave him time to get the words out.

  “I didn't get your number the other day. And I couldn't remember if I gave you mine.” He held up a business card with that medical symbol of the two snakes woven around a winged staff or something like that. On the back, he'd scrawled a phone number. “This is my personal number, you know, if you want to have coffee or dinner or something.”

  My own indecision froze my mouth. This week had been one so full of change. Was it time to expand my view on relationships? What could it hurt to have coffee with this professional, handsome man who happened to be incredible in bed?

  Since I didn't reach out to take the card, Tucker placed it on the countertop. “There's no obligation, mind you. The other night was...” His eyes stared at the piece of cardboard, but my nipples grew extra-sensitive at both his feelings and my own. “I'd like to see you again.”

  As his eyes met mine, my knees almost buckled. Well shit, I had to break this tension before I took him in the back and sullied Jeff's cot. I pulled my cell phone out and opened my contacts. “A business card? What is this, the 1980s?” After typing in his number, I sent him a smiley-faced emoji. The ding from his pocket told me he received it. “And now you have mine.”

  My fingers tickled with his happiness as his smile exposed his shiny white teeth. “Good. That's good.” He backed up a bit, and I couldn't help but wonder if he also felt the pull to fall into my arms like I did his.

  My phone buzzed, breaking the spell. Flores texted.

  Flores: Ron Elstin has reported Debra missing. It might not be related.

  Fear dowsed my playful mood in ice water. “I have to go.”

  Tucker waved his hands. “I'm sorry. I know I ambushed you at work.” He stammered for a minute, but didn't fight as I hurried him to the door. “I'll text you.”

  His confusion twisted around his after shave. I took pity and placed one gloved hand on his cheek. “You better.”

  Before he leaned in for a kiss I knew I'd get lost in, I closed and locked the door. I leaned against it for a minute as the thrill of being close to Tucker and the fear of Debra in danger fought within me. There really was no contest. I had to help Debra, and I knew I could. The sadistic killer took his time with George, an actual empath. I could only assume he'd do the same with Debra. As morbid as the thought was, that actually gave Flores time to track him down. Maybe there was a clue that only I could sense at the scene.

  I texted Flores.

  Me: I want to help.

  Flores: Hoped you'd say that.

  After typing the address he gave me into Waze, I tore a shipping box apart to use as a sign. I scribbled, “Family emergency. We're closed. Sorry for the inconvenience,” with a sharpie and taped it to the door. What was happening to me? I'd put my heart and soul into this shop. Here I was abandoning it on a Saturday to maybe find a useful impression amongst god knew how many. So maybe I could help a woman I'd just met. I gave my number to a man. I actually hoped he'd call.

  If I didn't have to drive all the way to some wealthy neighborhood off Westheimer, I'd stop to get a drink or two first. The overwhelming weight of it all might crush what was left of my sanity if I didn't dull it somehow.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  As I parked behind the now familiar Ford Fusion, the thought of Flores's strong, confident demeanor made me feel safe. I spotted him in the driveway of a two-story home, probably built in the 90s based on its elevation. He spoke with Debra's husband, Ron. I couldn't really think of him as anything but Angry Man. His frantic hand motions and disheveled hair didn't make me reconsider my belief.

  When Flores spotted me, he held up a finger to Ron. I couldn't hear him, but whatever he said caused Ron to sit on his front steps and drop his head into his hands.

  When the detective got close enough to hear me, I said, “Catch me up.”

  “Debra never came home from the meeting last night.” Flores read notes from his phone while I tried to keep my panic under control. “Ron admits that they had a fight last night. He didn't want her going out, but, as you might guess, she said she had to. He says Debra never slept anywhere but her own bed.”

  I flicked a tear from my cheek. I understood that well. It was easier to center yourself in places of familiarity. “I can tell if he's lying.” Finally, something I could do that could prove helpful.

  “How?”

  Oh god, this was so hard to explain. “It's more intuition and experience than anything else. There's only one person who's ever fooled me. As on the sleeve of his shirt as Ron is with his emotions, he should be an easy read.”

  In his signature pose of head down and eyes up, Flores studied me for a second longer than was comfortable. “Let's give it a shot.”

  The breeze picked up shaking the branches of the bushes in between properties as I followed Flores to Ron. The warm air did nothing to stifle the heat in the late morning air. If the empath killer had Debra, where would he take her? The others were killed in their homes. Maybe it was Ron. I didn't know which possibility I preferred. They were both horrific for such a kindhearted woman.

  When we got to Ron, Flores perched one foot on the bottom step. “Mr. Elstin, you might remember Ms. Young from the auction Tuesday night?”

  While Ron’s face flushed red, my stomach clenched with his anger, but it wasn’t painful. “The woman who dumped a drink on me? What is she doing here?”

  As I removed my gloves and tucked them in my pocket, I thought about my lack of recent practice at this while sober. My curse made it easy to discern whether people were lying or telling the truth. If I truly understood another human being’s feelings, I could ask them pointed questions which enabled me to extrapolate. That was how I’d paid for college. I swore when I graduated, I’d never manipulate people for personal gain again. Well, this wasn’t for me, right? So, I wasn’t breaking any oath.

  Before I changed my mind, I reached out my naked hand to Ron. “I’m Fauna Young. I was at the, um, support group meeting with Debra last night. As soon as I heard she never made it home, I wanted to help if I could.”

  As soon as our hands made contact, a rush of foreign emotion invaded my sober mind. It was like the most out of control drug you could take. I lost sight of my individuality as Ron’s crushing emotions drowned out my own. His fear mixed with guilt and overwhelming worry rolled over anything I felt, it was so intense.

  I released Ron and held the stair railing to remain on my feet at the abrupt start and stop of someone else’s psyche in my mind.

  “He didn’t do it,” I told Flores. “She really is missing.”

  Sensing that something happened he didn’t authorize, Ron jumped to his feet. “Of course, I didn’t do it. Whatever it is? Is this some kind of joke to you? She has a heart condition and any stress can send her into arrythmia. We have to find her!”

  Flores’s voice deepened as he steadied me on the stairs, careful to only touch my clothed, upper arm. “We are taking your concerns seriously, Mr. Elstin. Let me call my partner to get more boots on the ground. If you’ll give me a minute, sir.” He guided me back toward my car. “Are you sure?”

  “I’m sure. He has some guilt, but I’m pretty sure it’s from the way he’s been acting. His emotions don’t have the flavor of lying or hiding anything.”

  “Flavor?”

  Oh shit, I sounded like a crazy person again. “I’m not sure how else to describe it. I’m not used to telling anyone about this process. You’ll just have to trust me. You know I want to find her just as much as you do, if not more.”

  Flores seemed satisfied with my explanation. “Okay. I’ll see if Ron has any kind of tracking stuff on his phone.”

  “Duh, why didn’t I think of the technological solution?” I rubbed my forehead to try and dispel the residual effects of the reading. “Let me know if you need help.”<
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  The quiet of the neighborhood street offered some peace as my mind cleared. I tried to meditate when I was a teenager. High school was a true nightmare with everyone’s emotions and hormones intensified and me having the difficult challenge of separating my own uncontrollable mood swings from everyone else’s. I never could quite get the hang of it. My mom thought I got migraines—or at least she called them migraines—and pulled me out of school a lot. If Debra could show me how to succeed where I failed at controlling this ability, maybe I could reenter the regular world without dulling all of my emotions in alcohol before attempting any kind of relationship.

  Thoughts of Debra brought up the potential extended trauma on the already bruised empathic group. I believed they were alcoholics, when I was much closer to one. I couldn’t go back and tell them that the killer claimed another of their number. We had to find her.

  As I crossed the cracked cement driveway, my shoulder brushed the large boxwood bush between the Elstin’s and their neighbor’s yard. Anticipation washed through me. What in the hell was that? Bushes don’t have emotions.

  No more being scared of what I’d see. It was time to act. I stopped and put both hands on the branch.

  The world in the memory was dark. Debra stepped out of her car. She was wearing the same clothes from the meeting. The remnant had to have been from a few hours ago.

  I couldn’t see the person who left the impression since the vision was from his point of view, but I felt anticipation laced with fury, that anger that he kept under his fancy clothes and his manicured nails. It was the empath killer’s; I’d recognize it anywhere.

  His voice, higher pitched than I would have described it, broke through the silence. “Excuse me, ma’am, have you seen a miniature poodle running around?” He moved toward her, and I lost the impression.

  The morning light blinded me when I released the branch. Blinking, I walked up the driveway, looking for Debra’s car. I didn’t see it.