Saints & Strangers (A Sam Warren Mystery)

by Richelle Elberg

  “Did you really think I wouldn’t be watching you? You shouldn’t have underestimated me, Samantha. Or perhaps you simply overestimated your own abilities.” He shook his head and smiled faintly. “A fatal mistake, I’m afraid.”

  Where were those State Troopers? Didn’t anyone see my car leave the road? I licked my lips and raised my eyes to his.

  “I may have underestimated you, Stevens, but I identified you. I’ve already called the police; they know who you are. You can kill me, but they’ll still get you. It’ll just strengthen their case against you. Not that four counts of murder and one of attempted murder isn’t enough.” I stared into his eyes. (“Keep him talking, Sam, but don’t piss him off!” said Dad.)

  Stevens appeared unbothered. “Yes, I fear I may have to leave this delightful community and continue my work elsewhere. But I don’t like unfinished business. You are unfinished business, Miss Warren.” He smiled. “Your little trick with the neighbors was painfully obvious, although obviously not to the policemen out front. I followed you from your home to Meredith’s. That’s when I decided to call her and ask her to meet me in Quincy for a drink.” He grinned. “She jumped at the chance to see me again; the poor woman is smitten. And then I followed you as you followed Meredith all the way to Quincy. Ingenious rather, don’t you think?”

  For Christ sakes, I’d set my own trap. Where were the cops? How could I keep him talking rather than shooting? I was pretty sure he wouldn’t waste too much time, not after what happened on Semour’s Island.

  “Yes,” I sighed, “You outwitted me. Again. But can I ask just one question before you shoot me? I just really want to understand.” I looked at him with raised eyebrows. “Why?”

  Stevens looked around to make sure there were no cars approaching. In all likelihood, a passing car wouldn’t even see us. It was late, dark, and we were well off the road beneath dense pines. Someone would have to be looking off to the side at just the right moment to even notice the crashed car. I bent my head forward to try and relieve the pressure; I’d been hanging upside down by my seatbelt for several minutes. Blood was pounding in my temples. I prepared myself for a bullet. At least it would be fast, no doubt better than being strangled by a noose. I was surprised when he spoke again.

  “Why?” he said in a loud voice. “Why? Weren’t my messages clear? The people of this nation are on a path straight to hell. It was my duty, my duty to God, to take action.” I looked over at him. Beads of sweat were forming on his upper lip, although the night air was cold.

  “Over the past thirty years I’ve watched as American morals have been systematically flushed down the toilet. Abortion was legalized. Not only is it legal, today it seems most women consider it their right, like some perverted form of birth control. They commit murder so that they can run around fucking like goats. Unmarried, immoral…and the gays! Parades and public demonstrations so that they can marry? Marriage is a contract between a man and a woman and, most importantly, with God! The people of this country—the women in this country have gone so far astray…and meanwhile God-fearing men like Charles Smit are reviled; their messages ignored. They—”

  “Charles Smit? You know him?” Keep talking, keep talking. Stevens’ voice had gotten louder throughout his tirade.

  “Of course I know him. I attended his church for many years. Many years. But Charles’ church wasn’t having any affect. No one was paying attention. I stopped going a year ago and began work on my own plan. To implement the will of God. To bring America back to its righteous roots. To steer God’s children back onto the path to heaven.”

  He smiled. “And it’s working. It’s working. My actions in Plymouth have captured the collective mind of the nation. As the journalists write more about these women, as the people come to understand their evil forebear and their many sins, righteous Americans will understand. My desperate actions will be vindicated. And like the Saints before us, we will rise up and create—recreate—a nation founded in God.”

  The guy’s a fucking nutter. (“Keep him talking Sam!)

  “But…I haven’t had an abortion…I’m not gay,” I said. “I went to church at Sight Ministries just last week.” I cringed at my pathetic claims. They were true, but it felt wrong to give credence to Stevens’ appalling views. But maybe I could make him believe that I was on his side.

  “Nice try Samantha. But our little talk is over. My work is too important; it must continue. I think you already know that your snooping is what brought me to you in the first place. You should have stayed out of it.” He glanced over his shoulder again.

  I jerked my elbow up hard toward his gun, crying out at the pain in my ribs. The gun fell inside the car, landing on the roof just by my head. Stevens scrambled to grab it and I swung my head toward his, head-butting his nose. He sat back and then lunged toward me, wrapping his large hands around my neck and squeezing. So I would go by strangling after all. Stars appeared as my vision faded.

  Crack! The rifle report was unmistakable, even in my stupor. Stevens’ hands loosened and he slumped gently off to the side.

  Chapter 43

  I opened my eyes and looked up at the ceiling. After a few minutes, I braced myself for the pain and then pushed myself up off the bed. I couldn’t put it off any longer; I had to go. I made my way slowly to the bathroom, did my business and then shuffled back into the bedroom. I eyed the bed and then the clock. It was nine o’clock. I didn’t think I would be able to sleep more, and getting in and out of bed was proving quite painful. I shrugged on my bathrobe and stepped carefully down the stairs to the kitchen. I put a fresh filter in the basket and scooped in the coffee grounds. A pot of water later, I hit ‘brew.’

  Through the kitchen window I could see a herd of reporters holding umbrellas. I sighed as a flash went off. Now my Sunday morning day-after-catching-a-serial-killer look—bedhead, no makeup, bruised neck, large purple egg on my forehead and tatty old robe—would make the papers. I wandered into the living room and peered out at the water.

  It was raining softly. Not an angry storm; the sky and the water and the sand were all gentle shades of grey. A perfect Sunday for curling up by a fire with a good book, although I wasn’t sure I would be able to curl for at least a few weeks. I had two cracked ribs. Who knew such small bones could cause so much pain?

  I felt strangely melancholy. I had done it; I’d solved my first big case. A huge case. For all I knew, the Pilgrim Slayer would prove to be the biggest case I ever solved. It’s not like we get a new serial killer in Plymouth every six months.

  The notoriety would no doubt bring new clients to Sam Warren, P.I.; theoretically that was a good thing. I might even be able to upgrade to brand name macaroni. But after I was treated at the hospital and gave my statement to the police, Dennis had brought me home at four in the morning to an empty house. I missed Milo.

  Pepper rubbed my legs and stared up at me as he issued a squeaky, extended meow—the one that meant “I need kibbles.”

  “I’m sorry, Pep, are you hungry? I know the house isn’t empty; you’re still here. Come on, let’s get our coffee and kibbles.”

  I was adding cream to my coffee when Dennis and Turk pulled into the driveway. I ushered them in out of the rain and Turk held up two large Dunkin’ Donuts bags. “Munchkin? Sausage egg bagel?”

  I grinned. “All of the above. I’d hug you right now, but then you’d have to take me back to the ER.”

  “You’re welcome,” said Turk.

  Dennis grabbed plates and we went into the living room where he divvied up the goodies. He looked rough. As he slumped into the couch, he rubbed his hand through his thin hair, making it stick up oddly on the side. Even Turk was a little rumpled. That never happened.

  “Have you guys even been home yet?”

  “Nah, there was a mountain of paperwork to do, and we sat in while Brueger was interviewed. Took two hours and that was just a preliminary. Fucking IA guy kept asking why he didn’t issue a warning.”

  IA was Interna
l Affairs. Officer Brueger was the Statie who shot and killed Aaron Stevens as he tried to strangle me. He’d seen Stevens’ Lexus on the shoulder, recognized the plate and snuck down the berm with his rifle. He saw me elbow Stevens and the ensuing struggle. When it became clear that I was losing the battle, he fired. The whole thing took about ten seconds.

  It was standard procedure for an officer to be investigated following a fatal shooting; Brueger would be at a desk with no firearm until the department determined whether or not the kill was justified. As far as I was concerned there was no question about that, and the cops had photos of my neck to prove it. I made a mental note to find out what Brueger’s favorite drink was and deliver a big bottle. Or ten. Maybe one a month for the rest of his life.

  We ate quietly for a while. I was listening to the rain on the windows, staring at my Munchkins and trying to decide which to eat next when I noticed Dennis and Turk looking at me with grins.

  “What?”

  “Should we tell her?” Dennis asked Turk.

  “Don know, she be in pain already. Maybe we best wait.”

  I looked at them both, puzzled. Finally, I couldn’t stand it. “Tell me what?”

  Dennis stood and positioned himself in front of me. Turk came and stood by Dennis, hands clasped behind his back. Dennis looked down at me with a smile. “Miss Warren, in recognition of your assistance in identifying the Pilgrim Slayer, the Plymouth Police Department and Board of Selectmen would be honored if you would join us at police headquarters tomorrow at noon for a press conference to formally announce the capture and death of Aaron Stevens, aka the Pilgrim Slayer.” He paused. “And to present you with a check for ten thousand dollars.”

  I’d forgotten about the reward. I squawked and jumped up. I threw my arms around Dennis’ neck, crying with both joy and pain. I eased my arms down and stood on tip-toe to deliver a kiss to Turk’s cheek. Then groaning, I sat back down in my chair. “Oh, ow, that hurts,” I said, laughing.

  “I done tole you we should wait,” said Turk.

  “See ya tomorrow, Nance,” said Dennis with a salute. “Or is it Miss Drew now?” After he and Turk left, I stood behind the closed door for a minute and then I clapped my hands. If my ribs weren’t broken, I’d have done a few cartwheels. Ten thousand dollars. Tomorrow. Praisethelordhallelujah!

  I went back to the living room and lowered myself down into my chair. Pepper jumped up on my lap; absently I stroked his neck and chin.

  The police had found plenty of evidence at Stevens’ home; there was no question he’d been the killer. But then I already knew that. The jury was still out as to whether or not Meredith Bradley knew what Stevens was doing with the information that she, with her son’s help, had clearly provided. Meredith hadn’t yet been located; her son was being held, but they weren’t getting much out of him. Social Services was working with law enforcement to see what the autistic young man knew.

  I honestly had no idea who the killer was when I set off Saturday night, but I’d been certain that Bradley was the link. Between her son and herself, they had the know-how and the access to everything the killer needed to choose his victims.

  Meredith Bradley. The poor woman was no doubt astounded when such a handsome, charming man showed interest. I could relate. Her self-esteem was in for a major blow when she learned that she’d been used, if she didn’t already know. But I didn’t feel too sorry for her. One way or another, she was obviously the one who told Stevens that Milo and I were on his trail. Her loose lips nearly cost me my life.

  I stared at the empty fireplace. No fire warmed my hearth and there was no Milo to build one. Sighing, I stood and hobbled over to my pile of Duralogs. I placed one in the fireplace and held my lighter to the bright yellow paper. Milo had teased me mercilessly when he first saw my cache of fake wood, but I was never much of a Scout. I didn’t know how to get a perfect fire going the way that he could.

  I sighed again. I couldn’t believe that in my moment of glory, pain and glory, the man I’d fallen for was fifty miles away doing God-knew-what with Sunglasses and Hairspray.

  I thought some more about Meredith Bradley and how Aaron Stevens preyed on her insecurities. What if Milo was never really interested in me at all? What if he just wanted me for my hacking skills? I knew exactly what types of crime the Justice Department handled; they were pretty bad. Mike Milken bad. John Gotti bad.

  I could hack the DOJ, I supposed, and find out exactly what was happening with Milo, but I didn’t want to know. Not yet. I just wanted to revel in my investigative victory for one day; when it came to Milo I was keeping my head planted firmly in the sand. He said he would explain everything when he got back. I would wait.

  But had I been completely wrong about him?

  Chapter 44

  “Well, Pepper, what do you think? Good enough for national news?”

  Pepper didn’t reply.

  I stared at my reflection. I was wearing my red dress and heels and I’d spent extra time on my face. The egg on my forehead where Aaron Stevens’ nose had connected was still swollen, but I’d hidden the purple with makeup. The wonder-hat had come off just a few minutes earlier and my frizz was styled to the best of my limited ability. My ribs were taped as tightly as possible; I couldn’t breathe very well, but I could move around more or less normally.

  I turned and sat on the bed next to Pepper. “You should really be there too, you know that?” He stared at me with those round, yellow eyes. “You kept me going that night on the island.” You and Milo. I scratched his chin and kissed his head. I rose and tottered down the stairs.

  I pulled my long coat out of the closet. It was cold outside, but the rain had ended overnight. Thank God. For once the press could take pictures that wouldn’t later reduce me to tears. I looked at my backpack but decided to leave it home. There would be plenty of law enforcement at the press conference; I didn’t need my gun and I wasn’t about to spoil my outfit with that ratty old bag. Maybe I would do some shopping—if there was anything left once I paid off my credit card bill and the overdue property taxes.

  I stepped outside and smiled for the reporters. I waved and got in the car.

  I pulled into the Plymouth Police Headquarters driveway and tried to maintain an attractive smile as dozens of cameras zoomed in. The parking lot was mobbed. As I eased the Mini through the crowd, I saw Dennis and Turk and the Chief standing in a parking space right in front of the brick building. Dennis waved me over and they made room for my car.

  “There she is, Miss Plymouth herself,” said Dennis as I exited the Mini. I carefully hugged each of them, self-conscious of the cameras.

  “So, first you’re a victim, and then a few days later you solve the mystery—a mystery our senior detectives, hell, the FBI, couldn’t solve.” Chief Hastings squinted at me with those sage eyes. “Not bad for a rookie PI,” he added with a smirk. Dennis and Turk were, all of a sudden, very interested in the gravel beneath their shoes.

  “Guess I just got lucky, Chief,” I said with a smile.

  “Mmm hmm. Real lucky. Lucky to be alive.” He frowned at me.

  Drops of sweat ran from my armpits down my sides.

  “Lucky for us, I guess,” he added and put his arm around my shoulders. “Come on, let’s get this over with.”

  We walked over to a podium that was set up outside the main entrance. The two suits from the FBI were there and Dennis, Turk and I took our places beside them.

  “Good afternoon, everyone,” the Chief began. “I want to start off by saying that an enormous amount of round-the-clock effort went into solving these terrible crimes and that without the cooperation of state, local and federal officers….”

  I zoned out. These things were always so boring. I was just waiting for the part where they gave me ten thousand dollars. I stared out into the sea of faces.

  In addition to the press, a lot of citizens were there too, which surprised me. But then, it was a sensational crime spree and people are naturally curious about all thin
gs gruesome—whether Charles Smit liked it or not.

  A twinge of sadness cut through me. The one face I really wanted to see was missing. (“He’ll be back, Sam,” said Dad. “And I’m the proudest father alive, er—in spirit—on the planet right now.”) My eyes blurred for a moment.

  The tall pink FBI agent took his turn at the mike and then Dennis said a few words about how the investigation would continue until all of the necessary evidence had been compiled and catalogued. “But we have no doubt at this time that Aaron Stevens was the serial killer who terrorized our town for the past two weeks. And, I can assure you, he’ll cause no further harm.” There was applause as Dennis backed away from the podium and Chief Hastings came forward. For a roly-poly, he was very light on his feet. Weebles wobble but…

  “And finally, last but most certainly not least, I’m proud to recognize today a remarkable young woman—my Goddaughter—Samantha Warren. After surviving her first encounter with Aaron Stevens, Sam came to some remarkably astute conclusions. Her actions late Saturday night, in all likelihood, prevented Stevens from fleeing to another town where he intended to continue his murderous spree. Thanks to Miss Warren, Aaron Stevens, or as you all like to call him, The Pilgrim Slayer, will never kill again.” He paused. “Did I mention she’s my Goddaugher?” The crowd chuckled. He turned to me. “Sam, would you join me?”

  I walked quickly to the podium and grabbed it. I was not going to fall off my heels on national television. Chief put his hand on my shoulder and whispered, “Relax.” We smiled for the flashing cameras for a few seconds.

  He reached under the podium and pulled out a check and raised it for the crowd to see. “This is a check in the amount of ten thousand dollars made out to Samantha Warren as a reward for her invaluable assistance in making America’s Home Town safe again.” He turned to me, but instead of handing me the check he turned back to the mike. “Oh and, by the way? Sam’s my Goddaughter.” He grinned and the crowd laughed loudly. I rolled my eyes. What a ham.