by Mary Burton
Her father began to yell again. She had grown to hate her father, and though her mother had told her to hide, she could no longer stay cowered in the dark closet in her room. The shouting and the crying was driving her insane.
She wiped the tears from her face and stood. Slowly she opened the closet door and moved through her room down the hallway to her parents’ bedroom. She opened the door and peered inside. Her father stood over her mother, his arm raised in the air. He brought the back of his hand down. The blow connected with her mother’s jaw and it sounded as if it had shattered some of her mother’s teeth. Her mother cried and ducked her head low.
Rage filled Lindsay. She pushed open the door and ran toward her father. She wanted to make him stop. ‘Leave her alone!’
He turned and glared down at her. ‘Brat!’
The ferocity in his gaze made her hesitate with fear. He was so tall.
Her mother raised her head. ‘Lindsay, go away. Run.’
She fisted her fingers. ‘Leave my mother alone!’
Her father grabbed her and twisted her arm so hard she felt flesh and bone tear and break. She dropped to her knees. Anger collided with a deep feeling of helplessness that seared her soul.
Lindsay awoke with a start. Her body was covered in sweat and she could barely breathe. She glanced around the dark room trying to get her bearings. For several seconds she didn’t know where she was. And then she saw the sewing machine in the corner, the flowered wallpaper, and the chair with her purse slung across it. She was at the Kiers’ house.
‘I can’t hide. I’ve got to get out of here.’
*
Zack walked into Warwick’s office just after seven. Warwick gently set the telephone down in its cradle. He wore a deep, pensive frown.
‘What’s happening?’ Zack asked.
‘That was a Detective Rio from the San Francisco Police Department. I was returning a call in response to a teletype he sent me late last night.’
‘About?’
‘Your wife.’
Zack tensed. ‘What does San Francisco PD have to do with Lindsay?’
‘Rio is investigating the death of a Claire Carmichael. She was killed two days ago in San Francisco. She owned a New Age bookstore. The murder was grisly and the killer burned her place to the ground.’
‘I don’t see the connection.’
‘Claire placed a phone call from her store to Lindsay the night she was murdered. The call was logged in at eleven P.M. pacific coast time, or two A.M. eastern standard.’
Zack’s mind turned. ‘Lindsay knows a lot of women in high-risk relationships.’
‘Claire wasn’t involved with anyone. And witnesses report that she closed her shop early on Tuesday. Around lunch. Friends say Claire never closed early. And she also volunteered at a local women’s shelter from time to time.’
Zack’s stomach clenched. ‘Richard Braxton is from San Francisco.’
‘Yeah.’
Warwick’s phone rang and he snapped up the receiver. Immediately he cradled the phone under his chin and started to write notes on a pad. ‘We’ll be right there. And keep a tight clamp on the entire area. I don’t want the media to even get a whiff of this.’
‘What is it?’
Warwick hung up and grabbed his coat off the back of his chair. ‘Marcus Greenland’s body was found in Deep Run Park. He was at the top of that list Lindsay reviewed with C.C. He’s one violent SOB.’
‘Lindsay was at my folks’ place last night.’
‘There’s no pinning this one on her.’
‘Why?’
‘Two teenagers came upon the killer as he was dumping the body. He shot them both.’
Zack felt sick. Damn it. ‘How are they?’
‘One is dead and the other is in a critical condition at Mercy Hospital. He’s the one who called in the shooting from his cell phone.’
‘Can he give us a description?’
Warwick shook his head. ‘He’s in surgery right now. It’ll be a couple of hours.’
Tension tightened the muscles in Zack’s back. ‘I’ll drive us to the park.’
‘Fine.’
Zack tried to call Lindsay several times on her cell but she didn’t pick up. He called his parents’ house and got Eleanor, who told him Lindsay had just left in a cab. ‘Damn it. Can’t the woman listen just once?’ he muttered.
He covered the ten-plus miles to Deep Run Park in rush-hour traffic in less than twenty minutes. He wove in and out of traffic, one hand on the steering wheel and a cell under his ear as he called Ayden.
He pulled into the park entrance and rolled down the hill to the back parking lot near the soccer fields, where ten police cruisers were parked.
Zack got out of the car. He shrugged off his jacket and tossed it on the front seat. Rolling up his sleeves, he moved toward Sara, who was squatting by Greenland’s body as she photographed it. She stood and moved to the edge of the yellow crime scene tape.
Sara looked pale and grim. Any death involving a kid shook everyone to the core. She pulled rubber gloves and booties from the pocket of her white jumpsuit and handed them to Zack and Warwick. They put them on and ducked under the yellow tape.
Zack yanked off his sunglasses and squatted by Greenland’s body. Greenland’s dark skin had turned a pasty gray and his lips blue. His eyes were half open. The tarp had been partially removed and he could see that Greenland’s right hand had been chopped off.
‘He didn’t finish his job,’ Zack said.
‘The boys interrupted him.’ Warwick muttered an oath as he glanced at the covered body of the teenager. ‘Sara, did he leave anything else behind?’
Sara pointed to an orange flag sticking from the ground. ‘A forty-five shell casing. And I found traces of blood on the tip of a stick the dead boy was holding. I’ve already bagged it and sent it to the lab.’
Zack rubbed the back of his neck with his hand. ‘Let’s hope he’s in our DNA database.’
‘Any sign of the hand?’ Zack said.
‘None.’
Zack glanced at Warwick. ‘The last two hands were delivered to Lindsay. We need to find her.’
Warwick nodded. ‘Right.’
Dressed in yoga pants and a tank top, Kendall had been up half the night listening to the police scanners. There’d been nothing out of the ordinary. The piece she’d done on the killer had been priceless. The fact that he was mutilating his victims and sending the hands to Lindsay was more than she could have hoped for.
She’d received five times the usual number of e-mails from viewers. But there’d been no response from the killer or the network producers to whom she’d overnighted tapes.
Exhausted and hungry, she’d reached her limit of listening to the routine police calls: loud music, drunk teenagers, an overdose in a convenience store parking lot, and a speeder on the interstate.
She rose from the varnished kitchen table and opened the refrigerator. Eggs, a half carton of milk, and a salad left over from the salad bar at the grocery store. When she’d been a kid, her mother had kept this refrigerator stocked.
Crap. She needed to get out of this house and start fresh away from Richmond.
She set a pan on the stove, clicked the burner dial to medium high, and cracked a couple of eggs in the pan. Eat first and then catch an hour or two of sleep. She and Mike needed to be at the station by noon.
‘Dispatch, this is 8021.’
Kendall was only half listening now. ‘Dispatch, over.’
‘Dispatch, the mutilated body found in Deep Run Park – ’
‘8021, Homicide has requested this communication be handled on a secure channel. Switch to …’
‘Shit.’ Kendall’s mind reeled. Mutilated body. The eighties were the western end of the county, which was near her and the shelter. She ran to the avocado green wall phone and dialed her cameraman’s phone number.
On the fourth ring, a gravelly voice heavy with sleep answered. ‘What?’
‘How soon c
an you pick me up?’ She paced the kitchen, frustrated that a phone cord tethered her to the wall.
‘Kendall?’ He swore. ‘Why?’
‘Body at Deep Run Park. I think it’s our guy.’
He cleared his throat. ‘Give me twenty minutes.’
‘Make it fifteen and I’ll be out front waiting.’
‘Right.’
Fourteen minutes later, she stood outside, briefcase in hand. She didn’t have the time to shower, so she’d swept her hair up with a French twist comb, quickly applied her makeup, and slipped on a simple blue sheath and heeled sandals.
‘So where we going?’ Mike said when he pulled up. Thick stubble covered his square jaw, and his thinning shoulder-length black hair was loosely bound at the nape of his neck. His Hawaiian shirt flapped in the air from the AC vent.
She flipped through her notes. ‘To Lindsay O’Neil’s house.’
Mike sipped the last of yesterday’s Big Gulp as he put the van in reverse and backed out of the driveway. The faint smell of cigarette smoke hung in the air. ‘I thought the body was at some park. I know the other news teams will be there.’
‘And I know the cops are going to have the area locked up tight.’
‘So why Lindsay’s again?’
‘Because after the last two murders, there was a disturbance just a few hours later near Lindsay. If our friend Steve is correct, the killer is sending hands to Lindsay. My guess is, the killer is going to send her something now and I want to be there when he does.’
‘Why send her a hand?’
‘Who knows? Who cares really? He’s like a cat that dumps a mouse at its master’s feet.’
He considered what she’d said. ‘The killer thinks of Lindsay as his master?’
‘Maybe. Or maybe he’s fixated on her. Whatever his motivations, we’ve got three murders now. Richmond has a serial killer.’ She tapped her foot. ‘If I could find a way to draw this guy out, I could write my own ticket.’
Mike looked at Kendall as if she’d lost her mind. ‘You want to draw out a serial killer.’
‘I sure do.’
‘How are you going to do that?’
‘Go after Lindsay. If I can make her miserable enough, hound her with the cameras, I’m willing to bet our guy gets pissed and shows himself.’
‘Or he just kills you.’
The thought didn’t frighten her enough to change her mind. ‘I’ll be fine.’
This story was going to take her places. She dug her cell out of her purse and punched in her news director’s number. She relayed the information and told him to call the network. This was the stuff of national news.
Mike drove by Lindsay’s town house. ‘I don’t see her Jeep.’
‘Park the van down the street out of sight.’
‘And?’
‘Get your camera and come with me. We’ll wait out of sight. Five’ll get you ten the fireworks explode sooner than later.’
Lindsay wasn’t going to hide anymore, from anyone. She needed to reclaim her home, her life, and she needed to prove that she was in control.
It had been easy to be brave on the cab ride over. But now as she stood alone and stared at the yellow crime scene tape by her front door, she found herself searching the bushes and the surrounding terrain. He could be out there watching her.
No one lurked nearby and there were no grisly packages waiting for her. And still her nerves danced with tension. She had hoped the worry that had kept her up most of the night would vanish once she was back at her own place. But it didn’t.
Digging her keys out of her purse, she moved up the sidewalk, careful to step around the spot where she’d dropped the bloody hand wrapped in the newspaper. Sucking in a breath, she moved toward the front door. As she shoved her key in the lock, she realized the door wasn’t locked.
Immediately, she backed away, leaving her keys to dangle in the lock. Heart hammering, she dug in her purse for her cell phone.
Her hands trembled as she punched in Zack’s cell phone number. Her front door opened.
Steve, her maintenance man, came out. He was frowning.
Her thumb on the ‘send’ buttons, she paused. ‘Steve, what’s going on?’
He held a screwdriver in his hand. ‘I thought I’d check the place out for you. After what that creep left you yesterday, I wanted to make sure your place was secure. And then I figured I’d go ahead and fix your AC.’
She noticed his white van across the street and felt foolish. She closed her phone and dropped it in her purse. ‘Oh. Sorry, I’m just a little on edge.’
‘Understandable.’ He smiled. ‘I was just on my way to the van to get a different screwdriver.’
‘Right.’ Lindsay waited as he retrieved a large flat-head screwdriver. ‘What do you think caused the AC to go?’
He shrugged. ‘Part blew. Looked like an overload. And the power outage the other day sure couldn’t have helped.’
She followed him inside to the living room. The house was quiet and the drawn shades blocked out almost all of the morning sun. She moved into the kitchen to brew a pot of coffee. She’d left so early from the Kiers’ that she’d not had any. And now she felt so exhausted. She needed something to get her moving.
Steve went to the AC utility closet sandwiched between the living room and the kitchen. ‘Sorry it’s taken me so long to get to this.’
‘Believe me, I’ve got bigger problems than no AC.’
Steve unscrewed the front panel of the unit and then pulled out the filter. He clicked on his flashlight and stared into the comb of wires. He frowned. ‘Have a look at this.’
‘What?’
He reached inside the air conditioner and pulled out an electronic box with an antenna on top. ‘I didn’t see it before because it was tucked in the back.’
She frowned. ‘It looks like a transmitter.’
‘Why would there be a transmitter in your place?’
‘I’ve seen pieces like that before, at a security conference I attended last year. It can be used to boost the signal of a camera.’
He looked puzzled. ‘I service every unit in this complex and I’ve never seen this.’
‘Is there a wire attached to it?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Where does it go?’
He shined the flashlight into the unit. ‘The wire snakes out a small hole in the back of the unit and crosses to another hole drilled in the wall.’
Lindsay glanced behind the unit and saw the wire. ‘It vanishes into the wall between the closet and living room.’
Steve shined the flashlight into the hole in the wall. The wire rose up and vanished into the darkness. He moved out of the utility closet and into the living room. Above their heads was a grate. ‘That’s odd.’
Lindsay didn’t like the concern in his voice. ‘What?’
‘That grate on your living room ceiling shouldn’t be there.’
She stared at it. She’d never noticed it before.
‘Let me get a ladder.’
Lindsay folded her arms around her chest. ‘Sure.’
He was back in less than a minute and on the ladder. He undid the screws and popped off the grate. Drywall and paint tore. He peered into the hole.
Lindsay stood on tiptoe. ‘What do you see?’
He removed a small electronic device. ‘A camera.’
She felt sick inside. She’d heard about cameras like this. They were easily found on the Internet and were used by people to spy on other people.
Someone was spying on her.
Someone was watching her.
Steve climbed down from the ladder. He handed her the camera. It was small, compact, and state-of-the-art. She knew this model could send a signal up to seven miles away.
Lindsay rolled the device between her fingers as she glanced behind her trying to imagine the angle of the camera. ‘It would have recorded everything happening in the living room.’
The Guardian. He’d been watching her.
Ste
ve shook his head. He looked worried. He had full access to the units and he’d be the first questioned by the police.
A deep sense of shame washed over her. She felt violated. The Guardian had been spying on her during her most private moments. She remembered the other night when she’d been awakened by the phone. She’d had the creeps then and sensed she was being watched. Had he been watching her then? Had he been the one to call her?
Lindsay dug her cell out of her purse and dialed Zack’s number. He answered on the first ring. ‘Where are you?’ He sounded terse, and in the background she thought she heard tense voices.
Her hand shook as she shoved it through her hair. ‘I’m okay. I’m at my town house. My maintenance man found a camera in my AC vent.’
A heavy silence followed. ‘Don’t move, I’m only five minutes out.’
‘Thanks.’ She wanted him close, wanted his protection. She could have listed seven reasons off the top of her head why it was wrong to depend on him, but right now she didn’t care about reason. She needed Zack. And she knew he would be there for her.
Steve held the screwdriver in his hand in a tight grip. ‘I didn’t have anything to do with this.’
‘It’s going to be okay,’ she told Steve. ‘The police are coming.’
Steve looked worried and he started to pace. ‘I didn’t do this.’
His agitation caught her off guard. He’d always been so easygoing and quick with a joke. ‘No one said you did.’
He shook his head. ‘They might think I’m guilty when they discover that I have a police record.’
Lindsay stared at him and her concern grew. Truthfully, she knew nothing about him. Steve could be the Guardian. ‘What were you in jail for?’
He shoved out a breath. ‘It doesn’t matter. I have a record.’
Lindsay glanced toward the open door of the town house. ‘I’m going to wait outside.’
He nodded. ‘Me too.’
Hugging her arms, she ran out into the sunshine and moved away from Steve.
Instead of waiting with her, he moved quickly toward his van.
‘Where are you going?!’ she shouted.
‘Away. I’ve seen those tabloid news shows. I’ll be tried and convicted on the news before I even get to court.’