With a powerful gasp, Rachel’s airway reopened. The chair fell back onto four legs. She coughed. Tear streamed down her cheeks. Slobber dangled from her chin. Her head throbbed.
The Roper slouched in his chair. “It’s not fulfilling if you don’t really die.”
Rachel stared at her journal with defeated eyes and a slack jaw. Her heart rattled in her ribs. With every breath, invisible spikes splintered her lungs.
“What? Nothing to say?” the Roper taunted.
Rachel slowly craned her neck to him. “What do you want?”
Albert glared at her through the crude eyeholes. “To make your life a living hell.”
Rachel felt herself tremble.
“Or,” Albert continued. “You can stop the person who killed me. The real killer. You do that, and I’ll leave you alone. I swear on my life, or well, you get my point.”
“I’m already doing that, you bastard,” Rachel felt the gravel in her voice.
Albert stood from his seat. “I suggest you do it quicker. I’m an impatient man.”
Rachel was alone.
She started the next morning with a cold shower. She put on her professional attitude along with her professional clothes. Peak met her in the precinct break room. He opened his mouth.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” Rachel said.
Peak nodded, and they got to work. Rachel checked her voice mails. One came from the cabin owner. Rachel called him back.
“I’m on a fishing trip in Alaska. Second week in,” the cabin owner said over the phone. “I heard about the fire and the killer. Heck of a time to go on vacation. How much of the place is damaged?”
“The front window. There’s blood stains on the floor, too,” Rachel said.
“Insurance cover that?”
“Depends on the plan, I suppose.”
“Peachy. Do I have to come back there?”
“You shouldn’t. Send us your receipts from your time in Alaska just to prove you were away last week during the murder and you’re free to go.”
“I’ll take care of it. Thanks, Detective.”
Peak spun his office chair around. He held his palm over the microphone end of his cellphone. “I got ahold of the couple who called in the forest fire,” he whispered. “You interested in paying them a visit?”
THE ELDERLY COUPLE lived in a quant woodland home. If snow glazed the roof, it would’ve looked like a gingerbread house. Mr. and Mrs. Garwood welcomed them inside with the promise of cookies and coffee. After Rachel’s rough night, she obliged. They sat in the small den. Mrs. Garwood spoke first. “Henry and I are early risers, always before the break of dawn. That’s when I saw that Mr. Jacobson’s house was on fire. I thought it only right to call the fire marshal. Did Albert really kill all those girls?”
“He did,” Peak replied.
“I had baked that man cookies,” Mrs. Garwood said spitefully.
Rachel put her drained coffee mug aside. “Did you see him with anyone that night or the following day? Anyone lingering around that area?” Rachel pointed out the window to the patch of charred woods.
Mr. Garwood cleared his throat. “I saw the helicopters flying overhead and then the cop cars driving to Al’s house. Over the next few days, I saw the work force cleaning up the damage. By their work ethic, if you call it that, they must’ve been state hired.”
“It’s a shame,” Mrs. Garwood added. “I adored the view of Albert’s house. It was such a nice place. Now, I’m looking at an ash tray every morning.”
“The morning after the fire is what I’m most interested in,” Rachel elaborated. “I know there was a lot going on, but did you see anything that looked out of place?”
“I do not recall,” Mr. Garwood replied.
“You made Albert Jacobson cookies, correct?” Peak said.
“Yes. That is what I said.”
“What did you discuss when he visited?”
“All sorts of things. Books, music, the town’s play,” Mrs. Garwood said whimsically.
“Don’t believe her,” her husband said. “It was small talk. Albert would come here for the food, compliment my wife, and leave. Sometimes he’d bring his little girlfriend with him just so he could get more cookies.”
“I thought that was his daughter,” Mrs. Garwood exclaimed.
“That was an escort, my dear,” Mr. Garwood corrected. “Everything about that woman was a seduction.”
“How would you know about such things?” The wife flared.
“Because I’m a man, and I wasn’t born last night.”
Rachel and Peak exchanged looks.
“Was she a chipper girl with blonde hair?” Rachel asked, interrupting the argument.
Cooling down, the elder couple nodded in unison.
“Lexi Heavens,” Rachel said to Peak.
“I know,” Peak replied. “We talked to her the night Albert came to my house.”
“Thank you, Mr. and Mrs. Garwood. For the cookies and for your time,” Rachel said with a tired smile. “Call us if you remember anything more.”
Rachel and Peak climbed into the car.
“I don’t see Lexi Heavens as Albert’s murderer,” Peak said bluntly.
“We should visit her anyway.” Rachel turned the key in the ignition. “We’ll keep fishing until we get a bite.”
“And if we don’t?”
“It’s back to Mayor Parkman.” Rachel reversed out of the driveway. She glanced back at the black spot in the beautiful green forest before speeding down the road.
Wind chimes clanked together outside the sunflower yellow house. It was one of a few buildings in the spread-out neighborhood a little way out of Highlands’ downtown. An eight-year-old girl answered the door. She had curly platinum blonde hair and a little button nose. She yelled back into the house. “Mom!”
Lexi walked up to the doorway, stopping behind the little girl. She rested her hands on the little girl’s shoulders. “What can I do for you, Detectives?”
Practically bathed in strong perfume, Lexi wore tight pants, a tight shirt, lipstick, and makeup. She was a girl ready for a night out on the town, only that it wasn’t even noon yet, and Highlands’ most exciting attractions were waterfalls deep in the woods.
“Going somewhere?” Rachel asked.
Lexi knelt before her daughter. “Go play inside now, Kimmy. Mommy has to talk to our guests.”
“Are you in trouble?” Kimmy asked.
“No,” Lexi said to her daughter. “Go play.”
The little girl gave her mother a hug and ran back inside. Lexi stepped out of the doorway and closed the door behind her. The wind blew her blonde hair against her rosy cheeks. “What’s this about?”
“Where were you last Thursday night and following Friday morning?”
“That’s the night when Albert died,” Lexi said, taking a moment to piece it together. “He bled out in the woods after his house burned down.”
“That’s not exactly what happened.”
A wave of confusion flooded over the twenty-something-year-old’s face.
“He was stabbed to death in a hunter’s cabin after he escaped the fire,” Peak explained. “We suspect it was someone close to him.”
“And you think I have something to do with that?” Lexi said, her eyes glossing over with tears. “I don’t. I was home all night. And that Friday morning, too.”
“Do you have anyone to vouch for that? Your daughter perhaps?” Rachel suggested.
“She…” Lexi chewed her lip nervously. “She was with her father those days. I only see her twice a week.”
“So no one can confirm your whereabouts during both of those days?” Rachel asked.
Lexi switched her weight from her right heel to her left and kept quiet.
Peak stepped forward. “The night Albert attacked Detective Harroway and me. We didn’t know he was the Roper. Not one hundred percent. Yet someone knew where he would be that night, and instead of calling the cops, they killed him.”
“Why would I do something like that?” Lexi sounded genuinely concerned.
“What if you feared for your daughter’s life?”
“He doesn’t know about my daughter,” Lexi protested. “Albert would have no reason to threaten her if he did. Kimmy isn’t like the other girls he… you know. Kimmy is much younger.”
Smarter than you look. Rachel said. “Don’t be upset, Miss Heavens. I ask that you stay in town for a few more days while this investigation develops.”
Sniffling, Lexi agreed. Rachel saw her cry when she returned inside. Peak studied her with his dark eyes, perplexed almost by the girl’s reaction.
Rachel and Peak staked out her house for two more hours. It seemed like Lexi wasn’t going out this afternoon. Rachel made a mental note of that. Peak got a call. He said a few “Uh-huhs,” and hung up. “I was emailed the cell tower records. Albert didn’t make any calls that night.”
Rachel sighed in disappointment.
“But, I did.”
Rachel raised her brow. She remembered the bait text Albert sent via Peak’s phone.
At the police department, they browsed through the call list. The nearest tower picked up Peak’s phone number at 4:43 a.m. It called a North Carolina number that lasted 1 minute and 56 seconds. That was more than enough time for Albert to tell someone his location. He probably was killed a few hours later.
Rachel contacted the provider of the unknown North Carolina phone number, learning it was an el cheap-o burner from Walmart. Curiously, the number was activated a day before Maxine was killed. It made three calls in its three-week lifespan, none of them longer than three minutes, and all to Albert’s phone. As of this moment, the burner was no longer in commission. Its sim card stopped reading after the final call was made.
By the way signals bounced from tower to tower, all Rachel and Peak knew was that their killer was within twenty miles of Albert’s estate.
“You thinking what I’m thinking?” Peak asked.
“Albert wasn’t alone in his killing,” Rachel said and soaked up the revelation. It was a plausible theory, a terrifying one. Highlands didn’t need another serial killer on the loose. “But why did his partner kill him? They could’ve escaped together.”
“The why doesn’t matter,” her pragmatic friend said. “It’s who we should be worried about.”
4
THE YELLOW MOON MOTEL
“You're making a bold move here, Rachel,” Peak warned, though his tone was apathetic.
“I don’t see you protesting,” Rachel replied.
The shadow for the large colonial house’s colonnades cast stripes across the two detectives. Nearby, a gardener pruned the rose bushes. A trail of red petals followed his dirty boots across the immaculately mowed lawn. Rachel asked the landscaper if he knew of Parkman’s whereabouts the night of Albert’s murder.
“Mr. Parkman works me Mondays and Wednesdays.” the short man replied. He wore a straw hat and a green collared shirt with his company logo sewn into its back.
“Over the last few weeks, have you noticed any change in Mr. Parkman’s behavior?” Rachel asked, her sketchpad doubling as a notes journal.
The landscaper thought hard for a moment. “Him and Mrs. Parkman aren’t, um--you know how married life can be.”
Rachel nodded, remembering the complexities of her relationship with her ex-husband Brett.
“The nature of these arguments--how would you describe them?” Peak inquired.
The gardener rubbed his hand at the back of his neck. “It isn’t really my place or business to know these things. I tend to the lawn.”
“We’re detectives,” Rachel reminded him.
The gardener groaned. He lowered his voice. “It’s never violent, these disputes. But there are days when the two argue for hours. Sometimes, I hear glass break.”
“Have these disputes worsened in the last few days?” Rachel asked.
The gardener fidgeted. Sun glistened on the perspiration forming on his forehead. “Yes…”
Rachel gave Peak an I-told-you-so look. They jotted down the gardener’s information in case they need a testimony in the courtroom and knocked on Mayor Parkman’s front door.
The woman that answered the door was what Rachel expected from a politician's wife: professional styled and dyed blonde hair, a classy blue dress, and a practiced smile.
“May I help you?”
“Hello, Mrs. Parkman. I’m Detective Harroway. This is Detective Peak. Do you have a moment to answer a few questions?”
Though the woman’s eyes scrutinized them, her sweet smile stayed. “It would be my pleasure. Law enforcement is always welcome.”
The detectives followed her into the large entrance hall. They passed by a sideboard decorated with flowers and entered the living room, which had an expensive wood-framed fireplace. “Would you like some tea or water?” Mrs. Parkman asked.
“We’re okay, Mrs. Parkman,” Rachel said.
“Please, call me Carry.”
Rachel and Peak sat down on the leather couch. Tabloid magazines rested on the coffee table before them.
“A guilty pleasure,” Carry said with a small, rehearsed chuckle. Bushing down the back of her dress, she sat at the front of her chair, keeping her posture straight like the doll she was. “What is the purpose of your visit today, Detectives? If you don’t mind me asking.”
Unlike the Mayor’s wife, Peak’s posture was hunched. His forearms rested on his thighs with his fingers locked together. Sitting, his dark grey slacks came up a few inches over his ankles, revealing his striped black socks rising out of his taupe Oxfords. “We are led to believe that Albert Jacobson had a partner. Someone who assisted him in the killing of the Highlands High girls of ‘76 and ‘77, and also the late Maxine Gunther.”
“Gosh,” Carry said. “That’s… that’s very troubling. Do you suspect this accomplice to be my husband?”
Rachel and Peak traded looks.
“We don’t suspect anyone yet,” Rachel replied. “Is there a reason why we should suspect your husband?”
“No, Detective Harroway,” The rehearsed chuckle returned. “That would be a ludicrous accusation. I only mentioned it because you visited John’s office last week. You had him call me in regards to his whereabouts during the night of that poor girl’s murder. I told you he was on the couch that evening, if you recall.”
“We recall,” Rachel said. “How about five nights ago? Was he around late that evening or early that next morning?”
“I’m sure you’ve heard the rumors, but in case you’re not familiar, John and I are going through a rough patch in our marriage,” the woman said, her eyes watering but her demeanor still strong. “Stay with someone for twenty years, you see your share of hills and valleys. Nevertheless, I would never call John a bad man. He is merely dealing with the burdens that come with such a selfless career.”
“You never answered the question, Mrs. Parkman,” Peak called her out. His coal eyes processed Carry’s control over her every motion and word.
“Please, it’s Carry,” the woman replied.
Rachel and Peak awaited her response.
Carry crossed her legs. For the first time since they arrived, she truly frowned. “Any other day, I’d contact my lawyer, but the two of you are good detectives and will come across this information soon enough. During that night that you questioned John, he didn’t come home. Around noon the next morning, he returned. We spoke briefly and then he went to work.”
“Do you have any idea where John went between...” Rachel flipped through her notes until she found the time and date she visited the mayor. “7:13 p.m. and noon the next day?”
“I do not,” Carry replied. “Communication between us isn’t ideal at the moment.”
“Any guesses at all?”
“I have none,” Carry said. “I’m feeling quite ill. If there’s anything else you’d like to ask me, do so now. Otherwise, I’d prefer to be left alone for the time being.
”
“What is the nature of John’s and Albert’s relationship?”
Carry set her jaw. She took a breath a second later. “John told me they were conjoined at the hip in high school. That is not the case anymore. They met on occasion to play golf. Once or twice a year, Albert hosts us at his home. I’d call them acquaintances at best.”
“Did they ever argue?”
“Not that I know of. They mostly talked sports and other things men like.”
Peak looked the woman in the eyes. “What’s causing your marriage to fail?”
Carry’s face went bright red in anger. She forced a smile. “That’s a very personal question, Detective, and quite rude.”
The room went quiet for a moment. Outside the window, the gardener pruned the bushes with massive shears. He waved at them. No one waved back, and the gardener decided to work on the other side of the house for a little while.
Carry stood from her seat and closed the curtains. Rachel traced the woman’s walk to the fireplace. Carry opened the grate and lifted one of the unburnt logs that sat in a perfect pyramid. She returned with a pack of cigarettes and lighter. Slouched back in her chair, she lit the cigarette and took a long drag.
“Don’t tell John,” she said politely and blew out a tunnel of smoke.
Peak seemed suddenly enamored by the woman.
They talked for over an hour about John’s affair with a woman named Iris Goldberg. It lasted three months last year before Carry found out. “He rid himself of the whore, but never forgave me for confronting him. Every little thing sets him off, but he’s good at hiding it from the outside world. I don’t know where he goes. He sent our kids to Charlotte to spend time with their grandparents for a few weeks. To keep them from our troubles, he explained. Who knows the real reason.”
The Haunting of Rachel Harroway- Book 2 Page 3