The Haunting of Rachel Harroway- Book 2

by J. S. Donovan

  “But Lance is so boring.”

  “Promise me and I’ll get that creepy doll you want.”

  “Okay,” Clove smiled with her eyes closed. “And the doll is not creepy. It’s cute.”

  “Whatever you say.”

  Rachel watched them from the passenger seat. Peak held Clove’s little hand as she skipped to the front door. It opened. A beautiful but trailer park class woman exchanged a few words with Peak. Arms crossed, a man with a keg-like chest and a head bandana lingered behind the woman. Peak gave Clove a big hug and let her run inside. After a few more words with the adults, Peak traveled back the car. Rachel and the woman met eyes briefly. The woman’s expression turned sour, and she slammed the door.

  “Charming, I know,” Peak said as they drove on. “I thought about fighting for full custody over Clove, but with the work we do…” Peak sighed. “There’s nothing like having a kid. Nothing as complicated either.”

  “I wouldn’t know,” replied Rachel.

  She recalled a time when she felt guilty saying such a thing, but at forty years old, Rachel had no illusions of her future. If this Gift was hereditary, it would end with her. If not, where would it go? Who would it choose?

  Peak looked out at the road. “When we were at Al’s estate and he had a rope around my neck, I kept asking myself what Clove’s life would look like if I wasn’t there. If my existence in her life really made much of a difference.”

  Falsified memories of John Parkman’s teenagers came alive in Rachel’s mind. “It does, Peak.”

  Eyes glossy, Peak replied, “Thanks to you, I’ll get to see for myself.”

  Her partner’s openness was a system shock. In the over half decade they’d known each other, never once had Rachel seen this emotional side of him. Rachel chose not to vocalize the revelation. It felt right to just let it sink in as they curved through the winding roads of the Appalachia.

  The Highlands Police Department was caffeinated by black coffee and the urgency of the situation. A wave of noise ruled the bullpen as officers accepted dozens of tips regarding the Mayor’s killer, all of which were probably baloney. In the corner of the room, various TVs showed different news station reports on Parkman’s motel scandal and speculations about who from the town council would be elected in his place. Rachel and Peak arrived to find Carry Parkman shouting at Lieutenant McConnell. Her perfect blonde hair was in wires. Her pretty face was red and puffy from crying.

  “It’s because they came to my house!” the woman screamed. Her reddened eyes locked onto Rachel like a bird of prey. Her finger pointed. “Them!”

  Rachel and Peak hesitantly approached. McConnell glared at the detectives and turned his attention back to Carry. “We understand your concern.”

  “I beg to differ,” Carry protested. “Death follows those detectives. If they never visited me, my husband wouldn’t have become the next target. It was either their fault or that witch Iris Goldberg. Why isn’t she being questioned?”

  “We’re doing all we can,” McConnell said. “Please go home, Mrs. Parkman. Get some rest.”

  The woman looked like she was chewing gravel as she struggled to find her next words. Failing to do so, she huffed and stormed out of the station, knocking shoulders with Rachel.

  McConnell watched her go and turned to Rachel and Peak. “My office.”

  He closed the door behind them, walked around to the back of his chair, and dug his fingernails into the rim of the seat’s back. With intense eyes, he glared at Rachel and Peak seated before his desk.

  “Detective Harroway, I have a serious question for you. One I expect you to answer honestly,” McConnell said, his rectangular face glowing red. “Are you fit for this investigation?”

  “Yes, sir.” Rachel said.

  McConnell let go of his chair and took a deep breath. “You had a panic attack at a crime scene. A horrible one.”

  “I know, sir. It won’t happen again.”

  “That’s not the only issue. Against my express order and without any solid evidence, you leaked to Carry Parkman that her husband was a suspect. A statement we have no way of proving --”

  “Visiting her was my idea, sir,” Peak interrupted the lieutenant with his lie.

  McConnell stared at him in disbelief. He straightened his posture. “Your actions have consequences for this station, its funding, and our lives. If we weren’t in such a mess, I’d have both of you take mandatory vacations. I don’t want to make this a national problem. Highlands has never needed help from those pretentious suits from the FBI, and that won’t change under my watch. Most days, I’d say we’re all competent at doing our jobs here. Let’s show the world that. Can I trust you to finish this case?”

  “Yes, sir,” Rachel and Peak replied.

  McConnell took Rachel aside after Peak left.

  “If you need time off, I understand. Legally, you and Peak should both be recovering from your encounter with the Roper.”

  “I’m completely fine,” Rachel lied.

  McConnell took a deep breath. “Glad to hear it. This case hasn’t helped my blood pressure. The more hands we have on this, the better.”

  Back at their desk, Rachel called Jennifer Blankenship.

  No response.

  “We ask that you contact the Highlands Police Department immediately,” Rachel said at the end of her voice message.

  Peak contacted the few establishments around the Yellow Moon Motel. He requested any footage of the street that night. With the town being so spread out, Rachel didn’t expect Peak would learn much. When the tapes arrived, Rachel’s suspicions became a reality. One could only see the wheels and rims of cars that drove by the nearby gas station. The handful of individuals who filled their gas tank last night shared no similarities to the woman that Rachel saw kill John Parkman.

  Rachel called the Spartanburg Police Department and introduced herself and her request.

  “Jennifer Blankenship,” the officer said over the clacking of his fingers on his keyboard. “She has a disorderly conflict in 1982.”

  “College days, I know. I read her database report.”

  “And you want us to check on her?”

  “Yeah, she’s a suspect in a murder case. I want to see if she’s home.”

  “Okay dokey. We’ll call you in bit.”

  Rachel hung up the phone and typed Jennifer’s name into the Facebook search bar. Halfway through the first page, Rachel found her match. The woman before her had a wide smile, rich brown hair greying at its roots, and a beautiful face aged by years of smoking. Rachel clicked on her profile. It was set to Private. Rachel closed her eyes, visualizing the Porcelain Killer, her red smile and the long knife in her hand. The vision was interrupted by a sharp pain in her neck and torso. She opened her eyes.

  The Internet offered a few suggestions on the type of knife. In the Reality, John Parkman recognized it as a pig hunting knife, so that’s where Rachel started. Scanning through images on numerous websites, Rachel got a bite. The weapon had a single edge, brass guard, and a stag handle. The blade was ten and a half inches: a good length to conceal and kill. Is the woman a hunter or was the clue inconsequential?

  A correctly worded search led Rachel to the travel agency where Jennifer worked. Blankenship held a secured position as one of the lead agents.

  The Spartanburg Police Department returned Rachel’s call. “Jennifer’s residence appears to be empty.”

  Rachel thanked them for their time. She contacted the travel agency. A soft-voiced elderly woman answered. “Why, yes. Miss Blankenship does work for us.”

  “Do you mind if I speak with her?”

  “She is out of town on personal business, I’m afraid.”

  “When did she leave?”

  “I’d have to say three or four weeks ago. She said that she’ll scout clientele while she was away.”

  “Did she say where she was going?”

  “I’m afraid not.”

  After exchanging information, Rachel allo
wed the woman to get back to her business. Peak swiveled around in his chair to face Rachel.

  “I haven’t found out anything about the dolls,” he admitted. “Forensics is still doing their work, but it looks like they aren’t going to find anything. Porcelain is about to pull off two murders without leaving behind a shred of evidence. It doesn’t look like she’s an amateur.”

  “I’m going to look into Jennifer’s next of kin and see what they know.” Rachel searched the state databases for any relatives.

  They found the birth certificate for Jennifer Blankenship. Her mother’s name was Anastasia and her father was Odis. His death certificate was filed in 1970. Anastasia was alive still and living in Highlands. They found her address, but the phone number was no longer in service.

  Rachel and Peak decided to go on a field trip.

  Peak drove to the cottage nestled in the woods. The grass was trimmed and various garden decor had been purposefully placed on the front lawn. Rachel knocked on the door. A squeaking wind compass on the shed’s roof stole Peak’s attention as they waited for Anastasia to answer.

  A lock clicked on the other side of the door. It creaked open. Rachel expected to see a short woman with snow white hair, but she stood before a fifty-six-year-old woman wearing jeans, a t-shirt, and with grey and brown hair tumbling down her shoulders and back. Rachel recognized her as Jennifer Blankenship. She smelled of cigarettes, and she had age lines in her complexion.

  “Detective Rachel Harroway, Highlands PD,” Rachel introduced herself. “May we come in, Ms. Blankenship?”

  Jennifer bounced her eyes between the two detectives. “What is this about?”

  “The death of Albert Jacobson and John Parkman.”

  Jennifer’s sultry brown eyes watered. “Come in. I was just making coffee”

  Rachel and Peak exchange looks. Rachel bushed her hand over her Glock 22. They entered the house, stepping into the living room. The design was simplistic with a couch, recliner, and a lot of empty space.

  Jennifer took notice of their interest. “My mother needs avenues for her wheelchair to travel. Age has not been favorable to her.”

  “Are you staying with your mother?” Rachel asked.

  “Yes. I arrived a few weeks ago,” Jennifer said from the kitchen.

  Rachel scanned over the family photos. Anastasia and a much younger Jennifer. She was beautiful in her youth. There was also an older man in some of the photos. Stepfather? Peak quickly scanned the bookshelf and fireplace for anything out of the ordinary.

  “I wanted to give her house nurse a break, and the doctor says Mom doesn’t have much time,” said Jennifer as she returned a few moments later with a tray holding three coffee cups. She set them down at the dining room table where it seemed she wanted to host them. She pulled out chairs for Rachel and Peak.

  “What would you like to know about John and Albert?” Jennifer said and blew at the steam of her coffee.

  “What’s your relationship with them?”

  “In high school, we were all in the honor society. After that, I moved away to go to college. I’ve not been in touch with them since. They moved up and got jobs as members of the city council. Fate had different plans for me.”

  Rachel opened her sketch pad. “Where were you Friday morning, between 3 a.m. and 8 a.m.?”

  “Tending to my mother,” Jennifer said and sipped at the coffee. She winced. “Too bitter. Would you like sugar?”

  Neither Rachel or Peak had touched their mugs.

  Jennifer got up and returned with tea cup full of sugar cubes. She dropped three into her mug and stirred them with a little spoon.

  “How about last night. Where were you then?”

  “With my mother. I stay with her every evening.” Jennifer kept stirring the sugar. Peak watched the cubes blob up and down in the black soup.

  “Can we speak to your mother?” Peak asked.

  “Of course,” Jennifer got up a third time and wandered into a different room. Rachel took in her surroundings. Nothing linked to the dolls. No photos hinted at a connection to the victims. The Sense wasn’t acting up either, which meant Rachel was in no immediate danger.

  Jennifer wheeled her mother into the room. Anastasia was a short woman with fluffy white hair. A quilted blanket covered her lap. She smiled sweet and genuine.

  “Hi, Mrs. Blankenship. How are you feeling?”

  The elder woman had no reply.

  “She does this,” Jennifer explained. “It’s a side effect of her condition.”

  Off Rachel’s expression, Jennifer elaborated, “Alzheimer’s. My mother lived a hard life. It’s a true tragedy to see her go like this.”

  The woman’s politeness angered Rachel. “Jennifer. Do you know how many times I’ve called you? At least a dozen, and you only answered once.”

  The woman tensed up. “I apologized for my distance. Everything with my mother has been so stressful. Participating in an investigation was too much for me.”

  Jennifer sipped her coffee before drawing out a cigarette. Her mother swatted at her, causing Jennifer to recoil and scowl at the elderly woman.

  Rachel tried to remember the tobacco scent Parkman had inhaled, but the perfume that the woman wore at the time made it difficult to draw a connection. “Two men are dead, Ms. Blankenship. You are a suspect.”

  “How am I a suspect?” Jennifer asked, blowing smoke out the corner of her pale lips.

  “You were the only female survivor of the murders in ‘77, and you arrived in town weeks before the first murder. We also know you had past sexual relations with Albert Jacobson.”

  Jennifer smiled softly at them. Her demeanor was completely calm and relaxed. “This comes down to a high school fling? Al and I haven’t spoken in decades. Knowing what an atrocious man he is… was, I’m glad that our relationship never continued.”

  “You had ample time to tell us that during the initial investigation,” Rachel said. “Instead, you were hostile to me and unresponsive.”

  “It’s very taxing to watch your mother slowly losing herself.”

  Past troubles bubbled to the surface of Rachel’s mind as she recalled her mother’s sorry state in the mental hospital. “I sympathize, Miss Blankenship. I truly do.”

  “Then you’ll understand my hostility from a week ago?” Jennifer asked.

  Rachel didn’t reply. Rachel found it difficult to get a read on her. This wasn’t the same person who told her to never call again during the Roper investigation. She was polite and level-headed. That raised a few red flags, but not enough to name her a killer.

  After a few more questions, Rachel and Peak reconvened outside. They listened to the sounds of crickets and birds. A sense of failure lingered in the air. Rachel believed that by seeing Jennifer, the murders and the dolls would make sense, but the only clue was her presence in the town.

  The Sense activated. Rachel felt her skin crawl like she’d bathed in centipedes. The Roper, broken, bleeding, and cocky, stepped toward her. “She’s the one,” he whispered.

  “What are you talking about?” Rachel asked with peeved suspicion.

  Peak turned to Rachel. He studied her with his coal-black eyes.

  Beneath the burlap sack, the Roper smiled. “She’s the one that killed me.”

  7

  PROOF

  Rachel washed her face in the department’s restroom. Water cascading down her brow, nose, and jawline, she studied her reflection. Long lines branched from beneath Rachel’s olive eyes. Under her dripping face, Albert’s accusation stuck to her mind like a parasite. Rachel had painted Jennifer Blankenship as the killer, sort of, but to hear it from Albert felt wrong. There was no damning evidence, and the man--Orphan--had proved himself to be violent, impulsive, and deceitful.

  Why accuse her now? What is Albert’s end game? She didn’t trust him enough to ask him. She imagined herself dangling from his rope, the rough touch of his gloved hands against her cheek and all the games he’d play with her if she failed to avenge
him.

  The world spun. Rachel steadied herself at the edge of the sink. Sickness stirred within. Work called and with it, she hoped to find her salvation.

  The bullpen had settled since this morning, but the stakes were still high. The initial shock of the Mayor’s death devolved into a standard homicide case, only with more sweat-stained officers clocking in extra hours. In the briefing room, McConnell and a few officers discussed the case next to a collage of Parkman’s knife wounds and cadaver photos. Rachel stopped between there and her desk. She took a deep breath and opened the door.

  “...Iris Goldberg is sweating it out in Room 2, but I don’t think the affair is the right angle,” McConnell said.

  Blond-haired, blond-mustached officer Jacob Jones disagreed. “Lovers’ spats turn deadly all the time.”

  “We cannot disregard the porcelain doll. No one had knowledge of that outside of the department. How would Iris have known to hide it there?” another officer said.

  The door clicked shut. The three men turned to Rachel. She gestured for them to continue.

  “I’m banking on a political motive,” McConnell said. “We need to keep a close eye on whoever is next up in office. There’s a certain unspoken hierarchy that we’ve all seen in our town, someone’s trying to shake that up.”

  Rachel stepped forward. “Lieutenant, do you mind if we…”

  “I’d prefer if we put everything out in the open. Four heads are better than two.”

  After searching for the words to say, Rachel spoke up. “I believe whoever is killing these men is someone from their past. Someone who knows their secrets and is making sure that they die with them.”

  McConnell crossed his arms. “What secrets?”

  “That Albert was the Highlands Roper, and Parkman knew about it from his high school days.”

  The three men exchanged looks.

  “How do we know Parkman had that information on Albert?” McConnell asked.

  Rachel tried to think of an impromptu answer that didn’t involve the Gift. “The same killer has dispatched two members from the 1977 Honor society whom I saw as suspects in my initial investigation. Doesn’t that strike you as odd? Besides, someone convinced Parkman to meet them in a secluded motel room. You don’t do that unless you have something to hide or someone is trying to blackmail you. Parkman’s affair is old news, and the town’s political killing seems a little random with all that’s going on. That leaves one possibility. Parkman has ties to the Highlands girls’ case.”