Don't Breathe: A Gripping Serial Killer Thriller (Darkwater Cove Psychological Thriller Book 6)

by Dan Padavona

  “But every time someone bullies Tina, it’s in your class.”

  That’s not true. Ali’s aware Beth Moreno, a popular redhead on the cheer squad, waited inside the locker room after gym and tossed Tina into the showers while the other girls laughed. The gym teacher brushed the situation off. Kids will be kids, and no one got hurt.

  “Mrs. Marquez, your daughter is one of my favorite students, and I’ll fight the administration on her behalf. But my eyes can’t be everywhere at once, so the next time someone bullies Tina, she needs to tell me right away.”

  A sob.

  “She shouldn’t have to tell you and humiliate herself further. Why doesn’t anyone care? Teenagers act more like gang members than human beings, and nobody at the high school does anything to stop them. Were you bullied in school, Ms. Haynes?”

  Ali stammers. She recalls backbiting and typical mean girl stuff. Once in eighth grade, Melinda Storey stuck gum in Ali’s hair during social studies. It took a week before Ali got the gum out. She didn’t speak up, because she knew what Melinda would do if Ali ratted her out.

  “Believe me, I’m sensitive to Tina’s predicament. Tina’s second period class seemed to go okay.” That much is true. The kids seemed too tired to care about biology, let alone their classmates. “I have free time ninth period and after school. If you text Tina—”

  “We can’t afford phones, another reason those girls taunt Tina.”

  Ali rubs her eyes.

  “No problem. I’ll call the office and have them pull Tina’s class schedule. Someone will give her a note.”

  There’s a pause on the other end.

  “Tina is interviewing for a job at the grocery market after school. We need the money.”

  “How about Friday after school? I have a hair appointment at four, but I’m free until then.”

  “I’ll talk to my daughter.”

  “Good. While I have you on the phone, let me give you my cell number. I don’t give this out to parents, so please keep this to yourself.”

  Ali recites her phone number for Mrs. Marquez, repeating the number after the woman copies two digits in error. She discerns the doubt in Mrs. Marquez’s voice—Ali must be the first teacher to give the woman her mobile number.

  “So you’ll meet with Tina and help her?”

  “I promise.”

  “I’ll hold you to that, Ms. Haynes.”

  The call ends. Ali stares at the receiver, sensing she’s in over her head. Setting the phone on the hook, she braces her arm against the wall. When two more boys scramble down the hallway, she shuts the door and blocks out the noise.

  Back at her desk, she chews the sandwich without tasting. She can’t wipe away the image of Beth Moreno shoving an underprivileged student into the showers and turning the water on. The memory of Melinda Storey feels sharper now, knife-edged. As if it happened yesterday and not twelve years ago. Kids are ruthless. Is it survival instinct or bad parenting? Bullying spans generations, as old as religion.

  Her cell phone rings. It’s probably Mrs. Marquez verifying the number. But when Ali answers, she hears silence on the other end.

  “Hello?”

  Click.

  Weird. That’s the third hangup in the last week. As she ponders what to do about Tina Marquez, a knock brings Ali’s head up. Annika Bava, the senior high chemistry teacher, edges the door open.

  “Am I interrupting?”

  Ali holds up the rest of her sandwich.

  “Just finishing a porterhouse and a glass of chardonnay. Care to partake in the next course?”

  “No thanks. I still have a sad-looking tofu salad to polish off.”

  “You didn’t come here to berate me over the Tina Marquez situation?”

  “No…wait, what’s going on with Tina Marquez?”

  “Long story. Let’s save it for a time when we don’t have full stomachs. What’s up?”

  Annika had been holding back a grin, and now it spreads wide on her face.

  “There’s a surprise for you in the main office.”

  “What kind of surprise?”

  “Follow me.”

  Annika reminds Ali of the giggling teenagers in her class as she bounces to the office. Sally and an aide on her lunch break look on as Ali discovers the massive bouquet taking up the counter.

  “Whoever he is, find out if he has a brother,” Annika says. “Well, aren’t you going to read the card?”

  Ali scrunches her brow. Rotating the vase, she can’t locate a card.

  “There isn’t one.”

  “Try to look a little more enthusiastic. They’re beautiful.”

  “I don’t know who would send me flowers.”

  Ali’s fingers tangle in a silky, sticky thread. She yanks her hand back and brushes the spiderweb off on her pants.

  “Gross,” Annika says. “At least the flowers are pretty. You’re holding back on me. Who’s the guy?”

  Ali glares at the vase.

  “I have no idea.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Wednesday, September 16th

  8:50 a.m.

  An unexpected chill in the air greets Darcy when she steps into the parking lot outside the gray J. Edgar Hoover Building. Hadn’t the temperature been ten degrees warmer when she departed Genoa Cove at sunrise? Cool mornings are rare in Virginia before October, and though the clear sky promises a warm afternoon, she wishes she wore her sweatshirt. She stares up at the building, blinding sunlight glinting off the windows.

  As she ascends the steps, she passes a group of agents on their way out. One of them, a wide-eyed woman with an interest in profiling, waves at Darcy. The elevator takes Darcy up to the third floor. Once in the hallway, she lowers her head and arrows for her office, hoping to get a head start on any recent cases tossed upon her desk.

  Setting her bag beside the chair, she slides her government ID card into the keyboard and punches in a pin code. The FBI seal appears. Back to the grindstone.

  Her cell rings. As she plucks the phone from her bag, she worries Gail Shipley has another round of interrogative questions, or the hangup caller is back. Scrutinizing the screen, she doesn’t recognize the North Carolina number.

  “Is this Darcy Haines?”

  “This is,” Darcy says, shutting her office door to drown out the conversations. “Who’s calling?”

  The woman’s voice cracks.

  “My name is Leigh Ames,” the woman says between sobs. “I live down the road from you in Smith Town.”

  “May I ask where you got my phone number?”

  Leigh cries again.

  “I’m so sorry. A message forum for Genoa Cove residents listed your number. I know it isn’t right to call you like this, but I don’t have anyone else to turn to.”

  A Genoa Cove message forum? Darcy’s mind immediately flips to Harold Gibbons. He’s the only person in the village who’d betray Darcy’s privacy and post her cell phone number on a public forum. No doubt that’s where Gail Shipley found Darcy’s number.

  Darcy flicks the mouse to turn off the screen saver. She enters an email password and scans the messages, multitasking so she doesn’t fall behind.

  “Slow down, Mrs. Ames. Why don’t you start from the beginning?”

  “It’s Ms. Ames, I’m unmarried. But please call me Leigh.”

  “Okay, Leigh.”

  Darcy waits, a signal for the woman to lead the conversation.

  “Last evening, I identified my twin sister, Nadia, at the county morgue.”

  Pushing aside a stack of documents, Darcy finds a blank sheet of paper and clicks her pen.

  “I’m very sorry for your loss. What happened to Nadia?”

  Leigh sniffles. She takes a moment to compose herself.

  “A hiker found her body on the cross county trail between Smith Town and Genoa Cove.”

  Darcy runs on the cross county trail when she needs a change in scenery. The thin dirt path snakes through dense forestland and crosses two bridged streams before concl
uding a mile from the public beaches.

  “Did the police give you an explanation?”

  “They did, but I’m not buying it. The detective was a real jerk, some guy with a thick mustache named Pinder.”

  Scribbling a note, Darcy fights off the tremor running through her bones. Rumors claim Pinder partnered with Bronson Severson, the corrupt GCPD officer who kidnapped Hunter and aided serial killer Richard Chaney. Darcy met Pinder in Smith Town before he made detective. The officer responded to a call at Amy Yang’s house during the Darkwater Cove murders. Pinder didn’t impress Darcy then, and she wonders why the Smith Town PD promoted a man with that much baggage.

  “I know who Detective Pinder is. Go on.”

  “Detective Pinder found Nadia’s bicycle beside the path, a few steps from her body. I’m certain someone murdered my sister, but the detective claims she died from a spider bite. Isn’t that the most ridiculous thing you’ve ever heard?”

  Darcy recalls the nasty, black arachnid on her porch.

  “The medical examiner found two bites on her body. But that means nothing. If someone hurt Nadia and left her in the forest, bugs would find her.”

  Darcy writes Pinder’s name above the medical examiner’s, then starts a second column, noting the body’s location and the bicycle’s proximity. She jots down spider bite and draws a question mark beside it.

  “Why do you believe someone murdered your sister?”

  Leigh blows her nose.

  “Because she went missing Sunday morning, and no one had seen Nadia since. She works at the Smith Town library and should have opened the doors at eight o’clock. Nadia is dependable, and she needed the money. No way she’d skip out on work to ride her bike through the woods.”

  Darcy’s hand flies across the page.

  “When did the hiker find your sister?”

  “Around five o’clock yesterday. The police called me at six.”

  “So your sister had been missing for two-and-a-half days. Any signs of a physical attack?”

  “That’s the weird part. Nadia didn’t have any bruising to indicate an attack, no stab wounds or signs of strangulation.”

  Darcy sets the pen down.

  “You sound like a police investigator.”

  “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I’m an amateur sleuth. Nadia made fun of me because I always talked about the Darkwater Cove case. She didn’t believe me when I told her I suspected police involvement. Turns out the officer had retired, but I was close. You’re the only person I trust to uncover the truth about Nadia.”

  Uncomfortable silence plays out as Darcy considers her response.

  “Please, Agent Haines. She’s more than my sister. She’s all I had in the world, and now she’s gone. I want justice for Nadia, and I don’t believe in killer spiders.”

  “That is curious,” Darcy says, rubbing her chin. “This is a strange coincidence, but I discussed venomous spiders in North Carolina with a friend this weekend. Besides the black widow and occasional brown recluse, there aren’t any dangerous spiders in this area, and neither spider would kill anyone in good health.” But the spider Darcy killed was a lot larger and more frightening than a black widow. “Did your sister have an underlying medical condition?”

  “No. She stayed fit, biked, and ran half-marathons. I don’t understand what’s going on around Smith Town. Wasn’t there another death linked to a spider bite last week?”

  Darcy recalls Cynthia’s synopsis.

  “Yes. A camper in the woods between Smith Town and Greenville.”

  “That’s so weird.”

  “Who would want to hurt your sister, Leigh?” Darcy asks, keeping the conversation on track.

  “Nobody. People like Nadia.”

  “Think harder. There has to be someone.”

  After a few seconds, Leigh mutters, “Well, Nadia broke up with her boyfriend last month.”

  “Give me a name.”

  A heavy exhale.

  “Kealan Hart.”

  “Would you describe Kealan as violent?”

  “Kealan? No, never. But Nadia said he took the breakup hard. He wouldn’t take no for an answer and called Nadia day and night.”

  To Darcy’s ears, that sounds like the beginnings of a dangerous obsession. Breakups can trigger unpredictable behavior. She circles Kealan Hart’s name and underlines it.

  “Anyone else who might hurt Nadia?”

  “No one. She wasn’t the type to make enemies.”

  Someone knocks on Darcy’s door. She presses the phone against her chest.

  “Just a second. I’m on a call.” Footsteps trail down the hallway. “Sorry about that. Listen, Leigh. I’m unsure how I can help. Unless there’s a reason for the FBI to get involved, this is a matter for the Smith Town police.”

  “They’re incompetent.”

  Yes, they are. But Darcy can’t budge into the investigation.

  “Regardless of our opinions about the cause of death—”

  “Aren’t you a private investigator?”

  “Well, yes. But I set my business aside when I returned to the FBI.”

  “To track serial killers for the Behavior Analysis Unit. Yes, I follow your cases.” Leigh’s throat makes a nervous, clicking sound. “That sounded deranged. Please don’t get the wrong idea. I’ve loved to research crimes since I was a kid, and I got into amateur sleuthing in college. When I was at UNC, my roommate and I solved a case on campus involving—”

  “I believe you, Leigh, and I want to help. My hands are tied unless the FBI takes the case, and I see no reason we’d step on the Smith Town PD’s toes.”

  “Then I’ll never learn the truth about what happened to my sister.”

  Darcy examines her nails. They’re ragged, chewed up. Hiding her hands in her lap, she slides the notes into her desk drawer.

  “I’ll talk to the senior agent I’m working with this month and determine if there’s anything we can do.”

  “Hurry, Mrs. Haines. Someone killed my sister. And he’s still out there.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Wednesday, September 16th

  11:35 a.m.

  The wind carries scents of cut grass and last night’s rain. Jennifer sits on a picnic table behind the school, a stone’s throw from the concrete walls of the handball courts. Down the hill, Sean tosses a perfect spiral to JT in a pickup football game. JT jukes his classmate and runs for a touchdown. They’ll both be sweaty when the lunch hour concludes, but neither shies away from competition.

  Jennifer bites an apple. She enjoys the quiet during lunch hour and before physics class. As she observes the game, she narrows her eyes when JT spikes the ball to show up the kid who wasn’t fast enough to defend him. Since the supposed accident with the lacrosse ball, JT hasn’t apologized, hasn’t even spoken to Jennifer. At least Sean called her that evening to ask if she got home okay. Her nails dig into her palms. She catches herself before she draws blood. Little half-moons dot her palms.

  Her phone hums. Hunter’s name flashes on the screen as he requests a chat on the FaceTime app.

  “Hey, Hunter.”

  Jennifer’s older brother appears. A blue-gray concrete wall littered with posters serves as his backdrop. He must be inside his dorm room. This week, his hair is midnight black with spikes. He dyes his hair blonde depending on his latest whim, but she can’t see any blonde in his hair now that he’s allowed the natural black to grow out.

  “What’s up?”

  She pushes her hair back.

  “You called me. That’s what’s up.”

  “Heard about the car,” he says with an I-got-one-over-on-you grin. “Nice job.”

  “Thanks a million. Like you haven’t screwed up before.”

  “So, who’s the guy?”

  Jennifer tilts her head in false confusion as her gaze wanders back to the pickup football game.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Be serious. You were driving down the street, and a lacrosse ball
randomly flew out of the trees and broke Mom’s windshield. Ha. Maybe you can pull the wool over an FBI profiler’s eyes, but I’m not buying it.”

  “Come on, Hunter,” she groans, looking around to make sure no one is listening.

  “Tell the truth. You sneaked off to some jock’s house. So who is it?”

  Jennifer buries her face in her hands.

  “Just tell me. I promise not to laugh.”

  “Yeah, right.”

  “Scout’s honor.”

  “You weren’t a boy scout. Okay, it’s Sean Braden.”

  The smile leaves Hunter’s lips.

  “Oh, man. You can do better than that guy.”

  “Shut up. He’s okay. And he didn’t break Mom’s windshield. His buddy did, but it was an accident.”

  Hunter shuts his door and quiets the noise in the hallway.

  “This buddy wasn’t JT, was it?”

  “How did you know?”

  Letting out a long sigh, Hunter taps his finger at the screen.

  “JT and Sean are dicks, and if you hang around those guys, you’ll get hurt.”

  “You’re acting worse than Mom. Face it, you’ll say any guy I’m dating is a jerk. I need to lead my own life, Hunter. We won’t always have the same friends.”

  “We’ve never had the same friends. Not since we moved to Genoa Cove. But that isn’t the point. I won’t sugarcoat this for you. Guys are jackasses at that age, and they only care about themselves. Well, that and sex. I was one of them a few years ago.”

  On the football field, JT and another boy get into a shoving match. Sean and a larger player step between the combatants.

  “No you weren’t. You treated Bethany well and still do.”

  “Hey, Jennifer. I don’t want to be the overprotective big brother, and I’m not trying to replace Dad. But dating Sean Braden is a bad idea. He’ll use you and throw you away when he finds someone new.”

  “I take it you didn’t see eye-to-eye with Sean during high school. That doesn’t mean he’s still a bad guy. But I agree, JT is a troublemaker.”

  “Don’t believe that crap about opposites attracting. Sean and JT are the same. That’s why they hang out together.”