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

by Dan Padavona

  “Did Brit spend time in Smith Town?” Ketchum asks.

  Sasha glances at Jorge and shrugs.

  “When we shopped, we drove to Greenville or Genoa Cove. But Smith Town is five miles up the road, so we ended up there sometimes.”

  “Does the name Kealan Hart mean anything to you?”

  The blank stares provide Darcy and Ketchum with an answer. Ketchum fishes the phone from his pocket and swipes to a picture of the mayor’s son.

  “How about this man? Ever see him talking to Brit?”

  Ketchum passes the phone to Jorge, who shakes his head and hands the picture to Sasha. While Sasha studies the photograph, her eyes light.

  “I know this guy.”

  Darcy takes a step forward.

  “How?”

  “Earlier this summer, Brit and I shopped at the village stores in Genoa Cove. We stopped for lunch at a bar and grill. What’s the name of that place, babe?”

  Jorge scrunches his brow.

  “Which bar?”

  “You know. The place with the kid from The Little Rascals on the sign.”

  “Alfalfa’s?”

  “That’s it. So anyway, we sat at the bar and ordered wraps. This guy wanted to buy us a drink. But I could tell he was only interested in Brit by the way he undressed her with his eyes.”

  “What’s this?” Chris lifts his chin. “Nobody told me a guy hit on Brit.”

  “It wasn’t a big deal. She blew him off, and that was the end.”

  Ketchum takes the phone back from Sasha.

  “And you’re certain this was the man who made a move on Brit?” he asks.

  “That’s him,” Sasha says. “Looked like he was made of money. He carried himself as if he owned Smith Town.”

  “He sort of does. His father is Curtis Hart, the town mayor.”

  “Whoever this Kealan Hart is, he’s a creep.”

  “Why do you think he’s a creep?”

  “Just the way he kept staring at Brit even after she turned him down.”

  Kealan wasn’t as loyal to Nadia as he claimed. And Darcy can link him to both victims.

  “Did he follow Brit after you left the bar?”

  “Not that I know of.” Sasha snaps her fingers. “But a few weeks later, Brit started getting weird phone calls.”

  “What kind of calls?” Darcy says, her mouth dry.

  “Hangups. There wouldn’t be anyone on the line. Just silence, though I swear I heard a guy breathing once when Brit put the caller on speaker phone. Do you think it was this Kealan Hart creep?”

  “Did you record the number?”

  “That’s the issue. The numbers kept changing. I encouraged Brit to call her cell provider. But they claimed there was nothing they could do because the calls weren’t from the same number. They suggested calling the police.”

  “Did you?”

  “No. The calls stopped.”

  A chill trickles down Darcy’s spine. The killer has been calling her phone.

  Ten minutes later, Darcy and Ketchum conclude the interview. On their way out of the apartment, Darcy pulls Sasha aside and keeps her voice low. As Jorge removes steaks from the freezer and sets them on the counter to thaw, Darcy sees Chris watching from the kitchen.

  “Are you sure nothing was going on between Brit and Chris?”

  Sasha wrings her hands. Shooting a look over her shoulder, she edges the door shut and stands with Darcy and Ketchum in the stairway. A fresh coat of paint leaves a sharp smell in the air.

  “That stuff Chris said about taking a job in Jacksonville is true. But that’s not why he wants to leave. Brit and Chris had been arguing for months. He had too much to drink last month and slapped Brit. Luckily, Jorge and I were there. Jorge grabbed Chris’s arm and pulled him outside. Told Chris he needed to get his shit together, that if he ever hit Brit again, Jorge would mess him up.”

  “Yet you remain friends.”

  “That’s what the camping trip was about. Saving our friendship. Chris never used to act like this. He changed over the last year. He’s always so…angry, like the world is out to get him.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Thursday, September 17th

  6:50 p.m.

  Red pools on the horizon as Ali Haynes glances through the picture box window. The kitchen smells of Thanksgiving, though she’s roasting a chicken instead of turkey. Opening the oven, she carries the candied yams to the counter and sets it to cool. Next she removes the stuffing. The scents bring her back to holidays with her family. Her throat tightens. All this food, and no one to share it with. One silver lining—she won’t need to cook dinner this weekend.

  She sets the chicken on the counter and carves two juicy slices. Through the window, dusk drapes over the trees as the leaves rustle with whispered secrets. As she stands on tiptoe and removes a plate from the cupboard, her phone rings. It’s Tina Marquez’s mother. With a sigh, she sets the food aside and falls into the chair

  .“Somebody stole Tina’s clothes after gym today.”

  “Did the teacher catch who did it?”

  Ali sees no point in asking. She already knows Beth Moreno and her friends stole the clothes, and Ms. Wetzel coaches the cheerleader team and won’t discipline her girls.

  “Tina had to borrow clothes from the lost and found. A boy’s clothes, Ms. Haynes. I’ve never seen her so embarrassed. She hasn’t come out of her room since she stepped off the bus.”

  Ali shuffles to the counter and sets the chicken carvings on her plate, the phone clamped between her ear and shoulder.

  “I’ll speak with Tina tomorrow. She still plans to meet with me, right?”

  “I’ll make sure she’s there. But what are you going to do about the bullying?”

  Ali wants to tell Mrs. Marquez the incident didn’t happen in her room, and she can’t watch Tina’s back outside of biology class. The truth is, she should be able to stop Beth Moreno from attacking Tina again. If only she could convince the principal and guidance counselor to listen. They don’t respect Ali because she’s inexperienced.

  “You can’t micromanage these kids,” Principal Diaz likes to say. “If you don’t trust them to work through their issues now, they won’t handle life when they reach college.”

  “I’ll meet with Principal Diaz tomorrow during my free period.”

  “Please help us. If the attacks continue, I won’t send Tina to school anymore.”

  Ali ends the conversation with a promise to do right by Mrs. Marquez’s daughter. The weight of the world presses on her shoulders, and she can’t carry it on her own.

  By the time she scoops the yams and stuffing, she can’t find her appetite. Groaning, she stabs a fork into the yams and chews. She might as well eat cardboard. Her taste vanished with her hopeful mood. Halfway through the meal, a banging sound against the house pulls her eyes to the window. Just a branch smacking the siding, she tells herself. She forgot to trim the limb for brush pickup. The banging sound starts again, and this time she drops the fork and pads to the window.

  The world bathes in deep, hushed blue. In fifteen minutes, it will be too dark to see the yard. Ali cranes her neck at the window. She can see the branch flapping in the breeze like a broken wing. Is it touching the siding?

  She jumps when the phone rings again. Unknown caller. She should ignore the call and force the caller to leave a message. Instead, she answers and listens to the familiar quiet on the other end. Is this the mystery man who sent the flowers?

  “Your bouquet was pretty, but the flowers had a spider infestation. If I were you, I’d contact the florist and ask for my money back.”

  Click.

  Ali stares at the phone.

  Odd. If the guy won’t tell her who he is, it’s not her problem.

  A moment before she resumes her dinner, someone pounds on the door. She slides the phone into her pocket, suddenly aware of the spacing between her house and the closest neighbor. It seemed wise to choose a home in the country, to put miles between her an
d Smith Town’s crime. Now she wishes the Kemper family lived closer than a hundred yards away.

  Ali pauses near the door. She can’t recall the last time she had a visitor, and nobody should knock this late.

  “Hello? Is anyone home?”

  It’s a man’s voice. Vaguely familiar, though she can’t place it. Pulling the phone from her pocket, she considers dialing 9-1-1. And tell them what?

  “I’m sorry to bother you. But my car broke down, and I drained the battery on my phone. Hello?”

  The banging comes again from the back of the house, and she feels the dreadful weight of isolation.

  “Miss, you don’t have to open the door. I get it. I’m a stranger, and you shouldn’t trust someone pounding on your door at night. All I ask is you call a tow truck and send it to your address. Can you do that?”

  The wind howls through the eaves. Ali slides into the dining room as fear clutches her with clawed hands. Standing in the corner, she pulls the curtain back and searches for the man. The cypress tree blocks her view of the stoop.

  “Miss, please. It’s my kid’s birthday. I already missed dinner, and by the time the tow truck gets here, the party will be over. Can you call? I won’t take up another minute of your time.”

  There’s no harm in calling. But why can’t Ali see him? She ducks and peers around the shrub, expecting she’ll glimpse his shadow. Nothing. Yet his voice booms on the other side of the door.

  “All right, I’m calling now,” she says, scrolling through a list of towing companies. “Do you have a preference? I see four options in Smith Town.”

  No response.

  “Sir? Are you still there?”

  Sweat trickles down Ali’s back.

  “Miss, are you going to call the towing company?”

  Strange. He acts as if she never asked him who she should call. Did he hear?

  The wind presses against the walls, invoking a groan from the house. Like old bones settling. The shrub sways beside the door, and as it bends, Ali spots the speaker on the stoop. There’s no one out there. The man’s voice is a recording.

  That’s when she hears the banshee screech of the closet door sliding open. The speaker was a distraction.

  He’s already inside the house.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Thursday, September 17th

  7:05 p.m.

  When Julian knocks on Jennifer’s bedroom door, she ends the call with Sean and slides the phone into her desk drawer. Then she opens the textbook and feigns studying.

  “Come in.”

  Julian tentatively opens the door.

  “Is this a bad time?”

  “I’m almost finished with history.” Her eyes dart to the book and confirm her history textbook lies open on the desk, and not her physics book. “What’s going on?”

  She turns her chair to face Julian as he sits on the edge of her mattress. He clasps his hands in his lap.

  “I talked to your Mom this afternoon. There’s a chance these spider bite victims the media keeps harping about might have been murdered.”

  Jennifer scratches her arm. She recalls school gossip about the deaths, but nobody mentioned murder.

  “Is the FBI involved?”

  “They’re taking the threat seriously. Now I have to ask you something important.” He holds Jennifer’s eyes and leans forward with his elbows on his knees. “Believe it or not, I was your age not so long ago and remember what it’s like to be a high school senior. You want to hang with your friends, I get it. But for the next week, until the FBI figures out what’s happening in Smith Town, I need you to slow down.”

  Jennifer closes the textbook. After the windshield incident, she confided with Cynthia. She’d been at a boy’s house and had lied to her mother about visiting Kaitlyn. Cynthia understood and covered for Jennifer. Did Cynthia tell Julian? Her instinct tells her Julian figured out she had a boyfriend before JT broke Mom’s windshield.

  “Are you saying I can’t go out with my friends? That’s not fair.”

  “Not exactly. If you hang out with your friends, your mother and I don’t want you driving. I’ll drop you off or follow you in my car, whichever you prefer. And I promise we’ll give you space. Once you’re at a friend’s house, you’re an adult, and we trust you to be smart. Just stay in one place so we know where to find you.”

  She considers the rules. Julian dropping her off means she can’t visit Sean. Not unless she confesses to Julian. He’ll support her and won’t give her the third degree like Mom. But Julian won’t appreciate Jennifer lying. No, she can’t tell him the truth. Not yet. Better to wait until this FBI business blows over. Besides, the news says a spider killed the two women, and after seeing the ugly, black spider on the deck last weekend, she believes in killer arachnids.

  “So I can still see Kaitlyn and go to parties.”

  “You may visit Kaitlyn, yes. Parties, within reason.”

  “Okay, that’s fair.”

  Julian’s eyes brighten. He expected a fight. It shouldn’t be difficult to sneak over to Sean’s after Julian drops her off at Kaitlyn’s. Kaitlyn has her license and won’t balk if Jennifer asks for a ride to Sean’s.

  “Well, that was easy.”

  He sets his hands on his knees and pushes off the bed. She catches a wince when he rises too fast.

  “Are you okay?”

  Julian places a hand on his stomach.

  “This wound is taking long to heal.”

  The reality keeps hitting Jennifer in waves. They almost lost Julian. She can’t imagine life without her stepfather, and it hurts to lie to him.

  But she’s not really lying, is she? She just isn’t telling him the whole truth.

  “So, we’re good?” Julian asks.

  “As long as you and Mom aren’t locking me inside the house, I don’t see a problem.”

  “We wouldn’t do that to you.” He bends over and kisses the top of her head. “Love you, honey.”

  “I love you too.”

  The door closes. She sits alone with her guilt.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Friday, September 18th

  9:40 a.m.

  The glares from the Smith Town PD officers peel paint off the walls. Darcy does her best to ignore them as they pass outside the conference room. Chief Winger lent the room to Darcy and Ketchum, despite the anger their presence invokes.

  “I take it Detective Pinder won’t be joining us,” Darcy says, glancing at the clock.

  Pinder was supposed to join them ten minutes ago. Ketchum’s phone buzzes.

  “Surprise, surprise. Pinder just responded to a domestic dispute and can’t attend the meeting. He sends his apologies.”

  “I’m sure he’s distraught.”

  Darcy’s phone hums in her pocket. She removes the phone and sees Julian’s name on the screen.

  “I asked Julian to look into Kealan Hart and the victims,” she says, drawing a nod from Ketchum.

  “Hey, Julian. I put you on speakerphone with Adan.”

  “So I researched Kealan Hart and couldn’t find anything you didn’t already know,” Julian says, his voice thin and metallic through the tiny speaker. “But we missed something important with Brit Ryan.”

  Darcy leans forward and clicks her pen.

  “I’m listening.”

  “Brit Ryan graduated from Benson Academy, a private school outside Greenville. However, she attended Smith Town High through her sophomore year.”

  Darcy glances at Ketchum.

  “This changes everything. Not only did Kealan Hart know both women, he went to their high school.”

  “That strengthens Hart as a suspect, right?”

  “And Chris Doyle. Doyle attended Smith Town High with Nadia and Brit.”

  “Okay, that’s all I found. I’ll keep searching.”

  “Thank you, Julian. That’s an important find.”

  “Yes, thanks a ton, Julian,” Ketchum adds as Darcy ends the call.

  Darcy claps her hands toget
her.

  “That’s another check for Hart and Doyle.”

  Ketchum sets his ankle on his knee.

  “I got the rundown from headquarters this morning. The hangup calls to Brit Ryan’s cell came from prepaid numbers.”

  “Same as my hangup calls.”

  “It has to be the same guy. Have you taken measures to protect your family?”

  “Julian spoke to Jennifer last evening,” Darcy says. “She won’t like it, but we’ll drive her to her friends’ houses or follow her over until the case closes.”

  “Wise decision. I hope you’re watching your back.”

  Darcy’s reflection stares back at her in the glass. Another year, another murderer fixated on Darcy and her family.

  “Paranoid as ever. It keeps me alive.”

  “Good, because I called the Genoa Cove PD after breakfast. They’ll send a cruiser past the house every shift.”

  “Thank you, Adan. That’s comforting, especially with Julian shuffling around at fifty percent.”

  “Now we need to find this guy. How’s our unsub capturing his victims without bruising these women, and how does he contain them without leaving ligature marks on their bodies?”

  “Poison, or an injection. That’s how Suzanne Grayson captured men without overpowering her victims.”

  “So he invites a woman to dinner, slips something into her food, and walks her back to the car.”

  “Or he sneaks up on the victim and injects her before she reacts.”

  “Both methods explain how he holds the women without bindings. They’re too groggy to fight back. What about the spider bites?”

  “It’s a cover. He tosses the women into the woods and makes it appear as if venomous spiders killed them. That way he doesn’t show up on our radar.”

  Ketchum clicks the mouse and calls up a photograph of Kealan Hart.

  “Let’s go over our suspect list. First subject, Kealan Hart.”

  Darcy sits back and rolls the pen between her palms.

  “He belongs at the top of the list. Hart had motive—the breakup with Nadia—and he stalked Brit Ryan.”