by Charly Cox
Alyssa took one look at Joe’s exhausted face and Tony’s amused one. ‘What happened?’ she demanded.
‘I could be wrong, but I think it’s pretty obvious Mearl Leroy did not kidnap nor murder Callie McCormick,’ Tony said.
Joe glared at her and Cord. ‘I thought you said Mr. Leroy gave you the willies? I thought that was why, as senior detectives, you sent us out for the second interview.’
‘He did, and we sent you out for the second interview because we were busy meeting Rafe McCormick,’ Alyssa said.
‘Well, unlike you, this time, it was all we could do to extricate ourselves from his company before he brought out a photo album of him, his wife, and every. Single. One. Of. His. Dogs. The man was starving for attention, and he latched onto our company – well, mine because someone had to take a call outside – even if it meant being interrogated by the police.’ He glared at Tony’s smirking face.
Tony shrugged. ‘What? It was a police call.’
Alyssa interrupted before the two could snipe at each other. ‘Why didn’t you just tell him you had to go?’
‘I tried. Then I felt bad, and I –’
He was cut off by the sound of Cord’s phone. ‘Hedge, talk to me, my man.’
Alyssa didn’t bother to pretend she wasn’t on pins and needles waiting to hear what Hedge had discovered.
‘Prints belong to a Hunter Jenkins.’
Bill Hedge had such a booming voice, co-workers joked he wouldn’t need a microphone to speak to an auditorium full of people, so Alyssa heard before Cord could hang up and tell her.
‘Hunter Jenkins,’ Cord said. ‘There’s got to be a logical explanation.’ His earlier excitement was nowhere in sight. ‘Remember when we watched the security footage how I remarked that I hoped to look that good when I was Jenkins’ age?’ He waited for Alyssa’s nod, then continued. ‘He was fit, but fit enough to incapacitate Callie McCormick and kidnap her? Maybe he touched her car on his way into the lobby?’
Alyssa shuffled some papers around, running her finger over the page until she saw what she was looking for. ‘It says work began on her car at 9:08 that morning. Hunter Jenkins arrived long after that.’ She looked up. ‘Logical explanation or not, we need to have another talk with Mr. Jenkins.’
She grabbed her keys and followed Cord out.
Chapter Thirty
Monday, April 1
Watching the detective’s house had become an obsession. When he woke at four thirty that morning, bathed in sweat, his body shaking from the nightmare that had woken him Friday, Saturday, and again Sunday night – a little boy crying, as a blazing fire lit up the night sky – Evan told himself he would just take a quick stroll around the block this time, but when he saw her back out of her garage around 5:45, a dangerous idea began to take shape in his mind, and instead of leaving, he found himself at the back of the vacant house where he was pleasantly surprised to see someone had left the door unlocked. Inside, he planned.
At precisely eight o’clock, he made sure no nosy neighbors lurked, and then exited the house. Playing the part of an old man, he stopped frequently to ‘rest.’
He walked to the end of the block and back. The street and neighboring houses were quiet. In front of the Wyatt residence, he paused to ‘catch his breath,’ in case anyone was watching. Then, slowly and carefully he moved to the block wall separating Alyssa’s house from her neighbor’s. He unlatched the gate, cringing when the rusty hinges squeaked. When the opening was wide enough for him to squeeze through, he made his way into the detective’s private backyard. Three large, mature trees lined each of the back walls, effectively blocking out prying eyes. Heart fluttering, he inched toward the back door where he pulled out the little tool kit he carried with him at all times, though he rarely had use for it. After studying the lock, he grabbed one of his tools, and less than a minute later, he was inside.
* * *
His pulse beat frantically as forced himself to remain still, barely breathing, looking with his eyes only as he counted to three hundred before he finally allowed himself to take a careful step forward.
Finally, he was in the kitchen where everything seemed to be in its place. No dishes cluttered the counter, not even a coffee cup, and a newspaper lay neatly in the center of the table. The only indication that anyone had used the kitchen that morning was the aroma of coffee lingering in the air. He inhaled deeply, enjoying the scent, and a long-ago memory tried to wiggle its way into his mind; an old man throwing his mug against a wall, shattering it as a dark liquid ran down, staining it. He paused as he tried to pull on the strings of the memory, but when it was clear it wasn’t returning, he continued his exploration.
The formal dining room housed a long wooden table, covered with a cream-colored doily. Two candelabras and a plastic cornucopia adorned the center. Six chairs and six place settings finished the look.
Separating the formal dining room from what appeared to be a game room was a soft leather couch. Along one wall was a gaming console complete with a television and a dozen video games lined up haphazardly on a shelf. He read a few of the titles, recognizing none of them. He ran his fingers over a shelf overflowing with DVDs, stopping on the one titled Primal Fear. On impulse, he slipped it inside his jacket pocket.
Next, he went around a corner and entered a foyer. To the right was a great room with leather furniture surrounding an enormous flat screen television. The entertainment center below held another assortment of DVDs.
He licked his lips and rubbed his hands together as he entered a narrow hallway. To the left was a large laundry area with a half bath across from it. At the end stood a doorway, which he assumed led to the two-car garage.
On the right was a set of closed French doors, and he wondered if they led to an office. He had just taken hold of the handle when he heard the unmistakable sound of a garage door opening. His heart thudded painfully against his rib cage as a cold sweat broke out over his entire body.
Frantic, he swung around, looking for a place to hide. He remembered the coat closet he’d passed and hurried to it. He yanked open the door and pushed aside dozens of jackets and sweaters before quietly closing the door behind him. Risking the use of his penlight, he stepped carefully over a slew of athletic gear, noticing as he did that the closet was a deep one with a little opening in the back. He headed for it, ducking as the space became smaller the further in he went. It was just a little extra storage space under the stairs, but the Wyatts had very few things back there, so he hunkered down.
Even if whoever was home opened the closet, they would likely never see him. Still, he caressed the Taser he carried with him. For a moment he allowed himself the fantasy that it was the detective. This time his heart quivered in excitement that lasted until he realized it was Alyssa’s husband who’d come home unexpectedly.
Brock was on the phone when he walked into the house. Though the voice was muffled, Evan could still make out Brock’s end of the conversation. ‘No, no. I’m sure I left it on my desk this morning. I’ll just grab it and race back to the office. If they get there before I do, try to stall them.’ Brock laughed. ‘Well, yeah, you could always try that dance – or you could just offer them some coffee and tell them I’m on my way.’
Evan heard a lock rattle and a door open. Brock’s muted voice barely carried through then, and it wasn’t until he heard the office door close that he was able to make out any more of the conversation. ‘Got it! Be back in the office in fifteen minutes – twenty, tops.’
When he heard Brock’s voice again, he was talking to himself. ‘Okay. What else? Locked the back door, wrote a note to remind the kids to be more careful, so guess that’s it.’
Evan waited until he heard the garage door close before venturing back out, wiping his sweaty palms down the length of his pants. Curious, he checked the office door, but, as he suspected, it was locked. Not wanting to take the time to pick it, he moved on to the main family room where he lingered, looking at pictures of a happy family
. There were the requisite grades K-12 collages for both kids. The girl’s was completed, but there were several years of photos yet to come for the boy who strongly resembled his father with his sharp cheekbones, brown, wavy hair, and dark eyes. The girl, however, looked like her mother, only with light-colored hair. A quick flash of a young girl braiding her hair in the kitchen made him knock over one of the pictures, catching it as it tumbled into his hands. Carefully, he replaced it, lining it up perfectly with the clean spot in the barely-there dust.
A wedding picture of the detective and her husband stood center stage with several smaller photos surrounding it. It looked to have been a lavish and joyous affair, though not everyone in the photos was smiling. A woman in black, hiding in the background, wore a huge scowl.
He had just decided to move on when his eyes were drawn to a photo of a much younger Alyssa, perhaps around the age of seventeen. He reached up and pulled the picture down. She posed on a large lawn with lots of green trees in the background. The picture didn’t appear to have been taken in Albuquerque. He studied the area surrounding the detective, vaguely aware of a tingling on the back of his neck.
An urge to shatter the glass and its frame and cut the photo into hundreds of pieces surprised him. With shaking hands, he returned the frame to its spot and headed upstairs, the feeling of anger staying with him.
On the second floor, he paused in the first doorway. It was a typical boy’s room, decorated with sports trophies, numerous posters of various athletes, a laptop, and dirty clothes strewn everywhere. Clothes, books, and movies exploded from every available surface onto the floor. The only clear spot in the entire space was a shelf designated for video games and their components. The kid even had his own bathroom, and after peeking inside, he could see why no one would want to share the space.
The next room was the girl’s, and it was as clean as the other was filthy. Everything was organized and in its proper place. Like her brother’s, this room held a laptop, but it also included a variety of books. In the bathroom, he sniffed various lotions and perfumes before he opened the medicine cabinet to find more of the same.
He continued. Outside the master bedroom, he ignored the buzzing in his ears and, opening the door, entered the world of Alyssa Wyatt’s most personal, private domain.
Much later, in the privacy of his own home, he stood in one of his spare rooms, picking through his bounty. He lifted the bottle of jasmine and lavender lotion he pilfered from a basket resting on Alyssa’s vanity to his nose and inhaled, breathing in deeply as the scent washed over him. He ran the scarf through his fingers, enjoying the sensation.
Silky. Soft. Pink. Feminine.
This time, he was positive Alyssa Wyatt was the one he’d been waiting for all this time.
Chapter Thirty-One
Monday, April 1, 2:15p.m.
South Valley traffic was touch and go due to construction, and Alyssa wanted to scream for people to get out of her way.
Finally able to turn and get out of the crush of vehicles, she expertly navigated through the neighborhood until they reached the quaint adobe home nestled between two juniper trees. As she and Cord approached the front door, Alyssa noticed the house was dark and quiet, bringing up the possibility that Jenkins wasn’t home.
Alyssa knocked loudly as Cord stood to the side, observing the perimeter. When there was no answer, she knocked again, this time yelling out, ‘Mr. Jenkins, this is Detective Wyatt with the Albuquerque Police Department. Open up!’ When there was still no response, Cord cocked his head to the side of the house and mouthed, ‘Backyard,’ waiting for her nod before he stepped off the porch to check around back. He returned a few minutes later, shaking his head.
A white-haired lady approached, and Alyssa turned to speak to her.
‘He’s not here,’ the woman said, her voice raspy from too many years of smoking. ‘Mr. Jenkins moved out a few days ago. Was almost never here anyway.’ She pulled a pack of Camels out of her tattered gray smock nightgown, leaned forward, and lit up.
‘Are you his landlord?’ Alyssa asked.
‘Was,’ the grizzled-looking lady nodded as she took a huge drag off her cigarette, then blew a series of smoke rings into the air. ‘Eunice Jones, but you can call me Neecy. Everyone does.’
‘Neecy, did Mr. Jenkins leave a forwarding address or another way to contact him?’ Cord asked, stepping outside onto the sidewalk in front of the house.
Neecy peered up at Cord, cigarette dangling from her fingertips. ‘Well, aren’t you a fine young thing? I’ve got a granddaughter… if you’ve got a hankering.’
Alyssa choked on her laughter as she watched Cord blink rapidly, a flush spreading up his neck. Recovering quickly, he winked at the old lady, ‘That’s a mighty sweet offer, thank you, but I’m already taken.’ He lifted his left hand, flashing his white gold wedding band. ‘Now, about Mr. Jenkins. It would certainly be helpful if he left you a way of contacting him.’
‘No, he didn’t leave no word. And I didn’t ask for one. Mr. Jenkins always kept up the place real good when he did show up, never complained, and took care of all the repairs himself. Never even asked for reimbursement, he didn’t. And he done gave me three extra months’ rent in cash ’fore he up and took off. Figured there weren’t no reason for a forwarding.’ She grinned up at Cord, showing off yellowed, crooked teeth. ‘If you wasn’t married, and I was just a wee bit younger, forget my granddaughter, I might oughta have snagged myself husband number four.’
Alyssa snorted, enjoying the way Cord shuffled backward, looking at the car the way a man lost in the desert would look at water. In fact, she’d seen him be less afraid in police standoff situations. Taking pity, she refocused the woman’s attentions on the matter at hand. ‘Is there any way you can let us in to have a look around, see if maybe he left anything behind that might give us an indication of where he might have gone?’
Neecy extracted a key from the same pocket her cigarettes were in and mounted the steps slowly, wiggling the doorknob as she unlocked the door. ‘It’s a little tricky,’ she said by way of explanation, then shoving the door inward, she motioned them inside. ‘Go ahead and see for yourselves, but I can tell you already, there’s nothing there. It’s my policy to do a walk-through with my renters before they leave. Mr. Jenkins left it as spotless as it was the day he moved in. Matter of fact, if I didn’t know no better, I’d suspect he never did… move in, I mean.’
Eunice Jones was correct. The house had been cleared out, a fine layer of dust the only thing remaining. ‘Do you mind if we check the other rooms?’
The old lady gestured down the short hall. ‘One bedroom, one full bath, laundry in the garage.’
It took less than five minutes to confirm what they already knew. There was nothing here that would assist in locating Hunter Jenkins’ whereabouts. Outside again, Alyssa thanked the woman. ‘Thank you for your time, Neecy.’ She pulled out a card and handed it to her. ‘If you do hear from Mr. Jenkins, could you please let him know we need to speak to him?’
Eunice took the card, and then with an expectant look on her face, held her palm out for Cord’s card as well. Reluctantly, he handed one over. Alyssa half expected to see the woman latch onto him. But when the landlady doubled over, coughing, she was more frightened the old lady was about to expel a lung. When they were sure she would be okay, Alyssa gave one last wave and climbed into the driver’s seat of her SUV.
Cord stared straight ahead. ‘Well, that was a bust and scary!’ A shudder shook his body, and once again, she had to bite back laughter.
‘You mean you’re not going to pack up and leave Sara right away?’
If the pinched expression on his face was anything to go by, he was not amused. ‘I’m going to call Hal and see if he can work his magic; find out if he can get a bead on where Hunter Jenkins might’ve gone.’
Serious once again, Alyssa nodded. ‘In the meantime, I want to head back to the precinct and watch the security footage from MCM again. I don’t lik
e what my gut tells me this disappearance might mean.’ She was quiet for a second, then said, ‘It’s hard to picture him kidnapping someone… but stranger things have happened.’
‘Let’s not jump ahead of ourselves. There could still be a logical reason Hunter Jenkins’ prints were found on Callie McCormick’s vehicle,’ Cord said, though even he didn’t sound convinced.
Alyssa was quiet for several moments, chewing on her thoughts, as she expertly maneuvered through traffic. Finally she said, ‘I haven’t seen Hunter Jenkins’ name in connection with any of the other missing women, so if it turns out he did have something to do with Callie McCormick’s death, then it’s possible her murder wasn’t at the hands of a serial killer.’
‘Are you saying you no longer believe there’s a link?’ Cord clarified.
‘No, I still believe there’s something there, just maybe Callie’s not a part of it. After all, she was older than the other missing women by eight years. All the others were a few years apart in age,’ she said. She couldn’t explain it, even to herself, but she really hoped Callie’s murder wasn’t connected to the other women.
A minute ticked by before Cord poked a hole in her theory. ‘Just because he didn’t appear on the other lists doesn’t mean he wasn’t there.’
* * *
At home later that night, Alyssa was wiping down the counters after eating celebratory slices of strawberry rhubarb pie to congratulate Brock’s winning proposal for construction on the new hospital wing. He was explaining how his bid, though slightly higher than some of the others, had pulled ahead to earn the contract.
‘Uh-hmm,’ she murmured, lost in her own head. What had caused Hunter Jenkins to clear out? Could the old man truly be capable of kidnapping and murdering Callie McCormick? Was it also possible he was responsible for the disappearance and murders of at least seven other women? When she’d left the precinct, Hal was still there, digging into the man’s background. With a little luck and a lot of perseverance, maybe they’d have something soon.