Hidden in the Dark (Harper Flagg Book 1)

by Alyson Larrabee

  Gabriel pocketed the phone, sped over to the closest of his many hideouts, and used it to call the State Police. The officer who answered told him Detective Flagg wasn’t available at the moment. The killer refused to give his name but left a message. “Tell him not to worry; I’ll take care of it.” And he hung up. Fast. Then hopped back into his car and drove home.

  Detective Thomas Flagg had probably left the crime scene and returned home as soon as he figured out that the Bad Guy wasn’t involved. He needed to warn his daughter that the infamous serial killer was still at large. Who were the other two shadows? One seemed exceptionally tall, so it was probably Shane MacGregor. The fourth shadow was pretty tall, too. So Harper, her father, Shane, and one more man, someone who drove a minivan, were in the Flaggs’ living room tonight. What did they say? What were they up to?

  For the next two days, Gabriel stayed glued to his TV while the media gradually revealed more and more of the imposter’s story. He needed a plan. Simultaneously, he watched the drama unfold on TV, read about it online, and began to fill in the details of his scheme, muttering to himself the whole time.

  “Nora Hazel.” He typed the name into Google. “Aha, Facebook, of course, top of the Google list.” He signed into Facebook where his own page contained minimal information, most of it false, including a pseudonym and no photographs that were actually him, either. It had been easy to set up. Finding Nora’s page was easy, too.

  “This woman is too stupid to live. No privacy settings on her Facebook page. Probably has no clue how to keep her information hidden from strangers.” He chuckled. “Oh yeah, just put it all out there, Nora. Look at this! Address, email, cell phone. Nice. Thanks for making it so easy. You rock, Nora.”

  Clicking on her profile picture, he expanded it to fill the screen and took a closer look. She had obviously paid for a professional photo shoot. In her picture, she looked kind of like a third-rate Kate Hudson. The photographer had even used a fan to simulate wind and blow her hair around. So cheesy it was laughable.

  In another photo, Nora was wearing a bikini and sitting on the beach, grinning into the camera lens, along with three other women her age. She had a nice figure. Curvy but petite. What kind of mother goes on a beach vacation without her family? A bad one. One who doesn’t deserve to be a mother.

  Hardly any of her posts or pictures featured her husband or child, but Gabriel wasn’t about to spend the time it would take to look through all 952 of her photos.

  Nora’s most recent status was Heading for Walmart with Erin, with a map, just in case a criminal such as himself wanted to find her and finish her off. Most of her other posts were about parties and drinking and jokes about sex, with comments going back and forth between Nora and her many Facebook friends.

  She had posted the link to a recipe for a drink called Sex on the Beach. There was a video, just in case whoever clicked on the link was too stupid to read and understand a recipe. This post had generated fifty-seven likes and inspired fourteen tacky comments such as I like Sex on the Beach, too. Its delicious. No apostrophe for it’s, either. Nora’s friends didn’t use correct punctuation, and as he read more of her inane posts, he discovered that neither did she. No surprise there. One more reason why she had to go. Gabriel thought about eliminating all the dumbasses in Southeastern Massachusetts who didn’t know how to punctuate a sentence properly. The world would be a better place if he did, but he’d have no time to eat or sleep. There were too many of them. It would take every hour of every day for years to get rid of them all.

  When he heard the TV announcer mention Nora’s name again, he switched his attention back to the big screen. The reporter was saying, “Today Nora Hazel’s mother posted bail for her daughter. Here they are, leaving the Fall River courthouse together.” The camera zoomed in as the defendant ducked into her mother’s car with a sweater over her head to hide her face from the cameras.

  “You’ll have to work a little harder if you want to hide from me, Nora,” he chuckled.

  Next, a studio photo of an adorable, smiling, chubby-cheeked baby girl filled the screen, and another voice announced, “Nora Hazel’s husband, Edward Hazel, has been granted temporary custody of their six-month-old baby girl, Erin Elizabeth Hazel, pictured here. Mr. Hazel’s wife left the child unattended in a Walmart parking lot late Saturday morning before allegedly fleeing the scene to meet up with twenty-year-old Jacob Kelly, a carpenter who was remodeling the Hazel’s kitchen. A reliable source has informed us that a couple of hours after Mrs. Hazel left the Walmart parking lot, state police discovered her and Mr. Kelly together in a hotel near Logan Airport. She had two airline boarding passes in her possession. Destination: Cancun.”

  As soon as a commercial came on, Gabriel turned back to his laptop and easily found Nora’s mother’s address because, of course, Nora’s maiden name was on her Facebook page: Whittier. And her mother’s name had appeared where family members’ names are listed. Verna Whittier, mother, with one of those little thumbnail photos.

  Gabriel clicked on the picture. Verna Whittier’s Facebook page filled the screen. No privacy settings for Verna, either. Duh. Less than a minute later, the killer had his next victim’s address. Why did people put so much information on their Facebook pages and then neglect to check their privacy settings? Obviously Nora and her mother wanted to be found. Certainly not by me, though. He chuckled.

  Verna looked like an older version of her daughter. Two petite blondes. Except one of them had gray hair that had been dyed blonde. He could see Verna’s roots in a close up. Her status was listed as divorced. Right now the mother and her disgraced daughter were probably staying together in Verna’s house. He clicked through a few of the photos she’d posted to FB. None with a dog. If Verna had one, there’d probably be a million selfies of her with the dog. Lucky for him there were none, so most likely no dog would bark at him when he broke in.

  He had to plan his visit to Ms. Whittier’s house carefully: where he would park, how he would enter. He also intended to leave an important clue at the site, to convince the police it was an authentic Bad Guy crime scene.

  After he typed the number, the street, and the zip code into Google, Gabriel clicked on Maps, zoomed in, and examined the satellite view of Verna’s 1970s-style ranch house. It faced north and was located in what appeared to be a quiet neighborhood. He cruised south, east, and west, all around the map a couple of times, to check out the closest clumps of trees and the surrounding houses. He’d need things to hide behind. Remaining concealed at all times during his excursion was essential. As he glanced back and forth at the laptop screen, the killer drew his own map on a piece of graph paper and then made some notes with a sharp pencil. Next he added some arrows and stars, planning his routes in and out of the neighborhood and the Whittier home.

  Both of these women were awful mothers. He could tell. Nora had left her only child, a little baby, alone in a Walmart parking lot. He was a killer, for god’s sake, and even he was more careful about his retail store choices. Target was upscale compared to Walmart. Then, to make matters worse, she ran off with a man-whore who wasn’t her husband. And Verna had raised Nora, probably setting a bad example herself: a single mom with a child, sleeping around with lots of men, neglecting her daughter. Of course Nora began to behave the same way when she became a parent. The Whittier women deserved what was going to happen to them tonight.

  If Nora thought she could do such a sloppy imitation of him and get away with it, she was mistaken. Think again, Nora. Think a lot harder this time. Gabriel closed his laptop, clicked off the TV, and ran upstairs. He needed to jump into the shower, where the pounding hot water would help him relax and focus, so he could visualize every single detail of the plan in order, step by step. Then he had to rest up for the big night.

  Chapter 13

  Gabriel

  The One True Bad Guy

  Gabriel awakened from his long nap, leaped out of bed, and slipped off his socks, pants, and shirt. When he was down to hi
s underwear, he pulled on plain black workout pants and a black hooded sweatshirt. Then he chose black socks from his drawer and black sneakers from the shoe-rack in the closet. Tugging the sweatshirt hood closer around his face, he looked in the mirror. Good. After he checked his reflection from all angles, he flipped the hood back. His face didn’t need to be hidden quite yet. That would come later. He was almost ready.

  First he had more work to do, though, underground, at his well-organized basement workbench, where there was a place for everything and everything was in its place.

  When he performed his preparatory rituals, Gabriel sat on a high stool, pulled in close to the custom-made piece of furniture. He always polished the gleaming hardwood countertop to perfection with a homemade concoction of beeswax and turpentine. Above the work surface, at eye level, he’d built shelves, cubbies, and pigeonhole drawers for various items he needed, so he could actively and efficiently commit murder and get away with it. At waist level he had larger, deeper drawers with slim pieces of sanded and lacquered plywood dividers, so he could store smaller things like his souvenirs. As Gabriel looked at the tools of his trade, a smooth current of anticipation hummed along his skin, as if his whole body were smiling a calm, satisfied smile.

  First, using slow, circular motions, he used a well-oiled sharpening stone to hone his famous blade to a brilliant edge. Then he wiped it clean with a chamois cloth. After his weapon was ready, he opened another drawer and lifted out his collection of trophies from the four murder sites. They were perfect, exactly the way he’d left them: two pink pacifiers and two blue. He wondered if the babies’ DNA was still detectable on them after all this time. Most likely yes for Jessica Phelps’s baby boy’s. He had screamed like a tiny banshee when Gabriel pulled the binky out of his mouth. That was only a few days ago. And the killer hadn’t washed it off. Fresh DNA for sure. But maybe not for Harper’s, Brittany’s, and Shane’s. Their mothers’ murders had taken place well over a decade ago. Sixteen years was a long time for evidence to stay fresh.

  Gabriel smiled and took a brand new pacifier, still sealed in its plastic bubble, out of the lowest drawer. He had two of them in there. He felt powerful and in control when he looked at the binkies, because Mother would never have allowed them in the house. She didn’t believe in using pacifiers. She thought it spoiled the baby. Let him cry. It’s better if he learns about life’s hardships early.

  Next, he put on a pair of thin, flexible gloves, cloth so there wouldn’t be any fingerprints left inside, just in case anyone ever found one. Unlikely, but you never knew for sure. A little clumsily, because of the gloves, he broke open the plastic bubble, and took out the pacifier. Then he left on his errand, in his newest purchase: another nondescript compact vehicle. He’d ditched the Toyota because Shane might have gotten a decent view of it that night near the swamp. Gabriel left nothing to chance.

  He didn’t need the van tonight because he wouldn’t be taking any prisoners. Everything and everyone would be left behind. Including the nice, new binky, which he had tucked safely into the pouch of his black sweatshirt. He intended to leave a clue so Detective Flagg would be sure that the real Bad Guy, not a clumsy imposter, had committed the crime.

  No one would be staked out at the Whittier home because Thomas Flagg was focused on keeping his own family safe. And they were indeed safe. For now. His laughter echoed through the car as he drove down the long driveway, past the old graveyard, onto the deserted road, and then headed toward Route 138.

  After carefully parking his car exactly where he’d planned to, he snuck across Verna’s small backyard and climbed the three steps leading up to her deck. Only the faint light of a new moon dimly illuminated the area, and none of the stairs creaked. He’d been right about Nora and Verna Whittier. They were stupid and careless. The cozy little ranch house had no floodlights or motion detectors, no alarm system, and just a flimsy, easy-to-pick lock on the sliding glass door. Lucky him. After silently breaking in, he tiptoed through the dark kitchen. In the hallway, right outside the bedrooms, he heard two different levels of snoring: one loud and low pitched and the other light and high pitched. He entered Verna’s room first and nudged her shoulder to wake her up.

  Speaking in a falsetto, so he’d sound like a woman, he whispered, “Wake up, Mom.”

  When Verna opened her eyes and saw him there, smiling down at her, her mouth flew open, but her reflexive scream died with a gurgle when he touched a gloved forefinger to her lips. During her last minute of consciousness, Gabriel treated Nora’s mother to a close-up view of his shining blade before he sat her up and slipped behind her to use it. She died quietly and fast.

  He stifled a giggle as he tiptoed out of the room, carefully avoiding the huge splotches of blood that were soaking into the carpet faster than they could puddle up. He quickly left Verna behind and entered the dimly lit guestroom at the rear of the tidy little home. Nora still slept with a nightlight on, as if the faint light shed by the ridiculously tiny bulb could keep her safe. He held his breath so he wouldn’t laugh out loud, but a quiet chuckle escaped nonetheless.

  Nora stirred and then lifted her blonde head up off the pillow a few inches. “Mom? Is that you?”

  He couldn’t resist using his own deep, masculine voice. “Nora, I think you must be having a nightmare.” She bolted up and lurched out of bed. With a gloved fist to the jaw, he knocked her back down. She lay there stunned, staring up at him. Before she could scream he stuck a piece of duct tape over her mouth. Quickly, he yanked her arms behind her back and zipped some plasticuffs around her wrists and ankles.

  It took less than ten seconds. Nora barely even tried to fight him off, partly because she had just woken up from a sound sleep, but also because she had never learned even the basics of self-defense. The killer shook his head and sighed. “Nora, you’re such a loser. A cheating wife, a neglectful parent, an incompetent copycat, and an easy victim.”

  With the tip of one index finger he traced the edges of Nora’s lips through the duct tape. Then he touched the pulse on the right side of her neck with the point of his blade. A tiny bead of blood gradually began to swell, until it formed a droplet and trickled down her neck.

  “If you even breathe too loud, this is going in. Deep.” Again he pricked her flesh lightly and watched another drop of blood swell, until it formed a thin stream that wended its way slowly along her pale flesh and onto the clean white pillowcase. Gabriel paused a moment to admire the way the normally crimson liquid looked black in the moonlight. Nora hadn’t pulled the shade down all the way because her room’s single window was open to let in the cool, night breeze.

  Hearing this silly woman scream would be fun, but the neighbors’ houses were close, and he couldn’t risk the noise. Too bad. She deserved to feel terrified, and he longed to listen to her fear. But that would have to wait for another time and another woman. Someone he could lure back to Mother’s house. Where it was so isolated no one would hear her shrieks. It wouldn’t be Harper, though. She wasn’t a screamer. He could tell. She would be strong, silent, and brave. Plus, he had no intention of hurting her . . . if she cooperated. After Harper settled into their routine, she wouldn’t even want to escape. Once she got to know the real Gabriel, she’d enjoy the life he had planned for them. Together.

  The killer smiled, briefly touched the point of his left index finger to Nora’s sealed lips, and said, “Shh.” He hoped the narrow stream of moonlight creeping across the room was bright enough so she could see how white his teeth were. He had an attractive smile, and he knew it.

  A loud thump interrupted the silence. Gabriel jumped. The noise sounded like it had come from the backyard. Nora must have heard it, too. She began to heave herself around wildly on the bed and tried to scream through the duct tape. “MMMMMMM!”

  Gabriel closed his blade, pocketed it, and sprinted out of the room. Who could it be? The police? Had someone called the cops? Maybe they had one of those stupid neighborhood watch groups.

  He’d have t
o run out the front and hope for a clean escape. Damn. He desperately wanted to finish the job he’d started.

  The killer took a few steps toward the front door before he decided to turn around and risk a quick peek out the back window to see if he could catch a glimpse of whoever had made the noise.

  “Crash!” Gabriel flinched. If it was the cops, they weren’t very coordinated or professional. Sounded more like a clumsy, ineffectual neighbor or two. He’d take a fast look out the kitchen window and then turn and flee out the front door if he had to. As he crept silently across the room, he began thinking about an alternative revenge scheme for Nora. Always good to have a plan B.

  Crouching low and to the right, he slowly lifted one side of the curtain. It was pretty dark out there, but he could see movement and hear rustling. What the hell were they up to? Ah! He remembered something really important. Always be completely aware of your surroundings. This was just as significant as the four-minute rule. He closed his eyes, envisioned himself climbing the stairs onto the deck, approaching the rear slider, and looking around right before he had entered the house. Aha! He remembered that there was a large, plastic trash barrel next to the stairs.

  After hesitating for less than a second, Gabriel ventured over to the slider and squeezed through the narrow opening he’d used on his way in. He crossed the deck and peered over the side. A huge raccoon peered back at him. The creature was ruffling through some trash that had tumbled out of the overturned barrel. Well played, my furry friend. The animal looked up at him, its wide eyes glowing green in the moonlight.

  Gabriel smiled and quietly reentered the house to complete his mission. Now he’d have to work faster, though. One of the neighbors might’ve heard the raccoon, too, and decided to go out and have a look around or—worse—call the cops.