by Lee Alan
Lieutenant Raymond entered with a looked of regret on his face. As always, he wore the same worn mac. She greeted him and then nudged her slumbering guardian angel. He came round with bleary–eyed confusion, before focusing on their visitor and raising a hand of welcome.
“How are you feeling today?” Raymond asked her.
“Less like I spent a month in a meat grinder,” she replied. Only sudden movements caused her pain, now, rather the ever–present agony of the previous days. He nodded, obviously impatient to cut to the chase. “What can I do for you, Lieutenant?” Anna asked, opting to put him out of his misery.
“We’ve charged him.”
The information came as a relief. Just to know that Tony would stay off the streets felt like a lead weight being lifted from her shoulders. “Good,” was all that she could manage to say through a wave of emotion. Corey stood beside her and then placed a comforting hand around her shoulder.
“There’s more,” Raymond added. With a sinking feeling, she guessed the reason for the Lieutenant’s air of concern would soon be explained. “We’re investigating other murders,” he looked uncomfortable, “and well, we think he’s responsible.”
The words sliced between them like a knife. The implication was too awful. Unbidden, a single tear ran down her cheek. She wiped it away, determined not to let this latest revelation break her. “How many?”
Chapter 3
“This is Phoenix Today – with Marty Dean and Kirsten Leicester.” The anchor’s voice rang out after a long and dramatic news theme tune.
The TV camera panned from the station logo, then focused on the immaculately dressed Marty, who grinned through bright white teeth.
“Good evening Phoenix – the news at the top of the hour.” He relayed the practiced phrase before adopting a more somber tone.
“There’s speculation tonight that the police may have finally captured the infamous Phoenix strangler.” Marty paused a moment to allow his viewers to digest the information. “Over to our crime correspondent – Ron Whitmore.”
The TV image switched from the news room to a balding reporter in a patterned shirt, clutching a microphone. He stood outside the colonnaded front of the police HQ.
“Thanks, Marty,” Ron replied without the polish of his desk–bound colleague. “We’re seeing dramatic developments in the Phoenix Strangler case, this evening. Police have charged a thirty–two year–old, male named Tony Eckerman with the brutal murder of Darleen Maxwell, a local sex worker found dead a month ago.”
The screen split, bringing the anchor back into view alongside the reporter. Putting the two men side by side served to highlight the stark differences in their appearances.
“So, why the connection to the strangler case, Ron?” Marty asked, as if the audience hadn’t already worked out the obvious. To the veteran’s credit, the redness rising on his neck gave the only outward sign of his annoyance at the unnecessary intervention.
“Interesting question, Marty. Police sources talk of strong evidence linking the suspect to the murders of five other women in the last decade.”
“Hence the speculation that he may be the Phoenix Strangler?” Marty interjected once more.
“That’s right, Marty.” Ron replied.
The anchor raised his right hand raised to his temple, as if receiving instruction from a higher being. “Are all the other victims sex workers, like Miss Maxwell?” He asked finally. If the reporter held any distaste for the salacious angle to the question, he hid it well.
“No, Marty. Unusually, for these kinds of cases, the strangler targeted victims of different backgrounds. This made tracking the killer particularly difficult for investigators.”
“Do we have any more information about these other victims, Ron?”
“Details are patchy, Marty, but viewers may recall the three–week search for eighteen–year–old student, Marie–Ann Dewer. I’m told that she may well have been one of the unfortunate women to have fallen prey to the notorious killer.”
Satisfied that they’d dished up a suitable dose of doom and gloom to the audience, the anchor wrapped up the interview. He moved onto a story about an elderly church–goer discovering an image of Madonna on a giant cookie.
***
A line of black–clothed mourners gathered in the pouring rain, watching the solid, wooden casket lowering into a waiting grave. Anna stared at the thick droplets of water bouncing off its polished surface. Above her, skittering clouds raced against an ominous grey canvas. The swirling gloom matched her mood.
She found little comfort in her fellow mourners. All that remained of her once–extensive family was a distant great aunt who she barely knew. Her dark thoughts turned to her dead parents. Perhaps it’s for the best that they’re gone. This would have broken them, she thought.
The funeral directors had offered to postpone the service until the worst of the monsoon season passed, but Anna insisted they push ahead. She needed to grieve, and that process couldn’t begin until this dark day ended.
One of her late sister’s work colleagues had suggested the “celebrate her life” approach to the service, but she’d refused. Nothing good could come from this tragedy. Julia had been cut down in her prime by a vicious animal who should never have entered her happy life.
The animal you introduced. She stood in the leaden downpour, defeated by constant anguish and tortured by feelings of guilt. Her mind raced to recall memories of their time together. Why can’t I picture her face? A sob escaped her.
Her tortured search could only provide one thought: her vivid dream on that first day after she’d awoken in the hospital. “What had she said?” Anna murmured, trying to recall Julia’s parting words. The intensity of the downpour increased and droplets drummed on the disappearing casket. “You have to be strong for the both of us, now.”
I don’t know if I can be.
Chapter 4
Anna gazed over the moon–bathed oasis, drinking in the sounds of the night. The Clear Water Estate appeared as a sea of green peppered with dazzling flower beds during the day, but now it looked like a silver dream. She paused on her usual midnight stroll to examine an intricate flower. It was pale, but beautiful under the lunar shine.
She’d been staying at Corey’s home for three months. The place resonated with such vibrant life that it became almost impossible for her to dwell on death here. Indeed, its tranquil setting had proven the perfect tonic to her crushing misery. The guilt remained immense, though. First, there’d been her natural tendency to blame herself for putting Julia in harm’s way, and then came the revelation of the other victims. For a while, that knowledge had set her back to the point of not caring about recovery. Instead, she’d obsessed over every memory of her time with Tony, searching for any clue that would point to his secret life of evil. Each time she’d travelled down that particular rabbit hole of pain, though, she’d drawn a blank. Oddly, it gave her a small measure of comfort. No matter how hard she tried, though, there was no smoking gun. There was no moment he’d returned home with blood–stained clothes and no mysterious disappearances in the middle of the night. Only his inner rage had given any real sign of his true nature.
If her self–accusations hadn’t been enough, the lies printed in the gutter media made matters even worse. It seemed that every screaming loon and woman–hating misogynist south of Vegas had sent her messages of ill will, or worse. It wasn’t the half–baked theories about her being an accomplice that bothered her the most, because she knew them to be wrong. But articles entitled, “How Didn’t She Know?” only added to her well of regret. His guilt had yet to be proven in court, but Anna knew it was him. The monster who’d done that to Julia must have been capable of doing it to others.
She pulled her light cardigan tighter around her flowing, night dress to keep out the chill. The hypnotic figure of a bat fluttered past; its shadowy beauty was another one of the wonders that made this such a special place.
The decision to come here had been
the easiest one of her life. The day before they’d discharged her, Corey had finally plucked up the courage to invite her to live with him. Of course, she’d thrown her arms around him and accepted, but only after pointing out his official status as a complete asshole for making her wait until the last minute.
While she smiled at the happy thought, Anna suddenly felt cool hands slip around her shoulders. For a moment, the unexpected contact made her tense. She soon recognized the familiar touch of her lover, though, and his soft lips kissed her neck.
“Looks like I found the intruder.” He spoke in a low voice. She smiled, touching his fingers in response. “I’m going to have to start calling you Moon Maiden,” he teased.
“You really are a hippie, Corey.”
“Hippie? Moi?” he replied in mock protest.
“Well, let me see: you live in your green flower palace and now you want to call me Moon Maiden. I rest my case. Go hug a tree, flower boy.”
“I’d rather hug you,” he countered, circling his arms around her waist. “Did you get much sleep?” The question had become a daily ritual since her arrival.
“A whole three hours. Lucky me.” She frowned with fatigue. Her inability to switch off had become a real issue—the same frustrating problem that’d led to her midnight strolls through the Estate. Although his question had been mundane, she sensed tension in his voice. “What’s wrong, Corey?”
He didn’t speak, but turned her to face him. The moon highlighted the upper half of his handsome features, whilst the lower remained in shadow. “Anna,” he said, kneeling before her.
What the? she thought, missing the significance of the gesture.
From the gloom beneath her, a ring fashioned in the shape of a daisy emerged. Looking closer, she could see that the petals were, in fact, gleaming pearls. At its center was a circular, green emerald. She held her breath as the gesture hung before them.
“Anna Price,” he said, “since my parents died, I’d lost hope of finding love.” He halted, seeming to struggle to find the words. “I was wrong.” Anna’s heart began to thud in her chest. “I can’t stand the thought of being without you.” There was one more pause before the plunge. “Will you be my wife?”
The moon flower ring lay between them, waiting. She reached out and ran a finger down its intricate petals. “Yes,” she said. “I will marry you.” She couldn’t imagine life without this man before her. At the same time, she felt terrified by the certainty that, whatever the future may bring, one day, fate would part them.
Corey rose, and the light of the moon shimmered around them, as if the night goddess, herself, had reached down to bless the union between them. Anna reached out her hand, offering her wedding finger. He placed the ring there, and the metal felt cool against her skin. He took her by the hand again before kissing her tenderly on the symbol of their commitment. As he did so, Anna noticed another silver flash in his left hand. Bringing it up into the light between them, he revealed a necklace identical to the ring.
“Now you’re just showing off,” she laughed, before turning and lifting her hair to allow him to clasp it around her neck. The tiny links tingled as he clasped it, but the sensation didn’t end there: tendrils of pleasure travelled downward through her body and into her groin. She turned and kissed him fiercely. His breath tasted of the sweet tea he liked to drink before bed.
Corey ran a practiced hand down her spine before returning her embrace. He pressed his lips against hers more urgently, and Anna moaned with desire. She reached down to her waist and pulled her shift and cardigan over her head until she stood naked before him. He did the same, and they were free to admire each other’s physiques in the glorious half–light. He’d been working out of late, and a toned, masculine frame presented itself for her caress.
Anna pushed against his body, noticing how hard he’d become. Corey lifted her by the buttocks, leaving her to wrap her legs around him. He entered, finding her ready. She began to rise and fall against him, and their movements became ever more passionate until they climaxed together.
***
They lay in the canopied bedroom of the penthouse suite a hundred feet above ground level. From beneath silk sheets, Anna gazed at the sun rising above the desert horizon, like a fierce, golden colossus.
As usual, on the stroke of six–thirty AM, George politely knocked on the door. He entered with the tell–tale swooshing of his robotic limbs, and Anna smiled at the sound. She found the way he entered their room immediately after knocking, regardless of their state of undress, amusing. It made the whole low–key entrance thing a bit of a farce, but a welcome one nonetheless.
“Good morning, campers,” the robot declared.
“Piss off, George,” Corey groaned in response, pulling the sheet over his head. He’d clearly not recovered from the previous night’s activities.
“Early bird catches the worm,” George chirped on before presenting Anna with a glass of water on a silver tray. “And what were you two up to last night?” the mechanical waiter asked in his odd, synthetic tone. “My sensors detected you both remained in the dome from two–thirty–seven AM until four AM this morning.”
“Fucking in the flower beds,” Corey replied grumpily. The snarky outburst prompted Anna to laugh out loud and spill cold water over her exposed breasts.
“How lovely,” George responded. “May I join you next time and learn more about this fucking process, to which you refer?” he asked innocently. Anna laughed even harder.
“Perv.” Corey quipped.
“What is Perv?”
“Never mind, George!”
“There is mail for madam, this morning,” George announced, presenting Anna with a white letter marked for her attention.
Curious, Anna accepted the expensive–looking envelope. She’d never received correspondence at her new address before, and the unusual nature of the event made Corey emerge from his quilted man cave to glance at the subject of her interest.
“Could be a nut job,” he cautioned.
Ignoring his sage advice, she opened the envelope and started to read. Immediately, her cheeks flushed with annoyance. The originating address was her former employers’ law firm: Howard and Moyer, Attorneys at Law. The contents looked less than friendly:
Cease and Desist Notice
Re: False and defamatory statements made by Anna Price to William Moyer, esq. Attorney at Law.
Dear Miss Price:
We represent William Moyer in connection with the above–referenced matter. The afore–mentioned persons are hereby warned and notified to CEASE AND DESIST making false and defamatory statements.
It has come to our attention that false statements were made with regard to William Moyer’s competence.
The statements made regarding William Moyer are false, defamatory, and constitute tortious interference with business, and as such, are actionable under Arizona law. If our client is forced to commence a lawsuit against you in order to stop continued false and defamatory statements, be advised that we will seek recovery of all attorney fees and costs incurred herein as a result. While we hope this is not necessary, we will pursue whatever avenues are necessary on behalf of our client to stop the continued false and defamatory statements.
Furthermore, we instruct the former employee, Anna Price, to return all company property immediately, including and not limited to proprietary data, electronic devices, and written material owned exclusively by Howard and Moyer, Attorneys at Law.
Sincerely,
William Moyer, esq. Attorney at Law
“Son of a bitch!” Anna exclaimed after re–reading the contents.
“Good news, then?” Corey asked, pushing away the last pretence of trying to sleep. In response, Anna threw the envelope toward him, while continuing to mutter her frustration. He picked up the paper and read the offending content as he yawned. “Ouch,” he said.
“Those bastards must know everything I’ve been through, yet they still send this crap.”
�
��What do you wanna do?” he asked, his tone suggesting he’d already formed his own conclusion.
“If those wankers think they’re going to intimidate me, they’ve got another thing coming!” she replied angrily.
“Wankers? Wow. That’s a new one, hon.”
“I overhead your British CEO use that one. It sums them up: Jim Wankerface Peterson and his fat, wanker stooge.”
“It does have a double meaning, dear.” She could tell he was doing his best not to laugh.
“Don’t care. That’s what they are.”
“Agreed. So, what are we gonna do?”
In truth, because of the chaos of previous weeks, she hadn’t even thought about the pending environmental case to defend the forest trust. She’d uncovered a plot between her former employer and Congressman James Peterson—the same James Peterson who’d come far too close to seducing her into spying on the hopeless drug addict, Moyer. It had all been in an effort to ensure he upheld his part in sabotaging the defence of his own client, the forest trust. The ultimate goal would have allowed a giant energy corporation to frack in the Tonto National Forest, and Anna had vowed to stop that from happening.
She’d learned the disturbing truth from the mouth of the corrupt attorney, himself—a fact later confirmed by James Peterson’s own aggressive response upon learning of her threat to write an exposé highlighting his efforts to pervert the law. She hadn’t even thought to carry out the threat until now.
“Do you know what happened to the court case?” she asked suddenly, fearing it would already be too late.
“Postponed at the request of the forestry commission,” he replied with a certainty she found odd. “On the grounds of new evidence coming to light.”
“What’s that?” she asked, confused by the turn of events.