Her stalker was waiting for her, in her room, and he knew she would come. Her only chance was the hidden staircase, which led from the kitchen pantry to the exercise room. From there, she could continue through the bathroom to the dressing room. Sarah would have to take the chance and hope the intruder didn’t know about the stairway. Wondering if she was fooling herself, Sarah considered her other choices.
She sat, huddled in the corner of Eddie’s room, trying to think clearly. A locked door stood between them. Sarah did not have to go to him. She could wait and make him come to her. While he tore the door down, she could jump from the window. Freezing to death would have to be preferable to the torture he might inflict. The longer Sarah waited, though, the more frightened she became. Every noise brought more pressure to a heart that could take no more. With head bowed, she hugged her knees to her chest for warmth. The lack of heat in the house would soon cause her death from exposure. Sarah could choose several ways to die.
A loud crash had her screaming involuntarily as her tormentor kicked the door open. The door bounced off the wall, and then slammed closed again from the force, but the door itself dangled at an odd angle. She covered her mouth and waited for death to take her. Frozen in place, Sarah stared at the doorway until she was sure he was not going to enter. She knew she had to play his game. Thoughts of Steven, John, or Eddie stumbling into an ambush spurred her into action.
Sarah got up from the floor, almost trance-like, and hobbled into what she thought was sure death. But she felt relief in the decision she’d made. The mystery would end. She would know who killed Michael, who hated her enough to murder innocent women just to terrorize her.
She moved boldly down the hall, fear no longer guiding her. The determination to face her tormentor gave her strength, and the chance to outsmart him gave her hope. The pantry was on the left side of the refrigerator, next to the mudroom. To make sure she was not wrong, she checked the mudroom for coats or car keys, but it was empty. Passing through the pantry toward the hidden stairway, she remembered the knives Emma kept in special storage, her chef’s knives. At least she would have a weapon. Quietly, Sarah quickly found the box and pulled the largest one out; confidence filled her. She glanced cautiously around, and then quickly slipped into the small stairway.
Sarah never thought she would have to ascend in the dark. The stairway was a narrow, black passage even in the daylight, a cave where light did not exist. She was walking blind, but used the walls and felt her way along each step. If she survived, she would have security lights installed. She never wanted to walk in blackness again. She eased slowly along the wall and moved cautiously up each step.
She listened for sound. There was none. She stepped into her exercise room and sighed deeply. She had made it. All she had to do now was get through the bathroom and into the dressing room. Cautiously, she moved forward, listening intently for any noise. In the bathroom, she avoided the mirror. If she had looked, she would have seen her pink gown, soaked in Ray Jansen’s blood, and his blood covering her arms and hands, even her face, but instead she moved quickly to the dressing room door. When she opened it, the light blinded her, but before her eyes adjusted, she caught movement. She turned to face her intruder. A blinding pain exploded in her head, she fell without a word to the floor.
5:00 a.m.
Steven arrived at Scott Chase’s door within minutes of the call from Anderson.
“Well, detective, have you come on business? Or did you misplace Sarah again? No, I can tell by your expression you’ve come after me. Sarah finally let go of her little secret, and, no doubt, The Piano Bar is the clue you’ve zeroed in on.”
Steven was shocked that Chase was rambling. He looked nervous—nothing like his usual cool, detached persona.
“Poor Sarah, such a trusting soul. Bet you’re on her shit list now. At least something good can come from her betrayal.” He chuckled. “Well, make yourself at home. I need a cup of coffee, then I’ll answer all your questions. Unless of course you’d rather run me in?”
Chase was wearing his arrogance like a badge of honor, and yet Steven knew something was wrong. Steven kept his head about him, as he waited to see what Chase would do and say. He was going to tell him he was there to search his house, but, since Chase seemed to be in the mood to talk, Steven decided to wait. He removed his coat, and pulled out a barstool at the breakfast bar. He was waiting to see how far Chase was going to take this act.
“Let me see. Your first question: Where were you the night of November fourteenth between the hours of ten and midnight, am I right?”
“Actually, my first question is: how did you get blood on your sleeve?” Steven had noticed the stain when he sat down, but Chase’s reaction—priceless.
“Blood?” He stared at it, and suddenly all his bravado was gone, replaced by a sweat-covered brow and no answer. “I—I honestly don’t know, maybe at the restaurant, maybe its catsup.”
Steven watched as Chase removed the jacket.
Steven held out his hand, and Chase reluctantly handed it over.
“Don’t worry,” Steven said. “We have tests that can tell us. I’m curious, how did you know about Sarah’s cabin in Ester?”
Chase looked at him closely. “So it was true; she did get herself out from under your thumb.”
“I asked you how you knew, and who told you Sarah went there.”
“I heard a rumor floating around the department, and put two and two together. Besides Sarah went there after her parents died.”
“You were in California. What’d you do have her followed?”
“Actually, I just had to ask Patty where she was.”
“Fine, keep your secrets. You started to tell me about November, and your alibi.
Chase poured a double shot of Jack Daniels and downed it. “I have no idea where I was, although I knew you’d eventually darken my door with your intrusive questions. So, I had an attorney document my whereabouts, and it’s all in here.”
Chase threw a manila envelope on the bar. Steven opened it to find several typed pages on stationery from a California law office.
“It lists my whereabouts, plus affidavits from witnesses for the fourteenth of November, December, and January. I knew the minute Sarah mentioned The Piano Bar, and my name, you would pounce. How’d you break her, with a truth serum? Sarah’s loyal. Sweet, really. She may leave when she’s bored, but she’ll never say anything disparaging about you. Innocence. All part of her makeup.”
“Why didn’t you come forward with this before?” Steven was astounded by the level of his conceit. Then he noticed something on the letterhead, the names of two attorneys, Alder and Hanson. Two different attorneys, but together, they created the name Alder Hanson, which was the fake used at the fraternity. “Bastard! Alder Hanson, really!”
“No, and those papers will prove it. As I said, I just wanted to see how long Sarah would hold tight the secret. I’ve heard they call you Hawk, as though you have some special ability to solve crimes. Honestly, I don’t know how you ever earned the reputation.”
Chase was baiting him. Steven knew Chase held as much contempt for him as he held for Chase. He realized two men in love with the same woman knew instinctively that the other was no good for her.
“No asshole, you and Alder Hanson! Your fake attorney, who paid an entire fraternity to date Sarah, but not become intimate with her. You were waiting for her to come back to you, but she met Palmer, and all that time and money went down the drain. No wonder you hate her!”
“No. No, you’re wrong. I love Sarah. I’ve always loved her. I simply looked out for her, and protected her. If I didn’t love her, I would’ve gotten rid of Palmer long before they married.”
“But they eloped; there was no announcement, no long engagement. You had no idea, no time.”
Scott seemed to deflate. “I—I’ve done nothing to hurt her, nothing. All I’ve ever done is love her—protect her. Oh, god.” He covered his face. “If only she hadn’t come back.�
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Steven swore he saw tears. Chase took a large hanky and wiped his face and his eyes.
“Is that why you got rid of the car?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Scott poured another drink. “One day, you’ll understand. When she walks away from you, then you’ll know. She’ll take your heart, and no one can live without a heart. Mark my words, detective, when she gets bored, and leaves you… well, just, mark my words!”
“You’re disgusting. You’re a piece of shit! There is no term for you! I’m here for this.” He threw the warrant, signed by Judge Porter, at Chase and walked to the door. “I’ve brought some officers with me. They’re here to conduct a search.” Steven opened the door and let his team into Chase’s home: D. J. Anderson, Joe Donner and Helen Gabble, plus two uniformed officers.
“I don’t understand. I gave you the proof. I had nothing to do with this, with murder.”
“Fine. We’ll go over every detail for verification. Just let the officers do their thing, and you and I will enjoy a cup of coffee.”
Motioning for one of the uniformed officers to come closer, Steven pointed out, “Sergeant, I think he has blood on the sleeve of the jacket he was wearing. Here,” Steven handed him the jacket, “bag this, and his clothes.”
“Yes, sir. Mr. Chase, please come with me.”
Chase followed the Sergeant, and, when he rejoined Steven, he was dressed in jeans and a dry shirt. He poured another drink, then quickly called his attorney.
Steven sat, quietly watching Chase and observing the officers at their work. He brought two uniformed officers, friends of Chase’s, to ensure everything went according to the book. Even though they were friends of Chase, he also knew that they would ensure everything was above board. If they discovered any evidence, Steven wanted the uniformed officers to make the arrest. He knew Judge Porter was right—everything had to be done within department guidelines.
His hate for Chase was profound, but, as Steven observed him, something was off. Scott sweated profusely, and his normal ruddy complexion was pale. The entire encounter struck Steven as odd, but he figured Chase had panicked because he had no way out.
Scott settled down across from Steven, but, instead of drinking coffee, he poured himself another shot of Jack Daniels. He swallowed and quickly poured another.
“Are you trying to get drunk?”
“Sometimes, drinking is all you can do. But you’re wrong Quaid, unequivocally wrong. Just do me one favor, and don’t tell Sarah about these stupid accusations—not to protect me, but to protect her. No one deserves to feel like… you know what I mean. Don’t hurt her, not like that.”
“Son of a bitch.” Steven spoke quietly so the others would not hear. “You have no right. You’re the one who’s hurt her. Tell me, smartass, how do you plan to keep eight years of stalking out of the trial? You gonna confess!”
Suddenly, Anderson yelled, “Everyone! In here!”
They all went to the den. Chase practically ran into the room, pushing Joe aside. He made his way to the desk where Anderson and a uniformed officer were standing.
“I was searching the desk—you know, opening the drawers and searching through the contents—but when I went to close this drawer, it’s caught on something.”
“So? Drawers get caught all the time.” Chase tried to move forward, but the officer held him back.
Steven easily read the fear on Scott’s face. “Go ahead, Anderson, what’s in the drawer? Maybe Chase is right—anything could be caught.”
“True,” Anderson said, “but there’s not much in this drawer—some pencils, a few pens, some paper clips—nothing here to stop this drawer from closing.” He pulled the drawer out and reached inside the opening. He pulled out a large manila envelope, the same type of envelope Chase had just handed to Steven.
Carefully, Anderson opened the manila envelope and what he poured out onto the floor took everyone by surprise: photographs of the three dead women, several red valentine cards with envelopes, a black marker and a stencil with the words You’re Dead, Valentine, plus copies of newspaper clippings about the case.
“Scott Chase, you’re under arrest for the murders…”
Steven watched while Officer McKay arrested Chase and read him his rights. The uniformed officers put the handcuffs on him and took him outside.
“This isn’t possible, this isn’t possible,” Chase kept repeating, his face ashen.
After safely tucking Chase away for the night, Steven and his team went out for breakfast. The case was all but over, and they wanted to celebrate. Even though forensics would have to tie up the loose ends, and a little more investigation was required, Steven was confident. His relief was beyond description.
Steven called Sarah to inform her, but it went to the machine. She was either screening his calls or busy working off her anger. He left a message, letting her know he was on his way. He would tell her the rest in person, and Steven was confident she would eventually understand. He just wanted her to know the killing was over. One last phone call to John to let him know, and then he sat back to enjoy breakfast and the company of his team.
9:00 a. m.
Steven pulled up to the house certain Sarah would forgive him, and if not, he needed to know that, too. He had not slept a wink, but sleep would come later. Now, all Steven wanted was to celebrate the end of one of the most appalling cases he had ever worked.
When he opened the door and switched off the security system, Steven was whistling You Are My Sunshine. He turned on the lights and went to the kitchen to put the coffee on, surprised none was brewing. Steven assumed he would find Sarah in the exercise room. He decided to see Sergeant Jansen on his way and then apologize to Sarah. Privacy would be essential.
He went to Eddie’s room. Sergeant Jansen did not move when Steven opened the door. “Come on, Sergeant. Reveille’s been played.”
Jansen did not budge.
“Come on, Ray, quit joking.” Steven switched on the lights. A knife through Ray Jansen’s chest, a blood drenched bed, and the Sergeant’s dead stare greeted him. Steven tore from the room.
“SARAH!”
He took the steps three at a time and burst through the door of her room, taking in the scene before him. Candles burned everywhere while blood was splattered across the walls. He focused on Sarah, who looked like a ghoulish sleeping beauty. She was wearing the same pink gown he last saw her in. Her golden hair, streaked with blood, cascaded off the side of the bed. Bloody hands encircled the knife plunged into her heart. The walls bore message written in blood: “Quaid, where were you?” He barely saw the words through his tears. This sleeping beauty would not awaken with a kiss.
He fell to his knees beside the bed. His beautiful angel, murdered because of his jealousy, while he was trying to find Chase. Chase was here taking his revenge. Steven was solely to blame. He had wanted to be alone with her, and now he would forever be alone without her. He gazed at her face. She looked peaceful. There was no hint of her torment, no remnant of the terror she had experienced.
He wanted so badly to take her into his arms, but now she was evidence. He could not touch her. “I’m so sorry, Sarah. I’m so sorry.” He bowed his head, haunted by her words: which one of us will get to see the other one die?
“Forgive me. Oh, God, please forgive me.”
Suddenly, he remembered something—her eyes. The answer was in her eyes, they were not looking through him with accusations or questions.
Hope. He leaned in and kissed her lips. She was warm. She moaned, and he moved her hands. He could awaken her with a kiss after all.
The knife he thought had gone through her heart was just a handle placed between her fingers. It was staged. He dialed for help, then picked her up and carried her from the room. He did not want her to wake up in her present surroundings. In the bathroom, he ripped the gown from her body, held her semiconscious body under the warm water, and washed the blood from her.
Sarah stayed in a semi
conscious state, whimpering and moaning with pain.
Steven tried to reassure her. He wrapped her in a bathrobe and blankets. She lost consciousness, and he carried her to the living room. Steven laid her on the couch, grabbed his cell phone, and made several calls. He lit a fire and cradled her in his arms, afraid to let her go. She had suffered another blow to the head, just below the injury from the Jeep accident. His inability to wake her, and this second head injury worried him. He wrapped her head in a towel, but the wound had begun to bleed again, and he knew it would require stitches.
It took thirty minutes before anyone arrived on scene. John and Eddie arrived first, and the others quickly followed. The coroner arrived for Ray Jansen, and John and Eddie found the Dun brothers asleep in their vehicle. Drugged by the same hot chocolate. Steven gave his orders from the living room couch, waiting for Sarah to regain consciousness. When Dr. Listten arrived, Steven finally released her to his care.
Just as they were wheeling her out, she regained consciousness and tried to explain.
“Drugged… Sergeant Jansen… dead.” Her voice was barely above a whisper.
“I know, angel. Please don’t talk. Rest. Just rest.”
“You got him?”
“Yes, Sarah, we have him.”
She smiled. “My warrior.”
Her response was a knife to his core. She thought Steven had saved her.
The darkness called and soon enveloped her like a safe, warm cocoon. Outside, a blizzard closed in—death stalked with another winter storm.
he winds tore violently at the house, and if the house still stood in the morning, Eddie knew he would believe in miracles. Sarah looked unconcerned. She watched the storm’s fury, but appeared oblivious to the world around her. Being in the same room with her was an experience only for the extremely tolerant. She was unresponsive—a stranger since their arrival at Cliff House four days earlier. John and Steven had packed them off for safety as soon as Sarah could travel. She refused to discuss what happened. Normally attentive to his presence, she had barely spoken ten words to him since the nightmare at her home in Anchorage.
Murder, Madness & Love (Detective Quaid Mysteries #1) Page 25