A Carol for Kent

by Hallee Bridgeman

  “God’s timing is perfect, Darlin’.” Bobby sat up and his voice lost the teasing tone. “Look, Carol. What time is it right now? Two? You’ve been up for what, twenty hours? Why don’t you go inside and get some sleep? Turn your mind off for a while.”

  Carol set her water down and stood back up. “No. Bobby, you and I need to discuss this. How in the world are we going to prevent the storm?”

  He sat up straighter. “I hate to tell you this, beautiful, but there is no way to prevent the storm. It’s one of the sacrifices I make for fame. Comes with stardom. Unfortunately, it’s a price we all will have to pay, now.”

  Carol rubbed her temples. “That is just not acceptable. There has to be something we can do.” She dropped her hands and sat on the second step of the porch. “How can you be so nonchalant about all of it?”

  “I used to thrive on it. Now I simply live with it. Comes with the job. Comes with yours, too. You’ve been on TV more than I have recently.” He moved so that he sat next to her, and took her hand. “No one’s looking to you for the blame, hon. They’re just looking to anyone for the answers. After the Sunday talk shows, the whole country’s worried about this, and the cameras have chosen you. It could just as easily have been the detective or your boss, but you make better print. More… photogenic.”

  Carol turned her head to look at him, smiling despite the conversation topic. “That’s rather sexist, isn’t it?”

  Bobby shrugged. “Sexist or not, it’s the truth.”

  His hand felt cool from his glass of iced water. Within a few heartbeats, his hand had warmed again.

  “I don’t think that’s it. Or at least, I don’t think that’s everything,” she asserted.

  He raised his eyebrows. “What do you mean?”

  She said, “Since the late 1960s, there have been more than ten thousand murders every year in the United States. Some years there are more than twenty thousand. The talking heads seem to focus on cases that are rare enough to be interesting while reinforcing whatever agenda they’re peddling that week.”

  Bobby nodded. “I can see that.”

  “It’s just an agenda. They push a controversial agenda, they sell more advertisements, because they have higher ratings. These murders involve strangulation. Of all murders in the US, strangulation has historically accounted for less than 1 percent. That makes it pretty rare. The killer has strangled only women. No one has a handle on his motive yet. That makes it interesting. Then there are the candles. They’re nothing but camera fodder. That the killer lays them out in a pentagram plays like a media script. The alleged ties to the occult are endless.”

  Bobby took a sip of his water. “Carol, what do you think the candles mean?”

  Carol shivered. “It could mean the killer regrets killing. It could mean he wants to shed light on his crimes. What scares me a little is that it honestly could have some kind of Satanic significance, and that would mean this is cult activity. But I have a different theory.”

  He peered at her face in the dim light. “What’s your theory?”

  She returned his gaze, wondering if Bobby would understand the context of her answer. “I believe the killer is simply insane.”

  Bobby pursed his lips and nodded. “That fact is probably often overlooked.”

  “Doesn’t play well as a six o’clock sound bite.”

  He let go of her hand and moved up until he occupied the top step, and shifted so that he sat directly behind her, then he began rubbing the muscles in her neck and shoulders. Carol practically melted into the porch and rested her head on her knees to give him better access. “Maybe just ignore them, give them the ‘I can’t comment on an ongoing case’ comment, then turn on the news every night and watch yourself walk by the cameras looking like a million bucks.”

  “Mmmm,” Carol said, not even trying to comprehend the words he said while his fingers were doing such magical things to her muscles. She turned her head to one side and almost moaned out loud when he found a particularly good spot. She felt the rest of the world wash away with the tension, felt her threatening headache slip into the background. She let her body drift until the pressure ceased and he simply caressed her skin. It felt so right when he pressed his lips to her neck, that she tilted her head to one side and shifted her body until the back of her head rested on his knee.

  It had been so long since she had been touched this way, and it felt like her whole body was suddenly one large nerve ending centered in her neck. He slowly kissed his way up across her jaw and to the corner of her mouth while one of his hands resumed its caresses, and he wrapped an arm around her and pulled her closer to him so that she was practically cradled in his arms.

  When his lips covered hers, she felt every pore in her body vibrate as if they were the strings on her violin. Every touch, every stroke, seemed to hum through her until she felt like she was about to explode.

  She shifted to turn her body to get closer to him when her knee hit her glass. It tumbled down the steps, and the sound of the glass striking the pavement and shattering broke through the moment.

  What was she doing? She broke the kiss and pushed away from him, scrambling to her feet and putting a hand over her mouth. Bobby rubbed his face with his hands and stood. “Sorry about that,” he said, sticking his hands in his pockets. “I meant to take it a lot slower.”

  She slowly shook her head. Her voice sounded hoarse when she said, “I don’t have time for this.”

  “I know that, Darlin’. No pressure. No rush.” He pulled his keys out of his pocket, jingling them in his hand while he ambled back to his house. “We’ve got the rest of our lives,” he threw over his shoulder with a grin.

  She finally found her voice. “Bobby, do you remember what got us into trouble the first time?” she asked, loudly enough so that he could hear. He stopped in the middle of the lawn and turned to look at her.

  “Darlin’,” he said, “there aren’t a whole lot of nights in my life I remember more vividly.” He winked as he turned his back on her again, and she could hear him whistling a tune as he unlocked his front door.

  CHAPTER 16

  Tuesday, May 1st

  CAROL opened the glass door and stepped into the chaos of the elementary school office at seven-thirty in the morning. She wove her way through children and teachers, who were going in every direction getting ready for the day, and finally made her way to the desk. It wasn’t even eight yet, but the school secretary looked like she’d just worked a national disaster. It took several minutes before she noticed Carol, and she had to answer the phone twice before she could finish her greeting.

  “Sorry about that, ma’am. We’re a hand short this morning.” Her voice evidenced a cultured Richmond, Virginia southern twang.

  “I’m Carol Mabry. I have an appointment with Doctor Sessions,” Carol said.

  “Yes, of course Ms. Mabry. Doctor Sessions is waiting for you right now. Just go on into that door right there,” she replied, pointing and nodding while answering the phone again. Carol smiled her thanks then went through the gate separating the lobby with the reception area, and knocked on the door bearing the hand painted sign reading, “Principal”, entering after she heard, “Come in.”

  Doctor Nancy Sessions sat behind her desk reading something on her tablet. When she looked up and saw Carol, she shut off the screen and stood, holding her hand out. “Ms. Mabry. It’s a pleasure to see you again,” she said.

  Carol shook the other woman’s hand and sat in the chair across from the desk. “I appreciate you seeing me this morning. From the looks of your outer office, you’re already having a busy day.”

  Nancy sighed. “We begin standardized testing today. Since we’re private, we don’t rely on state funding, but the results help keep us rated as a top school in the commonwealth. I think the teachers panic right before they begin, worried they will somehow fail us if the students don’t score as high as they usually do.” While she spoke she cleared her desk until the area in front of her was c
lean, then found her coffee cup under a file folder. “What can I do for you?”

  Carol crossed her legs and laced her hands in front of her, refusing to fidget. “I need to adjust some of Lisa’s paperwork and, basically, add her father to it. I also need to sign something that will allow him to have access to her at any time for any reason; pick her up whenever he wants to, that sort of thing.”

  Nancy raised an eyebrow and said, “You really didn’t need to see me privately about that.”

  Carol brushed an imaginary piece of lint from her thigh. “No, but I need to warn you about the uproar this may cause.”

  Dr. Sessions leaned back in her chair. “Oh?”

  “Her father is Bobby Kent.” Carol watched the other woman’s eyes widen, but she didn’t offer a comment. “I expect the fallout from the press may be a bit extreme for a while.”

  Nancy nodded. “I’m afraid you’re probably right. We can keep them off the grounds, of course. We have certain rights under the law when it comes to the privacy of children and we can exercise them, but they know the law, too. In my experience, they are expert at skirting the edges of those laws. There isn’t going to be much I can do about them hanging out at the gate waiting for you or any other adult they can harass.”

  “I understand. I just wanted you to be forewarned. I have a feeling the eruption is coming soon. There’s also the matter of a case I’m working on that is getting its own share of the news. I worry about the repercussions on Lisa.”

  “Yes. I watched the news last night along with the rest of the free world.” Nancy leaned forward. “You don’t need to be overly concerned, Ms. Mabry. I can see the strain this is causing on you. You’re not alone. We have more than a few students with parents who attract a fair amount of reporters, but once the initial storm passes, Lisa should be left alone.”

  Carol stood. “I just wish there was a way to prevent it in the first place.” She held out her hand and the other woman took it. “Thank you for seeing me this morning, Doctor Sessions. I’ll go out front and fill out the forms I need.”

  “It was good to see you again, Ms. Mabry. Please, don’t worry about Lisa while she’s here. We take good care of her as always.”

  Carol gave a small smile. “I know,” she said, and left the office.

  “CAN you tell us if you have any suspects?”

  “Ms. Mabry! Can you give us a statement about any further developments on the case?”

  “Can you tell us what the mayor and governor are meeting about this morning?”

  Carol held her cell phone to her ear and put her hand up to cover her other ear. “Hang on a sec, Maurice. I can’t hear you for the locusts,” she said, then finally pushed through the doors of her building and entered the quiet of the lobby. Locusts came out about every seven years in Virginia and, when they were chirping, it wasn’t uncommon for Virginians to have to raise their voices to be heard at the dinner table. Carol found the swarm of reporters outside very reminiscent. “Okay, sorry, go ahead.”

  “I said, come straight to my office, before you even go to yours,” Maurice repeated, then hung up without waiting for a response. Carol glared at her cell phone before she put it in her pocket. She removed her sunglasses and stopped at the security area.

  “Morning, Ms. Mabry,” the uniformed woman at the guard station said, gesturing with her hand to have her step forward through the metal detector.

  “Good morning. How are you?”

  “Bit busy today. Reporters think they get a pass on the no recording equipment here. You can always tell the folks that aren’t local.” As the equipment read her cell phone and metal badge, it sounded an alarm, but she just handed her identification to the guard, waited for confirmation, then headed for the offices.

  “Good luck with it today,” she said.

  “Oh, you know us, Ms. Mabry,” the woman said, turning her attention to the next person in line.

  Carol looked at her reflection in the glass doors as she approached, automatically straightening the red jacket that she wore over the blue pantsuit. She had on red heels and a red, white, and blue scarf to tie it all together.

  She moved through the office, nodding hello to greetings she received, and trying to ignore any behind-the-hand whispers she caught. Why did someone who sang into a microphone for a living garner so much attention? She headed straight for Maurice’s office, and saw Janice, his secretary, sitting at her desk.

  “Go on in, Carol. He’s been waiting for you,” Janice announced.

  “Could you please find me a cup of coffee? I haven’t had time yet this morning,” Carol begged. Janice nodded, and Carol entered the office without knocking.

  Carol acknowledged Mitch Carpenter and Paul Taylor, the Mayor of Richmond, while she set her briefcase and purse down near a chair and sat down. “It is a madhouse out there,” she said.

  “Lots of news happening around this building recently,” Paul remarked sarcastically. He sat in the chair to her immediate right.

  “Where’ve you been?” Maurice asked pointedly.

  “The same place I’m at every morning before nine. En route to or from Lisa’s school,” she answered.

  “It doesn’t look good for this department to have you show up late for work, Ms. Mabry,” Paul said. “If your house is burning down are you going to shuttle your kid to school or put the fire out?”

  “Is my house on fire Mr. Mayor? Do I need to further the impression the press is peddling that we are at a complete loss and running around in a panic?”

  He actually harumphed. “They need to know that we are taking the matter seriously and working the hours it deserves.”

  “Then they can come and report on the four or five hours of work I do every single day from my house in the evenings, Mayor Taylor,” Carol answered. She’d gone to law school with Paul, had been his partner on the debate team. They’d been casual friends until he made a pass at her one evening about a year after his wedding. She never spoke to him on friendly terms again, and he’d started calling her Ms. Mabry when he’d been elected mayor.

  “That’s enough,” Maurice said. “Mayor Taylor, last time I checked, I’m in charge of the hours my people work in my office. And Carol, we need the lab reports back from the last victim.” He stopped speaking and she realized he was waiting for some sort of response.

  She had never fallen asleep the night before, and her temper was on a very short leash. She waited for about five long seconds of silence while he kept her gaze, then asked, “I’m sorry, Maurice. Is that a question?”

  He ignored her, and looked at Mitch. “Bring me up to date since yesterday. The governor is calling here inside of ten minutes.”

  Mitch stepped forward, clearly uncomfortable with the mayor in the room. “We might have him on video. I have our tech people working on that right now and intend to release it to the media as soon as we have clear footage. It might be more useful than the grainy photo we released two days ago.”

  “Wonderful,” Carol said, feeling like maybe the tide had turned. The feeling was short lived, though. When the door opened and Jack Gordon entered.

  “Sorry I’m late,” he said by way of preamble. “Stayed at the ME’s office hoping they’d have something more for us this morning. No luck.” He sat next to Carol on her left hand side and she had to keep herself from shifting away from him.

  “There’s one thing we should be concerned about,” Carol offered. “All three murders were five days apart.”

  “We’re on day 5, right?” Maurice asked Mitch.

  “Yes,” Mitch said, drawing the word out. “Richmond Red needs to kill. That’s the driving need of every serial killer. If he can only compensate for 5 days between each kill, then he has likely already planned the next one.”

  Jack stared frankly at Carol and asked, “How about it, Carol? Know any women about your age and height with red hair like yours? Maybe we could narrow down the field a little.”

  At his words and his look, Carol felt anger rising
inside her like magma in a volcano. She quickly discarded the emotional reply she had started to form when Janice entered on a knock. Carol nearly wept at the sight of the steaming hot cup of coffee she carried. She smiled her thanks and took the first heavenly sip. Jack could take a long walk off a short pier as far as she cared.

  “Are we holding anything back from the press?” Maurice prompted.

  Carol swallowed her coffee and said, “The violin string is being kept out of anything official. I’ve told a couple of trusted sources, but they’ve all promised to keep it under wraps.”

  “Here’s the thing.” Maurice stood and pounded his desk for emphasis. “I cannot stand the thought that we’re just all waiting for the next victim.”

  Jack cleared his throat. “Sir, we have our best people working around the clock on this case. It’s just a matter of time before he makes a mistake.”

  “Let me tell you something. Waiting for him to screw up isn’t good police work. It’s wishful thinking. How many more women in my city have to die before he makes that mistake you’re hanging your hopes and dreams on?”

  Paul Taylor interjected, “I don’t think it’s fair to blame the detectives working this case – or any member of our esteemed police force – for not finding any meaningful evidence so far.”

  “Oh, save it for the microphones, Mr. Mayor,” Carol uttered between her teeth.

  “Hey. I have an idea. How about the two of you set aside any unrelated personal animosities so the rest of us can focus on what’s important?” Maurice suggested. “What about the profile you received. Anything there we can work with?”

  Jack answered. “That profile read just like a textbook example. Probably Caucasian. Choice of victims indicates the killer is male. Age of victims suggests the killer is also age thirty to thirty-five. Strangulation is personal so he’s got a lot of repressed anger. Arranging the bodies indicates a mother complex. Mother issues. Blah, blah, blah. Nothing we hadn’t already surmised and nothing substantially useful. The only new thing is this; the profile suggests the unlikely possibility of multiple actors with occult ties.”