With Cruel Intent

by Dennis Larsen

  Rooms appeared on either side of the long hallway, a small lamp cast shadows and eerie images along the walls. He counted the doors on his left, assuming each room would have a single window visible from the street. He stood before Blanche’s; his heart beat wildly causing his hands to shake and ears to ring. Patiently he waited for the initial adrenaline rush to subside before he tried the lock with a steady hand. The handle rattled ever so slightly but it did not budge. He dropped to one knee to inspect the lock more closely using only the faint light of the hallway to help him. An obvious skeleton keyhole looked back at him and he could see a diffuse light inside the room. The intruder moved his eye close enough to the keyhole to get a better, less obstructed view of the room’s contents. It was not perfect but he could make out the woman’s form on the bed, moonlight providing the light he could see through the hole.

  Lester felt for the gun in the hollow of his back and adjusted it slightly, then removed a lock pick device from his front pocket. With both hands he manipulated the small metallic rod and file, slowing himself when he felt he was making too much noise, even though it was barely audible. Years of doing the same, on more sophisticated locks, made the old skeleton lock open without much of a challenge. He returned the pick set to his pocket and pulled the knife again from the sheath before entering the room. The door opened without a sound, he closed it but did not allow the lock to fully latch. Standing within the very room that he had only taken pictures of the week before, thrilled the assailant. He concentrated on keeping his breathing under control, slowing his heart and perspiration in the process. Lester held the knife in his right hand as he approached the sleeping Blanche. To have her so close, so vulnerable, was mind blowing for the thief. He yearned to slide into bed with her and prove his love for the woman, but he knew better, at least for now. With the knife in his right hand he approached the bed standing inches from the edge and within reach of the woman’s throat.

  Lester loomed over the woman, taking in her beauty, hair swept across a portion of her forehead, her face fully exposed to him as she slept on her back. The perp couldn’t pass up the opportunity. The small digital camera was extracted from his rear jean’s pocket and he took a picture of the slumbering damsel. He contemplated the possibility of removing her tonight, half convincing himself that it could be done without disturbing the others, but he had come unprepared, no ether and no plausible way to keep her quiet.

  “Only a few hours,” he told himself, and she would willingly give herself to him, but his patience was at its limit.

  He wanted and needed to feel her soft skin, to know the sensation of skin on skin with the striking beauty. Lester peeled the glove from his left hand, partially sticking it into his jean’s pocket, and brought the razor sharp knife blade within an inch of the sleeping woman’s jugular. He would need to control her if she suddenly awoke. With the left hand exposed he placed it as close as he dared below his sleeping victim’s nose. The feel of her breath caressing, then ebbing and returning to caress his hand again, made him feel invincible. He looked closely at her face, so perfect, light freckles scattered across her delicate nose, her lips slightly parted calling for a kiss. Leaning in close, his hand pulled away from her face but the knife still in place, he inspected her closely, taking in the smell of her skin as he did so.

  The Stalker detected movement under her lids, Blanche's eyes moving back and forth, right and left in a rapid saccadic motion. She was dreaming, he’d seen it before and knew what it was. The idea excited him as he closely watched her closed eyes wondering if she was thinking of him after he ruffled her feathers earlier in the day. His will power was fading. To touch her once would be ecstasy and would possibly be worth the risk, but he fought off the urge and settled for running his hand over the sleeping woman’s figure just an inch above the single sheet that covered her motionless form. The knife, still very close to her throat, did not vary as he extended his left hand above her navel. The Stalker was able to see through the thin sheet revealing a tiny nightgown, hiked up, and showing the outline of her panties underneath. Slowly he moved his hand upward over her flat stomach to the rise of her breasts, which strained against the fabric of the sheet. He stopped, his hand just above the breast closest to him and ached to touch and squeeze her.

  Behind him he heard the creaking of an old door opening, he wheeled quickly but without sound to see Blanche’s still in place. His breathing stopped as he listened for further indication that someone was up. Footsteps moved down the hallway just outside the door and he moved to see what and who it was. As the muffled noise moved beyond Blanche’s room he pulled the door in just enough to look into the hallway. An older woman dressed in a robe and slippers, her head wrapped with toilet paper, was making her way down the hall. Lester watched her closely as she opened a door, flipped on a light and stepped inside.

  “Must be the bathroom,” he thought.

  He watched and waited for her to make the return trip, closing the door slightly so he could still listen to her pass. A few minutes later she did and he could hear the toilet flush as she exited the bathroom. Caroline moved down the hall and back to her own room without any concern and was once again safely tucked away behind a locked door. The intruder breathed a sigh of relief but knew it was time to go. As he stood across the room, he once again removed the camera and took a departing picture of the still restful woman, returned the camera and knife to their places and slipped out the door, carefully closing and latching it behind him.

  Lester made it back to his van in the early morning hours and climbed behind the wheel for the drive home. The packet he was anticipating should be there and he could make the final plans for his departure the following day. He removed the key from his front pocket and inserted it into the ignition, starting the car with the help of some pressure on the accelerator. He grasped the wheel with both hands, expecting to see both covered with a glove, but only the right was thusly encased. His mind dashed back through the last few minutes and remembered that he had stuck the glove in his front pocket when he had felt Blanche’s breath. He reached down to secure the glove and put it with the other in the van. It was gone! Lester scrambled from the idling van and looked on the ground but it was nowhere in sight. Again he ran his hands through his pockets, front and back, it was definitely gone.

  Now sitting safely in his own drive, he continued to berate himself for being so careless, however, he would soon be gone and the glove would provide the authorities with only the smallest of advantages. Exhausted and needing to get to bed, he made the walk back to the distressed mailbox one last time. His steps were plodding, fatigue setting in, but he wanted to see if the parcel was there. He opened the latch as he had done now for the third time in as many weeks and saw the familiar manila envelope inside. He withdrew it but it was heavier than he had expected.

  Inside the house, with the kitchen light on, he opened the envelope and inspected the contents. A woman’s picture slid out first, followed by a newly cut key. The woman was attractive, a bit heavy set perhaps but pretty features. He tipped the enclosure higher and a stack of worn twenties landed on the table with a mild thud.

  “That’s nice!” he said.

  Lastly a stack of documents with a cover letter slid from the envelope, an explanation given just as Jeremy had given it to Iggy. The ‘outing’ must take place tonight at 8:00 p.m., he would have the house to himself for a few hours to tear it apart. The remaining information was similar to that previously provided, address, general information about the owner, the layout of the home and a few odds and ends. Sounded easy enough, the money was a bonus for a job well done.

  “At least they appreciate excellence when they see it,” he again said aloud.

  Lester Cummings was about to retire and he was tired but exhilarated knowing that the end of one life was in sight and the beginning of another within his reach.

  He spoke to the picture of the woman, “Well, Ms. Beverly Davis, looks like you’re my ticket to paradise.”
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  * * *

  Thursday morning Sheriff Angelo Lupo sat in his office, facing three of his subordinates, looking for answers. Deputies Guest and Breland sat with their hats in their hands, Ricky Dean held a ream of documents on his lap using them as a platform for his notebook computer, which he had on and opened. The group had been in conference for over an hour, bringing the Sheriff up to date on the progress with The Stalker case. The Sheriff did not look happy.

  “I get the feeling people, that once Mr. Wood was taken into custody we let our guard down. Granted there have been no further break-ins since his arrest but my gut tells me we’ve got the wrong guy sitting back there,” he said, motioning to the cell area.

  Ricky Dean nodded his head in agreement. He had been the hero last week but lately his department had been under the gun to provide something that would break the case open. That lingering bit of information had yet to be uncovered. For the past hour he had gone over the reasons why it was highly unlikely that Seymour was The Stalker but could not rule him out as the shooter in the Jackson shooting.

  “Okay Ricky, let me run this back and you tell me if I’ve got it,” the Sheriff said. “The fibers collected at the Wood residence do not match any of the fiber evidence you’ve collected at any of the crime scenes, and the castings made of Seymour’s foot do not match the Nike’s we’ve processed at the scenes either. Have I got it right so far?”

  “Yup, sure ‘nough Sheriff,” Ricky agreed. “His feet are at least two shoe sizes bigger.”

  “So what you are saying, and listen up you two,” he said, looking at his deputies. “There’s no way, based on the evidence alone, that Seymour Wood can be The Stalker!” again Ricky expressed his agreement.

  “Then tell me you three, how did Seymour wind up with a gun stolen from our third crime scene and used in a shooting of a black man on the other side of town. I’m inclined to believe every word that has come out of Mr. Woods’s mouth. There doesn’t seem to me to be any plausible explanation other than he’s being set-up. I want to know who and why and I want to know it yesterday! You got me,” he said, his voice rising with each syllable. “Where do we stand with our other leads?”

  Deputy Breland spoke up first. “I’ve been able to get to 80% of the witnesses at the diner and they have each ruled out Seymour’s glasses and conclude that it’s one of the two wire frames with the tear drop style lenses. One of the witnesses pegged the Ray Bans right away, said she used to work in an optical store and recognized the style. She was apologetic that she didn’t bring that to our attention before but didn’t think she needed to be that specific. I’ll get to the remaining witnesses this morning. The Delaney woman also ruled out Seymour’s before I let her speak to him.”

  “Good Breland, I’m inclined to believe our shooter is wearing the Ray Ban sunglasses. I want you to get a hold of the distributor and find out which shops sell them and if they carry that specific style. You’d also said that Mrs. Wood was able to come up with the bail money, is that right?”

  “Yeah, Blanche Delaney told me that last night when she dropped by,” Breland confirmed.

  “I can’t help but think that the Delaney woman is involved in this somehow. Have we explored old boyfriends, jilted lovers, anybody that may have a thing for her?”

  It was Natalie’s turn to take a run with the ball. “Sheriff, I went over her past pretty carefully with her. She’s only ever been in one serious relationship. He turned out to be gay and she left him in Arizona. I personally don’t think it’s related. Since she’s been here she’s had no flings or one night stands. A pretty conservative woman that does her job and stays to herself. Isn’t into the bar scene, stays at Caroline’s Bed and Breakfast and doesn’t get out much. She randomly met Jasper and has a friendship but nothing sexual, and with Seymour there is a budding romance but they are not involved sexually either. I tried to get her to identify anyone that has struck her as strange but she didn’t come up with anybody, at least when I talked with her last.”

  “How about the students from the school, did you get over there this morning?”

  “I did, that’s where I was just before we started this meeting. I found the students from the racquetball class and nobody remembered anything about a man in sunglasses and baseball hat, except for a couple of girls that said they spoke to a man matching that description at the end of their match on Monday morning. And get this, he was asking where he could find Seymour Wood.”

  “Excellent. Were they able to expand on the description we have to date?” Ricky interjected.

  “I think so, but they have agreed to come in this afternoon and have a sketch done with our artist,” Guest explained.

  “Now we’re finally getting somewhere, those two girls have probably got the best chance to identify him. Have them go through the photo listing of known burglars,” the Sheriff instructed.

  The three wrote down notes making sure that they didn’t miss anything they were directed to do. The investigation was taking a sudden left turn, just after they thought they had it solved with the arrest of Mr. Wood. Apparently he would be walking out on bail for now but maybe for good based on the discussion of the morning.

  “You got anything else Guest?” the Sheriff asked.

  “I’ve got an appointment with that couple from the farm community I spoke with the other day that phoned back with some information. It’s been difficult to nail him down but his wife has promised they will be home this afternoon and I can go and get a statement. I’ll let you know what I find out, it has something to do with the motorcycle.”

  “That sounds fine, what else have you got to work on?” Lupo asked, dropping his hand to scratch Otis behind the ears.

  “Remember the guy I talked with you about before we all thought Seymour was our man? His name is Lester Cummings.”

  “Yes, have you done any follow-up?” Sheriff Lupo said leaning across his desk to write down a note.

  “I did but didn’t come up with much. He has no priors, not even a parking ticket. Clean as a whistle, almost too clean. One thing of interest, the van is registered in his name and is legit, but he also has a motorcycle registered in his name, color identified as yellow and I’m sure, I could swear it, that I asked him about a motorcycle and he denied having one. But I can’t be sure, I didn’t write it down. Was just before I got called back to the station.”

  “Okay, that’s a good start. I like this guy as a possible suspect, let’s follow your hunch and get a warrant. Get the ball rolling before you head out for that interview but I want you to present the documentation we need to the judge before the end of the day. I want to be able to surprise him first thing tomorrow morning with a raid. Is that understood? Breland, Ricky, you two help her as she needs ya.”

  The three looked back and forth between them and assured the others that they would be on call to assist as needed and able.

  “If you can’t think of anything else, I’m going to go home for a few minutes, catch a few Z’s, shower, eat something other than a Twinkie and then I’ll be back. If you need me patch it through Arlene,” the large man declared.

  * * *

  Just before noon a determined Mrs. Lillian Wood, accompanied by Ms. Blanche Delaney and their driver, Mr. Marcus, entered the foyer area of the Sheriff’s office. A notice and receipt in hand from the Lowndes County Court instructing the Sheriff’s Department to release Seymour into the care of his mother. The reunion was sweet, Seymour more than happy to be out of the jail issued coveralls and back in his jeans. The foursome was on their way out the front doors when a voice hollered across the office, feminine but barking nonetheless.

  “Ms. Delaney, don’t leave just yet, will you!” the shout came from the back of the office area.

  Deputy Guest could be seen moving quickly through the desks and chairs to reach the group.

  “I have a couple of quick questions for you if you don’t mind, will only take a second,” the officer said.

  “Sure, you guys just wait
for me outside, I’ll be right out,” Blanche said.

  Officer Guest directed Blanche into the Sheriff’s office, she was sure he wouldn’t care.

  “I was wondering if you’ve given anymore thought to who might be causing these problems for Jasper and Seymour? I have a possible suspect in mind but I’d rather hear it from you before I plant the information in your head, if you know what I mean.”

  “Yes, I have thought about it but can’t say there’s anybody..., wait a minute, there is somebody that is a little odd but he’s not done anything to me, if that’s what you’re after?”

  “Not necessarily, but even odd behavior that struck you as unusual,” the deputy further clarified what she was looking for.

  “Working with the public we run into odd behavior all the time, but directed specifically at me, there is a guy that has been in the library a couple times in the past few weeks. His name is Rob, was in just yesterday, struck me as odd, kind of hitting on me, but said he had a girlfriend he was trying to convince to move to California with him. Sounded like the move was imminent.”

  “Describe him for me,” Guest requested.

  The librarian did so with amazing clarity and recollection, speaking faster than Natalie could keep up. A few minutes later the two had worked out a statement, which Blanche read over and confirmed it was a concise overview of the things she had reported to the deputy. Blanche signed the statement, as she was familiar with doing by now, and was about to leave when the deputy thought of one more thing.

  “Did anybody else see this guy or were you working alone?” she asked.

  “Yeah, for sure, Mr. Marcus, the gentleman with us today acting as our chauffeur talked with him as well,” Blanche replied.