Her Last Breath: A Chilling Psychological Thriller (Wolf Lake Thriller Book 1)

by Dan Padavona

  “Big, athletic guy. That’s all I could determine in the dark.”

  “Strong enough to carry a skiff across my yard and dump a dead girl in the lake?”

  “I’d say so. Sounds like we’re on the same wavelength. I called the sheriff’s department. Gray is on his way to the Mourning’s. And Thomas?”

  “Yes?”

  “There’s a hole in your sliding glass door. Looks like the guy used a glass cutter to break inside.”

  “Don’t touch anything. We need to dust for prints.” He kicked himself. Darren didn’t require his explanation. “I’m on my way.”

  Thomas swung his gaze to Aguilar. He didn’t need to ask if the deputy wanted him to drop her at her house. She kicked off her heels and dug two sneakers out of her bag. Aguilar caught him staring and shrugged.

  “What? I come prepared.”

  He cut through downtown and hit the lake road. With no street lights, the blacktop drowned in darkness, and he pumped the brakes when he took the bend too fast. Sheriff Gray’s cruiser slumbered in the Mourning’s driveway when Thomas stopped the truck. Darren met them on the steps.

  “Gray is inside taking statements,” said Darren, edging the door closed. “Just so you’re aware, the mother isn’t taking this well.”

  “What did she say?”

  “She needs to blame someone for putting her daughter at risk, and you’re a convenient fall guy.”

  “I understand.”

  “She’ll come to her senses. Follow me.”

  They circled the A-frame and climbed onto the back deck. Thomas scanned the boards for dirt or a shoe print as Aguilar knelt beside the deck door. Wind rustled the curtain.

  “Yeah, he used a glass cutter,” Aguilar said. “I’ll call county forensics. Let’s hope this prick screwed up and left a print.”

  Thomas whipped his eyes toward the neighbor’s house. Lights blazed through the windows, and Naomi sobbed inside.

  “We go in slow and careful,” Thomas said, unlocking the door. “Just in case he’s inside.”

  The door whispered open. Aguilar, wearing the floral Cami dress and running sneakers, took the living room while Darren eyed the staircase. Thomas swept the gun across the kitchen, then joined Darren at the stairs. The ranger’s eyes locked on the wall at the top of the staircase. When Thomas looked up, he saw the red dripping letters painted against the wall.

  Hero.

  Darren’s jaw worked from side to side.

  “Bold bastard, isn’t he?”

  Thomas pulled his mouth tight and led Darren up the steps while Aguilar guarded the downstairs. He caught a whiff of fresh paint when he cleared the top step. Room by room, they searched the upstairs. The maniac wasn’t inside the house.

  “He probably broke inside before you caught him in the yard,” Thomas said, standing away from the wall, not wanting to touch anything. The forensics team would arrive in less than an hour.

  “He might have broken into my place too.”

  “The ranger cabin?”

  “I worked the front desk early in the evening. When I returned to the cabin, the faucet was dripping, and I’m positive I’d shut it off. I swear something seemed out-of-place inside the cabin, as if he’d rummaged around while I was away. What the hell does he want with me?”

  Thomas holstered his gun and descended the stairs.

  “The same thing he wants with me. To get inside my head and prove he can reach me anytime he wants.”

  Gray met them in front of the Mourning’s house.

  “I’ll stick around until forensics arrives,” Gray said, working a kink out of his neck.

  “Did they see anything?” Thomas asked, lifting his chin toward his neighbor’s window.

  “Nothing. Until Ranger Holt pounded on the door to check on them and use their phone, they didn’t realize someone was in the yard.”

  The door creaked open. Naomi angled her head through the entrance.

  “Deputy Shepherd, may I speak with you a moment?”

  Aguilar glanced at Thomas. He lowered his head and climbed the ramp. When he reached Naomi, he raised two hands in placation.

  “I understand you’re upset. You have a right to be.”

  Naomi’s face was red and chapped with dried tears. She swiped a tissue beneath her nose.

  “Since you arrived, I’ve needed eyes in the back of my head to keep my daughter safe.”

  “I’m sorry. I don’t want any of this.”

  “What does he want with you?”

  Thomas released a breath. With Naomi’s hair down and cupped against her face, it struck Thomas how much the woman looked like Erika Windrow. He searched the catalog of his memory—similar height and build, high cheekbones, inquisitive eyes.

  “Naomi, it’s possible he’s targeting you.”

  Naomi’s face froze in a stunned expression.

  “Why me?”

  “Maybe he saw you when he canvassed the lake. Remember you said someone was in the yard Sunday night?”

  “So he stalked my family?”

  “It’s one theory. But I’m on his radar. Before Ranger Holt chased him out of the yard, he broke inside my house and left a message on my wall.”

  She covered her heart with her hand. Behind Naomi, Scout’s wheelchair squealed.

  “I need to speak with Deputy Shepherd,” Scout said, imploring Naomi with her eyes.

  “Not a chance, Scout. I told you to stay away from those videos, and you went behind my back.” Naomi’s glare flicked to Thomas. “Tell my daughter, Deputy. She’s not to involve herself in your investigation.”

  Thomas bit his lip. Scout had tried to tell him something earlier, and he’d ignored her. Had the killer discovered Scout was investigating him? Naomi set her hands on her hips and stared at Thomas.

  “You look like you have something else to tell me.”

  “Come outside for a second,” he said, pulling the door shut.

  While Gray conferred with Darren and Aguilar in the driveway, Naomi danced to stay warm on the porch.

  “What do you need to say?”

  “What if this guy is after Scout?”

  Her face twisted, prepared for an argument.

  “How would the killer know she’s searching for him?” Cold realization hit her eyes, her body wracked by terror. “The sleuthing website. He’s on the forum.”

  “That’s what I’m afraid of. Let me speak to your daughter. I need her contacts, anyone she corresponds with online.”

  “Yes, whatever you need.”

  Thomas scratched behind his neck and swiveled his head toward his house as the county forensics team pulled into his driveway.

  “I need to deal with the forensics team. After that, would you like company tonight?”

  Naomi brushed the chill off her arms.

  “What are you suggesting?”

  “We don’t have the resources to post a deputy outside your house all night. I keep an air mattress in the closet. Let me set it up in your living room. I’ll sleep better if I know you’re safe. You won’t even know I’m here.”

  Naomi pressed her lips tight.

  “All right. I’m scared, Deputy.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  After stealing four hours of sleep in Naomi’s living room, Thomas called Darren and asked the ranger to watch Naomi and Scout while he drove to work Saturday morning. Using voice commands, he dialed his father’s number. No answer. Next he called his mother and got her voice-mail. He pictured them staring at his name on their screens, ignoring him until, in his mother’s words, he came to his senses.

  “Mom, it’s me. I’m checking on Father and would like to stop and see you. If there’s a convenient time, please call me.” He hesitated. “I love you both.”

  As he pulled into the lot, he noticed Gray’s vehicle. Thomas hoped he could avoid the sheriff today. Gray still insisted the Harmon Kings were behind Erika Windrow’s murder, and Thomas wasn’t up for an argument.

  He passed through the emp
ty lobby, coffee scents wafting through the station. Keeping an eye out for Gray, Thomas kicked his computer out of sleep mode.

  “It’s your weekend, Shepherd. You couldn’t stay away?”

  Thomas turned to find Lambert leaning in the doorway, one hand wrapped around a coffee mug.

  “I’m tying up a few loose ends.”

  “They figure out who broke into your house?”

  Thomas slumped into his chair and entered the URL for Scout’s teen sleuthing website.

  “Not yet.”

  “If I were you, I’d put cameras on the yard. Don’t let this psycho sneak up on you again.”

  Not a bad idea. He needed to stop at the hardware store. The days were getting warmer, and he didn’t want every insect in Wolf Lake to crawl through the hole in his deck door. Lambert peaked over Thomas’s shoulder while he navigated the forums. Over two hundred sleuths claiming to be teenagers called the website home. Thomas wondered how many were adults. Was the killer among them?

  “Gray’s in a foul mood this morning,” Lambert said as Thomas typed Harpy’s name into the search box.

  Scout had been reluctant to give up her friend’s name. Naomi insisted, if Scout wanted internet access.

  “Something going on?”

  “Tessa Windrow was in here earlier. Now she’s threatening to sue Gray and the county. As if it’s our fault. If she’d paid attention to her daughter, the girl wouldn’t have run away in the first place.” Lambert pointed at Thomas’s computer screen. “Who’s Harpy?”

  “A girl Scout Mourning chats with online.”

  “That’s the teenager in the wheelchair you mentioned?”

  “My neighbor, yes. Something tells me this friend of hers isn’t who she claims to be.”

  Memories from last night stuck into his skin like prongs. Scout believed the same man who uploaded the animal murder videos killed Erika Windrow. The data proved the videos came from Harmon, so Scout might be right. He was aware serial killers progressed from animals to humans as they gained confidence. Scout linked the Max Cady profile name to ScorchedEarth666, something Thomas had failed to do. One image showed the man’s hands reflected on the table top. A white guy. This wasn’t LeVar Hopkins or Anthony Fisher.

  But something else struck Thomas. Harpy knew too much about the killer. She located images and videos Scout couldn’t find. Yet Harpy never noticed the reflected hands. Was Scout a superior investigator, or was Harpy concealing the killer’s race?

  Lambert pulled up a chair just as Gray’s door opened. The sheriff’s eyes locked on Thomas.

  “Isn’t this your day off, Deputy Shepherd?”

  “I’ll be out of your hair in a second,” Thomas said as he loaded Harpy’s posting history.

  Gray strode to the computer. His eyebrows angled down.

  “You’re wasting time. You won’t find a killer on a message board.”

  “It’s worth checking.”

  Gray harrumphed.

  “Shepherd, in my office. Now.”

  Lambert gave him a sympathetic look. Thomas followed Gray into his office. The sheriff closed the door, fell into his chair and leaned forward.

  “Your judgment has me concerned, Deputy.”

  “Sir?”

  “Listening to a teenage girl when the evidence points to LeVar Hopkins and Anthony Fisher.”

  “There’s reason to believe the killer is white. If you examine the photos—”

  “We have Anthony Fisher on camera mailing Erika Windrow’s remains. What more proof do we need?” Gray’s eyes softened. “This can’t be easy on you, Thomas. The shooting, your father’s diagnosis, and I threw you into a murder investigation your first day on the job. As much as I’d prefer to hand the case over to Aguilar or Lambert, I need your expertise.”

  “Anthony Fisher is just a kid. I don’t believe he murdered a prostitute and cut her into pieces.”

  “That’s because LeVar Hopkins did the deed. But if we prove Fisher knew what was in the box, he’s just as guilty.”

  “This doesn’t feel right.”

  Gray drew a long breath and set his palms on the table.

  “If you insist on working on your day off, I want you focused on Hopkins. Link him to the murder. I want a search warrant for the Chrysler Limited and his mother’s apartment. Get me both. That’s your task for today.”

  Thomas wanted to tell Gray he’d peered inside the Limited with Aguilar. No bloody passenger seat. No signs of a struggle. He saw no point in arguing with the sheriff. Gray had decided.

  He left the sheriff inside his office and returned to his computer. Lambert held the phone to his ear. He pointed at Thomas and snapped his fingers. A second later, Lambert hung up.

  “We got an Anthony Fisher sighting. He’s at the corner of Third and Main in Harmon.”

  Thomas hustled with Lambert to the cruiser. The deputy hit the siren and cleared traffic on their way to the interstate. With Lambert’s foot jammed against the gas, they reached the Harmon city limits minutes later.

  “Kill the siren,” Thomas said as they descended the exit ramp into Harmon.

  With the lights and siren off, Lambert slowed as they neared Third Street. The sidewalk was vacant at this time of the morning. The shops wouldn’t open for another half-hour. Lambert searched the left side of the street while Thomas leaned out the window, eyes locked on the alleyways.

  “There they are,” Lambert said, hitting the accelerator.

  Thomas swung his eyes to the corner. Anthony Fisher and LeVar Hopkins split, Anthony sprinting left as LeVar took off in the opposite direction. A tractor trailer blocked the intersection.

  “Shit.” Lambert requested Harmon PD support and swung the cruiser to the curb. “You up for a morning jog, Shepherd?”

  Lambert ran after Anthony. Thomas slammed the door and cut across Main Street as a white SUV skidded to a stop ten yards from him. The driver laid heavy on the horn and cursed out his window. LeVar vanished around the corner at Second Street. Thomas pumped his arms and legs. With no chance to beat the teenager in a footrace, he took a diagonal angle and cut through a parking lot, gambling LeVar would stick to Second Street.

  The dice roll paid off. Thomas emerged from the parking lot steps behind LeVar. The teenager ran too hard to notice, long legs widening the gap between Thomas and his target with each stride. Thomas’s chest tightened, his lungs burned. An alarmed woman with a grocery bag under her arm dove back when Thomas passed. Now LeVar was half a block ahead and pulling away.

  Thomas reached for his radio. Out of breath, he gave the Harmon dispatcher LeVar’s position. The teenager hugged close to the storefronts, convincing Thomas he’d turn left at the corner. Thomas ran through an alleyway that opened at Lewis Boulevard. When he turned the corner, he gained a hundred feet on LeVar. The teenager glanced over his shoulder, spotted Thomas, and kicked into a hidden gear. He leaped over a hedge and bounded across a lawn. A second later, LeVar’s feet disappeared over a wooden fence.

  After Thomas climbed the fence and squeezed between a sports car and a garage, his lungs on the brink of mutiny, he stood upon a crumbling sidewalk. Apartment houses lined the street. No sign of LeVar.

  He searched left and right. Then he spied the sign on the corner. Bethel Avenue. LeVar’s mother lived in an apartment at twenty-six Bethel. He scanned the building for numbers and located the gray brick apartment complex halfway down the block. Thomas crossed the street and removed his weapon.

  The outside door wasn’t locked. He turned the handle and stepped inside. A hallway marred by cracked plaster led to four closed doors. A cartoon boomed from the closest apartment. As Thomas eyed the staircase, a child laughed behind the door.

  Steps squealed beneath his weight as he climbed the stairs toward the Hopkins apartment. When he reached the landing, he stared at the open doorway.

  “Ma…ma! Wake up!”

  Thomas threw himself through the entrance. LeVar hunched over a figure on a couch. The woman’s legs hung off the
edge like broken oars, her arm draped against the floor. Even with the teenager blocking his view, Thomas spied the syringe on the floor.

  The boards groaned as Thomas crossed through the kitchen. LeVar spun around. A mix of fury and panic twisted the teenager’s face. Time froze as they glared at each other like two enemy dogs that watched one another from neighboring windows with sharp, snarling teeth.

  “What the hell are you waiting for? Call an ambulance!”

  Hurrying to the woman’s side, Thomas dropped to his knees and raised the radio to his lips. As he requested the ambulance, Thomas snatched her wrist and searched for a pulse, shocked at the brittle frailty drizzling beneath her flesh. He found the pulse—weak and fading. LeVar glared between Thomas and his mother. The teenager appeared torn between jamming his Taurus 9mm against Thomas’s temple and scooping Serena into his arms. Shock forced the boy to do neither.

  “She’s alive, right? Tell me she’s breathing.”

  “Your mother has a pulse. The ambulance is on the way.”

  LeVar clutched his face and squeezed. He seemed ready to tear flesh away before his arms dropped to his sides and a defeated cry poured out of his throat.

  “I knew it would be the goddamn heroin. I tried to make her stop, but she don’t listen.”

  Serena’s lips turned purple, the color of gloaming. Thomas put his hand over her mouth. At least the woman was breathing.

  “Put the gun away, LeVar.”

  “What?”

  “You heard me. Find a place for the gun before the apartment fills with cops.”

  Thomas gave LeVar a meaningful look. Understanding smacked the teenager in the face, and he turned down the hallway, looking back at his mother. As Thomas worked, hangers clinked inside a bedroom at the end of the corridor. A box opened and snapped shut. Where the hell was that ambulance?

  “Stay with me,” he begged as he ground his knuckles into the woman’s chest.

  LeVar whipped around the corner and grabbed Thomas by the shoulder, yanking him off his mother.

  “What the fuck are you doing? You’re killing her.”

  “I’m trying to save her life. Stand back and let me do my job.”

  Thomas searched for a pulse again and found none. He tilted Serena’s head back. As he began CPR, his eyes locked on a chemistry textbook on the end table with a notebook tucked beneath. Was LeVar or Serena taking classes? Counting the compressions beneath his breath, he pushed down on the woman’s chest. Stopped and pinched her nose before delivering rescue breaths. No response. He placed one hand on top of the other and began another round of compressions when the ambulance siren shrieked around the corner. Beside him, LeVar knelt with his arms clutched around his head.