Her Last Breath - Debt Collector 9 (A Jack Winchester Thriller)

by Jon Mills

  Jenna listened intently to the conversation.

  “And so you reported it to the police?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “I’m not even supposed to be out there. I have two kids. If they found out what I was doing, they would call child welfare. I can’t risk that.”

  “But he tried to kill you.”

  “Some guys get rough. It’s just the nature of what we do. I usually have a driver who takes me to the outcalls, but he wasn’t available that night. If he’d been there, it would have been a different outcome.”

  “So he follows?”

  “He stays close. Out of sight and I keep him on speakerphone. The first sign of trouble he’s in.”

  “And how long ago was this?”

  “A month, maybe two.”

  “And have you seen this man who attacked you since?”

  She shook her head. “I’ve only just got back out there in the last couple of weeks. It shook me up but I need the money.”

  Jenna hit stop on the recorder. It had taken her the better part of six months to get some of the girls to trust her. At first, some were belligerent, others didn’t mind, but they wanted money first. But that was part of the problem; once money was involved, it was hard to tell if they were being truthful or not, of if they were just telling her what she wanted to hear. Over the course of the past three months, it had felt like she was chasing her tail. It had been a month since the body of Brenda Norris had been found. He was out there, watching, waiting and would eventually strike again. That’s what niggled her the most. She couldn’t keep going without help — especially with the recent string of phone calls and the letter — she was starting to think that perhaps she had become the next target. That’s what had driven her to call Jack Winchester.

  She pressed play again, and for the next twenty minutes pored over snippets of statements from family, friends, and co-workers. It seemed as if everyone had something to say. Theories and allegations were rampant, some were merited, others outlandish. Jenna rubbed her eyes and headed into the washroom to splash some cold water over her face. It was rare that she got to bed before two in the morning. It wasn’t that she wasn’t tired, quite the opposite, her body was exhausted but her mind wouldn’t shut off. She pulled back her long dark hair and put it through a hair tie. Her eyes were large, dark, and she had crow’s feet at the corners from losing her temper too many times with ex-boyfriends. At least that’s what she told others, as she hated to admit she was getting old. Still, her eyes were sharp and full of purpose. You’re getting close, she told herself as she gripped the sides of the wash basin and stared at the water trickling down her almond-shaped face. Her mind was occupied with the story that would break the case wide open. This was the one that would get justice for those girls.

  As she dried her skin, the sound of her phone caught her attention; she went back into the living room and scooped it up. The glow of the caller ID revealed who it was. Jenna pecked the screen.

  “Corey.”

  “Hey, sis, heard you were down at the church today asking questions.”

  She sighed and wandered into the kitchen and pulled out some cheese from the fridge.

  “Just following up on leads.”

  “You know all this digging around is liable to land you in hot water. I’ve already had to speak on your behalf.”

  “About?”

  “People are concerned. About your well-being.”

  She let out a chuckle. “No, they just don’t have anything better to do with their time than stick their nose into other people’s business.”

  “Funny you should say that as that’s exactly what they said about you.”

  “I’m a journalist, Corey, it’s my job.”

  “But it’s consuming you. I’ve never seen you like this. Surely, losing your job at the Times would have snapped you out of this…”

  “This?” She paused. “What are you saying, Corey?”

  He sighed. “I’m just concerned. I’m your brother; I have a right to be worried about you.”

  “I know.” She nodded before cutting into some cheese and pulling out a box of crackers from the cupboard and tipping it. Several slipped out and she pushed the phone into the crux of her neck.

  “Anyway, why the phone calls?”

  “I got word that Tim had seen Brenda on the night she went missing.”

  There was a pause, then a snort on the other end. “Please tell me you are not thinking what I think you are.”

  “I’m not saying he’s involved. But he runs the home for wayward women, and Brenda’s mother received a call from him a couple of days after she went missing to say that she’d swung by that night after seeing a client. She was acting erratic and wanted to speak. I just wanted to know what that conversation was about.”

  “You know as well as I do that he runs a very transparent program.”

  “Then there shouldn’t be any problem answering my questions. He doesn’t even pick up.”

  “He’s busy.”

  “You know that’s not true.”

  He sighed again. “There are people that handle these kinds of things, Jenna. The police.”

  “Yeah and a fine job they are doing of nailing this sicko.”

  “Sicko? They haven’t classed any of the recent discoveries as murders and according to the reports in the media, these women were known drug users. In fact, the jury is still out as to whether this wasn’t just some drug deal gone wrong. You know yourself the town is ripe with all manner of sin.”

  “Corey, this conversation isn’t going to turn into a sermon, is it? Because I really have a lot to do before tomorrow.”

  “If you showed up on Sundays, I wouldn’t need to. Anyway, what’s happening tomorrow?”

  “A friend is visiting. Someone who’ll give me a hand with the investigation.”

  He groaned. “For goodness’ sakes, get some sleep, Jenna. And call mom tomorrow. She’s been worried sick about you. Both of us have.”

  Chapter 3

  It was almost midnight when Jenna sat in front of her computer. She was still waiting on a message from one of the girls who had got in contact a couple days ago after responding to a post she’d left on the backpage.com website in the escorts section.

  Backpage was a free classified ads website similar to Kijiji or craigslist. According to those who knew the missing women, it was commonplace for women to post ads and connect with men looking for services. In one night they could earn what would take them two weeks slaving in some fast food joint. It was enticing to those with a drug habit and a vicious cycle for those needing cash. Once they’d gained a taste for how quick money could be made, walking away was tough even for those not on drugs. She kept refreshing her email, but no further messages came in. She wasn’t sure if the girl had got cold feet or if the recent murder of Norris had made her think twice about coming forward.

  The headline read: JOURNALIST SEEKS ESCORT FOR INFORMATION. Beneath that she had written: I am looking to speak with escorts who were offering services in Marlinton over the past two years and think they might have come across someone linked to the disappearance of the Green Bank Five. I have discovered a possible link and believe I know who may be responsible. All I require is someone to confirm my suspicion.

  It was a ballsy move. She was hanging it out there, baiting him to see it, by posting in the same hunting ground that other women had said he used to find the five. Jenna knew the risk involved, and it was possible that the recent letter and phone calls in the middle of the night had been him responding, taunting, and deciding what he would do next but she was at the end of her rope and tired of going around in circles. One minute she would think she was close to nailing whoever had done this, and the next it was like being back at square one. She needed to speak with someone.

  She stared at the screen. The last message she got from a girl named Meghan was dated two days ago. It was short and straight to the point.

  “I ha
ve information that might help. I will be in contact soon.”

  Soon? What did that mean? An hour, a day, a week?

  She wondered if she had scared her off. Maybe she thought she was a cop. Jenna nibbled at the corner of her thumb, a nervous habit she’d got from her mother. Her mind was awhirl with facts surrounding the case, and the statements released by the police. She didn’t understand why this wasn’t getting national attention and yet on the other hand, it made sense. Marlinton officials didn’t want to appear ignorant of the presence of a killer among them. The members of the Pocahontas County Sheriff Department had already had their name tainted on several occasions by allegations of heavy-handed policing and mistakes made in criminal investigations. Having a spotlight shone upon their work, or lack of it, was the last thing they wanted.

  Besides, these women were society’s write-offs who operated with burner phones, cash transactions, and multiple identifications. They breezed in and out of towns and cities; some operating independently, others pimped out. They were the kind of women that wouldn’t be missed. Drug users, single mothers, their lives had a track record as long as the black marks that littered their arms. The few that had confided in her had painted a dismal picture of their lives. They didn’t do anything beyond work. They had no hobbies, goals or fun. What they did was a matter of survival, a vicious cycle of earning cash to feed a drug habit.

  She blew out her cheeks and glanced at the time. She’d give it until just after midnight and then turn in. If she didn’t get some sleep, she would be of no use to Jack when he arrived. A scrap of paper on the table had his number on it. A friend of hers from New York knew someone who had hired him to find his daughter. They spoke well of him. For the most part he was liked and respected but more than anything, he was good at finding people and protecting those in need. The fact was she needed not only muscle but also someone with new insights, someone who could look at the case from a different angle. Admittedly she was too close to the case and without the team from the Times, she felt singled out, like a fish in a sea of sharks that was circling her and waiting for the right time to strike.

  Jenna thumbed through the flyers she had created and handed out in some of the sleaziest parts of town. She’d gone to bars, motels and even visited a local massage parlor that was rumored to be offering more than a massage. She’d posted them in windows, and on telephone poles. All of them were plastered with the faces and names of Rachel Dixon, Susan Holt, Paula Roberts, Dixie Stokes and Brenda Norris.

  Handing out flyers hadn’t come without a fair amount of heat from residents as well as local police who were getting complaints from those who felt it was bringing the town down. Soon, their faces started to disappear and all that was left was a few torn flyers on posts.

  Several times she had come close to giving up the search for answers. Not even her own mother or brother understood what she was trying to accomplish. It would have been easy to forget or turn a blind eye, just as the residents or police had, but after seeing the families, talking to them and holding framed photos of the victims, it strengthened her resolve.

  Another click on the keyboard to refresh her inbox. Nothing! Damn it. She got up and crossed into the kitchen to get another glass of wine. Pulling out her phone she flicked through the various photos of potential suspects. They each had a reason and yet in all honesty it could have been anyone. These women were seeing two or three guys a night, some even more. Outcalls, incalls, the escort section on backpage was like a buffet for a killer. As she poured another glass, she misjudged the amount of tilt and ended up splashing the counter. Shit. Frantically she looked around for some paper towel but was all out. The kitchen was a mess. The sink was full of microwave dinner trays. The trash bin was overflowing and badly in need of being emptied. She glanced around at the once-pristine apartment. She’d prided herself on being organized and keeping her home and workplace clean. She caught her reflection in the glass door. What are you doing? After wiping up the wine and tossing the dirty rag into the sink, she shuffled to her bedroom and collapsed on the futon. She was exhausted both mentally and physically. Was this really worth it? The doubts kept creeping in.

  Corey was right. This was consuming her and for what? This was the reason why she didn’t have a husband or boyfriend. Who would honestly put up with this? Even if she did manage to find out the truth, how would that change anything? Sure, the parents would get some closure, but the women would still be gone. Nothing would change that. She shook her head and allowed her eyelids to close.

  In that instant, her computer dinged. She opened one eye.

  No, leave it.

  But it could be her.

  Leave it, she told herself again.

  But the investigation could put an end to this killer.

  This went beyond the lives of five women. If someone didn’t catch him now, others would die and then she’d have that on her conscience. She couldn’t bear to think that she had got close and then bailed.

  Jenna pushed off the bed and went back to the living room and took a seat in front of the laptop. She rubbed her tired eyes and tapped a key to bring the computer to life. The glare of the light made her squint. She narrowed her eyes and focused on the message that came in from the girl.

  “Meet me tonight at twelve thirty and I’ll tell you what I know. I’m at the corner of Smith and Delta Road.”

  That was it. No description of what she looked like. Jenna glanced at the clock on her computer. The time was just after ten past twelve. Anxiously she bit down on her lip. This is what you’ve been waiting for. This could be the last chance you get. Go. Speak to her. Jenna scooped up the car keys off the counter and was about to dash out when she stopped and went back to the voice recorder, the backup hard drive and cell. She had no idea what she was getting herself into or who might be following her, for all she knew this could be some attempt to lure her out. Perhaps that’s how it was being done. Was a woman responsible? It would at least explain why none of the women had been sexually assaulted. Or was a woman being used as a means to lower their guards until they were out of earshot and then someone else stepped into the picture?

  The content she’d accumulated was too valuable to leave out in the open. She raised a hand to her mouth and bit down on a fingernail. They were worn down, barely visible. Thinking fast, she took the small voice recorder, hard drive and cell and entered her bathroom. Her eyes scanned the ceiling tiles. She got up on the toilet seat and pushed up one of them but then got back down. No, not there, she thought. That’s when she went back into the kitchen, placed them in a zip-lock bag, covered it with another one, then pushed it inside another plastic bag before heading back into her bathroom. She took the top off the back of the toilet and placed it inside the tank. It was above the water, tucked between the side and the valve. Once satisfied that it wouldn’t slip in, she covered the tank back up and put a vase of flowers on top of that.

  She felt she’d done her best to remain as anonymous as she could but there was no telling how sophisticated this killer was, or whether there was more than one. As she snatched up her keys and headed out, she chewed over the idea of there being a group involved in the abduction of the women. It certainly would have been easier to control them.

  Outside it was extraordinarily quiet, save for the crickets, frogs and forest critters that could be heard and the odd vehicle returning home in her neighborhood. It was drizzling; a fine layer of rain covered the windshield on her 2008 Ford Escape. She ducked out of the apartment block with a hand over her head and slipped into the vehicle.

  Jenna contemplated calling the cops, her brother, or a friend — anyone who she could at least tell where she was heading. Who knew what she was about to walk into? But they would only gripe, and the cops would think she was overreacting. She’d pretty much worn out her welcome to the point where she was sure they had blacklisted her number.

  Five minutes later she was pulled onto Delta Road 1. It was just off Route 39. All around, smothering the
landscape were thick fern and oak trees. Not a smidgen of light was in the sky that night. No moon. No stars. It was like death itself had drifted in and swallowed up the small town.

  Jenna gripped the wheel so tight her knuckles turned white. The headlights splashed across the road capturing the silhouette of a pitiful-looking figure off to the right. The rain was now coming down harder, and she had her wipers on full speed. As she got closer, she could tell it was the woman. She was about five seven with protruding features. The rain plastered hair to her face and drenched her clothes. She eased off the gas and veered off to the hard shoulder. The door opened, and she got in shaking off droplets of water. She flashed a grin and under the glow of the inside light Jenna could see she was a meth user. Her teeth were badly in need of a dentist, though her face was pretty. It was a sad state.

  “Meghan?” Jenna asked. She nodded.

  “Drive on.”

  Jenna pulled out and kept an eye on the woman by shooting her a sideways glance every so often. What are you doing inviting a stranger into your vehicle after midnight? This is insane, she thought. Meghan’s makeup was running. She pulled out a case from her purse and flipped the visor down. A small light either side of the mirror provided just enough illumination to allow her to clean her face.