Daddy's Home

by A. K. Alexander

  He caught himself saying the words out loud.

  The hottie who’d been pushing the kid on the swing a few minutes ago was walking by and gave him a funny look. He noticed another one of those damn wedding rings. He had rules about married women.

  What to do? What to do? Watch and wait, and hope the perfect woman and the perfect kid walked on by. That was exactly what he was looking for.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Holly pulled into the Golden Hill neighborhood—not the best in town, not the worst. The house was an old Craftsman style, probably built somewhere between the twenties and thirties when McDonald Douglas was busy building war planes in San Diego, preparing for World War II. It looked pleasant, as if someone was an avid gardener, and the woodwork around the house had obviously been refinished. Roses abounded in the front, including climbing roses surrounding the porch entry.

  When she stepped outside her car door, the scent of jasmine and roses hit her. Looking at the quaint little house, no one would ever think that atrocious violence could occur here.

  Taking a look around, she noticed the typical gathering of neighbors that appear when police cars arrive and a scene is roped off with the telltale yellow tape. She flashed her badge at a rookie guarding the entrance and walked up the porch steps. Before entering, she turned around, faced the street, looked hard into the faces of the curious. Are you out there? Did you come back here to watch us? She doubted it. Many times an UNSUB would make his way back to the scene of the crime to relive the experience. But something told her, not this guy. What were you thinking when you climbed these steps? What the hell did you want? She knew that was a rhetorical question. What he wanted was obvious and clearly demented. He wanted blood, and he was most definitely a sexual predator. She hoped he had not abused the child. She would not know that until they all met with the medical examiner.

  A neighborhood like this was filled with nosy neighbors. That much she was sure of. There were quite a few elderly people, and she knew that at least one of them had to be the neighborhood watchdog. She would have to weed out who that might be. Maybe somebody saw something.

  As she passed through the entryway, she noted that the house appeared even more charming than the yard. It looked as though the woman who’d kept this home might have subscribed to Martha Stewart Living. Apple-cinnamon potpourri filled the air, but there was a staleness to it. The house couldn’t have been occupied in days, maybe a week. Now officers tromped through it. She scanned the French country living room for Chad. He saw her first and waved her over. As she entered the room, she could see that the bay windows faced a canyon. Is that how you got in?

  “There is no sign of forced entry,” Chad said. “And there is no trace of blood, nothing that indicates violence.”

  Holly nodded. “He did a good job cleaning up.”

  “Or else he didn’t kill them here,” Chad replied.

  “Possible. Do you have anyone talking to the neighbors yet?”

  “Your favorite man is at work,” he said, referring to Robb. “He just arrived after I spoke with you, and he told me that the scene out east is wrapped. There are still a few black and whites hanging out. He told them to keep the tape up, not knowing if you might want to come back out and take a look.”

  “Oh, and I’m sure he referred to me in the kindest way possible,” Holly said.

  “One can only guess, but, yes, he does make it quite clear to anyone who’ll listen that you are not his favorite of ladies.”

  “Asshole.”

  “You know it.”

  “Good thinking on getting him out of this house and scrounging up the neighbors for answers. I get tired of the brow beating. I like you more and more each day. Keeping Carpenter out of my hair is a very good move. So do you think our killer came in through a back door? Do any of the locks look jimmied?”

  “Actually, no. We did find a window cracked open in the kitchen. It also faces the canyon. We’re dusting for fingerprints right now.”

  Holly followed Chad into the small kitchen that looked cleaner than hers had ever been. “Our man knows how to cover his tracks really well. Today was the first time the housekeeper had come back since last week?”

  “Yep. She cleans every Tuesday. But from what she says, there’s really no need to. The woman was immaculate, and all the housekeeper did was the extras like the oven, the windows, and laundry. She said this gal was a neat freak.”

  “Uh huh. That’s apparent. Who’s talking to the housekeeper?”

  “Maureen did. But she sent her home. Apparently she was pretty shaken when she found out that the woman and child had been killed.”

  “I’ll have to swing by her place and speak with her. She may be able to give us a better insight into who this family was and the kind of people the mother hung out with. I suppose it’s not likely we got any prints, then?” she asked the tech who was going over the dining area with the fingerprint kit.

  “Not a one. He wore gloves. I’m almost positive.”

  “He left something of himself in this house,” she replied. After pulling on her own set of Latex, she picked up a photograph of the victims. Mother and daughter smiling into the camera, Mickey Mouse standing next to them. They both had the same smile with dimples on either side. They presented a perfect picture of happiness.

  You bastard. I will get you.

  “What were their names?”

  “The mother was Shannon McKay, and the little girl was Sara. We’re still checking on a dad. Neighbors confirmed they divorced four years ago and that he moved back East. He’s already been contacted and is on a flight out here.”

  “Okay. Let’s get this place squared away. There has to be a trace somewhere, a hair, a fiber, something. Go through it with a fine-tooth comb. I think you might be right. I don’t think he killed them here, but he did something here, and I want to know what, and how in the hell he got them out of here. There’s got to be a neighbor who witnessed something. Have Carpenter find out. Have you found where Shannon kept her paperwork?”

  “There’s a secretary desk in her room. I haven’t gone through it yet.”

  “I’ll do that. She should have stuff from her daughter’s school, the bills she pays, etcetera.” All the things that Holly herself would have. “She might even have info about one of those dating services. Our last woman was linked to one. We need to re-check that angle.”

  “Do you think it’s someone that she knew?”

  “I think anything is possible. I’m not ruling out that she answered the door for him and let him in herself. I think this guy fits into society in some way. He knows how to blend in. His psyche is warped, but he blends all right. It means he’s smart and knows exactly what he’s doing. He is extremely calculating. He likes the kids, not just their moms. Maybe I was wrong at our other scene when I said that it isn’t about the children. Maybe it’s only about the children, and he kills the mother for getting in the way. It would be her natural instinct to protect her child. When she does, he becomes outraged. I don’t know.” Holly shrugged her shoulders. “I guess it’s another theory to suggest to Brooke,” she said, referring to the staff psychiatrist, Dr. Brooke Madison. “The other family was what, only three, four miles from here?”

  “Three point seven.”

  “Damn, you’re good.” She winked at him. “Like I said, let’s scope the local schools. Hey, you said he left something for us.”

  Chad smacked himself on the forehead. “Shit. I almost forgot. Where’s the letter?” he called out.

  “A letter?” Holly’s mental wheels started working. This could be a big break for them. Before going into police work, Holly had been a nurse for the criminally insane. She hadn’t worked the psychiatric ward, but she had learned enough to play couch shrink. She attributed her reliably good intuition on criminal cases to what she had learned those couple of years working in the prison. It was also one of the reasons she believed that she had moved up the job ladder as rapidly as she had.

  Chad no
dded his head.

  “I’ve got it tagged and bagged,” said Maureen Baldwin.

  “Can I see it?” Holly asked.

  The tall redhead with a knockout figure walked over carrying a clear bag with a piece of paper inside it. “Get a load of this,” she said in a husky voice.

  Holly took it and, through the plastic, read what the UNSUB had written.

  Dear Sirs,

  I’m sorry that things turned out like this. I really did love my family, and I would never hurt them on purpose, especially my daughter Sara. She was so beautiful and sweet, and I know that she really loved me. But Shannon had a mind of her own, and for some reason turned her back on me. So I had to do what I had to do. I think any daddy in my situation would have done the same thing. I am very sorry.

  Fondly,

  THE VERY BEST DADDY

  P.S. I will find love again.

  A cold shiver raced down Holly’s backside. “This fuck is sicker than I thought. Does he actually think he’s the husband and father here? I mean, we know it wasn’t the real father who killed them. We also know that Patricia Collins’ husband died a couple of years ago in a car accident. Not to mention, if he didn’t kill them here, then he either came back here and wrote this after the fact, or the whole thing was planned from the beginning. He left the note, then took them and did the deed. I don’t get this at all. Why in the hell did he leave this? Sorry? He isn’t sorry at all. And I wouldn’t be shocked if he hasn’t already sought out a new set of victims. We’ve got to find him fast. He’s baiting us.”

  “We’re going to get a handwriting analysis on this,” Maureen said.

  “Good.”

  “Jennings, media just showed up,” Robb Carpenter yelled as he sauntered through the front door.

  “Damn.”

  “They want you.”

  She looked at Chad. He shook his head. She hated the media. Usually the chief did these things, but his wife was at the very end of a difficult pregnancy, and he was with her at the hospital.

  “Hey, Holly, I’ll do it. I know how you feel about those maggots,” Maureen said.

  Holly sighed. “Thanks. Don’t give them much, please.” Holly hoped she wouldn’t regret this decision. She didn’t think that Maureen was really after her job. But when it came to camera crews and inquisitive reporters, Holly got tongue-tied. She always tripped herself up, and Greenfield would be on her ass. Yes, sending Maureen out to the wolves was truly the best bet for herself and her job security.

  She watched Maureen walk briskly past the smirking Carpenter and step outside. Holly stood at the front door—within earshot but out of sight.

  At once, questions were hurled at Maureen from a swarm of reporters. “Where are the bodies, Detective? Is it true he’s a serial killer? What are you calling him?”

  “The Family Man,” one of them shouted.

  Oh, God. Now I’m really in trouble. Holly knew it was bad once the media coined a name or phrase to attach to the killer. Who was the jerk who had called in the vultures? If it was someone on the force and she found out who, she’d burn ‘em alive.

  Maureen held up both her hands, still in the rubber gloves, and said loudly above the din, “Listen, there is an on-going investigation. We do not have a lot of answers yet. No, I cannot confirm whether or not this is a serial situation. That is all I have to say for now. I’m certain the department will be arranging for a press conference as soon as possible. Until then, please be conservative with your comments.”

  Maureen handled the reporters beautifully. However, Holly knew it was highly unlikely the news crews would curtail their reporting. The media was all about sensationalizing. Maybe there was a reporter or two out there who would heed her advice. Doubtful. By the time the story hit the papers and TV news that evening, it would be hugely blown up, and the San Diego community would be frightened, outraged, and rightfully paranoid. It would be a community up in arms. One Holly really was not ready to deal with, and she knew that her boss would feel the same way. The Chief also shied away from the media as much as he could, but appearing before the cameras came with the job, and lately he’d had plenty of his share of media exposure in this town with the high profile cases that had happened here over the last few years. Holly would have no choice but to give the media a press release. Chief Greenfield had way too much on his plate with his wife’s pregnancy right now.

  She turned around and muttered to the uniformed officer on the porch. “See if you can’t get them to back off for me. Explain that we really have a job to do here.”

  “Yes, Ma’am.”

  “You can call me Holly or Detective.”

  He nodded, his southern drawl giving him away as he touched his forefinger to his cap in a quick salute. He was far more respectful than most of the cops. They still had a hard time coping with her gender. She and Maureen would go out over beers occasionally and joke about it. They laughingly called it the power of a certain female part and rolled their eyes at how it truly scared the shit out of men.

  Maureen came back inside the house. “Good work, Detective,” Holly said. “Want to grab a beer when we wrap?” It was a good idea to watch your back by maintaining tight friendships on the force.

  “Yeah,” Chad said. “Brooke and I are heading over to The Tavern around six, if it works out. You guys up for it?”

  “Sure,” Maureen said. “After today, I’m gonna need a stiff one.”

  “I’m not touching that at all,” Holly said. “I can grab a drink with you, but just one. I’ve got to pick up Chloe at a friend’s house. He’s also expecting me for dinner.” Holly realized that she’d slipped when Maureen and Chad exchanged curious glances. “No, no, don’t you two get any ideas. He’s a friend from Chloe’s school. His daughter is in the same class.”

  “Sure,” Maureen said. “Nice cover.”

  Chad winked at her.

  “Let’s get back to work, Cupid and his side-kick. I want to get this letter to Psych and see what the good doctor has to say about our UNSUB.” She tapped the sealed evidence with her finger, reading it again.

  “What do you mean?” Maureen asked.

  “I think we need to expect some overtime on this. The media is on it like flies on fresh shit. Once this is all out in the open, it will get ugly out there until we get this sicko. I think I’ll walk the scene. See what I get. Has anyone called Shannon McKay’s parents?”

  “Not yet,” Chad replied looking down at the ground.

  She knew that was going to fall on her shoulders, and she dreaded it.

  “But they have called her several times. Their messages sound worried, and they were planning for her to drive up north for Thanksgiving. I checked their locale. Looks like they’re up in the Napa area. You might want to play that last message.”

  Holly saw the blinking light on an answering machine hooked up to a kitchen phone. She pressed play. There were messages from a few friends. She jotted down their names. One said that they wanted to stop by, but since Shannon had the week off, she assumed she’d taken Sara up to Napa early. The woman on the machine, named Judy, jokingly said that she was a little peeved at Shannon for not letting her know that she was going away, and that she would’ve gladly looked after Petie. Holly wrote down the names “Judy” and “Petie.”

  “Any trace of a kitty or dog?”

  “There’s a dog bowl, but no dog. He must’ve taken off.”

  “Any photos of the dog?”

  “One over there.” Chad pointed to a side table next to the sofa.

  Holly walked over and picked it up. Another snapshot of Shannon and Sara at Christmas time. A Yorkie Terrier with a small Santa hat on its head sat on Sara’s lap. “I need to get the vet’s number. I better check those records. If she was as organized with her records as she was this house, we might find something. Maybe our man has the dog. We know he likes to take things.”

  Holly slowly crept through the house. She drowned out the voices and activity going on around her as best she cou
ld. She would probably have to come back once the chaos died down, but maybe she would get something now.

  The house was small, a two bedroom with one bath. She came to Sara’s room first and swallowed hard at the sight of Barbie’s Townhouse, the same one Chloe had. This was a little girl like most little girls—like her little girl. An emotional surge rushed through her, and she fought hard to hold it back. Holly wanted to catch this fucker, now more than anything she had ever wanted. She needed to wipe him off the face of the earth, because he killed children. She knew in her gut and mind, down to her soul in fact, that he wouldn’t hesitate to kill her own child if given the chance.

  Chloe’s face flashed through Holly’s mind. She had no choice but to go forward and dedicate herself to tracking and killing this monster herself. This was more than a murder case. Equating Sara McKay with her own daughter made this a personal quest.

  Sara liked Barbies, and she liked to draw and paint, which was evident by the various illustrations throughout the house. Some of them were taped on the walls, some in frames. All put up, Holly was certain, by a proud mother. It reminded her of her own home, which, too, had some charm and definite age to it. It was in the Loma Portal area of town where there remained some Old Spanish style homes and a few scattered Craftsman houses—very similar to this part of town. Holly was known to decorate with Chloe’s artwork, and seeing the pictures that adorned the walls of a dead little girl’s house tugged at her hard. The reaction alarmed her. Distant. Stay distant. You can’t get involved like this. Emotions had to be shut down. She was good at that. But it was hard to do in this situation.

  Holly walked into the room. A canopy bed with floral duvet was the first thing she noticed. It looked expensive, handmade, nothing like what you might buy at a department store or outlet. I don’t think Shannon had a lot of money, but she definitely wanted the best for this child.