Killing Streak

by Merit Clark

  The Day-Timer calendars used to come in distinctive gray binders with slipcases so they could be neatly arranged on a bookshelf. Corie strode to the glass-fronted lawyer shelves and found they weren’t locked.

  Not wanting to make Mallard more suspicious than necessary, Corie decided to only take two sets of calendars: the year of Monique’s death and the year after. Her fingers shook as she opened the metal binder rings, pulled out the loose-leaf pages, and shoved them into her purse. She expected Evan to storm in at any second. He had a kind of sixth sense, like the way he surprised her Friday in their home office.

  Corie replaced the binders neatly on the shelf and stared at them for a moment. She would tell Jack about the office so he could write a proper warrant. Hopefully the duck wouldn’t make a call and Evan wouldn’t have a chance to destroy everything first.

  Mallard was at her desk leafing through a magazine and Corie thanked her on the way out the door. It took restraint not to run for her car.

  Chapter 53

  Jack and Serena were in their car on their way back to the station when Mike called. “Got a tip from Crime Stoppers that Leonard Funderburk’s holed up at a motel down on Arapahoe Road.”

  Jack took down the address and exchanged a glance with Serena.

  “That’s right near Centennial airport,” she said.

  Jack executed a U-turn on Broadway and turned on his lights. “No commercial flights out of there. It’s general aviation, corporate jets, and charters.”

  Serena frowned. “Len charter himself a plane? Or did someone do that for him?”

  “Evan.”

  “Jessie as much as said he ran Len out of town on a rail. Maybe she meant flew him out.”

  It was another fucking chess game. What move had Evan executed this time? “Wherever Len’s headed you can bet Evan is sending him there.”

  The motel was a dreary, three-story brick building with a parking lot on the west side. Len had a room on the second floor. The room’s drapes were closed and there was a plastic “Do Not Disturb” placard hanging from the metal doorknob. The manager told them that Len was due to checkout by eleven.

  They tried calling the room and then Len’s cell phone but got no answer. Jack had requested backup, and he gave instructions to the officers on how he wanted them to position themselves.

  “Is his car here?” one officer asked.

  “He doesn’t seem to have one,” Jack said. “Apparently he transported himself here magically. He told me he didn’t live in any one place like us mere mortals. He’s a citizen of the world.”

  “World’s about to get a lot smaller,” Serena said.

  “Let’s do this,” Jack said.

  The motel manager swiped a plastic room key in the lock and then leapt out of the way. Len hadn’t fastened the interior security bolt and the door swung open. Inside, the small room was empty and the bed unmade. Wordlessly, Serena pointed out the suitcases near the door. They heard the shower running. Jack nodded at Serena and then moved in that direction.

  His right hand flat against the bathroom door, Jack eased it open as the water in the shower stopped running. Metal rings jangled against the shower rod as Len pulled the flimsy plastic curtain aside and came face-to-face with Jack’s .45.

  “Oh shit!” Len shouted, and his feet scrabbled on the slick porcelain as he instinctively tried to run away from the gun. Somehow he managed to remain standing. He tried vainly to cover himself with the curtain but his hands shook too badly to be effective. Yellow rivulets snaked down his leg and then toward the tub drain.

  “Good thing for you you’re already in the shower,” Jack said.

  “Jessie Markham isn’t going to be thrilled to learn she let a murderer into her home.” Jack slapped a manila folder down on the table in front of Len Funderburk in the interview room.

  “I’m not a murderer. She knows that.” But there was no defiance in Len’s voice. His handcuffed hands were in his lap and he slumped in the metal chair.

  “Really? Because she didn’t seem all that thrilled with you when I talked to her earlier.”

  Len sat up straighter. “What did she say? Is she all right?”

  Jack would let Len worry about Jessie’s feelings. “In addition to being a person of interest in Brice Shaughnessy’s homicide, your DNA is a match for a sample taken from the scene of Monique Lawson’s butchering.”

  Len’s eyes followed Jack as the detective pulled out a chair and sat down. He never questioned how Jack had obtained his DNA.

  “Let’s talk about Brice for a minute. I’m assuming he found out you killed Monique?”

  Len spoke in a small voice. “No, I didn’t. And Brice was my friend.”

  “Tell me about that. When we first talked, you said you didn’t know Brice.”

  “I didn’t know him back then.”

  “You need to stop playing games. It doesn’t look good.”

  Len reached up awkwardly and scratched his head. His hair was still damp from the shower at the motel. “I came to Colorado with Brice but I didn’t get to know him until recently. And I never hurt Monique. I couldn’t. You have to believe me.”

  “What will help me do that is for you to tell me everything about your relationship with Brice, how you came to Colorado with him, how you met Jessie.” Jack felt a strange calm settle in his belly. Not an unfamiliar feeling. He had to parse Len’s lies and that was something he knew how to do.

  Everything about Len’s posture indicated defeat, from the way he slouched in the chair to the way he wouldn’t make eye contact. He spoke to the table. “Years after—after that happened—I finally stopped drinking. That’s when I connected with Brice. Would I have befriended Brice if I killed his sister?”

  “Stranger things have happened.”

  Reluctantly, Len looked up and the story slowly came out. “Like I told you the first time we talked, I met Jessie in North Carolina. I was teaching a writing workshop she attended. It’s a great way to pick up women. Mostly women go to those things and they look at you as some kind of guru.

  “Last fall Brice came to one of my writing workshops, too. He thought it would be healthy to write about his memories and I agreed. That’s how he met Jessie. They hit it off right away. Brice was young and handsome and artistic. Jessie seemed drawn to him because of the tragedy. She encouraged him to talk about Monique.”

  Len suddenly snapped out of his memories and terror was plain on his face. “You’re not going to tell Evan about any of this, are you?”

  “No. This stays between us.” Trust me, you piece of shit. And then I’ll hang you.

  “Jessie likes to get high. Creative people, you know? But she doesn’t want Evan to find out.”

  “I hear Brice liked that, too.”

  “Yeah, he did.” Len hesitated, and then under Jack’s benign, friendly guidance, warmed to his story and picked up steam.

  “Jessie’s older but she’s cool. And she’s still hot. One night during the workshop, the three of us sat up late talking and Jessie said, ‘You know my son was living in Charlotte at that time.’ I thought that was weird. She asked a lot of questions about Monique’s murder. A lot. She seemed really bent about it. We were in the mountains and we had a fire going. She took Brice in her arms and held him like a baby, and both of them cried together. Of course, we were all pretty stoned. Then she said that Brice had to figure it out. That he’d never have any peace if he didn’t. She said, ‘I have money, I’ll help you. Come to Colorado.’”

  “It was Jessie’s idea?”

  “Yeah, the whole thing. She knew Evan’s wife was taking these psychology classes. She thought it would be a good idea for Brice to do that, too. She’s all into facing your truth and figuring yourself out. She introduced Corie to Brice. It was really a big deal to her that we all be friends.”

  Jessie introduced Corie to Brice? What the fuck? Was Corie still lying to him? Or was Len? “Corie Markham told me she met Brice in the class.”

  “Well yeah,
that’s true, but Jessie engineered the whole thing. She made sure they met each other.”

  “Corie also never mentioned that Brice was friends with Jessie.”

  “Really? That’s weird.” Len shrugged. “Maybe she’s afraid of Evan, too. God knows I am.”

  “So you do know who killed Brice?” Outwardly Jack was still calm, his voice soothing.

  Len shook his head rapidly. “No, no, no. Neither of us had any idea. Jessie and I were so scared. I’m worried sick about her. I agreed to leave when Evan asked me to because I thought that would help Jessie. Oh man. What a mess.”

  “I don’t like Evan much either.” Another smile. “It would really help if you could remember exactly what Evan said to you.”

  “He told me he didn’t want me around his mother anymore. That I was a bad influence. That she’s very fragile and couldn’t be dragged into something like this, and that my being questioned by the police was the final straw. He also asked me if I killed Brice, then he asked me about Monique.”

  “He knew about Monique?”

  Len stared at Jack with wide, frightened eyes. “All about it. He asked me where I lived back then and I lied. He accused me of knowing more than I did. When he told me that he’d help me if I cooperated and left his mother alone, I agreed. Tell Jessie I’m sorry.”

  “How was Evan going to get you out of town?”

  “He told me a friend of his had a plane and could fly me, but it would take a day or two to set up. He said it wouldn’t be good for me to try and leave on my own. That you’d, you know, be watching cars and the regular airport and stuff. He told me it would upset Jessie too much if I got caught, and that he couldn’t abide—that was his word—he couldn’t abide his mother being upset any more than she already was.”

  “That sounds like Evan.” Jack paused for effect and relished the spark of hope that leapt into Len’s eyes when he said the next thing. “I’m inclined to believe you. But there’s a detective headed out here from North Carolina who may not be so open-minded.”

  “I remember the detectives.”

  “They didn’t like you very much, did they?”

  Len gave a quick, sharp shake of his head. “No. They made me feel guilty, even when I wasn’t.”

  “See, that’s too bad. You don’t get the truth that way.” Jack leaned forward, arms on his knees, and rolled his chair closer. “While that plane’s in the air, the one with the North Carolina detective in it, that’s your window of opportunity to tell me exactly what happened the night Monique Lawson was killed. To help me understand.”

  Len nodded. “Anything.”

  “Here’s the problem, Len.” Jack pushed a piece of paper on the table closer so Len could read it. “That’s a DNA report. I’m showing you this because it’s one of the main reasons you were arrested. Your DNA is a match, a conclusive match, for what was found at the scene near Monique’s body.”

  “Oh crap.” Len looked away and wiped at his eyes.

  “That plane’s on its way here.”

  “I was there.”

  Jack wasn’t sure he heard him right. “Excuse me?”

  “I was there.” Len’s voice faded to a whisper and Jack had to strain to hear him. “I went over to her house. I found her like that.”

  “Why didn’t you ever tell anyone?” Jack asked.

  “I wasn’t supposed to be driving. I didn’t have a license—it was suspended. That’s why I didn’t tell the police. I didn’t want to go to jail.”

  “You’d been drinking. And then she rejected you. You got angry, I can see that.”

  “No. I just wanted to see her. I sat outside her house staring at her windows, longing for a glimpse. Not like a stalker, but, oh hell I guess I was. I was in love with her. I used to go over and sit outside her house in my car. God, I was pathetic. That night, I sat there for a while and I didn’t see any movement behind the drapes. I got worried and decided to see if she was okay.”

  For a minute Len couldn’t continue. He buried his face in his hands again and Jack saw his shoulders heave. When he looked back at Jack his eyes were red.

  “I was going to tell her that her granddad asked me to check on her. I don’t know. But she didn’t answer the door. I called for her and I tried the handle. The door was unlocked which was weird. I walked inside and she was there in the kitchen. I saw all the blood.”

  “Why didn’t you call for help?” Jack asked.

  “I told you. Because I didn’t have a license and I’d been drinking. Her grandfather had already warned me that if I screwed up one more time, I was history. The phone was off the hook and I thought maybe she’d already called the cops, so I hightailed it out of there.

  “But Monique . . . Jesus. Did you see what they did to her? I lost it. I puked.” Tears streaked down Len’s tanned face and he shook his left hand, as if trying to shake something off in futility. “I got sick and I tried to clean it up. But I’m a different person now. You have to believe me.”

  Jack kept the excitement out of his voice. “You got sick and you took the time to try and clean it up, even with her lying there like that. You can see how that doesn’t look good.”

  “She was already dead.”

  “Did you touch her? Did you check her pulse?”

  Len shook his head.

  “You tried to clean up your mess but you didn’t do anything for her, a woman you say you loved?”

  “Now do you understand why I said the other day I feel as if I need to atone?”

  “Did you see anyone when you were watching the house?” Jack asked.

  “No. I only saw one car and it was when I was driving away. I thought for sure they were going to bust me. I kept waiting for the call. But it never came. No one, not even Brice, ever found out I was there. Until now.” Len sniffled and wiped at his eyes again. “I really did love her.”

  “Would you be willing to take a lie detector test?”

  The look on Len’s face was pathetically eager.

  Chapter 54

  At the hospital, Jack undressed and got into position on the metal table. He’d left his cell phone on the bench in the dressing room and he heard it buzzing. Dom had gotten him all arranged, including the clamshell thing clamped onto his groin, but Jack rolled onto his side to get up. He’d left messages for Jessie and the Charlotte detectives. “I have to get that.”

  “You know the drill.” Dom’s voice was firm. “We’re all ready to go. You’ll be done in five minutes and then you can get back to saving humanity.”

  With a disgusted sigh, Jack lay back again, the table ice cold against bare skin. Corie had kept her half of the bargain so here he was, against his better judgment, keeping his.

  He stared at the white tiles on the ceiling, as he had a dozen times before, and counted the perforations in a square. He wondered if they were asbestos. He wondered if this was what an autopsy table felt like. He wondered a million irrelevant things, and then he closed his eyes and listened to the machines whir. As the unseen radiation hit its mark, Jack imagined he could see the cell destruction, healthy cells dying, his body revolting. How long before the nausea hit this time? How could this possibly be good for him?

  As soon as Dom walked back into the room and released him, Jack jumped up and grabbed his phone. Aranda. He wondered if she’d heard from Evan and what Roger had decided to do. When Jack called her back it went to voice mail.

  Outside, snow was falling and exhaustion hit Jack with such sudden weight his shoulders sagged. He walked slowly to his car while, in his mind, all of the players in the case arranged themselves like pieces on a chess board. Brice dead. Vangie dead. Len and Shaun in custody. Evan was somewhere. Corie was safe, at least for now.

  He made her his excuse for going home first instead of directly back to the station. Traffic inched along, and a drive that ordinarily took fifteen minutes consumed almost forty. He called Jessie again and this time she answered on the second ring. She asked about Len.

  “He’s fine. He
said to tell you he was sorry to cause you concern.”

  “Oh.”

  Jack could picture her wide green eyes and her hand pressed to her chest. “I was wondering if there was any way we could talk further.”

  Again, she surprised him. “Yes, of course. Anything I can do to help. When?”

  He calculated additional time for the snow and the stop at home. “I can be there in an hour and a half, if that’s not too late.”

  “No, of course not. Is Len . . . is he spending the night in jail?”

  “I’m afraid so, Jessie.” Jack debated and then decided against asking if she’d heard from Evan. She was still his mother after all, and would likely want to help her son. No need to make her any more suspicious than she already was.

  When Jack got home, Corie’s car wasn’t there and all the lights were off. Fuck. But Jack didn’t have time to process his reaction. He barely opened his back door before he had to run for the bathroom. What the hell? This was faster than usual. A wave of misery hit him after the nausea. Was this normal? Were they doing it right?

  Goddamn Corie. Why had he listened to her? After several lurching trips to the bathroom, and sickness that felt like he was being scraped raw from the inside out, he collapsed onto the couch feeling thoroughly sorry for himself. His mind whirled, replaying the interview. Was Len telling the truth? Why had Jessie tried to help Brice, and why was she so willing to talk to Jack? On the coffee table, Jack’s cell phone shuddered and he stared at it dumbly. He had too much to do to be sick. He had to find Corie. He had to get up, answer his goddamn phone, get to Jessie’s. He ordered himself to toughen up but his body didn’t listen. Jack had never been this sick before. Was it because he skipped an appointment? One second he felt leaden and exhausted, the next moment sickness was shooting up his throat like a geyser and he barely made it to the bathroom. It had to stop soon. Had to.

  Didn’t it?

  Chapter 55

  Aranda immediately regretted leaving her coat in the car and hugged her short cashmere sweater tighter around her. Her legs were bare and her heels were high, and she was freezing. Her skirt hiked up when she climbed down from Roger’s Lincoln Navigator, and she tugged at it as she picked her way across the dirt parking lot toward the trailer that housed the temporary construction office. Another D’Ambrose resort under development in the foothills west of Denver with thirty-six PGA-worthy holes. The forecast called for snow, a lot of it, and Aranda’s thin sweater was no shield against the stiff mountain wind.