If It Walks Like A Killer (The Carolina Killer Files #1)
Page 19
“We do not have the money, Rachael. We’re managing, yes. We’re better off than this time last year, but we aren’t this comfortable yet.”
“Then take back whatever you got me, if you’re so worried about money.”
“Of course I am. You spend it as quickly as I can bring it in.”
Rachael slapped him. “Don’t you do that. Don’t you act like you’re the only one bringing in money here. I work hard.”
“When you work. When you aren’t cancelling class because Audrey is fighting with John again, or when you aren’t taking in charity cases, doing lessons for free, or buying your students expensive gifts. At least six of your twenty students are coming for free and you’re buying their little outfits and shoes and whatever the hell else they need.”
“Lucy’s mom has leukemia, Caide. She can’t afford lessons anymore, and Amber’s mom does pay whenever she can, she has two other kids she’s supporting all on her own. Chloe’s mom, I’ve told you about her, there’s always some new boyfriend picking her up from practice. I like knowing she has something stable in her life. Jasmine—”
He held his hand up. “I get it. They all deserve your help. I’m not saying you don’t work. I don’t even want to be on this subject.”
“No, you’d much rather talk about how we don’t have a family, right? How we’re alone so we should just give up? That’ll be a great lesson to teach our daughter, huh?”
“Just drop it, Rachael. Keep the damn outfit. Forget I said anything.”
Tears were in her eyes then, Caide had known it couldn’t be over. “You want me to forget that you called our life a joke? That you said we were fooling ourselves?”
“Don’t use my words against me. I only meant that it’d be different if we were going somewhere to visit family, if we were leaving the house at all. But I said it’s fine. Just don’t worry about it.”
“No, Caide, you know what? You’re absolutely right. It’s pointless to try to do anything special for holidays. They should be reserved for families. See, I was under the impression that we were a family. Since you’ve made it so abundantly clear that we have no family don’t even bother coming to Christmas at all. I’m sure it’ll be nothing special.”
She’d stormed out of the room, he’d heard her sobs only minutes later from behind their bedroom door. Of course, he did come to Christmas and the outfit was only worn for less than an hour, no pictures were ever developed, and over half of the dinner was tossed out a week later.
He hadn’t seen the outfit since, until now of course. He’d assumed she’d thrown it out years ago. Caide rubbed his hands over the rough corduroy, remembering that day. His fingers felt a lump in the left pocket.
He dug into the pocket until his fingers connected with something cool and smooth. He pulled it out and scrunched his brow. A key? A small golden key. There was no key chain, no label, nothing at all to tell Caide what the key belonged to or to warn him of the secrets it would uncover. He ran his hands through the drawer again and then through all the others, checking to be sure there wasn’t a hidden lock somewhere. He hurriedly searched Brinley’s closet, overturning totes and checking every pocket in sight, but found nothing to end his search. Caide let out a disappointed sigh, he folded the pants back neatly and returned them to their hiding place before sliding the key into his pocket. He left the closet, carrying an outfit for Brinley back to the bathroom. He told himself he’d come back and search every inch of the house and Rachael’s studio too if he had to. He had to find out exactly what it was Rachael had to hide.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Avery
Jeanna Avery sat in her office. It had been a slow day, slow enough that she’d opened up a bottle of wine and was starting on her third glass when a knock sounded on her door. She hurriedly shut the file that lay open on her desk, corked the bottle of wine, and cursed herself for sending her secretary home early.
“Come in.”
Her door crept open slowly and a short woman with short, graying blonde curls walked in. She wore a black pant suit with a flowery pink blouse underneath it. Her neck boasted a set of pearls to match her large earrings. Avery stood, offering her hand.
“I’m Jeanna Avery. I don’t believe we’ve met.”
“Good afternoon, Ms. Avery. My name is Martha Abbott.”
“Martha Abbott? As in Abbott Jewelers? As in Caide Abbott’s mother?”
“The very one.” Martha smiled warmly.
Avery gestured toward the chair in front of her desk, letting her guest sit before she did.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Abbott. What can I do for you?”
Martha sat her purse on her lap, pressing her hands gently on top of it. “I’m here because I have some information for you. Information that may help you win your case.”
“I see. And what were you hoping to get in return?”
Martha laughed out loud. “I think you misunderstand. I don’t want anything other than for you to win this case.”
“Let me get this straight, you actually want me to win? You do realize that would mean your daughter-in-law going to prison, right?”
“Of course.”
“Okay. So I’m assuming you have some evidence for me?”
“My son called me the other day and we discussed this dreadful case. The things he had to say about his wife were dreadful. Something has to be done.” She frowned.
“Mrs. Abbott, Caide has already been on the stand. If he had something to say, that was his chance. I won’t have another opportunity to call a witness. I’m sorry you wasted a trip down here.”
“That’s no problem, you see, my son won’t agree to say what he’s told me to anyone else. He’s always been very loyal.”
Yeah, obviously. Avery thought sarcastically back to the security tapes.
“He’s just afraid of what it’ll do to his wife,” Martha continued.
“So what was your plan then? I can’t just take your word for it. That won’t stand in court and even if it did, I’ve told you I have no more witnesses.”
“Actually, I was thinking of making this known to a larger audience. Much larger.”
“You were going to go to the press? Mrs. Abbott, with all due respect, you said your son doesn’t want to talk about it. How do you plan to get him to open up to the press?”
Martha smiled wickedly. “Two years ago, we had a bomb threat on one of our warehouses. Police evacuated the warehouse, investigated, and found it to be a prank. Six months later, it happened again. Once again, it was nothing, probably some insolent kid. Nevertheless, the police advised that we put in an automatic recorder to assist with investigations should we receive any other calls. That recorder has proved itself incredibly useful over the past year, including now.”
“You’re telling me you recorded your son and now you’re going to use that against him?”
Martha’s smile fell from her face. “Can I be frank, Ms. Avery?”
“Sure.”
“You can’t repeat anything I tell you—it’s illegal. Of course, you know that.” She paused, looking around the room. “I don’t care one little bit about my son or his dreadful little wife. They’re no family of mine. What I do care about, however, is my company. It’s all I have and my husband and I have worked too hard to let it get destroyed now. This is our best season. From October to February our sales skyrocket. This year, however, after news of the trial our sales have been dismal. Our mere association with my son and his wife, however unfortunate, is ruining our company. It is not acceptable. My company will not suffer due to a mistake we did not make. However, if our son is made out to be a worried father, scared of what his own wife is capable of, then he’d be called a hero. People will love him, pity him even, which will turn our sales back around. As a much added bonus, it will also turn the public opinion on Rachael from bad to worse. No one will listen to the defense, you’ll be a shoo-in to win.” She clapped her hands together, pure excitement filling her face.
“Oh, go knit that on a pillow. We’re talking national success, Ms. Avery. We could make you famous, the one who locked the ruthless killer away and eased a family’s fears.”
“Fame doesn’t interest me, Mrs. Abbott. Justice does. Why would you come to me?”
“I assumed you’d want to help me. I’m going to the press today.”
“I’m afraid you thought wrong. I’m sorry, Mrs. Abbott, I can’t help you.” Avery stood, walking toward the door.
“Very well then. I took you for a very different type of lawyer. I assumed you’d, like any good lawyer, want to win at any cost.”
Avery pressed her lips together in frustration. “You do realize that the jury most likely won’t be swayed by gossip and rumors? It’s against the rules for them to watch the news or read the papers, or even discuss the case at all. There’s a good chance the only person your betrayal will hurt is your son. There are rules in place to prevent this sort of thing.”
Mrs. Abbott stood up, adjusting her jacket and walking out the door. Before she was completely past Avery she stopped, turning to look her in the eye, and smiled. “I understand the rules quite well, Ms. Avery, but then again husbands aren’t supposed to cheat and wives aren’t supposed to kill. If everyone followed the rules, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. Good day.” Her gray eyes bore into Avery like knives, the cruel grin on her face looked so comfortable it must have been worn often.
“Good day,” Avery said firmly, shutting the door behind her and reaching for her bottle of wine.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Rachael
Rachael awoke for the third time that morning to the sounds of her cellmate snoring. Abby Baker was a hard and deep sleeper who didn’t seem the least bit phased by the lumpy mattresses in their cell. In the weeks since they’d met Rachael hadn’t spoken more than a few words to her new cellmate. She rolled over and slowly climbed out of bed, attempting to be quiet though her century old bed made that an impossible feat. She walked softly over toward the toilet, pulling her pants down and edging her bottom onto the ice cold seat.
Her toes ached from the cold concrete, despite the two pairs of socks they’d allowed her to wear.
“You cold or something?”
Rachael glanced over at the bunk where Abby stared at her sleepily. “Freezing.” She self-consciously slid her pants back up, avoiding eye contact.
Abby, apparently oblivious to any awkwardness, stretched in her bed. “You get used to it after a while. Sucks that your first time’s in the winter, but then again, you’d hate summer too. You sweat a few pounds off a day here in July.” She eyed Rachael. “Then again, maybe that wouldn’t be a bad thing for you.” Her gaze rested on the pudge around Rachael’s gut.
What is it about prison that makes people forget any sort of manners?
Rachael looked down, tugging at her orange jumpsuit.
“So, what’d you do before this?”
“Huh?”
“Like for work. Did you have a job?”
“Oh, I taught dance. I own a studio downtown.”
“That’s it?”
“Well, it takes up a fair share of my time. I’m a mother too, so that takes up the rest.”
“My mom stayed home with me when I was young, it was nice.”
Rachael nodded, imagining what kind of home life this poor girl could’ve suffered from.
“What about your mom?”
“I never knew my mom,” Rachael told her. It never got easier to say that.
“Oh. What about your dad then?”
“My dad worked for the port here in La Rue. He passed away too though, a few years ago.”
“That sucks.” Abby looked truly sorry. Beneath her rugged exterior, the graying black hair, the scar that ran from her eyebrow to just below her nose, and her slightly wrinkled face, Rachael saw a softness in her eyes. She must’ve been no older than forty, but the woman had known sorrow. She climbed down off of her bunk and crept toward the toilet. Rachael sat on the concrete floor despite the cold, and avoided looking her way.
“You don’t have to look so uncomfortable. I have kids. I’m used to people watching me, don’t worry.”
Rachael nodded, turning her head slightly but still avoiding looking in that direction.
“So what do you do?”
“Don’t do much now. I was a teacher for over a decade, taught third grade.” She grabbed a wad of toilet paper off the wall.
“You were a teacher?” Rachael couldn’t hide the shock in her voice.
“Don’t act so surprised. Both my parents were teachers. My dad taught high school chemistry, mom taught kindergarten. I guess you could call it our family business. Only my brother took a different path, he’s a pharmacist.”
Rachael’s confusion welled inside of her.
“Where are they now?”
“Still working. My dad’s getting ready to retire. We try and tell Mom her class is too much, but she loves those kids so much. It just does no good. My brother lives in Tennessee, had a wife and a little girl named Kaitie.” Abby stood up from the toilet, pulling up her pants and walked to sit on her bed. “You can sit up here, you know. I’m not going to bite.”
“I’m okay.”
Abby shrugged. “Suit yourself.”
“What about your kids?”
“I have two little boys, Malakye and Cody. Sweet boys. They’re seven and eleven.”
“I’ve got two also. Brinley’s eight and Davis is two.”
Abby laughed. “Those two-year-olds, I tell you what, terrible twos? They sure got that right, didn’t they?”
Rachael giggled. “I know it. I don’t remember Brinley being as bad as Davis either.”
“The first ones never are. I think it’s because there’s only one at that time. They say it gets worse with each one.”
When Rachael pictured a hardened criminal, Abby might’ve had the physical appearance of one but talking to her was as easy as talking to a friend. She hated herself for feeling so judgmental, but couldn’t wrap her mind around the entire scenario.
“Alright. Quit staring at me like I have three heads or something,” Abby said firmly, a slight smile on her face.
“You’re just different than I expected, I’m sorry. I mean how many times have you been in here?”
“Total? Oh gosh.” She laughed. “I think this is my sixth time. I’ve nearly lost count.”
“Wow,” Rachael said, “You just act so casual about it.”
“What? You think all criminals just sit around spitting and snorting and stabbing things? You think we only talk about drugs or robberies or our latest kill?”
“No, of course not. This is all just new to me. I’m sorry, I don’t mean to offend you.”
“Girl, you need to chill.” Abby slapped her knee from laughter. “I ain’t mad. You first timers are all so nervous. It’s cute. Look, just because I’m a criminal don’t mean you can judge me anymore than anyone else. I’ve seen thieves go back to pay for what the cashier missed, I’ve seen dealers playing board games with their kids, and I’ve seen murderers in the front pews on Sunday morning. What you need to realize is that what we’ve done, that’s all it is. It’s what we’ve done, not who we are. We do bad things, but so do all the rest of them out there. Everyone breaks the law sometime or another, we’re just the ones who get caught. Bottom line, ain’t a soul out there knows anyone’s situation but their own. You don’t even know your best friend. Things go wrong, situations go south. We all just deal with it the best we know how.”
Rachael blushed. “I get it. Bad things happen to good people.”
“Nah.” Abby shook her head. “You don’t get it. Bad things don’t happen to good people and bad things don’t happen to bad people. Bad things
happen to people. Good things happen to people. Period. End of story. There are no good or bad people. There are just people. Just six billion people. And at the end of the day we’re all just trying to get by. Things happen: horrible, disgusting things and beautiful, amazing things. No one’s life is just one thing, good or bad. We all just take whatever happens and deal with it and then we go from there. That’s it. You can’t live your life looking at everything as good or bad, black or white. Nothing works like that, sure as hell not life.”
Rachael nodded. “So what did you do then?”
“That’s a long story, for another time.” She looked at her wrist, though it contained no watch. “Don’t you have somewhere you need to be anyway?”
Rachael looked toward the window where sunlight had crept in without her really noticing. She stood up, walking toward her cell door and pressing the call button.
“I suppose you’re right.” She smiled at Abby, who leaned back against the concrete wall and smiled back.
***
Hampton
Hampton walked into the county jail. Three officers sat around their desks, rubbing sleep from their eyes and shooting their morning coffee like it contained alcohol.
“Morning, Hampton.”
“Morning, Dawson.” Hampton waved casually. “She ready?”
Dawson Stanelle looked at his watch. “Dennis went to get her a few minutes ago. They should be out soon. Grab a cup of coffee while you wait.”
“Thanks.” He walked over to the coffee pot and poured a paper cup full. Coffee was going to be his best friend this morning, after a long night of going over the evidence again. Suddenly, a loud buzzing rang through the halls. A prisoner was being escorted out. All eyes turned toward the door.
Beep, beep. Hampton’s phone chimed in his pocket, alerting him to a text message. Before he was able to see Rachael he pulled his phone out and snuck a glance at the screen.
J. Avery…what could she want? He flipped his screen opened and quickly read.