The Haunting of Rachel Harroway- Book 1

by J. S. Donovan

  Rachel penned down the statement in her notepad. “I would prefer if we discussed this in person, Mr. Jacobson.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m taking care of some very important town business. Tell Lieutenant that I’m booked for the next two days.”

  “It is by McConnell’s behest that I called,” Rachel told him. “You can choose not to come down to the station today, but that might raise some suspicion. Or we can talk.”

  “What did you say your name was again?”

  “Detective Harroway.”

  “Uh huh. First name and badge number.”

  “Rachel. 11050,” Rachel replied reluctantly. She hated his tone of voice. “Now, will we be speaking today, Mr. Jacobson?”

  “... Yeah. I’m dialing my lawyer now.”

  After the call ended, Rachel leaned back in her chair and rubbed her forehead. Lawyers. She groaned.

  Peak, seated in his office chair, rolled up to her desk. His hand pumped a stress ball. “Tristan is on his way.”

  “Does he have a lawyer, too?”

  “Nope. He’s pretty compliant.”

  Forty-five minutes later, a workman’s truck pulled up outside the Highlands Police Department. Wearing a grey Park Ranger uniform with rolled-up sleeves, Tristan Ball stepped out of the vehicle. Though forty years older, he had the same blemish-free square face of his youth, with deep-set eyes and a mustache over his chapped lips. He smiled softly to himself, watching his feet as he bounced up the steps.

  Rachel held the front door for him.

  With a respective nod, he passed by.

  “Thank you for coming in, Mr. Ball,” Rachel said. “This won’t take long. We only have a few questions.”

  Tristan gazed around the station. “I’ll help in whatever way I can.”

  Through the open blinds, Lieutenant McConnell tracked the detectives leading Ball to the interrogation room. He took a sip from his coffee thermos.

  Rachel and Peak allowed Tristan to enter first, taking a seat at one end of the aluminum table. Rachel allowed Peak to take the adjacent seat while she leaned against the wall, arms crossed and studying the red light on the corner cam.

  After rubbing his palms on the thighs of his pants, Tristan Ball folded his fingers on the table and looked up at Peak with a slightly downcast face. “Might I ask why you think I… you know?”

  Peak withdrew the Polaroid photo with a large crease down the middle and slid it to Ball. “Recognize this?”

  Ball leaned over the picture, his thick brows arched. “Yes. This is from my high school graduation. I’m the one on the left. That’s John Parkman in the middle. Albert Jacobson is the man on the far right. It seems like a lifetime ago.”

  Peak left the photo in the middle of the table. “This photograph was recovered this morning from what we believe to be the Roper’s trophy room. It was stashed away in a lockbox carrying a number of sentimental items.”

  Rachel studied Ball’s reaction. He didn’t take his gaze from the photo but listened to Peak intently.

  “Why would the Roper have a picture of you, Mr. Ball?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe we’re his next targets. Or…” With his green eyes flecked with gold, Tristan looked up at Peak and then to Rachel standing off to the side of the room. “One of the men in this photo is the killer.”

  Rachel and Peak traded glances.

  “We were thinking the same thing,” Rachel admitted.

  Tristan nodded to himself, talking aloud. “Yeah. I mean why else keep a picture like this in his--what do you call it--trophy room?”

  His responses were casual for a man suspected for the murder of eight girls, Rachel noticed. Though denying everything would make him seem more suspicious. Was this a power play to divert her attention from him on to the other two men, or was he sincerely trying to help? It was too early to tell.

  “If that’s the case,” Ball continued, thinking out loud. “You’re going to want to ask me about my connection to these men, my alibi during that girl’s murder the other night, and who took this photo.”

  “Start with the last one,” Peak said.

  “If I remember correctly, this was taken in the spring of ‘88, a year after the other girls went missing. The last one around was Jennifer…”

  “Blankenship.” Peak filled in the blank.

  “That’s the one. I didn’t know her too well. She was Al’s girl, and had legs that ran for miles. I believe she moved away after high school, but I can’t remember. I wish I could tell you more, but me and her never really clicked.”

  “Tell us about Johnny and Al.” Peak commanded.

  Ball grinned as he recalled. “John was the leader of our little pack. He had the looks, the brains, went varsity. He was always kind and welcoming. He gave me rides to school when my truck broke down. He’d roll me to the side when I passed out drunk to keep me from choking on my vomit. John was the closest thing I had to a brother. He knew he would be mayor one day, but was the type of person who wanted to earn the position, not be given it.

  “Al on the other hand... He was, is, a cocky SOB, more interested in money and women than friends beside him. The only things I respect about him is that he took what he wanted and, like his father, was shrewd as hell.”

  “And you believe one of these men is the Roper?” Peak asked.

  “I said that one of them may be the killer,” Ball replied seriously. “This isn’t a testimony by any means.”

  “If you had to guess, hypothetically, who it be?” Peak asked, ready to take notes.

  Tristan Ball looked at the camera. “I’d prefer not to answer that. I may not be close to these guys anymore, but I’m not going to throw them under the bus without solid evidence.”

  “John Parkman became Mayor and Albert Jacobson became town Treasurer,” Rachel said, still propped against the wall. “You’re a smart guy, Tristan. What made you settle for Parks and Recreation director?”

  “Politics and money aren’t my forte. I like nature and I like privacy. Yeah, it’s not as glamorous or lucrative, but it’s more my pace and a lot more enjoyable.”

  “Where were you the night of Maxine Gunther’s murder?” Peak asked unapologetically.

  “At my house,” Ball replied. The next words of his mouth pained him. “By myself.” He fished his hand into his pocket, pulling out a ball of crumpled receipts. “Here’s my gas from that evening, and my dinner receipt from around 9 p.m. I was back at work at seven the next morning. I was asleep the rest of the night, that’s God’s honest truth.”

  There was a knock at the door. Officer Jones opened the door and gestured to Rachel. “Albert Jacobson is here,” he whispered. “Him and his lawyer.”

  “Thank you,” Rachel replied. “Get them set up in room two. I’ll be in shortly.”

  Nodding, Jones slipped out of the room.

  A flash of worry sunk Tristan’s face. “Should I get a lawyer? Do I need one?”

  “Stay out of trouble. Comply with the police, and you won’t have anything to worry about,” Peak said.

  “I can do that. Is there anything else I can help you with right now?”

  Peak looked to Rachel.

  “Not at the moment,” Rachel said. “Just keep in contact, report any suspicious activity, and don’t leave town.”

  Tristan grinned softly, as if Rachel’s statement was complete ridiculousness. “You won’t need to worry about that.”

  After a few minutes of exchanging contact information and the like, Peak and Rachel let Tristan Ball walk. He waved goodbye and drove away in his big truck.

  “What are you thinking?” Peak asked Rachel as they stood outside the front doors.

  “Compliant, as you said, and calm.”

  “Agreed. He made a crap case for his innocence. So he’s either innocent or stupid.”

  “He doesn’t seem stupid, and I’m not sure if he’s innocent.” Rachel scanned the yard and trees outside the precinct, wandering where her Orphans were. Just like technology, they stop
working when you actually need them. Sighing, Rachel went back inside to interview suspect number two.

  Interrogation Room Two was a replica of the first with a tin table, chairs, and a security camera. Albert’s thick fingers drummed on the screen of his large smartphone while his sharply dressed and stoic lawyer fixed his glossy crimson tie. Apart from the smug grin, the town treasurer was no longer the vision of his youth. Yes, he was short and stocky with a handsome face, but he had a second chin, a wrinkled forehead, and a crown of stubby grey hair around his bald head. He didn’t look up from his mobile video game when Rachel and Peak entered.

  “Lennard Splints,” the lawyer stood and shook the detectives’ hands. “I’m Mr. Jacobson’s attorney. I understand you have made an unprecedented accusation against my client. We would like to see the evidence against my client before proceeding any further. If you have no evidence, we will leave until your accusations have weight.”

  The tall, deep-voiced lawyer said all of this before Rachel and Peak even had a seat. Albert played his phone game.

  Rachel and Peak sat down before them. Rachel displayed the photo. “We uncovered this this morning from an abandoned chapel outside of town,” Rachel explained. “Inside were the shoes of eight girls, seven who went missing in 1977 and one from Maxine Gunther, the girl whose body was discovered outside of the Hudson Library. The overwhelming evidence leads us to believe that this is the Roper’s trophy room, the shoes being his trophies. The photo before you was one of two uncovered from a lockbox discovered from within the chapel.”

  Jacobson lowered his phone. The beeps and boops leaked from the mobile device.

  “Do you know who these men are, Mr. Jacobson?” Rachel asked.

  Lennard Splints straightened his posture. “You will address me, Ms. Harroway.”

  Peak gnashed his teeth. Rachel kept her composure and looked Splints directly in the eye. “Does your client know who these men in the photo are?”

  Jacobson leaned in and whispered into Splints’ ear. The lawyer turned back to Rachel. “He says that you already know. Otherwise you wouldn’t have called him.”

  “Since we're being so transparent with one another, we suspect that your client, Tristan Ball, John Parkman, and Jennifer Blankenship are connected with the homicides of Maxine Gunther and the other seven girls.”

  “Were fingerprints recovered at the crime scene?” Splints ask, unflinching.

  “Our forensic unit is reviewing the evidence now.”

  “So there’s no DNA evidence linking to my client?”

  “None at the moment,” Rachel replied begrudgingly.

  “Apart from this photograph before me, is there anything that specifically links Albert Jacobson to the murders of Maxine Gunther, Louise Richardson, Kensie Herd, Heather Lee, Cara Dummer, Tiffany Dummer, Amber Catiline, or Dakota Mulberry?”

  “Not currently, but--”

  Splints stood and straightened his tie. “Then we have nothing more to discuss, Detectives. Mr. Jacobson.”

  Albert Jacobson got up from his seat, his eyes back on the phone game.

  “Hold on,” Peak growled. “We still have questions.”

  “My client--”

  Albert pocketed his phone and smiled cockily. “Let them ask, Splints. We are a few minutes ahead of schedule.”

  “You said you had an alibi the night of Maxine’s murder, can you elaborate?” Rachel asked.

  Albert smiled at her. “I was with a woman.”

  Splints whispered in Jacobson’s ear. He shrugged him away. “Her name is Lexi Heavens. A sweet local girl.”

  “And you were having sex with her?” Peak asked.

  Jacobson chuckled at the detective’s bluntness. “As a matter of fact, I was.”

  “From 10 p.m. to 4 a.m.?” Rachel asked.

  “Yep. Don’t go spilling my scandalous secrets, or there might be a lawsuit on your hands. Now is this farce over?”

  “Not yet,” Rachel said. “Do you suspect that the other men in this photo have any connection with the murders?”

  Splints gave Jacobson a stern look. He ignored it. “If I had to guess, it’s Ball. The guy even looks like a serial killer. Don’t get me wrong, he was a good kid back in the day, but too weird. John and I are close. It’s not him.”

  “And Blankenship?”

  “Oh, her. She’s pretty, but dumb as a bag of hammers.” He chuckled at that.

  “Did you kill those girls in 1977?” Rachel asked.

  Splints boiled and whispered angrily into Jacobson’s ear.

  Again, Jacobson shrugged him away. “The honor society girls? They were too gorgeous to kill. Even the nerdy twins. Especially the nerdy twins. ‘Sides, I can get any girl I wanted to, even you, sweetheart. I don’t need to butcher to get my rocks off.”

  “That’s enough,” Lennard Splints barked. “Mr. Jacobson, let’s go.”

  Albert Jacobson checked his shiny watch. “It’s about that time. Good luck, Detectives, and next time, before you disrupt my official town business, have something more solid than a forty-year-old graduation photo. It will save us all a lot of time.”

  The sharply-dressed lawyer and the rotund town treasurer made a swift exit and left the station without looking back.

  “I hate that guy.” Peak said.

  Rachel cracked a smile. “Let’s get ahold of Jennifer Blankenship. McConnell will be PO’d if we go after Parkman without taking care of another untapped lead.”

  In the bullpen, they spent the next twenty minutes trying to call Jennifer and got voice mail each time.

  “What’s up with that?” Peak asked after trying and using multiple phone numbers.

  “I don’t know,” Rachel replied. “Maybe she’s not home. We could go to her.”

  Peak stopped squeezing his stress ball. “Do you really want to drive two hours to talk to her?”

  Rachel’s numb expression said it all.

  “We could find this Lexi Heavens,” Peak suggested, twirling left and right in his office chair. “I’ll bet you a hundred bucks it’s a fake name.”

  Rachel typed in the girl’s name into the database. Lo and behold, there she was. Peak sat up and rolled next to Rachel, eyeing the photo of Lexi. She was twenty-nine, with a pretty face and sultry eyes caked with makeup and mascara. Next to her pictures was a list of driving misdemeanors and one assault and battery against another female. Peak studied the picture without a word.

  Rachel extended a hand.

  Groaning, Peak removed a one-hundred-dollar bill from his leather wallet and surrendered it in the palm of Rachel’s hand.

  “Lexi Heavens,” he grumbled. “What has society devolved into?”

  It was about three in the afternoon when they arrived at Lexi’s cabin a few miles outside of town. The single-story yellow house was located in a neighborhood with multiple humble but well-spread out homes surrounded by dense woods and flowery bushes. Lexi’s porch was decorated with wind chimes, and Christmas lights. Its yellow wall paint was quirky and inviting.

  Rachel gave the door a knock. Hands in his back pockets, Peak stood behind, watching the wind chimes clatter with an inquisitive expression.

  A long moment passed before the door opened. Dressed in short shorts and a tight shirt, Lexi answered the door. She had her blond hair cut into a bob and a toothbrush in the side of her mouth.

  “Can I help you?” she garbled.

  Rachel flashed her badge. “Detective Harroway. That’s Detective Peak behind me. We have a few questions with regard to Albert Jacobson.”

  Lexi slipped outside and shut the door. She took the toothbrush out of her mouth, eyes big. “I don’t know him.”

  “Funny. He told us you two are quite close.”

  Lexi blushed. “Al and I are, um, good friends.”

  “Don’t lie to us again, Ms. Heavens,” Peak said coldly.

  “Yes, sorry. I… I didn’t mean to offend,” Lexi said. “Al and I have a special relationship.”

  “Were you with him
two nights ago?”

  “He was at my house. Yes. We, you know, and then he went home.”

  “What time was this?”

  “Somewhere between 10 p.m. and 2 a.m.”

  “So not the whole night?”

  Lexi shook his head. “He likes to sleep in his own bed.”

  “Would you say Al acted suspicious that night or any previous nights after the burial mounds were discovered in the woods?”

  “I can’t say. We don’t actually talk very much.”

  “Thanks, Lexi. We’ll talk again if we need to. I’d advise staying in town for a few days until the case is closed.”

  Peak and Rachel climbed back into the Impala with the revelation that Albert Jacobson did not have a true alibi, nor did the ever-eager-to-help Tristan Ball.

  “Neither one of them suspects John Parkman,” Rachel pointed out.

  “I noticed that,” Peak replied. “Any insight from your Orphans?”

  “They’ve been quiet,” Rachel replied honestly. “At this point, we’re on our own.”

  “If we can cross off John Parkman from the list, that will only leave three suspects, and the chance of it being Jennifer is very slim.”

  “Albert or Tristan then,” Rachel said, feeling some relief that the case was finally gaining some traction.

  “Only if Parkman is innocent. Otherwise, we’re still at square one. There’s a chance that all three men are totally unrelated to the murders and their photos are merely coincidental.”

  Rachel’s sense of accomplishment dwindled. “Let’s work with what we know before we start suspecting every Highlands resident.”

  “Don’t forget tourists.”

  “Thanks, Peak. You really know how to brighten my day,” Rachel said sarcastically, turning the ignition.

  Peak shrugged. “Our only certainty is that the Roper’s outfit hasn’t changed in forty years. No one other than the killer and his victim probably knew about it until Maxine’s murder.”

  “That means that if we find how he killed Maxine, we find the rest of the girls’ killer.”

  “Correct.”

  It wasn’t until 7 p.m. that the mayor invited them to the orange brick town hall building. McConnell's press conference was hours before, addressing the chapel finding and the police’s questioning of multiple unnamed suspects. After surrendering their weapons to security, a suited man led Rachel and Peak back to Mayor John Parkman’s office. It was a large room with a massive blue rug boasting the town’s insignia. At the back of the desk, four tall windows folded at the protruding walls. Outside, the town of Highlands quieted with the setting sun. It would be dark soon.