by Dale Mayer
“That could then potentially mean our killer is a woman?” That was almost shocking to Laszlo. “There are certainly a lot of women haters out there, but very few killers are women and rarely a killer who operates alone. Women are sometimes paired up with a killer or, for whatever twisted reasons, joined the male in his killing spree, but few women go out of their way to kill multiple people. Definitely the Black Widows are an exception. But those circumstances were motivated by greed. Those women killed off husbands one at a time to inherit whatever they left behind. Consider Aileen Wuornos’s case, a serial killer in Florida who killed many of her johns, probably more out of hate for the position she was in than that they were using her services.”
“I hadn’t considered that,” Geir said. “I know very few women capable of such a thing. But that’s not to say it doesn’t happen. There are many military units where women are as good as the men and as dangerous as the men, serving as snipers, killing machines in female bodies. And, in our situation, it doesn’t take a ton of skill to ram a vehicle and kill the occupants.”
“Do you think somebody might have been spurned by Mouse? An ex-lover? Someone who loved him but who he didn’t love back?”
“I don’t think someone could hate him enough to kill the rest of the men in his unit,” Geir said quietly. “Honestly I think it’ll be somebody who knows all of us and hates us all equally.”
“Somebody from the military, from the navy, from another mission, our team, other teams?”
“I’ll say, our side. Of course that’s not what anybody wants to hear. Also it’ll be somebody who knows us. So again probably somebody from the US military. Whether that means the navy overall, or another SEALs unit, the army, the marines, I don’t know for sure. Active or no longer active? Who knows? Unfortunately tens of thousands of trained personnel are quite capable of doing what was done to us. It was mostly strategy, if you think about it.”
“The more I think about that, a woman is a valid possibility. And she’s employing hit men who were hired in multiple cases. Maybe all,” he admitted. “Whoever is behind this has used men to do the dirty work.” He glanced at Geir to see what he thought about that.
Geir nodded. He had a big tablet in his lap. He was busy flicking through screens with his good hand. “That’s a good point. If this person hasn’t done any hands-on killing, then we should consider the fact that they weren’t capable of it in terms of physical strength or weren’t capable of it at an emotional level or plain didn’t want to get their hands dirty. Which could be male or female.”
“Or it could be someone just distancing themselves from each crime. Removing themselves from the suspect pool.” Laszlo shook his head. “Instead of fine-tuning and clarifying the issue,” Laszlo complained, “it’s getting worse.”
Geir chuckled. “What we don’t want to do is so finitely narrow down the suspect pool that we toss out our killer.”
“But we can’t operate on the basis of tens of thousands of suspects either,” Laszlo reminded him. “We have to start somewhere.”
“Indeed, we do.”
“And that’s why we’re less than a minute away from Mouse’s home where he grew up.”
Minx watched the truck slow down and drive past the houses on the block from the shadows of a front porch across the street. Two men were inside the truck, both studying the area until they came to Mouse’s house. Anybody who ever came to that house deserved a second look. The men drove past and pulled into the space between two old battered-up cars and just sat there. At least they were smart enough to not get out.
There would be no vehicle left when they came back if they left it here for too long. The gangs in the area were proud of the fact they could take the wheels off any vehicle in less than twelve minutes flat.
At one point they’d been successful in taking out all the streetlamps too.
And then they decided the fire hydrants should be seized up. If there was nothing else, these teens were into bad, useless, antagonistic mischief that caused no end of stress for everybody else. She would love it if somebody would put them away, but their crimes were never bad enough for anybody to focus on them. They hadn’t murdered anybody, hadn’t shot anybody. The fact that they were increasingly aggravating was definitely cause for concern, but she doubted anybody else gave a shit. She was a counselor and came from this area originally. She knew firsthand on multiple levels.
She had been transferred as a punishment to the local office, one she had no plans remaining at. It was supposed to be temporary, but she suspected her bosses were trying to keep her here. In which case, she would walk. She’d spent enough of her life here. Yes, these kids could use her help. But once anybody found out who she was, they wouldn’t listen. She would be respected for having gotten out but also hated for having gotten out.
It was definitely a no-win situation. She didn’t have a rapport with any of the locals anymore. She had no kinship, no connection to draw on. And the people here were definitely down and out. But counselors could only work with those who wanted to change—those with a spark of something that said there was another life. She’d often thought she should write a self-help book and go on Oprah, but that seemed so far-fetched, considering where she’d come from, that it put a smile on her face. Mouse had told her that she should do that.
Minx and Mouse had been best friends. For a long time. She was forever putting peroxide over his open wounds and patching them up the best she could. If his mother had ever found out, she would have come after Minx herself. Until one day Mouse had given her a hug and said, “I can’t stay.” And she’d watched him walk. He’d only been sixteen, already battered and beaten. She lost track of him after that. She tried once to ask his mom about him, only his mom had cheered and said, “He’s gone. Likely dead by now. That little freak probably sucked the wrong dick and got his throat cut.”
After that, Minx had kept her thoughts to herself. Mouse had had a pretty tough childhood, but he seemed to take most of it in stride. She didn’t know how mixed-up he was on the inside because he always presented a decent front for her, even though she had tried to get him to talk about it. But he just shook his head and said she was too young and to not worry about it. He’d figure it out.
Young meant two years younger than him. And when Minx’s mom had been busy doing drugs in the back room, his mom had been busy whaling on him for not being man enough to handle whatever it was she wanted him to handle.
Mouse was homosexual, and, at the time, before he left, he was pretty excited about it. He had been conflicted for years only to finally find love in unlikely places. By the time he had a steady boyfriend, he was feeling solid about his choices. His first sexual encounter, not consensual, was at the age of twelve, with one of Mouse’s mom’s boyfriends. But, instead of turning him off, it had turned him on, as if he’d finally found a whole new world he hadn’t known about.
That boyfriend hadn’t stuck around, but there had been an interesting change in Mouse. She understood, even though he didn’t want to talk about it. And she was fine with that. He did tell her at one time she should try it herself.
She’d chuckled and said she was happy to try men. She just wasn’t interested in trying women.
She caught movement in her peripheral vision.
One of the men parked at Mouse’s house was getting out of the truck, his gait stiff. He reached up and stretched his arms and shoulders, walking around, kicking out his legs. She frowned as she studied him. He had dark hair and was big, tall, held himself with a stance that said power was in that frame. But more than that, it was the look on his face. Dark, broody … dangerous, as if he didn’t miss much. This was not a man to trifle with.
He turned to look at her. His gaze seemed to see right through her. Yet there was something compelling about his actions, that direct gaze … the smooth body language as he had walked through life.
Instinctively she stepped back—but knew there was no hiding from that man.
Who t
he hell was he?
Chapter 2
Minx stepped back slightly, behind one of the porch posts, only enough to be out of their view but still able to keep them in hers. Another trick she’d learned while young.
She shook her head at the memories. They were worse now that she was back in the neighborhood, in sight of her childhood home. Such a misnomer. She stomped back the memories most of the time, but now it was as if they were just a cauldron waiting to boil over. Her childhood had been easier than Mouse’s, but it still had sucked. She’d left as soon as she could too. Once Mouse was gone, there didn’t seem to be any point in hanging around. But she still had to finish school and to figure out what she would do afterward. In order to do that she had to get away. She had gone back to Maine, after contacting her uncle, asking if there was any way she could come and live with him while she went to school.
“Poor Mouse,” she whispered, her gaze on the men who were still walking the block. She hadn’t seen many men like that. Not Mouse, not her uncle. Immediately her mind whipped back to her childhood. Thank heavens her uncle had been there for her. He hadn’t had a clue what her home life had been like. The minute he knew, he’d paid for her bus ticket. It was the longest trip of her life. But she’d made it, and he’d been the kindest and the most generous soul she’d ever had the good fortune to meet. He’d not only given her a place to live, he’d found her a job and paid for her college. After that she’d gotten scholarships and completed grad school.
When she went into counseling, he’d been thrilled for her—figuring how she’d come from such a rough beginning that she’d be the best person to turn around and help others get out. The trouble was, it was hard to deal with the system, not only the governmental entities involved but the mind-set of the families living here for generation after generation. When people in need were forever ground into the dirt, it was almost impossible to help them reach a place too high for them to envision. Even though it was just normal daily living for many. But Minx understood. She’d been there.
Her gaze slipped back to the men.
The second man, if anything, appeared frustrated, angry. She didn’t know if his expression always looked like a thundercloud ready to erupt, but it certainly did at the moment. She sidled slightly closer. She really had no business on this property, but it was deserted and empty. She’d come to check an address on file, but, of course, they’d already booked it. The good thing was, they hadn’t taken the children this time. They’d left them with a neighbor. She was waiting for calls to determine where the children would end up—temporary placements. Hopefully keeping the siblings all together and hopefully not placed with a family who beat them and left drugs on the table for them to clean off whenever they felt like it. There was nothing worse than watching two-year-olds having access to drugs guaranteed to ruin their life before it ever started.
This address happened to be right beside her old childhood home.
The men crossed the road and walked down the block past Mouse’s house again. It was obvious they cared about only one house. They did stop farther down and looked across the street, studying a couple other houses. She let her gaze follow them, drift over to the house they were studying, but she didn’t believe for a moment they cared. They weren’t from this neighborhood. They weren’t from any neighborhood around here, from what she could see. Both were well-dressed, both fit. Cops? She twisted her face up as she thought about it and then discarded the concept. “So not,” she said quietly.
But there was just something about them that had that look of officialness. Maybe undercover detectives? But even that didn’t seem right. They walked down the block, turned around and came back up on the same side they had parked on. Their gaze wandering every once in a while. They pointed at something as if they were out for a casual walk.
She noted old Nanny sitting on her rocker, watching them too. Nanny was in the corner house, and she didn’t miss anything in this neighborhood. She had to be ninety, at least. She also wasn’t the kind to let anybody know nothing. She kept her mouth shut. In fact, it was impossible to get her to say anything. Everyone left her alone.
It was probably why she’d lived so long. The two newcomers passed Nanny’s place, neither appearing to notice her sitting there rocking away. Nor did Nanny call out. She just studied them suspiciously. Kind of like what Minx was doing herself.
They came back toward the truck, passed it, walked to the other end of the block, crossed the street and came back down again. And she knew they were coming to her. She didn’t know how she knew, but years on the streets had fine-tuned her reflexes and intuition. She was one of the few who hadn’t been sexually assaulted during her years growing up here. That was because she was fast with a knife, and she made sure she was nowhere to be found when the creepy-crawlers came hunting.
She stepped into the open, leaned on the fence, her arms crossed. She didn’t know if they’d be able to see who she was as she had seen who they were. She was dressed in jeans with frayed edges and shoes that had seen better days. Her T-shirt was too large and stained. Her hair was in a chestnut-colored messy bun in the back. She deliberately didn’t wear any makeup. That way she fit into the neighborhood, made people a little more apt to answer her questions.
She eyed them with as suspicious a look as was possible. When they approached, she took several steps back. The men slowed their steps and smiled at her. She just glared back.
The one who had been driving stopped and said, “We mean you no harm. We just wanted to ask some questions about your neighbors.” He turned and motioned—as she’d figured—at Mouse’s old house.
She raised an eyebrow. What did they want with Mouse? “Nobody lives there.”
“For how long?”
She shrugged. “The old lady died a while ago.”
“No other family?”
So they were after Mouse. What had he gone and done with himself? She shook her head. “No, no one else there.”
“Where did the rest of the family move to?” the second man asked.
She shifted her gaze to him suspiciously. “No idea.”
They studied her for a long moment and then nodded. “Well, if you see Mouse, tell him some friends are looking for him,” he said.
She snorted. “Mouse hasn’t lived here in well over ten years.”
“We know. But we haven’t seen him in a while and wondered if he had any connection to his hometown anymore.”
“I don’t know what the hell you think you’re up to, but there’s no way in hell Mouse had friends like you.”
The men stared at her. The first one said, “Maybe Mouse has changed.”
She snorted again. “And maybe you’re cops.”
The men shook their heads. “That we’re not. What we really wanted was to find some of Mouse’s family and talk to them.”
“Why?”
They hesitated.
She snapped, “If you’re not telling me the truth, then don’t bother spinning me a tale.”
“No, we didn’t tell you the truth before. Although we are Mouse’s friends,” the first man said, his voice hard, and yet there was sadness in it. “Mouse is dead. And we were hoping to be able to tell his family.”
“What?” She stared at them. “I don’t believe you.” She glanced back at the house where Mouse had lived. “His mom passed away months ago, if not longer. She never mentioned it.”
“I’m not sure she knew,” the first man said. He held out a hand. “I’m Laszlo. Mouse was part of my unit in the navy.”
She dropped her hand before shaking his. “Now I know you’re lying. Mouse hated water. He’d never have signed up for the navy.” Then she frowned. “I know it was a dream of his, but it’s not one I thought he’d ever achieve,” she muttered, puzzled. “He really was terrified of water.”
Laszlo felt a bolt through his gut that said something here was very wrong. They’d contemplated how to approach her while walking, but he’d noted her statement to be the trut
h almost immediately. Yet she was suspicious enough of them to have lied. But she knew Mouse, and that was huge. “Sorry?”
“Mouse,” the woman said, speaking very clearly and slowly, “was terrified of water.”
The two men stared at her. “Are we talking about the same Mouse?” Geir asked.
Laszlo shot him a glance, then looked back at the woman in front of them. She was a mix of contradictions. She was dressed like she fit the area, but she was clean, her eyes had a sparkle, the whites of her eyes shone with health and vitality. He didn’t know what she was doing here, but no way she lived here. It all added up to an intriguing package. Not to mention sexy.
He motioned to the house. “Tall, slim, lean, brownish hair?”
“Yeah, that’s Mouse. The only son of Gladys next door.”
“What was his name? He was Ryan Hanson to us.”
She looked at him with a smirk. “Mickey Mouse O’Connor,” she said with emphasis on each name. “His mother’s idea of a joke. The Mickey part he couldn’t stand, and, if anybody knew he was named Mickey Mouse, his life would have been over. Especially here. As soon as he could, he took the name Mouse, and that was it. Call him Mickey, and he’d take you down.”
“Wow, nice mom,” Laszlo said.
The woman in front of them shook her head. “Not. She was a bitch through and through. Nobody here will miss her.”
“Did she have any relationship with Mouse?”
She shrugged. “No idea. I haven’t seen him since he was sixteen, when he walked away after telling me goodbye.”
“But you were close to him back then, weren’t you?” He had heard a note of sorrow in her voice.
She nodded, the motion sending curly tendrils of hair flying. “It was hard to say goodbye, but at least he was away from here. She was the most abusive, vindictive woman I’ve ever met.”
“How bad?” Geir asked, his voice hard. “Did she beat him?”