by Vella Day
“Dom, you okay?” Fowler asked.
“What about the girl who was with him?” Dom asked, between gritted teeth.
“She’s on her way to the hospital. Took two slugs to the chest. I don’t think she’ll make it.”
His heart raced and his stomach soured. “I’m going to get this bastard.”
As Dom tried to make his way toward the other men, Pete stepped in front of him. “We all want him, Dom. We all want him, but you know the drill. We have to wait for the ME, CSU, and the warrant before we can process the scene. When we do, we’re bound to get enough evidence against him.”
“I think it’s the same bastard who killed Keri Wilkerson.”
“You think?”
“Who’s lead on this one?”
“I am.”
“Then I’ll show you what I have on this guy.”
Pete turned him toward his car. “Go home. We have everything under control. In the morning you can show me what you have.”
Dom knew Pete was right. He headed back toward his car, but as he passed the civilian car, he looked in. Dear God. “Pete,” Dom shouted.
Fowler rushed over. “You know this guy?”
“Kind of. He was just at the Blue Moon less than a few minutes ago, as were Trace and Chelsea.”
Pete took out his pad. “Your friend, Trace. He got a last name?”
“His real name is, or rather was, Harrison Lowell.”
“And the girl?”
“I don’t know her last name, but her first name is Chelsea. She works at the Blue Moon.”
Pete placed a hand on Dom’s shoulder. “Thanks. Now get some sleep.”
Going home to an empty house held little appeal, but he wasn’t fit for company. He’d get a few winks, and then work till he dropped.
The bastard would pay. Big time.
Turning his back to the horrific scene, he trudged to his car and took off. He dreaded having to tell Tessa another one of her people might die.
Morton couldn’t believe he’d killed Chelsea. She was light and kind, never saying anything bad to him. Yet when he saw her running toward him, it was if someone else made him raise his arm and shoot her twice in the chest.
He knew she’d panic if she saw the policeman gurgle his last breath. What Morton couldn’t figure out was how the guy had found him? Lowell had pestered him in Atlanta, hinting Morton had killed those three useless vermin. Because of that prick, Morton had to move away and change his name, for the second time in three years.
Too bad Chelsea hadn’t been with Detective Rossi. Morton wouldn’t have minded putting him out of his misery, since he didn’t like how the guy was always sniffing about Tessa. With Rossi’s friend dead, maybe he’d get the point and leave the Blue Moon—and him—alone.
Morton could protect Tessa and the baby. He didn’t need no stinking police around to do the job. Fanatics like Detective Lowell and Rossi never gave up. They were obsessed individuals, each and every one of ’em. If not for those jerks, he’d have been able to stay and take care of his Mama after Dad died, but the second he smashed the trophy on his father’s head, Morton knew he’d have to leave Ohio.
Didn’t matter it had been over eighteen years since the man died, there were no statutes of limitation on murder. He could never go back and see his mom, and he never could send her a birthday card or Mother’s day card.
If he let her knew he was alive, she might track him down, and that would lead to bad things. Sure she’d watched as Dad abused him, but some women were helpless against men like that.
Morton barreled down I-4 toward Polk City, far away from Tampa. No one knew of his hideaway in the swamp—except Audrey Mae. Not that she’d ever been there ’cause she was dead, but each time he wrote her, he explained how lovely and secluded his trailer was. He’d been honest about how he came to own the place. One minute this old, gray bearded guy was sitting out in front of his place rocking in his chair, and the next thing, he was dead. The old guy said life wasn’t worth living anymore now that his eyesight was going. Morton was just helping the old man out.
That’s when he found Bruno, the alligator that lived in the lake. Boy did that gator like to eat fresh meat.
A car honked and whizzed by him, and he glanced at his speedometer. It read forty-eight miles per hour.
Concentrate, Morton, concentrate.
He slapped the steering wheel. Stupid, stupid. He should have grabbed a different gun from the one he’d used to kill that Wilkerson woman. He’d been about to toss the gun in the bay, but Detective Lowell had to come along. Damn man. Now he’d have to lose it somewhere in the swamp.
Mrs. Wilkerson was such a whiner. Her haughty attitude still pissed him off. No good bitch was so drunk she would have killed someone before she got home. That was why Morton had to kill her.
When that Doug fellow came into the bar, something inside him snapped too. Doug even had the nerve to send back the hamburger, saying it wasn’t cooked right. If he’d shut up and not had so much to drink, he might be alive today, and Morton wouldn’t have to worry about getting caught for killing two innocent people. Well, one innocent person. The cop’s friend had it comin’ for snoopin’ around.
Shit. The police would tie the Wilkerson woman’s murder to Doug Walsh, Chelsea, and Detective Lowell since he’d used the same gun. Well, that couldn’t be helped. Doug had to die. And if they never found the gun, he’d never be connected to their deaths.
Morton blew out a long breath, relieved he’d figured out how to avoid the police one more time. He checked his rearview mirror to make sure no one had followed him. He was pretty sure Rossi’s friend hadn’t thought to call anyone before he was gunned down. Lowell didn’t identify him until he stepped in front of the truck.
Morton still questioned how those two had found him. At the bar, Chelsea was practically climbing all over Lowell. Maybe they just happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time. Oh, well.
Then there was Tessa. Poor thing. She’d be so unhappy when she found out Chelsea was dead. The two of them seemed to have a special bond. But hey, at least Tessa and the baby were safe. That’s all that really mattered.
Morton turned off I-4 to 98 North heading toward the entrance to Green Swamp. This early in the morning, the place was deserted. Good. He didn’t need anyone to notice him.
He found his turnoff and after a short stretch came to the dirt road that led to his trailer. Except for his headlights, the place was completely black. Not even the moon was in the mood to shed its light in this jungle. His truck bumped over the potholes forcing him to slow down.
Ten minutes later, he pulled up to the front of his trailer. Home, sweet, home. He was really, really tired and wanted to crash, but he had chores to do first.
Usually, he came here on his days off, but when Tessa’s dad was murdered, Morton hadn’t been able to make it here.
He pushed open the heavy wooden door an winced. The place smelled musty.
After opening the windows, he lit the propane lamps to lighten up the place. Good thing for his large gas tank. He hoped it would last him through the winter. Besides not having electricity, his primitive abode didn’t have the luxury of running water either. That was the only bummer. It took a couple of long treks to the river to pump enough drinking water to last for the weekend, but washing up had to be done either in the streams or wait until he returned to his apartment in Tampa.
Once secure in his hideaway, Morton stripped off his blood-spattered clothes and dumped them into a trash bag. Such a waste, but he couldn’t afford to leave a trace. Only thing he could do was burn the damn things.
He changed into another set of work clothes, pulled on his waders and headed outside. After throwing the bag in the metal bin, he doused it with lighter fluid and lit it on fire.
The warm flames mesmerized him. As a kid, he loved setting pieces of old furniture on fire just to see them burn. By high school, he’d graduated to large wooden storage sheds, before moving on to hous
es. He still loved the crackling sound of fire and the intense heat, but killing gave him more satisfaction. Much more. That is, except for killing Chelsea. He hadn’t wanted to hurt her. Morton had principles. He only killed people who deserved to die, and Chelsea hadn’t deserved it. But he couldn’t have let her live. She would have told on him, no matter how nice a girl she was.
Once he was satisfied the evidence of his crime was destroyed, he hustled back to the truck for the left over meat. Tessa was nice enough to let him bring home any meat that was past its expiration date. He told her the food was for his dog. She’d freak if she knew it was for Bruno.
Morton grabbed his gun, stuffed it in the waistband and picked up the soggy plastic bag full of meat. God it smelled bad, but Bruno would devour it in seconds. He and the alligator were pals.
He probably should wait until morning, but for some reason, the dark, wet swamp held a certain appeal at night. It enveloped him in a womb-like cocoon. No one could see him and he could see no one. He liked being alone. He’d never run into another person this far into the woods, and doubted he ever would. Sure, the ranger drove on the road to his house, but he’d never come all the way to the trailer.
Morton grabbed his flashlight and pulled on a pair of gloves. As he picked his way toward the lake, the croaking frogs quieted. Branches rustled as wild animals scurried away. Out here, he was king.
After a good ten to twelve minutes, the path turned to mush. The muddy morass seeped up from the lake. He was getting close. With every step, his feet sunk into the mud, and a loud sucking noise popped up from the ground each time he lifted his leg. Kind of like gravity had doubled or something. Morton pretended he was on another planet, exploring the unknown. Morton the conqueror. It had a nice ring to it.
He stopped and shone his light around to make sure he was headed toward the right spot. It was real easy to get lost in the Green Swamp. He’d missed a landmark once or twice before, and it had taken him until morning to find his way back to the trailer. He didn’t want to do that again.
There. His beacon lit the logs he’d placed on the ground that led to the lake and headed toward them. Once he stepped onto the planks, he had to pay attention to keep his balance. The rounded pieces of wood ran for maybe forty feet. He’d chopped the trees himself. And here his dad said he’d never make anything of himself.
At the end of the path, Morton had built what he liked to think of as a makeshift dock. It only went about three feet into the water, but to him, it was elegant.
He stomped three times to call Bruno. The twelve-foot alligator was smart. He knew food was a swim away.
Morton turned off the flashlight and waited. Two eyes appeared from the murky depths of lake. They glowed a real cool green, kind of like the marbles he had as a kid.
Morton opened the food bag, reached in, and tossed the raw chicken and meat into the water one piece at a time. The loud splashes told him his friend had found the meal.
Pulling the gun from his waistband, he heaved it as far as he could into the water. Sure hated to lose the weapon, but he couldn’t afford to be caught with it. Good thing he had a stash of others. He really only needed one more. Then he’d have met his quota for the year.
Once he’d finished his chores, he headed back to the trailer. It was time to write Audrey Mae a letter.
At three in the morning, Ralph was pretty sure Tessa was asleep by now. She’d gotten home real late, much later than the other few nights he’d waited for her.
Through his binoculars, he’d seen her haul a baby out of her car. Never in a million years would he have thought she’d get knocked up. Sure they’d talked about getting pregnant, but Tessa claimed she was too stressed to conceive. Hell, if they’d had more sex, she would haven’t have had a problem.
He grabbed his crotch and adjusted his pants. Just thinking about fucking his ex-wife got him hard. Maybe he’d kidnap her and do her over and over again until she conceived. Then she’d have a reminder of him every day of her life.
Yeah, he liked that idea. Liked it a whole lot. Mostly he liked the fucking part. But then he wouldn’t have the pleasure of slowly killing her. Damn. He hated the catch-22 situation.
He could hear her now. She’d scream, and then cry every time he bit her tits. She’d call him all sorts of names when he shoved his cock in her. Hah. He’d have his way with her, all day, every day, whenever he wanted.
Enough of dreaming. Time to get back at her.
Ralph grabbed his duffel from the back seat of his rental and snuck down the road to her house. He’d practiced his plan a couple of times in the dark and could get in her house with his eyes closed.
His true stroke of genius had been stealing the kid’s shoes. Two nights ago he’d followed one of the Blue Moon workers home. The stupid kid, who was a tad shorter than he was, left his shoes on the front stoop since they had mud on them. Ralph stole the sneakers and now wore them. The ends pinched his toes, but he’d deal. When he was done, he planned to return the shoes. Brilliant. Absolutely, fucking, brilliant. When they lifted a print of the shoe pattern, guess who’d be the number one suspect? Ha, not him.
Okay, time to do it. He pulled out the rubber suction cup and placed it on her back window. Wearing night vision goggles, it was a piece of cake to cut the glass with the knife. After he removed the six-inch pane, he reached in and unlocked the window. Now came the fun part.
Real slow, so as to make no noise, he raised the sash just enough to crawl in. He spotted the crib and the kid. He loved these infrared goggles. It was like friggin’ daylight.
Ralph wasn’t interested in a whiny baby—at least not yet. He walked slowly out of the baby’s room into Tessa’s. He couldn’t make out her features, but as she lay sprawled out in her bed, anger at her betrayal threatened to ruin his plan. His fingers clenched and itched to wrap them around her throat. He wanted to hit her right now, to hurt her, but her time would come.
After taking a few breaths, Ralph reached into his bag and withdrew his Polaroid camera. He stood over Tessa’s bed and took aim the best he could. Hoping the flash wouldn’t wake her, he snapped the photo. Immediately, he wrapped the camera in a towel to lessen the noise as the motor ground out the picture.
Tessa moaned, and Ralph held his breath. When he was sure she hadn’t awoken, he crept out of her room and closed the door. Removing a penlight, he examined the photo. Perfect. It was a little blurry, but she’d know someone was watching her.
Ralph propped up the picture on the living room coffee table. Wanting to spread out his surprises, he dropped a stack of photos on the kitchen counter. Ralph had fun capturing Tessa running from the restaurant to the store. His favorites were Tessa leaving in the morning, Tessa getting in her car looking all stressed, and Tessa schlepping the stupid baby around in the grocery store.
He was tempted to toss in the one of the cute babysitter, but decided to hold onto that photo for later. He just might have to sample the young lady before he left town.
Ralph scribbled a note and left through the baby’s window. Pride at his accomplishment raced through him. If only he could be a fly on the wall when she awoke.
Ralph grinned and sauntered back to his car, happy for the first time in years.
10
Mandy’s small whimpers roused Tessa from a deep sleep, and she had to swallow to wet her mouth. “I’m coming, sweetheart.”
Tessa sat up and stretched her arms over her head to get the circulation back into her body. Her lower back screamed from sitting so much yesterday, waiting for those damned policemen to fingerprint all the help. The long hours at work, not to mention the immense stress, were catching up to her.
She trudged out of her bedroom. Jeez. She’d walked through ocean waves faster.
The bedroom light illuminated a small object propped up on the living room coffee table. Tessa squinted to focus her weary eyes and stepped over to the square item that looked like one of those old-fashioned Polaroids.
At first she couldn�
��t figure out how the picture had gotten there. Had Annie left it the other day? No, she’d cleaned since then and would have noticed.
Tessa carried the picture to the standing lamp next to the sofa and flicked on the light. It was a Polaroid, all right. Hell, she didn't realize they existed anymore. At first, she couldn’t decide if the blurry photo with its too-light center rimmed by dark edges was a lumpy mound of fabric or a sheet covering some hidden cache.
After tilting the photo to cut the reflected light, she was able to make out a blue lamp with an anchor base in a shadowy region at the top of the photo. Hey, it looked just like the one in her bedroom. Her gaze dropped to the bright spot in the center. The cloth was a blue and white striped sheet, the same kind as on her bed.
Her heart nearly stopped. “Ohmigod.”
Tessa sucked in a big breath. It was a photo of her bedroom. She was in bed facing away from the photographer. Her auburn hair looked dark brown, but Tessa had no doubt it was her.
Her fingers went limp, and the picture fluttered to the table as panic gripped her to the spot. When had someone taken this? She’d changed the sheets right before going to bed last night. No way someone could have broken into her house while she’d slept, could he have? Tessa didn’t sleep through a sneeze let alone a break in.
She would have heard glass shatter or a lock turning. At the very least, she would have awoken when the flash went off. But she hadn’t.
Dear God, he could have killed her. Or worse, he could have harmed Mandy.
Fear gushed through her veins. “Mandy!”
Her niece let out a cry.
Tessa raced to the baby’s room fearing for the baby’s life. Her stomach twisted into a knot. When she saw Mandy lying on her back, playing with her feet, Tessa nearly dropped to the ground with relief.
As she stood over Mandy’s crib reveling in the child’s healthy glow, the baby looked up and smiled. Tessa’s heart swelled. She picked her up, kissed her dewy cheek and placed her over her shoulder.