Dead Air

by Michael Bradley

  Kaitlyn gazed into the bathroom mirror, examining the dark shadows beneath her eyes. The morning after Jesse’s drowning had found her in a similar state of despair, grief, and guilt. Even back then, she knew that what happened at the Shallows would someday come back to haunt her. Was this what people called karma? A life for a life?

  The room phone rang from the bedroom. She exited the bathroom, walked around the bed, and picked up the handset from the end table. “Hello?” She listened to the silence on the other end of the line. No one was speaking, but Kaitlyn could tell that someone was there. “Hello? Who is this?”

  The voice had a grating metallic edge to it. She’d done enough audio production throughout her radio career to recognize when a vocoder was being used to modulate a voice. “Hello Laura. Bet you never thought you’d hear from me again,” it said.

  She gripped the phone with quaking hands. Kaitlyn knew she was alone, but still glanced around the hotel room to make sure. How did he know where to find her? “Who are you?”

  “The Shallows. Don’t you remember?”

  She gave her head a fervent shake as if the caller could see. “No! Why’re you doing this?”

  “I’m sorry about Brad, but you needed to know what it was like.”

  The words sounded so condescending. Listening to them made her feel nauseous. Lowering herself onto the bed, Kaitlyn’s grip on the phone tightened. “Know what? What’re you talking about?” Her voice grew louder, and she almost screamed into the phone. “Did you kill Brad?”

  “It had to be done. He wasn’t your type.”

  A tear ran down her face. Was it sadness or fear? She wasn’t sure. “What do you mean?”

  “There will only ever be one for you.”

  Kaitlyn squeezed her eyes closed. Her chest tightened; her breathing was rapid and shallow. “No! Jesse’s dead.”

  “You can’t fight this feeling, Laura.”

  The six words froze her blood. They sent her spiraling into the past, reliving those final minutes. Jesse had whispered those exact words in her ear as he’d pulled her against him. They’d been alone. How could anyone know what he’d said? He was dead.

  “What’s wrong, Laura? Has Jesse got your tongue?”

  The modulated laugh that followed tore through her heart and mind. No, no, no, this isn’t happening. Kaitlyn couldn’t think straight. The laughter seemed to engulf her.

  “I know where you are,” the voice said. “You’ll never escape me. The Shallows are coming for you.”

  With a gasp, Kaitlyn slammed down the receiver and stepped back from the phone. Her arms wrapped around her shivering body. Each breath was fast and furious. Suddenly, she snatched the phone off the bedside table, and hurled it across the room. It crashed into the far wall and fell to the floor in pieces. She stared at it and moved backward until her back pressed against the opposite wall.

  The knock on the hotel room door broke the silence. She recoiled at the sound. How long had she been standing there? Time had passed without her awareness. She peered across the room, afraid to move. The knock was repeated, this time followed by a familiar voice calling her name. She rushed across the room, flung the door open, and fell into Rodney’s surprised arms.

  Kaitlyn buried her face into his shoulder, feeling his arms wrap awkwardly around her. He spoke to her, but she couldn’t make out the words. After a few moments, he eased her back into the room, allowing the door to swing closed behind them. Rodney gently pushed her away from him and locked eyes with hers.

  “Calm down, Kaitlyn. What’s happened?”

  She started to answer, and then paused. How much should she tell him? She’d hidden her past for so long. To reveal it to the police now was to open her life to the exact scrutiny that she’d been hiding from for all these years. A secret once told cannot be untold.

  “I got a phone call. On the hotel phone.”

  His brow furrowed, and the corners of his mouth turned down into a frown. “From who?”

  A sudden chill swept over her. She didn’t know how to answer. The Shallows? Jesse? Both were impossible.

  “I don’t know.” She shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t have a goddamn clue.” She clenched her fists in a mingling of rage and fear. “You’re the detective. Why can’t you tell me?” She ran a hand through her hair, pulling it back from her eyes.

  Rodney remained silent. And calm. Then he said, “Did you tell anyone where you’d be?”

  Kaitlyn shook her head and explained that she’d made no calls since arriving at the hotel. Rodney studied her as if performing an unspoken interrogation. She couldn’t bear to be under his gaze any longer. She turned away from him and crossed the room to stare out the window.

  “Then how did he find you?”

  “I don’t know.” She crossed her arms in front of her chest. Why was he expecting her to have all the answers? “Maybe one of your lot told him.”

  His eyes narrowed. He didn’t seem to like her accusation. “Maybe. Or maybe he was in the crowd at the crime scene. Could’ve overheard someone say where you were going.”

  She opened her mouth to argue, but words failed her. What right did she have to criticize his efforts when she wasn’t being straight with him? “Sorry. That wasn’t fair.”

  “What did the caller say?” he asked.

  She tried to recount the call to him, but the conversation was all a fear-filled haze in her mind. It was difficult to remember what was said when. She corrected herself again and again, feeling more and more flustered as each moment passed. The jumbled narrative slipped from her mouth and she hoped it made some sort of sense. She did, however, make sure to skip the references to her childhood name, and held back the significance of the caller’s final words. When she’d finished, the detective was silent for so long that she turned to make sure he was still in the room.

  He studied her intensely, so much so that she wondered if he believed her. Their eyes met, and she quickly turned away. She couldn’t bear his scrutinizing gaze. She crossed to the bathroom, grabbed one of the glasses from the vanity, and filled it with water. She returned to the bedroom, and took a long, slow sip.

  “Why’re you here?” she asked.

  “Just wanted to check on you.”

  She lowered herself onto the corner of the bed. “An escort from work. Now you’re checking up on me. Do police always give such personal service?”

  His face turned a faint shade of red. He shuffled his feet and rubbed the back of his neck. His explanation came out with an uncomfortable stammer. “I . . . you remind me of someone. My daughter. You . . . you look just like her.”

  Kaitlyn said, “Sorry.”

  Rodney gave her a broad smile. “She’s not dead. You just remind me of her. It’s a long story.” He slipped his hands into the pockets of his windbreaker. “Have you had breakfast? I know a place that does an awesome omelet.”

  She smiled. She didn’t have much of an appetite, but she hadn’t eaten in . . . she couldn’t remember when she last ate. Kaitlyn nodded. “I could go for a good omelet.”

  “After breakfast, I’d like you to come to the station to make a statement. Just routine. Then I’ll bring you back here.”

  She nodded again. Whether it had been his intention or not, he’d helped to relieve her fears. She’d stopped trembling, and, although she knew Brad’s murderer was still stalking her, she felt safe with Rodney.

  22

  I’m still a bit buzzed from the kill. I never thought it could be so exhilarating, and the effect it has had on her is more than I could have hoped for. I look down at the pre-paid phone in my left hand and smile. It’s the little things that bring the most joy. A simple phone call. Just when she thinks she has safely absconded, I let her know there’s nowhere she can hide from me. I power off the phone, pop out the battery, then toss them both into the dumpster behind the hotel. Crossing the parking lot, I walk toward my car, a freshly lit cigarette perched between my fingers.

  Once in the driver’s seat,
I turn on my iPad and pull up the surveillance video from her hotel room. The angle isn’t the best, but I didn’t have the luxury of optimally positioning the camera. But it shows me enough of the room. He’s standing by the window, silhouetted against the sunlight. Seems he’s taken a bit of a shine to her. Laura enters from the bathroom, grabs her purse, and they talk for a moment. Damn, I wish I had sound. After a moment, he opens the door and ushers her from the room.

  Interesting. I wonder where they’re heading. It seems a bit late for breakfast. Should I follow them? They exit the hotel and climb into his Dodge. Flicking my cigarette out the window, I start the car and wait for them to pull away. They turn left out of the parking lot and I reach to put my car in gear. Then, I pause. My hand is shaking. I didn’t notice it earlier. Haven’t slept much these past few days. Coffee and cigarettes have been my only sustenance for more than 24 hours. The adrenaline I’ve relied on since last night is gone. I can’t remember when I was last home. Probably been a day or more. There’s only a few more days to go, then this is all over. Can I push myself a little further? I lean back in my seat, pressing against the headrest. My eyes feel heavy. Can I . . .?

  I wake with a start. Ten minutes have passed. Damn! I must have drifted off. The Dodge is nowhere to be seen. I light another cigarette. Perhaps I should head home. A shower. Some breakfast. Maybe squeeze in a quick nap. I need to have all my senses for what’s coming. Can’t afford any mistakes. Yes, I think I’ll head home.

  23

  Rodney reclined in his office chair and tossed a crumpled piece of paper across the desk at Julie Lewis. The wad landed on the center of her desk, and, with a single swift motion, she brushed it off into the trash can. She peered up at him for a moment, and then returned her eyes to the report she’d been reading.

  “A pre-paid cell phone,” she announced.

  “Damn.” He leaned forward, resting his hands on the desk. After he returned Kaitlyn to the hotel on the previous morning, Rodney had spent Sunday afternoon arranging to have the phone records compiled and analyzed. He’d hoped that it’d give them a desperately needed lead. But of course, the killer used a burner phone. No chance of tracing it.

  “Do you feel like this guy is always a step ahead of us?”

  Julie set the report down on her desk. “Why are you so sure it’s a man?”

  “You think it’s a woman?”

  “Could be,” she said. “It’s not unheard of. Remember the Bagby killing?”

  He shook his head. It sounded familiar, but he couldn’t recall the details. “Wasn’t that out near Pittsburgh?”

  “Yeah, his crazy ex-girlfriend stalked and shot him,” she said. “Or, maybe this whole stalker thing is just a ruse.”

  Rodney tilted his head to one side and gave her a puzzled look. “What’s that mean?”

  Julie rose from her seat and rounded her desk, perching herself up on the corner of his. “Did you ever think that maybe she had something to do with all of this? Maybe Kaitlyn Ashe knows more than she’s telling us?” She folded her arms across her chest. “Face it, she hasn’t exactly been all that forthright about her past.”

  He returned her gaze and raised one eye brow. “You suggesting that she sent those letters to herself?”

  She gave a slow shake of her head. “Not exactly suggesting. More like toying with the idea, which seems to be more than you’re willing to do.” She gestured toward him. “She claims that there’ve been numerous letters, but, where are they? She threw them away.” She made air quotes around her last sentence.

  He straightened up in his chair, glaring at her through narrowed eyes. Why’d she always have to play the bad cop? Always finding guilt in victims where there was none. But this was beyond even her norm. There was an edge to her voice that threw him. Was she for real? It sounded almost like an accusation.

  “Hang on a sec. What are you trying to say?”

  “That you’re allowing yourself to be blinded to the possibility that she might have murdered her fiancé. The letters could’ve been all a setup to throw us off.”

  There was a tinge of anger in his sigh. “Are you saying I’m not being objective?”

  Julie glanced around the office at the other desks. He followed her gaze, noting that most of them were empty. The only one occupied was at the opposite side of the room.

  She lowered her voice. “Yes.”

  Rodney pushed his chair back and rose to his feet. She didn’t move an inch. “That’s ridiculous.”

  “Is it? Have you asked her yet why she changed her name?” She paused, as if waiting for his reply. “I didn’t think so. And what about the Shallows? Have you pushed her for answers on that yet? For all you know, she could’ve been a murderer in her previous life.”

  He turned his gaze away from her, unwilling to look her in the eye. He refused to admit that she might be right, even though he knew she was. There were too many unanswered questions in this case, and he’d gone far easier on Kaitlyn than he normally would have with another victim.

  “Rodney, I get it. She reminds you of how you failed your daughter. But you’re not helping anyone by ignoring some key points in this investigation,” said Julie. “What’re you going to do? Camp out in her front yard? Take her out to her favorite restaurant to help her cope with her loss? Dinner at Tuscano Italiano isn’t going to bring her fiancé back, and it certainly won’t help us solve this case.”

  He picked up the coffee mug from his desk and stared at the glossy navy-colored ceramic. His eyes traced the outline of the gold Lower Township Police logo imprinted on the side. Turning away from Julie, he crossed to the coffee machine. As he filled the mug with hot coffee, he was reminded of a quote he heard once from Ulysses S. Grant: “My failures have been errors in judgment, not of intent.” He considered quoting it to Julie but knew it would be lost on her.

  He returned to his desk. Julie hadn’t moved from her place on the corner. After gulping down some coffee, he placed the mug on the desk. “It’s never been my intention to hamper this investigation.” He didn’t feel the need to explain himself to her, but he did, however, feel the need to defend his actions. “For Christ’s sake, she’s just lost her fiancé. We had her in to give a statement. What more do you want me to do? Drag her in here and grill her for hours?”

  “Why not? Isn’t that how we get results?”

  “That may be how you get results.” He lowered himself back into his chair. “I’ll get more information out of her if she’s cooperative.”

  “Whatever. You’re the investigating officer on this case. I’m just here to do the shit work. You run the case however you want.” Julie slid off the desk.

  Rodney could sense the passive aggression ooze from her back as she returned to her chair. Her tendency towards finding guilt in every person involved in a case often infuriated him. He’d always chalked it up to inexperience, hoping that it would soften over time. It had to a point. This case, however, brought the tendency back with a vengeance.

  Rodney heard the computer on his desk ding. He leaned forward and checked his email. “The ME’s report. Says our victim died from a single wound to his throat. But—get this—there were signs that he was stabbed more than once in that same wound.”

  “Interesting. Sounds like there was some rage behind the crime.”

  He nodded and continued to scan the report, paraphrasing as he went. “The stab wounds went straight through his carotid artery. He wouldn’t have lived long. ME estimates about thirty seconds, forty-five at most. Nothing else out of the ordinary.”

  Julie scratched on a notepad with a pen. At first, he thought she was taking notes, but the random shapes on the page told him differently.

  He pictured the crime scene again. It was amazing how brutal a stab wound to the throat can appear. The amount of blood alone was enough to make a strong man look away in horror. Just one cut generated so much gore. He couldn’t remember ever seeing so much blood in one place. Forensics had the car now and was going over eve
ry inch of it looking for clues. Somehow, he was certain they wouldn’t find anything. This bastard—whoever he was—knew how to hide his trail.

  Julie turned toward him. “What now?”

  He pushed his chair away from the desk. “WPLX. It’s time to meet Kaitlyn’s co-workers.”

  24

  Rodney walked into the lobby and stopped near the reception desk. He had spent thirty minutes with Scott MacKay, the station’s program director, and discovered little that would help him find Brad’s murderer and Kaitlyn’s stalker. He hoped Julie was having better luck with the station’s sales staff. Sammy Devonport was behind the front desk, speaking softly on the phone. He had spoken to her when they first arrived. She had nothing to add except snide remarks about the incompetence of the Philadelphia police. Rodney reminded her twice that he was from Lower Merion Township Police but gave up trying to correct her as she continued her wiseass comments.

  From his open notebook, he reviewed his notes from Scott’s interview, despite the fact that the conversation was still fresh in his mind.

  Scott Mackay had gestured Rodney to the leather sofa while he closed the office door. Scott perched himself on the desk, his legs hanging off the front and his head bowed.

  “This is a terrible situation. I’m sorrier than you can possibly imagine,” Scott said.

  Rodney nodded his understanding. “We’re confident we’ll make an arrest in short order.” His words sounded far more certain than the investigation thus far allowed. “I’d like to ask you a few questions.”

  He started by asking about Kaitlyn’s employment at WPLX. Scott explained that she’d been with the station for two years.

  “She’s been a great addition to our line-up,” he said. “She topped out the rating within the first year.” There was a wistfulness in his eyes as he spoke about Kaitlyn.