“Yeah. Guess he messed up the first one.” Jackson itched to get the man in his sights and pull the trigger.
“The original phantom didn’t kill as often.”
“Frank has a taste for it, obviously.” He parked by the chief’s car behind an abandoned warehouse. “He isn’t sticking to the woods anymore. Instead, he seems to be seizing the opportunity when it presents itself.” Jackson shoved open his car door and waited for Pressley to exit.
She followed him to where the chief stood next to a battered Impala. Inside a young African American couple had been shot and left in the front seat. No games this time, just the need to kill.
“I want this man found and stopped, Hudson.” The chief shook his head. “The first night of a mandatory curfew, and he attacked two couples. I’ve called in reinforcements. They should arrive in a few hours. Miss Taylor, I’d like you to provide copies of all the information you’ve gathered.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll have them to you as soon as the photo shop opens.”
“No, you’ll bring them to the station when we’re finished here. We can make copies.” He marched to his squad car, leaving the scene for Jackson to handle.
Jackson turned to face the arriving reporters. “Stay here, Pressley. I’d prefer they not get you on camera. Stay down.” Nodding, she sat on the ground in front of the victim’s car, her gun clutched in her hand. She was wise to use the car as cover.
Jackson retrieved crime scene tape from the trunk of his car and secured the area, keeping the reporters back. That didn’t stop them from speculating or shouting questions.
“Phantom Number Two is on a spree,” one said. “What can you tell us?”
“Is this the work of one man or multiple killers?”
“Officer, who is behind the car? Is it a witness?”
“I’ve nothing to say at this point.” Jackson finished taping off the area. “Chief Larson will do a press briefing later today.” Cameras flashed. What a circus. Jackson groaned and waited for the EMTs and crime scene techs to arrive. While he waited, he shined the flashlight around the car, looking for a sign, any sign but found nothing. Concrete didn’t allow for footprints. “You all right?” He stood next to where Pressley sat.
“Ground’s a bit hard, but I’m okay.” She shifted her position. “We can’t allow him to keep killing, Jackson.”
“I’m open to suggestions. Frank is as elusive as his relative was.”
“You’re going to have to let him come for me.”
“I’m not going to use you as bait. Besides, once folks take the curfew seriously, he’ll be attacking people in their homes. We have no way of stopping him. The city is too large.” Hopefully, enough help would arrive to crowd the nighttime hours with cops. “Frank has dived off the deep end. All we can do is wait for him to make a mistake.”
That wasn’t going to happen in time to stop him from killing again.
Headlights flared to life through the trees. A second later, Jackson sprinted in that direction. They’d been watched the whole time.
~
Frank laughed as Hudson raced in his direction as if he could catch him on foot. What a fool. He spun the car around and sped in the opposite direction. He hadn’t had this much fun in his entire life.
He’d sat there and watched as Pressley took a seat on the hard ground and Hudson taped off the area. He’d watched as the reporters shouted questions and snapped photos, not worried that they’d catch him in one of the pictures. No, he was far too good to be caught. His laughter increased as Hudson grew smaller and smaller in Frank’s rearview mirror. All that could be seen was the tiny beam of light from the officer’s flashlight.
What he wanted to do was grab Pressley. Instead, he made haste for the cabin he now called home. He’d get an opportunity to take her. Frank knew how people’s minds worked. She’d tire of the killings, get careless, and make herself a target. It’s what good people did. That’s why those types were picked off by stronger ones like himself.
All he had to do was wait, and Frank Beckett was a patient man when he wanted something bad enough.
~
The police station swarmed with officers arriving from other cities in Arkansas. Pressley handed the Jump drive containing her notes to the receptionist. “I’d like the originals back, please. Chief Larson said to make copies.”
“I’ll have them back to you in a few minutes.”
While she waited, the newly arrived officers asked Pressley how she identified The Phantom as Roy Beckett and why she and Jackson suspected Frank.
“I don’t believe in coincidences, gentlemen, and Frank’s disappearance when the killings started would be a big one.”
Heads nodded. One officer from Little Rock asked, “What’s the plan now? Are we to follow your lead or follow protocol?”
Pressley glanced at the chief. “Since I’m only a civilian studying the case from 1946, you should take your orders from Chief Larson.”
“Agreed.” The chief nodded. “The FBI will be arriving sometime today and will take over when they do. For now, I intend for each and every one of you to be pounding the pavements, starting just before curfew. If anyone is out without a darn good reason, issue a citation. This is to be given the utmost priority. My receptionist will be handing each of you the notes Miss Taylor has compiled. While our present killer has deviated from The Phantom’s MO, there might be something in there to help us apprehend this guy.”
More heads nodded before Chief Larson told Jackson he could take Pressley home.
“Are we really returning to your house?” She asked once they were outside.
“Just for a few hours to catch a few hours of sleep. Then, we need to come up with a plan because I don’t have one.” He exhaled heavily. “Other than visiting the hospital and possibly driving the streets tonight anyway.”
After a short four hours of sleep, Jackson woke Pressley again, and they drove to the hospital to speak with last night’s survivors. A nurse showed them to a hospital room where a sleeping young man lay on the bed, and a girl about his age sat in the chair beside him holding his hand.
“I’m Officer Hudson, and this is Miss Taylor. Do you mind answering a few questions for us?”
She glanced up with red-rimmed eyes. “We already told the police everything.”
“Please.” Pressley smiled, doing her best to reassure the girl. “I’ve been studying the case from 1946 and am hoping you can help us with this new one.”
The girl sighed. “I’ll try.”
“Start with telling us what happened,” Jackson said.
“We were sitting by the lake. Troy had asked me on a date, but neither one of us has much money. I didn’t mind. I thought sitting on a blanket by the lake was a romantic idea. We hadn’t been there long before a man in a ski mask showed up and told us to take off our clothes. We ran instead. When we reached the road, he shot Troy in the back. That’s it.” Her words broke on a sob. “The doctor said Troy might never walk again. Only time and physical therapy will tell.”
Pressley placed a hand on the girl’s shoulder. “That is unbelievably sad, but at least he’s alive. Others weren’t as lucky.”
“Tell that to the star quarterback.”
“Did you see what kind of car the man drove?”
“A dark sedan, I think. I couldn’t see it well because of the trees. The man was dressed in jeans, a long-sleeved shirt, and the mask.”
Not much more information than they had before.
“He said he wanted to have fun with me,” she said softly as they turned to leave.
Thankfully, he hadn’t had the chance. “Thank you.” Pressley gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze. “We’ll pray for Troy.”
“Now what?” she asked in the hospital elevator. “A ski mask and jeans aren’t much to go on.”
“We know who the killer is.” Jackson pressed the button for the bottom floor. “He also drives a dark sedan. Finding him is going to be the hard part. He strikes at night i
n remote places. The police can’t cover every square inch of the city and the surrounding farmland. It’s going to take a lot of luck.”
She still thought the only way they’d catch Frank was to make it easy for him to get close to her. The difficult part would be convincing Jackson. Broken sleep and not enough of it made her brain fuzzy. “I need something to eat and at least two cups of coffee.”
“There’s a great burger place not too far from here. They claim to have the world’s best coffee, but that’s debatable.”
The elevator doors opened, and they stepped into the lobby. “Sounds perfect if we’re going to be up all night.”
“It’s time to switch our days and nights. We won’t catch Frank during daylight.”
She agreed. Evil liked the dark, slinking around searching for prey.
At a diner resembling a throwback to the 1950s, she chose a bacon cheeseburger, fries, and coffee with cream. While they waited for their food, she studied Jackson who seemed lost in his thoughts, staring at the diner’s entrance.
“I had someone check on Frank’s financials,” he said. “He took money from the bank and visited the grocery store the day he disappeared.”
“Stocking up on supplies so he need only come to town to kill.”
“I’ve asked the chief to send a helicopter to scope out cabins in the outlying areas. He’s going to speak with the FBI when they arrive.” He faced her. “If they see any cabins not known to have been previously occupied, I’m willing to take the risk of you and me checking them out. Are you willing? This visit to Texarkana might be your last.”
“I know.” Not what she’d thought of when she arrived, but things had turned and made danger, even death, a grave possibility. “I’ll risk almost anything to stop Frank Beckett.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Jackson muttered.
Chapter Thirteen
“These cops stick out like party dresses at a barn raising.” Jackson leaned forward and glared through the windshield. “Frank won’t move into the open with the police strolling down the sidewalk.” What happened to blending in?
“There isn’t usually this many people moving around. Especially during a curfew.” Pressley slouched in her seat. What a waste of time.
The car radio crackled. Jackson snatched it from its holder. “Officer Hudson.”
“We have a report of a woman saying she’s spotted the man we’re looking for outside her house.” She gave the address.
Immediately, two officers sprinted in that direction. Jackson sighed and pulled the car away from the curb.
“Wouldn’t we be more effective outside rather than sitting in the car?” Pressley tilted her head.
“You’re safer in the car.”
“Sure I am. Just as the other victims were.” Frank was out there—she felt it deep down—crouched like a cougar ready to pounce. With too many obvious officers on the streets, he’d go outside of town or target someone on the outskirts.
Had Grandma felt the same frustration and anticipation all those years ago that Pressley felt now? The helplessness in bringing down a killer? Sure, Pressley had helped identify The Phantom, but now a more evil man stalked the town. She wasn’t sure she could help stop him. Not sitting safely in a car anyway.
They pulled up to the address given, and surprise, surprise, Jackson allowed Pressley to join him outside the car. “Stay with me.”
The man was startimg to sound like a broken record. “I know the drill.”
He cut her a sharp glance, then joined the two officers in front of a two-story white house.
“False alarm,” one of them said. “Nothing more than a raccoon digging in the garbage can.”
“I really thought I saw someone lurking in the bushes.” The woman pulled her fuzzy robe up around her neck. “A woman can’t be too careful. My grandmother told me all about The Phantom, you know. The town even holds a party at Halloween.”
Halloween came early this year. Pressley turned and surveyed the quiet suburban street. A few lights flicked on, curtains twitched as those inside watched the action outside. All seemed quiet. “Wait.” She narrowed her eyes as a man in a mask slipped through a gate across the street. “Jackson.” She took off at a run.
“Pressley!” Jackson caught up and gripped her arm. “Do you have a death wish?” He scowled and shoved her behind him.
Rolling her eyes, she followed him in the direction the man had gone. Catching sight of him scaling a fence, Jackson aimed his gun. “Halt. Police.”
The man froze and jumped to the ground, hands above his head. “Don’t shoot. I’m just here to see my girlfriend.”
“Remove your mask.”
The man pulled off the ski mask revealing a face barely old enough to shave.
“Why the mask, son?” Jackson lowered his weapon. “Are you aware there’s a killer who wears one?”
His mouth opened and closed a few times before he spoke. “I didn’t want her parents to recognize me. They don’t like me.”
“Hiding behind a mask when the town is running scared could get you shot. You’re breaking curfew.” Jackson motioned for the young man to follow him, then turned him over to another officer. “Of all the idiotic things to do.”
“It was stupid,” Pressley said, “but young people don’t always think before acting. You were young once.”
“I followed the rules.”
No argument there. She doubted Jackson ever got into trouble. Pressley, on the other hand, had always skirted the line and spent more time grounded during her senior year than not.
Gunshots sounded from a street over. Jackson, Pressley, and the officer not putting the kid in the squad car took off at a sprint. They arrived to see an old man on his porch with a shotgun.
“Thought I saw something,” he said when they arrived.
“Give me that.” Jackson yanked the weapon from the man’s hands. “You could shoot an innocent person. The whole town has gone mad. Search the area,” he told the other officer.
“I have the right to protect myself.” The older man crossed his arms.
“Yes, sir, you do, but in a responsible manner.” Jackson leaned the shotgun against the wall of the house. “There are officers patrolling the streets. You might shoot one of them.”
Or a kid out breaking the rules. Pressley glanced around the manicured lawn. Not many places to hide. What had the man thought he saw? Whatever it was, if there had been something, it was long gone.
A squad car drove past, the officer speaking into a megaphone that curfew was in place and for folks to stay in their homes. Pressley shrugged. There would always be those who thought they knew more than the authorities and thought they could catch a killer when the police couldn’t.
They returned to the car. “How about a drive to some houses outside of town?” Jackson asked. “I doubt Frank is anywhere near. There’s too much going on.”
“Sounds good.” She clicked her seatbelt into place. While there would be patrols on the more remote roads, there wouldn’t be as many, which made hiding easier.
A moonless night with a cloudy sky cast the country roads with eeriness. Swaying tree branches whispered of horror.
Pressley shook off her maudlin thoughts and kept her eyes peeled through the open car window. Where are you, Frank?
~
Frank stared through the window where a man and a woman watched TV, the changing colors on the screen flickering across their faces. He smiled, remembering a scene the newspapers had mentioned, back when Roy had all the fun.
He wished it was Hudson and Pressley sitting in the easy chair and flowered sofa. Yes, the woman had moved in with the cop. For her protection, no doubt. It didn’t matter. Frank could still get to her when he was ready. For now, he was having too much fun to end it all.
Rapping the barrel of the pistol on the window, he laughed at the fear on the couple’s faces when they spotted him. The woman screamed and darted down the hallway. Her husband snatched a handgun from an e
nd table. Too slow. Frank’s bullet caught him in the chest.
Frank moved to the door, only to find it locked. Not a problem considering the back door slammed against the house. The woman wanted a game of chase. Frank grinned, happy to oblige.
She stood in the center of the yard, a rifle aimed at him as he came around the corner. Clever. This one wanted to fight back. He admired her spunk and ducked back out of sight.
Her voice reached him. “The killer is at my house. He shot my husband. I’m armed, so have any arriving officers announce themselves.”
She’d called the police. This could complicate things.
When he peered around the corner, he got a face full of wood splinters as her shot hit the corner of the house. He cursed and fired wildly. When he chanced a peek again, she’d taken shelter behind a large oak tree.
The inky blackness of the night made vision difficult. The woman knew her yard. Frank didn’t. What if she snuck up behind him? He plastered his back against the siding. Stay or leave? He’d already killed the man. No one could survive a direct hit like that. Was staying around for the woman worth taking the risk of being shot himself?
Sirens wailed, halting in front of the house. How did they get there so fast? Frank eyed the cornfield in front of him. He’d have to make a run for it. Pushing away from the house, he stayed as low as possible and ran.
~
Gun in hand, Pressley right behind him, Jackson dashed around the house. “Police!”
A woman armed with a rifle pointed toward the cornfield. “He went in there. Is the ambulance coming?”
“Yes, ma’am. Stay out of sight.” He turned to Pressley. “I’d like it if you stayed with her. Please.”
She blinked up at him, then nodded. “Be careful. You should wait for backup.”
“He’ll get away. Call the station and let them know where I am.” Jackson cupped her cheek and headed into the cornfield, praying Frank wouldn’t double back and find Pressley. He stopped and listened, hearing nothing but the wind through the stalks. The man could be anywhere.
The back of his neck prickled. The palm of his hand holding the gun grew sweaty. A footfall sounded a few rows over. Staying low, Jackson headed that way, careful to make as little noise as possible. He wanted to call out, tell Frank he couldn’t escape, but that would alert him to the fact it was Jackson chasing him. Which meant Pressley wouldn’t be far. Jackson couldn’t risk her safety to pinpoint Frank’s location. The chance of catching him was slim.
The Lovers' Lane Murders Page 8