The Lovers' Lane Murders

by Cynthia Hickey

  Chapter Seventeen

  Frank huddled under a tattered sleeping bag, unable to believe life had come to living among the homeless. The odor of their unwashed bodies and alcohol-infused breath made him want to gag.

  He narrowed his eyes as a woman and child rushed past him. When they’d gone a few yards, he stuffed his belongings behind a dumpster and followed them, the weight of his handgun heavy in the pocket of his coat. Frank pulled on his ski mask and drew up the hoodie on the oversized sweatshirt he wore. Not even his mother would recognize him.

  The couple continued to hurry through those propped against trees and cement walls. Ah, they were headed toward the soup kitchen. He’d have to hurry before they left the area. Frank increased his pace, darting to the left and circling around to block their path. He grinned beneath his mask at the look on the woman’s face. She drew her child close to her side.

  The boy stared up, wide-eyed at Frank as he raised his gun. Then of all things, his hand lowered. He couldn’t shoot a child no matter how much the urge to kill gnawed at him. Frank shoved two one-hundred-dollar bills at the woman, then whirled and raced away.

  ~

  Pressley followed Jackson inside the town’s soup kitchen and studied the people in line and sitting at tables. “This is sad.”

  “I agree.” Jackson followed her gaze. “America shouldn’t have such a homeless problem. Let’s see if we can find the director.”

  A woman and boy around the age of twelve rushed into the dining hall. “I saw him. The Phantom.” She sagged into a chair amidst the rising voices around her.

  Jackson switched directions. “Ma’am? I’m Officer Hudson.” He sat across from her, Pressley taking the seat next to him. “Can you tell me exactly what happened?”

  She dabbed her eyes with a napkin from a dispenser, and she nodded. “I’ve never been more frightened in my life. A big man wearing a ski mask pointed a gun at me and my son. He just stared at us for a couple of minutes, then shoved money into my hand and ran off.” She tilted her head. “That doesn’t sound like the man terrorizing this city, but I swear it was him.”

  Pressley widened her eyes. “Maybe he can’t bring himself to kill a child.”

  “I guess even Frank has some scruples. Where did you see him, ma’am?”

  “Where all the homeless are. We were headed here for supper when he stepped in front of us.” She put her arm around her son. “Our situation is temporary.”

  Pressley sure hoped so. “Come on. Let’s get you a plate.” She led the boy away while Jackson continued to question his mother. “Looks like spaghetti tonight. Smells yummy.”

  The boy nodded.

  “You’re okay now, but I bet that man was scary.” Could the boy speak?

  He simply nodded again and stood at the back of the line.

  The queue moved quickly despite the number of people, and Pressley took a plate for the boy’s mother. She couldn’t imagine the anxiety of not having a place to live. Jackson’s house might not be her home, but she was safe, warm, and well fed. Maybe serving sometime in the soup kitchen while she was in town would be a good thing for her.

  Plates in hand, she led the boy back to his mother and set the plate on the table in front of the woman. “You must be starving.”

  “Thank you.”

  Jackson pushed to his feet. “I have enough information. Let’s pay a visit to the lot where the homeless live. Ma’am, please use the money you were given to sleep under a roof tonight. The kitchen can direct you to a shelter for you and your boy. There’s no need to sleep outside.”

  Tears sprang to her eyes. “Thank you. I’ll check into it.”

  Once outside, Jackson turned to Pressley. “These types of situations rip at my heart. No one should be homeless, much less a child.”

  “I’ve decided I’d like to volunteer here.”

  He smiled. “How about we both do that on my days off?”

  She hugged his arm. “Sounds wonderful.” While she spent twenty-four seven with Jackson, she’d enjoy doing something other than watching him work across the desk or hitting the pavement looking for Frank. Serving together would be something a real couple did together.

  Heads turned as they entered the part grass, part cement lot. A few trees provided shade during the daylight hours but not nearly enough. Summer days would be hot. She noted a water spigot near one of the buildings and turned the nozzle. Water rushed from the pipes. At least these people had water.

  “An anonymous person keeps the water running. Unfortunately, the building is deemed inhabitable.” Jackson pulled Frank’s photo from his pocket.

  Head after head shook as he showed the picture and described the clothes Frank wore.

  “He’d be wearing a dark hoodie and, occasionally, a ski mask.”

  “In this heat?” A bearded man scowled. “He’d stand out like a star in the moonless sky, wouldn’t he? Ain’t seen anyone matching that description.”

  “He’d be new,” Pressley added. “Just today or last night.”

  “Nope.” He cradled an almost empty bottle of cheap wine to his chest. “Keep asking. You might get lucky.”

  They moved on, meeting the same response. How could Frank not stand out? He wouldn’t indulge in liquor that would dull his senses. His clothes wouldn’t show the same wear as the others did. Had these people really not seen him or were they simply not talking?

  Jackson started to lose hope. Not wearing his uniform didn’t seem to loosen any lips.

  Then, “Yeah, I saw him.” A man blinked up at them with blurry eyes. “You a cop?”

  “Does it matter?” Jackson squared his shoulders.

  “Nah. I ain’t done nothing wrong.”

  “Mind telling me where you saw this man?” Did he have to pull information out bit by bit?

  “He was following some woman and her kid.”

  “Do you know where he’s staked his sleeping spot?”

  The man motioned further down the line of tents and boxes. “That way somewhere. Dude’s creepy. Always whistling.”

  “Whistling?”

  “Yeah. Sounds like a white-throated thrush.”

  If Jackson were Frank, he’d choose a place on the outskirts where he could make a run for it if he needed to. “Thanks.” He turned to Pressley. “Keep your eyes peered. He could be anywhere.”

  “I feel bad for saying this, but this place gives me the creeps.” She wrapped her arms around herself.

  “I doubt they see a clean, pretty woman that smells good very often.” He smiled.

  “I smell good?”

  “Like strawberries and cream.” He loved the scent of her, the feel of her…he swallowed against a suddenly dry throat. Was he in love with Pressley Taylor? Probably, which meant it would be even harder for him to let her go if she decided to head back to Northern Arkansas.

  He shook off the depressing thought of her leaving and turned his attention back to the matters at hand. No sense worrying about the future when they had something more pressing to deal with, like keeping Frank from getting his hands on Pressley or killing again.

  A few more people admitted to seeing a newcomer among their midst, but most clammed up like a tight lid on a pickle jar. It didn’t matter. They had enough witnesses to suggest Frank was somewhere close.

  “We shouldn’t have come empty-handed,” Pressley said. “We could have brought blankets, pillows, clothing—”

  “You’d have been swarmed and wouldn’t have brought enough anyway.” He admired her kind heart, but her naiveté could get her hurt. “There’s food at the kitchen, and those other things are handed out from the shelter. All they have to do is ask.”

  They continued on, asking questions, showing the photograph, and catching no sight of Frank. Either he’d moved on, gone into town to find his next victims, or watched them from some dark corner. Jackson didn’t like any of those options.

  “We might as well head back. At least we know he’s around somewhere. Feel up to a drive around
the outskirts?”

  Pressley nodded. “It’s late enough for him to scout out prey. Should we see if we can’t find some teens parking and send them home? The curfew started, but not all of them will pay attention.”

  “It’ll be like looking for that proverbial needle in a haystack, but it’s a start.” They returned to his car outside the kitchen, which had closed up for the night. “We can start at Lovers’ Lane, but that isn’t the only place the teens go.”

  “Any parties in town?”

  He arched a brow. “What’s your thought?”

  “In my grandmother’s notes, Roy had followed a young couple from a social gathering. It had been a small musical production and dance, but a party would be the same thing. Any parties might be breaking up about now.”

  “Sweetheart, you have quite the amazing brain.” He turned the key in the ignition and headed for the high school as a start. If nothing was hopping around there, he’d head into the suburbs.

  The school was dark and locked up tight, as was normal during the summer months. Any sports practices would have ended hours ago. Jackson headed for the nearest housing development, driving slow and watching for any signs of young people gathering.

  He heard them before he saw them. In a cul-de-sac, a party was in full swing. He parked a little ways away. “We might as well break this party up. It’s past curfew.”

  Pressley put a hand on his arm to stop him from getting out of the car. “Call another officer to break it up. We can’t possibly follow them all home, and if we’re out, Frank might spot us.”

  He sighed. “You’re right. Which couple will we follow?” The whole thing was impossible. Frank might not even be close. There could be other parties, social events, dates at the theater—so many possibilities.

  He radioed in the call, then waited, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. This was the first case he’d ever had that made him feel helpless. Frank stayed one step ahead of them. Something had to give.

  “We will catch him,” Pressley said.

  He nodded. Frank would kill again and again until law enforcement stopped him. All they had to go on right now was that he lived among the homeless and might be searching for his next victims at social gatherings. It was definitely not enough.

  A few minutes later, lights flashing sans siren, a squad car pulled up to the party. A uniformed officer slid out and approached the house, tossing a wave over his shoulder to where Jackson and Pressley sat. After ringing the doorbell, he stepped back as the door opened and a young man’s form was illuminated from the light inside. When he’d finished, the officer approached Jackson’s car.

  “They’re going to break it up,” Officer Mercer said.

  “Can you park somewhere out of sight and follow a young couple as they leave? Maybe get some other officers to do the same? We’ll follow a couple, too.”

  “You think The Phantom will strike?”

  Jackson nodded. “If not here, somewhere, but we can’t be everywhere.”

  The officer clapped his hand on the top of the car. “Will do. Stay safe.”

  “You, too.”

  A laughing couple who looked to be the age of recent graduates exited the gate to the backyard and climbed into a battered pickup. Jackson started his car and pulled out behind them as they drove away.

  The truck turned into a gas station and the young man exited, marching straight to Jackson’s vehicle. “Are you following us, man?” He crossed his arms.

  Jackson showed his badge. “Yes, we are. Local law enforcement are trying to insure that you young people make it home all right. Are you headed straight home?”

  “Yeah, I have work tomorrow.”

  “Anyone you know might be going parking?”

  “I heard Jason and his girl talking about going to their spot at the lake. Not sure exactly where that spot is. Are they in trouble?”

  “Let’s hope not. Go home, son. Not only for your safety, but for that young lady with you.” Jackson and Pressley would be heading to the lake.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Frank sat outside the movie theater. Who would he target tonight? The dark haired young man and the pretty redhead or the boy with the blonde? So many choices. Still, he needed to consider moving to a different city. Things were heating up in Texarkana, too much for his taste. The Feds would come back along with the reporters.

  He tapped his finger on the steering wheel. Where was pretty Pressley from? That might be a good place to go. Somewhere no one knew him. She looked like a small town girl who would head home at the first sign of trouble.

  Grinning, he started the engine and followed the redhead. While he drove, he contemplated a way of finding out Pressley’s hometown. Excitement grew. Yep, law enforcement would be more scarce in a small town.

  In one of the first newspapers, after Roy had been identified, there’d been a small write-up on the woman who had solved the case of The Phantom. Think, Frank!

  The foolish young couple drove to the lake. Didn’t they know there was a curfew? He shook his head at their rebellious idiocy. He parked on the side of the road, knowing which way the other car went by their taillights. Mask on and gun in hand, he set off through the woods for his last kill in Texarkana.

  A laugh almost escaped him as two naked teenagers darted into the lake, squealing and splashing. Some people made it too easy.

  Frank didn’t try being quiet. He simply walked to the water’s edge, aimed his gun, and pulled the trigger. As his first shot hit the young man, he remembered where Pressley was from. Grinning, he shot the girl.

  ~

  “Jackson.” Pressley gripped his arm. “That’s the car Frank stole. He’s here.”

  Backing up, Jackson slid out, leaving the engine running. He pulled a pocketknife from his pocket and stabbed the tires. “No sense making it easy for him to escape,” he said, returning to the car. “Now to find—”

  A shot rang out.

  “Guess we know the general direction.” Pressley wrapped her arms around herself as another shot sounded. Two more dead because they wouldn’t follow a curfew.

  “We stop here. If he doesn’t know we’re coming, we might catch him. Keep your gun ready.” Jackson quietly opened his door, Pressley doing the same.

  Staying only a step or two behind Jackson, she followed him along the edge of the road toward the shimmering lake. The form of a man turned, whistling like a white throated thrush silhouetted by the moonlight. He waved and made a dash for the trees.

  “Stop!” Jackson gave chase.

  Pressley turned toward the lake. The young people floated naked face down in the water, their clothes in a pile on the shore.

  “Come on.”

  “We can’t leave them.”

  “They’re dead. We’ll come back.”

  Pressley sighed and followed Jackson. This was it. They’d catch Frank and put an end to his killing spree.

  Jackson fired.

  Frank bent over but kept running. They soon lost him in a thick stand of brush. Not giving up, Jackson pressed forward.

  “He’s bleeding.” He pointed out wetness on a leaf. “Not fatally but hopefully enough to slow him down. I’ve not known many men his age who can move as fast as he can.”

  Amazing what someone could do when facing death. Pressley peered through the darkness expecting a bullet to strike her any second.

  Pounding footsteps sounded to the right, causing Jackson to change direction. “He’s headed for his car.”

  Good luck with that, Frank. Of course, the man was crazy enough to drive on the tire rims.

  A bullet struck the tree near her head. A piece of bark struck her cheek. She brushed her hand against her face and pulled it away, blood on her fingers. Her hand shook at how close she’d come to dying, and she dropped to the ground.

  Jackson hunkered down next to her. “I’m calling for backup. Maybe one of the other officers can intercept him. I can’t put you in anymore danger.”

  “I’m fine.” Sh
e struggled to her feet. “He’ll get away.”

  “Most likely.” He cupped her face in his hands, his thumb brushing the scratch on her face. “It isn’t worth you getting shot.”

  “It’s worth it if it stops him.”

  “Not to me.” He made the call for backup, then helped her to her feet and led her back to the lake.

  Jackson waded into the water and pulled the girl out first before returning for the boy. Both had been shot in the chest. No one could have survived such a direct shot at close range.

  Tears sprang to Pressley’s eyes. When would it end? Frank was far worse than his relative had ever been. The insanity that drove the Becketts to such diabolical acts seemed to have festered like a cancer in Frank. Thankfully, as far as anyone knew, Frank was the last of his line.

  Pressley covered the teens with their clothes and settled back to wait for the medical examiner.

  ~

  Several hours passed before Jackson and Pressley could return to their vehicle. A piece of paper waved from under the windshield wiper. Jackson ripped it free and read, “I’ll be seeing you.”

  “He’s slashed your tires, too,” Pressley said.

  “Fair’s fair, I guess.” He handed her the note. “I’ll call for a tow truck. Have a seat inside before you fall down.”

  Weariness etching her pretty face, she didn’t argue and slid onto the passenger seat.

  Another half an hour passed before the tow truck arrived, hooked up Jackson’s car, then drove them home with promises to deliver the car in a few hours. Jackson nodded and put his hand on the small of Pressley’s back, guiding her into the house.

  “Let me tend to that scratch, then it’s off to bed.”

  She sat in a kitchen chair. “It’s already scabbing over.”

  “Still needs cleaning.” He retrieved first aid items from the bathroom and rejoined her. “This might sting.” He pressed a cotton ball soaked with antiseptic to her cheek.