Inspired by Murder

by Audrey J. Cole

  “Same here,” Stephenson said. “Let's see if any of the crew spotted him.” He flashed his badge to the ferry worker on the upper deck and stepped onto the boat. “I'm on the ferry. I want to do a search of the inside in case he's hiding somewhere on the ship.”

  They got off the ferry and walked through the terminal after their search of the boat yielded nothing. None of the crew had recognized the doctor from his photo either. However, one of the workers did report seeing a man dressed in black and a black baseball cap acting strangely near the back of the boat shortly before they docked. Although the worker was unable to ID him from the doctor's license photo, the vague description he gave to the detectives sounded like it could've been Dr. Leroy.

  “You think it was him?” Adams asked.

  “It'd be my best guess. Since we didn't see anyone who matched that description leave the ferry, he could've jumped off before the boat docked.”

  “You want to notify the Coast Guard?”

  Stephenson shook his head. “No. It's dark out and the ferry's been docked for an hour. If he’s still in the water, he’d be unconscious from hypothermia and likely drowned by now. But he could’ve made it to shore, and our priority is the safety of the public.” Stephenson wished they could put out a bulletin with Dr. Leroy’s photo to the local police. However, since no witnesses could ID Dr. Leroy from his driver’s license photo, they had insufficient grounds to bring him in. “Let’s send one of our sketch artists over to meet with the cook from the café. Maybe the artist can get more details out of him. Then, let’s use the composite to put out a bulletin to Seattle PD.”

  “You know,” Adams said as Stephenson pulled out his phone, “I hate to say I told you so but we should've never let Dwayne out of custody to use as bait for Dr. Leroy. It would've made a lot more sense if we could've justified putting the doctor under surveillance too.”

  Stephenson shot a sideways glance at his partner. “That's exactly why we needed Dwayne. We needed his release to provoke the doctor, which it obviously did. Only we should have him in custody right now and Dwayne should be alive. If those two surveillance officers had paid a little more attention to Dwayne and a little less to the Seahawk game, none of this would've happened.”

  “Maybe. I'm just glad it's your ass on the line and not mine. This is all you and Sergeant McKinnon. I never wanted to release that dirtbag.”

  “Yeah, well you can let me worry about that. For now, let's find the doctor.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  Exhausted, Eric finally made it to the end of the pier. It had nearly grown dark in the time it took him to reach it, and he could only hope he'd managed to cross the distance unnoticed. He looked at the pillar that held up the end of pier. The pier stood about two meters above the water, and there was no way he'd be able to climb the barnacle and algae-covered post to the top.

  He spotted a ladder about ten meters ahead. It hung down from the side of the pier and almost reached the water. It took every bit of willpower he had left to swim toward it. It felt like an eternity until he reached it. Triumphantly, he encircled his hand around one of the rusted, metal bars and slowly pulled himself onto the pier.

  Eric collapsed on the wooden structure and looked over at the ferry landing. His body shivered uncontrollably as he took in slow, shallow breaths. The two police vehicles were still there, stopping every car as it drove off the boat. Hopefully, that meant Eric had escaped the ferry unnoticed.

  When his breathing returned to normal, he stood up. He trembled from the cold and walked down the empty pier toward the city. He needed to get out of here, away from downtown. He needed to get to the airport. But first, he needed some dry clothes.

  Eric felt for the burner phone in his pocket and realized it probably no longer worked after his swim. Nevertheless, he held up the wet device and attempted to turn it on. Nothing.

  As he neared the street, a man and woman holding hands under a shared umbrella stopped and stared at him. Eric’s shoes squished with each step from the water inside. Sopping wet, he smiled at the gawking couple.

  “Good evening,” Eric said with a nod of his head.

  The woman's mouth fell open and she continued to stare. Eric broke their gaze and turned left onto the sidewalk.

  “Good evening,” he heard the man say.

  Eric shoved the useless phone back into his pocket and ducked inside the first gift shop he saw. An old man sat behind the register reading a novel.

  “Hello,” the man said, not bothering to look up from his book.

  Eric headed straight for a rack of hooded sweatshirts with a picture of the space needle on the front. He grabbed a pair of matching sweatpants on his way to the dressing room. His lips were purple when he saw his reflection in the dressing room mirror. His left cheekbone had already started to bruise in the shape of Dwayne’s fist.

  He threw off his wet clothes and retrieved his burner phone and wallet from his jacket pocket. He felt warmer almost immediately after putting on the dry sweats. He stepped back into his wet shoes. Eric took the extra minute to fold his clothes into a neat pile in the corner of the dressing room.

  The old man looked up from his book when Eric approached the register. He carefully bookmarked his page before setting the book aside. Eric rolled his eyes when he spotted the author’s name on the cover. Martin Watts. Martin was so overrated, it was maddening.

  “I’ll take this sweatshirt and sweatpants,” Eric said.

  “Couldn’t wait to wear them, huh?”

  “It’s a wet one out there today. My clothes got soaked by the rain.” Eric pulled a saturated hundred-dollar bill out of his wallet and laid it on the counter.

  The man gawked at the bill before looking up at Eric.

  “You drop your wallet in the Sound?” He took in Eric’s appearance for the first time since he’d entered the store. “From the color of your lips, you look like you jumped in after it.”

  “Like I said, it’s coming down hard out there. Keep the change,” Eric said before walking out of the store.

  Eric stopped at the nearest bus stop only a block away. It was time to get off the street.

  The bus arrived after only a few minutes. He rode it to Pioneer Square, where he got off and jumped on the light rail that would take him all the way to the airport. Eric took the last seat in the carriage, not bothering to get up for the old man with a cane who got on at the next stop.

  Eric leaned his head against the window for the rest of the way. He continued to warm up from his swim and felt himself relax when they reached the airport. He was going to make it. A few more hours and he'd be on a plane out of the country, ready to start his new life.

  He picked up his bag from the luggage storage kiosk, thankful for his preemptive planning of a change of clothes and cash. He found a bathroom outside security and changed into jeans and a t-shirt. He left twelve thousand in cash in his carry-on bag. Two thousand for the airline ticket and ten thousand to declare through customs. He hid the other ten thousand on his person. He carefully placed five thousand inside the bottom of each of his socks before getting in line for the ticket counter at Air Canada.

  It felt strange to be fleeing the country he had once fled to. It was right after Stella's parents went on TV that he moved to America. Even though he was never arrested for Stella's murder, people in their small town started to look at him differently. Especially after her family went on TV.

  His parents eventually sided with Stella's family. He was crushed to learn they too believed he had killed her. Even though he had. During his shifts at the hospital he would get the question, Hey, aren't you that bloke who was on TV for killing his wife?

  He even felt like an unwelcome outsider at his local grocery store. It began to wear on him. He didn't want to live with a stigma like that for the rest of his life. The final blow had been when his parents told him they never wanted to see him again. It was then that he knew he needed a fresh start. Being born a dual-citizen made America an easy c
hoice.

  “Can I help you, sir?”

  The voice of the ticket agent brought him out of his thoughts, and he realized he was standing at the front of the line for the ticket counter.

  “Um, yes. I need to buy a ticket for the next flight available to Australia. Sydney, preferably, but I'll go to Melbourne or Brisbane if you can get me there today.”

  “Okay, let me see what I have available for tonight.” Her long, acrylic nails tapped loudly on the keyboard. “I can get you on the red-eye flight to Sydney out of Vancouver. I've got seats on the seven o'clock flight to Vancouver, which will put you there in plenty of time. It'll be 2200 dollars.”

  He let out a sigh of relief at his good luck.

  “Great, I'll pay cash.”

  He set the money on the counter and waited to see if she found this unusual. She took the money and counted it out without blinking an eye, and he realized he was being paranoid. After all, she didn't know he'd killed anyone.

  “Could I have your passport and I’ll check you in?”

  “Sure.” He placed his passport on the counter.

  A minute later, she handed it back to him along with his tickets. He flashed her a grateful smile.

  “Thank you,” he said as he picked up his bag. She'd just made his day.

  He got to the front of the line at security and realized there was a problem with his plan. He watched as most travelers were made to walk through the full-body scanner. He placed his shoes and bag on the conveyer belt of the x-ray machine, aware of the stacks of cash under his feet. Surely, they would see the cash if he went through the scanner.

  He held his breath as the woman in front of him was told to go through the full-body scanner. The TSA agent held up his hand for Eric to wait. How could I have been so stupid?

  The woman exited the scanner and the agent motioned for Eric to come forward. Eric took slow steps toward the scanner, fearing his escape was about to come to a bitter end.

  “Sir, this way,” the agent barked.

  Eric stopped and saw the man was pointing to the metal detector.

  “Come on through,” he said impatiently.

  Eric’s jaw fell open. He turned away from the scanner and went through the metal detector as instructed.

  “Thank you. Have a good flight.”

  Eric smiled at the agent before retrieving his bag from the x-ray machine. “I will.”

  Although he made it through security without a problem, he felt slightly nervous as he walked to his gate. He couldn't shake the feeling his escape was too good to be true.

  CHAPTER FORTY

  Adams hung up with the surveillance officer who'd found Dwayne's body that afternoon.

  “They’ve searched the area surrounding the café, but there’s no sign of the doctor or anyone else fitting his description.”

  “Let’s stop by the homicide unit and grab that photo montage we used for the break-in at Madison Park before we go to the crime scene. I want to give the cook another chance to ID him.”

  “They're in the process of checking the Bainbridge Island ferry holding cameras, but so far they haven't found any trace of the doctor's car being on the island today. The officers found text messages on Dwayne's cell from someone who claimed to have Daisy's phone with evidence that Dwayne killed her. The texts threatened to turn her phone into the police unless Dwayne met them today at that cafe on the island. The texts weren’t from Dr. Leroy’s number, but they’re sending Dwayne’s phone over to TESU to be analyzed.”

  “Dr. Leroy knew we didn't find Daisy’s phone. We never released that to the media.”

  “They also found part of a broken-off zipper on the ground outside the window of the bathroom. We should have the fingerprint analysis back in a few hours.”

  They rode together to the doctor's apartment. The sky was dark and lights had come on around the city. The traffic moved slowly from the Seahawks game. They needed to get to Dwayne’s crime scene, especially since they had a witness who could possibly ID the doctor. But Dwayne’s body was already being transferred to the Seattle Medical Examiner's Office, and first they wanted to find Dr. Leroy.

  His car was in the parking garage when they got to his building. Stephenson guessed he probably walked to the ferry to kill Dwayne.

  There was no answer when they knocked on his apartment door. Stephenson tried the doorknob. It was locked.

  “We need to get in there. We might find Daisy’s phone. The doctor could even be hiding out in the apartment.”

  Adams pulled out his phone. “I'll see if I can get a warrant in case we find anything incriminating in there.”

  “See if you can get one for his car, too, while you're at it.”

  Adams nodded.

  Stephenson had put the building manager's number in his phone when they came to Robert's crime scene. He dialed her number while Adams made the call to the judge. Fortunately, she was on site and brought up a key to the doctor's apartment before Adams got off the phone.

  “Thank you,” Stephenson said as she handed him the key. “We'll bring it back down to you when we're done.”

  “You're going to search his apartment then?”

  “Yes.”

  She bit her lip. “Has he done something wrong? Did he kill Robert?”

  “We're in the process of investigating that.”

  She lingered uncomfortably for a moment, as if wanting to ask more but not sure of what to say. “Okay. I'll be downstairs when you're done with the key.”

  She walked slowly back to the elevator as Adams ended the call and walked back toward him.

  “We've got it. Let's go.”

  He looked back at the building manager as she stepped into the elevator.

  “You already got the key?”

  “Yeah. I didn't see the point in waiting till you got off the phone.”

  Stephenson unlocked the door and announced themselves as they cautiously entered the apartment.

  “Dr. Leroy? It's Detectives Stephenson and Adams from Seattle Homicide. You home?”

  The apartment was silent.

  The unit was meticulously neat, just as it had been when they came to inform the doctor of his front office assistant’s death. Too neat, Stephenson thought. No one he knew kept their place that perfect. A sign of a sick mind, he thought.

  “I'll check the bedroom.”

  “All right. I'll start out here,” Adams said, pulling a pair of gloves out of his coat pocket.

  “Dr. Leroy?” Stephenson called again when he reached the bedroom door.

  He donned his own gloves before reaching through the doorway and flicking on the light. The bed was made and the nightstands on either side of the bed were bare apart from a lamp. The floors were spotless.

  He opened the double doors to the doctor's closet. It was filled with perfectly organized clothes. He entered the en suite bathroom and noticed the shower was empty. No shampoo, no soap, nothing. This struck him as odd, even for a neat freak like Dr. Leroy. He went through the bathroom cabinets and found they too were nearly empty. There was no toothbrush, toothpaste, deodorant, razors, shampoo, or soap. Despite the closet being full of clothes, he feared the doctor had already skipped town.

  While they could monitor his airline travel and entry into other countries, they couldn't stop him. Not without a warrant for his arrest. And they still didn't have enough evidence to get one.

  “I found something,” he heard Adams call from the other room.

  Stephenson stepped out into the living room and found Adams holding up a small black leather case.

  “Found a lock picking kit in the top drawer of his desk. It was sitting next to a pair of black leather gloves.” He pointed down to the opened drawer. “I already took photos of them in the drawer.” He pulled two plastic evidence bags out of one of his pockets and bagged the items.

  “Can you smell paint thinner on the gloves?” Stephenson asked.

  Adams pulled them out of the bag and lifted them to his nose. “It’s f
aint, but I think so.” He pushed them back into the evidence bag. “We still don’t have results back on Robert’s drumsticks, but I’ll make some calls when we get back to homicide and see if they can speed it up. Hopefully we’ll get results as soon as tomorrow.”

  Stephenson told him about the lack of toiletries in the doctor's bathroom.

  “You think he's going to try and disappear?”

  “Maybe. But wherever he goes, we'll find him. Even if we can’t stop him from leaving the state or the country until we have an arrest warrant, we can at least monitor his travel until we get one. When we get back to the homicide unit, I’ll work on getting a warrant we can serve to the airlines.” Stephenson pulled his phone out his pocket. “In the meantime, I’ll call my contact at the Port of Seattle and ask him to notify us if Dr. Leroy shows up on any flight manifests out of SeaTac.”

  They searched the doctor's apartment for another hour before heading back to the homicide unit. Adams made the necessary phone calls to speed up the lab analysis of Dr. Leroy’s gloves while Stephenson filled out the paperwork for their warrant to monitor the airline manifests.

  With Adams still on the phone, Stephenson retrieved the photo montage for their witness at the café. Other than the gloves and lock picking kit, they didn't find anything else in Dr. Leroy’s apartment to help with their investigation. Stephenson found a fireproof box under the doctor's bed with the key left in it, but the box was empty. He guessed it was where the doctor would've kept his passport, and he now worried he might be planning to leave the country, not just the state.

  There was no computer or laptop and they didn't find Daisy's phone. Until they got the lab analysis back on the doctor’s gloves and Robert’s drumsticks, they needed more evidence to arrest him.

  Stephenson logged into his email when he returned to his desk and saw he had a new message from his contact at the Port of Seattle. He swore under his breath when the doctor's name came up on his screen in an international passenger manifest.