Inspired by Murder

by Audrey J. Cole

“What the hell are you doing?”

  He flew down the steps.

  “Yes, he’s right here. Just a moment.”

  Stephenson ripped the phone from Serena’s hand.

  “This is Detective Stephenson.”

  “Umm, hi. It’s Tess. I just wanted to run something by you about a case I’m working on, but you’re obviously busy. I’ll ask Adams.”

  He glared at Serena who gave him a look of wide-eyed innocence.

  “No, I’m not busy. Go ahead.” The phone was silent. “Are you still there?” More silence.

  Stephenson checked his screen. Call ended.

  He brought the phone to his side. His eyes narrowed at his ex-girlfriend.

  “What is wrong with you?”

  “Nothing’s wrong with me! And you don’t have to yell.”

  “I’m not yelling.”

  She raised her eyebrows and gave him a look that said, Yes, you are. “I figured you wouldn’t want to miss a call that could be important. Sorry for trying to help you.”

  He opened his mouth to respond when Shawn walked in through her front door. Shawn looked as shocked to see Stephenson as he did to see Shawn.

  “So, that’s why you’re cooking,” he said to Serena.

  “Blake, I know this looks bad. But you made it very clear that you didn’t want to get back together.”

  “And you made it very clear that you’d stopped seeing Shawn.”

  “I did.” She put her hand on his arm. “But after what you said at the homicide unit, I thought I’d give Shawn another chance.”

  He pulled away and threw his coat over his arm. “You’re unbelievable.”

  He moved to the doorway, coming face-to-face with Shawn. He looked dumbfounded by Stephenson’s presence. Stephenson got halfway out the door before he turned around. Serena remained still at the base of the stairs.

  “I hope you ate before you came,” he said to Shawn.

  “Why?”

  “You’ll see.” He stepped outside into the heavy rain and walked to his car without looking back.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  Adams was on the phone for nearly ten minutes after Stephenson got back to his desk. He looked across at his partner with excitement after he hung up.

  “Who was that?” Stephenson asked.

  “A literary agent in New York. Apparently, our friend Dr. Leroy has written a novel. He's titled it Inspired By Murder. He sent the manuscript to this agent, and when she Googled him, she saw his name had come up in connection with some recent murders in the news. She started reading his manuscript and says the murders in the novel are all strangulations and have striking similarities to the murders in the Seattle news articles. She's forwarding me the email from him with his full manuscript.”

  “That's kind of bizarre. But I'll take whatever we can get. How come we haven't already seen that email?”

  “We can’t view his email activity live, and he only sent it a couple days ago. We’ll be getting a report tomorrow for his email activity over the last forty-eight hours.”

  “Forward it to me when you get it,” Stephenson said. Let's hope it's something we can use.”

  Stephenson started reading from the beginning and Adams from the middle so they could get through the manuscript as quickly as possible. They remained at their desks as their cohorts from the morning shift all went home for the day and were replaced by the afternoon squad.

  Stephenson looked across at his partner after he finished chapter eleven of the doctor's manuscript.

  “I think he peed on the floor,” he said.

  “What?” Adams' forehead creased between his eyebrows as he glanced up from his computer.

  “At Martin and Patricia's. I think he peed on the floor. It's something he wrote in chapter eleven. CSI took a sample of Patricia's blood from the bathroom floor, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  Stephenson picked up his desk phone. “I'll call CSI and have them test it for Dr. Leroy's DNA. The bacteria in the urine has probably degraded the DNA by now, but if it's been refrigerated, we might still be able to get his DNA from it. It's worth a shot.”

  A few minutes later, he hung up with the forensic technician who'd agreed to test Patricia's blood sample for the presence of the doctor's urine. Now all they could do was wait for the results.

  He went back to reading the doctor's novel. He finished reading the first half at nearly the same time as Adams got to the end.

  “That asshole put us in the book.”

  “I know.” Adams grinned. “You think I look like Mark Wahlberg?”

  “No.”

  Stephenson watched his partner’s grin fade. “Really? Because I could see how you’d be mistaken for Debbie Harry.”

  Adams contained a laugh, seeing the unamused look on his partner’s face.

  “He was obviously recreating murder scenes from his own kills,” Stephenson said. “There were details about Martin, Patricia, and Robert's murders in the first half of the book that would've been impossible for the doctor to know unless he killed them. It explains a lot, especially how he killed Martin and Patricia.”

  “Yeah, it's the same in the second half. He's clearly recounting Dwayne's death. The killer buys a burner phone on his lunch break from a gas station close to his work. I'll work on getting the security footage from the gas stations near Dr. Leroy's practice the week before Dwayne's death. There's also a chapter where a man strangles his wife and dumps her body in the ocean out of his small fishing boat. I wonder if that's what he did to Stella.”

  Stephenson sat back in his chair, growing more impatient every hour the doctor was still at large.

  Later that afternoon, Stephenson and Adams began the slow process of going through the surveillance footage from the four gas stations closest to Dr. Leroy's office.

  “Have you patched things up with Richards yet?”

  Stephenson shook his head. “I couldn't convince her there was nothing going on between me and Serena. I guess it seemed hard to believe after what she saw in the break room. Anyway, she's made it clear she doesn't want anything more than a professional relationship with me.”

  “Well, give her some time. I'm sure she'll eventually see you were telling the truth.”

  He went back to work on his laptop and Stephenson tried to do the same but found he couldn't concentrate. And not because of the whole Serena-Tess situation. Something had been bothering him, and, after reading the doctor's novel, it was nagging at him even more.

  “Do you still have all the traffic cam footage from around Discovery Park the night of Daisy's murder?” he asked Adams sitting across from him at his desk.

  “Yeah, why?”

  “We need to look through it again. I think we may have missed something.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  Stephenson and Adams had been knocking on doors for over an hour at Dwayne and Daisy’s Lynnwood apartment building. They’d split up to make the most of their time. They had waited until five thirty to go to the apartment complex, hoping that most of residents would be home from work. So far, none of the neighbors recognized Dr. Leroy from his driver’s license photo. The temperature had dropped after the sun went down, and Stephenson was starting to think this was a waste of time as he knocked on a second-story apartment door.

  A skinny, thirtysomething guy wearing a dress shirt and slacks opened the door.

  “Good evening,” Stephenson said. “I’m Detective Stephenson from the Seattle Homicide Unit. I’m investigating the death of Daisy Colbert. She was a resident of this apartment building. I’d like to ask you some questions about what you remember about the night of January 19, and if you saw anything suspicious.”

  Like most of the other residents he’d talked to, the man looked surprised by the news and slightly uncomfortable at being questioned by the police.

  “Okay, sure,” he said.

  Stephenson held up the picture of Dr. Leroy on the well-lit porch. “Have you ever seen this man?”

/>   His eyes narrowed as he studied the picture. “Yeah,” he said. “He was here a few weeks ago.”

  Stephenson raised his eyebrows. “Are you sure?”

  He nodded. “I remember because it was snowing when I saw him on my way to my mailbox.”

  “And what time was this?”

  The man rubbed the back of his head with his hand. “A little after ten I think. I’d just gotten my mail and was walking back to my apartment when he pulled up in a BMW. I noticed it was a nice car. Then, he hurried toward one of the ground floor apartments and bumped into me hard enough that I dropped my mail. He didn’t even have the decency to say sorry.”

  “Do you remember what color his BMW was?”

  He thought for moment. “Like a blueish-gray.”

  “And did you see what apartment he went in to?”

  “I’m not sure if he went inside, but I watched him bang on the door until a blonde woman opened it. Then I came back to my apartment. I don’t remember the unit number, but I can show you which one it was if you want.”

  “Yes, that’d be great.”

  Stephenson waited for the man to get his coat before they descended the stairs and walked across the apartment complex. Stephenson spotted Adams walking along the sidewalk. He motioned for his partner to join them.

  The man stopped in front of Daisy’s apartment and pointed to her front door. “That’s the one.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

  It was a few days after seeing Maggie at the grocery store when Eric got an email from the literary agent who'd requested his full manuscript. He hovered his cursor over her name in his inbox, holding his breath until he got up the nerve to open her email. Being that she'd had his manuscript for less than a week, her email could only mean one of two things: either she hated it and stopped reading right away, or she loved it so much she couldn't put it down.

  Eric clicked on the email and braced himself for the news he was about to receive as her response filled the screen.

  Dear Eric,

  Thank you for sending me your full manuscript of Inspired By Murder. As a whole, I really enjoyed your story. I think with a few minor revisions I would be able to sell your novel to a major publishing house and would like to offer you representation as a literary agent. Please respond by signing the attached contract if you wish to accept this offer and we can get started on making the necessary revisions to get your novel ready to sell.

  Sincerely,

  Elizabeth Stone

  Eric stood from his chair and raised his arms above his head as if he’d just crossed the finish line after a marathon. It was the news he'd been waiting for. He was over the moon.

  He unplugged his laptop and rushed outside. He crossed the lawn and knocked on his elderly landlords' back door. They were kind enough to let him use their printer and scanner so he could get his signed contract back to the agent as soon as possible.

  Even though it was now evening in New York, his agent replied immediately saying she received his contract. She added that she was confident she could sell his book to a major publishing house within the next couple of months.

  Finally, the world would receive his gift. He’d always known his creative genius was likened to the great Stephen King, but it still felt surreal.

  To celebrate, that night he treated himself to a three-course dinner at the most expensive waterfront restaurant in Nelson Bay. He couldn't remember food ever tasting so good. He sat outside at the busy restaurant overlooking the bay. The surface of the water was perfectly still. He finished off a bottle of wine as he watched a paddle boarder glide across the calm sea. A pod of dolphins surfaced near the shore as the sun began to set. It was a night completely opposite to the one all those years ago when he’d taken Stella's body out to its final resting place.

  He enjoyed the view until it grew dark. When he got up to leave, a pretty, dark-haired woman sitting alone at a table caught his eye. He guessed she was in her early-thirties. Although she wasn’t exactly his type, he felt an instant attraction to her. Their eyes met as he walked by her table and he stopped next to the empty chair across from her.

  “Beautiful night, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, it is.” She gave him a pleasant smile. “Are you here on holidays?”

  “No, I’ve just moved back here. I grew up in Nelson Bay but spent the last twenty years in America.”

  Her blue eyes grew wide with fascination. “I’ve always wanted to do something like that.”

  “Do you live here?”

  She nodded. “I’m from Sydney, but my family used to holiday here when I was a kid. I took a job here about five years ago. It’s a beautiful place, but it can be a little too quiet. Especially in winter.”

  “Do you mind?” He pointed to the chair across from her.

  “No, go ahead.”

  He pulled the chair back away the table and took a seat. “You miss the city?”

  She looked into his eyes before shaking her head. “No, but I think I’m just bored with my mundane life. I’m ready for an adventure.” She smiled. “Maybe I should go live in America for twenty years.”

  “It’s exciting to move to a new country, but after a while, you start to miss home.”

  She played with the stem of her empty wine glass. “How long have you been back?”

  “A couple weeks.”

  “And did you move with your family?”

  “No, it’s just me.”

  From the twinkle in her eyes, it seemed that was the answer she was hoping for.

  “I’m Talia, by the way.”

  “I’m Eric.”

  “So, what do you do for work?”

  “I’m a psychiatrist.”

  She laughed. “Oh, so are you psychoanalyzing me right now?”

  He grinned. “No, I’m actually trying to get up the nerve to ask you back to my place for another drink.”

  She turned serious. “Oh. I probably shouldn’t. I’ve just had two weeks off, but I have to be at work early tomorrow.”

  “I live only a few blocks from here. How about just one drink?”

  “I live just a few blocks away too.” She bit her lip before giving him a half smile. “Okay, let’s go.”

  He put his arm on the small of her back and led her out of the bar. They made small talk on the short walk back to his place. They strolled slowly along the water, enjoying the calm evening air.

  He flicked on the lights when they got to his granny flat. As usual, his place was meticulously clean. She looked around the small space before setting her purse down on his kitchen table.

  “This is nice,” she said.

  “Thanks. Can I get you a glass of wine?”

  “Sure.”

  “White or red?”

  “White, thank you. Mind if I use your bathroom?” she asked as he pulled a glass out of his kitchen cabinet.

  “Not at all. It’s there on the left.” He pointed to the far corner of the room.

  She went into the bathroom as he poured her a large glass. He set it down next to her purse. Her wallet protruded out the top of her bag, and, out of curiosity, he picked it up. When he pulled it out, he inadvertently removed a square, black leather object that fell to the floor with a thud. His jaw dropped when he bent down, seeing that it was a Nelson Bay Police ID badge. Was she an undercover cop sent to spy on him? No wonder she’d been so eager to come back with him to his place.

  Hearing the toilet flush, he stuffed her wallet and badge back into her purse before he rushed to his bedroom closet. He hurriedly pulled the shoelace out of his running shoe and slid it into his shorts’ pocket. He returned to the main living area the same time Nancy Drew emerged from the loo. With his most charming smile, he handed her the large glass of wine. He’d be a gentleman and let her finish it before he choked the living daylights out of her.

  Eric walked back from the beach the next morning and stopped in at his landlords’ place to borrow The Port Stephens Examiner, as was his routine every Wednesday. The hus
band invited Eric in for a cup of tea and he obliged. Now that his manuscript was finished, he had all the time in the world. He led Eric to a small sitting room at the front of the house while his wife went into the kitchen to put the kettle on. His landlord sat in a worn-out armchair and motioned for Eric to take a seat on a two-seater lounge.

  They had started to chat about the weather when they heard a loud rap against the front door. The old man excused himself before he got up to answer it. When he did, Eric immediately recognized Blondie’s horrible American accent. He cocked his head to see him for his own eyes.

  He was almost as shocked as if Stella had been standing on the doorstep. The detective was the last person on earth Eric wanted to see. His blond hair looked almost white in the Australian sunlight. A grim-faced U.S. Marshall stood behind him.

  Blondie looked pleased with himself at the sight of Eric. That was not a good sign. This can't be happening, Eric thought. Not when he had just landed an agent and was on the brink of a publishing contract. He wanted to kill him.

  Stephenson flashed his badge to Eric’s landlord and ordered for him to step aside. He sauntered into the sitting room, the U.S. Marshall following behind along with a meaty Australian officer. He looked down at Eric with a look of smug gratification.

  “You've come quite a long way just to tell me you finally figured out who killed Daisy,” Eric said. “Let me guess, he's already dead.”

  “I did figure out who killed Daisy. But I'm afraid he's not dead. In fact, I'm looking at him right now.”

  Eric scoffed at his accusation. “You've got your facts wrong, and I hope the Seattle PD didn't pay you to fly halfway around the world based on that misinformation.”

  “It's not misinformation, and I actually paid for my flight myself. I wanted to see the look on your face when I arrest you for murder. Plus, I've always wanted to come to Australia. So, it was a win-win.”

  “Arrest me for murder?” There was no way Blondie had enough on him to arrest him. “And where's your partner?”