The Milburn Big Box Set

by Nancy McGovern

  “What do you want here?” Nora asked. “How do you even know about me?”

  Brock bit his lip and looked over his shoulder. “Do you think we could talk inside?”

  Nora hesitated, not wanting to invite him in, and she saw shame in Brock’s eyes.

  “I know I don’t have the best track record,” Brock confessed. “But I promise I’m not insane. And I’m not going to hurt you. I just want to talk about Zoey. About something she said.”

  Nora looked over her shoulder at Hazel and made a decision. “Hazel, you’re headed out, right?”

  Hazel nodded.

  “Could you call your father and tell him who’s visiting?” Nora looked at Brock and shrugged. “I’m sorry but I need to take precautions.”

  “I understand.” Brock sighed. “Can’t really trust a murderer who shows up on your doorstep, right?” He gave a sardonic laugh, but his jaw was set and his eyes shining with some emotion.

  Hazel hesitated a little, looking from her mother to Brock. “Mom, I don’t want to just leave you—”

  “Go,” Nora said firmly but gently. “Just tell your dad, okay? I’ll be fine. Brock, why don’t you come in? Let’s talk.”

  Inside, Brock looked even more nervous. He kept glancing around the house, his eyes flitting from the vases on the mantelpiece to the family photos displayed on the wall to the intricate Turkish carpet on the floor.

  Nora got out a bottle of orange soda and poured him some. “What did you want to say to me?”

  Brock held the glass gingerly and, even when Nora sat down on the sofa, he remained standing.

  “You can sit, you know,” Nora said. “The furniture doesn’t bite.”

  “It’s just…I don’t want to...” Brock sighed. “I know what you must think of me.”

  Nora remained silent. She didn’t think much of him, that was true. But she wanted to know more. “You can still sit,” she said. She knew what would happen next. She was expecting it. He’d come up with some sob story about why he’d robbed a bank and killed a man. Something that painted him as a victim, absolving him of any real evil. She despised men like that, who could not see beyond themselves to the harm they caused the world. Every criminal in his heart was a martyr, innocent of anything but self-defense.

  But she was to be surprised. That was not how Brock saw things nor how he painted them for her. Without further hesitation, he said, “Zoey probably told you about me. How I killed a man. It’s true. I did. I was young and stupid, and things just got out of hand. I wanted money. Needed it, a lot of it, and I took the easy way out. Only it turned out horribly wrong. I didn’t mean to kill anyone, but that doesn’t matter. Because I did. I deserved every one of those twenty years I spent in jail. Maybe more. I deserved to have Zoey leave me. But now…now that I’m out and finally trying to lead a straight life…well, I don’t think I deserve this. I don’t deserve to be arrested over something I didn’t do. Because I didn’t kill Zoey. I would never hurt her.” He sank down into an armchair and took a sip from the glass. His breathing was shallow and rapid. He looked as though he were about to have a panic attack.

  “Hey, take it easy,” Nora said, “Take a breath. Nobody’s arresting you.”

  “Not yet, but I know how it looks. I know what the sheriff wants,” Brock said. “I’ve just come from the station. They interrogated me for hours. They want to pin this on me, lock me up and lose the key. But I’m telling you, I didn’t do it.”

  “Where were you when Zoey was...”

  “That’s the thing. I don’t have an alibi. I was fast asleep in my own house. It’s fifty miles from Milburn but Sheriff Ellerton kept implying that, since I have no witnesses, I can’t prove that I didn’t secretly sneak into Zoey’s house and poison her.” Brock rubbed his face. “I don’t know what to do. I can’t afford a lawyer, and I know firsthand how terribly overworked and uninterested public defenders are. Ellerton wants my head. Then I remembered you...” He hesitated.

  “How do you know me?” Nora asked.

  “Zoey told me about you,” Brock said. “She told me she was working for the Sherlock Holmes of Wyoming. She even sent me an article in the paper about you.”

  Nora bit her lip. “Don’t believe everything you hear…or read.”

  “What?” Brock looked confused.

  “Not of what was ever in the newspaper about me was true. I’m not Holmes. Not even close. I’m not even Watson.”

  “But you helped solve murders, though,” Brock said hopefully. “I remembered that. Then, it was easy enough to look you up online. The Milburn Star had everything I needed. I found an archived article about you from a past Halloween — your house at the end of Willow street won a decorating competition. So it was easy to find you after that.”

  Nora gulped. Once again, she marveled at how easy it was to lose your privacy in the new age of online data. “But why do you think I can help you now?”

  “Based on what Zoey said. She said you were amazing.”

  Nora frowned. “Why would Zoey even speak to you? She divorced you after the bank robbery, and tried to get as far away from you as possible, isn’t that right? That’s why she moved to Milburn?”

  Brock sighed. “She divorced me, yes. Look…you have to understand. Both Zoey and I come from extreme poverty. We met in high school and fell in love. We married right after. But Zoey…she wanted to work her way out of poverty. As for me, I admit it, I was messed up and angry and wanted the world to give me what I thought I was owed. I got fired from a few jobs because I always had a temper. I loved Zoey, and she loved me, but those were some terrible times. We were barely scraping by. Each month we had to choose between paying the utilities or the rent. You don’t know what it’s like to live like that for your whole life. It grinds you down. Makes you angry. And, back then, I just needed any little excuse to be angry.”

  Nora didn’t know what to say. She did know what it was like to be poor. She’d struggled a lot in her twenties, worked for years in unrewarding, rough jobs, but she couldn’t say she’d ever lived in poverty. And, it had only gotten better from there to where now, as she sat in the comfort of her beautiful home — a home that surely seemed impossibly rich to a man like Brock — she knew that the gap between the two of them could not be bridged by words. She nodded instead, encouraging him to go on.

  “Well…we tried having kids, but that didn’t work for Zoey. She always wanted them but, for one thing, we couldn’t afford ‘em. And, two, there was something…wrong…with her…you know?” Brock waved a hand over his belly. “So, that was our life. Frustration and misery.”

  “That’s when you decided to rob a bank?”

  Brock nodded. “It didn’t happen all at once. I fell into some bad company. I told Zoey I was picking up shifts here and there when, really, I was picking pockets. Eventually, I decided to do something bold. I thought maybe I’d end up on the road with Zoey. I was picturing me and her in a red convertible, a bag of cash in the back. Maybe we’d end up in Mexico. By the beach somewhere...” Brock looked wistful for a second, then shook his head and gave a bitter laugh. “I was an idiot. No doubt about it. Anyway, it all went wrong, and Zoey ended up hating me. But prison set me straight, funnily enough. I had time — plenty of it — and I thought over everything I’d done wrong, and how I’d ruined some man and his family all because I got greedy.”

  “You turned over a new leaf?”

  Brock shrugged. “It’s sounds screwy, I know, but it’s the truth. I did. I wrote a letter to Zoey, apologizing for everything. I’d ruined her life, too, in a way. It’s not easy being the wife of a murderer.”

  “And she wrote back?”

  Brock nodded. “She forgave me, eventually. She made it clear we’d never be together again- but she was willing to be a friend. I was happy to take what I could get. Prison gets lonely, and her letters kept me looking forward to something. They broke the monotony.”

  Nora bit her lip. Brock was telling the truth — she could see it in his eye
s. And yet. And yet. The man was a murderer, possibly a psychopath. Men like that could look you in the eye and lie convincingly. She couldn’t be sure that he wasn’t just playing on her sympathies. She just couldn’t be sure of him, no matter how much she wanted to.

  A memory sparked in her brain. Tina had called Zoey’s ex a “monster”. She had said that Zoey had a scar on her leg from an encounter with Brock. If that were true, if Brock had been an abusive husband, then Nora doubted Zoey would really have written to him.

  Deciding to test him, Nora said, “That scar on Zoey’s leg. Do you remember it?”

  Brock sat up straight, startled. “She told you that story?”

  Nora didn’t say anything. She just waited.

  Brock shook his head. “Crazy, wasn’t it? A run in with a serial killer. She wrote to me about it and I was worried sick for her. I kept telling her to go to the police, but I don’t think any good came of it. She didn’t seem to think—”

  “Wait. A serial killer?” Nora leaned forward. “What are you talking about? You gave her that scar, didn’t you?”

  “Me?” Brock looked offended. “Of course not! I wasn’t that kind of a guy. I told you already, I loved her.”

  “So what’s this about a serial killer?”

  “Well, Zoey moved to Milburn about twenty years ago, right after I was incarcerated,” Brock explained. “She often went to the cities nearby on weekends. One time, while walking at night, she had a scary encounter. As she was getting into her car, a man jumped her. Zoey screamed and fought as hard as she could. He had a chloroform rag on him that he held over her face and she lost consciousness in seconds.”

  “Oh, my—” Nora covered her mouth with her hand. “When exactly was this?”

  Brock frowned. “Twenty or so years ago. I’m not sure.”

  “What happened? How did she escape?”

  “Luckily for her, a cop car was passing by just then,” Brock said. “They saw the scuffle, and the man took off running. They never caught him, but Zoey was saved. She escaped with nothing but a scar on her leg — the man dropped her on the ground and she’d fallen on some broken glass.”

  “That’s horrible! Poor Zoey.”

  “She was in shock,” Brock said. “She said she couldn’t sleep for the next week, she’d have nightmares about the man. All she remembered of him was his dark ski mask and silver jacket.”

  Nora sat up straight, her eyes wide with shock. “Silver jacket?”

  “Yeah. She said it haunted her for months. She’d be in public on a fine sunny afternoon and suddenly she’d think she saw the guy and she’d be trembling in fear.”

  “You’re sure she said silver jacket?”

  “Sure, I’m sure. I have her letters still, somewhere,” Brock said. “I can show you.”

  “Never mind. What did the police say?”

  “The police were useless. They said a serial killer was active in the district, killing young women, and her description matched others they’d received. But that’s it.”

  “No, I mean you must have told Sheriff Ellerton this, right?”

  “Why would I tell the sheriff some old story about—” Brock’s eyes went wide. “You think that man came back? You think he came back and killed her? But why? After all these years?”

  “I don’t know,” Nora considered, her face grim. “But we need to go to the sheriff right now and warn him about it. If you’re right, then every woman in Milburn could be in danger.”

  *****

  Chapter 11

  The Silver Strangler

  Sheriff Ellerton tapped his pen against his desk. Nora could see that it was taking every ounce of politeness in his body not to roll his eyes.

  “So,” he said, turning to Brock, who was sitting next to Nora. “You’re claiming that your ex-wife was killed by a serial killer.” He made air quotes around the last two words.

  “Not just any serial killer!” Brock exclaimed. “The Silver Strangler. Surely you’ve heard of him, Sheriff. I mean, he hasn’t been active in a while now, but—”

  “Oh, I remember him.” Sheriff Ellerton nodded. “The Silver Strangler. Hang on a minute.” He tapped on his keyboard for a few seconds and then nodded as a file was pulled up on his screen. “Yeah. I remember that nutcase. This was years and years ago. He never came into our county, but he hit Natrona and Fremont.”

  “And he was never caught!” Brock said, excited. “You see? He killed Zoey. He must have!”

  “Oh, he did, did he?” The sheriff smiled.

  “She had an encounter with him once, a long time ago. There should even be a police record of it somewhere,” Brock said. “I suspect she ran into the man again recently and recognized him. He killed her because of it. You’ve got to do something, Sheriff!”

  “Sure.” Sheriff Ellerton threw his pen into a nearby ashtray and leaned back in his chair, hands linked behind his head. “So, Zoey, your ex-wife, was poisoned by a serial killer that she just happens to meet again years later. Right?”

  “Right!”

  The sheriff nodded. “And we, the police, should throw all our resources into hunting this man down? This man who vanished without a trace nearly twenty years ago now?”

  “It’s the obvious thing to do,” Nora chimed in. “If Brock’s right, the entire town could be in danger, Sheriff. A man with a taste for blood doesn’t just stop killing. He took a hiatus for his own reasons, but now that his bloodlust has reawakened...”

  “You’re right. A man with a taste for blood doesn’t just stop killing. Which is why every policeman in Wyoming believes that The Silver Strangler moved away,” Sheriff Ellerton said. “That’s the reason the killings stopped. Wyoming got too hot for him and it’s a small state with dedicated officers. The net was closing around him, so he escaped to a bigger place, or maybe out of the country altogether.”

  “It’s not such a small state, Sheriff. And you can’t be sure of any of what you just said,” Nora said. “This is worth following up on.”

  “I didn’t mean small in terms of size, ma’am. I’m talking…populous. There’s only so many people a killer can hide amongst in the state with the smallest number of citizens. But, you’re right. I can’t be sure of what I suggested,” Ellerton agreed. “But I can be sure of one thing — a murder is often a simple thing. If you want to solve it, you do the legwork. Follow the money, as they say.”

  “I don’t understand,” Brock said.

  “Of course you don’t, buddy.” Sheriff Ellerton laughed. “Zoey’s done decently well for herself. She worked hard these last twenty years. So now she’s got a house with the mortgage paid off and a healthy savings account, relatively speaking. What have you got? Zilch. Well, you had zilch, before Zoey conveniently…died. Now, you own everything she did.”

  Brock sat back in his chair. “What?”

  “Oh, surprised, are we? I just got confirmation from the lawyer’s office an hour ago. Zoey changed her will this past year. Coincidentally, not too long after you got out of prison. And she named you as the main beneficiary.” The sheriff smiled at Brock, though his eyes were terrifyingly cold. “What d’ya have to say about that?”

  “I—” Brock shook his head and swallowed hard.

  “You had no idea, of course.” Sheriff Ellerton laughed again. “You’re completely shocked, right? And innocent, too, I suppose.”

  “I am completely innocent,” Brock said. “I promise you, I am. You think any amount of money’s worth my freedom, Sheriff? Or worth hurting my Zoey for? No way. I didn’t kill her!”

  “Well, she wasn’t exactly your Zoey now, was she?” the sheriff suggested snidely.

  “Sheriff Ellerton…” Nora interrupted, then hesitated.

  “Yes?” The sheriff looked at her.

  “I realize the case against Brock looks pretty cut & dry.”

  “It’s a cinch.” Ellerton looked at Brock. “I’d be spending my money finding the best lawyer I could if I were you, Brock.”

  “Well,”
Nora said, “even so, couldn’t you follow up on The Strangler a little bit?”

  “Why? It’s just a story Brock’s making up to confuse us,” Ellerton said. “You should see that, being the big shot sleuth you are. It’s obvious.”

  “It’s not obvious to me,” Nora said. “The day before she died, Zoey came to my house wanting to speak urgently to me about something. As I said before, she never got the chance to do so. But she did talk to Matt Whitman, her current boyfriend. She said something to him about a silver jacket. Brock didn’t know this story when he told me about The Strangler and his silver jacket.”

  Sheriff Ellerton leaned forward, suddenly alert. “Is that right?”

  Nora nodded. “So you see? It may be nothing, I admit that. Or it may be the biggest break of your career if it helps you catch The Strangler.”

  Sheriff Ellerton bit the inside of his cheek and his brows drew together. In a flash, he was on his feet. “Matt Whitman can confirm this?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you hadn’t told Brock anything about the silver jacket before he mentioned it?”

  “I hadn’t,” Nora confirmed.

  “It could just be a coincidence…but...” The sheriff shook his head. “Alright. Both of you sit tight a minute. I’m going to be right back.” With long strides he rushed out of the room, closing the door behind him.

  Brock leaned back in his chair, his forehead covered with sweat and his eyes wide and blank. “I’m not going back inside,” he was muttering. “No way. No sir. I’m not going back in there ever again.”

  Ignoring him, Nora shot out of her chair and went behind the desk. The sheriff had been careless and left his computer screen on. Leaning down, Nora began to read about The Strangler.

  She shuddered as she went through some of the graphic details included in the sheriff’s file. Her hand went over her mouth and she had to struggle to keep from crying out loud at the brutality of the man. The Strangler had been active in Wyoming for two years and, in that time, they suspected he had killed at least five women. He’d been a sadistic killer, deliberately strangling his victims to near unconsciousness, and then letting them breathe before doing it again, over and over. He’d drag his cat and mouse game on until he was tired of the victim, and then he’d finish and dispose of their bodies. Shortly after the time that Zoey had been attacked, The Strangler seemed to have given up on terrorizing Wyoming. He simply disappeared without a trace. Perhaps nearly getting caught by the police had scared him.