by Lynn Shannon
She could. Avery had told Weston the bare basics about her ex-fiancé on the first day they met. While trying to narrow down the potential threat against her, they’d had to go through her former boyfriends. Not that there were many. Jeffrey had been her longest and most significant. But she hadn’t gone into the specifics about why they’d broken up or the Internal Affairs investigation that followed.
She hugged her arms around herself. Just thinking about it made her sick to her stomach. What could she say? My fiancé cheated on me. Blew up my life with a pack of lies and nearly destroyed my career to save face. No. She did not want to discuss her ex. It was humiliating and reflected badly on her. How could she have been so stupid? How could she have fallen in love and gotten engaged to someone like Jeffrey?
A trooper across the parking lot gestured to them, saving Avery from having to say anything.
“The search warrant must’ve come through,” Weston said. “Come on.”
Avery fell into step beside him, snapping her mind back into professional mode. They went through the necessary procedures. Avery tugged on a set of latex gloves and entered Room 106.
It was a wreck. The bedding had been partially stripped and lay halfway off the bed. Clothes were strewn across the floor. The bedside lamp had been smashed. The closet door was cocked open, revealing several sets of shoes and a dirty backpack. Cigarette butts littered the small table next to the window.
She peeked in the bathroom. Towels and toilet paper mingled on the wet floor. Avery wrinkled her nose. “I can’t tell if there was a struggle in here or if Victor is just a slob.”
“Probably a bit of both.” Weston pushed open the closet door. He stiffened.
“What?” Avery asked. “What is it?”
“Photographs. Of Debra.”
She came up next to him and sucked in a sharp breath. Taped along the back wall of the closet were hundreds of photographs. Debra was in every single one, and it appeared they’d been taken without her knowledge. She was at the grocery store, a fast-food place, in the driveway of her home. Red marks crossed out her face in many of the pictures. Curse words had been scratched onto others.
It was the work of an obsessed man. And an enraged one.
Avery’s phone rang. She yanked it from her pocket, barely taking her eyes off of the pictures to glance at the screen. It was her sister.
Avery answered. “I can’t talk right now.”
“Don’t hang up.” Savannah’s voice was devoid of emotion and completely calm. It was her sister’s military tone, shaped through almost a decade in the Army. She only used it in time of crisis. “Where are you? Are you with Weston?”
Avery locked down her own emotions, even as her mind ran through the worst. “Yes. I’m with Weston. What is it?”
Weston’s head snapped in her direction. He stepped closer.
“I got off early today and picked up Cooper on my way home so he could spend some time with Nana.” Savannah had a key to Avery’s house and often took the dog if she had free time. Especially if Avery was working long hours. “Nana and I were bringing him back to your place when—” She took a deep breath. “I’m fine. So is Nana. We aren’t hurt, but I need you to come home. Now. And bring Weston with you.”
Her heart jumped into her throat. “What is it? What happened?”
“You need to get here, Avery. You need to see it for yourself.”
Eight
Avery counted every mile to her house in heartbeats and prayers. The chatter from the police scanner in Weston’s official vehicle increased her anxiety. Additional units had been requested. The neighborhood was being searched.
She gripped the handle over the passenger side window as Weston turned into the neighborhood. Half a dozen patrol cars were sitting in front of her home, along with several ambulances. Avery’s stomach twisted. Did Savannah lie? Had something happened to Nana? A thousand possibilities flashed in her mind. She opened the truck door before Weston could come to a complete stop and jumped out.
“Avery, wait,” Weston said.
She barely heard him as instinct overtook logic. She raced past the yellow crime scene tape. Mike stood in the driveway. His shirt was wrinkled and his hair was standing out in sharp spikes, as if he’d forgotten to comb it. He intercepted her, holding up his hands. “Your family is okay, kid. No one was hurt.”
Weston came up beside her. Avery gestured to the vehicles in the street. “The ambulances—”
“A precaution. When Savannah called 911, they sent out EMS too.” Mike met her gaze. “I promise. Your grandmother and Savannah aren’t hurt.”
She sucked in a deep breath and tried to calm her racing heart. “What happened?”
“The killer sent you another message.” Mike shifted, revealing her front door.
A small pocket-sized notebook was stabbed through and held in place with a large kitchen knife. The open pages fluttered in the crisp breeze.
Avery stepped forward. Her boots scraped against the steps. Familiar handwriting, illuminated by her porch light, stole her breath. “That’s…that’s one of my dad’s notebooks.”
“Savannah found it when she came to drop off your dog,” Mike said. “Your grandmother was with her. They called the police immediately and then phoned you. Savannah didn’t want to wait for responders out here in the dark. She did the smart thing, loading both the dog and Mrs. Madison into her car. They drove back to your grandmother’s house.”
Of course she had. Her sister was a soldier, used to combat. Although Savannah carried a concealed firearm, that didn’t make her invincible, and her first priority would be getting Nana to safety. “Did they encounter the killer?”
“No. He was long gone by then. It doesn’t appear as though the killer went inside your house.”
But he’d been on the property. If Savannah and Nana had arrived while he was still here… Avery let out a shuddering breath. “I should’ve warned Savannah and Nana not to come here.”
“This isn’t your fault,” Weston said softly. She tore her attention away from the notebook and knife in her door. Red and blue turret lights flashed over Weston’s face. His expression was grim. “Are you sure that’s your dad’s notebook?”
“It looks like his handwriting. Anyone have a set of gloves?”
Mike waved to a deputy who located several pairs. Avery slipped her set on. She edged closer to the door. Every step racketed up the tension inside her, but she locked down her emotions and focused on the task at hand. “Has this been photographed already?”
Mike nodded. “We left it in position for you and Weston to see.”
“Appreciate it,” Weston said. He’d joined Avery on the porch, also wearing gloves. “What are you looking for?”
“I’d like to see how many pages are written on.”
The knife had been shoved through the top cover of the notebook, along with several pages, but a majority of the sheets were hanging loose. She used the tip of her finger to flip through them. Definitely her father’s handwriting. Only half the notebook was used.
She glanced at Weston. “I asked Savannah about Dad’s notebooks. She thought they’d all been thrown out but also mentioned finding some of Dad’s jackets. One had a notebook in the pocket. Savannah tossed the notebook in the trash, and the coats were sold at a yard sale months ago.”
“So this notebook could be the one your sister threw away?”
“Yes. Another possibility is the killer was at the yard sale, and found another forgotten notebook in one of my father’s jackets.”
Both options twisted Avery’s stomach. The killer hadn’t been stalking only her. He’d been watching her family too.
“No one will touch you or them, Avery,” Weston said, seeming to come to the same conclusion. “We’ll put your grandmother and sister under protection. Troopers will be assigned to watch over them 24/7 until we catch this guy.”
“Avery, there’s more you need to know,” Mike said. “When responding officers arrived, they d
id a perimeter check of the property. A woman was hanging in the backyard from a tree. She’s been murdered in the same way as Debra Channing.”
Avery’s legs turned to jelly. “Do you know who the victim is?”
“It’s Marianne Jenkins.”
Weston inhaled sharply. Avery closed her eyes as bile rose in the back of her throat. Professor Jenkins frightened face filled her mind. Had she seen something on the night of the murder on campus? Something that had made her the killer’s next target? The questions ran rapid fire in Avery’s mind as she tried to make sense of it all. “I want to see the crime scene.”
Mike rubbed the back of his neck. “Avery, you don’t have—”
“It’s not negotiable, Mike.” She stepped away from Weston and squared her shoulders. “Let’s go.”
Avery appreciated that Weston didn’t try to talk her out of it. Instead, he fell into step beside her as Mike led them around the side of the house. They walked through the yard and into the woods. Floodlights had been set up around the crime scene. Part of a rope still dangled from a branch. Marianne Jenkins had been cut down and placed on a large tarp nearby. The coroner’s investigator was making notes on a clipboard. They were a few meters from the hiding place Weston had found while doing a perimeter search on her property the other day. A shiver crept down Avery’s spine.
“What do we know?” Weston asked. His voice was flat, and Avery recognized the ranger locking away his own emotions.
“She was hanging from here.” Mike pointed at the short end of the rope tied around the branch. “Deputies said she was cold to the touch, so they didn’t try to revive her.”
“Any idea on time of death?” Avery asked.
Mike waved in the direction of the coroner’s investigator. “John believes she was dead before she was hung on the tree.”
“That’s consistent with the first victim.” Avery stepped closer to the tree. The branch was too tall for her, but Weston could easily reach it. So could Mike.
“Marianne is…” Avery’s gaze darted to the woman lying on the tarp. “Was my height. This branch is tall enough she wouldn’t reach the ground when the killer hung her. But an average man could still touch it easily.”
“Probably why the killer chose it.” Mike gestured to the street, a short distance away. “He likely parked over there and carried her to the tree. We found footprints in the dirt, although not good ones. We’ll cast them anyway. I’ve got deputies canvassing the neighbors, asking if anyone saw a vehicle in this area.”
“He set the scene,” Weston said. “Just like the first time. The killer placed her high enough to make it look like she’d hung herself, but he didn’t want to run the risk she would survive. So he kills her ahead of time.”
Avery nodded. She turned. She had an unimpeded view of her home. “From this position, I would’ve seen her when I stepped into the backyard. My father’s notebook was left on the front doorstep to put me on alert. I would’ve immediately done a perimeter search and found Marianne.”
She approached the tarp. Rope was wrapped around the professor’s throat. Her legs and wrists were bruised. Nails on each of her hands were broken and blooded. Anger heated Avery’s blood and her heart ached, but she pushed both feelings away. Every detail was important. Nothing could be overlooked. Marianne was dressed in the same white gown as Debra had been. Another consistency between the two crimes.
“Excuse me, John.” Avery pointed at Marianne’s hand, careful not to touch the body. By law, only the coroner’s investigator had that right. “Could you check to see if she’s wearing a bracelet?”
“Sure thing.” He bent down and gently pushed up the sleeve of the nightgown.
A handmade leather bracelet was wrapped around Marianne’s wrist. Dangling from it was a single charm. Avery bent down for a closer look and her breath stalled in her chest. “It’s a rook.”
“Check the pocket of the gown,” Weston said.
John did as requested and pulled out a sliver of paper. He handed it to the Texas Ranger. Avery stood. She ignored the tremble in her legs. “What does it say?”
“I’ve captured your rook, Avery. So far I’m winning the game. Hurry, hurry and make your next move. Time’s running out.” Weston lifted his gaze to meet hers. “It’s signed The Chessmaster.”
The murder of a second woman and the Chessmaster’s note changed the case. Weston took every investigation seriously, but this was different. They were dealing with a serial killer.
Weston marched down the hospital halls, following the signs to the nursery. It was after midnight and visiting hours were long over, but an exception had been made since he was law enforcement. He stopped in front of the bank of windows separating him from the babies. A few of the beds were empty. Others held tiny bundles tightly wrapped in striped blankets.
A flash of color out of the corner of his eye caught Weston’s attention. He turned. Luke Tatum was strolling toward him. From the looks of things, it’d been a long night. Luke’s clothes were wrinkled and his hair was sticking up at all angles. Weston could relate. His own clothes were grass stained and he was bone-tired.
“Hey, Luke.” Weston shook his friend’s hand and clapped him on the back. “Congrats again on the baby. Which one is Ava?”
Luke pointed to a tiny bundle on the far right. A blue light was shining down on the baby. “Ava’s right there. She’s got jaundice, which is why she’s under the special lamp. Nothing to be concerned about. She just needs a little extra care. Appreciate you coming down to the hospital to keep me in the loop on Avery’s case.”
“No problem. Grady and I have to meet anyway. At least this way, we get a sneak peek at the baby.” Awful things had happened tonight, and a heavy weight rested on his shoulders, but Weston had learned long ago to embrace the moment. “Ava’s beautiful, Luke. I’m happy for you.”
“Thanks.” He grinned but it faded. “We should discuss the case. Where’s Avery?”
“She’s with her grandmother, Marla, and her sister. After the night they’ve had, Avery didn’t want to leave them alone. A trooper is stationed outside their house and I’m staying in the guestroom from now on.” Weston glanced down the hall. It was still empty, but he didn’t want to have this conversation in the open. “Is there a place we can talk in private? Preferably someplace with coffee?”
They confiscated a break room after making arrangements with the nursing staff.
Couches ran along one wall. Weston sank into one and the springs creaked in protest. Luke poured them coffee. “Okay, start talking.”
Weston filled Luke in on the evening’s events, although keeping his tone professional took real work. He was both heartbroken and angry that Marianne Jenkins had died before they could save her.
His fellow ranger leaned back in his chair. “Is there any connection between Victor and Avery’s father?”
“Not that we’ve found so far.”
Luke’s phone beeped. He unhooked it from his waist and checked the message. “That’s Grady. He’s waiting at the nursery. Let me show him the baby and then I’ll bring him in.”
“Sure thing.”
The door clicked behind him. Weston leaned his head against the couch. A thousand questions rolled through his mind. Why was the Chessmaster targeting Avery? How was he choosing his victims? The killer was on a mission and had a plan only he understood. To stop him, they had to act fast.
Lord, please guide me. Give me the strength and the wisdom to figure this out before another innocent woman is killed.
Voices filtered in through the closed door. Weston quickly added an Amen to his prayer seconds before his fellow rangers appeared.
Grady entered first. He carried a well-worn cowboy hat and his boots tapped against the tile floor. Weston rose to greet him. Luke bought some crackers from the vending machine and everyone got more coffee.
“I’ve brought Luke up to speed,” Weston said, jumping right back into business. He turned to Grady. “What did you find at Maria
nne Jenkins’s house?”
He pulled out a notepad from his shirt and flipped it open. “The back door had been pried open and there were signs of a struggle in the bedroom. It appears the killer attacked her while she was sleeping. An initial search hasn’t yielded any prints, other than the victim’s. Chances are, the killer wore gloves. A neighbor reported seeing Marianne on Saturday afternoon, watering her plants, but she failed to show up to Sunday brunch with her friends.”
“So the killer probably broke into her house sometime on Saturday evening,” Weston said. “Was she killed there?”
Grady shook his head. “There’s no sign Marianne was murdered in her home.”
That matched with what they knew about Debra’s murder. She hadn’t been killed in her house either. Weston blew out a breath. “Did she have a home security system? Cameras?”
“Unfortunately not.” Grady’s mouth flattened into a thin line. “And no one reported seeing a strange vehicle parked in Marianne’s driveway or in the neighborhood any time before or after the abduction.”
“How does that compare to Debra Channing’s murder?” Luke asked.
“It doesn’t.” Weston took another sip of coffee. “There were no signs of a break-in at Debra’s house, nor were there any signs of a struggle. Her car was in the garage, purse and cell phone on the counter. It seemed she’d let the killer in, which brings us to Victor Haas. Her ex-boyfriend had a key to her place. Victor is still missing and no one has spotted his vehicle either.”
Grady snagged one of Luke’s crackers. “I’ve reviewed Victor’s criminal record, and while it’s substantial, nothing about it is particularly intelligent. He’s the type to kill his girlfriend in a jealous rage, not plot out a complicated murder.”
Weston nodded. “That’s been bugging me too. I could see him committing the thefts on campus, but both murders were calculated.”
“They’re also personal,” Luke said. “The notes to Avery alone are worrisome, but nothing gets more personal than depositing a body on a cop’s doorstep.”