King was skeptical. Something caught his eye and he asked about it. “Will you be running in Sunday’s race?”
Tristan cocked his head to the side and gave King funny look.
King pointed the bright green wristband Tristan was wearing. “I recognized the wristband.”
“Ah, yes.” Tristan looked at his arm. “No, I won’t be running. But I am the safety director so I’ll be there throughout.” Tristan smiled. “What about you?”
King thought about how Avery was pushing him to compete. “Still undecided. But, if I do, I don’t plan on setting any records.”
The men shared a friendly laugh and King turned and headed for the exit. On his way out the door, Tristan called out, “Detective.” King stopped and turned. “If you do decide to run, good luck.”
“Thank you,” King said, pushing the door lever open with his hip, feeling the dry heated air hit his back.
“It’s supposed to be a hot one.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
“Patrol just knocked on Boyd’s door.” Alvarez watched King get situated behind the steering wheel. “No one was home.”
King closed his car door and fixed his gaze on the GPS perched on the car dash. “Then what address is that?”
Alvarez shifted his eyes to the screen. “Boyd’s last known place of employment.”
They shared a look. King started the car and began to back out. It wasn’t far from where they were, and King knew the importance of getting ahead of this before something bad happened again.
Alvarez asked, “Everything good with your mother?”
“Cranky and pissed off as always.” He stopped and put the car into gear. “So, yeah, she’s doing great.”
Alvarez chuckled. He knew Carol King about as well as he knew his own mother. “It will take some time, but she’ll get used to her new quarters soon enough.”
King knew as much, but with him being the target of some lunatic’s games, this was the best place for his mother—even if she didn’t recognize that yet.
Twelve minutes later they were pulling the frontend of their vehicle into the auto shop where they hoped Orville Boyd was still employed. The place was small, only having two garage bays available. A dozen cars were waiting to be serviced and another half-dozen ready to be picked up.
“American made models,” Alvarez said at first observation. “My kind of guy.”
Together they stepped out and entered the garage to the sounds of a radio playing classic rock. A pair oil stained legs was sticking out from beneath a Ford Bronco.
“I’ll be with you just one moment,” the man said from under the car.
“Take your time,” King said, peeking his head into the office. He read the name Mike Kern on the business cards at the register and greeted the leashed golden retriever curled up in the corner, snoozing the day away.
“Can I help you?”
King introduced himself. “And that’s my partner John Alvarez.”
The man flicked his gaze between them. “What can I do for you, Officers?”
King asked, “Are you Mike Kern?”
Mike glanced at Alvarez, still wiping the grease and oil off his hands. “I am. What’s this about?”
“Orville Boyd.” King paused before asking, “Does he still work here?”
“Not for some time now,” Mike said. “He stopped coming into work and I was forced to let him go. Last I heard, he picked himself up a shift at the trash recycling plant there in Arvada.”
Alvarez looked to King.
“Why you ask?” Mike tossed the oil rag on top of a bucket behind him. “This isn’t about those cases from years ago, is it?”
King stepped forward. “Have you talked to Mr. Boyd since you let him go?”
Mike shuffled his feet, openly staring without blinking. Then he nodded. “He showed his face just last week. Showed up out of the blue.”
“What did he want?”
Mike shook his head, pulled at his collar. “I don’t know if he was drunk or on drugs but he wouldn’t shut up about how the cops ruined his life. Maybe he was looking for sympathy from me. Which he didn’t get.” Mike wagged his finger at King. “Did he do something?”
“What makes you think he did?” Alvarez asked.
Mike snapped his attention to Alvarez. “Jesus, oh God, he did, didn’t he?”
King brought Mike’s focus back around. “Tell us more about Boyd’s visit last week.”
Mike said, “I thought he was just talking out of his ass—”
“What did Boyd tell you he was going to do?”
“I can’t say.” Mike cast his gaze to the tips of his boots. “The guy is nuts-o. Heck, I’m afraid he might wake up and decide to kill me for having to let him go. You just never know with people like that.”
“What did he say he was going to do?” King asked again.
Mike inhaled a deep breath and sighed. “He said he would make sure those cops that ruined his life would pay for what they did to him.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
I could feel Walker’s knee bounce with excitement from the backseat of my car. Though I didn’t show it, I felt like I was quickly losing control of the entire situation.
Walker was proving to be the liability I’d feared, and Dawson was doing what he could to hang on to his best crime reporter. Unfortunately for me, I was stuck between a rock and a hard place and no one was giving me the chance to set the record straight.
I kept stealing glances at Walker’s reflection in the rearview mirror thinking how I should have never brought him into the newsroom—let alone agreed to have him shadow us for the day. It was a mistake on my part, but he needed to understand that he’d crossed a line with what he said to Dawson and I couldn’t allow it to happen again.
Flipping around in my seat, I turned to face Walker. “What you did in there could have cost me my job.”
Walker’s knees stopped bouncing. He rolled his gaze to me and said, “I apologize for my slip of the tongue. Sometimes I forget how the game of bureaucracy is played.”
I ground my teeth. I couldn’t believe how out of touch he was. A part of me wondered if that was his intention. What did Erin see in him that I couldn’t? We locked eyes and didn’t let go. I didn’t have it in me to scream at him like I was already doing inside my own head. Instead I said, “This ride-along today is a privilege. You understand? I can drop you off at any moment. And as far as turning us into stars, Erin and I can do that ourselves.”
Walker arched a single brow as if mocking me for being so dramatic. “Is that what you want? To climb the mountain yourselves?”
Erin reached her hand over the console and gently touched my knee.
“What did Dawson give you?” she asked, attempting to change the subject.
My heart was knocking hard enough to form pellets of sweat along my hairline. My mood was wildly swinging and I wondered if seeing Angelina with King was a factor to my building anger. I couldn’t seem to let that go, either.
Erin kept tapping at my knee, each tap getting harder.
I could practically hear her thinking, Sam, don’t ruin this for us, but Walker needed to be dealt with.
“I saw him push something into your hand.” Erin stopped tapping. “What was it?”
I’d glanced at the note Dawson gave me on our walk to the car. I didn’t know how Dawson acquired it, but I knew what he wanted from me. He’d given me the map to find it.
Walker asked, “Who’s Detective King?”
Ignoring Erin, I asked Walker, “What else do you know about the Pillow Strangler?”
Everyone was on their own agenda jockeying for position. We were going nowhere fast.
Walker’s eyes crinkled. I was still surprised by him knowing so much about Orville Boyd. Though I’d looked in the folder he made for me back at his office, I hadn’t seen anything about the case. So how did he know? I must have just missed it when flipping through the dozen or so cases. But now I needed to know why it was
on his radar.
“It’s laid out in the folder I gave you.” Walker raised his chin. “But you should have known that.”
Was King’s name mentioned in the folder, too? Did he know that King worked the Pillow Strangler case? Did he know that I did?
“Homicide Detective Alex King is with the DPD,” Erin said, answering Walker’s question for me.
I gave her a look of disbelief and her eyes flickered with the same heated fire as my own.
Walker was still staring into my eyes when he asked, “You have a special relationship with him?”
“You can say that.”
Walker caught on. “Isn’t that a conflict of interest?”
“Not when our interests are shared.”
Walker smiled. “You’re more business savvy than you give yourself credit for, Mrs. Bell.”
Was he suggesting the only reason I was with King was to get information from him? If he was, he couldn’t be further from the truth. I bit my tongue when, suddenly, Walker launched into telling us everything he knew about the Pillow Strangler.
Erin and I listened with open ears, waiting for him to tell us something we didn’t already know. But it never came. Walker finished by saying, “It wasn’t about robbery or sexual assault. Just a simple pleasure found in killing victims who couldn’t fight back.”
I hated to admit it, but I was impressed.
“I need to see who this weak man is with my own eyes,” Erin mumbled, her thoughts shifting to Orville Boyd.
Walker continued on with Boyd and told us his age, relationship status, where he went to high school, and the names of those who bullied him. Now he had my full attention, too. I wondered where he learned everything and how he knew it all without referencing any notes.
“When it comes to someone like Boyd,” Walker said, “it’s your classic case of a middle-aged loner looking toward something that will bring him the attention he believes he deserves.”
Walker knew more about Boyd than I did. I saw the first glimmer of learning to work together. As if reading my mind, Walker said, “We’re in this together, Mrs. Bell. Whether you want to admit it or not. We need each other.”
Erin flashed me a knowing look. Walker was right; I didn’t want to admit we needed each other, but it appeared we did.
“At least until you decide you don’t.”
Erin covered her mouth to stifle her laugh. I started the car and put the wheels in motion. “Dawson gave me Boyd’s address,” I said, finally telling her what was inside the note.
“I knew it!” Erin slapped her hands together. She twisted around and looked to Walker. “We’ve got ourselves a story, everyone.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Twenty minutes later, we pulled up to a quiet single-story house tucked securely at the end of a cul-de-sac. The grass was left unkempt and the yard had been taken over by weeds.
Erin asked, “Are you sure this is where he lives?”
From what I remembered of Boyd, this was the way he preferred to live. In squalor and deprivation, a direct result of his debilitating depression he’d suffered throughout his life.
“It’s the address Dawson gave me,” I said.
“Then we should check it out,” Walker said from the backseat.
I asked Walker, “What does your research say?”
“Some said he moved to Oregon, others said he headed south and is now residing in Mexico.” As Walker briefed us on the different theories about what might have happened to Boyd, I noticed that his house wasn’t too far from where he lived when the world turned on him.
“I thought I heard he changed his name,” I said.
“Though it would have been smart,” Walker said, “it was only rumor.”
Erin unbuckled her belt and said, “Sometimes the best hiding is in plain sight.”
Indeed, she was right, I thought as everyone sank deep into their own thoughts as if preparing for what was to come. Despite how the house appeared to be empty, I prepared myself to face Boyd for the first time in six years. I didn’t know what to expect. So much time had lapsed, he could be anybody now. But if I was right about anything, I knew Orville Boyd wouldn’t be thrilled to see me.
As silence swirled around me and I stared at what we thought was Boyd’s house, I remembered everything I’d written about him—everything backed by sources and information ethically obtained—and not once did he change his own story or admit guilt. He maintained his innocence throughout, even when everyone seemed to be blaming him for the murders that stacked up throughout the city. But now with Peggy Hill’s murder resembling the crimes Boyd was being accused of committing, I had no choice but to confront him and see how he reacted to the accusations.
“Well,” Erin turned to me, “should we see if he’s home?”
I flicked my gaze to the rearview mirror. Walker was unusually quiet, his knee still. He was staring at the house and I couldn’t help but notice his face had gone pale.
The corners of my lips pulled into a smirk as I sensed his fear. It was good he was afraid. Fear was what would keep us alive if something happened.
“Here’s how it’s going to go down,” I said, setting the ground rules for Walker. I twisted around in my seat, needing to make sure he understood the risks. Then I saw what was in his lap and asked, “Are you on your phone?”
He turned the screen to me. “Gemma.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” I snapped my neck and looked at Erin. “Tell him, will you?”
Erin met Walker’s gaze and explained, “Everything we do needs to stay between us. We can’t risk contaminating jury pools, driving our primary story underground, or spawning hoaxers which will only make finding the truth that much more difficult.”
“Understood.” Walker nodded.
“And that includes Gemma,” I said.
Walker held his breath and flicked his eyes to Erin before finally agreeing. “Okay. Everything stays between us.”
Inhaling a deep breath, I gripped the steering wheel feeling somewhat satisfied by his response. But I couldn’t allow him to mess things up. Our job was about uncovering the truth, not chasing ratings. Today, it was my show and he’d do what I said. This case was personal for me and I wanted to do right by King.
I opened my car door first and gave Walker one more piece of instruction. “Now, don’t say anything and certainly don’t touch anything. Got it?”
Walker lifted his hand and mock saluted me.
With car doors closing, we looked up and down the block before turning our attention to the house. Erin checked the mailbox and, as soon as it opened, envelopes spilled out of it.
“Whose name is on the mail?” Walker asked.
I snapped my finger and pointed in his direction. His mouth clicked shut. “No matter what happens, don’t move away from the car,” I said.
Walker rooted his hands into his hips and sighed. As I moved toward Boyd’s residence, I heard him whispering notes to himself.
After Erin confirmed Boyd’s name was indeed on the mail, she asked, “What are we going to do if he is here?”
“Still enjoying our date with Walker?” I asked quietly as we approached the front door.
By the look in her eye, Erin still believed Walker’s investment in our company was a good thing. “Just be easy on the guy,” she said. “He’s a hobbyist sleuth who has the resources to really turn our show into something bigger than we’ve ever imagined.”
I whispered, “He has a strange obsession of wanting to get into the mind of the killer.”
Erin shortened her gait and said, “We can do a lot of good with that money. Just give him a chance.”
“I haven’t dropped him at the curb yet, have I?”
Erin glanced back at Walker standing near the car, foot on the curb. “It appears you have.”
Touché. I knocked on the front door and, when there was no answer, I tried spinning the knob. “It’s locked.”
Erin peeked through the window. “Curtains a
re drawn, too.”
I turned and glanced over my shoulder. What had Boyd been doing all this time? Why did he stay in the Denver area? Was I partially responsible for ruining a perfectly innocent life, or was he really guilty?
“If I were him,” Erin said, “I would have moved out of the city as soon as my name dropped out of the daily news cycle.”
I would have done the same, and I thought about all those things as I stood on stiff legs anticipating the door opening at any second. Erin knocked again and a second later we heard the backdoor slam shut.
My eyes popped wide open. “Did you hear that?”
As soon as Erin looked at me, we took off running to see what caused the door to slam. I was scared for what was waiting for us, but it didn’t slow me down. All I could see inside my head was an equally afraid Boyd running as fast as he could. Except, when we rounded the back, we found nothing.
“I know what I heard,” Erin said, breathing hard.
“Me too.”
There was no sight of Boyd anywhere, but then we heard the door slam again.
I reached for the top of the privacy fence, gripped the top, and pulled myself up. I peeked over the top when suddenly a black blur leapt six feet into the air. A Rottweiler barked and snapped its sharp fangs at the tips of my fingers just as I released and let go. I fell back to the ground, feeling my heart race.
“It’s just a dog door,” I said, hunched over and gripping both of my knees. “Boyd’s not here.”
“Then who is taking care of the dog?” Erin asked as the animal kept barking at us through the fence. Erin shoved her hand through her hair and kept spinning in circles, looking for any sign of Boyd. “What do you want to do, Sam?”
With my hands on my hips, I thought about our options—thought about Peggy Hill and my desire to cross Boyd off my list of suspects. Then I noticed Walker had disappeared. “Oh, shit,” I said. “Where did he go?”
Erin’s posture slumped just before we jogged to the front of the house looking for Walker. He wasn’t by the car, or hiding from the sun beneath the tree spread out like an umbrella in the front yard. I spun in circles until I heard a window break on the other side of Boyd’s house.
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