BURN IN BELL

by Jeremy Waldron

  “Because,” Walker’s mouth tightened, “I’m afraid she may have been kidnapped by a cop.”

  Chapter Eighty-Eight

  Carol King woke to the sound of thunder. Blinking the sleep out of her eyes, she turned to the door at the sound of the doorknob turning. Sitting up in bed, her heart beat faster as she wasn’t expecting any visitors. The door opened and the hallway’s light spilled inside.

  “Hello,” she called out, instinctively fisting her pillow.

  When no one responded, a flash of Orville Boyd crossed her vision. Except the man entering her small room wasn’t him at all, instead the nurse Tristan Knight.

  “I wasn’t sure you were awake,” Tristan said.

  “I wasn’t until you woke me up.” Carol’s expression pinched with annoyance, unable to remember if she’d locked her door or not. “What’s going on?”

  “You have a visitor.” Tristan stepped to the side.

  “Tell them I’m sleeping.”

  “Mrs. King, do you really want me to tell your son to leave?”

  Carol blinked and her body perked up. “Alex is here?”

  King entered the room. “Hi, Mom.”

  “Boy, you have some explaining to do.”

  King nodded to Tristan as he closed the door on his way out. Turning on a lamp, the room lit in a soft glow that was easy on his mother’s eyes. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I should have been the one to tell you about Avery.”

  “Instead you let a woman who’s already mourning do it? What kind of man are you?”

  King knew it was useless to try to explain his way out of this one—knew his mother would never believe Angelina would leave a note like the one she had.

  “Mom, what is this doing here?” King picked up a twenty-dollar bill left on top of her dresser. “Is it yours?”

  “If you found it there, then I guess it’s mine.”

  King looked to see if a message had been left behind. It was blank.

  Carol glanced to the clock. “It’s late. What on earth are you doing here that couldn’t wait?”

  King placed the money back where he found it and eased onto his mother’s bed. “Mom, I’m trying to understand some things about Dad.”

  “Alex, I’m tired. Can’t this wait?”

  “It might have something to do with why Peggy and Avery were killed.”

  “That’s absurd. Your father has been dead for nearly a decade.”

  “Someone is trying to show me something from his past.” King explained his theory of how these murders were linked; that the murderer got his attention by copying King’s past cold cases.

  “That’s crazy,” Carol responded.

  “Mom, did Dad ever talk about his investigation that led to the capture of Frank Lowe?”

  “Everyone talked about it. It’s what made him famous.” Carol’s eyes fell to her hands. “But why are you asking about it now?”

  “There’s been a recent discovery that suggests Frank Lowe may be innocent.”

  Carol’s gaze retreated into her thoughts. King knew she was hiding something.

  “What is it, Mom? Is it true? Did Dad say something to you at the time?”

  “Go home, Alex.”

  “Mom?”

  “I can’t say.” When she looked at her son, her eyes welled with tears. “It hurts too much.”

  “Mom, you need to tell me.” King took her hand into his. “It’s important.”

  Carol’s gaze flicked between his face and their hands. “He didn’t know it at the time. When he learned the truth, it was too late.” Her gray eyes lifted and landed on King’s. “It wasn’t your father who coerced a confession from Frank Lowe, but another detective by the name of Andrew Jackson.”

  King’s eyes landed on the dresser. He stared at the twenty-dollar bill, making the connection to the killer’s calling card. “Why haven’t I heard of him before?”

  Carol’s chin trembled. “Because if you had, you would have also learned that your father had an affair with another woman.”

  Chapter Eighty-Nine

  I let the thought of Gemma getting kidnapped by a cop sink in before Walker told me again.

  “Did you hear what I said?” he asked.

  “A cop?” I shook my head. If he was right, it made sense why he didn’t want to involve the police. But could I trust him? He gave me every reason not to. “What were you doing in the park last night?”

  Walker’s eyebrows knitted. “What?”

  “I saw you there. What were you doing?”

  “Gemma and I were securing our investment, doing our due diligence,” he said, telling me that Gemma met with Allison, and he followed Marty Ray to the park.

  It lined up with everything Allison shared with me on the phone, but I still wanted to know why he cared so much about Marty Ray. “Why follow Marty Ray? I don’t know him.”

  “Marty didn’t kill Avery,” Walker said. “It was just a matter of being in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

  My head was spinning. Walker’s behavior suggested time was running out, and I heard the seconds ticking, too. We were the only ones who knew Gemma was missing—the only ones who had the power to do something about it—but I needed to know I could trust him.

  “Gemma was scheduled to meet Marty today. That’s why I followed him last night. I knew very little about him and I didn’t want her to meet with someone who might be dangerous.”

  Walker locked eyes and it hit me. He was Marty’s alibi—the reason Gemma told Allison she knew how to get Marty out of police custody. But what did Marty know that they didn’t? I was thinking about the photo of Tristan in the park when I asked, “What did Marty have that Gemma wanted?”

  “The truth about Frank Lowe.”

  “Why do you two care so much?” My frustration was pumping through my heart as the room spun around me.

  “Because my wife wants to see her father exonerated.”

  I blinked. Surprised again. “Gemma is your wife?”

  “And Frank Lowe is her father.”

  “Jesus.” I dug out my cell and showed him the photo of Tristan Knight.

  Walker said, “Where did you get that?” I told him. His wild eyes locked on mine. “Is he a cop?”

  “No,” I said. “What does it matter?”

  “Because this man,” Walker took the phone from my hands and pointed to the screen, “has to be the one who took her.”

  Chapter Ninety

  When King stood, his head was dizzy. He couldn’t believe what his mother just told him. How did he not know? After all these years, he’d been left in the dark about his father being a cheat.

  Carol was still staring at him. King opened his mouth but nothing came out. A surge of anger and betrayal lit up his spine and heated his core. His father betrayed his mother, brought shame to the family. Even worse than that, Marshall guided King’s entire existence. Even in death.

  “He was your North Star,” Carol said. “I couldn’t tell you without you second guessing your entire career. You’ve done so many great things because of how you looked up to him.”

  King’s chest was tight as he listened to his mother’s words. “If Dad knew what Jackson did, why didn’t he say anything?”

  “Because I would have learned of your father’s affair,” Carol said with stern eyes. “You must understand that Jackson was a dirty cop who stopped at nothing to bolster his own career. He used your father’s shortcoming against him.”

  King picked up the twenty-dollar bill on his mother’s dresser and stared into President Andrew Jackson’s face. If his father hadn’t had a secret to hide himself, would Detective Jackson ever have been able to get away with this? King thought not. Detective Jackson saw his opportunity to rise through the ranks and took it when coercing Frank Lowe into admitting to something he didn’t do.

  It was clear why the killer he was chasing was leaving messages on twenty-dollar bills. All this time, King was right. This was about him and his father’s past. But who w
anted to speak to him? Andrew Jackson? Or a person close to his father’s affair?

  King asked his mother, “You didn’t know Dad had betrayed your trust?”

  Carol shook her head, her face hardening with years of suppressed emotions.

  “Then how did you learn of it?”

  “The day Jackson died,” Carol said, watching her son as she mentioned the date of his funeral.

  King whispered, “Dad had already passed by then.”

  “That’s right,” Carol said. “Your father took his secret with him to the grave.”

  King cast his gaze to the twenty-dollar bill. With Jackson dead, there was only one other possibility to who could be behind the murders of Peggy and Avery. “Who was the affair with?”

  “I never asked—and I don’t care to know.”

  King clenched his jaw. “But who told you?”

  “Jackson’s wife found notes and photos her husband apparently kept to hold over your father’s head. She gave them to me, not fully realizing what it was she had in her possession.”

  King sweated as he balled his hands into tight fists.

  “He made a mistake, Alex. I forgave him, and I hope you can, too.”

  “It doesn’t erase the fact that Frank Lowe has been in prison all these years.”

  “No, it doesn’t. But now, maybe, this is your chance to do better than your father.”

  King’s head floated back on his shoulders as he stared into his mother’s loving eyes. He’d do anything for her—loved her more than the world. Stepping to his mother’s bed, he took her by the shoulders and pressed his lips against her forehead and told her he loved her. “I’m sorry for waking you.”

  Carol apologized for not telling him about Marshall sooner. Then King left the room and put a call in to Officer Smith.

  “Did you speak with your mother?” Smith answered.

  “It was Andrew Jackson. He hid the truth—the reason the DNA was never tested on the victims.” King nodded to security as he passed reception. The doors opened and he exited the building.

  “The same thing will happen now if the mayor keeps up the pressure.” Smith paused before asking, “What are you going to do?”

  King didn’t have a clear path forward. “Did Andrew Jackson have any children?” It was possible they wanted the truth to come out if they’d somehow learned it.

  “Not that I know of.”

  King stomped over rain puddles from the storm that just passed. A light drizzle was still falling as he headed toward his unmarked police car. “Then what about the woman my father had an affair with—do you know who she is?”

  Smith sighed. “Sorry, Alex. I don’t.”

  “Can you meet me at my place?” Smith said he could. “I’m certain our killer is close to this affair. We just need to figure out who it is.”

  Chapter Ninety-One

  Walker seemed certain that Tristan was the one who took Gemma, but I wasn’t so sure.

  “Tristan Knight?” I frowned as I took my phone out of Walker’s hand. “Why him?”

  “Because he was watching Gemma meet with Marty as Marty revealed the name of the dirty cop who coerced him into making a false confession.”

  The reason Allison said he was innocent of his crimes.

  I peeled my eyes away from Tristan’s image in the park, tried to keep up with what Walker was spitting at me in rapid-fire. I asked, “What was the name of the officer?”

  “Detective Andrew Jackson.”

  I inhaled a deep breath and said, “Okay, say this is true, but Tristan was the safety director. Of course he was in the park today. They had to reroute it after last night’s…event.” Walker knew about the marathon so I continued, “My friend Susan was there with him.”

  “No.” Walker adamantly shook his head. “This was different. Gemma would have never mentioned it to me if she didn’t think he was someone interested in what they knew.”

  “Is he connected to this detective Marty said put him in prison?”

  “He has to be someone connected to Andrew Jackson.”

  “But why?” I had to admit, their secret relationship to Frank Lowe was big, but I couldn’t fit Tristan into the scheme of having taken Gemma. It seemed like if anybody was responsible, it would be a cop. Someone who would want to keep the past in the past. Perhaps this Andrew Jackson Walker couldn’t stop talking about was responsible.

  “I don’t know, but we don’t have time to debate this.” Walker inched forward. “Your friend, does she know where we can find Tristan?”

  “I could ask,” I said, pulling my phone from my pocket and dialing Susan’s number. “Thank God you’re still awake,” I said when Susan answered.

  “Samantha, I found something that might be useful.”

  My eyebrows pinched.

  “Did you know Frank Lowe had a daughter?”

  “I just learned it.” I locked my eyes on Walker. “Your friend Tristan, I need to know where he lives.”

  “I would hardly call him a friend. We just met. But—ironic you ask—because I was just on the phone with him.”

  “You were?” Walker quietly asked me what was going on.

  “He’s the one who told me about Gemma Love.”

  My heartrate spiked. I motioned for us to get into the car. Walker made a move and together we ran outside and I climbed into the passenger seat of his SUV. “How long ago?” I asked Susan.

  “Maybe twenty minutes.”

  If Tristan did have Gemma, he already had her when he called Susan. “Susan, listen to me. I need you to figure out where he lives—or where he’s at now—and do it quick.”

  “What’s this about?”

  “Tristan may have kidnapped Gemma.”

  Chapter Ninety-Two

  As soon as King dropped his cell phone into his pocket, he caught movement out of the corner of his eye. Tristan Knight approached with a glint in his eye. “Thanks again for getting me inside at such late notice,” King said.

  “Did your mother tell you our secret?”

  King gave him a questioning look.

  “I heard you two discussing our family’s affairs.” Tristan closed the gap between them. “Tell me, Inspector, do you not see yourself in me?”

  King’s eyes narrowed as she flicked his gaze across Tristan’s physique. Then it hit him. “It was your mother my father had an affair with?”

  Tristan grinned and pulled out a .38 Special revolver and told King to place his department issued Glock 17 on the ground. King lowered his hand to his side when Tristan reminded him, “Nice and slow now; I don’t want any surprises.”

  King kept his eyes locked on Tristan and did as he was told. Once his gun was on the ground, Tristan told King to step away. Taking a step forward, Tristan scooped up King’s Glock in one swift motion. Then he tucked it into his belt and asked for King’s phone.

  King handed it over. “What are you doing?”

  “Taking you on a field trip,” Tristan said, telling King to drive.

  “And where are we going?”

  “Get inside and I’ll tell you.” King got behind the wheel and Tristan took a spot behind him in the backseat. “There’s someone I’d like you to see.”

  King started the car and positioned the rearview mirror on Tristan’s face. “What did you do?”

  “We’ll talk when you start driving.”

  King backed out of his space and turned south on Colorado Boulevard, feeling the barrel of Tristan’s gun pointing at the center of his back.

  “I just couldn’t help myself,” Tristan said. “I’ve been having an absolute blast enlightening you about your past. So, I thought, why stop now?”

  King flicked his gaze to the mirror wondering what Tristan had done, and to whom. Knowing his mother was safe, his thoughts scrambled to both Samantha and Angelina. “If this is between you and me, we can work it out ourselves.”

  “Oh, it’s more than just you and me, brother.” Tristan flashed a wide grin. “Let’s just say tonight we�
��re honoring the great Marshall King and his extraordinary flaw.”

  “The affair he had with your mother,” King guessed.

  “Nice guess, Inspector, but no. If not for that, I would have never been born.” Tristan flashed King a knowing smirk. “Our father’s greatest flaw was arresting an innocent man and letting him go to prison for life.”

  Keeping one hand on the wheel, King was told to head east on Alameda Avenue. Then he said, “You’re talking about Frank Lowe.”

  “You’re quick,” Tristan winked, “but not as clever as that girlfriend of yours.”

  King’s grip tightened at the mere mention of Samantha. Keeping his mouth shut, he didn’t want to spark Tristan into a rage that might get her killed—if that was who he had, and who he was taking King to see.

  “But I’m afraid Samantha might be too smart for her own good. Lucky for me, I had a chance meeting with her tonight and I learned just how close she and everyone was to figuring out it was me behind the murders.”

  “If you wanted to make a point, why not just kill me?” King’s temples throbbed with anger.

  “What’s the fun in that?” Tristan gripped the seat in front of him and peered over King’s shoulder. “Besides, we’re family and family is supposed to look out for each other.”

  “Yet, you’re taking away mine.”

  The police band cracked and Tristan told King to turn up the radio’s volume. They listened to the chatter before turning it back down. It wasn’t anything Tristan had to worry about. No one knew he had kidnapped a cop.

  “Yes, I suppose you’re right,” Tristan said. “It’s quite selfish of me, now that I think about it, but can you guess who my latest victim might be?”