by Linda Berry
Water always moves downward: fire always burns upward. Beware of becoming overly confident, or too complacent.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
A FEELING of unrest plagued Sidney as she drove down Derek’s long paved driveway toward the highway. Something like a splinter kept digging at her, wanting her attention, and would not be ignored. She pulled over to the side of the road, turned in her seat, and critically observed her prisoner.
He glowered, stared out the window.
She would try the good cop approach, see if she could coax anything out of him, confirm beyond question that she had her man. “Look Derek, I want to give you the benefit of the doubt, but how do you account for your fingerprints being all over Satoshi’s house?”
“I told you.” His good eye found hers, locked onto her gaze. “We were friends. She often invited me over, cooked for me, let me hang out and watch her work, which I found fascinating, and healing. She liked having a quiet, unobtrusive presence in the house. I liked being with someone who cared whether I lived or died. We respected each other. I never tried to move into her private world.”
“Did you know her girlfriend?”
“We never met. But Satoshi talked about her. It was obvious she was in love. They were going to move in together. I was happy for her.”
“Where were you the night she died?”
“At my house in Sand Hill, packing some belongings for my move back here.”
“Can anyone verify that?”
“No.”
That did not bode well for Derek. No alibi. It just put him in the right geographical location at the time of the murder. “What brought you back to Garnerville?”
“Several things. Satoshi’s death haunted me. I had to get away from Sand Hill.” The corners of his mouth turned downwards in a convincing display of grief. “In addition to that, my nephew died of a drug overdose a week before Satoshi died. I came back to help my sister, who was near emotional collapse.”
It was a surprise to Sidney that Derek had a relative in town. She realized she knew very little about him, except that death followed him. “Your sister is Becky Jamison, and your nephew was Joey?”
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry for your loss,” Sidney said gently, remembering how the teen’s tragic death sent shock waves through the community. “It’s a shame he got hooked on drugs.”
“He wasn’t a lowlife,” Derek said defensively. “The system got him hooked.”
“How so?”
“Becky told me he was prescribed pain pills to relieve a football injury. After a few months, he was addicted, but the doctor cut him off. He was a wreck, going through a terrible withdrawal. Sammy Ferguson came to his rescue, started feeding his habit.”
“Samantha? You’re sure about that?”
“Yes. Joey told Becky.” He snorted his contempt. “The nice girl next door was a drug addled pusher. I confronted her in the parking lot at Barney’s. We had a big blowup. She lied, said she wasn’t responsible.”
Tread carefully, Sidney thought. Keep him talking. “That must have made you angry.”
“I was angry. Furious.” He inhaled, long and deep. Exhaled. “But not enough to kill her. I wanted to see her punished, not gruesomely murdered. I have too much to live for to throw my life away. I’m back to work. My research is three years old, but I’m picking up my old zeal.”
Sidney sifted through the emotion in Derek’s voice. She heard grief, anger, and his determination to find meaning once again in his work. “You say you left your lab under lock and key. Who took care of your aquariums while you were gone?”
“Jeff.”
“Did he understand the work you were doing?”
“No, of course not. Too scientific. I warned him not to touch anything. Just feed the fish and snails.”
“You never mentioned what your toxins could do?”
“Not extensively. He showed little interest.”
Silence while Sidney mulled this over. Every which way she approached the evidence, guilt and opportunity pointed to Derek. “You can see how this looks bad for you, right Derek? You knew all three victims. You cultivate a rare neurotoxin in your lab. You were in Sand Hill the night Satoshi died, no alibi. Last Wednesday night, you said you were home, within a mile of Samantha’s crime scene. No alibi.” Sidney paused, studying Derek for any exposed emotion, a hint of guilt, or the narcissistic arrogance that a psychopath can’t keep hidden for long.
He sat motionless, a worried expression on his face.
“Perhaps it would be easier in the long run if you just admitted your guilt, and didn’t drag your sister through a long, painful trial.”
“I didn’t do it!”
His sharp tone dislodged the obscure memory of the silver Mercedes lurking in her subconscious, and it clicked open like data on a computer screen. Sidney recited her thoughts out loud. “A truck hit an elk on the highway near your place Wednesday night around 11:15. A man in a silver Mercedes stopped and called it in. Put flares around the animal, helped the county worker drag it off the road.” She swallowed. “Was that you?”
Silence.
“We have the license plate number.”
He heaved out a sigh. “Yes.”
“Why didn’t you mention that?”
“That’s admitting I’m guilty,” he said solemnly. “Puts me right smack in the area of Sammy’s murder.”
“You didn’t see the red truck that hit the elk?”
His eye widened. “You’re sure it was a red truck?”
“Yeah. I found paint chips on the road.”
“Jeff owns a red truck. The front bumper is smashed in. He told me someone hit his car in the parking lot at city hall.”
Sidney blinked. “Jeff owns a red truck with a smashed bumper?” Her mind went into instant analysis, pushing puzzle pieces around, rearranging them into a new scenario. Her thoughts crystallized around a sudden realization.
If Jeff hit the elk at 11:15 p.m., that put him on the highway near Samantha’s crime scene at the correct time. If Jeff was her killer, he would have had Samantha in his truck, incapacitated. That would explain why he hastily fled the scene. Ann saw a tall man with long arms dragging Samantha in the woods around 11:25 p.m., which aptly described Jeff. He would have had ten minutes to drive half a mile and transport Samantha to the spot where Ann observed the killer. Jeff was the only other person who had access to Derek’s neurotoxin.
Jeff could have studied Derek’s notes, discovered how to administer a small enough dosage to render the desired effect on his victims. He also knew about Satoshi and her butterflies. Had Jeff contacted the artist? Was he The Collector? Officer Conner believed someone stole butterflies from the artist’s studio. Did Jeff meet with Satoshi, kill her, steal the butterflies, and later place one at Samantha’s crime scene? Did Jeff mastermind the series of events surrounding the murders to point the finger at Derek? Feeling a cold watery feeling in her stomach, Sidney revved up the engine, made a hard U-turn with a screech of tires, and headed back to Derek’s house.
“What are you doing? You aren’t taking me to jail?”
“No. You have an ironclad alibi. Samantha was killed during the period you were hanging out with that elk.”
He gasped.
Sidney parked in front of the house and hurriedly helped Derek out of the Yukon.
With startled expressions, her two male officers paused in their search of the garage and stared at Derek, who stood rubbing his uncuffed wrists, and Sidney, who’s expression was so tense it felt like it could crack. The third garage door was up, revealing Jeff’s red pickup truck with the smashed bumper. “Where’s Jeff?” she asked with urgency.
“He left right after you did,” Granger said. “Headed down the dirt road over there by the lake. What’s going on?”
“We need to find him and arrest him. Now!”
Both men sprinted into action, heading toward their vehicles.
“Stay alert. He’s dangerous.”
“I don’t know. She never came back from Derek’s.” Ann sucked in a breath. “Is she okay?”
“Sit tight.” Sidney hung up, got into her Yukon, and swerved toward the muddy, pockmarked road. About a mile down, she spotted the two police vehicles parked on the side of the road, and both men wading into the forest through the snarled undergrowth. She immediately saw deep tire tracks gauged into the earth where a vehicle careened off the road and clipped the trunk of a massive Douglas fir. Beyond that, through the thicket of shrubs, she made out part of a dark green vehicle, same color as Selena’s Jeep.
Sidney didn’t remember parking, or trekking through the brush, but she reached the empty Jeep in seconds. The officers had all four doors open, and Granger was bending over the passenger seat. He backed out holding Selena’s handbag, and passed it to Sidney.
A quick check confirmed her worst fear. Her sister’s handgun and phone were still inside. Sidney viewed the scene with an exquisite hyper focus of details. No movement anywhere around them, as though the forest were holding its breath. Her voice sounded clear yet far away. “Selena would never have left her phone and gun behind unless she was panicked, or she was carried out by someone else.”
As though in a photograph, Granger and Darnell stood motionless, their faces drained of color. Granger asked, “Is Jeff our killer?”
“Looks that way. Let’s search for footprints and car tracks. Hurry. Every second counts.”
They hit the road and scoured the area.
“Tire tracks over here, Chief,” Darnell said. “And a few large boot prints. Looks like Jeff parked here and headed into the woods where Selena’s car crashed. He went after her.”
“The prints are nearly washed out,” Sidney said. “It’s been a while since this happened. Probably right after she left Derek’s house, and before Jeff barged into the house flashing his camera.”
“Setting up an alibi for himself,” Darnell said.
“Exactly.” Sidney flagged a trail of Selena’s prints, melting back into the mud, leading south. “The distance between these prints indicate Selena was running. She got away from him. But she didn’t make it to Ann’s.”
“Now’s he’s back, looking for her,” Darnell said. “Thinking we’re preoccupied with Derek.”
“She could be hurt, hiding in the woods somewhere,” Granger said.
Sidney prayed that was the case. “You two walk along each side of the road. Look for any sign of Selena, or Jeff’s white Toyota Highlander. Stay alert. I’ll head down the road in the Yukon.”
Sidney drove slowly, peering into the forest on both sides. She rounded several bends before she spotted Jeff’s Toyota parked off the road. The headlights cut through burrows of trees, highlighting Jeff, who was crouched over something in an irrigation ditch.
“I found him,” she said into her shoulder mic. “A half-mile south. Get here quickly.”
Concealed by foliage, Sidney quietly exited the Yukon. She pulled the Pico from the ankle holster and shoved it into the back of her belt. The small gun felt awkward in her hand and she was unfamiliar with its accuracy. She hoped she wouldn’t be forced to rely on it. She pulled out her sidearm, a Glock 9mm, a handgun she trusted, and slowly advanced into the woods.
Unaware he had a spectator, Jeff was walking backwards, his arms encircling Selena’s torso, dragging her unresponsive body toward his Highlander. Had he injected her with the venom?
For a moment, Sidney had a sensation of being under water, life moving at quarter speed, then it sped up again when Jeff reached the hatch of his Toyota. Sidney stood twenty feet away. She raised her sidearm to eye level, but Selena’s body shielded Jeff and she couldn’t get a clear shot.
The reporter suddenly jerked his head and locked eyes with Sidney, his emotions shifting from wide-eyed surprise to a cold deadly calm within seconds. She had never seen him like this: unmasked. Controlled. Evil.
“Put her down, Jeff.”
Holding Selena’s weight against his chest with one arm, Jeff raised his free hand and held a hypodermic needle an inch from Selena’s neck. Selena picked that moment to shudder into consciousness with a dazed expression, eyeballs rolling upwards, teeth chattering, body shivering. She tried to stand, but Jeff restrained her.
Thank God. She had not been injected, but her hair and clothes were soaked. How long had she been in that wet ditch? She appeared hypothermic. “Put her down, Jeff. Selena needs to get to the ER. Now!”
For a long hideous second, he didn’t speak. Just the deadly stare.
“Put her down, Jeff.”
He sneered. “You think you’re in control? You’ve never been in control. Here’s how this is going to play out. You’re going to place that gun on the roof on my Toyota. Slowly. Then you’re going to back the hell away.” He moved the needle closer to Selena’s neck.
Sweat dampening her face, Sidney approached his vehicle and did as she was told. He made no move to touch the gun, which meant he would have to release Selena, or the hypodermic, to free a hand.
“Back away,” he growled. “Hands up.”
She obeyed, moving back about twenty feet.
Letting Selena slide to the ground, Jeff reached for the handgun, his eyes trained on Sidney.
Sidney tasted copper on her tongue and felt a deep sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach. She went for the Pico.
Jeff grabbed the Glock.
They fired simultaneously.
Sidney grunted as a round slammed into her armored vest.
One of her rounds hit Jeff’s left shoulder. Another caught him in the pelvis. With a piercing cry, he dropped the Glock and sank to his knees, fingers pressed to the bleeding wound.
Sidney reeled, trying to get her balance, feeling like she got hit in the chest by a baseball bat. She heard a commotion behind her as her two officers braked, slammed car doors, and charged onto the scene. “Cuff him,” she gasped. “Get that gun and hypodermic away from him.”
Jeff was moaning in agony. Though he sounded like he was dying, she knew his injuries were not life-threatening. No organs had been hit, but a traumatic injury to the pelvis area, loaded with pain receptors, was intensely punishing. Sidney felt no sympathy.
Ignoring Jeff’s groans, Granger pushed him face down on the ground, cuffed his hands behind his back, then turned him over to examine his wounds.
Sidney and Darnell carried Selena to the passenger seat of the Yukon. She was shivering and mumbling incoherently.
“We need to get her warm,” Sidney said. “Grab the two blankets in the back.” She cranked up the heat full blast and peeled off her sister’s drenched parka and shirt. Working fast, Sidney zipped Selena into her own heavy work jacket, wrapped a blanket around her shoulders, and tucked the other one over her lap. “No point calling the paramedics. Granger can get Jeff to the ER faster than they could arrive. I’ll be right behind him with Selena.”
Darnell and Granger half-walked, half-dragged Jeff, who whimpered like a dying animal, into the caged back seat of Granger’s truck.
“Darnell, get back to Jeff’s guesthouse,” Sidney said. “You and Amanda need to search every inch of it.”
“Copy that.”
Sidney got into the Yukon and turned to Selena, who was propped up with her head resting against the headrest. Color was coming back to her pale cheeks and she was breathing more evenly. Sidney reached over, brushed her sister’s hair back from her forehead.
Selena opened her eyes and asked weakly. “Where am I?”
“In my Yukon. On the road by the lake. You okay?”
Selena squinted. “My head hurts.”
“Did Jeff hit you?”
“No, I fell on the road, trying to get away from him. Where is he?” she asked with a to
uch of panic.
“Shot up and cuffed, in the back of Granger’s truck. You’re safe now.”
“He’s a monster.” Selena closed her eyes, swallowed. “Never suspected him, even for a second.”
Sidney heard the real pain under the surface, but all her professional skills didn’t seem adequate to comfort her sister. “It’s a shock. He definitely fell under the radar.”
“But you got him. The town’s savior.”
“Don’t feel much like a savior. Just a very tired woman who needs a week’s worth of sleep.” She placed a hand on her sister’s shoulder. “How’d you get away from him?”
Selena half smiled. “The age-old retaliation. A hard knee to the nuts. Just like dear old Dad coached us.”
Relieved her sister could conjure a touch of humor, Sidney smiled back. “Used it myself a few times. Hang tight. We’re going to the ER.” As Sidney pulled onto the mucky road behind Granger’s truck she heard him notify the ER that they were on their way.
When Granger’s tires left the pitted dirt road and hit the smooth surface of the highway, he put on his lights and siren and gunned the engine. Sidney followed suit. With the crisis under control, she flipped a mental switch, and reverted from automatic protocol and survival response to a human being with thoughts and feelings. The aftermath of violence hit her so hard in the gut she tasted bile in the back of her throat. Her heartbeat was still racing, and pain radiated throughout her chest from the bullet’s point of impact with her vest.
It had all happened so fast. She knew she would relive the experience for days, processing through every gruesome detail until it lost its power. The whole day seemed surreal—an encapsulated period of time that warped reality and wrenched from her every kind of emotion. First, the trip to Sand Hill, and the grisly visits to the lighthouse and Satoshi’s cottage—followed by the ominous I Ching reading. Then she returned home to discover an intruder had invaded her home and was spying on Selena. The last two hours were a blur—the race to collect evidence and arrest Derek, followed by the realization she had the wrong man. Jeff Norcross was the killer, and her sister was missing and in grave danger.