A Killer's Daughter

by Jenna Kernan

  The girls ignored her as she slipped behind the desk. Instead, they took advantage of the distraction caused by the substitute’s ineffective attempts to get one of the boys back in his seat to continue talking. Nadine overheard the pair.

  “Weird. She’s not answering my texts,” said Madison, glancing at her phone.

  Olivia, who sat in the row ahead of Madison, spun in her seat to join the discussion.

  “Her mother called me,” said Olivia. “Sandra didn’t come home last night.”

  Olivia was third in the pecking order, but the one with the best car.

  “With him? Did they run away together?” asked Emily.

  Nadine narrowed her eyes. Who was the “him” that they mentioned?

  “I dunno. She said they might,” said Madison.

  “Did you call him?” asked Olivia.

  Both Madison and Emily glared.

  “No!” said Emily.

  At the same time, Madison said, “That’s not how it works.”

  Emily deferred, and Madison continued.

  “He calls us, not the other way around,” said Madison.

  Sandra was involved with someone. They all were. Was this how three kids from the West Ocala neighborhood afforded new phones and great clothes?

  “But what if she’s not with him?” said Olivia.

  The implication struck her. Nadine’s gasp brought one of them around. Madison fixed her with a contemptuous glare.

  “What are you lookin’ at, bitch?”

  Nadine shook her head and lowered her eyes.

  “She heard,” said Olivia.

  Madison aimed a purple pencil at Nadine’s nose. “You say anything, and I’ll break more than your phone.”

  Nadine did not ask permission to leave the room. She collided with the door frame on the way out and dashed through the halls, ending up in the locker room, huddled on a toilet, rocking like an insane person.

  She did it. Nadine knew it. Her mother did this. All the way home on the bus, she thought of what she’d say when she confronted her mother. But Arleen never came home. So, she called Arlo. Now twenty, he had moved out and was living with a girl who worked with him at a fast-food joint.

  He picked up on the third ring. She could tell from the sounds in the background that he was at work on the grill.

  “S’up, Dee-Dee?”

  She told him about the girls at school, her phone and telling their mom, ending with Sandra’s disappearance.

  “This is bad, Dee-Dee.”

  “I know! What do we do?”

  “If it’s her and you tell, the state will take you, Dee. Just like she said.”

  “You could take me.”

  The pause stretched. “Yeah. Uh, maybe.”

  She started crying. “I’m calling the police.”

  But she didn’t. Instead, she sat up all night, waiting for her mother. When Arleen finally returned on Sunday night, she had another sticky bag of garbage for her daughter.

  This time, instead of doing as she was told, Nadine tucked that bag away under the trailer.

  Nadine’s classmate from grad school returned her call that afternoon.

  “How’s the new job over there?” Mitch asked.

  She lied and said it was wonderful. She remembered to ask about his new wife, apologizing again for missing their wedding. It had conflicted with Arlo’s parole hearing and she’d made the choice. Turned out her support didn’t matter. They’d denied his request for the second time.

  “Listen, about that detective. Wow. There’s a lot. He got tangled up in an evidence-tampering investigation here. Suspended for a while, then reinstated. One of the other cops in his department got fired. I couldn’t get a straight story on why he wasn’t. One guy told me he made a deal, the other said they didn’t have enough to charge him. One of the gals in records told me that she heard he’d flipped on the guy they fired. Broke the blue wall to save his own skin. If that’s true, he’s lucky to have any job. But it’s a mess. They had to drop charges on eight pending cases. The district attorney’s office is fuming over all the motions for mistrials on previous convictions. Kind of a career ender, especially if he was also tampering.”

  “He wasn’t charged?”

  “Nope. Got a recommendation, apparently, but was that to get rid of him? And off he goes to your department. I’d keep a close eye on him. Maybe they just pushed our garbage in your direction.”

  “Wow.”

  “You can say that again. Watch your back, shrimp.”

  She’d never liked his chosen nickname for her but thanked him.

  “Sure. Let me know if you need anything else. Hey, come see us if you get over to this coast. All right?”

  “Will do. Thanks, Mitch.”

  Her mind reeled. Was Demko a dirty cop?

  He seemed so competent and she’d seen no indications of dishonesty. She’d liked him. More than liked him, she had felt a distinct attraction. This was so bad.

  “I can’t trust any evidence he…” Oh, God, he could blow this case. If he was implicated in tampering, it didn’t matter if they caught the guy. The case would be challenged.

  Tina popped her head in the open door. “You asked me to remind you in time to get to the courthouse.”

  “Courthouse?”

  “Bench trial.”

  “Oh, shoot!” Nadine scrambled to get her things and hurried out, taking her car instead of walking the two blocks. Travel time was the same, but the car had AC.

  * * *

  Nadine was one of three expert witnesses called to testify before a judge in her first bench trial.

  She reported that the defendant, who had fired at a lineman working in a bucket truck, was delusional at the time of the offense, believing he was under attack by alien invaders.

  She was off the stand and out of the courtroom in less than thirty minutes. The entire experience would have been a positive one if the court officer she’d just recently been discussing with Juliette, Nathan Dun, hadn’t been lurking in the back of the court as she left the stand. As she reached the center aisle, he dropped his hand from his fly, and she winced. Had he been touching himself?

  She slipped past him, but he followed her out.

  Dun was small, with sparse light brown hair that was evacuating the crown of his head. His most distinctive feature was his bulging brown eyes and the perpetual dark circles beneath them. His gaze ran over her and he licked his upper lip, touching off a shudder that she failed to suppress.

  “Hi, Nadine. You were great in there.”

  Nadine swallowed and forced a smile at her one-man fan club.

  “Thanks.” She turned to go.

  “Wait. I wondered…”

  Nadine paused, facing him. He shifted from side to side, arms limp and his broad forehead shining with sweat. His nervous demeanor only increased her concern.

  “There’s a free concert at the Van Wezel on Friday. It’s jazz this month. Would you like to go… with me, I mean?”

  Nadine gaped a minute, looking at those frog eyes with both repulsion and pity. She dropped her gaze and, unfortunately, spotted his erection.

  “Oh, I’m sorry, Nathan. I don’t date people from work.”

  “It doesn’t have to be a date. We can go as friends.”

  She held a smile, not wanting to hurt him, but not wanting to encourage him, either. The guy had issues. “Well, no, again.”

  He looked away and her attention shifted toward the elevators as she considered making a break for it, when the creepy part happened. He lifted his thin brows and stared with those bulging brown eyes.

  “You should reconsider, seeing how we have so much in common.”

  Nadine didn’t like his smile. It was mean and his eyes were hard. Her skin stippled. What was he talking about?

  “Is that right?” she asked. Nadine’s voice no longer held empathy. She knew a threat when she heard one, even without understanding what he was implying. “I’ll see you around, Nathan.”

&n
bsp; “You will,” he said.

  Nadine glared and turned to go. He didn’t call her back. All the way out of the courthouse, her mind spun unlikely links between herself and the creepy court officer. Back at her office and on her computer, she discovered exactly what they had in common.

  Seven

  In plain sight

  Nadine scanned the article. In 2007, Arthur Dun woke early in his Jacksonville, Florida, home and bludgeoned to death both his wife and the young daughter sleeping beside her. Then Arthur drove to the savings and loan that held his delinquent mortgage and chatted with the teller before shooting her in the face at point-blank range. He then murdered five additional victims and fled ahead of police. After an intensive four-hour manhunt, Dun chose death by cop to capture. He was survived by two sons from a previous marriage, Anthony and Nathan Dun, both nineteen.

  Blood pulsed behind her eyes as the rage threatened to take her. But thoughts of becoming like her mother froze her fury. Nadine feared she might never have a normal life. But she wouldn’t do anything that would land her in prison.

  That didn’t mean she’d let Nathan bully her. So the following morning, she was waiting for him outside of the courtroom.

  “Nadine. What a pleasant surprise. You’re not on the docket to testify today, are you?”

  “No. I’m here to see you.”

  “Really?” He grinned. “Change your mind?”

  “I don’t date men who threaten me. So, you don’t speak to me again, or I file a complaint with personnel.”

  “Seems the daughter of Arleen Howler could do better than that.”

  “I could.”

  His eyes went wider than usual. She was certain that her expression mirrored her mother’s at her most volatile. There was something about crazy-dangerous that was instantly recognizable by the deeper parts of the brain. Dun stepped back, the smirk gone.

  “We done?” she asked.

  He nodded.

  “Good.”

  That Wednesday morning, she saw Nathan Dun outside the courthouse. He glared at her, his mouth tight and his face flushed. But he didn’t approach or try to speak to her. Message delivered, she supposed.

  Was there a hierarchy to murder? Did serial killer trump spree killer? She wasn’t sure. All she knew was that she would do almost anything to avoid the isolation, guilt and shame that she’d experienced as a teenager after her mother’s heinous crimes became national news.

  If that meant keeping to herself, she could do that. Lonely was preferable to blackballed. Unfortunately, there was no guarantee Dun would keep what he knew to himself.

  On the walk back from the courthouse, her aunt phoned.

  Donna was her father’s only sibling. After her mother’s arrest, Aunt Donna had taken custody of Nadine. Donna had been a single law student at the time. She had graduated soon after, and now worked as a real estate attorney for a firm in Orlando. She had married a financial planner, Stewart Finch, and had two wonderful kids, aged thirteen and eleven.

  Nadine lifted the phone, cleared her throat, and forced herself to sound happy.

  “Hi, Aunt Donna!”

  “I just read about the double homicide. Are you all right?”

  “I’m the city’s new profiler.”

  “Oh, no,” she said. “Is that wise?”

  “Who better?” said Nadine, refusing to break down. Her aunt had been there when they’d led her mother away in handcuffs. She’d taken Nadine in. The last thing she wanted was to cause her aunt more trouble.

  “Come home. You are always welcome. I came home for a bit after graduate school. No shame in it.”

  Nadine stopped walking and squeezed her eyes shut. Her aunt was such a blessing in her life.

  “Thanks, Auntie. It’s okay. I can handle this.” Could she? “How are Lisa and Laura?”

  “At camp, thank goodness. Laura is a junior counselor this year.”

  “Give them my love, and to you, too. I have to run.”

  “Call me if you need anything!”

  “Will do. Love you.” Nadine disconnected and pressed the phone to her heart, realizing how lucky she was. The normality, the help getting into college, all of it had kept her from a dark, hopeless place.

  Talking to Donna helped bolster her and she needed that right now. Had to summon her courage for the battle ahead and her focus on stopping this killer.

  On Wednesday afternoon Nadine took a pause from reading research studies by the FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit to head over to the county administration offices on Ringling. The receptionist was not at her desk, but Gary Osterlund stepped out to greet her.

  “Dr. Finch!” He gave her the double handshake, sandwiching her hand between his. His smile seemed genuine as he motioned her in. “Come in. Come in.”

  She followed him to his office, where his computer’s screensaver flashed photos of one kids’ baseball team after another. Kneeling kids, in colorful uniforms, beamed out at her. Atop the upper cabinets, a series of multicolored ball caps rested, their brims poking out over the doors. Each held the letter C, for coach, she assumed.

  Piles of paper and stacks of files still littered his desk. Beside his keyboard sat his cell phone and a mug that read: keep calm and let hr handle it.

  Where were the framed photos of his kids? She spotted them now on the windowsill on the far side of the room.

  “What brings you in today?” he asked.

  Nadine stopped her exploration of the room and lowered her bag to the floor, folding into a seat to find the completed paperwork.

  “I filled out the forms,” she said, holding out the application.

  He took the seat beside her instead of sitting behind his desk. Nadine pivoted toward him as he accepted the application.

  “You could have dropped this in the mail.”

  She could have, but she had been considering a complaint against Nathan Dun—something she was now reassessing.

  Osterlund cocked his head, a curious expression on his face.

  “Is there something else?”

  How could she lodge a complaint without revealing what they had in common?

  She stood, casting him a wide smile. “No, nothing.”

  Dun had been right. The daughter of Arleen Howler could do better than a complaint with personnel. But she prayed she would not need to.

  Demko showed up in her office doorway at noon on Thursday, occupying the space, casual about the deadly weapon and shiny gold shield, both clipped to his belt. Over one shoulder was the frayed black nylon strap of his computer bag. His smile was generous. It made her wish she could share more than case files with him. Then she imagined telling him about her mother, and all thoughts of sharing died.

  She admitted she was attracted, but all signs pointed to a bad end. The truth didn’t completely crush the longing and she stood to offer her hand. Demko stepped forward, taking her hand, seemingly as eager as she was to have the excuse to touch again.

  He smelled wonderful. She allowed herself one long look at him and his sculptured mouth. His blue eyes turned progressively darker as they reached their outer limits. She’d never seen eyes that color before and meeting them gave her a shiver of excitement. Nadine forced herself to remember all the questions raised by her conversation with Mitch and broke eye contact.

  When he released her, her skin tingled all the way to her elbow. She motioned him to a seat. He lifted the guest chair with one hand and repositioned it, so they sat, side by side, facing her computer monitor.

  “I’ve got some things to show you.” He drew out his laptop. One of the grips of the bag was torn, as if someone had sawed through it with a butter knife.

  Demko wore a crisp wrinkle-free button-up, with a striped necktie. The cotton sleeves hugged the muscles of his arms. She caught the scent of sandalwood and leaned forward, closing her eyes for a moment as she took in the enticing fragrance.

  He entered his password on his laptop and then peered at her. Their eyes met and held again. Her breath
stopped.

  “What?” he asked.

  “Your eyes are a beautiful blue.”

  Color flooded his cheeks. He glanced back at the laptop, clearly embarrassed by the compliment. She found this to be adorable and all thoughts of why pursuing a relationship with a detective, who worked in her department, might be connected to evidence tampering and who was hunting a serial killer, momentarily disappeared from her brain.

  “Thanks,” he said. “A gift from my mother.”

  She imagined his mother sitting on the bleachers at sporting events and driving him to his friends’ houses. He probably called her once a week, while she used her brother to supply news of her mom to distance herself from direct contact.

  “Are you and your mom close?”

  His smile seemed genuine. “Yes. She basically raised me and my little sister. My dad was always working.” His expression tightened. His fingers glided through his short hair and settled on his neck. It was a gesture that told her that he was uncomfortable talking about this subject and needed to self-protect. “Yeah. So, we both have Mom’s blue eyes.”

  The urge to ask him a follow-up question was tempting, but he was already shutting down. So, she dropped her gaze and landed on his shoes. Beyond his pressed hem, one leather toe showed numerous tiny punctures and there was a chunk missing from the sole.

  “What happened there?” She pointed.

  He chuckled. “Molly happened.”

  “Molly?”

  His smile was back, broad and inviting.

  “Yeah. She has teeth like a piranha and seems to prefer my shoes to the chewy toys I get her. Teething, the vet said. She also shredded my gym bag. But she’s so cute. Here, look.” Out came his phone and photos of a wrinkly puppy with a huge head and pink belly. A video of her rooting around in her crate and shaking a helpless blanket followed. Then several more as her age turned from weeks to months. Mostly, Nadine saw the pure joy on the face of Demko in every single selfie he had taken of him and the pup.

  “Boxer?” she asked.

  “Yup.” Finally he closed the photo app. “That’s my girl.”