John set his mug on the table, tapping the side of it as he continued to mull over Linc’s request. He was protecting families, as he’d done for many years, but his conscience was also rearing its head. Widows were dying in a town that he would always consider his own. He clearly still felt a responsibility to the townsfolk.
“I don’t know what you’re looking for,” John said hesitantly, seemingly having made up his mind that Linc wasn’t planning on digging up the past for any other reason than to find a connection between Quinn and the unsub. “I’m still relatively young, Agent Roche. My mind is as sharp as ever, and I knew every one of those kids who were there that night.”
“I’m more interested in what might have been spread around town.”
“Aaron Rockwell accidentally fell off a cliff,” John reiterated with a frown. “Do I believe that Nick was on the cliffs that night? Yes, I do. I saw him and Todd Acker drive past me on my way there. Can I prove anything? No. Quinn and Lisa Kirkland’s statement matched, and there was no need to question them further. Quinn was practically inconsolable back then. It was all she could do to tell me that the three of them were taking a walk near the edge to see the waves below with the incoming storm. Aaron stepped wrong and went over the edge before either of them realized what had happened. When I showed up at the Rockwell’s residence to inform them that their son had died, Nick wasn’t anywhere to be seen. It took an hour for him to show up. His parents were too overcome with grief to realize that he was sobering up, and I didn’t need to be a cop to recognize the signs he’d been drinking.”
“You didn’t bother to question Nick about it because you believed his grief was real,” Linc followed up, not envying the former deputy of such a moment. “What about Todd Acker? Did you speak with him at any point?”
Linc realized that he and Quinn had overlooked the one individual who’d been at the party and in the company of Nick Rockwell at what had to be the lowest point in his life. Other than hearing Todd’s name from Quinn, Linc hadn’t put much stock in the young man who’d driven Nick home. Linc had made an error of judgement, thinking that he’d stayed with Quinn and Lisa that night.
“Todd?” John asked, setting his mug down as he combed through his memories. He slowly shook his head. “Todd dropped Nick off at the house that night. I was still there, not wanting to leave Gilda and Sam alone after what I’d told them.”
Linc didn’t question why a good friend would just drop off another at a house with a police cruiser stationed out front. Granted, Todd Acker would have done so if he’d been drinking too and hadn’t wanted to get caught.
Still, Todd was the one to drive Nick away from the cliffs. Quinn and John had stated that Nick had been inconsolable that night. What exactly had he communicated to Todd in his drunken state?
“You’re not thinking that Todd Acker is…”
John let his voice trail off and his frown deepen, indicating that he didn’t believe for a second that Todd Acker could murder someone in cold blood. Linc needed to run the man through the database, but he also wanted Dwight to do a background check that would include more personal details.
“I take it that Todd still lives here in town?” Linc took another drink of his coffee. He’d missed lunch, so the rich beverage was better than nothing. “What about his parents?”
“Todd works construction, and his father still lives right down the street from here.” John paused when the sound of the garage door hummed through the drywall. His wife had returned from grocery shopping, giving Linc an excuse to leave without too many follow-up questions from John. “They lost Caroline around two years ago.”
Todd didn’t fully fit the profile, but that meant nothing in the grand scheme of things. One needed to look at the profile in the context of an individual. It had more to do with who he spoke to about Nick Rockwell and what happened that night. Each step and stone overturned got them a little bit closer to the unsub.
“Deputy Denney, I appreciate you taking time out of your day to speak with me.” Linc drained his cup before setting it on the table. “Your wife makes great coffee, by the way.”
John unexpectedly barked out a laugh, breaking the tension that had hung between them as Linc rifled through the lives of friends. The former deputy was protective of his town and its residents, which had slanted the way he’d written his reports back in the day. That didn’t make John a bad deputy, contrary to Dean’s initial opinion. It didn’t make him a great one, either. What it meant was that he cared for his community as a whole, and he went out of his way to be a peacemaker.
“Laverne won’t let me near the coffee maker on a bet,” John revealed, the love he had for his wife just as strong as his dedication to the town. “And feel free to call me John. I still don’t know what you’re trying to find out about that night, but the Rockwells are good people who got dealt a bad hand. So did Quinn Simmons, though I understand why you might be frustrated with her coverage of the case.”
“I won’t argue that you have a great little town here, John. Unfortunately, Quinn caught the unsub’s attention, and I need to make sure that she’s not walking into trouble.”
John seemed to take Linc at face value, which gave him the leeway of finally cutting the conversation short. After a brief introduction to his wife, it wasn’t long after that Linc had been able to put on his shoes and head out the door with another lead in hand.
Flurries were falling from the overcast sky, but the worst of the storm wouldn’t arrive until later tonight. There was still plenty of time to pay Todd Acker a visit.
“Dean, I need you to pull up an address for me,” Linc requested, having dialed his colleague’s number before ever reaching the sidewalk. He pulled his keys out of his coat pocket and hit the button on the key fob. “Text it to me, and then meet me there. There’s a good possibility that a local man by the name of Todd Acker knows the identity of our unsub.”
Chapter Thirteen
It was going on two o’clock, and Quinn had a decision to make.
She could either warn her local listeners that The Widow Taker had another victim in his sights, or she could completely ignore the killer’s text. The only problem was her conscience. She couldn’t very well let the widows of her town go about their lives as if one of them wasn’t about to die a horrible death at some point in the near future.
Quinn had called the station, asking to speak with Linc. When she’d been told that he wasn’t in, she assumed that he was still at Mrs. Walcott’s residence. She wasn’t all that surprised to find that Agent Malone wasn’t at the station, either. Leaving a message had been the best option, especially since she’d had two hours before going live with her podcast.
Unfortunately, Linc hadn’t called her back.
Quinn had less than four minutes to decide whether or not to reach out to him on his cell phone. She hadn’t wanted to do that, for it denoted that they were on a more personal level than she was comfortable with given the circumstances.
Yes, she’d all but spilled the most intimate details of her life with him, but it was simply to help with his case.
She didn’t want to be a serial killer’s conduit, either.
“Shit,” Quinn muttered, sitting as her desk while staring at the mic she used for her podcasts in disgust. It was her responsibility to warn her readers. It was that simple, yet she couldn’t deny that Linc’s opinion of her choices didn’t factor in. She grabbed her cell phone and dialed the number that she’d memorized while drinking two full glasses of wine the other night. Surprisingly, he answered after one ring. “Hey.”
Quinn winced at the greeting. She wasn’t usually socially awkward, but his touching her hand and tucking her hair behind her ear had somewhat muddled the waters they were wading in together.
“It’s me. Quinn.” Again, she shook her head at the hesitation he no doubt picked up on over the line. “I’m sure you already knew that.”
“Are you okay?” Linc asked, the sudden concern in his tone causing her
to relax a bit.
She glanced at the timer she’d set up on her computer.
Three minutes and forty-two seconds.
“Yes, I’m fine,” Quinn responded after clearing her throat. “The Widow Taker texted me again. He told me that he picked out another victim.”
“Where are you?”
“Home.” Quinn leaned back in her chair, reaching underneath her desk to turn on the portable heater. The wind outside had picked up and was battering her patio door. She hated the draft that always seemed to seep in from the seams. “I wanted you to know that I’m going to warn my readers.”
“Quinn, I don’t know if that’s such a good idea,” Linc warned, exactly as she thought he would do after hearing what she had planned. She still in good conscious couldn’t allow a killer to target a widow without warning her. “What exactly did the text say?”
“It just said that he’s chosen another widow and that she’ll be at peace soon.”
Three minutes and nine seconds.
Quinn ran a hand through her hair, bringing it over her left shoulder.
“Linc, you and I both know that he’ll be listening to my podcast to see if I say something about his most recent text.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of, Quinn.” Linc sighed, drowning out what sounded like a conversation taking place behind him. She wanted to ask what they’d found at Mrs. Walcott’s house, but it was doubtful that he’d answer her. “I’ll be there in around a half an hour. There’s something we need to discuss. I suggest postponing your podcast.”
“I’m not postponing a live podcast, Linc,” Quinn replied automatically, her mind whirling with what they could possibly have to talk about that they hadn’t already covered last night. “Did something else happen today?”
“I spoke with Todd Acker.”
Quinn sucked in a breath, not expecting Linc to drop a bomb like that.
Granted, he’d never promised to keep her secret. He even specifically said that he was going to look into those people who’d attended the party the night Aaron died, but she hadn’t thought he’d do it in person.
He was confident in his profile, which meant that he should have been able to do everything from the conference room at the station.
“My podcast is in less than three minutes, Linc.” Quinn didn’t like that she was questioning her own decisions based on what Linc thought of her, and she definitely wasn’t going to address the fact that he’d paid Todd a visit today. She’d never cared what anyone else thought but herself, and she wasn’t going to change that now. “I’ve made a copy of the message on another USB drive. I’ll hand it over to Agent Malone as soon as I can. Right now, I’m going live and giving the details on today’s events over my podcast. Goodbye, Linc.”
Quinn disconnected the call before he could say another word. What she needed right now was something for the massive headache she’d been building up to, but she’d never be able to run upstairs to the bathroom cabinet and make it back to her desk in the little amount of time she had left.
What had Linc been thinking?
Winter Heights had fifteen thousand people residing in its town limits, but Quinn rarely ran into Todd. For one thing, they didn’t run in the same circles, even back then. Two, Quinn had done her best to distance herself from anyone who had ties with Aaron since the accident.
It hadn’t always been like that.
She and Lisa had stayed in touch throughout college, and they’d remained close upon Quinn’s move back to town.
Lisa’s death had changed everything.
Quinn hadn’t thought about it then, but those she had loved dearly had left her one by one over the years. There was only so much grief a person could take without crumbling inside. The podcast was her way of connecting to other people, but she hadn’t realized how much she’d isolated herself from the world until The Widow Taker had inserted himself into her life.
Besides the police, there hadn’t been a single soul she could call to talk about her fear.
The alarm that Quinn had set on her computer suddenly blared from the speakers, causing her to startle at the sound.
“Shit,” Quinn muttered for the hundredth time that afternoon. She fumbled with the software and her mic until she was finally able to greet her listeners. “Good afternoon, everyone. Welcome to the Crime Column on this cold and blustery Friday. I hope you’re staying warm and…”
Quinn kept the momentum up, in spite of her throbbing headache. She went over the notes she’d taken at lunch regarding specific investigations that had been highlighted in the national news today. She always alerted her listeners to cases that were solved or ongoing, as well as any new crimes that had popped up on her radar. She even included one of those dumb criminal stories for levity, and a feel-good story for warmth.
She also usually saved the local news for last, though.
Since June, that meant she focused the remaining fifteen minutes of her podcast on The Widow Taker, before answering some of the questions that she’d received overnight.
“…breaking news out of Winter Heights could mean that there is a break in the case. It’s been reported that The Widow Taker broke into a local residence in order to monitor the movements of his latest victim prior to committing the crime.”
Quinn paused, but not for effect.
She’d set her phone to vibrate so that it wouldn’t interfere with the podcast. It had rumbled on the desk, and she thought for a brief moment that The Widow Taker had contacted her again. She recognized the number as Linc’s, though. It wasn’t like she could take his call now.
“KFWH15 has been on the scene with their very own Katie Sloane, who will have a more in-depth report on the six o’clock news. Before I sign off for the weekend, I do have more information regarding the serial killer who has been plaguing my hometown. It’s more of a warning for those widows who have already suffered enough pain in their lives. You see, The Widow Taker has contacted me once again. He’s chosen another victim, which means he’s watching her every movement. I’m here to warn you…please, please be vigilant of your surroundings. Report anything amiss or strange, and don’t be afraid to call the police if you suspect something. It’s better to be safe than sorry. The hotline number is…”
The tension on whether or not to inform her listeners about the recent message from The Widow Taker lifted off her shoulders. She had enough guilt in her life than to live with the idea that she could have saved someone’s life with a simple warning.
No one should let their guard down until this psychopath was caught and put behind bars.
Quinn spent the next five minutes answering questions that had been left on her site overnight, following up inquiries mostly about The Widow Taker. There were a few about a convicted murderer on the east coast receiving a light sentence, as well as two questions regarding a cold case in Utah that had recently made the front pages in the national news.
“…and that’s it for this week’s Crime Column. Stay safe, stay vigilant, and report what you see.”
Quinn ended the live podcast by punching off her hot mic and ultimately hitting the publish button on her software application. She emitted a sigh of relief and sat back in her chair, pressing her fingertips to her temples. The headache she’d gotten an hour ago hadn’t dissipated in the least. It was only three o’clock in the afternoon, but she could easily take some ibuprofen and crawl into bed until morning.
The ringing of her doorbell told her that solid plan for rest wasn’t going to happen anytime soon. She didn’t even need to look at the app on her phone to know it was Linc, though she would now that she had the extra security.
She swiped the notification and waited for the imagine of her front doorstep to appear. Sure enough, Linc stood there with a frown on his face. He clearly wasn’t happy that she’d alerted her listeners to the fact that The Widow Taker was on the hunt again, but she’d done the right thing.
Of that, she was certain.
Linc wouldn’t convi
nce her otherwise, no matter how much he talked.
He rang the doorbell again, which wasn’t in his nature. He wasn’t impatient. In fact, he probably had the most patience of any individual who she’d ever witnessed in her life. Her headache began to throb even more while her stomach clenched at what Todd Acker might have actually revealed to Linc. The only thing that gave her the slightest comfort was that Todd didn’t fit the profile, which meant something else had been brought up in their conversation.
Quinn wasn’t sure she wanted to find out what that something was, especially when she spotted Agent Malone walking up behind Linc. She should have known that Linc wouldn’t be able to remain quiet about Aaron’s death.
After all, it was his solemn duty to arrest those guilty of a crime.
She’d always known the day would come that she would have to face being an accessory in Aaron’s death, but last night had given her a glimmer of hope that forgiveness was somehow attainable.
Quinn would have laughed at the foolish notion had she not been on the verge of tears.
She referred to him as a plague.
A filthy, disgusting disease that preyed upon the innocent.
The rage he was usually able to set aside coiled tight inside his chest, until all he wanted was to see the life fade from Quinn Simmons’ eyes. She had soiled the precious moniker she’d given him.
Was she was trying to get inside his head?
She was twisting everything he stood for and trying to make him into some kind of monster.
Why would she do that?
He pressed his fist as hard as he could to his forehead as he did his best to tamp down the fury that sometimes made him lose the tight grip he had on his control. There needed to be a penance paid for what she’d done, but he couldn’t forsake the grieving widow he was meant to save next.
That would be unkind.
“Only I can make it better,” he whispered, not wanting anyone to overhear him. His mantra began to calm the storm that raged within him. “Only I can make it better for all of them.”
The Isolated Widow (The Widow Taker Book 2) Page 12
