“You turned over a new leaf?”
Brock shrugged. “It’s sounds screwy, I know, but it’s the truth. I did. I wrote a letter to Zoey, apologizing for everything. I’d ruined her life, too, in a way. It’s not easy being the wife of a murderer.”
“And she wrote back?”
Brock nodded. “She forgave me, eventually. She made it clear we’d never be together again- but she was willing to be a friend. I was happy to take what I could get. Prison gets lonely, and her letters kept me looking forward to something. They broke the monotony.”
Nora bit her lip. Brock was telling the truth — she could see it in his eyes. And yet. And yet. The man was a murderer, possibly a psychopath. Men like that could look you in the eye and lie convincingly. She couldn’t be sure that he wasn’t just playing on her sympathies. She just couldn’t be sure of him, no matter how much she wanted to.
A memory sparked in her brain. Tina had called Zoey’s ex a “monster”. She had said that Zoey had a scar on her leg from an encounter with Brock. If that were true, if Brock had been an abusive husband, then Nora doubted Zoey would really have written to him.
Deciding to test him, Nora said, “That scar on Zoey’s leg. Do you remember it?”
Brock sat up straight, startled. “She told you that story?”
Nora didn’t say anything. She just waited.
Brock shook his head. “Crazy, wasn’t it? A run in with a serial killer. She wrote to me about it and I was worried sick for her. I kept telling her to go to the police, but I don’t think any good came of it. She didn’t seem to think—”
“Wait. A serial killer?” Nora leaned forward. “What are you talking about? You gave her that scar, didn’t you?”
“Me?” Brock looked offended. “Of course not! I wasn’t that kind of a guy. I told you already, I loved her.”
“So what’s this about a serial killer?”
“Well, Zoey moved to Milburn about twenty years ago, right after I was incarcerated,” Brock explained. “She often went to the cities nearby on weekends. One time, while walking at night, she had a scary encounter. As she was getting into her car, a man jumped her. Zoey screamed and fought as hard as she could. He had a chloroform rag on him that he held over her face and she lost consciousness in seconds.”
“Oh, my—” Nora covered her mouth with her hand. “When exactly was this?”
Brock frowned. “Twenty or so years ago. I’m not sure.”
“What happened? How did she escape?”
“Luckily for her, a cop car was passing by just then,” Brock said. “They saw the scuffle, and the man took off running. They never caught him, but Zoey was saved. She escaped with nothing but a scar on her leg — the man dropped her on the ground and she’d fallen on some broken glass.”
“That’s horrible! Poor Zoey.”
“She was in shock,” Brock said. “She said she couldn’t sleep for the next week, she’d have nightmares about the man. All she remembered of him was his dark ski mask and silver jacket.”
Nora sat up straight, her eyes wide with shock. “Silver jacket?”
“Yeah. She said it haunted her for months. She’d be in public on a fine sunny afternoon and suddenly she’d think she saw the guy and she’d be trembling in fear.”
“You’re sure she said silver jacket?”
“Sure, I’m sure. I have her letters still, somewhere,” Brock said. “I can show you.”
“Never mind. What did the police say?”
“The police were useless. They said a serial killer was active in the district, killing young women, and her description matched others they’d received. But that’s it.”
“No, I mean you must have told Sheriff Ellerton this, right?”
“Why would I tell the sheriff some old story about—” Brock’s eyes went wide. “You think that man came back? You think he came back and killed her? But why? After all these years?”
“I don’t know,” Nora considered, her face grim. “But we need to go to the sheriff right now and warn him about it. If you’re right, then every woman in Milburn could be in danger.”
*****
Chapter 11
The Silver Strangler
Sheriff Ellerton tapped his pen against his desk. Nora could see that it was taking every ounce of politeness in his body not to roll his eyes.
“So,” he said, turning to Brock, who was sitting next to Nora. “You’re claiming that your ex-wife was killed by a serial killer.” He made air quotes around the last two words.
“Not just any serial killer!” Brock exclaimed. “The Silver Strangler. Surely you’ve heard of him, Sheriff. I mean, he hasn’t been active in a while now, but—”
“Oh, I remember him.” Sheriff Ellerton nodded. “The Silver Strangler. Hang on a minute.” He tapped on his keyboard for a few seconds and then nodded as a file was pulled up on his screen. “Yeah. I remember that nutcase. This was years and years ago. He never came into our county, but he hit Natrona and Fremont.”
“And he was never caught!” Brock said, excited. “You see? He killed Zoey. He must have!”
“Oh, he did, did he?” The sheriff smiled.
“She had an encounter with him once, a long time ago. There should even be a police record of it somewhere,” Brock said. “I suspect she ran into the man again recently and recognized him. He killed her because of it. You’ve got to do something, Sheriff!”
“Sure.” Sheriff Ellerton threw his pen into a nearby ashtray and leaned back in his chair, hands linked behind his head. “So, Zoey, your ex-wife, was poisoned by a serial killer that she just happens to meet again years later. Right?”
“Right!”
The sheriff nodded. “And we, the police, should throw all our resources into hunting this man down? This man who vanished without a trace nearly twenty years ago now?”
“It’s the obvious thing to do,” Nora chimed in. “If Brock’s right, the entire town could be in danger, Sheriff. A man with a taste for blood doesn’t just stop killing. He took a hiatus for his own reasons, but now that his bloodlust has reawakened...”
“You’re right. A man with a taste for blood doesn’t just stop killing. Which is why every policeman in Wyoming believes that The Silver Strangler moved away,” Sheriff Ellerton said. “That’s the reason the killings stopped. Wyoming got too hot for him and it’s a small state with dedicated officers. The net was closing around him, so he escaped to a bigger place, or maybe out of the country altogether.”
“It’s not such a small state, Sheriff. And you can’t be sure of any of what you just said,” Nora said. “This is worth following up on.”
“I didn’t mean small in terms of size, ma’am. I’m talking…populous. There’s only so many people a killer can hide amongst in the state with the smallest number of citizens. But, you’re right. I can’t be sure of what I suggested,” Ellerton agreed. “But I can be sure of one thing — a murder is often a simple thing. If you want to solve it, you do the legwork. Follow the money, as they say.”
“I don’t understand,” Brock said.
“Of course you don’t, buddy.” Sheriff Ellerton laughed. “Zoey’s done decently well for herself. She worked hard these last twenty years. So now she’s got a house with the mortgage paid off and a healthy savings account, relatively speaking. What have you got? Zilch. Well, you had zilch, before Zoey conveniently…died. Now, you own everything she did.”
Brock sat back in his chair. “What?”
“Oh, surprised, are we? I just got confirmation from the lawyer’s office an hour ago. Zoey changed her will this past year. Coincidentally, not too long after you got out of prison. And she named you as the main beneficiary.” The sheriff smiled at Brock, though his eyes were terrifyingly cold. “What d’ya have to say about that?”
“I—” Brock shook his head and swallowed hard.
“You had no idea, of course.” Sheriff Ellerton laughed again. “You’re completely shocked, right? And innocent, too, I suppose.�
��
“I am completely innocent,” Brock said. “I promise you, I am. You think any amount of money’s worth my freedom, Sheriff? Or worth hurting my Zoey for? No way. I didn’t kill her!”
“Well, she wasn’t exactly your Zoey now, was she?” the sheriff suggested snidely.
“Sheriff Ellerton…” Nora interrupted, then hesitated.
“Yes?” The sheriff looked at her.
“I realize the case against Brock looks pretty cut & dry.”
“It’s a cinch.” Ellerton looked at Brock. “I’d be spending my money finding the best lawyer I could if I were you, Brock.”
“Well,” Nora said, “even so, couldn’t you follow up on The Strangler a little bit?”
“Why? It’s just a story Brock’s making up to confuse us,” Ellerton said. “You should see that, being the big shot sleuth you are. It’s obvious.”
“It’s not obvious to me,” Nora said. “The day before she died, Zoey came to my house wanting to speak urgently to me about something. As I said before, she never got the chance to do so. But she did talk to Matt Whitman, her current boyfriend. She said something to him about a silver jacket. Brock didn’t know this story when he told me about The Strangler and his silver jacket.”
Sheriff Ellerton leaned forward, suddenly alert. “Is that right?”
Nora nodded. “So you see? It may be nothing, I admit that. Or it may be the biggest break of your career if it helps you catch The Strangler.”
Sheriff Ellerton bit the inside of his cheek and his brows drew together. In a flash, he was on his feet. “Matt Whitman can confirm this?”
“Yes.”
“And you hadn’t told Brock anything about the silver jacket before he mentioned it?”
“I hadn’t,” Nora confirmed.
“It could just be a coincidence…but...” The sheriff shook his head. “Alright. Both of you sit tight a minute. I’m going to be right back.” With long strides he rushed out of the room, closing the door behind him.
Brock leaned back in his chair, his forehead covered with sweat and his eyes wide and blank. “I’m not going back inside,” he was muttering. “No way. No sir. I’m not going back in there ever again.”
Ignoring him, Nora shot out of her chair and went behind the desk. The sheriff had been careless and left his computer screen on. Leaning down, Nora began to read about The Strangler.
She shuddered as she went through some of the graphic details included in the sheriff’s file. Her hand went over her mouth and she had to struggle to keep from crying out loud at the brutality of the man. The Strangler had been active in Wyoming for two years and, in that time, they suspected he had killed at least five women. He’d been a sadistic killer, deliberately strangling his victims to near unconsciousness, and then letting them breathe before doing it again, over and over. He’d drag his cat and mouse game on until he was tired of the victim, and then he’d finish and dispose of their bodies. Shortly after the time that Zoey had been attacked, The Strangler seemed to have given up on terrorizing Wyoming. He simply disappeared without a trace. Perhaps nearly getting caught by the police had scared him.
But before that, about a week after Zoey’s attack, one other woman named Patricia Halsey had narrowly escaped The Strangler. Like Zoey, Patricia had somehow managed to attract attention while The Strangler was trying to abduct her. Nora read Patricia’s description of the man and felt chills going down her spine.
“I don’t really know how tall he was since he attacked me from behind,” Patricia had said. “He tried to chloroform me, and I elbowed him in the ribs. He had this overpowering perfume on him — sandalwood, I think. It made me sick. I struggled hard to get away and he began cursing me, telling me to stay still. He was a strong man, really strong. I scratched at his face and left quite a mark, but I wouldn’t have escaped if the others hadn’t stumbled across me. He was wearing this weird jacket. It was made of some synthetic material, and it was the color of aluminum foil.”
Nora couldn’t bear to read anymore. She was about to step away from the computer when, on a whim, she decided to see what other files were open. One was the forensics file for Zoey’s murder. The note from the coroner declared that Zoey had definitely been poisoned. White baneberries had been added into her smoothie, and she’d died of cardiac arrest as soon as she consumed them.
So the gossip was right — it was just as Kim had said.
“He’s coming back,” Brock whispered suddenly.
Quickly, Nora ran back to her chair. Just as she dropped into it, the door opened from behind them. She hoped the sheriff wouldn’t notice her red cheeks and deep breaths. She heard the door slam, and then the heavy footfalls of the sheriff’s boots as he made his way around them to his large, leather chair.
“What are you up to?” the sheriff asked Nora, any trace of friendliness gone. “I spoke to Matt Whitman and he denies Zoey saying anything about a silver jacket. He says you must have imagined it.”
Nora stared at him. “What?”
“You heard me,” the sheriff said. “Deputy James is actually down at Matt’s house, and I spoke to them both. Matt says Zoey didn’t say a word about any silver jacket. Now what are you up to, Nora?”
Nora shook her head, mute. What could she possibly say? Why was Matt lying?
“Did Zoey ever directly mention a silver jacket to you?” sheriff Ellerton asked.
“Well…no,” Nora said. “She just said she was disturbed about something and wasn’t sure whether to go to the police or not.”
“Ah,” Sheriff Ellerton said. “So she could have been talking about anything or anyone. A noisy neighbor, a rowdy teenager, or perhaps…an ex-husband.”
“Well…” Nora took a breath. “I don’t know. I’d never seen her so disturbed before. She looked like she was on the edge of a breakdown, Sheriff. It was something serious.”
“But she never said the words silver or jacket to you, correct?” Sheriff Ellerton asked.
“No. But she talked to Matt right before she met me, and when I talked to him earlier he said she mentioned a silver jack—”
“Matt says that never happened,” Sheriff Ellerton said flatly. “So you better consult your memory, see if it’s maybe playing tricks on you.”
“I’m not imagining this!” Nora exclaimed, jumping to her feet.
Sheriff Ellerton sighed and scratched his forehead. “Nora, you should leave now. I need to talk to Brock alone. Brock, I really suggest you call a lawyer if you have one.”
“I didn’t do it!” Brock said, his voice nearly hysterical. “I’m telling you, I didn’t kill Zoey. I—”
“Out, Nora,” the sheriff said, his voice stern.
Defeated for now, Nora walked away, still trying to wrap her head around what had just happened.
*****
Chapter 12
Patricia Halsey
As soon as she was out of the sheriff’s office and in her car, Nora scribbled down something she’d made a mental note of: Patricia Halsey’s address. Patricia lived nearby in a small town named Tobacco Springs, an hour’s drive from Milburn. Nora decided today was as good a time as any to pay her a visit. She felt a slight throb in her temple as she thought about the events of the day. Matt Whitman’s lies had thrown her for a loop, but she was more determined than ever that she would uncover the truth.
Tobacco Springs wasn’t much of a town. The tiny main street held a grocery store, a post office and a sporting goods store. Nora drove past them and onto a gravel road that seemed to stretch on forever. Golden stalks of wheat danced in the fields on either side of her, and beyond these were gentle hills upon which stood large piebald cows. Nora finally parked in front of an old farmhouse with a large red barn next to it. Both farmhouse and barn were empty and Nora stood scratching her head at the door, wondering if it had all been a mistake, when a dog’s furious bark suddenly startled her.
A large German Shepherd came tearing toward her, fangs exposed and eyes crazed. Nora froze, knowin
g that any movement would only aggravate him. When aggression didn’t work, the dog switched tactics and began sniffing her instead, growling softly as he did.
“Down, Gunter.” A woman came through the cornfields with a rifle across her shoulders. She had the hard face of a woman who’d lived through many a barren winter and eyes as blue as a cornflower in summer. She wore loose jeans and a thick plaid shirt, neither of which could hide the strength of her body. At her words, the German Shepherd immediately stopped growling and sat down obediently.
“Wasn’t expecting anyone today,” the woman said. “What’s your business?”
“Patricia Halsey?” Nora asked.
“That’s me.”
“I…I’m awfully sorry, but I’ve come to ask you about an incident from long ago. The Silver Strangler.”
Patricia’s lips thinned and Nora saw her hands tremble slightly as she slowly pointed her rifle at Nora.
“Get out,” Patricia said.
“I’m sorry—” Nora hesitated. “I don’t mean to bring up bad memories.”
“I’m not warning you twice.”
“Look, a woman’s dead. And I think it might be The Strangler who did it.”
“None of my concern,” Patricia said. “Last time I’m saying it. Get off of my property.”
“Zoey was attacked twenty years ago, just like you,” Nora said in a rush. “She escaped, just like you. If you’d only—”
Patricia froze. At her feet, Gunter began to growl again, sensitive to his owner’s distress. Nora inched away from him, not sure if she was going to end up with a hole through her middle from the rifle or a torn jugular from the dog. Each would be equally deadly, she thought.
“Zoey?” Patricia’s voice was softer, with a hint of regret.
“You knew her?!” Nora exclaimed. “I was a friend of hers. Look, please, if you could just help—”
Berry The Dead Page 7
