by Erin Lanter
For the first time since he arrived, Tessa noticed that the detective’s broad shoulders were hunched even more than they had been this morning. The stubble on his face still hadn’t been attended to, and his dark circles were even darker. This was a man who was exhausted and carrying more burdens than any one person should.
She’d heard rumblings around the news station that the police force was understaffed, but nobody reported it, and nobody dared tie the recent increase in crime to the fact that the mayor was cutting public service jobs to focus money elsewhere.
“I advise against you staying here, but if you insist, I can have a patrol car drive by every fifteen minutes,” he offered. “I’m afraid that’s the best I can do until the safe house is ready. I would really encourage you to stay with someone tonight. An extra set of eyes and ears certainly could help.”
Tessa only nodded, knowing that if this guy knew enough to find her home and email address, there was a good chance she wouldn’t be safe anywhere.
38
Crumbs fell onto his desk as Detective Al Jefferson took a bite of the ham and cheese on rye he’d picked up from an all-night deli after he left Tessa James’s house. It wouldn’t do anything to help his cholesterol, and if Darlene knew what he was eating, she’d have a fit.
He belched. His indigestion had nothing to do with the sandwich, and everything to do with Tessa James.
A veteran on the force, Al had spent the better part of his twenty-year career catching and locking up criminals. The other detectives acknowledged his expertise at reading suspects and putting together seamless cases that would lock up the bad guy. No one had questioned his ability in years.
Until this week.
He had to admit that he’d had doubts when the James woman first came to him. Even she’d had doubts about what she saw. Now she was in danger, and he was doubting himself.
He took a gulp of coffee and popped the last bite of sandwich into his mouth.
It wasn’t easy, but he’d always done his job. For two decades, he’d chased down every lead until the bad guy was behind bars.
This time was no different – except they had no proof to make a case.
The crime scene techs had done a thorough job dusting for prints and looking for fibers at her house, but they came up empty. They hadn’t found a blasted thing that would tie the break-in to the creepy guy at the end of Oak Street. The cyber team hadn’t fared any better. They couldn’t identify the sender of the threating email Tessa had received that morning.
Not to mention that no one had found the body of the supposed murder victim from Monday night, and no matter what a witness saw, no judge would grant a search warrant with no evidence. His hands were tied, and he couldn’t go outside the law to find what they needed.
He hadn’t felt this helpless in a decade and a half.
Fifteen years ago, just after he’d made detective, he’d had a missing person case assigned to him. His first one. An eighteen-year-old high school senior named Kimberly Hamilton had gone missing after a movie with some friends.
She never came home.
In the weeks before her disappearance, she’d been fighting with her parents about extending her curfew, and her grades were steadily dropping. Mr. and Mrs. Hamilton called the police just one hour after she was supposed to be home, insisting that despite Kimberly’s strong will and their frequent arguments, Kimberly would never have stayed out late without calling.
They insisted something terrible had happened to her, and what I saw was a troubled kid who took the curfew matter into her own hands, Al thought.
Though the arguments and problems in school pointed to a deeper issue, his gut nagged at him that it was something even more serious. Instead of acting on instinct, though, he’d gone through the spiel that it was a little too soon to report her missing. She was no longer a minor, after all. He’d obeyed protocol and waited until the next day to start looking into her disappearance.
Her body was discovered early the next morning in a garbage dump outside the movie theater.
She was just a kid, he’d reminded himself. No matter what, she was somebody’s child, and I should have started looking right away.
Since then, he’d lived with the guilt that if he’d started looking into it when the parents called, maybe, just maybe, she would still be alive.
He vowed never to have another Kimberly Hamilton, and his gut, which was so often right, told him that if he didn’t find something soon, Tessa James might meet the same fate.
Al wadded up the sandwich wrapper and tossed it into the trash can next to his desk, then drained the remainder of his now-cold coffee. He crushed the Styrofoam between his fingers and dropped it into the trash, too. Then he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and pulled out the notes he’d taken at Tessa James’s house.
Someone was daring enough to break into her house and plant something that would scare the pants off anyone while a patrol car was going by her house every hour. Also, he’d been slick enough to get access to her email address and smart enough to send a message that couldn’t be traced. Even though he’d already gotten the name of the guy who lived in that house on Oak Street, there was nothing, other than Tessa’s statement that indicated he might be involved. A background check showed he had no criminal record, not even a parking ticket. The guy was squeaky clean.
Detective Jefferson jotted a note: Look into Tessa James’s background. Maybe he’d find a connection that way.
If it was the guy on Oak Street, why would he bother toying with her instead of just finishing her off? The email had warned her not to tell anyone what she saw. The man already knew she’d gone to the police, because Al himself, had visited him.
If he really had killed someone and intended to follow through with the threat he made to Ms. James, it was only a matter of time until he made his move.
Interrupting his train of thought, his partner, Detective Isaac Dunn, called from his desk, “Hey, Al, it looks like we’ve got a body!”
39
Tessa flipped the sun visor down to block morning sun as she drove back home from the news station. After snatching a few unsettled hours of sleep, she’d gone into work to rewrite the stories that had come in during the night. She’d gotten approval from Jack to do the rest of the rewrites from home, with the promise that she would get them done quickly. Old-fashioned to a fault, Jack was sure that anyone working from home was doing second-rate work. The only productive work, in his opinion, happened in the office while the employees were on the clock.
“I don’t want you watching soap operas while you’re working,” Jack had told her, and he was still concerned, even when Tessa assured him she’d never watched a soap opera in her life.
Since she had been adamant that it wasn’t Drew’s job to take care of her, Tessa couldn’t exactly go running to him last night once the police left. Instead, she dozed between dreams of a man, face contorted with maniacal rage, chasing her with a sheet of plastic clutched in his outstretched hands.
As she pulled up to her house, she was surprised to see Drew’s car in the driveway.
What’s he doing here? she wondered. After my blowup, he’s the last person I expected to see.
She fiddled with her keys until she found the house key, making a mental note to get a locksmith over as soon as possible. If whoever was in her house last night had used the key she had hidden on her porch, she didn’t want to give him that chance again.
Arms loaded with folders, and with one hand clutching her travel mug, Tessa inserted the key into the doorknob and turned it just enough to disengage the lock. She pushed the door open with her foot, and, still balancing her armload, kicked it shut.
Walking quickly to the kitchen, she dropped her stuff on the table with a relieved sigh, then whirled around at the sound of Drew’s voice.
“I could have helped, you know,” he said from the direction of the living room.
“How’d you get in?” Tessa demanded.
&nb
sp; “You left your spare key just lying on the porch. Anybody could have let themselves in. You really need to be more careful, especially now,” he scolded.
A shiver raced up Tessa’s spine. “I didn’t leave my key out. I keep it hidden in the dirt of the potted palm.”
Concern flitted across Drew’s face. “Are you sure?”
“Of course I’m sure.” She looked around. “What did you do to my house?”
“I didn’t do anything,” he said, following her glance around the living room. “It looked like this when I got here. I assumed you just wanted a change.”
Knees suddenly weak, Tessa lowered herself into the easy chair, which was on the opposite side of the room than it had been this morning. She buried her face in her hands and fought to take deep, controlled breaths. She could not have another panic attack right now. She needed to think.
Drew knelt in front of her. “Tess, what’s going on?”
After another breath, she said, “It would seem that someone has broken into my house and moved all my stuff.”
He stood and moved quickly around the small bungalow, checking the closets. “Nobody’s here,” he called from the next room. A few seconds later he was standing behind her, his hand protectively on her shoulder.
“I can’t believe this is happening,” she moaned. “I can’t stay here.”
His hands involuntarily squeezed her shoulder. “No. You can’t.”
“This is twice in under twenty-four hours,” she said, desperately trying to keep her voice steady.
Drew’s fingers dug harder into her shoulder. “What?”
As she explained last night’s events, Drew’s expression moved from concerned to angry. “Why didn’t you call me?”
Ignoring the admonishment, Tessa said, “He’s watching me. He has to be. How else would he have known I wasn’t here? Unless he thought I was, and did this as a consolation prize.”
“If that’s the case, and he’s gotten in here twice with the intent to kill, he’s probably getting frustrated,” Drew thought aloud. “That would only make him more dangerous.” He turned back to Tessa. “You’re not staying here. Go pack a bag. You’re coming home with me,” he commanded.
Tessa simply nodded and grabbed an overnight bag from the top shelf of her closet. As she packed, she couldn’t stop thinking about that monster’s hands all over her things. The sense of violation was overwhelming.
Once the overnight bag was packed, she scooped up the files she’d brought home to work on and they started toward the front door.
A knock stopped them in their tracks. Drew went to the door, looked through the peephole, and opened it.
The broad-shouldered man looked past Drew toward Tessa and said with a grim voice, “I think we found her.”
40
After the introductions, Tessa set a cup of coffee on the kitchen table in front of each of them and settled into a seat next to Drew. Clamping her hands around her own mug for several seconds before taking a drink, she hoped it would get rid of the chill she hadn’t been able to shake all week.
“I’d like you to take a look at these photos and tell me if this woman bears a resemblance to the woman you saw Monday night,” Detective Jefferson said, sliding a manila folder toward Tessa.
Tessa’s stomach rolled. “Of course,” she said, over the lump in her throat.
When she hesitated to open the folder, the detective reached across the table and did it for her, then arranged the photos in front of her.
She closed her eyes, trying to steel herself against the images that were about to be burned into her brain. As she’d learned when she found Mama, you can’t unsee this kind of thing.
Willing herself to open her eyes, she glanced at the pictures of a young woman with wide, staring eyes. Each was taken from a different angle, showing just how unnatural the contortion of her body was. A mass of tangled hair framed her round face.
“It’s not her,” Tessa said and scooted the pictures away. She couldn’t bear seeing another young woman, gone before her time.
Detective Jefferson frowned. “Are you sure?”
“Yes. This woman’s hair is blond – much too light to be the woman I saw. Also, the woman in these photos would have been too heavy for the man I saw to hoist over his shoulder.” Tessa looked back toward the pictures, her own eyes resting on the vacant, staring ones.
Was the face of her killer the last thing she saw?
Clearing his throat, the detective gathered the pictures and stuffed them back into the folder. “Thanks for taking a look. Looks like we’re barking up the wrong tree with this one.” He stood to leave, his shoulders slumping even more than they were when Tessa opened the door for him.
Tessa stood with him and said, “Detective, there’s something you should know.” After telling him that she came home to find everything in her house rearranged, and that Drew found the key laying out in the open on the front porch, she watched the detective as he processed the information.
“Ma’am,” he began slowly, “you need to get out of this house immediately. The safe house will be ready later today. I don’t want the next dead body to be yours.”
“She’s going to stay with me,” Drew interjected. “I can protect her.”
Detective Jefferson gave him a long look. “That’s better than nothing,” he said, disapproval heavy in his voice. “Keep an eye on her. It looks like this guy won’t stop until he gets her.” Disappearing through the front door, he left Tessa and Drew with the weight of knowing this guy would keep going until she was no longer a threat to him.
“Go finishing packing your bag,” Drew told her. “I want you out of here. Now.”
41
Lois Simmons pulled a loaf of sourdough bread from the oven and placed it on the cooling rack on top of her stove, keeping one eye fixed on the neighbor lady’s house.
For someone who seems like such a loner, she sure has been having a lot of company lately, Lois thought.
The tall, handsome guy with the dark hair reminded Lois of a boy she’d gone to high school with. She’d had a crush on him all four years. The other man, who left by himself, looked like an aging football player whose body was starting to sag on him. The kind you could tell had been in good shape once but had let himself go.
In a quick motion, Lois slid a knife around the edge of the bread and released the loaf from its pan. She bent forward and inhaled deeply. Sourdough was her favorite.
She looked at the clock on the stove and counted how long she had to deliver this bread to Mrs. Oliver, a woman far too cantankerous for her age of forty-five.
“Maybe I have time to make another loaf,” she mumbled to herself. “A BLT would be delicious on this, and I know Walt would appreciate it.”
She removed her starter from the refrigerator and went through the process of making a fresh loaf. Before long, the house once again smelled like baking bread. When the timer dinged, she quickly yanked the fresh bread from the oven, dumped it out on a cooling rack, grabbed the one that was wrapped neatly in cellophane, and dashed out the door.
As she was backing out, she caught sight of her neighbor carrying an overnight bag, a haunted look on her face.
“I wonder what’s wrong with her,” Lois wondered aloud.
Even though the only interaction she’d had with her neighbor was a quick chat at the mailbox, and she didn’t really know her, Lois had the nagging feeling that something was wrong.
Pressing the gas pedal down harder, she made a mental note to keep an even closer watch on the house next door.
Just in case.
42
Carrying her overnight bag into the house she’d called home until a year ago, Tessa realized how much she’d missed this place. It smelled different now, but still familiar – like Drew’s spicy cologne and strong coffee. It was the first time she’d set foot in the house since the divorce, and she thought she was prepared for the emotions it would stir up.
She wasn’t.
; Tessa had never been the nostalgic type. Her childhood hadn’t provided many memories to be nostalgic about. But now, standing in the house she and Drew had once shared, it overwhelmed her.
Drew came in behind her and pushed the door shut, engaging the deadbolt. It had been his nightly routine for a decade. The continuity was unnerving, almost like the past year hadn’t happened. This time, though, he also walked around the house, checked the locks on every window, and ensured the back door was bolted.
“Welcome home,” Drew said, dryly.
Tessa cringed. “Yeah, home,” she muttered. She was a stranger in this house even though she knew it like her own face.
Drew picked up the overnight bag and led the way down the hall to the guest room. “This room is just how it’s always been,” he said, placing the bag on the armchair in the corner.
Tessa nodded. “I see that.”
The soothing green walls and calming decor had been her way of adding balance to her life after Mama died. For several weeks after Tessa found her, she’d slept in the guest room so she didn’t wake Drew up with her nightmares. During those weeks, she’d put her personal touches on the space, making it her own.
“I’m glad you’re here,” Drew said, taking a step closer, then stopping.
“Don’t get used to it. I only agreed to this so you’d stop nagging me.” Her sad smile communicated her failed attempt at humor.
The look on Drew’s face mirrored her own.
It took every ounce of will power she had to keep her mind from wandering to the hideous possibility of what would have happened to her if she’d been home when that monster broke in.
A chill raced down her spine, and she visibly shuddered.
“I don’t want you to be alone on the first floor, so I’ll be sleeping right out there while you’re here.” He motioned toward the living room.
“No,” Tessa protested. “That’s too much. Giving me a place to stay that doesn’t keep getting broken into is enough.”
