by C. M. Sutter
Chapter 36
Vic knew plenty about Renee Barstow. She was a self-absorbed, better-than-most woman—or so she thought—who did nothing for a living except critique everyone else and live off her husband’s high-six-figure income. In her uppity, outspoken opinion, she was more beautiful, better educated, and wealthier than everyone who had the privilege to be included in her inner circle. Vic had disliked the woman immediately after briefly meeting her at a fundraising gala six months prior. Renee had brushed Vic off like she did so many others, as if they were nothing but pesky mosquitos who needed to be squashed.
She’ll be the one squashed, and I’ll make sure her death is slow and painful. Everyone will gasp in horror publicly, but in the privacy of their homes, they’ll celebrate her demise. I’ll be doing humankind a favor by ridding the earth of her poisonous personality.
Aware that Renee was looking for a personal assistant, Vic typed up a dummy résumé listing all the outstanding qualifications Renee insisted on and sent it to her email address. The word in her inner circle was that she was interviewing the applicants with the best qualifications and would choose the lucky person before the weekend. Vic needed to get an interview and fast.
After digging into Renee’s social media pages, Vic learned that her husband was rarely home, and as a mid-level financier, he was often sent to other countries for weeks on end. Vic hoped that this was one of those times.
It’s doubtful that she’ll recognize me since she didn’t give me more than a five-second glance when we were introduced six months ago.
That afternoon, Vic’s phone rang, and the screen showed it was Renee Barstow. She wouldn’t bother calling if her curiosity wasn’t piqued, and from the way Vic’s résumé read, the Queen of England would have been impressed.
Here we go. She took the bait.
Vic answered with a flat hello. Giving an air of indifference would tip the scale in Vic’s favor. Renee wouldn’t be able to stand it—she needed the upper hand and had to be the one in control.
“This is Renee Barstow calling.”
“Who?”
She stammered out her name again and sounded infuriated while doing it. “Renee Barstow. You emailed your résumé to me for the personal assistant position I posted on my social media page.”
“Oh, that’s right. How can I help you?”
“I’d like to interview you, of course. Why else would I be calling?”
“That’s fine, but I only have three o’clock available. I’ve already interviewed with two other people who are fighting over me. Whoever comes up with the largest salary and benefits package wins.”
“Don’t say okay to either of them yet. I want to meet you first, and if we’re a good fit, I’m sure my proposal will exceed both of theirs.”
“So, three o’clock at your house?”
“Yes, three o’clock is perfect.”
Vic hung up and checked the time—2:23.
Three o’clock is perfect for me, but you, not so much.
Vic gather the only tools needed—a syringe filled with heroin, and latex gloves. When word got out that the snooty Renee had met her maker following a self-injected overdose, her inner circle’s tongues would be wagging nonstop. They’d realize that even she had her demons and wasn’t at all the person she’d portrayed. Her reputation would go down the toilet, and in record time, she’d be nothing more than an afterthought, just like the others who had died before her.
The drive was short, fifteen minutes, and Vic arrived seven minutes early then walked a block to Renee’s house.
My timing should impress her. Early but not so early that I come off as being desperate.
Taking the brick paver sidewalk to the front door, Vic admired its beauty and noticed that no snow covered it.
Stupid bitch probably has heat coils under it.
The thought of Renee’s extravagance angered Vic even more.
I doubt if she’s ever lifted a working finger in her life, yet she has everything people strive for. I’ll put an end to that right here and now.
Vic clacked the knocker and envisioned the syringe embedded in Renee’s lifeless arm. By all accounts, she would appear to be a closet drug abuser who met her death due to an overdose, and the coup de grâce would be determined after Vic was inside and able to check out the house. Vic stood on the porch and wore an artificial smile as Renee pulled the door inward.
“Please, come in. I’ve been excited to meet you.”
“And you as well. Actually, we did meet once before at the literary fundraising gala last summer. I was introduced to you by Samantha Montmarte.”
Renee swatted the air. “I guess I don’t remember.”
Of course you don’t, you arrogant piece of wasted life. But my face will be the last one you see before you take your final breath, and I guarantee you, I will have the last laugh in the end.
“Shall we sit in the library and talk?”
“Yes, and a very fitting place, I’d say.”
They entered the expansive room, where the ceiling had warm mahogany beams and the walls of matching bookcases were filled with novels. Muted tones of copper and ivory in the Persian rugs accented the glossy parquet floor.
“What a beautiful room, Mrs. Barstow.”
“It is, and I designed it myself and then flew in a team from Manhattan to put it together.”
“Your talent is overwhelming.”
I’ll butter her up, get her to relax, and then move in for the kill.
Renee sat behind the carved walnut desk and offered Vic a seat on the peach-colored wingback chair that faced her.
“I took the liberty of printing out your résumé.” She opened the folder that sat on the desk’s surface. “It looks as though you’ve assisted some well-known figures in Los Angeles as well as Chicago. Your referrals are impressive, but you do realize I’ll have to contact some of the people you’ve listed.”
“I wouldn’t expect any less of you. Why don’t we move on to the salary and benefits package you’re offering? I’d hate to waste my time if it isn’t sufficient.”
Renee pulled back. “You are outspoken, and if I hire you, you’ll have to tone that down. I’m the person in charge, and you’ll be working for me. You do understand that, right?”
“Of course, but like I said, I don’t want to waste my time. I already have the numbers from the other parties.”
“And what are they?”
Vic smiled. “I believe this is where I sit quietly and wait for your offer.”
With an uneasy expression covering her face, Renee glanced at the résumé. “I’ll offer sixty thousand a year with two weeks of paid vacation the first year that would increase with each year of employment.”
Vic tapped the desk and stared a hole through Renee. “Would you happen to have a bottle of water? I’m surprised you didn’t offer me anything before you sat down. I need a moment to think about your proposal, anyway.”
Renee stammered in obvious surprise at Vic’s audacity. “I’ve never—”
“Or I can just leave.”
“No, stay put. I’ll be right back with the water.”
Vic slipped on the gloves as Renee left the room, likely headed to the kitchen. With only a few minutes to plan the attack, Vic chose to hide behind the door and club Renee in the back of the head when she returned to the room.
The attack from behind worked well with Jeff, so why not use it again to stun her long enough to put the heroin to work?
Vic grabbed a marble figurine off a cabinet and stood behind the door and waited. The distant footsteps became louder as Renee’s heels clacked against the wooden floor. Just as Renee passed into the room, Vic raised the statue and swung. The crack to Renee’s head dropped her forward.
“Good, now the real fun begins.”
Grasping her by the ankles, Vic flipped Renee over then dragged the semi-conscious woman from the doorway to the bookcases. After tying Renee’s scarf around her arm to stop the blood flow and to pump up her vein, Vic
pierced Renee’s skin with the needle and pressed it deep into her vein. Pushing the plunger’s flange, Vic emptied the barrel of heroin into Renee’s arm and watched. Within minutes, Renee began to moan, her body began to shake, and her breathing became labored. The heroin was taking effect, and it wouldn’t be long before her heart stopped. Vic knelt at Renee’s side and stared into her eyes—her pupils had already constricted. It was time to finish what Vic had started, and the death blow had to come while Renee was still conscious.
“Do you have anything to say before I kill you?”
Delirious, Renee responded in a slurred voice. “Why? Who are you?”
Vic smiled. “In this moment, I’m your worst enemy.”
With that, Vic rocked one of the bookcases until it tipped forward and spilled all the novels onto Renee before crashing to the floor and crushing her to death. Her arm, with the syringe still jammed in her vein, stuck out from beneath the books.
“There. That’s as fitting as it gets.”
Vic grabbed the résumé off the desk, wiped down the figurine, set it on the mantle in the living room, and left through the front door. After turning right at the end of the block, Vic climbed into the car and drove away.
Only one more person to go, and Mark Constantine won’t be the wiser. That fool will never see me coming.
Chapter 37
After running in the background for most of the day, the library video inched its way to the time where I actually needed to start paying attention. We knew the call came in at seven thirty, but we didn’t know how long the caller had spent at the library prior to that. I settled in at the six o’clock mark with my vending machine dinner and a soda and kicked back with my eyes focused on the screen.
People entered and exited with their books and found seats to relax in and read. Snugged in cubicles with their laptops and phones in front of them, they tapped away at computer keys while other people checked out books and videos.
Time ticked away, and watching the footage was boring enough to put me to sleep. I paused it, called Bill in our jail wing, and asked that he put Blass in box one. I would take my laptop downstairs and have him watch the remainder of the footage with me. If one of the poker players was actually Jill’s killer, then he’d show up on the screen soon enough. I made a courtesy call to Mitch’s attorney, explained my intentions, and asked if his presence was necessary. He told me that as long as I recorded my time in the box with Mitch as insurance, I could go ahead without him there.
“Remember, Detective McCord, if I review the interrogation room video and see you questioning him, I’ll get this case thrown out so fast your head will spin.”
“Yeah, yeah, I’m not going to question him about anything. I only want him to watch the video with me. It could exonerate him, you know, if he actually sees one of those men enter and exit the library.”
Seconds later, I hung up, grabbed my laptop, and took to the back staircase. I checked in with Bill, who said Mitch was waiting for me, then I entered the first interrogation room.
“What’s going on, Detective McCord?”
“I have footage from inside the library that the tip-line caller was at when he said your vehicle was circling the MaxMart parking lot minutes before Jill was killed. I want you to watch it with me to see if any of those poker players entered or exited the building. The chances of one of those thugs making the call from a library seems absurd to me, but somebody did it.”
“So if I don’t see them, then what?”
“Then it wasn’t them that killed Jill.”
“And the blame falls back on me?”
I sighed. “Somebody made the call from the library, and it’s doubtful that you’d incriminate yourself. Let’s just watch the rest of the footage and see if anyone looks familiar, and please don’t screw with me. You can point out someone who has nothing to do with anything, but we’d find out rather quickly, and it would put a bad light on you again. The PD has to assume you’re innocent until proven guilty, so I’m asking you to work with us as honestly as you can.”
He tipped his chin at the laptop. “Then let’s get busy.”
Between six fifteen and seven o’clock, more people were leaving the library than coming in. Tracking the patrons’ movements was getting easier as time went on, and the person we were looking for would definitely have a laptop with them.
“You don’t see anybody who looks familiar yet?”
“I’m at a loss, Detective. What time did the call come in?”
“At seven thirty, and the library closes at eight.”
We both glanced at the bottom right of the recording—it was at the seven fifteen mark. The caller had only a few minutes to get situated, set up his laptop in a private corner, make the call using the voice-altering app that ran between his phone and the computer, then send it through the library’s Wi-Fi system.
In my mind, I had concocted an image of the mafia type of thug who walked into the library and looked totally out of place. In reality, the majority of people in the building appeared to be college students, mothers with small children who were checking out as many storybooks as the library allowed, and a few other people whose ages ranged from thirty to seventy. I was anxious and knew the caller had to be hiding in plain sight unless there was the slim chance that Todd had gotten the Wi-Fi location wrong.
I decided to focus on people with a laptop rather than looking for a particular type of person. We’d seen numerous people with computers sitting in those cubicles, but we only had a view of their backs.
I pointed. “Are any of those people a possibility?”
Mitch shrugged. “Honestly, I’d say no, but it isn’t like I memorized how anyone at the poker table looked from behind.”
A few more stragglers walked in, none with laptops, though, and it was 7:22. I pressed Pause.
“What are you doing?”
“I need to make a call.” I dialed our tech department and waited as the phone rang in my ear. “Billy, it’s Jesse. I need to speak with Todd.” Twenty seconds of silence followed before Todd got on the line.
“What’s up, Jesse?”
“How certain are you about the location of the tip-line caller?”
“One hundred percent. The library building takes up a significant amount of space on that block, so it isn’t like personal Wi-Fi signals are interfering.”
I let out a frustrated sigh.
“Not getting the outcome you hoped for?”
“Nope. Mitch and I are both studying the footage, and he doesn’t see anybody he recognizes.”
“Sorry, man, but the person who made the call is in there somewhere. That’s a fact.”
I hung up, and we continued to stare at the screen. Seven thirty came and went. I wondered if a library employee was the culprit and had called from an office that the cameras didn’t cover. It was another possibility we would have to consider. As I was about to give up, my eye caught movement in a cubicle at the far edge of the screen. I saw what looked like a person packing their laptop into a black shoulder bag, clearing the desk space, and passing the camera as they made their way to the exit.
“Wait a minute.” I tapped Pause and stared.
Mitch’s brows furrowed, causing his forehead to crease. “What’s wrong? I don’t know that person.”
“Something about her looks familiar to me.” I backed up the recording a smidge, pressed the right arrow, and watched again, pausing it once more when the woman was centered on the screen.
“How the hell do I know her?”
“You probably know a lot of people, Detective, but the guys I played poker with aren’t there.”
I shook my head, noted the time on the recording, and continued watching until the library closed at eight o’clock and the lights went out. I was pissed. What I’d thought would be a slam dunk turned out to be of no use at all. The person who called in the fake sighting of Blass’s car wasn’t known to either of us.
“Shit. That didn’t do a damn thing exce
pt waste our time.”
“So what happens to me?”
“Sorry, but you’re staying put until our unit figures this out. Just because I believe you doesn’t mean you’re innocent.”
I returned to the bullpen and realized that the night shift crew had arrived and our own guys had left. I checked my wrist—quarter to eight. Another day had passed without anyone in custody.
Saying good night to the crew, I left the bullpen, and as I drove home, I couldn’t deny the feeling in my gut. I believed we were searching for only one killer, but I had to connect the dots to prove it.
Sitting at my kitchen table, I jotted down the occurrences in order then added each person’s occupation and hobbies. There was no denying there was a connection between the murders, and it had something to do with books, especially since the caller had contacted the tip line from the library. That solidified the connection even more.
My phone rang, and I saw that Hanna was calling. I needed a mental break and happily answered as I rose to get a beer from the fridge.
“Hi, beautiful. What’s up?”
“Are you home?”
“Yep, got in a half hour ago. That reminds me, Bandit is still outside.”
“Sounds like your mind is in overload. Poor baby is probably freezing out there.”
I laughed. “Nah, he’d rather be outside than indoors.” I opened the slider and called his name. Bandit ran in and headed for the living room, then he jumped on the couch and curled up into a semicircle. “He’s inside now—safe and sound.”
“Good. Have you eaten yet?”
“I had vending machine food earlier.”
“That isn’t real food. How about takeout from Anthony’s?”
“Sounds great. Go ahead and pick whatever you want, and I have plenty of wine and beer.”
“Okay, I’ll see you in forty-five minutes.”
I hung up with a smile plastered across my face. I was thankful for Hanna, and she fit into my life effortlessly. Her kindness and understanding of my unpredictable work hours made me love her even more. I would work until she arrived then put away my job duties for the night. She deserved nothing less, and I’d give her my full attention once she walked in.
