Trial by Twelve

by Heather Day Gilbert

  25

  IT’S 1:13 IN THE MORNING and Thomas still isn’t home yet. But these hours have given me plenty of time to read the letters and get a feel for this killer’s psyche.

  He’s cocky and he thinks he knows it all. He’s completely inconsiderate of his child. It’s not clear if the child is male or female, but he or she would’ve been shuttled into the foster system, apparently as a teen. There aren’t many clues as to locale or time period, but I’ll have Detective Tucker run down anything on that Hope’s Grove Commune.

  This guy has a problem with women in authority over him. He doesn’t like to report to women in any way, and was probably domineered by his mother or parents early in life, given what he says about them. He runs to the woods to hunt for solace. He mentions killing a deer for venison, but there’s nothing to indicate he couldn’t be shooting women too. In fact, there’s a gap where his child’s mother goes missing and I’m betting she was one of his first victims. He broke up his family, he lost a couple jobs, and then he finally snapped.

  He talks about frequenting West Virginia to hunt. He mentions land his great-grandpa owned before there was a mine on it. Maybe we can look into that lead. My dad would know—he knows every coal mine in the state, having worked the mines most of his life. But I don’t know where my dad is and Junior Lilly isn’t the kind who likes to be in contact with his relatives.

  Even in the soft night breeze, chills run up my arms as I reread some of the letters, written in black ink on college-ruled notebook paper. The tone of the advice…that’s what bothers me. It’s domineering, almost brainwashing. Did the poor teen start to believe Dad was full of wisdom? Did the teen actually practice bowhunting religiously, almost as a religion? What if the teen found out Dad was a killer and decided to follow in his footsteps? It’s Stockholm Syndrome-eerie.

  That would mean our killer could be more than one killer. It could be a team.

  The front door locks start moving. I know it’s Thomas, but I eyeball my Glock on the coffee table, making sure it’s handy.

  Sure enough, my poor man walks in, obviously wiped out. His eyes are bleary and he does a double-take when he sees me on the couch with the Glock nearby.

  “Was there trouble?” he asks. In the past, we’ve had some unhinged stalkers in our woods, so sitting up late with a gun isn’t without precedent.

  “Just helping Detective Tucker.” I tuck my hair behind my ear, focusing again on the letters. “Hey hon, I have something I need you to look up before you leave the office: the deed for the land Dani Gibson bought.”

  He nods, pulling the milk out of the fridge and pouring himself a huge glass. “Any cookies?”

  “None right now. But there’s still a little apple crumb pie on the counter behind you.”

  He helps himself and plops on the couch beside me. After neatly devouring his pie and milk, he automatically starts unloading my Glock. We have other weapons upstairs and he’s saying it’s time for bed.

  I shove the letters back into the envelope. Maybe the box they were buried in is a clue. Did the dad bury it? The child? It wasn’t there when the police initially dug the area up. It must have been deposited recently…in fact, probably today. Was it early this morning, when no one was around? Or while Dani was there? Thank goodness she got out of there. But what if someone came after that? Wouldn’t take long to shovel up a little dirt and cover the box.

  The bigger question is why didn’t they just burn the letters? Why make a lame attempt to bury them, knowing cops were monitoring the area? Nothing adds up.

  Thomas notices my intense look and starts massaging my head with his long fingers. My brain goes into shutdown mode. I relish my much-needed head-rub for a few more seconds, then kiss him before we tiptoe up to the bed in silence. We’ve both put in more than a full day’s work and it’s time to sleep.

  I WAKE UP EARLY WITH Mira Brooke’s cries. She’s not wet or hungry, so in an attempt to get her back to sleep, I let her snuggle between us. When Thomas wakes an hour later, she crawls up to hug him. But instead of lying back down easy, she crashes back, whapping her head into my eye.

  “Oh!” Thomas gasps. “That must have hurt! I’m so sorry. I’ll go get some ice.”

  From the way this aches, my eye is going to bruise big-time. This will be a hard one to explain. I picture myself attending Thomas’ swearing-in, wearing my favorite mint-color dress and sporting a shiner no one believes came from my baby. Not the best first impression.

  After bringing me a bag of frozen peas for my eye, Thomas kisses my forehead and Mira Brooke’s tousled curls. “Love my pretty girls. I gotta hit the shower and run. You want me to fix you coffee?”

  “No, I’ll get my own. You go ahead and get going.”

  Craving a little extra sleep, I try to get Mira Brooke to calm down, but she’s having none of it. She shouts “Vev” for Velvet, and the cat obediently comes upstairs to join the party on the bed. Both are so hyper I’m betting it’s a full moon.

  I finally give up and take the girl and the kitty downstairs for a little frolic time in the living room. After reloading the French press and putting a kettle on, I sit by the kitchen counter, munching a stale cinnamon Pop-Tart. What’s the next step? I need a plan of attack.

  Detective Tucker said the oldest skeleton behind the spa dated to the 1980s. I do some quick calculations and figure if he sent those letters around the time he killed his wife, and if she was the earliest victim, the child would now be in the late thirties to early forties.

  First things first. I need to get a list of victims’ names from Detective Tucker. Maybe the mother’s last name will link to the child, if she was the first kill.

  Second, I need to know who owned that spa land before Dani. Hopefully Thomas can find that out for me.

  Third, I need to find out if that box was bought or made at some specific location. That might give us a place where the killer lived or where the child lives now.

  Fourth, I need to check into Byron’s history. In particular, I want to know if he was ever in foster care. That’s something Rosemary can do without putting herself in harm’s way. She can just walk into the computer repair shop and drop some questions, all innocent-like.

  Fifth, I want to find out more about Teeny. I don’t know how. I would ask Dani, but she’s another one I need to check into and I can’t fully trust her. Why did she move here from California? That would easily fit the profile of this murderer’s child.

  I try not to think of the child as “the demon seed” but the term keeps jumping to mind. Anyone with a dad like that has to be more than a little messed up.

  But over all these things, I need to keep checking in on Charlotte and Miranda. I would never leave my sick friends in the lurch. And if Charlotte wakes and could give us some information, all the better.

  I give Mira Brooke her favorite breakfast of Fruit Loops and bananas, since she balked the last few times I’ve tried to feed her oatmeal. So much for my crunchy, organic-mom dreams. They crashed to the ground pretty early in the game.

  I call Detective Tucker. He must be surrounded by birds, because blue jays screech in the background. “Where are you?” I ask.

  “You don’t want to know. You figure out anything from those letters? I didn’t have much time to mull them over, but what came through loud and clear is that he was a lazy, selfish so-and-so.”

  “I did and we can talk about it—how about tonight? You want to come over for coffee and dessert? The only thing I need from you is a list of names on those skeletons. I have some other details I’m working on and I’ll report to you as soon as I know anything.”

  “Sounds like a plan. But you stay safe as you formulate these ideas. You in the little cottage behind Roger and Nikki Jo’s?”

  “Sure am. Could you come over around seven-ish?”

  “That’ll work.”

  I’ve just pulled out Mira Brooke’s favorite wooden blocks and started building a teetering tower when Detective Tucker calls again—a
red flag there’s a bomb about to drop. And drop it does.

  “Mrs. Spencer, I promised to keep you in the loop with any developments. I just caught Teeny in the woods. I haven’t called Ms. Gibson yet because I don’t have a handle on her relationship with him. I’m thinking if you came up here, he might talk to you before we take him in.”

  26

  SENSING THE URGENCY in the detective’s voice, I throw on my holey, comfy jeans and a bland gray T-shirt. Grabbing the diaper bag and Mira Brooke, I head up to the big house. Sure enough, Nikki Jo has finished her workout and she’s raring to babysit.

  After spending a little time explaining my quickly-bruising eye, I cross-question her to make sure watching Mira Brooke won’t intrude into her plans for the day.

  “Goodness knows the only thing I was fixing to do today was weed the flowerbeds, and I can do that with Mira Brooke—can’t I, cutey?” She tickles Mira Brooke’s bare feet. “And then I’m gonna call up Andrew and see if he can make it for his brother’s swearing-in. He ought to be here for that, don’t you think?

  A pang shoots through me. I wasn’t able to say goodbye to Andrew or Stella. I wonder how they’re getting on now they’re back in college, but something tells me it’s another one of Andrew’s ill-fated relationships. A girl who doesn’t love guns in the Spencer family wouldn’t be an issue, but a girl who shows disdain for those who do love them? Not gonna fly.

  “I hope he can come,” I say. Nikki Jo’s dark eyes meet mine and understanding flashes between us. I didn’t mention Stella and neither did she.

  “We’ll keep on praying he finds the right girl,” she says. “Because goodness knows our Andrew always needs a girl on his arm.”

  I kiss Mira Brooke and rush to the SUV, spinning out a bit as I climb the steep driveway. This thing is a bear to plow in winter. Thankfully Roger is friends with just about everyone who owns a tractor in Buckneck, so there’s never any question our driveway will get scraped off. It’s just a question of when.

  As I round the familiar curve topping out at the Crystal Mountain Spa, I spot Teeny on the front patio, arguing with a police officer. Good lands, that guy is going to bury himself. What was he doing out in the woods today? I assumed Dani canceled all the appointments this week. Maybe Teeny booked another secret massage.

  When I pull to a stop, Detective Tucker emerges from his Hummer. He hasn’t showered in a while, but apparently his camping expedition has paid off.

  “Mrs. Spencer, good of you to come.” He takes in my blackening eye but doesn’t say one word. “You might be able to help us talk to Teeny.” He glances at his officer, who’s standing rigidly while Teeny shakes a fist at him. “That masseuse there is in a heap of trouble, but not the kind we’d hoped for. He’s cultivated a mighty fine patch of marijuana back in the woods. He tucked it behind a thick hedge of blackberries and brambles, so I never thought to look in there.”

  I replay Teeny’s remark when the police cars showed up at the spa. “But this place was supposed to be safe.” Teeny had probably had run-ins with the cops before. The question is, did Dani set him up with a job here, knowing his history?

  “I’ll try to get him talking,” I say. Detective Tucker nods, following a discreet distance behind me.

  “Teeny!” I shout, waving. The officer steps aside when he notices Detective Tucker. I walk up to my co-worker with more confidence than I feel and pat his massive arm. “What’s going on?”

  “Tess, what are you doing here? What happened to your eye?” He doesn’t give me time to answer. “Aw, shoot. The po-po thinks I’m growing pot out in the woods. Would you tell them they’re wrong?”

  “I don’t know, Teeny. I mean, were you? What was up with those sneaky appointments at the spa? Those look suspicious, dude.”

  I’m lapsing into the video-game talk I use when I play Petey. But it seems to be getting through.

  “Naw…oh, man, my momma is going to hit the roof.”

  “I’m sure she won’t mind if you come clean. They’ll have mercy on you if you tell the truth.”

  I’m not sure if that’s actually the case, but his eyes soften when I mention it. Sometimes my ability to embroider the truth astonishes even me.

  He leans way down and whispers in my ear. “You gotta understand, it ain’t my pot. No way. But it’s my momma’s. I just checked in on it for her.” A big tear slips down his face and he puts his arm around me. Both the officer and Detective Tucker look like they’re ready to point and shoot, should the need arise. Teeny could probably crush me like a twig.

  He stares at me with those deep-set, ferret-like eyes. He whispers again. “I gotta come clean. I locked you all in that sauna—it was me, Tess. I had to. I’d planned to sell some of Momma’s stuff, then you and Dani came and what was I supposed to do? I had to make that sale. You don’t know my momma.”

  Something tells me I don’t want to meet her, either. I’m fairly certain Detective Tucker heard Teeny’s entire whispered confession. It rots, but Teeny probably isn’t our bowhunting serial killer, since he’s got his hands full tending his momma’s “garden.”

  I have one more question. “Was Dani aware of this…sideline of yours?”

  He blinks rapidly. “Nope.”

  “You sure about that?”

  He glances at the others. “Sure am. Listen, what about Momma?”

  Detective Tucker gives me a questioning glance, and I nod. I think we’ve reached the end of Teeny’s sob story. As the detective steps forward, Teeny’s arm wraps a little tighter, pressing me against his sweaty side.

  “Now don’t do anything stupid,” I say. “This isn’t the death penalty. Unless you do something stupid.”

  Teeny breaks into a full-on wail, his hands flying to his face to squish the tears away. In that moment, I race into the yard.

  Both guns come out, aimed at Teeny. “Hands in the air!” the officer shouts.

  Once they march him to the police car, Detective Tucker returns to my side. “I’m glad you were able to get that information from him. He’ll crack under pressure and confess. The one I really need to get my hands on is his mom—the brains of this operation, I’m sure.”

  As the officer drives Teeny away, another question hits me. Was Byron a part of this? Maybe he was buying from Teeny and that would explain his keen interest in hanging around the spa and his personal visit to “settle the score.” I mention the idea to Detective Tucker and he says they’ll ask in interrogation.

  “You’d better tell Dani,” I say. “Although I wonder if she didn’t know about the pot. She’s always been weird and kind of…over-interested in how Teeny spends his time at the spa.”

  “Duly noted.” He gives me a weary look. “What a dead end. I’d hoped the killer would show up out there. Instead I find a pothead.”

  “The pot actually explains a lot about Teeny’s behavior,” I muse. “At least we eliminated one of my suspects.”

  Detective Tucker smiles, his brown-black eyes holding mine. “You have a list?”

  “Just in my head, but yes.”

  As he looks off toward the woods, a sudden nervousness twists my stomach. We’re standing here, alone. This man is armed and he knows the woods like the back of his hand. According to Nikki Jo, he’s an accomplished marksman.

  The picture of his lovely wife flashes to mind and I talk myself down. He’s a family man. He’s been camping out here, trying to catch this killer. We share the same hunger for justice. He’s not a threat.

  But if he were, he’d be the one threat I wouldn’t see coming.

  27

  I CONFIRM WE’RE STILL on for dessert and coffee tonight, so I can get my hands on that list of victims’ names. Then I head out to make my rounds, planning to check on Charlotte first, then Miranda.

  On the way, I call Rosemary and put her on speaker phone.

  “Hey, Tess. Any word on Charlotte?”

  “Not yet—I’m heading over now. Listen, I thought of a little something you could do for me. You s
till live over toward Point Pleasant, right?”

  “Have to, since I work in town. Still waitressing at the bistro.”

  I smile, knowing she’s their star waitress. “I just need you to visit a shop—D&R Computer Tech?”

  “I know that place. Right on my way. Blue awnings. What do you want me to do?”

  I explain how I need her to get friendly with Byron, then somehow find out if he’s been in the foster system. Also, if she can ask if he bowhunts, that would be an added bonus.

  “I know a little something about foster parents,” she says. “I had the best in the world.”

  I’ve met Rosemary’s foster mother, Mrs. Hogan. She’s a woman with an Irish brogue and a heart of gold. “Tell your mother hello for me, and tell her I did have a baby girl, just like she guessed.” I say goodbye, hanging up as I reach the hospital.

  Once parked, I remember to unload the Glock and store it in the car case, so I can comply with the hospital’s no-gun policy. It’s almost like missing an appendage now, walking around with an empty holster. As I pass the tiered water fountain out front, I can’t shake the feeling I’m being watched. Or rather, stalked, like an animal.

  Upstairs, I peep into Charlotte’s room, bracing myself to find her asleep. But the first thing I see is her bright eyes, looking my way. I give a little shout and run to her side, lightly hugging her.

  “You’re okay!”

  She grins, her lips still cracked and pale. “You didn’t think I’d be that easy to kill, did you? And what happened to you?”

  My hand flies to my eye. “Must look pretty bad? Mira Brooke is what happened. Cracked her head into me…hurts like the dickens when I think about it. But enough about me. Thank the Lord you’re alive, Charlotte.”

  “I have thanked Him, many times. But how’s Mom?”

  “About the same. I was going to visit her after this.”