After a short wait, two customers left with a new set of keys and big smiles on their faces. A small, skinny man with a shit-eating grin shook their hands one by one, then stood and waved as they left the building. When the door’s bell rang, he turned his attention to the seating area and introduced himself, maintaining the same false smile.
“Josiah Bentley,” he said, reaching out a hand.
Morgan stood, took his hand, and shook. “Morgan Young. Is that your real name?”
“Oh, I had it legally changed to suit business. Smart, huh?”
“Very,” Morgan said, doing his best to not sound sarcastic.
Josiah escorted him into his office, which was four times bigger than the waiting room but just as dirty. The high-back chair had a tear streaking down it, the ashtray at his desk collected stinking butts, and the air was stuffy. He gestured to the other chair, and Morgan took it without protest. After all, he was here on business.
“So, what can I do you for?” Josiah asked.
“I’m an investigator working with the MPD,” Morgan said, watching Josiah’s smile fade like the time lapse of a sunset. “Don’t worry, you’re not in trouble unless you’ve done something wrong. I need to identify a driver from one of your vehicles.”
Josiah made a tsk sound. “I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to disclose that information.”
“Would you rather the police asked instead?”
“Is that a threat?”
“Let’s just say you’d do well to help me.” Morgan hated the idea of making threats—he liked even the worst people at the worst of times—but this was more than necessary. “I don’t want to cause you any trouble, Mr. Bentley, but it’s important I get that name.”
With an exaggerated frown and a sigh, Josiah adjusted his tie and pulled in his chair. Clearing his throat, he typed something into his stained, old laptop, which had sticker residue across the back. “What was the license plate?”
“I don’t actually know,” Morgan said.
“You don’t know? How am I supposed to help you, then?”
“It was a Ford Fiesta, silver in color.”
“That’s better.” Josiah hit some keys. “Right, of course.”
Morgan watched the man fall back into his chair, exasperated.
It wasn’t a good sign.
“I don’t know how to tell you this, Mr. Young, but that car was stolen.”
The walls toppled down around him, trapping him in the debris of disappointment. Hope was a bad foundation when it came to homicide investigation. “What do you mean, stolen?”
“I mean somebody hired the car, and somebody else stole it from them.”
“Did they report it?”
“Certainly. There’s an open investigation, as I understand it.”
That made things even worse for Morgan. If there was an active case surrounding the stolen car and it hadn’t yet been solved, there was no chance he was getting that name. All he could do was fill Gary in on the news and realign his focus point.
As if his ears had been burning, Morgan’s cell phone jerked in his pocket. The screen read Gary Lee, and he stood to excuse himself. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Bentley. I might be back at some point, but here’s my number in case you find out anything.” He slid his business card across the desk with a pointed finger and hurried out of the room, failing to hear what the man mumbled under his breath behind him.
Once outside, he took the call. “What’s up?”
“You’re not going to believe this,” Gary said, panting.
Morgan’s heart filled with dread. He knew the score; rarely did “unbelievable” news come through as something positive. In fact, he was expecting nothing short of a new twist to kick him while he was down. “Please tell me you have something I can work with. I can’t deal with another nightmare.”
“It’s worse than that.” Gary’s voice lowered to morose. “There’s been another murder.”
Chapter Fourteen
The light of day had gone from its full afternoon brightness to near-black night without Morgan noticing. It was that time of year when leaves clung to your shoes and night came sooner than you’d expected. It suited his mood too—like something was coming to an end. He had no idea what that was, but it was clear it wasn’t the case he was working on.
When he arrived, parking at the far end of the street to avoid the crowd, Morgan found Gary beside the crime scene, his arms crossed and pressed firmly to his chest while his chin moved like he was grinding his teeth. Morgan squeezed through the growing crowd, careful not to hurt anyone as they carelessly bumped into his broad chest, and finally stopped beside Gary. “Sorry I took so long. What’s happening?”
Gary stood still, barely flinching at the sound of his voice. “Against the captain’s orders, a friend on the case gave me the tip. The call came in from a concerned cousin who was due a night out with one of the victims.”
“One of? There were multiple?”
“Two.” Gary held up a matching number of fingers.
A sickening feeling twisted in Morgan’s stomach. He turned toward the house, where forensics were swooping in and out with evidence bags, and the coroner scribbled something onto his clipboard. “Anything to go on?”
“I can’t even get inside.”
“Right. But you can get more information from your contact?”
“Not until they’re wrapped up here.” Gary sighed. “Sorry.”
Morgan offered a thin smile. He knew how overwhelming these things could be, and that was before you factored in a relationship with one of the victims. “Something keeps going round and round in my mind. You called me here because it’s related to what I’m investigating, but you haven’t said anything to suggest these are the same killer. What aren’t you telling me?”
Twisting up the corner of his mouth into a half smile, Gary finally craned his neck and locked eyes with Morgan. There was a familiar humor there that only Morgan could recognize. “Nothing gets by you, does it?”
“I try to be observant.”
“That you are.” Gary looked down at his feet, unfolding his arms and beginning to pick at his frayed nails. “This friend of mine who gave me the call, he said one of the victims was repeatedly stabbed, and the other…”
Morgan put a hand on his friend’s shoulder to steady him. “The other?”
“The other had her face sliced off.” Gary gagged into his closed fist.
“Jesus.” As if one murder wasn’t enough, now they had a serial killer to contend with? Morgan hadn’t thought it was possible, but things had just gone from bad to worse. “I need to look at the crime scene. You know that, don’t you?”
Gary sucked in a deep breath, steadying himself. “I know.”
“Then how do we get in?”
Gary said nothing but pointed at the house, where Police Captain Bray was storming out of the building and snapping off a pair of rubber gloves. He tossed them into a nearby biohazard bag and then climbed into his own car, leaving the scene. “I was waiting for that. Come on.”
There was no time to prepare for what he was about to see, so Morgan simply followed him past the tape as Gary proffered a glimpse of his badge to the guarding officer. They were in the house within a minute, and although Morgan was expecting some time to settle his stomach, horror stole over him the moment he walked through the door. The bloody scene was laid out in front of him like something from a Wes Craven movie. The taste of bile filled his mouth, any remains of hunger leaving him until further notice.
“That sick son of a bitch,” Gary mumbled.
Morgan said nothing, staring down. The bodies in front of him were both pale, their faces twisted in horror like they were frozen at the time of their deaths. They’d been stripped down, had suffered multiple lacerations to their naked chests, and were thrown together like a pair of rag dolls. Nobody deserved an end like this, Morgan thought, but if he had to suffer like any of these women, he knew which one he’d choose: the one who’d
been stabbed repeatedly and left to die. The other had endured a fate even worse, her face torn open by the violent swipes of a blade. Her wide eyes expressed horror and desperation, but that was the only thing readable within the bloody mess. There was no flesh to deepen her story.
But there was something else.
It wouldn’t be an easy thing to tell Gary, so he kept it to himself for now, stepping farther onto the scene and bumping into a forensics operative, who apologized profusely with a young voice muffled by his mask. Morgan raised a hand as if to say, “it’s okay,” and kept his eyes fixed on the bodies at his feet. “Does anything stand out to you?”
Gary appeared at his side, his hand clapped over his mouth. “The way they were killed? I think it’s safe to say this is the same asshole who killed Carrie Whittle. Notice he has a primary victim, where the other seems to be killed by consequence. It’s like one of them is personal, while the other was killed just for being there.”
“True.” But Morgan knew there was more than that. “Anything else?”
Gary stared harder, his eyebrow crooked. “No. What?”
Morgan took a deep breath, his chest rising and falling as he got ready to address what ultimately had to be addressed. There was no getting around it, and although this would complicate the investigation in a thousand different ways, there was at least a chance that it might offer some kind of clue. The bad news was that it’d shake Gary even further, and Morgan didn’t want to be the one to do it. If he had a choice, that was. “Look at her face.”
“I can’t—”
“Do it. Does she look familiar?”
Gary’s face contorted as he strained to look, his head bobbing forward like the extra inch would help. He held still for a few moments, his eyes rolling over the scene in front of him before landing back on the face of the first victim.
That was when his mouth dropped open.
“You see it, don’t you?” Morgan said, watching the realization take him as if he himself was discovering it all over again. He could feel his friend’s agony—read the confusion in his eyes. “She was Carrie’s friend in high school, which can mean only one thing: there’s a personal grudge here, and that makes this killer even more dangerous.”
Chapter Fifteen
Bumping shoulders with the black detective did something to the killer, but whatever it was couldn’t be identified. It was like a new rivalry began, transferring the moment they came into contact. The exchange wasn’t too different from one dog passing fleas onto the other, only this version came with its own aggression—whoever this man was, he was intriguing.
When he’d apologized and moved on, the killer continued his pass under the guise of a forensics expert, pulling the waterproofs tighter over his thin chest. The ID tag swung from side to side, announcing his name as Walter Stephens. That wasn’t his real name, of course, and the real Walter Stephens would soon report his ID as missing, which meant the killer had to wrap up his egotistical bask of glory and get out of there.
But that detective…
There was something about him. He wasn’t a cop—that much he’d overheard from the police officers who had mixed feelings about him—so what was he? A private investigator? Something more? Whatever it was, the killer would have a hard time forgetting him. Whether the man became a problem or not, there was no denying he could be an interesting test of his own skills, given how easily he’d gotten away with… well, murder.
Snapping out of his overactive imagination, the killer waited until the last of the police officers passed him, and then he slid out the back door. The second he was clear, he hopped the fence and ran down the alley, taking occasional glances over his shoulder to ensure he wasn’t followed. The gloves came off, and he hurled them over a wall into someone else’s yard. The waterproofs were next, sliding down his body as he stepped out of them while laughing at how easy this whole affair had been. It was almost too easy, which left the killer thinking one thing, and one thing only.
It was time to step up his game.
Chapter Sixteen
The following day had passed with no progress, which Morgan had expected from the moment a second victim was announced. While the press continued to glorify the killer—dubbing him “The DC Carver”—Gary retreated back into his slump. Not that Morgan could blame him; it must have been tough knowing your first love was killed, but now that there was a connection to the second victim, a brand-new can of worms had been opened.
Since then it’d been all work and no play. For the second day in a row, Morgan had set up camp in the local library, using his laptop and the wide array of books available to search for a link related to the crime rather than the victims. Having wasted another day and turning up nothing, Morgan thought he might soon have to pay a visit to the school the victims—not to mention he and Gary—had attended. He stole a quick glance at his watch, realized it was getting late, and then packed up to head home… the long way.
Buried deep inside his own thoughts, he drove past the house of Danielle Phillips and parked farther along the street to study the place from afar. How had the killer looked at this stretch of road? The police had reportedly found nothing from the neighbors, and they had no leads to go on, so what was next? Were they all expected to sit on their thumbs until there was a third victim? A fourth? There was no telling where the killer would go next.
When the sun disappeared behind the horizon and the sky turned black, Morgan fired up the car’s engine and returned home, where the living room window glowed in the darkness. Smiling to himself and eager to fall into the loving embrace of his wife, he killed the engine and headed inside, finding some—though only a little—relief that the day was over.
“Is that you?” Rachel called from the next room.
“It’s me.” Morgan kicked off his shoes, dumped his laptop bag, and went through to the living room where Rachel sat on the couch with a book in her lap. The lamp beside her lit up her beautiful auburn hair, giving it an additional shimmer. “Good day?”
“Busy. You?”
“Same.” Morgan crossed the room, leaned over to plant a kiss on her soft cheek, then dropped onto the seat beside her. There was just something right about returning home to this remarkable woman, which was why he’d married her in the first place, but he still couldn’t pinpoint exactly why it felt so perfect. Perhaps it was that she didn’t dote on him but was always pleased to see him. But tonight… No, she was avoiding eye contact. “What’s wrong?”
Rachel said nothing, only picking her book up and turning the page.
Then he remembered.
It was like an alarm went off in his head, only hours too late. How had he allowed work to seize control of him like that? His priorities were usually so aligned, so how had this happened? Later he would cuss himself for it, but for now he had some explaining to do. “It was your speech today, wasn’t it? At the HUCINS Center?”
Rachel nodded and continued reading.
“I’m so, so sorry.” Misery and regret stole over him then. It wasn’t because he was in trouble or “in the dog house,” but he’d upset the one person he cared about the most. There was no coming back from that. “I won’t make excuses—you deserve better than that. I just got caught up in work and I forgot. I’m sorry.”
Taking him by surprise, Rachel smiled and closed the book. “That’s very sweet of you to say, but you’re going to have to make it up to me.”
Morgan smiled too. “Sexual favors?”
“Keep dreaming.”
“What, then?”
“Dishes.” She hiked a thumb over her shoulder.
“It’s the least I deserve. Can we catch up while I do them?”
Rachel climbed out of the sofa immediately, dragging Morgan into the kitchen by his hand. She ran over the events of the evening while he scrubbed at yesterday’s dishes with the rough side of a sponge, detailing the grandeur of the event and how nervous she’d been. More than anything, she talked about how happy the kids were as she
stood on stage and made all these promises about how their lives were going to change. All they needed was funding, and the kids were excited to help in any way they could.
By the time he was done, Morgan kissed her softly on the lips, and it was as if nothing had ever happened. They worked together to tidy up as usual, brushed their teeth together as usual, and then curled up in bed like they always did, with Rachel’s head resting on his chest while his heart hammered like it was their first time. It was probably ranking fifth or sixth in their list of disagreements, which the average couple would no doubt become very jealous of. Morgan knew, however, that although they were out of the storm, some repair work could still be done on the ship they’d come in on.
“Rachel?” he said in a whisper.
“Mm-hmm?” she muttered, half-asleep.
“You have another event, right?”
Clearing her throat, Rachel rolled back and reached for her bedside lamp. The soft cotton made a light scratching noise as she moved, and then the dim light brightened. “In two days. Why?”
“Because I feel like I’ve taken us back a step.” Morgan paused, choosing his words carefully. He was out of the woods, that much was clear, but he still felt awful for missing her big speech. “I want to volunteer.”
“You want to volunteer?”
Morgan shrugged. “Is that all right?”
Rachel’s confused frown unraveled into a smile, and it was like Heaven was open again. Surprise and happiness mixed in the bright pools of her eyes as her perfect teeth revealed themselves. “Of course, that’s… Yes. That’d be great.”
“Good. I look forward to it.”
“Me too. And Morgan?”
“Yeah?”
“I forgive you.”
With that, she clicked the lamp’s switch and let darkness consume them once more. The next thing Morgan felt was her hot cheek against his chest and her arm wrapping around his waist as she pulled him in close. Five minutes later, she was asleep, and just a couple of minutes after that, so was Morgan.
Mason & Morgan- The Serial Killer Collection Page 52
