Near You

by Mary Burton

  She smiled up at him, appreciating him for his kindness. “Nate has school and so do I. We can’t run and hide now.”

  “A few days won’t matter, Ann, but it might give me time to find this guy.”

  If it were just her, she would have refused, but she had Nate to consider. “Maybe tomorrow. We could drive out after school.”

  He leaned forward and kissed her. “And tonight?”

  She savored the taste of him. “We’ll be fine. Really. I’ll lock all the doors and windows. And won’t let in anyone I don’t know.”

  “Even then, think twice about opening the door.”

  Elijah sat at his computer, watching the feed from Ann’s living room. At first, he had been pleased to watch Nate talk to his mother about him and the book. He could see the tension straining her smile, but she had kept her cool. She was trying to keep the boy’s world calm. But that was what Ann did. She kept cool.

  They had mentioned Judy Monroe, and he thought back to the letters she had written him. She was highly intelligent, and he found her mind worked much like his. The pictures she had sent him were of a tall, athletically built woman with dark hair, gray eyes, and olive skin. Not his type, but she was clever enough to make him not care. Where was she now?

  He hit “Rewind” and replayed the moment Bryce leaned in and kissed Ann. Her body melted into his. There was a familiarity between them. They had shared intimacy. Secrets.

  He closed his eyes, trying to imagine what it had felt like when she’d kissed him. Her lips were soft. Her scent sweet. Her hair like silk.

  He looked again at the frozen image of Ann and Bryce. The one thing those two did not share and would never share was Nate. Elijah and Ann had created the boy, and he was all theirs.

  A man claimed what was his, and that was exactly what he intended to do.

  It was 1:00 a.m. when Ann leaned back in her office chair and stretched the strain from her muscles. She had read through the transcripts of the interviews, and one theme had become clear. The women Thompson interviewed believed that by attaching themselves to Elijah Weston, they, too, would touch fame.

  Writing to a man in prison also offered them a thrill that they had never experienced before. Elijah seemed to know and understand them like no one else. They said it was like reading their own real-life suspense novel that allowed them to safely savor the thrill of fear. Elijah’s sharp good looks had also fueled sexual fantasies that the women had talked freely about to Thompson.

  Danger. Sex. Fame. It was a heady cocktail that—for women who lived simple, ordinary lives—was impossible to resist.

  When her doorbell rang, she glanced at her phone and realized it was after one. Rising, she moved to the window and looked outside.

  Maura was standing on her porch. Her eyes were red, her shirt ripped, and her hair tousled as if she had been fighting.

  Ann unlatched the door and opened it. “Are you okay?”

  Maura blinked back tears. “Can I come in?”

  “Sure.” She stepped to the side. “Who did this to you?”

  Maura shook her head and dropped her gaze as if she were gathering her thoughts. “I was stupid to trust him.”

  “Trust who?” Ann asked.

  Tears welled in her eyes before she swiped them away. “Elijah.”

  Ann’s blood chilled. She had always feared what Elijah was capable of doing. “What did he do to you?”

  Again, Maura was silent, and for a moment she looked broken.

  Ann reached toward her. “What did he do? Did he hit you?”

  Maura took a step back, shaking her head. Her voice dropped to a raspy whisper. “He can’t ever love me. His heart is taken.”

  Ann drew back, glancing toward her phone, readying to dial 911. Whatever was going on with Maura was wrong, and she needed more help than Ann could provide. “I don’t understand.”

  Maura looked at her, the sadness gone from her gaze. In its place was a haunted, dark look. “He can’t love me because I’m not you.”

  Ann took several steps back as she tightened the grip on her phone. “I don’t understand.”

  Maura closed the distance. “Every time he fucked me, he whispered your name in my ear: Ann, Ann, Ann.”

  “What are you talking about? You were with Elijah?”

  “Several times. The Beech Street house was a favorite location. But he doesn’t want me—he wants you!”

  Ann took a step back from the anger tightening Maura’s features and the wildness in her eyes. “I have nothing to do with Elijah.”

  Her eyes widened with a madwoman’s intensity. “You’re everything to him.”

  Ann realized she had been a fool to trust this woman. She had allowed her into her home and close to her son. “Who are you?”

  “You haven’t guessed?”

  It did not matter who this woman was now. She was unbalanced. Ann, knowing she needed help, looked at her phone, ready to call 911.

  Maura slapped the phone from her hand with such force, it hit the floor hard and slid out of reach. “You’re not calling anyone. This is between you and me.”

  Ann spotted her phone on the floor a couple of feet away from her. “You need someone else to help you. Please, Maura, let me help you.”

  “You’re the doctor, right? Don’t you deal with troubled people all the time?” Maura asked.

  “You’re not troubled,” Ann lied. “You just need a little help.”

  Maura chuckled. “Oh, I’m troubled. But in a good and productive way. After all is said and done, I’ll be famous and have the man of my dreams.”

  Ann calculated the distance between her and Maura and then how fast she could snatch up her phone. Analyzing the risk versus reward, she lunged for her phone. As her fingers grazed the phone’s smooth case, the snap of electricity crackled, and then she felt the jolt of high-wattage voltage shoot through her body. Every muscle in her body spasmed, and she fell to her knees, her body trembling. “Why?”

  Maura knelt down. “I tried to be like you. But I just wasn’t good enough. And then it occurred to me that no woman is going to be good enough while you’re alive. There’s no competing with you.” She ran her fingertips along Ann’s jawline. “But that’s fine. I know how to make it so Elijah will not be able to resist me.”

  As Ann’s body still spasmed, Maura hoisted her to her feet, supporting her weight as she staggered out the door toward the truck. She settled Ann in the front seat, and just as Ann was recovering her wits, Maura pressed a damp cloth against her face.

  “Breathe in deeply, Ann,” she said.

  The sickly sweet, damp odor invaded her nostrils, and her head immediately swirled.

  “I can’t have you running off while I’m getting Nate.”

  “Leave us alone,” Ann whispered. “Please.”

  “Oh, no, he’s the bait that will prove to Elijah I’m the woman he needs.”

  PAUL THOMPSON’S CRIME FILES

  Pemberton, West Virginia, is a small rural community an hour outside Martinsburg. A few folks in town commuted into Virginia and Maryland to work, but most of the two thousand residents lived and worked locally as farmers, as small-business owners, or in county government. This was an everyone-knows-your-name kind of town, where no one locked their doors and kids roamed free after school.

  Judy and Donna Monroe, ages sixteen and fourteen, lived outside Pemberton in a small ramshackle home with peeling white paint and a yard filled with car parts their late father had collected. Their mother, Connie, worked twelve-hour shifts six days a week as a cashier at the go-kart park near Martinsburg. With Connie gone so often, the girls were on their own a lot. But that was the way it was in Pemberton. Kids looked out for each other while their parents put in long hours to put food on the table.

  The Fourth of July was a big holiday for Pemberton, complete with a parade led by the town’s lone fire truck, barbecue cooked by the fire department, and fireworks that lit the sky on fire. Folks took off from work or left early on the Fou
rth of July so that everyone in Pemberton could enjoy the party.

  Connie always took off for the parade because she knew how much her girls loved this rare day of family time. But on July 4, 2005, Connie’s boss had called her early, telling her she had to fill in for several employees who had called out sick. Connie had argued, been tempted not to go in, but when it came down to a choice between the parade and her job, she had no choice. She gave each of her girls a ten-dollar bill, kissed them on their heads, and told them to have fun.

  That was the last time the three of them would be together again. Judy would later tell police that, during the course of the festivities, she had lost track of time and her younger sister. Donna had simply walked away. Judy, partying with a few local boys, did not sound the alarm until the fireworks exploded in the sky.

  The town sheriff was called, but with night upon them, the search was futile. It resumed at sunrise, but despite hours and then days of searching by dozens of volunteers, Donna Monroe was never seen again.

  The day Judy turned eighteen, she left West Virginia for a different kind of adventure.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Missoula, Montana

  Friday, August 27

  1:00 a.m.

  Bryce read through all Paul Thompson’s notes, and he was struck by how exhaustive and detailed the reporter was with his interviews. He categorized, analyzed, and drew conclusions better than many cops. Which was why it made no sense that Judy’s interview and all notes pertaining to her were missing. Thompson was not the kind of guy to lose information.

  Bryce decided to spend the night in a Missoula motel located near the center of town. He was determined to stay close to Ann and Nate until this case had more clear-cut answers. The evidence was conveniently pointing to Thompson, but like the missing file on Judy, it did not feel right. In all his years of law enforcement, a case this complicated had not closed this easily.

  Standing from the motel desk, he packed up his files and slipped his sidearm back into its holster. He swung his coat around and slid into it, and then, grabbing the files, he left his room.

  The drive to the Missoula jail took under twenty minutes. Though it was well after visiting hours, Bryce’s badge got the attention of the night desk deputy, a reed-thin man with a thick black mustache and name badge reading TUCKER.

  “I’ll call up to his block,” Deputy Tucker said.

  “Appreciate it.”

  When the door buzzed, Bryce entered the transition area, where cops locked up weapons. The next set of doors opened, and he strode toward the only interview room. Ten minutes later Paul Thompson appeared, wearing an orange jumpsuit. His neatly combed hair now stuck up, and his face looked pale and drawn.

  Bryce rose. “Have a seat. I’ve got a few questions.”

  “You can ask my attorney. He’ll be here in the morning.”

  “I’m not trying to build a case against you,” he said. “I’ve been through all your notes. They’re careful and well done. You’re not the kind of guy who misplaces an important interview.”

  “You’re talking about Judy?”

  “That’s right. What can you tell me about her?”

  Bloodshot eyes narrowed. “Why should I help you? You’re the reason I’m here.”

  “Right now, I’m the only one standing between you and four counts of first-degree murder. Tell me about Judy. She’s the one that first told you about the Fireflies.” From one of the folders, Bryce pulled the Firefly list, which included pictures. He pointed to Judy’s DMV photo. “This is Judy Monroe?”

  “Yes. Though the picture doesn’t do her justice.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Judy is prettier than that. After our first interview she went through a kind of makeover, and when she showed up for a second one, she’d dyed her hair blond and traded the glasses for contacts. She looks like a schoolteacher there, but she was hot.”

  “Hot.” Bryce tapped his finger on the woman’s face. “How long did you date?”

  “About six months.”

  “How did you meet?”

  “She cleaned out my house and then the office. She became a kind of personal organizer and assistant. It was a big help.”

  Ann had hired a woman to do the same for her. It made sense that people all over the country did this kind of work, but what were the chances one would place flyers near Ann’s office now? “Have you heard the name Maura Ralston?”

  “No, why?”

  Bryce shook his head. “Never mind. What happened?”

  “She started to resent my work on this podcast, especially when I left for Knoxville to talk to Sarah Cameron. When I returned to Nashville, we started fighting immediately. At that moment I could see the end in sight.”

  “But . . . ?”

  Handcuffs on his wrists clinked when he rubbed his eyes. “The sex was great.”

  “Did she ever spend the night in your house? Did she have access to your computers?”

  “She did. She was good with computers.” He sighed.

  Judy had not responded to Thompson’s earlier text, but he wondered if the cell was still active and pinging. “What can you tell me about Judy?”

  “She grew up hard in a small town in West Virginia. She had a sister who vanished from a Fourth of July party. Judy was about sixteen and her sister fourteen. She admitted she liked the attention she received when the cops were looking for her sister.”

  “Was the girl ever found?” Bryce asked.

  “No.”

  “When did Judy get interested in Elijah?”

  “She said from the moment she saw his picture on some internet site. She joked she liked that he was in prison, like he was on an enclosed display shelf. Of course, she said she realized how stupid it was to write an incarcerated man. Soon after that we were in bed.”

  They had been referring to this killer as he during the entire investigation. But a female killer made sense. Females were naturally leery of strange males, but those innate defenses dropped around another woman, especially if the women shared a mutual interest.

  “When Sarah’s body was identified, did you consider Judy might have killed her?”

  “No. Like I said, I thought it was Sarah’s boyfriend. I thought he found out Sarah and I had slept together.” Thompson studied Bryce’s face. “Do you think Judy did all this?”

  “Do you think she’s capable of killing Sarah, Dana, Nena, and Edith?”

  “She’s smart. Really clever. She has a love-hate relationship with technology. She knows it inside and out but doesn’t trust it. Hates the idea of being tracked.”

  “What about her temperament?” Bryce asked.

  “There is an element of crazy. That was the appeal initially.”

  “Did you notice anything else?”

  “After we broke up, my social media accounts were hacked. It took me a solid week to get that untangled. And before I was supposed to leave for Montana, my tires were slashed. My car had to be towed the morning I left for Montana.”

  “Are Judy’s fingerprints or DNA in any system?”

  “She’s in AFIS. She was arrested in North Carolina for repeated trespassing when she was about nineteen.”

  “Okay, Mr. Thompson, thank you. I’ll look into this.”

  Thompson rose as he did. “Why would she do this to me?”

  “You said it yourself—she liked the idea of a guy in a box. Look where you are.”

  “Shit, shit, shit.”

  Bryce called the deputy, and as Thompson was led back to his cell, he hurried to the transition area and retrieved his weapon. He thanked the deputy, and as he stepped outside and crossed the parking lot, he dialed Ann’s number. It went to voicemail. He texted her. Call me.

  As he sat in the jail parking lot and seconds ticked, the sense that something was wrong grew. Again, his mind went back to the professional organizers in Thompson’s and Ann’s lives. Being in someone’s home was a very intimate experience, and there was no better way to fin
d and exploit their vulnerabilities. He remembered Ann had found Maura via flyers posted around the university.

  He dialed Gideon’s number and, after the second ring, heard a groggy, “Bryce.”

  He recapped what he had learned from Thompson as he started the engine. At the very least, he could drive by Ann’s house and make sure she was okay. “I’ll be at Ann’s house in twelve minutes.” Distance driving had never bothered him, but these next five miles separating him from Ann felt like a million-mile journey.

  “Do you think this woman called Maura killed the other women?” In the background, Joan’s muffled voice asked what was happening.

  “If this killer is Judy Monroe, she has an obsession with Paul Thompson and Elijah Weston. She murdered Fireflies who all most closely resembled Ann,” Bryce said. “She’s got Thompson locked behind bars, and if she wants to control Elijah, then her best bet is to get to Ann or Nate. He has a weakness for both.”

  “Do you think Weston is pulling the strings?” Gideon asked. “He reached a lot of women while he was behind bars, and now that he’s out, there’s no telling what kind of damage he could do.”

  “Go by Weston’s,” Bryce said. “I’ll go to Ann’s. I really hope that I’m overreacting, but the more I consider it, the more worried I am for Ann and Nate.”

  “I’m on my way,” Gideon said.

  Ann dreamed that she was drowning. As she looked up toward the sun beaming above the surface, she knew she had to reach it. But her leaden arms would not move, and she did not have the energy to kick her feet. It would be so easy to drift.

  But she understood instinctively that if she did rest, she would die. Willing her limbs to move, she flutter kicked and waved her arms until, very slowly, her body began to rise. The sun grew brighter above the waves. And just like that, she broke through. She sucked in a breath, but instead of savoring fresh, cleansing air, her chest burned, and her head pounded.