The Forgotten Widow

by Layne, Kennedy

  Dean gritted his teeth in an effort not to say something that would provoke the fires that apparently had already started to kindle. He nodded his appreciation of Frank’s disclosure, but that wasn’t a small detail that could be swept under the rug.

  “Don’t ask your nephew any more questions,” Dean advised quietly enough so that the deputy near the door nor Quinn Simmons overheard their conversation. “Chaz or Dwight will follow up with him. I’m sure the conversation will yield that he has no connection to the case, but we’ll handle this by the book.”

  Frank appeared ready to argue against Dean’s advice, but then thought better of it. He nodded curtly right as the sound of the deputy greeting someone from county forensics broke the tension.

  “I don’t know the particulars of what went down this evening, so you can inform the tech of what we’ll need.” Dean left Frank to handle that part of the investigation while he joined Chaz and the woman who now seemed to be an integral part of the case. “Miss Simmons, I didn’t expect to see you so soon after this afternoon’s interview.”

  Quinn had one arm wrapped around her waist while the other crossed over her chest so that one hand rested on her shoulder. It was a defensive gesture, but the tilt of her chin spoke of a different story. She was also very angry.

  “It seems that the intruder wanted to leave a message for Miss Simmons.” Chaz gestured toward the large monitor on the desk. Smack dab in the middle was a piece of paper taped to the screen with a warning written in red ink. Tell my story or else I’ll tell yours. “Apparently, she wasn’t conveying the facts quite the way he’d asked her to do in his phone message.”

  Dean tamped down his frustration at discovering there was more to Quinn Simmons than she let on, but this might be the first real lead they’ve had since striking out on almost every suspect. He wasn’t quite sure where to start now that several threads were finally showing themselves, so he chose one at random. He figured they all belonged to the same tapestry anyway.

  “Let’s move into the kitchen so that your office can be dusted for prints,” Dean suggested, moving to the side so that Quinn could lead the way. It also gave him the ability to speak with Chaz. “Were you able to touch base with Evans?”

  “Evans already confirmed that Brighton was at the pub, though he did spend around an hour in the back office tonight. I already called Dwight. He’s heading into the station now. I’m hoping he can pull footage from the street camera set up at the intersection.”

  An hour definitely gave Brighton plenty of time to use the back exit and return without anyone being the wiser. Unfortunately, the city had some issues with the older camera systems that had been installed with the city budget in mind many years ago. It would be nice for a fortuitous happenstance to work in their favor this time around.

  “Look, I didn’t tell you about the first voice message, because I wasn’t even sure that it was completely real. I took a chance citing an anonymous source about the roses. The worst thing that would have happened was that one of you would have given a statement claiming false information.” Quinn held up a hand when Chaz would have most likely lit into her for withholding something of that magnitude. Dean used the opportunity to study Quinn Simmons’ body behavior to gauge if she was being forthcoming. “It wasn’t like the guy said he was the killer, only that the police had left out an important detail about the crime scenes.”

  “Does that mean your confirmation regarding your source not being an insider under my command or someone from the county was blatant lie meant to mislead me?” Chaz asked, doing a great job in keeping his anger in check. He wasn’t wearing a uniform, which meant that he’d gone home at some point to spend time with his family. “I’ve got to be honest with you, Quinn. Your integrity is lacking, and charges may be pending for making false statements.”

  “I wasn’t lying, if that’s what you’re implying, Sheriff.” Quinn had taken offense to Chaz’s claims just as he’d wanted her to, hoping that she’d slip up in her ire. “I received a second message from him yesterday, thanking me for posting that article to my site, as well as having it printed on the front page of the local paper. It was then I realized that he might actually be your suspect, which is why I arranged to speak with my editor and retain the services of a lawyer. As you know, Roger was called away on a family emergency. We spoke at length right after I met with the two of you at the station. They both agreed that I should reveal my source to the authorities. When I called the station, the woman answering the phone told me that the two of you had stepped out and that she would take a message. I opted to come home first so that I could record the voice messages for you.”

  Chaz had mentioned that the editor’s father had been admitted to the hospital for some testing, but Dean had been busy with Frank most of the day following any leads that Dwight could manage to find between the victims. One thing that was looking promising was that their husbands’ services had all been held at the same funeral home. None of the employees even remotely fit the profile, and the owner was an older woman who’d inherited the family business.

  “I take it there was more to the second message than just an acknowledgement of your article?” Dean asked, finally joining the conversation after coming to the conclusion that Quinn was being truthful. She had no trouble meeting his or Chaz’s gaze, nor did she hesitate during any part of her story. “What did the unsub say to you that had you reconsidering reaching out to us?”

  “You make it sound as if I would purposefully keep something like that to myself, when the truth is that I immediately called Roger the second my source admitted that he was the killer,” Quinn said defensively, peering around them at the tech who had made his way to her desk. Dean had been monitoring the guy’s progress as well, noting all the areas in which he’d dusted for prints by the front door. The only other access to the first level was the garage, which he would no doubt get to once he was done with the interior. “I’m not your enemy, gentlemen.”

  “That may be true,” Dean acknowledged, “but it’s you who may now have an enemy—one who has a taste for cutting up women. He’s obviously upset that you didn’t tell his story the way he conveyed it to you in the voice message. We need to listen to those voicemails, and we’d rather not have to call a judge to get a warrant, either. Further hindering our investigation isn’t going to help your case.”

  It didn’t take a genius to figure out that Quinn barely managed to roll her eyes at the warning. She reached for her phone, apparently not having had time to make those recordings she spoke of a moment ago. It didn’t take her long to bring up the messages, set the phone on the counter, and press play.

  “Why didn’t the police or the feds release that there were roses left with those widows, Ms. Simmons? They don’t want the public to know, which is where you come in. Isn’t that your job? To inform the public of such facts? Don’t let law enforcement dictate what the community needs to know.”

  Quinn then pressed the following message on her phone, the same harsh whisper coming out of the speaker and finally revealing more of himself. It was up for debate on whether enough clues had been given to figure out his identity.

  “Ms. Simmons, I’m disappointed. Your article made my gifts of roses come across as a warning to other widows, when it was supposed to have inspired them. I’d like you to do me a favor. Please write your next article about how much The Widow Taker respects his victims. I respect them so much. Their deaths are my gifts to them. Don’t you see that I’ve taken away their suffering? Who else has come to their rescue? No one but me. I look forward to reading about my valiant contribution to society tomorrow morning. Goodnight, Ms. Simmons.”

  Dean didn’t speak right away, and neither did Chaz. They finally had their lead, but both realized that it had come at a very high cost. Quinn would no doubt want to use this to her advantage. They had no choice but to follow her lead, but there was something she’d conveniently left out that might give them a slight edge on how to control the narrative
.

  “Miss Simmons, the note left behind indicates that the unsub has information on you that you wouldn’t want your readers and viewers of your podcast to find out.” Dean paused for effect, but more to monitor her reaction. The only tell she was showing was a slight tightening around her lips. There was definitely something in her past that she didn’t want anyone to know about. “What is he referring—”

  “Your killer is bluffing, Agent Malone,” Quinn replied abruptly, clearing her throat and snatching her phone off the counter as if she were afraid they would remove it from her person. “There’s nothing that he can use to blackmail me. I’ll post what I think the community needs to know in order to remain safe. When your tech is done dusting for prints, I’ll make copies of these messages for you. I’m sure you’ll need to trace the number, so I’ll make sure you have access to my phone records as well.”

  It didn’t quite work that way, but Dean could see that she’d completely shut down this conversation. They would get nowhere if they pushed her further, so he would have Chaz explain what access they would need from her phone and previous records. There was only one more thing to cover.

  “A deputy will be posted outside your house, Miss Simmons.” Dean waited for Chaz to nod his agreement, which meant he’d already authorized a deputy for overtime and most likely pulled him in from being off-duty. “Should the unsub contact you again, please dial 911 immediately.”

  Quinn had been about to argue with him that she didn’t need round the clock protection, but that wasn’t her call to make. The unsub had clearly taken an interest in her as a way of getting his story out into the world. The silver lining was that they could now control the narrative, but first they needed to get an update on the profile. The strange behavior the unsub exhibited altered the way the case would be handled going forward.

  “I’m done with the desk,” the tech said, holding up an evidence bag with the sticky note. “Miss, do you own a red pen? I couldn’t find one in your desk drawer.”

  “Yes, but I keep it in my laptop case, which has been with me the entire day. He used something else to write that note,” Quinn said, gripping her phone a little tighter. It was then that Dean guessed she’d taken photographs of the note to print online. A dull headache began to form in his temples when he realized what a problem she was going to be in the long run. “There was no sign of tampering on the front door or the one that leads to the garage. The windows also looked untouched, so I’m not sure how he got inside. If he picked the locks, then he has exceptional talent as a locksmith.”

  “Who has a key to your place?” Chaz asked while Dean made a couple notes in his book. He liked to be able to look back and see the timeline of events. There was usually something there that sparked a theory. “Neighbors? Friends?”

  “No one.”

  That brought both Dean and Chaz up short.

  “No one?” Chaz tried a different tactic. “What about your family?”

  “I told you that no one has a key to my place,” Quinn confirmed, doubling down on her previous answer. “I’ll go ahead and record these voicemails on a thumb drive for you.”

  Quinn waited until Dean and Chaz moved to the side before walking over to her desk, which would need to be cleaned from all the residual powder left over by the technician. She didn’t even blink an eye.

  “There was no evidence the perp fired up her computer. There were fingerprints all over the keyboard, but my guess is that they are all hers.” The technician began to walk carefully through the kitchen to where the exit to the garage was located on the opposite side. “I’ll want to take a look around the upstairs. One thing I’ve learned is that these creeps do a lot of weird shit. They get off on laying their heads on the victims’ pillows and rifling through their panty drawers.”

  Chaz responded that he’d already spoken to Quinn about the matter, and that she’d given the technician permission to go through the rest of the townhouse. Dean peered around the staircase into the living room to get Frank’s attention, but he was nowhere in sight. He was no doubt questioning the neighbors.

  “She’s going to post whatever she wants, and we’re going to be left with the fallout,” Chaz stated, not telling Dean anything he didn’t already know. “I’ll speak with Roger, but I’m more worried about the damage done by the podcast.”

  “Get her to agree to a twenty-four hour hold on any articles or recordings until our profiler is brought in. Lincoln Roche has other cases that are of higher priority, but this escalated enough that I can get Archer to agree to his involvement.” Dean pocketed his notebook and was reminded of the small list of items that Kenna had asked for in regard to Spartacus. It was nice to have something to look forward to after a night like this one. “Just so you’re aware, I’m going to run a full background check on Quinn Simmons.”

  “I expected as much. I’d bet my life that our guy used a Kiwi 5-pin bump key or a Lishi. We’ll know more after we dissemble her deadbolt,” Chaz murmured with a shake of his head. “Either that or he got a hold of her keys somehow. If he had access to her belongings, then he’d been close to her.”

  “Don’t push her,” Dean warned, even though he wanted the same thing as Chaz. “Linc is great at what he does, and he’ll be able to obtain when and where she’s been recently that would have given the unsub opportunity to gain access to her things. Ask her to be at the station at zero eight hundred, and don’t afford her the ability to deny our request. Either she shows up with or without her lawyer in tow, or we get a judge to issue an arrest warrant.”

  “I didn’t know you believed in miracles, Malone.”

  “Life’s too short otherwise.” Dean smiled and then pulled out his phone, carefully constructing a message to Archer and Linc. The situation had undeniably turned delicate with the involvement of a member of the press, especially one with a growing audience. “Listen, I need a favor.”

  Dean’s request certainly had Chaz’s attention now.

  “Oliver Stevens knew Tamara Johnson. I’d like you to personally have a talk with him to see if there’s something more to the picture.” Dean kept it simple. He sure as hell hoped he was right. “Frank brought it to my attention first thing, and I’m eager to get that file closed so we won’t have issues from the Office of Professional Protocol guys going forward with the office case review later.”

  “Consider it done.”

  Frank and Archer were always complaining about Dean’s’ desire to have local law enforcement involved on these cases, but Chaz’s quick response was the reason why. They were one team, and they should conduct business as such. Things got done a hell of a lot faster without all the federal red tape.

  Dean headed for the front door, knowing that Chaz had this situation locked up tight. There was nothing else to be done tonight, and Quinn Simmons had already shown she would shut down the second she was pushed too far. It was best to wait for Linc to arrive first thing in the morning than it was to risk no cooperation by someone who could prove useful in their role.

  “Are you driving back to New Haven?” Frank asked, walking up the driveway as Dean passed the deputy stationed at the front door. “Or are you grabbing a hotel room for the night?”

  “Neither. Staying with a friend,” Dean replied, sticking to the truth. Kenna was a friend with the potential of being much more, but that scenario hadn’t occurred just yet. “Chaz will be reaching out to your nephew. Let him do his thing, alright? It’s best to keep OPP at arm’s length.”

  Frank nodded curtly, the overhead streetlight glinting off the man’s head.

  “I’m also pulling Linc into the investigation. He’ll be here first thing in the morning,” Dean shared, taking the time to put on his leather gloves. “Chaz will fill you in on the rest. I have to go and buy a cat box, cat litter, and some cat food items. Turns out it’s not a good idea to give someone a pet without all the necessities.”

  “You must have sucker written across your forehead. You know that, right?”

 
; He couldn’t wait for tomorrow’s headline. Was it wrong to crave applause for what he gave those women who’d sought comfort and release from their pain? He didn’t believe so, which was why a little validation went a long way in circumstances like these.

  Great care was taken with each death to ensure that no evidence was left behind. There were those who sought to stop him from his quest of giving solace to the widows of Winter Heights, but Quinn Simmons had the ability to change the mind of the public. It was his hope that their pleas would allow him to continue his work as the Angel of Solace with but one wing dipped in the blood of the innocent.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Kenna was startled awake at the sound of Spartacus’ hiss of displeasure. She’d let him keep the blanket he’d sacked out on, simply grabbing another one just like it from the linen closet. She must have dozed off at some point watching the flames dance in her fireplace. The sudden noise had her sitting upright on the couch, blinking rapidly to clear her vision.

  “What’s wrong? Are you okay?” Kenna asked him softly, following his green glare all the way to the front door. He’d already hopped up on the back of the couch, his tail practically the size of a small baseball bat. A strong gust of wind rattled the windows, allowing some of the tension to release from her shoulders. She also hadn’t realized that she’d been holding her breath until she slowly released the air from her lungs. “I’m just letting you know that while I understand your overreactions being in a new place and all, I’d really rather not die from a heart attack induce by your skittish nature.”

  The doorbell chime had both Kenna and Spartacus jumping slightly, with Spartacus running for cover. He’d veered into the kitchen where she’d set down a small bowl of water, not that he was probably anywhere near it. Most likely, he’d sought coverage underneath the table or one of the chairs.