The Numbers Killer

by Jenifer Ruff

  Chapter Twenty

  Beth wiped grease off her hands with a napkin as she swallowed the last bit of her hot dog. Slumping down in the gas station parking lot, she pulled out her cell phone and called Danny. One less witness to worry about, and only three left. She wanted to share that news. Her call went to his voicemail. Again.

  Asshole better clear out his messages one of these days. She made a mental note to tell him when she saw him later. She’d been harboring so much anger towards Danny lately. She had a vague, almost surreal but ever-present feeling that they’d had a huge fight recently, but she couldn’t even remember what it was about. His business venture? Or. . . she just didn’t know.

  She put the truck in drive and headed back to the Sonesta Hotel. She liked being high up above the ground, it made her feel in control, like the boss of the road. Too bad the interior smelled like cigarette smoke. But here’s what else smelled like cigarette smoke—prison. So it was a good reminder of what she was determined to avoid.

  As she was pulling in to the hotel lot, a middle-aged man with dark skin and a paunchy stomach walked toward his car. Arnold Gomez. Thanks to the “special reunion” pictures he posted on his Instagram page yesterday, she knew where he was going. He was running late, thank goodness. He should have left a while ago if he was going to meet his nephew when he said he would.

  She rummaged in her purse for a scrap of paper and a pen. Wrinkles formed across her forehead as she leaned forward and scribbled her next message. This time she would be prepared. With a smile, she tucked the paper in her pocket, drove across the parking lot, and fell in behind Gomez’s Hyundai. Turn after turn, she followed him closely, but not too closely.

  Beth glanced at her speedometer. He was doing at least 48 in a 35-mph zone. She frowned. Wouldn’t that be just her luck if a cop pulled her over and searched the vehicle. She had no idea what Horrigan had stashed under the seats. He could be a drug runner for all she knew, although he seemed too boring of a guy for that. Still, to play it safe, she let up on the accelerator even though it meant increasing the distance between her and Gomez.

  None of the people passing in cars paid her any attention. They weren’t staring out their windows or switching lanes to avoid her. She was just a random person in a Ford F-150. They didn’t have an inkling of what she had done or what she was about to do. No one expected something bad to happen during the day. Even Danny seemed nicer when the sun was out, before his first drink woke up his mean streak and each additional drink intensified it.

  Gomez left the main road and drove onto a side street. Small homes gave way to apartment complexes. At a sign offering two months free rent, free cable and Wi-Fi, Gomez slowed down and entered the Hampshire Apartment Complex. Beth gripped the wheel tighter, her arms growing rigid. Her heart raced. Just a few more minutes.

  Ignoring the “Drive Slow – Children” signs, Gomez wove through the apartments to the back and parked in front of building D. Beth parked nearby. She tucked Danny’s gun in her purse and stepped down from the truck. Gomez was still in his car. Looking around, she saw no one else. Too good to be true? Nah. Even if someone came out, who would try to stop her? They might call the police, but she would be long gone by then. And if they were lucky enough to catch her license plate, it would lead to Steve Horrigan. They’d be looking everywhere for him, thinking he was the killer, at least until he started to smell and someone eventually discovered him.

  A terrible sensation descended over her. Something she couldn’t pinpoint but knew was bad, like a nightmarish déjà vu. She closed her eyes and leaned against the side of the truck, hoping it would pass.

  A car door softly clicked shut. The car beeped as it locked.

  No time. Pull it together. She opened her eyes. Gomez was walking away. Do something.

  “Freeze!” Slightly dizzy, she managed to stand with her legs apart, both hands on the gun, her voice level but loud, pretending she knew exactly what she was doing from experience. And she really did have some by now. But the strange, unsettling feeling made it hard for her to focus.

  Gomez spun around and placed his hand on his chest. “Me?”

  “Yeah, you.” Her voice cracked. What is wrong with you, Beth?

  “Uhh, why?”

  “You know who I am.” She stepped forward, a little unsteady.

  “No.” He shook his head. “I don’t know you.”

  “Don’t lie to me. It’s too late for that.”

  “I think you’ve made a mistake, lady.” Gomez glanced toward the apartment building and took a step backwards.

  “I haven’t made a mistake. I’m Agent Heslin. FBI.”

  He cocked his head to the side and shrugged. “What do you want?”

  “I want you to do what I say, so no one gets hurt.” Her knees beginning to quake like they had in the hotel room yesterday. If she was going to shoot him and not miss, she had to get a lot closer. “Just get on your knees.” She echoed her words in her mind, wanting to sound confident and in charge. Impressive. Powerful. “There’s something important happening here. FBI business.”

  “Why do I have to get on my knees?”

  “Don’t ask me questions. Just do it.” Her hands were trembling. She gripped the gun tighter, like it might fly out of her hands any second. She moved close enough to see his dark eyes darting about. A muscle in his neck quivered and tensed as he lowered himself to one knee.

  Beth held her chin up, moving closer step by step, eyes fixed on the scar running across the man’s cheek. Just like Danny’s scar. And somewhere in those few seconds after he kneeled, Beth no longer saw Gomez’s dark skin and shaved head. She saw Danny. And for once, he was doing what she asked him to do.

  He sprang up and ran toward her. Beth blinked, not believing her eyes. Her mind flashed to the time she accidentally knocked over Danny’s full, opened bottle of whisky and he came after her with a hockey stick.

  A rush of panic flooded through Beth’s veins. As quick as she could, she pulled the trigger. Once. Twice. The kick from the shot rattled her teeth and jerked her back. Danny staggered to the side then stumbled backwards, a shocked expression overwhelming his features. A knife fell from his hand and clattered to the pavement beside him. He crumbled over with a groan.

  Beth ground her teeth. The heat of her anger spread across her face. How dare he? Where was the respect for a federal agent? He’d tried to trick her, acting all cooperative while planning to stab her as soon as he had the chance. Just like Danny. Pretend to be all nice so Beth wasn’t expecting the blow that might send her tumbling down the stairs, backwards over the chair, or wherever she happened to be when his rage blew up. But this time, she had shown him. She stepped right up to Gomez and pulled the trigger a final time. The gun only emitted an empty click.

  Damn! She glared at the gun. Now I have to figure out how to reload it.

  Her breaths came short and fast. Her whole body shook as she hid the gun inside her purse, but the unsettling feeling from earlier had disappeared. At her feet, Gomez stopped convulsing and lay still.

  She rummaged in her purse for the Sharpie. Where is it! Gotta clean out this bag! Finding it, she scrawled the number six on the center of his forehead. Below it, she wrote, You’ll be sorry. “I’m more than a punching bag and sex toy.” She tucked the scrap paper with her note into his mouth. With a smug, satisfied smile, she hurried back toward her car.

  “Uncle Arnold!”

  The voice broke Beth’s reverie. She stopped, rooted to the spot. He saw me! Now, the nephew needed to go, too. But her gun was empty.

  The young man ran toward his uncle’s body. He stopped suddenly, picked up the knife from the ground, and scanned the area with his chin lifted and his eyes blazing.

  Beth backed away, still watching. The nephew walked forward again, sank to the ground, his hands covering his mouth, one knee in the spreading puddle of blood. With a sudden jerk of his head, he rose to his feet, looking left, right, and over his shoulder, the knife still in his hand.<
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  Beth froze as the nephew’s eyes met her own.

  Danny’s words echoed through her mind. Who do you think you are, Beth? You can’t do anything. Her posture changed. No longer channeling the confident demeanor of Agent Heslin, she slumped her shoulders and waved her hands around in frantic, panicked motions. No one would ever suspect me.

  “He’s been shot!” she screamed. “I didn’t see who did it. I’m—uh—I’m going to get my phone and call 911!” She ran the rest of the way to Horrigan’s truck as if she was hurrying to call for help. Instead, she drove off, tires screeching around the corner.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Kelly walked through her living room, wheeling her suitcase behind her. She sniffed, turning her nose up. The whole place smelled a little musty. There was no food in the fridge, of course, and the dehumidifier would need to be emptied before that green stuff started growing inside it. She had to run a dark load of clothes right away so her favorite yoga pants would be clean for tomorrow. But it was good to be back.

  She lowered the volume on the TV. Jason had already disappeared into the bedroom. For him, it just wasn’t home without all the televisions going at once. Picking up a pen, she started making a list.

  Eggs, butter, bananas . . .

  Behind her, the TV mentioned a shooting. She glanced at the screen. Her pen dropped. Her stomach flipped. “Jason!”

  Jason rushed into the living room. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

  Kelly fumbled with the remote, pausing the news and then rewinding it. “Look!” She pointed at the paused screen, her eyes wide.

  Jason followed her gaze. “What?”

  Kelly pressed play, waving her hands in front of her, her eyes fixed on the television. “That dead guy was in the room next to us!” Kelly’s hands flew to her face and the remote hit her in the nose. She lowered her hands, wringing them in front of her chest. “In our hotel.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes! I remember his face, and that outfit. It doesn’t really match. He was wearing it at breakfast yesterday. He sat one table over from us. He said hello to me because I saw him when he first checked in, when you went to park the car and I went up to the room by myself. He was in the hallway then. Same pants, different shirt. He was in the room right next to us.”

  On the television, the news anchor stepped to the side, revealing a man lying on his back on the ground. “Law enforcement needs your help identifying this man. He was found by the Rocky Bend River off Fordham Street this afternoon, with no identification.”

  A digital black bar covered parts of the man’s torso and his entire face, hiding something Kelly could only imagine was terrible. He wore a dark green sweatshirt, flung wide open, a blue shirt patterned with pink fish and gray fishing poles, and camouflage cargo pants.

  The camera went to a close shot of the newscaster with the crime scene image behind him. “The unidentified man has heavily tattooed arms.”

  “If you recognize him, please call the number below. Anyone in the area who heard gunshots between the hours of eight and ten in the morning are asked to notify authorities.”

  A tip line number scrolled across the bottom of the screen.

  “Whoa. I don’t remember him.” Jason frowned at the screen and twisted his hands together. “And now he’s dead?”

  “Not just dead. Murdered!”

  “Can’t believe they showed a dead guy on the news. I didn’t think they were supposed to do that.”

  “They said he was shot. Well, they said something about hearing gunshots. They don’t know who he is. What should we do?”

  Jason rubbed his hand over his chin. “We call that number. Tell them what you said, so they can figure out who he is.”

  Kelly paused the television again, flapped her hands against her sides and paced in a circle. “You do it. Hurry. I’m too nervous right now. I’ll tell you what to say.”

  Jason called the number, taking deep breaths. “Hi. This is Jason Smith. I’m calling because I have some information about a murder we just saw on television.” He put his hand over the phone and spoke to his wife. “They’re transferring me.”

  A few seconds later he spoke again. “The man who got killed, he was in the room next to us at the Sonesta Hotel in Virginia.”

  Kelly held onto his elbow, bouncing on her toes, shaking his arm. “Do you remember our room number?”

  “Okay. I can hold.”

  Kelly jostled his arm again. “I can’t remember our room number. Do you know it? We have to tell them what room we were in. He was to the right. But if you were facing our door, he was to the left.”

  “Facing it from the hallway or from inside the room?”

  “From the hallway. From the hallway.”

  “Okay. Calm down.” He put his arm around her. “I’m on hold. They’re going to connect me to someone. I can’t remember the number either right now. I mean, I knew it, but . . . somewhere in the middle of the second floor. They can always look it up.”

  Kelly grabbed a throw pillow from the couch and paced around the room.

  “I’m still on hold. Wait, they’re transferring me to a detective.”

  “Put it on speaker so I can hear what they say.” She hugged the pillow to her chest.

  Jason gave his contact information and told the police what they knew.

  “Thanks for calling in on the hotline. Let us know if you or your wife think of anything else.”

  “Oh. Okay. We will.”

  Kelly bounced on her toes some more, shaking Jason’s elbow again.

  “Uh, can you hold on for a second?” Jason asked the detective.

  “We should tell them about that lady following us.” Kelly nodded, her whole body bobbing up and down.

  Jason moved his mouth away from the phone and whispered to his wife. “That’s not relevant, Kel. And we don’t really know that she was following us.”

  “They said they wanted to know about anything suspicious,” Kelly whispered back, her eyes as wide as possible. “She was suspicious. Weird and suspicious. Maybe she followed that guy too. And now he’s dead. She had a gray car—”

  “A Honda—”

  “A gray Honda with a big dent in the front and the headlight wasn’t working. Tell her, Jason. Please.”

  “No.” Jason covered the bottom of his phone with his hand. “That lady has nothing to do with this. And we’ve done enough.”

  “Then let me tell them.”

  “So now you’re not too nervous?” He shook his head.

  She held out her hand, her big brown eyes pleading.

  Jason sighed and handed his cell to his wife.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Rivera was turned backwards, backing a black SUV out of the FBI garage when his phone lit up with a call.

  Victoria lifted the vibrating device from the center console. “It’s Detective Sullivan. I’ll put him on speaker. If it’s not about the case, take it off real quick before I hear something I might not want to hear.”

  Rivera laughed and cranked the steering wheel to his left. “Sully won’t say anything you can’t handle.”

  “You’re forgetting the time he called me a snob.”

  “He didn’t call you a snob. He asked if you were one. Valid question, considering.”

  “After we saw him at Meiser’s house, I meant to ask you how he’s doing now, you know, with the drinking . . .” She let her words trail off to accept the call, pressed the speaker phone button, and handed the phone to Rivera.

  “Sully. What’s up? Agent Victoria Heslin is with me and you’re on speaker. We’re on our way to forensics.”

  The detective spoke in a hushed voice. “Another victim of the Numbers Killer. At the Hampshire Apartments complex.”

  “The Numbers Killer?” Rivera asked.

  “That’s what the media are calling him.”

  Rivera blew out a big puff of air. “So much for keeping the info about the numbers internal. When did it happen?”
<
br />   “Few hours ago. We’ve already done our jobs here. I noticed no one from the FBI showed up. Not sure why no one has called you yet—sorry.”

  “Shouldn’t he have called us?” Victoria whispered to Rivera, frowning.

  Rivera whispered back, “he’s calling us now,” then spoke to the detective. “Sure thing. Appreciate this. Wait—was there another message written on the victim?”

  “Hold on. Someone asking me a question here.” Sully must have covered his phone because muffled conversation continued on his end of the line.

  “I’m looking up the address.” Victoria typed into her phone.

  Sully returned. “You there?”

  “We’re here. Are they sure it’s our same guy?” Rivera asked as Victoria said— “You need to make a U-turn here.”

  “Sure as can be without forensics and ballistics. He had the number six written on his head, same as the others. Looks like number five got skipped, or we haven’t found the body yet.”

  “Was there another message on him?” Rivera cranked the steering wheel around a median to head in the other direction.

  “Yeah. On his head. ‘You’ll be sorry.’ And they found another note. Another note with your name on it, Victoria.”

  Victoria gripped her thighs, bracing herself for the information. “I’m just really popular this week, aren’t I? Well, what did it say?”

  “It said, ‘Agent Heslin, watch your back.’”

  Rivera’s nostrils flared.

  A cold chill traveled down Victoria’s spine. Her thoughts flew to her late night, uninvited visitor, the footprints in her yard and patio. She didn’t want to let the killer unsettle her like this, but goosebumps formed on her skin just the same. She crossed her arms and rubbed her shoulders. “Well, I—I guess the killer doesn’t know me very well. I always watch my back. Thanks for calling us, Detective. We’re on our way.”

  “Later.” Sully disconnected the call.

  Rivera gripped the wheel. “That note is a direct threat,” he said through gritted teeth. “I don’t think you should go anywhere alone until we’ve caught this guy.”