by Willow Rose
I had just shown a new guest to her room, when I went down to the beach to find my kids and tell them it was time for lunch. They were building a humongous sandcastle with their granddad. He was smiling from ear to ear.
“Hey, Son,” he said and patted me on the shoulder. “Pretty impressive, huh?”
I chuckled. “I bet I could build one that was bigger,” I said, teasing. “But decent work there, Dad. The twins need to eat, though. Grandma is serving mahi-mahi burgers on the deck.”
The twins looked at each other, then sprang towards the motel with loud shrieks. Emily was sitting on a towel, listening to music on her phone.
“Aren’t you warm in all those black clothes?” My dad asked.
Emily shrugged without looking up. That was her answer to everything lately. It was getting worse. She was shutting all of us out. It made me worry about her.
“Let’s eat,” I said. “Are you coming?”
“I’m not hungry.”
“Come on,” I said. “Grandma made mahi-mahi burgers?”
“I don’t eat anything with eyes,” she said.
That was a new one.
“Since when?” I asked.
“Since now. I just watched a video about how they treat animals. It’s cruel, Jack. I don’t want to be a part of it. You can’t make me.”
She was looking for a fight. I wasn’t. I shrugged. “Well, just eat the bread and the lettuce then. Come on. They’re all waiting.”
“I’ll pass,” she said.
I felt a pinch in my heart. I hated when she shut me out and when she refused to be a part of the family. “Come on,” I said again. “Grandma is going to be so sad if you don’t come.”
Emily looked up at me. “She’s not my grandmother and you know it. Don’t pretend it’s something when it’s not.”
“Ouch,” I said. I pretended to have been shot. “That. Hurt. Must. Have. Burger. To. Survive.”
Emily rolled her eyes at me, but I detected a small smile on her lips as well. Finally, with a deep sigh, she decided to come with me.
Chapter Forty-Eight
May 1998
Life without money wasn’t a lot of fun, Annie soon realized. Eight years after they had said goodbye to the wealth of Victor’s family, she found herself sitting in a small two-bedroom condo in a bad part of town. Her son was now a teenager and she loathed him more than ever. Everything about him made her skin crawl. His eyes, the way he looked, the way he spoke. Everything. When he came home from school, she always hoped he would walk straight into his room without a word and play his computer games. She didn’t care what he did in there, in his room, as long as he didn’t bother her.
Victor hadn’t become more attractive in her eyes either. He no longer wore those expensive suits that he used to, nor did he drive a big car. He had lost everything that was just the slightest bit appealing to her. Annie hated every day of her life, and every day when Victor went off to work and the boy was in school she sat at home and watched soaps, eating ice cream and chocolate, feeling sorry for herself that her life had ended up such a mess. She hated having to clean the house on her own now and do the grocery shopping, and all the laundry piling up every day. It just wasn’t the life she had pictured for herself growing up. Not at all.
“It’s just all wrong,” she said to herself.
But she didn’t know what to do to change things around. How to get out of this life. She had no money, and even if she got a divorce, she wasn’t even getting any. Still, she couldn’t stand this condo, nor could she stand her husband or her son. It was all just miserable.
One day, there was a knock on her front door, and outside stood a detective. He was tall and handsome. He even still had most of his hair, she noticed, when he lifted his cap with a “Ma’am” and showed her his badge.
Annie smiled. It had been years since she had looked at a man and thought he was attractive. Not since Tim, and that didn’t end well. She suddenly felt self-conscious in her sweats and carrying the extra weight.
“Yes? What can I do for you, Officer?”
He smiled. “Well, I’m here because I have to ask you some questions. “You are Annie Greenfield, right?”
She shook her head. “I used to be. Now I’m married. Come on in.”
Annie let the man in, then excused herself and ran into her bedroom to change. She found a pair of jeans that she couldn’t fit into anymore, then found a pair of nice black pants that fit her nicely still, and a purple shirt to go with them. She took her hair down, brushed it and put on some make-up, then returned to the living room, where the detective sat on the couch. His face lit up when he saw her.
“Now. What do you say I make us some coffee?” she asked.
“That sounds really nice.”
She ran to the kitchen and came back with coffee and cookies. She placed it all on the table, then sat down across from him.
“So, what did you want to question me about?”
The detective cleared his throat, then opened a file he pulled out of his briefcase. Annie touched a lock of her hair and blushed when he looked at her.
“Well, you see. It’s an old matter, but it has come to our attention that back in the mid-eighties there were some students at SFU who used the date rape drug Rohypnol to rape girls. We believe you might be one of their victims. The drug was fairly new back then, so it wasn’t something that there was a focus on, but there is now. A man we recently arrested on another rape charge told us you were one of his victims back then.”
“Tim?” Annie’s voice shivered at the awful memories coming back to her. Images from the night by the lake kept flashing before her eyes.
“Yes. Tim Harrold. He’s been arrested in another case here in my district, but he admitted to this as well. We’re looking for witnesses. Would you be willing to testify, if it came to it? I would need you to tell me your entire story.”
Many thoughts flowed through Annie’s mind. Pictures of that terrible night so many years ago, the anger that led to her resentment of her own son, the anger that led her to hate all men. Well, most men. Not the handsome detective. It all made sense. That was why she couldn’t remember much from what happened. She had heard about this drug numerous times, but never made the connection. It spiked the anger in her once again. She was tired of being the victim.
“Yes,” she said. “I would be delighted to.”
Chapter Forty-Nine
February 2015
Officer Mike Wagner had been on patrol for three hours. The Cocoa Beach Police Department’s car was messy. Mike hadn’t cleaned it. He knew he would have to soon, but he hadn’t bothered yet.
He opened the window and pulled out a cigar from the pocket of his shirt. He lit it and blew out smoke while looking at the house next to him. He had parked the car on the side of A1A, where the road split into two. He didn’t really want to go after people speeding, but hoped they would slow down when they saw him. Officer Mike smoked his cigar. It made him look like Winston Churchill, his colleagues often said. He liked that. Mike had always felt like a big man. Even though he lived in a town where nothing much happened, he still felt important. His work was important. He kept the population safe and was very well-liked among his citizens. As Sergeant, he kept track of all the young kids coming to the force and made sure they understood that they were here to serve the people, not to get off on some big power trip or ego that they might have.
A car drove past him speeding excessively. Officer Mike sighed. He couldn’t let that go. The cigar ended in the ashtray and he drove onto the road, soon catching up to the white SUV. He put the siren on and the car slowed down, then stopped. Officer Mike exited his car and walked with big heavy steps up to the SUV. The dreaded walk. He hated the walk. You never knew who might be in the car you had just pulled over. You never knew how they would react to being stopped. Did they have a gun in the car? A colleague of Mike’s in Melbourne was shot, not even two months ago, when stopping a speeding car.
You nev
er knew.
Mike spotted the hands on the wheel and noticed they belonged to a woman. That made him relax a little. He usually didn’t have anything to fear. Not out on the barrier island, where everything was calm and people usually were respectable. Cocoa Beach was a sleepy town, but had many tourists coming from all over. Mike was always on alert.
“Do you know why I stopped you today, Ma’am?” he asked, as he approached the window. The woman was wearing a hat and sunglasses and a scarf covering her face.
Mike looked inside the car and spotted a young girl in the back seat. His shoulders came down. Nothing but a mom in a hurry.
“No, Officer, I don’t,” she said.
“You were speeding, Ma’am. A lot.”
“I’m sorry, Officer.” The woman seemed in distress. “License and registration, please.”
The woman leaned over and opened the glove compartment. When she returned and handed him the papers, the scarf fell down and revealed big bruises. It bothered Officer Mike. There were few things that could make him really angry, but a wife beater was one of them.
He looked at the driver’s license. Then he froze, immediately star struck.
Shannon King, the famous country singer!
He could hardly speak. His lips were trembling. “I’m sorry, Miss King. I didn’t know it was you. Are you having a concert nearby, or…?”
She shook her head and re-covered her face with the scarf. “No. I’m visiting. I would appreciate keeping my visit private, though. If possible, Officer?”
Mike nodded and handed her back her driver’s license. He pulled out his notepad. “Naturally. Do you mind?” he said. “I’m a big fan.”
Shannon King sighed, then grabbed the pad and pen. She signed it and handed it back.
“Was that all, Officer? I need to get to the pharmacy.”
“Well, of course. Just remember, only 35 here on this part of A1A.”
“I must have missed the sign. I’m sorry, Officer.”
“No problem, Miss King. We’re happy to have you in town. May I ask what brings you here?”
“I’m visiting some old friends. Trying to stay away from the media, though. So, if you’d please…”
“Naturally, Ma’am. My lips are sealed. Enjoy your stay.”
Chapter Fifty
February 2015
“I MISS MOMMY!”
The Snakecharmer looked at his son, then slapped him across the face. “Don’t say that, Son. She was nothing but a cheating bitch. All women are!”
“Leave the kid alone.” The Snakecharmer’s dad sat across from him at the kitchen table. “It’s not his fault. You just stay away from women, Son. You hear me?”
“Y-yes, Grandpa,” the kid whimpered, then ran to his room.
“Now, what are you planning on doing with that one over there?” his dad asked, as he nodded towards Will in the playpen.
The Snakecharmer drank from his beer. “I don’t know.”
“Don’t you think people will start asking questions at some point?”
“I just couldn’t leave him there, you know?” The Snakecharmer said, and looked at the kid. He liked him.
“Well, you should have. Kids are trouble. Where did you find him anyway?”
The Snakecharmer looked at the TV in the corner. Luckily, it didn’t work. His dad couldn’t see anything anyway, but he might hear something. Fortunately, he never left the house, so there was no way he would ever know where the kid had come from. Even though his picture was everywhere.
“I told you. I found him in a dumpster behind the Publix grocery store.”
His dad grunted. “You should have given him to the cops. Now we’re stuck with him.”
“They would just put him in some foster home, and what good would that do him? I like the kid. I can raise him right.”
“Don’t you think you’ve got enough on your plate with that one in there?” he said.
“I’ll manage. I got it covered, Dad, don’t worry.”
The Snakecharmer had gotten rid of Melanie. She hadn’t lasted more than a week before the smell became too bad. It annoyed him. The Snakecharmer was starting to miss the action. He knew the ground was burning underneath him, but still he felt an itch, a strong desire pulling him. He wanted more. He had already spotted his next victim, and visited her last month down in Satellite Beach. He had kept an eye on her for weeks now and knew her everyday routine to the smallest detail. That was the way he worked. Stayed in complete control. Murderers were caught because they made mistakes. Because they got too eager or thought they were safe; they got stupid or suddenly impulsive. He wasn’t going to do that. He was smarter than any of them, and he was going to show them.
“What’s wrong, Son?” His dad asked.
The Snakecharmer drank his beer. “Nothing’s wrong.”
“You seem so tense lately.”
The Snakecharmer finished his beer, then went to the fridge and got himself another one. “I just need to get laid. It’s been awhile.”
His dad laughed. “Yeah, well, as long as you don’t marry them. That’s when trouble begins.”
“I know,” he said and thought about his ex-wife. The bitch had been seeing someone else. He had smelled it on her and asked her, but, oh no, it was just from hugging one of her friends. Yeah, right. As soon as he suspected something was going on, he had followed her. And, sure enough. He had seen her with another man. He had been all over her.
Lying, cheating bitch.
Chapter Fifty-One
February 2015
The following Monday, I had a small breakthrough in the case of Laura Bennett. For weeks, I had gone through old cases of women being killed in the area, and suddenly I found one that caught my attention.
A young girl of only seventeen had been killed thirteen years ago, in 2002, in her own home in Melbourne Beach. Her parents had been out with friends, and when they returned they found the daughter on the floor, strangled to death. The case was considered a breaking and entering and it was believed she must have surprised the burglar with the result that he killed her in a panic.
It all seemed like the right conclusion, given the evidence. There had been stolen jewelry and a window in the back had been forced open, and there were visible marks from the use of a crowbar. There was just one thing that didn’t add up.
The ME had concluded that she had been washed afterwards.
I couldn’t believe it. The police report concluded she had to have been taking a shower before the burglar broke into her house, even though it clearly stated in the ME’s autopsy report that she had been washed after death had occurred. Washed with bleach.
Just like they had in the case of Laura Bennett.
I called Sheriff Ron and told him what I had found, and then went to Weasel’s office to tell her as well.
“I’ll be…” she said. “So, you’re telling me this is not his first?”
“That’s what I’m saying.”
“But, in that case, he used his hands and not a pillow?” she asked.
“He learned from his mistakes. He was younger back then and less careful. It might have been his first kill. He doesn’t want to bruise the body, especially not the face. That’s why he uses the pillow now.”
“Good work, Detective,” Weasel said. “I’m impressed.”
After work, I drove to my parents’ motel, feeling a little better for once. I wasn’t closer to catching this guy, but now I was getting to know him a little. All I needed was for him to make a mistake.
“They all do at some point,” the chief of my old homicide unit in Miami used to say to me. I was hoping he was right.
I parked the Jeep outside the motel, then walked up to the deck where I found Abigail and Austin playing with the little girl Angela. They had been hanging out all weekend, even though I got the feeling the mother wasn’t too fond of her doing so. I took it she was just one of those overly protective women, but I knew something else was going on. The way she kept covering her
face told a different story. I had seen it a lot of times before, and it pissed me off every time.
“They play well together, don’t they?” Mrs. Schmidt had walked up behind me and stopped.
“They really do. It’s been awhile since my twins played like this without fighting,” I said, and looked at the woman next to me. She was attractive. Everyone could tell she was somebody, even though she covered her face with a scarf and wore sunglasses all the time. It was in the way she moved. She constantly attracted her surroundings’ attention, even though she didn’t want to. People simply couldn’t take their eyes off of her. I couldn’t blame them. I felt the same way.
“So, when are you going to tell me your real name?” I asked.
The woman looked at me. “I’m sorry, what?”
“I don’t know why you have a made-up reservation in a false name, and it’s none of my business,” I said. “But, Mrs. Schmidt?”
She chuckled. “I guess it was a little thick.”
“It’s okay with me if you want to hide. I’m a detective around here. I can keep a secret.”
She nodded. I sensed she blushed underneath the scarf. “Well, okay then, Detective Ryder. You can call me Shannon.”
I turned and shook her hand. She took off her sunglasses and looked me in the eye. That was when I realized who she was, and understood why she had to hide herself. It took me quite by surprise.
“Nice to meet you, Shannon.”
Chapter Fifty-Two
