Jack Ryder Mystery Series: Vol 1-3

by Willow Rose

  “And what is that?”

  “I don’t know…maybe it’s just silly…” she turned her head away.

  I looked at her. “No. Anything will be of help at this point. Please. Continue.”

  She looked up. Our eyes met. “It’s just that…I mean, it may not be important, but we knew all of the others.”

  “What others?” I asked.

  “The three others that were shot in the cinema. I knew them. They weren’t our friends, but I knew who they were. It might be a coincidence, but…”

  “It might not be. How did you know them?”

  “From Britney’s school. They all had kids that went to Klein’s Jewish Academy. I didn’t think about it until afterwards, when Britney told me they had talked about it in class.”

  “Were all the kids the same age?” I asked.

  “No, they were different age groups.”

  I wrote it all down on my notepad, wondering if we were looking at an anti-Semitic motive.

  Maggie Foster looked pensive again. “I wonder…” She paused and looked at me while biting her lip. “It was odd. I don’t think we ever mentioned it to the police back then, but…now I wonder if it wasn’t only us.”

  “Only you that what?” I asked.

  She tilted her head. “Only us that won those tickets.”

  “Won the tickets? I don’t follow.”

  “We received a letter in the mail stating we had won tickets to the movie theater to see the newest Disney movie. It was at a lottery at the school. I didn’t mention it to the police before, since I didn’t think it was important, but now I get the feeling it might be.”

  I leaned back in Ron’s chair and looked at Maggie Foster. There was definitely something there worth moving on with. It felt like we were getting closer now. I still just couldn’t quite connect the dots, but I did remember Shannon told me someone had sent a backstage ticket to Joe in the mail and that he thought it was from Shannon, that she had wanted him to be there. It occurred to me the victims might not have been random. I had long had a feeling that neither of the two episodes had been mass shootings. Now it seemed crystal clear to me; they were very thoroughly well-planned killings. This killer liquidated her victims in public, in places she was certain we would see it happen. It was her signature. This killer was making a statement. Like most serial killers, she wanted us to know. And she wanted us to know there were going to be more.

  Chapter Sixty-Five

  April 2009

  It didn’t take the doctors long to get Elizabeth diagnosed. Through genetic testing, they were able to get the proof that Elizabeth, in fact, had Prader-Willi syndrome, and that was what caused her to eat insatiably and gain weight rapidly, and it explained her behavioral issues as well. It was all very comforting for Dottie to finally be able to put words to her daughter’s illness and stop blaming herself. There was no cure for it, the doctors told her, but they did start a treatment with a prescription of daily recombinant growth hormone injections. The growth hormone would support linear growth and increase Elizabeth’s muscle mass, and hopefully lessen her food preoccupation and weight gain. At least, that was what the doctors hoped.

  And so did Dottie.

  It had been years since she felt this relieved, and soon after the treatments started, she could already see an improvement in her daughter. She would still scream for food most hours of the day, but she suddenly seemed to be interested in other things as well. She started reading books while waiting for the next meal to be served, and somehow the books took her away from the constant cravings.

  Dottie had learned to keep an eye on her constantly and was better now at limiting her food intake…now that she understood it was a disease and that she wasn’t being evil or punishing her when not giving her food whenever she craved it. Dottie started buying healthier food and was very strict with the amount of food her daughter got at each meal, no matter how much her daughter cried. The doctor had helped her find a nutritionist, who knew about the diagnosis, and knew how to handle patients with Prader-Willi Syndrome. Dottie knew if she followed her schedule, it would help her daughter, and that made it easier to be strict about it and endure the screaming fits Elizabeth threw whenever she was denied food.

  It was like she had regained some control in her life, and it felt good.

  James had moved in with his new girlfriend, and even though Dottie hated the whole situation, and especially this young girl James had chosen in exchange for Dottie, she had decided to accept that this was how things were now…this was their new reality. James had asked to get to see the girls every other weekend, and up until now, Dottie had let him have the three older ones, but kept Elizabeth with her. This weekend was the first time she had agreed to let Elizabeth spend the night at her father’s new place, and she was terrified. Dottie had never been away from Elizabeth more than the few hours she was in school every day, and certainly never at night. So, naturally, she was anxious when she packed Elizabeth’s overnight bag and made sure her medicine was in there as well.

  “Her injections are in the backpack,” she said, as she handed over all four girls. “Don’t forget to keep an eye on her at all times.”

  James rolled his eyes. “Take it easy, Dottie. She’s my daughter too, you know. I know how to take care of her.”

  Dottie wasn’t so sure he was right. He had refused to acknowledge that Elizabeth had a disease, a syndrome that made her the way she was. When Dottie had told him about the diagnosis, he had laughed out loud on the phone.

  “This is what we’ve come to now? A diagnosis for those who can’t control themselves? That is exactly what is wrong with this country. We have a diagnosis for everything. Sometimes people just eat too much, Dottie. That’s all there is to it.”

  His reaction had been part of the reason why Dottie hadn’t let Elizabeth spend the night at her father’s until now. But he had agreed to give her the injections and make sure she followed her diet. It was, after all, just for a weekend. How much could go wrong in just one weekend?

  Chapter Sixty-Six

  March 2015

  “We’re looking for a woman.”

  I threw a glare around the room. Richard and Ron both looked at me. Ann and Duncan were out.

  “Say what again?” Richard asked.

  Ron was eating a sandwich while standing by the water cooler. He stopped chewing.

  “It looks like the shooting in Miami and the shooting at the festival might have been committed by a woman,” I said.

  “A female mass shooter?” Ron said. “That’s rare.”

  “That’s the other thing,” I said. “I’m not sure I believe they were mass shootings anymore. Not the traditional kind, that is. I believe she chose her victims deliberately and killed them, then covered it up as a mass shooting…making it more spectacular.”

  “So, you’re thinking it’s a serial killer?” Ron asked. He had started chewing again and washed the bite down with his soda.

  “That’s exactly what I’m thinking.”

  “And what about the murder of the young girl this morning?” Richard asked. “I thought that was what we were working on? Am I the only one who is a little bit confused here?”

  Ron shook his head. “I was lost long ago.”

  “I think it might all be connected,” I said and sat down at my desk. “See, Britney was at the shooting in ’09. She was shot in the arm and her dad was killed. She saw the killer. Her mother told us she spotted her here in Cocoa Beach, at Publix of all places.”

  “So, you think she was killed because she could identify the shooter?” Richard asked.

  I nodded. “All this time, we’ve been looking for a man, and that made the best cover for this killer. If Britney spilled the beans, she would no longer be able to walk around in public. For six years, she has been able to hide without having to go underground while planning the next attack.”

  “So, how do we catch her now?” Richard asked.

  “I have several things we can check
up on. First of all, I want you to call all shooting ranges in the area. There was a distinct difference between the attack in ’09 and the one this month. The shooter didn’t know how to shoot back then, but she does now. It’s my theory that she never meant to hit all the other people, and especially the children present in the movie theater, but she hadn’t accounted for the fact that she didn’t know how to control a firearm like that, and she didn’t think about the fact that a bullet ricochets when it hits a wall or a ceiling. That’s why we haven’t heard from her for so long. She never meant for this many people to get hurt. She just wanted to shoot the people she had planned, and then get out. But more were hit by bullets and that wasn’t the plan. She has spent the last several years getting ready, preparing herself for the next kill by taking shooting lessons. She didn’t want anything to go wrong this time. Up until now, I had thought that Joe Harrison was just a coincidental kill, that he got in the shooter’s way somehow, but I don’t think that anymore. I think she killed him deliberately; it was planned. He was sent a ticket, so she’d be sure where to find him after shooting Phillip Hagerty in the crowd. That’s where you come in again, Richard. I need you to take a look at Joe and Phillip. What do they have in common? Can we find a link between those two, and maybe even a link between them and the four that were murdered six years ago in the movie theater, then I believe we’ll find our killer. I need background info, everything we have on all the victims.”

  I stopped to breathe, when suddenly, all the phones rang in the office at once. That was never a good sign. Something was up.

  Chapter Sixty-Seven

  March 2015

  Shannon hadn’t had a drink in several days now and she felt terrible. She had been cooped up inside of that condo for so many days it was starting to drive her nuts. Even though Jack and Kristi did come by almost every day to be with her and bring groceries and occasionally cook for her, it just wasn’t the same as feeling the fresh air on your skin or breathing in the salty sea breeze. She opened the windows now and then, but then the photographers took pictures, and she didn’t want that.

  Weren’t they getting tired of this by now? Apparently not. The story was still everywhere, and it made Shannon so angry and miserable. Angela was going back to school after spring break tomorrow and Shannon was looking forward to that. She knew her daughter would probably have to hear a lot about her mother and Shannon feared it would be rough for her. But she would have to get by. They all had to.

  “Mommy, can you help me?” she said, coming out from her bedroom with a brush stuck in her hair. She looked so adorable with her hair all tangled up, Shannon had to laugh.

  “Let me fix it,” she said and grabbed the brush.

  Angela whined. “Ouch, you’re hurting me.”

  “Sorry, baby, but this is really stuck. How on earth did you get it so stuck in your hair?”

  Angela shrugged. “I don’t know. I just tried to brush it.”

  Shannon sighed and tried to untangle the brush. She felt frustrated, and the more she pulled on it, the more Angela whined. Shannon’s hands couldn’t stop shaking and it bothered her. Why couldn’t they simply keep still? Why did she have to feel this unease inside of her constantly, this anxiety, this feeling that something was about to happen, something really bad that would once again crash her entire world? It was like she had stopped trusting the world, like she was constantly expecting terrible things to happen for her. She hated the feeling that she couldn’t do anything right in this life. She felt like a child because people had to take care of her the way they did. She hated it. She wanted to take care of herself, of her daughter…she wanted to…she wanted to get this damn brush out of her daughter’s hair!

  “Mom. You’re hurting me,” Angela screamed. “Mooom.”

  Shannon let go with a sigh. “I can’t do it,” she said. “I simply can’t do it. I can’t do anything right.”

  Angela stared at her mother. “Yes, you can. You’re the best mommy in the world.”

  Shannon shed a tear, then hugged her daughter. “Thank you, sweetie. I don’t feel like I am right now.”

  “Maybe we should just get the scissors, “Angela said, hugged her mother, and then sprang to get them from the kitchen.

  Shannon sighed with relief. Angela was right. There was always a solution to the problems. Always. It didn’t have to all be bad. So what if she lost a lock of her hair? It would grow out. So what if the media wrote all those things about her? They would stop when someone else got in trouble. They would forget about Shannon eventually. The fans would forgive her. Wouldn’t they? Of course they would. They loved her.

  Shannon stared at her computer on the dresser by the wall. She hadn’t opened it for many days. She didn’t dare to read what they wrote about her on Facebook and Twitter. People could be so mean.

  This too shall pass. Like everything else, it will pass.

  Angela returned with the scissors and Shannon cut the brush free from her hair, thinking it was all going to get better soon. It had to. She was going to be all right…they were going to be all right, when her phone rang. Shannon looked at the display. She knew the number. It was her lawyer. She let go of her daughter and grabbed it.

  “They found it, Shannon,” her lawyer said. “They found the body.”

  Shannon closed her eyes. Her heart was already pounding in her chest. “And the gun? Did they find the gun?”

  Her lawyer went quiet.

  Uh-Oh. Quiet isn’t good. It’s definitely not good.

  “I’m sorry, Shannon. They didn’t.”

  Chapter Sixty-Eight

  March 2015

  I put the siren on as we headed down A1A. Ron was driving. Cars stopped when they heard us and pulled over to let us pass. I was confused as I watched Patrick’s Air Force Base go by my window. The call we had received was from the Indian Harbor Police Department. Minutes later, we met Sergeant Bill Gray in front of the gate to Lansing Island. He came out of the small booth as we drove up to the closed boom.

  “Where is he?” I asked, as I jumped out of the car.

  “He’s in here,” Bill said and pointed inside of the booth. I looked inside and spotted a man sitting in the chair. The guard stood next to him.

  “He keeps saying the same thing over and over again,” Bill continued.

  “And you’re sure he is Stanley Bradley? The same person that was reported missing earlier this month?” Ron asked.

  “That’s what he tells us,” the guard said. “We found him lying in the street inside the community, yelling and screaming. One of the neighbors called for me. I have no idea how he even got inside. He’s not on any lists of visitors.”

  The case had been on Ron’s desk for quite some time now. A middle-aged man had gone missing on his way back from Disney World with his granddaughter. The car had been found lying in the ditch off 528 from Orlando by the ramp leading to Cape Canaveral. The two tires on the front wheels had been punctured. When the fire truck arrived, they had only found the granddaughter in the car. She had been unconscious and taken to the hospital. No one knew where the grandfather had disappeared to. Until now.

  “Stanley Bradley?” I asked and showed him my badge. “I am Detective Jack Ryder. What happened to you?”

  “You need to get my granddaughter,” he yelled. “You’ve got to save her. She’s back there.”

  “As far as I know, your granddaughter is with her mother,” Ron said. “She is safe.”

  “She was the only one they found in your car,” I said.

  Stanley Bradley looked baffled. “But…but…I thought…” Stanley paused as something settled in him. “They lied to me?”

  “Who are they?” I asked. “What happened to you?”

  Stanley looked at me. His eyes flickered in desperation. “There are more back there. Roy is there. You’ve got to help Roy. They’re going to kill him.”

  “Who is Roy?” I asked.

  “I don’t know. But I talked to him through the wall. He is in danger. Y
ou’ve got to get him out of there.”

  “Slow down a little, Stanley. Please, answer me this. What happened to you?”

  “I was taken. Kidnapped. Held prisoner by this awful woman who kept feeding me, forcing food into my mouth. She did this to me,” he said and showed me his legs. They were bleeding heavily from deep wounds and one was badly infected. “She hurt me with a fire poker. So I wouldn’t leave. She kept me there for a long time.”

  “You say she was force-feeding you?”

  “Yes.”

  “And, you say she has more kidnapped people she’s keeping there?” I said, as my hand landed on the shaft of my gun. If I was right, then we had found Daniel Millman and James West’s killer.

  “Bill, you stay here with Stanley while Jack and I check this out,” Ron said and looked at me.

  “Better call for an ambulance,” I said. “Stanley here needs medical attention. What house did she keep you in?”

  “I…I don’t know, to be honest,” Stanley said.

  “I picked him up outside number 222,” the guard said.

  “It was a gray house,” Stanley said. “That much I saw when I got out. It was big. And had big colored windows on the front.”

  I wondered if we should just take him with us, but I feared for his safety. Besides, he needed to go to the hospital with those legs as soon as possible. No, we had to find the house on our own. I had a feeling it wouldn’t be too hard. I had a very good idea who it was we were looking for. Number 219 was awfully close to 222.

  Chapter Sixty-Nine

  March 2015

  She was sitting in the bedroom when she saw him. He wasn’t alone. He was with the sheriff. They were running up the street when she found them in the gun’s sight.

  Bingo!

  This time on a Sunday, the streets were usually filled with the children of the gated community, riding their bikes, playing ball, and so it was today as well. As the two officers came running up the street, they told the kids to get inside their houses, and soon the street was cleared.