It had been wishful thinking that it had been Meghan. Karl had said he had talked with her at length while she basked in the warmth. She had thought maybe for once Meghan would think about someone other than herself. Cameron was certain Karl would have told her about Zach.
Disappointed, she picked the bag back up from the recliner. She had spent her day at her dad’s. Zach was having a hard time of it.
Zach had played Xbox 360 the entire time she was there. He looked like he hadn’t showered in days. His room was littered with fast-food bags, water bottles, and dirty clothes to the point she couldn’t see the floor. She used her time to pick up the mess and refill their fridge.
“You think it’s going to work out, Cam?” her father asked her while she cleaned the kitchen. He looked worn, older than his years. A shadow of the man he once had been. Even vindicated of blame from the car crash that had so brutally snatched the life of her mother, he had never come to terms with her death, nor the death of the teenage driver. At the moment, though, he made a valiant effort to be the father Zach so desperately needed.
She smiled at her father. “Yeah, Dad. It’s going to be all right. I believe the police are on the right track now, but it’s still important not to reveal exactly what we did. Whoever did this planted the evidence against Zach. We can’t prove they did. I’m worried if they find it now, they won’t continue looking for the real guy.”
He reached over to her and gripped her hand. “What about the car, Cam? They are bound to find the car. I don’t want you in trouble, too.”
She gently patted his hand. “You take care of Zach. I’ll worry about the car.”
The answer seemed to appease him. She wished she was as confident as she sounded. The last few days had allowed her to catch up on her sleep. Not as tired now, she had had time to think. Karl was right. She couldn’t afford to trust Darren. If he had told the truth, they didn’t have enough to arrest Zach. But, if she gave them the car and computer, they could use the evidence to arrest Zach and her. No, she couldn’t take the chance.
* * * *
It was late. Cameron had taken advantage of being home alone. She enjoyed a long, leisurely, hot soak in the tub. It had been quite a long time since she had taken one. The truth…she searched for anything to help her sleep. She wanted to feel drained so she wouldn’t think…reflect.
She readied for bed and eased back into her bedroom. She had to go back to work the next afternoon. She needed to be busy and concentrate on her patients.
Lit only by a single lamp on her nightstand, she edged under her down comforter, which seem to lure her. She needed to dream of a better time, a time before her mother was so brutally taken from them.
Cameron’s world had been a struggle to hold together since her mother’s death. She had tried desperately to make sense of her life…to be a good daughter…sister. Her personal life lay in shambles. Nothing seemed to fall into place. To a great extent, she had strived to make her mother proud. She had failed miserably.
Her father drowned his sorrows. Zach, as much as she hated to admit it, needed to grow up, but not this way. Oh, he didn’t deserve this. He leaned on her. She had to be strong for him. She couldn’t let him down, not now.
Her head pounded. Her phone buzzed. Matthew again. He kept texting, calling, even with Zach’s name plastered over the papers. The fact hadn’t changed how she felt about him. She couldn’t let it. He wanted to meet her for lunch before she started work tomorrow. She shot it down. He had responded he would see her tomorrow at some point. She wished he would leave her alone.
The truth stared back at her when she looked in the mirror. It was Darren she would see. His eyes haunted her, staring into hers as if he could see into her soul. Why did he bother her so…
She turned over on her side. A peculiar light caught her attention on her desk…her new laptop. Pictures flicked one to another: pictures of her mother, her father, Zach, their dog Max. Her screen saver was on.
Funny, she hadn’t remembered leaving it on. Sitting upright, she slowly placed her bare feet on the floor. Her hand clicked on her mouse. She froze as her screen came into focus on Facebook.
: Cameron, u home?
: i no what u re hiding
: i no where
: i no u re back
: talk t me
: u don’t want t b responsible
She couldn’t breathe. Thoughts raced through her head. Trapped, she had no choice. She sat down and responded. : responsible for what?
: u no
Cameron finally answered: what?
: do u want to find out?
* * * *
Pulling back her curtains, Cameron stared blankly out the window. Darkness blanketed the city. She wondered what waited for her there. She didn’t want to go out, but she hadn’t a choice.
She changed quickly into a pair of sweats. She didn’t have time for anything else. She grabbed her coat and keys. Walking into the cold night, a sharp blast of air slapped her cheeks. She ignored it and hunched her shoulders beneath her coat.
She unlocked her tan Camry she had gotten back from her brother. She peered through the windows at the backseat and glanced at neighboring cars. She didn’t notice any police presence. Of all nights to have pulled her surveillance!
She breathed in deeply to calm her racing heart. She slid behind the steering wheel and ignited the engine. She shivered—from the cold or from fear, she didn’t know which. She glanced around again. She put her car in gear and turned onto the street. Not more than ten minutes later, she pulled into a parking space outside Meghan’s Back Bay address.
Suddenly she had a bad feeling. She couldn’t go in alone…but the message said they would die if she didn’t. Her heart pounded to the point she couldn’t breathe, on the verge of a panic attack. She took in a deep breath, trying to regain control of her emotions…her fear. Oh, God, what am I doing?
She rested her head against the steering wheel. She wanted nothing more than to succumb to the urge to cry. She didn’t know what else to do. Then a thought flashed through her mind.
She reached into her coat pocket and pulled out his card. ADA Darren Kennedy. Would he take her call? It was well after midnight. She took her cell phone out and dialed. With each ring, her heart fluttered. Then disappointment—no answer. It went straight into his answering machine.
Hesitating a moment, she rambled, “Darren, I know it’s late. It’s just…it’s just something strange happened. It’s probably nothing. I’m at Meghan’s, but she’s not home, but…” She hesitated. She wasn’t making any sense. She finished, simply stating, “She lives off Commonwealth Avenue, 232 Hereford Street.”
Pushing her phone deep into her coat pocket, she gazed out the rearview mirror. No shadowy figures. Her fingers fumbled through her keys. Her call to Meghan’s number before leaving had been unanswered. Mila, her housekeeper, should have been home, but Cameron wasn’t certain.
She exited the car. In the still of the winter night, she walked up the walkway. Chills ran up and down her spine with each step. Extending her hand to knock on the door, it gave way and eased open.
The house lay in pitch darkness. An overwhelming urge to run overcame her…only the memory of the threat— the threat of harm to another if she didn’t follow the instructions—made her continue. She fought back the urge to run. With her trembling legs, she inched into the darkness.
The street lights were the only illumination in the rooms. It took only a moment for her eyes to adjust to the dark, giving way to forms occupying the house.
She didn’t bother closing the front door. She called out. “Mila! Ian!”
Answered only with silence, she slowly moved through the foyer. All the doors to the surrounding rooms were shut. Her heart felt as if it would beat out of her chest. Her mind raced, trying to remember where their bedroom was situated. Off the kitchen?
She heard footsteps. Turning abruptly around, her eyes searched the area. Who else would be here? “Hello?”
A hard slam of a door echoed within the empty house. A laugh—a sinister, harrowing laugh—followed. She screamed, a long, uncontrollable scream. She had made a horrible mistake. Instincts kicked in. She had to get out of there.
Terror seized her. She ran. She ran blindly, swiftly through the kitchen, banging into the island in the darkness. Falling, she scrambled frantically back up to her feet.
Some primeval sense of impending doom seized her. She looked around the island block. A sliver of light from the street light outside flickered briefly, creating a shadow in its midst, a shadow of a man walking slowly…calmly into the dark kitchen. She wasn’t alone. He was here inside and he knew where she was.
Pushing off her knees, she raced for the door leading to the garage. The door handle rattled…locked. Another laugh emerged in the darkness. She could feel his breath as he closed in on his objective.
She ducked. He grabbed at her. Holding tightly to her coat, she squirmed out, hitting back. Momentarily free, she raced out of the kitchen. Her assailant didn’t hurry. He laughed again. Frantically, she bolted toward the sunroom, barreling over the counter and landing feet first on the other side, knocking all the contents off the counter.
A vase crashed to the floor as she ran by the table. She reacted quickly as she stared at the windows. From behind, she could hear steady footsteps. She picked up the foot stool, intent upon crashing it through the window, with her following behind it.
Before she could swing it back for force, rough hands had hold of her. She tried to scream, but a hand covered her mouth with a cloth. She could feel her legs weaken. Then everything went black.
Chapter Ten
Lights flashed. Yellow tape ran along the front of the mansion, around the entrance. Brophy drove up just as an ambulance drove off. He parked his Crown Victoria by Kennedy’s Lexus, although he chose to stay on the street. Kennedy’s car had jumped the curb. It looked as though half the police force had responded. Uniforms swarmed the front yard. Neighbors, curious, looked out their windows. The whole of the street seemed to be awake. He walked up slowly into the mansion. Who in the hell’s house was this?
He walked through the entrance door as he put on his gloves. Far as he could tell, Waters wasn’t here yet. He sighed heavily. He yelled at the closest uniform. “Hey, Marciano, status?”
Marciano walked over and pointed to the French doors in the foyer. “Kennedy’s in the study with the girl. The guy almost had her. We found her unconscious in the sunroom or whatever the hell they call it. We found two live-ins unconscious in their bedroom. The EMTs thought they looked drugged. He must have just made his escape as we drove up.”
“Forced entry?” Brophy asked. He stepped around the corner, glancing into the kitchen and adjoining room. Obviously a struggle had ensued.
Marciano followed him. “He didn’t jam the door. No alarms were set off; they look as though they were disabled. The electricity’s been cut. We’re bringing in lights. Crime scene techs should be here momentarily and from what I understand, we should expect the FBI on the scene,” Marciano said. He stood with his feet wide apart, hands on his hips.
“Who in the hell’s house is this?” Brophy asked. He walked back to the foyer toward the French doors.
“Think the address is some Joel Warren, an investment banker, but I’m not the detective here, am I?” Marciano shrugged with a grin.
“Nope, you’re not,” Brophy answered. He opened the far door and entered into a huge open room. Cameron lay on the leather couch, her long hair loose around her shoulders. Her face whitened. Kennedy sat next to her, holding an ammonia cap under her nose. She coughed and scooted up to an upright position.
“What the hell happened here, Darren?”
Darren didn’t look back at Brophy. His attention stayed focused clearly on Cameron.
“She called me a little after midnight. Said she was here. Only thing I could figure was she was walking into some kind of trap,” Darren responded. “Am I right, Cameron?”
Brophy stood taken back for a moment with Darren’s tone. Darren was mad—no, angry with the girl.
She nodded. Tears began to fall. She rubbed her forehead as if it were pounding. Brophy wondered for a moment if she shouldn’t have gone to the hospital. Darren pulled her into his shoulder.
The next moment, he spoke in a softer tone. “It’s okay, Cameron. You’re safe for now. We just need to know what happened.”
He looked back at Brophy. “We found her unconscious on the floor. A rag, probably chloroform, knocked her out. He probably had to drop her when he heard the sirens. He didn’t have time to…”
Darren abruptly stopped. Brophy realized he didn’t want to say what he thought—the pervert wanted to abduct her. Darren drew her back to see her face, pushing her hair out of her eyes.
“Cameron, why did you come here?”
She swallowed hard. Her eyes broke from his.
“Don’t do this now, Cameron. Stop this ridiculous game you’re playing. Can you not understand what almost happened…could have happened? For God’s sake, help us.”
He spoke sharply. His words demanded an answer. She jerked back. She cowered in the corner of the couch, silent for a moment. Her eyes lowered, refusing to look at Darren.
“This is Meghan’s house. She’s Joel’s wife, the one at the game. She’s a friend of mine. I had her garage keys while she’s on vacation. The car’s here, Zach’s car. He said he knew. I had to come immediately. He threatened to kill them if I didn’t. He said I knew what he was capable of,” she whispered.
“On the phone? He called you?” Darren pressed.
“No.” She shook her head. “The computer.” Wincing, she continued, “I bought a new laptop. You already have my other one. It was on when I was going to bed.”
Immediately, Darren released her and stood, motioning to Brophy. He inched over to the door. “Go check the garage. Then get over to the apartment and get the goddamn computer before it disappears. Tell her lawyer…roommate…whoever the hell he is…you have her permission. Don’t care what you tell him, just get it.”
“Not a problem. Be back in a minute,” Brophy answered. “But, Darren, go easy on her. She’s not on trial here.”
“Not yet,” Darren said bluntly.
Brophy stared at him. Kennedy certainly wasn’t happy. Five minutes later, Brophy knocked quickly on the door. He stuck his head in the room.
“Kennedy—no car. An empty space. The other car’s registered to a Joel Warren. A couple outside in Warren’s parking spaces. All registered to Warren.”
Brophy watched Cameron stare at Darren in disbelief and bit her lip nervously.
“He said he knew I had brought it here,” she said in a voice barely louder than a whisper.
“Cameron,” Darren said, gently this time, glancing back at Brophy. “It’s not here. Your brother’s car isn’t here.”
Cameron withdrew back from him. “Then where is it?”
* * * *
Darren opened up his office. He had no desire to have Karl Neslund show up and attempt to rescue his roommate. They needed Cameron where she was. He had her lie down on his couch. It took awhile, but she fell asleep.
He sat and watched her from his desk. She looked so innocent, so vulnerable asleep. He didn’t know what to do with her, but he knew they needed time to decipher the details of what happened. He shook his head. None of this case made sense to him.
Brophy knocked on his door. Darren stepped around his desk and met him in the outer office with a clear view of Cameron sleeping on the couch. He closed the door slowly until he heard it click. He didn’t want to wake her.
Dr. Levy walked along side of Brophy with a tall, light-skinned African-American—FBI by the look of the shield on his belt. Darren eyed him. Something about the agent looked familiar. He recognized him from somewhere…the news.
Darren extended his hand. “ADA Darren Kennedy. I believe I know you. You were in charge of the Beach Front Killer. Quit
e a lot of media attention.”
“Special Agent Jackson Dunn,” the man responded with a brilliant smile. “Comes with the territory. Serial killers capture the fancy of a viewing audience.”
“Agent Dunn specializes in serial killers.” Dr. Levy offered the obvious. “He’s been brought in for this case. As you deduced, he closed the Beach Front Killer last year and is now heading up the FBI’s investigation on this case.”
“A task force.” Darren’s words hung in the air. He had expected it. He glanced over at Brophy, who wasn’t happy from the look of things. Darren could understand his reaction, especially with Agent Dunn in charge. Darren detected a certain arrogance with the man. Stepped on Brophy’s toes, Darren assessed quickly. Darren nodded toward Cameron, still sleeping in his office. “I’m assuming you’re up to date on all the developments and have news. Or else you wouldn’t be here at this time of night.”
Agent Dunn’s smile broadened. “Let’s just say that we may have a connection to this case and one in another state. There are disturbing similarities…ones that seemed to have been confirmed with tonight’s attempted abduction.”
The agent’s words sent warning bells off in his head. This wasn’t good. “Meaning?”
“Meaning that we need to work together,” Agent Dunn said. “A few years ago, there was a string of unsolved killings in Virginia similar to the ones that have occurred here in Boston.”
“I’ve seen the file,” Brophy said. His irritation echoed in his tone. “Two young men died outside of Norfolk with a single knife wound to the heart. The murder weapon was similar. A black stiletto. Vintage baseball card from 1969. But the file I read said the suspect died in a fire along with a young mother and child.”
Dunn nodded. “It was never confirmed that the man who died in the fire was the killer. The local police received information that suggested Lloyd Bingham was the killer from an anonymous source. It was his sister-in-law and nephew who also died in the blaze.
Fragmented Page 11
