Mitch deliberately stepped forward, stamped his snow-covered boots on the packed earth.
The young man jumped up, dropped the bottle, and reached for a pitchfork in the corner of the stall. “Don’t come any closer.”
Mitch held his arms upward and stood still. “Hold on there. You’re okay. My name’s Mitch Burns. Detective Mitch Burns.”
The young man’s shoulders sagged in relief. “You scared me. Vic told me to keep my guard up in this storm. Does he know you’re here?”
Mitch shook his head slowly. “I came to ask you a few questions.”
“Me?”
“Yeah. I understand you arrived on the island Thursday night?”
“Thursday afternoon actually.”
“Then why didn’t you end up here until after ten that night? Isn’t that kinda late to be trekking around a strange island looking for a place to stay?”
The young man shrugged, his cheeks reddened. “I suppose. But I chickened out of doing what I came here to do. I tried to make myself put the letter under the door but I got scared.”
“Letter?”
The young man kicked softly at the straw in the stall. “Yeah. I’ve got a letter I need to give someone, a letter that I’m hoping will make a big difference in his life. And in mine too. But I just couldn’t make myself do it. I don’t know why. So I walked around the island, in the snow, trying to find some courage. But it didn’t work. Then I realized I better find a place to sleep, so I started checking hotels. Asking for work in exchange for a room.”
Mitch searched the kid’s face, looked for any signs of deception. But there were none.
“The girl behind the counter at the last hotel said they didn’t need any help, but was nice enough to point me in Vic’s direction. She even gave me an extra blanket to wrap up in ’cause I wasn’t real prepared for how cold it is here.”
“What’s your name?”
“R.J.” He stepped around the small horse and reached a hand in Mitch’s direction.
“You look like you know something about animals.”
R.J. nodded, looked back at the horse for a moment. “Spent the past thirteen years living on my grandparents’ farm. In fact, it’s the one good thing that came out of those years. Little Belle here lost her mamma. I guess this weather and birthing was just too much for her.”
Mitch looked at the foal for a moment, digesting everything R.J. had said. As much as he’d hoped to find some much-needed answers about the killer, it was obvious that he wouldn’t find them here at the livery.
Unless . . .
“Do you remember passing anyone when you left that last hotel?”
R.J. skewed his jaw to the side and squinted, unseeingly, at the water trough along the wall. “Well, kinda. I did pass one dude who looked really cold. He was just covered in snow. I offered him one of my blankets, but he didn’t say anything. Just kept walking.”
“What did he look like?”
“Hard to tell. His hood was real close around his face and he was looking down the whole time. There was some hair sticking out, but it was covered in snow like everything else on him.”
Mitch nodded, his mind replaying R.J.’s description. “Well, thanks for your time, R.J. I hope you get to deliver that letter soon.”
The young man’s eyes moistened and he blinked quickly. “I will. I have to. I just need to find the right time.”
3:15 p.m.
She knew the defeat in Jonathan’s eyes was a mirror of her own. A year’s worth of wire stories had yielded nothing about their serial killer.
“You would think someone like this would get national attention, but that’s not the way it works, is it, Elise? The media prefers to focus on politics, and Hollywood celebrities with their messed-up lives.”
Elise looked up, saw Merlin standing above her, his hands jammed into the front pockets of his baggy jeans.
“Oh, I don’t agree with that. I just think this guy hasn’t struck enough yet to make the wires, that’s all.”
Merlin snorted and walked to the window, his shoulders rigid with tension as he looked out at the darkening sky.
Elise grimaced at the numbness in her legs as she stood for the first time in two hours. The helplessness of their situation was getting to all of them in different ways. Merlin was growing tenser by the moment. Her energy level was rapidly decreasing, a touch of depression, no doubt.
She looked at Jonathan as he scoured each remaining piece of paper in his pile.
“I take it you’re coming up empty too?”
Jonathan looked up. “So far. But give me ten minutes, Elise, I’ve got a few more stories to get through.” Jonathan’s voice trailed off as his eyes, once again, returned to the papers in his hand.
Elise shrugged and walked around the room, grateful for the opportunity to stretch her legs. She couldn’t help but think of her coworkers back home as she passed Merlin’s sloppy desk. How the man could keep track of anything in this mess was beyond her, and she knew that Sam and Dean would agree. News reporting was a chaotic job all on its own without having to worry about where to find your notepad and pen.
She stopped in front of a shelf stuffed with journalism magazines, the same kind of magazines that her boss, Sam, read in earnest each month.
“Merlin, do you mind if I look through some of these?”
Merlin turned slowly from the window, his eyes hooded and distant.
“Nah, go right ahead.”
She pulled three of the most recent issues from the shelves and flipped the first one open, holding it up to the slowly decreasing light from the room’s lone window.
The first few articles were written by well-known journalists. Each story contained a variety of tips, from how to nail down a potential—yet elusive—source to writing an award-winning lead.
Elise turned the page, her eyes coming to rest on the bold headline:
When a Letter to the Editor Is From a Killer
By Lance Donaldson
City Editor
Sandusky News Times
Complainers, pontificators, and egomaniacs have sent their share of letters to the paper during my tenure as city editor at the Sandusky News Times. But never, in all my years, had I received a letter from a killer.
Until now.
Elise’s eyes flew through each line of the article, stopping on a copy of the letter that was the catalyst for the editor’s piece.
Dear Editor,
For years I have opened my newspaper and seen the faces of people that you, and the rest of the world, deem special. You know the type—the blue ribbon winners, the self-made millionaires, the beauty pageant contestants.
But never have I felt more compelled to say—and do—something until now.
Walter James’ article on hard working kids being the “stars” of the future was the final straw. According to Walter James, underachieving kids are the future dregs of society “just as they’ve been for each previous generation.”
But has Mr. James ever looked to the adults surrounding the underachiever for answers?
No, he hasn’t.
Because it’s easier for him—and all of society—to simply write people off if they don’t fit into the desired mold.
I was one of those so-called “underachievers,” and in my opinion, the world has more “stars” than it needs. Especially in light of the star-making qualifications dreamed up by the press and accepted as gospel by the rest of the world.
Just because I wasn’t a straight A student or a member of some academic honor society doesn’t mean I was an underachiever. Just because I didn’t slap a helmet on my head and plow into other kids doesn’t mean I was an underachiever. Just because I didn’t win a spelling bee or paint my pictures with “happy colors” doesn’t mean I was an underachiever. Just because I questioned senseless laws and didn’t accept everything thrown at me doesn’t mean I was an underachiever.
But to you it did. To my teachers it did. To the coaches in my school it did
. To the police officers on the street it did. To my father, who wrote about my wonderful overachieving counterparts, it did.
Your so-called “pillars of society” are where they are because they stepped on people like me, never looking back to see the face under their foot. Those “hard working kids” you allude to have gone on to be the teachers and cops and parents who will perpetuate your idea of what a “good kid” is.
Unless I do something to stop it. And you can count on that. I will stop it one “pillar of society” at a time. Starting with those who represent the people who wrote me off.
The first on my list?
A teacher.
Why? Because when I was a kid, I tried to show them who I was inside, and they simply refused to notice me unless I held myself to the measuring stick of their choosing.
And my next victim?
A school counselor.
Why?
For labeling me as a “troubled kid” because it was easy.
And then?
Another pillar.
And another.
One pillar at a time . . .
“Frank”
“Oh, my God, Jonathan, this is it!” The article shook with her hand as she looked up from the magazine, her heart thumping in her chest. It was what she’d been hoping for, yet afraid she’d never find.
Within seconds, Jonathan was at her side, grabbing the magazine from her still-trembling hand. His eyes scanned the page, widened as they worked their way down—the intense expression on his face proof that she wasn’t dreaming.
“Hey, let me see that too.”
Merlin pushed his way between the shelf and newsroom wall to peer around Jonathan’s shoulder, his narrow mouth tightening as his eyes moved rapidly back and forth across the article.
“He’s gotta be the guy, don’t you think?” She could hear the excitement in her voice, feel the relief in her body as she waited for the men to confirm what she already knew in her heart.
“I’d say so. Nice work, Elise.” Jonathan rubbed his right hand across his chin, held the magazine in his left while he waited for Merlin to finish reading. “The fact that a teacher was murdered shortly after this article was received is indication this Frank guy was serious. Toss in the fact that a school counselor died shortly after by someone masquerading as a teacher, and we’ve got a direct tie-in to the call Mitch and Brad got from Agent Walker.”
“Do you think the school counselor was the last victim?”
Jonathan considered her question for a few minutes. “I doubt it. My guess is he’s further down the list by now.”
“But he doesn’t say who the next target is,” Elise said, the exasperation in her voice evident to her own ears.
“Not in an obvious way he doesn’t. But he definitely left some clues.”
Elise scanned the letter again, stopped halfway down the page. “Oh, my gosh, you’re right. He specifically singled out coaches, police officers—”
“And his dad.” Merlin handed the article to Elise, his eyes hooded.
“If only we knew who the last victim was.” Elise watched as Merlin jammed his hands into his pockets and headed toward the window once again. Her eyes traveled past the newsman to the darkening skies outside. “If we did, then we’d know who we were looking for now.”
“That’d be nice. But at least we have more than we had this morning.” Jonathan walked over to the basket where they’d been working for hours. “What I don’t get is why there wasn’t anything in the wires about this guy.”
“I don’t get it either.” Elise looked around the newsroom, her gaze stopping on Merlin’s paper-strewn desk. “Merlin, do you always put the wire stories into that basket?”
“Yup.”
She looked at the desk once again, at the heaps and heaps of paper haphazardly piled across every square inch of surface space. What was it that was bugging her about that desk?
“Elise, I think we should take what we’ve got and head back to the station now.” Jonathan turned toward the window as he pulled his coat on, zipped it to the top. “Thanks for everything, Merlin. We’ve gotten a lot closer to the killer today.”
“That you have. That you have.” The newsman turned from the window, the corners of his mouth inched upward as he looked at both of them. “The printed word is powerful. Unfortunately, it’s often used in misguided ways.”
Elise slipped her arms into her parka and gestured toward the magazine in her left hand. “We’re gonna need to take this back to Mitch and Brad so they can see it.”
“It’s all yours.” Merlin crossed the newsroom and walked beside them to the front door. “Let me know if I can be of any further help. And Elise, keep those eyes and ears open for me, will you?”
She smiled and squeezed his dry, cracked hand.
“Absolutely. And you get some rest. You don’t need that flu resurfacing.”
Merlin waved his hand in the air. “I think that part’s over.”
Chapter Twenty-one
7:25 p.m.
He’d loved the smell of gasoline since he was a kid. In fact, he’d rank it right up there as one of the best smells of all time, second only to a high school lab room on dissection day.
Though, after tonight, he might have to consider swapping their order. After all, gas offered a two-part olfactory experience—its initial form and the resulting odor once ignited.
He set the can down in the snow and reached into his pocket. His fingers closed around the small cardboard sleeve that bore the name Sophie’s Place. He would have preferred the longer matches, but it really didn’t matter. A flame was a flame.
He bent down, twisted the cap to the left, his smile widening as he worked.
Chapter Twenty-two
7:30 p.m.
Now that she’d finally made up her mind to tell him, Elise wasn’t so nervous anymore. Maybe it was because it was necessary—to ensure Uncle Ken’s safety. Maybe it was because she wanted to believe their relationship was strong enough to withstand a difference of opinion.
Or was it?
She pulled the eyelet quilt around her shoulders and sunk into the floral love seat, pulling her legs underneath her body. Mitch looked so pensive as he poked at the crackling fire, his face illuminated by the ensuing sparks. He was so strong, so smart, so good-looking. But he’d had a tough life because of his dad’s murder. And the fact that the criminal escaped hard time with an insanity plea had made Mitch ultrasensitive to what he saw as cracks in the justice system.
She’d just have to hope he’d be open to the possibility that some deaths could truly be an accident. Like Aunt Faye’s.
“Come sit with me, Mitch.”
She met his soft brown eyes with a smile, patted the vacant spot on the love seat.
He placed the poker in the rack with the other fireplace tools and sat down beside her.
“You did really good today, Elise.” Mitch pushed a renegade curl from her face and kissed her firmly on the mouth. “That article really helps us get in this guy’s mind-set.”
Elise burrowed into his chest as his arm draped across her shoulder, pulling her close.
“I’m glad it helped. I just wish we could’ve found something in the wire stories that might help us follow his trail a little better.”
She stared at the flames as they leapt from the logs, noticed the way their teardrop shape seemed etched in blue.
This was what Elise had envisioned for their trip. Quiet nights curled up in front of the fire, nestling.
“What you did find is better than what we had.”
She tilted her head upward, kissed the bottom of his stubbly chin. “I know. But I want to find more.” She grimaced at the rough feel of his unshaven face as she kissed his chin once again. “But I think there’s still a chance I will.”
“How’s that?” Mitch linked his arms around her back and brushed her forehead with his lips.
“Let’s just say that Merlin isn’t what you’d call tidy. I’m kinda hoping he’
ll let me organize his desk after being down with the flu for so long.”
“That’s good. Maybe he left a few of those wire stories on his desk and he just missed it.”
She looked at the golden flecks in Mitch’s eyes, studied the way they sparkled in the firelight. “That’s what I’m hoping for.”
Mitch cleared his throat, kissed her forehead, her eyes. “I’m sorry our trip turned out like this. It’s not the way I wanted to spend our time alone.”
“It’s okay. It can’t be helped.”
She nestled against his chest once again, stared at the crackling fire in the grate. If she could just get started, the words would come. But it was the getting started part that was the hardest.
“Mitch?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Um, I uh—” Elise squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, listened to his heart beating against her ear. “So you really feel good about the kid at the livery?”
She was such a coward.
“Yeah, I do. Seemed to be a real honest, gentle kid who just wants to reconnect with someone but lost the nerve once he got here.”
Elise considered Mitch’s words. She knew about wanting to reconnect with someone. And in a way she had. The only problem now was telling Mitch about it.
She startled as a log suddenly split in two, sending sparks flying.
“Hey. You’re okay.” Mitch tightened his arms around her. “I know things aren’t normal right now, but you’ve got to trust that I’m gonna do everything in my power to keep you safe.”
She swallowed over the sudden lump in her throat, caused by guilt, no doubt. Guilt that she could keep a secret from a man who put her first. Always.
She reached for the heart-shaped locket around her neck, moved it back and forth along the delicate gold chain. It was now or never.
“Mitch, I’ve got to tell you someth—”
Muffled shouts from the hallway cut her sentence short. She jumped to her feet.
Deadly Getaway Page 13
