Journey to Murder (An Alex Warren Novel)

by DJ Owen

  They both turned to look toward the door to the garage as Monica came in, flushed and excited. “He asked me out! Oh, Alex! He asked me out and I said YES!” She giddily twirled in the kitchen.

  Alex and Amy both congratulated her, clamoring for more details.

  “There’s nothing to tell yet. We bumped into each other in the break room and I could tell he liked the view. He said he had been wanting to ask me something. The next thing I know, he asked if I would be interested in showing him some of the restaurants in town. His treat. That sounds like a date to me!”

  Alex chuckled at her sister’s delight. “It sounds to me like he’s planning on more than just one date. By the way, does this guy have a name?

  Amy laughed and said, “Yeah! We don’t even know his name. And Mom’s right. You’re going out a lot unless you two plan to visit a bunch of restaurants all in one night. Way to go, Aunt Monica!”

  It had been a very long time since Alex had seen her sister so happy. Her eyes absolutely sparkled as she said with a sigh, “His name is Mark Bauer, and I really, really like him!”

  CHAPTER SIX

  Saturday was filled with shopping for Monica’s new date outfit. Alex and Amy also helped Monica put together a list of local restaurants Mark might enjoy, choosing different cuisines and price ranges. Mark picked her up at 7:00, and had her home by 11:30. By all accounts, the date was a success. He asked her out for the following Friday night. Monica enthusiastically agreed.

  Mark had seemed pleasant when he was introduced to Alex and Amy, and had seemed to respect Monica. He opened her car door and waited while she settled in so that he could also close it for her. Still, Alex spent the next couple of days researching Monica’s new love interest. He had looked vaguely familiar when they met. She found no red flags, only information backing up what Monica had said. Considering Monica hadn’t had the best luck with men, Alex was pleased nothing stood out needing further investigation. She could never tell Monica she had pried into Mark’s background; however, she would never forgive herself if anything happened to her sister.

  Satisfied she had nothing to worry about on the home front, Alex made a series of phone calls to Rhode Island from a cheap no-contract phone. She always used a burner phone when she investigated a possible attack. You never knew who might keep a number, and she didn’t want anything to tie her to the area.

  Alex first tried calling Margaret Meadows, who was evidently screening her calls or staying with friends or family. Alex could only get the answering machine. She left a message, though, giving the burner phone number and her name as Phyllis Carroll, a writer from Chicago working on a story about date rape.

  Alex then called the local police, who provided “Phyllis” the name of the bar Ms. Meadows had visited. They wouldn’t provide any additional information on the attacker. They did, however, agree to give her name and phone number to the two teenagers who rescued Ms. Meadows, stating they would not be held responsible if the teens agreed for their names to be used in the article.

  She called the local hospital, but true to past experience, they would “neither confirm nor deny” any information about Meadows, her condition, nor the attack. Alex even tried to coax one of the nurses by explaining she just wanted to enlighten the public so no one else would fall victim, but the nurse refused to cave in and give her any other details. Thanks a lot, HIPAA, Alex thought as she hung up.

  Her last call was to Robin Leahy, the reporter whose byline appeared on the article in The Narragansett Times. Robin didn’t give her anything more, either. She wouldn’t give Alex the names of the teenagers, but said the police were good about passing along requests from the press to victims and minors. As Alex expected, Robin started to pump her for the angle of the story Phyllis was writing, hinting that she would like a mention or maybe a byline. Alex told her there wouldn’t be a story unless someone came forward with more information. She told Robin she would be in touch if the teens or Meadows contacted her, but otherwise the story was dead. Alex hoped that would be the last she heard of Leahy. The last thing she needed was a nosy reporter looking into Phyllis Carroll’s background.

  ----------

  Later that week, Amy told Monica and Alex about her role as Bianca in The Taming of the Shrew, and asked them to attend the Saturday night performance. Afterwards, they teased Amy about how convincing the boy who played Lucentio had been.

  “I think Lucentio was truly smitten with Amy,” Monica teased.

  Alex joined in the fun. “Our little girl is all grown up. She’s being chased by all the boys!”

  “You’re one to talk, Aunt Monica! You never told us how your date went last night. And Mom! He’s just playing a role; he's supposed to be convincing! I am NOT being chased. We’re just friends.”

  Before they went to bed, Alex again brought up the subject of dating with Amy. “You will tell me when you start to date, right? Fourteen is a bit young to worry about settling down for a lifetime, but I know kids your age are a lot more pressured than we were.”

  “You’re not going to write a story about my dating life, are you?”

  “Don’t be silly. I just don’t want to turn around and find you walking down the aisle without me.” Alex kissed her daughter’s forehead and Amy gave her mother a hug in return.

  “You’ll know, Mom. And thanks for coming to the play tonight. I know you don’t normally hang around this long but it was nice to see you in the audience.”

  “I wouldn’t miss it for anything, Amy. You are far too important to me.” Alex hesitated, then added, “But you do know I need to head out again for work, right? I thought I might leave Monday while you’re at school.” Alex usually tried to time her departures for when everyone else was gone. It seemed to reduce the tears and farewells when her sister and daughter were involved in their own lives.

  “Yeah, I knew this was coming, I just didn’t know when. How long will you be gone this time?”

  “It depends on my sources, just like every other time. I could be back in a few days or two weeks. I wish I could be more specific, but I simply don’t know.”

  Amy gave her mother a nod and said, “Well, you’ll be missed. You always are. It’s fun having you around.”

  ----------

  Alex got dressed as soon as the house was empty Monday morning. She slid behind the wheel of her Mustang and heard it purr as the engine idled. A few miles later, Alex heard the familiar low growl of the engine as she accelerated from the entrance ramp to the freeway. She would often shop for groceries near Monica’s house, but today's errands meant a drive at least an hour away.

  She stopped at a mall in Columbus. She found some jeans in one store that fit like tights, showing off her long legs and narrow waist. Another store provided a nice selection of sweaters and tops that showed more décolletage than she felt comfortable showing. She chose a black top and a red sweater that gave her just a bit more curve than God intended.

  She purchased a pair of black knee-high boots at a shoe store. Her next stop was a wig shop. She told the owner that she was looking for a wig for her mother, who had gone through chemo and lost most of her hair. Alex selected a short, curly not-quite-black wig and thanked the woman for her help.

  On her way back to Monica’s, Alex stopped at a discount store. She found a steak knife that didn’t look like it would fall apart right away. To make it look innocent, she also bought a cutting board and a few mixing spoons.

  Alex always paid for her supplies with cash. She discarded all the receipts and tags in different trash cans along the drive back, and took time at Monica’s to wash the clothes. She also washed the knife, making sure she eliminated her fingerprints. While she waited for the clothes to dry, she cut a piece of cardboard long enough to hold the blade of the knife and hot-glued it low enough inside her right boot so that the knife handle wouldn’t be visible.

  She loaded her purchases in the Winnebago and returned to the house. Alex wrote a quick note each for Monica and Amy. She told Moni
ca to email or call her with updates on the romance with Mark, and wrapped the note around $500 for Amy’s expenses.

  The note to Amy included another apology for having to leave yet again, and promised to give some thought to bringing her along on a trip over the summer. Guilt about leaving almost made her change her mind, but Alex was convinced her mission was necessary. She just hoped her daughter would never need to understand.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  The miles passed quickly as Alex headed toward Rhode Island. It was so much faster to travel these days than when she and Monica were kids. She remembered their dad driving along the highways and their mom struggling to read the map as they bounced along. Now she could simply type in an address on a GPS (or talk to a cell phone) and turn-by-turn directions were provided every time she needed them.

  The sun was setting in the Winnebago’s side mirrors when Alex found the RV campground near Narragansett. Eulate was another 25 miles or more away, but Alex specifically chose this campground because of its proximity to a storage facility. She was in luck, eyeing a camper and a motorcycle as she drove past.

  Anyone who really knew Alex would describe her as upbeat. She was always up for fun, and she chose ringtones that would always bring a smile to those who heard them. When Monica called, Sister Sledge belted out “We are Family”. Amy’s calls were announced with “Your Song” by Elton John. Any unrecognized number prompted “Don’t Bother Me” by The Beatles.

  That’s why Alex was stumped when she heard a basic office phone ringing after she had parked her motorhome. She then thought of her burner phone and quickly answered it just before the call went to voicemail.

  “Phyllis speaking,” Alex stated, trying not to sound out of breath from rummaging for the phone.

  “Ms. Carroll? My name is Justin Lieberman. I’m the one who helped that lady that was attacked. The police told me you called.”

  “Yes, Justin! Thank you for calling me back. Did your parents tell you it was okay to call me?” Alex wanted to treat the call as if it were a legitimate request for a story. Since Justin was a minor, she felt she should at least ask if his parents were on board with her speaking to him, or whether he was just a teen looking for notoriety.

  “Yes, Ma’am. They told me to tell you not to use my name, but that I should help you any way I can. I don’t want anybody else to end up like that woman. She looked awful!” Alex was pleased at Justin’s response.

  “Don’t worry, Justin. I’m just looking for any information that wasn’t already reported. I’m doing a major piece about how women can protect themselves, and I want to use examples from real-life showing what can happen if women aren't prepared. I won’t use your name, or Ms. Meadows’ for that matter.”

  “What do you want to know? I’ll help if I can.” Justin sounded like a really decent kid. She hoped he wouldn’t grow up to be another Brad. Somehow, Alex didn’t think he would.

  “Well, Justin, can you describe the man you saw, his SUV, or anything else from that night?” Alex pushed for any information to help her identify the attacker when she saw him. She also asked Justin about the location where they found Ms. Meadows, the time of night, and Ms. Meadows’ condition when they took her to the hospital.

  Alex was happy to hear that the attacker had not pulled a gun on the teens. He simply gave up the fight and scurried away like the rat she knew he had to be. After she pulled as much information from Justin as she could, she ended the call by telling him how encouraging it was to know there were good guys like him in the world.

  “I have a daughter who isn’t old enough to date yet, but when she is, I hope she finds someone like you.”

  Alex could almost hear the boy blush.

  “Thank you, Ma’am. I just couldn’t drive off and leave that woman. She could have been someone’s mom!”

  “Thank you, Justin. I think I have all I need, but if you remember anything else, please don’t hesitate to call me again.” Alex hung up the phone and then immediately set up the voicemail greeting to indicate the caller had reached Phyllis Carroll and to please leave a message. She also changed the ring tone to Shawn Colvin’s “Sunny Came Home”.

  She thought she had inadvertently played the ringtone by accident when she heard “Sunny Came Home” as she set the phone down. The display showed a number she vaguely recognized, and she answered as Phyllis once again.

  “Ms. Carroll? This is Margaret Meadows. How can I help you?”

  “Ms. Meadows! Thank you for returning my call! First of all, I would like to tell you how sorry I am about your recent experience. No one should have to go through anything like that.”

  “Thank you, Ms. Carroll. I must say, I’m really not happy that my name was in the newspaper. I just want to forget that it ever happened, but I don’t think I ever will.” Ms. Meadows’ voice broke as she spoke, and Alex was afraid Meadows would start to cry. Interviews were always so much more difficult when the victims cried.

  “Let me assure you, Ms. Meadows. I have no intention of making matters worse for you. My goal is to help other women avoid the same situation. Your story is important. Don’t worry, though, I’ll change your name so no one will know it’s you.”

  “I want to meet you, Ms. Carroll. I hope you understand I can’t trust anyone right now. I don’t mean to insult you, but I have no reason to trust you, either. If I get any notion that you’re not on the up-and-up, the interview will be over. Do you understand?” Ms. Meadows was stronger than Alex first thought. This was definitely a good thing.

  “Yes, I understand. I’ve met several women who have had similar experiences, and they feel just like you do. I understand completely.”

  They elected to meet at 2:00 the next day at The Towers of Narragansett. Ms. Meadows agreed to wear a bright green scarf so that Alex would be able to spot her as she sat near the fountain. Now all Alex had to do was figure out how to get there.

  ----------

  It was dark when Alex headed to the storage yard. It was about a quarter of a mile from the campground, and Alex was able to get there by walking in the dry drainage ditch that ran behind the properties. She passed the storage area in case anyone saw her when she climbed back up. She certainly didn't want anyone associating the "storage yard thief" with the campground.

  She pulled bolt cutters out of her backpack and began to cut the fence behind the stored camper. Quietly she worked, listening for any movement within the storage yard. She was prepared if the yard used dogs, but she didn’t want to have to leave any evidence that someone had broken in.

  Once she had cut a hole in the fence, she slipped through and took the license plate from the camper. She then examined the motorcycle and found nothing to prevent her from taking it. She steered it through the fence and put the fence back in place, using wire to fasten it so that no one would notice the fence had been cut. She walked the motorcycle along the edge of the drainage ditch farther away from the campground until she found some trees with quite a bit of undergrowth. The trees were about a half mile from the campground, and would hide the motorcycle until she needed it.

  She headed back to the drainage ditch and moved quickly to the campground, making her way to her Winnebago. She quickly traded out the Winnebago's legal license tag for the stolen one before she went inside. She turned in early, expecting a full night’s sleep.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  The clouds looked like dirty quilt batting hanging low in the sky when Alex awoke Wednesday morning. She pulled out her laptop and checked the local weather. It wasn’t supposed to rain, but it didn’t look like the sun would come out either. While she was already on her laptop, she checked the local papers for any new reports of attacks and found none. She was just getting ready to take her shower when she heard the familiar chords of “Sunny Came Home”.

  “Phyllis Carroll here,” she answered, expecting Margaret Meadows to respond, possibly to cancel the day’s meeting. It wasn’t unusual for a victim or source to reconsider overnight.

  “U
h, Ms. Carroll?”

  This wasn’t a 43-year-old calling. It was a much younger voice. “Yes?”

  “Um, my name is Rebecca. I was with Justin when we found that lady that was hurt.” Rebecca sounded unsure of herself. Alex had heard some of her daughter's friends use the same hesitation, ending each sentence with an upward lilt, turning statements into questions. The caller was supposedly seventeen. Even at fourteen, Amy sounded more confident.

  “Rebecca, thank you for calling me. I’m writing an article about how women can protect themselves and wanted to use some real-life examples. I’ve spoken with Justin already, but would love to ask you some questions as well. First of all, do you parents know you’re speaking to me?”

  “Yes. At first they didn’t want me to, but Justin said you wouldn’t use my name.”

  “That’s right, Rebecca. I’m not going to use anyone’s real name. You don’t have to worry.” Alex tried to sound as soothing and reassuring as she could.

  “I try not to think about that night, but I’ll try to remember for you. What do you need to know?” It sounded as though the last thing Rebecca wanted to do was relive that night.

  “I understand, and I’ll try to keep this brief for you. I want you to think about when you first drove up behind the SUV. Do you remember anything at all about it?” Alex already had Justin’s descriptions, but they weren’t a lot of help. Justin was more a man of action, not an observer. Perhaps asking Rebecca to walk through what happened would provide more information.

  “I remember we were driving along Wampanoag Road and saw a red car stopped on the right-hand side. Justin and I don’t get much time alone, and Wampanoag is usually pretty deserted at night. It leads to a couple of warehouses and barns and things, not much else.”