The Third to Die

by Allison Brennan

  I got lost.

  I was visiting my mother on Vine Street...

  He turned on Vine and slowed the car to a crawl.

  He’d wanted to drive by every day, but he resisted. Barely.

  This was the ninth time in eight weeks. A good number, nine.

  The last time. It would have to be the last, until he finished his retribution.

  He stopped the car in the middle of the street and turned his head. The streetlights were dim, clouded by the growing fog. No lights were on in houses. It was nearly two in the morning; everyone slept.

  He stared at the house. His house.

  The new owners had painted the house a very pale green with cream and dark brown trim. He couldn’t see it now, in the dark, but the first time he’d driven by was in daylight and he would never forget the betrayal. Much different from the white house with rust trim that he’d grown up in.

  They’d added on in the back—a second story, in brick. They’d added brick pillars to the front.

  He hated it.

  They’d also taken down the evergreen in the yard and planted two smaller elms. Had the tree died? Had it come down in a storm?

  They had children. Three girls and a boy. Two older kids in school and two little kids, one of them a baby.

  His research told him they hadn’t bought the house fifteen years ago when it had been stolen from him. They’d bought it nine years ago. But they’d been the ones who had taken out the permit to add on. They’d been the ones who had changed the color of the exterior.

  They had been the ones who had torn out his mother’s garden. The tree. Put up a stupid mailbox on the street with painted daisies and the name RICHMOND.

  He hated them, the bastards. They had ruined his mother’s house. They added an addition that went up and back, and thus her garden was gone. Bright flowers she coaxed out every spring from the cold earth.

  They had taken, destroyed, the last part of her on earth.

  He flipped his knife in the small space. Flipped, caught. Flipped, caught. Balanced it on the back of his hand.

  Three fingers. Two fingers. One finger. Perfectly balanced, and a plan started to form.

  This house on Vine was not the Richmond house. It was his house, and he would make certain that they damn well knew it.

  He flipped the knife again and put it down. Then he drove down the block out of the neighborhood and went back to the freeway heading east, exited the next off-ramp, and returned to Ogdenburg’s house.

  The lights were off now. A faint light shone in the kitchen window. But the house felt asleep.

  Still, he had to be sure. He parked around the corner in a driveway where the house was set far back, so he wouldn’t wake the owners. Turned off his car.

  Waited.

  Waited.

  Just after two in the morning, a patrol car drove past his parked vehicle, which was now covered with a thin layer of moisture from the damp night. Drove up the street, around the corner. Slowly. Looking for him. Not seeing him.

  He was hiding in plain sight, and it gave him a perverse sense of pleasure that he was only yards from the police, but they didn’t see him. Didn’t know he was waiting, watching.

  The patrol left. He’d wait ten minutes.

  Nine.

  Eight.

  He pulled out his knife and flipped it.

  Seven.

  Six.

  The countdown excited him, reminding him that when he hit zero, when he killed the principal, that he would be three days away from his final justice.

  How long did he have before the cops returned? Thirty minutes? Sixty? Were they patrolling at regular intervals, or trying to trip him up?

  He breathed in; he breathed out.

  One more minute...

  He smiled, started his car, and drove three minutes to a street that had no road access to Ogdenburg, but had a trail that went right to his deck.

  He parked his car so it was not visible from any of the scattered residences, then opened his glove compartment. Inside was a key ring. He’d been to this house before; Ogdenburg had never known. Why would he check for his spare key? He hadn’t needed it in the last two weeks.

  Besides, even if he did, he would never have thought someone had broken into his house and taken it, because the killer hadn’t left a trace.

  He was good at that. At being invisible. At being smart.

  Quietly, he exited his car and walked down the wooded trail that led to the principal’s house. Cold. Clear. Focused. His breath wasn’t even visible because it was so dark, but he’d been through these woods enough times that he didn’t get lost.

  Six minutes later, he let himself inside the house with the key.

  Silence.

  This penultimate kill was going to be easy.

  25

  Spokane

  6:15 a.m.

  Matt’s phone rang and he groaned. He hadn’t drunk that much last night, but he also hadn’t gotten much sleep.

  Not that he was complaining about what had kept him up.

  He grabbed his phone, in an effort not to wake Kara. He glanced over to the other side of the bed.

  She wasn’t there.

  He flipped on his light. “Costa,” he said gruffly.

  Kara was gone. He didn’t hear her in the bathroom, and he didn’t see her clothes anywhere.

  “It’s Catherine.”

  He shook his head, cleared it. “Sorry. I forgot to set my alarm.” It was six-fifteen. How had he slept in?

  “I have something. I emailed you, but I wanted to call, too. The deep backgrounds—there’s a connection between the college professor in Missoula and the city of Spokane. Before he started teaching in Missoula at the University of Montana, he was the principal of Spokane High School.”

  Matt slipped out of bed while still holding the phone. He was naked and the room was cold. He turned up the heater and slipped on sweatpants. “John Marston, right?”

  “Yes. Victim number five. I then looked at the other victims. No one else graduated or taught at or worked at Spokane High School, but I feel this is important. I think the killer knew Marston personally—just like he knew Anne Banks. And if he’s as young as I think he is, the killer could have attended high school back when Marston was principal there.”

  “I’m on it.”

  “I copied Ryder Kim on my findings. But listen—I have a theory. It’s not clearly formed, I’m working out some kinks, but I think I’m close. Anne Banks had been an ER nurse in Spokane, but left nursing when she moved to Portland to get married. Yet, the killer still saw her as a trauma nurse—which is why he also targeted Sophia Kwan and Victoria Manners, both who were trauma nurses at the time of their deaths. An insatiable rage? We just don’t know why yet. And the killer still viewed Marston as a high school principal—even though he moved to continue his education and had become a college professor by the time he was killed. That’s why he also killed Rebecca Thomas in Portland—she was a vice principal, a person in authority. And that’s why the victim you will most likely find today will be a high school principal.”

  “But Spokane isn’t Liberty Lake, remember. Though they’re both in the Spokane Valley, they’re twenty miles apart. They’re different jurisdictions, different towns, schools, everything.”

  “Which tells me that the law enforcement officer the killer has already targeted worked or works out of Liberty Lake. He’s laying these victims on his own doorstep, so to speak.”

  Andy Knolls was Matt’s first thought.

  “That’s exactly what I was talking about with Kara last night.”

  “Kara?”

  “Kara Quinn, the detective.”

  “Right—I forgot. From LAPD.”

  “I said that the cop would be connected to Liberty Lake. There’s only a handful of cops
who work out of the PD here—plus the police chief, who’s more a figurehead than cop,” Matt said. “I’ll have everyone called in for a mandatory meeting today and maybe one of them knows these other victims.”

  “Good—if we can disrupt the killer’s pattern, he’s bound to expose himself. So be prepared—what I said the other day still holds. He may change his MO. He may take out more than just the one cop he has targeted. But my sense is that he has a specific victim in mind and he will do anything to get to him. I suspect he personally knows the cop, just like he knew Banks and Marston. But the victims may not have remembered him, and the cop may not, either. Especially if whatever happened to set this killer down this murderous path occurred when he was a child.”

  “I’m going to jump in the shower and get working on this. Thanks, Catherine, this is exactly the break we need. And the press conference was a success. Andy Knolls and the other Liberty Lake cops personally spoke with everyone who works in the education field and lives in Liberty Lake. Many left town or stayed with friends. Keeping potential victims alert is half the battle.”

  “I agree—just be careful, Matt. You’re putting yourself out there, and this psychopath is not going to like it if he can’t get to his target.”

  “Que es exactamente lo que queremos.” Which is exactly what we want.

  “Not if he becomes erratic,” Catherine said. “Ten cuidado, Mathias.”

  “I promise to be careful. Glad to know you still care.”

  Matt hung up, half hoping that Kara was in the bathroom. But she wasn’t. He turned on the water, then found a note on the mirror.

  Matt ~

  I don’t normally kiss and run but didn’t think you wanted to explain my presence to your team. Catch you later.

  ~KQ

  He frowned. He was glad she left a note, but he expected something more than this informality. After last night... Hell, he was horny again just thinking about her.

  Shut it down, Costa.

  He stepped into the shower cold, which cleared his mind and his libido, then heated up the water and two minutes later stepped out. Five minutes after that he was dressed and entered the war room. Ryder Kim was, of course, already working.

  “When did you get up?”

  “Five o’clock, sir.”

  “I should have set a wake-up call. I crashed hard last night and forgot to set my alarm. I just got off the phone with Catherine.”

  “I read her email. I have a list of every high school principal in Spokane and Liberty Lake, public and private. There are twenty-eight.”

  “How’d you get them so fast?”

  “The internet, sir. I had the larger list that the police put together, then narrowed it down to this subgroup. I have a secondary list of assistant principals if their information is listed on the district website.”

  “I’m going to call Maddox and Knolls, get them on this right now. Reach out to every principal again. I don’t know that they can spare twenty-eight units today, but we need to sit on everyone we can. Maybe convince them to spend the day at the police station. Time is running out. Actually, you call Maddox—I need to talk to Andy Knolls. Catherine is certain that the next victim the killer stalks will be a cop from Liberty Lake.”

  Knolls answered on the third ring.

  “Hope I didn’t wake you, Andy.”

  “No. Eating breakfast.”

  “How’d it go last night? Did you reach everyone on the list?”

  “Yes, everyone who was in town. Your press conference had an impact. But we cleared every house and warned each person to be extremely security cautious, and encouraged them to spend the day and night with others—change their routine.”

  “Good. We have a breakthrough of sorts. We believe that the target today is a principal at a Spokane or Spokane Valley high school. Ryder has a list, and he’s calling Maddox to start doing the rounds on all of them. Can you go back to the principals only? Maybe we can put them up in a hotel or something. Do you have the budget for that? One night.”

  “I can make it happen.”

  “Great. We’re getting that break, Andy, I feel it.”

  “I’ll be in the office in twenty minutes, split the list with my officers.”

  “That brings me to the other issue. Based on what we already know, our profiler believes that the killer will target a law enforcement officer who works in Liberty Lake. Do you understand what that means?”

  “But wouldn’t he be targeting a Spokane cop? Because Victoria Manners is from Spokane?”

  “We considered that, but he left Manners’ body in Liberty Lake. That tells me that he’s targeting either a Liberty Lake principal or a Liberty Lake cop, depending on who his primary target is and who his surrogate is.”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Listen to me carefully, Andy. John Marston left Spokane sixteen years ago, Anne Banks left Spokane seventeen years ago. Catherine feels that whatever set the killer on this path happened before either of them left.”

  “I don’t really understand where you’re going with this,” Andy said.

  How could Matt explain? “Meaning, they lived here in the area a long time ago. Whatever grudge this killer has, he’s waited ten, fifteen, maybe twenty years before tracking his victims down. He may have been a student at Spokane High School during Marston’s ten-year tenure there. We’re looking at long-ago conflicts. Can you pull old records? Both in your department and any sheriff or officer from any law enforcement agency who lived or worked in Liberty Lake...let’s start ten years ago and go back twenty-five years. Both current and retired cops.”

  “My department will be easy—we have personnel files readily available. I’ll call the Sheriff’s department. They’ll pull their own,” Andy said.

  “This is our first real big break. Anything you need, let me know.”

  “Thanks, Matt.”

  Matt ended the call.

  Andy had checked everyone last night, and now they had narrowed down the potential targets. They were going to throw a wrench in this killer’s plans—he knew it. They were now in the driver’s seat, forcing the killer to react.

  With that goal firmly in mind, he crafted an email to everyone involved—the two police chiefs, plus Maddox, Knolls, and every member of his team—including Kara. She was from Liberty Lake, she knew the area and could help keep an eye on Andy.

  “Where’s Jim and Michael?” he asked when he was done, surprised they weren’t here.

  “Mr. Esteban is at the Spokane lab—he left here at six and will update you when he has something. He and Mr. Jordan ran some cultures, I believe, that needed time to cultivate and should be ready this morning. Agent Harris came in at six-ten, said he would be eating elsewhere and back in an hour.”

  “What’s wrong with the hotel’s continental breakfast?” Matt asked.

  Ryder wrinkled his nose and Matt grinned.

  “I for one am fine with the cheap eats. I’ll text Harris and have him pick me up—send me part of the list, whatever Maddox and Knolls can’t cover.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Matt sighed. He decided changing Ryder Kim’s formal behavior wasn’t going to happen overnight.

  Matt went downstairs. Since it was the weekend, the hotel had added more food to the breakfast options; he had a Belgian waffle with his eggs and both sausage and bacon. Nothing wrong with that, as far as he was concerned. So what if the bacon was overcooked? It was edible and tasted like bacon.

  He sat in the corner, texted Harris, then read Catherine’s memo more carefully. He highlighted the key points.

  Nurses Kwan and Manners are surrogates for Banks.

  Banks was the real target; the others are a mere diversion for the police. Likely he would have considered how the police would take time to investigate each crime and he knows the other victims would distract law enforcement away from f
iguring out his true motive.

  He’s killing Banks again, each time he kills a nurse. But he also understands that because there is no connection between him and his surrogate victims, their murders will divert resources and misdirect the investigation.

  Rebecca Thomas, the murdered vice principal in Portland, is a substitute for the killer’s real target, John Marston. Why she’s a female I can only guess—he may simply have wanted someone in authority at a high school and she was convenient. Again, Thomas was a diversion, as will be the victim he has targeted for today, unless your team can stop him.

  A pattern is emerging here—even if complicated. It reveals the killer’s sociopathic, yet logical, thinking. Anne Banks was the first target, the first of three. John Marston was the second of three. That gives us the last—the third of three—a cop, as the specific target.

  Get the names and faces of Banks and Marston to all law enforcement in the greater Spokane community.

  Whoever knows them—or thinks they know them—needs to be debriefed immediately. These people may have slighted or hurt the killer in some way, maybe even indirectly, in his formative years—or at least he believes they did... Perhaps when Marston was the principal in Spokane High School, he punished the killer for something he did as a student at school. Maybe the killer felt he was wrongly accused.

  Perhaps the police were called.

  Perhaps he had to go to the hospital for injuries.

  There may have been a lawsuit.

  Someone will know the killer... If my theory is correct, he was a young teenager whenever these events occurred and thus his physical appearance has probably changed and may not be recognizable to those who once knew him.

  Maybe the victims connect somehow to the killer’s family life. Serial killers are often developed in the prepubescent/early puberty years when a major event severely disrupts their home life. Without any corresponding support, coupled of course with early signs of sociopathy that may or may not have been documented, a sociopath can turn into a killer.

  Matt forwarded the memo to Maddox, Knolls, and Kara, and told them to focus especially on the last two paragraphs. They might have more insight.