Malice

by C. M. Sutter

  There has to be something about the woman in Bellevue by now, and what about those kids? Did they go to the cops?

  He flipped from news channel to news channel, and nothing came up.

  What the hell happened to the coverage on me? People are supposed to hear about the Scenic View Serial Killer. That business has to tank, to go under, to fail. I have to ruin them. There’s no other way!

  He exploded. With a swing of his arm, the breakfast plate flew across the room, hit the TV, and shattered. Ed pushed back his chair and kicked it when it toppled over. Then he stomped down the hall. The rays from the rising sun sparkled through the slats of the bedroom blinds and created images on the opposite wall. Ed turned the wand and peered through the blinds. He knew what he had to do. He’d wait several hours before wandering out—the streets would be busier. He’d lock the truck in the shed and call a cab. With no updates on TV, Ed would have to get answers any way he could.

  Chapter 42

  I woke at six forty-five and forced myself out of bed. I could easily have slept for another day. My feet unwillingly led me to the bathroom, where I turned on the shower. Back at the bed, I grabbed my phone off the nightstand and checked for messages. I was thankful there weren’t any. With the four-cup coffeemaker started, I headed to the shower.

  By seven fifteen, dressed and on my second cup of coffee, I finger tossed my damp hair, applied a small amount of mascara and blush, pocketed my lip balm, and gathered my supplies. I would surprise J.T. for the first time since I’d known him and bang on his door instead of him banging on mine.

  I closed the door behind me. With a confirmation jiggle of the handle, I slipped my key card into the side pocket of my briefcase and walked two doors down to J.T.’s room. I banged on it then stuck my finger over the peephole. Chuckling came from the other side of the door, then it swung open.

  “Bang, you’re dead.” I pointed my index finger at him as if I had just shot him. “What the hell did you learn in the FBI 101 safety course?”

  “Not to open doors without asking who’s on the other side?”

  “That’s correct.”

  “Get in here. Everyone down the hallway is probably staring at us through their own peepholes.” J.T. closed the door behind me. “Why are you so jacked up? Have too much coffee this morning?”

  “Nope, there’s never enough coffee. I’m just anxious to get started on those tapes now that we know what kind of vehicle to watch for. Are you ready to go?”

  “Yeah, give me a sec to grab my stuff. Want to do the Continental breakfast downstairs?”

  “Sure since we aren’t meeting with the rest of the group until nine o’clock, anyway.”

  We sat down to a filling breakfast, which hopefully would hold us over for most of the day. I had no idea when we’d eat again once we dug our feet in.

  We arrived at the station at eight forty-six. Hardy had just parked and was waiting for us next to the Fallen Officers Memorial.

  “Cap.” I gave him a nod as we approached.

  “I hope you two slept well. It looks like we’ve got a busy day ahead of us.”

  J.T. raised his brows. “Has some new information come in?”

  “Joe called as I was driving here. He said the body in the woods was positively Jackie Stern. The picture of her and Tara together that the officers took out of the house, along with the butterfly tattoo on her wrist and the knife wounds to her throat, confirmed it. Unfortunately, Tara agreed to be the one to give the positive ID.”

  I shook my head. “It’s just not right. Even if she was estranged from her folks, she was their daughter, and they should have stepped up.”

  “If they can’t be found, what’s a person to do? We have enough on our hands trying to track down this killer. We don’t have time to track down Jackie’s parents too,” J.T. said.

  “I know.”

  “Shall we?” Hardy led the way into the building.

  Dana greeted us as we passed the front counter. She tipped her head toward the group of chairs in the lobby. “There’s someone waiting for you, Cap.”

  We turned to see Tammy Hawn, the reporter from Channel 9, heading in our direction.

  Hardy let out a deep, long moan. “I don’t have time for this,” he whispered under his breath.

  “I’ll handle her, Cap. Why don’t you two go ahead and get the meeting started?”

  “You sure, Jade?”

  “Absolutely, I got this.”

  The clip-clop of her heels on the marble floor echoed throughout the entryway. “Excuse me, Captain Hardy, I’d like to have a word with you.”

  I stepped in front of her, blocking her access as Cap and J.T. disappeared around the corner.

  “Who are you, and what are you doing? I need to speak to the police captain.”

  “No you don’t. You can speak to me or I can show you the door.”

  “How dare you. I’m a well-known news reporter.”

  “And I’m a well-known FBI agent.” I pulled out my badge from under my collar. “Shall we have a seat?” I pointed at the area behind her. She wasn’t going to get any farther into the building than that.

  She stammered her objections as she followed me to a private grouping in the corner, two chairs with a table between them.

  “This should do just fine. Now what can I help you with?”

  “I want to know why the police department is withholding information about the Scenic View Serial Killer from the public and the media. We have a right to know what’s going on, and it’s your civic duty to serve and protect.”

  I smiled. “You’re absolutely right.”

  She sat up a bit straighter and smoothed her blouse. She seemed pleased with herself.

  “But”—I watched as her shoulders deflated before I continued—“it isn’t our civic duty to get the news channels higher ratings by instilling fear in the citizens of Omaha and the surrounding communities. That said, the only thing I’ll tell you until this perpetrator is apprehended is that you should watch what moniker you tag the killer with. Rumor has it there’s a lawsuit in the works as we speak, against you personally and Channel 9. That could be the end of your reporting career, Ms. Hawn. Have a good day.” I stood, smoothed my pants, and walked away.

  The meeting was in full swing when I entered the conference room. Hardy paused what he was saying until I was seated and had my notepad on the table.

  He gave me a quick grin. “Everything under control downstairs, Agent Monroe?”

  “Absolutely, and Tammy Hawn and I have a newfound understanding of each other.”

  J.T. chuckled. “I bet you do.”

  Hardy continued where he left off. “Anyway, Jade, I was updating the guys about the phone call I got earlier from Joe. J.T. briefed us on the theory you came up with and the name of the man you talked to at the gas station on Thursday. All we need to do now is find that truck on the surveillance tapes.”

  “Lyles, you viewed the tapes around Sarah’s neighborhood, correct?”

  “Yeah, I used Community Bank’s parking lot footage. It was the most sophisticated of the choices I had. I’ll admit, not knowing what you’re looking for kind of feels like a waste of time.”

  “Same here,” Franklin said.

  “Whose house were you assigned to?” J.T. asked.

  “The King home.”

  “We’re ruling that out since the coverage was at night. Let’s stick with Sarah and Jackie’s neighborhoods.”

  “I had Jackie’s,” Andrews said.

  “Okay, do both of you have that footage on your computers, or do we need to go back to the locations to view them?”

  “The bank emailed me their file from last Monday. I watched it on my own computer,” Lyles said.

  “And you, Andrews?” I asked.

  “I had to sit in the back room of the gas station on Hillside Street. They were the closest establishment with a camera. I’ll admit, their equipment sucks. Everything is on VHS tape, so they have two for every day. They’
ve probably had the same VCR since 1995.”

  “But they did have tapes from Thursday, correct?” I asked.

  “Yeah, they change the tapes twice daily, mark them Monday through Sunday, then start again by taping over them.”

  “At least we can fast-forward the footage as we’re looking for a rusty, reddish-orange truck. I’ll head over there myself.”

  “You sure, Jade?” J.T. asked.

  “Yeah, not a problem. I just need the keys to the Explorer.”

  “Okay, I’ll review the Bellevue tape again,” J.T. said.

  Lyles added, “And I’ll watch the tape from Sarah’s neighborhood.”

  Hardy rapped his fingertips on the tabletop. “Okay, everyone, let’s get started. We’ll need to see that same truck on every tape to make something stick. Hopefully we get a good image of the driver and the license plate number.”

  J.T. walked to the elevator with me and handed over the keys. “Text me if you see the truck, and make sure to bring the tape back with you if you do.”

  “Sure thing, Mom.”

  “Wiseass. Stay safe.”

  “Meaning what? Don’t eat gas station pizza for lunch?”

  He jerked his chin at the elevator. “Get going and no, don’t eat gas station pizza for lunch.”

  I boarded the elevator, turned around, and knew J.T. would still be standing there. He was, so I blew him a kiss, and he flipped me the bird. I laughed as the doors closed and the elevator took me to the first floor.

  Chapter 43

  Andrews texted the address of the gas station to me, and I programmed it into my GPS before taking off in the Explorer. I messaged Amber just to say hi and that I missed her and the gang. I told her to send my love to everyone in the sheriff’s office bull pen on Monday.

  With my phone in the cup holder and the GPS set, I drove out of the parking lot and followed the directions that the navigation called out. It would be only a fifteen-minute drive.

  I thought about J.T. as I drove. He seemed to be his old self again. I’d call Spelling before returning to the station and update him on J.T., who was back to form and a partner I could depend on. I hoped Julie was doing as well. Several times in the past few days, J.T. had stepped away from the group and made private calls. I didn’t want to pry, but I assumed he was checking on his sister. Our assignment to Omaha was the first time he was away from home at night since their kidnapping nearly two months ago.

  The voice on the GPS said my destination was two hundred feet ahead. I looked down the street and saw the gas station on my right. It looked old, greasy, and more like an auto repair shop than a gas station, which I’d envisioned being clean, modern, and having a quick mart inside. I wouldn’t be eating anything there and had concerns that even a bag of chips would be beyond its expiration date.

  Me and my big mouth. No wonder Andrews didn’t object to me taking the gas station this time around. He didn’t even offer to go back.

  I parked the Explorer on the side of the building and reluctantly climbed out. The place looked like a grease monkey, good-ol’-boys type of establishment. I’d have to suck it up and make the best of it. I hoped I’d be in and out quickly. Three gas pumps told me what to expect—a small, no-frills corner gas station that had probably seen better days.

  I pulled open the finger-smudged glass door and entered. A man standing alone behind the counter smoked a cigarette and grinned at me.

  “How ya doing today, sweetheart? Didn’t see you out there pumping gas. If I did, I’d have come out there and given you a hand.”

  “Thanks, but I’m quite capable. You can smoke in here?” He looked me up and down, which made my skin crawl.

  “I can do whatever I want, missy. I own the place.”

  I was sure it was a sense of pride I heard in his voice. “Great, let’s cut to the chase, then. Your name is?”

  “I’m Elvin Freed. And what’s your name, pretty lady?”

  I pulled out my badge and held it a foot from his face. “My name is FBI, but you can call me Agent Monroe. I’m here to review your videotapes from Thursday.”

  His expression soured quickly. “I’ve already shown that tape to a police officer yesterday. What’s so damn important about it that the FBI sent you to look at it too?”

  “Well, Mr. Freed, the FBI didn’t send me to look at it, I offered, which is my bad. Either way, would you please show me where it’s located so I can get this done and be out of your hair as soon as possible?”

  “Whatever. Follow me.”

  I always made sure to carry wet wipes in my purse, and that day I was thankful I still had some left. Andrews was probably having a good laugh at my expense.

  I entered a closet-sized room with calendar pages of seminude women taped to the walls. I groaned.

  “Have a seat. I’ll load up the VCR. You said Thursday, right, sugar?”

  “Thursday is correct, Mr. Freed, and I’ll need the second tape too.”

  “It’s right here, and you don’t need to be so formal. You can call me Elvin.” He gave me a tooth-stained grin.

  “Right. Is the first tape ready to play, and where’s the remote?”

  “One minute now. Don’t be in such a hurry. Okay, missy, here you go.”

  Elvin handed me the grimy remote then stood back against the doorframe.

  “What?”

  “I have to make sure you’re doing it right, don’t I?”

  I got up and walked toward him. “Thank you, Elvin, but I can handle it. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” I stood my ground until he walked away, then I closed the door behind him. “Gross.” I pulled out the wet wipes from my purse and scrubbed the chair and the remote.

  The footage, having been taped over dozens of times, was grainy at best. I scooted the chair closer to the VCR and leaned forward as I watched. Since that older technology wasn’t time-stamped, I had no idea what time of day I was viewing. All I could hope for was that Elvin started them in the proper order. I had to watch the entire tape but tried to fast-forward through every stoplight after checking the vehicles in line.

  I was on my second hour of staring at the footage. So far, I hadn’t seen the rusty, reddish truck pass by. I rubbed my eyes and continued watching. The sound of men cackling on the other side of the wall was distracting but so was the fact that I had to use the ladies’ room. I was certain that the station Elvin was so proud of didn’t have separate restrooms, and the thought of what it likely did have sent shivers up my spine. There weren’t enough wet wipes in my purse for that. I remembered seeing a fast-food restaurant about a half mile back. I needed coffee, anyway, and a light snack couldn’t hurt. I ejected the tape, turned off the VCR, and peeked out the door. Four men, standing elbow deep against the counter, were telling each other off-color jokes. I sucked in a deep breath, grabbed my purse, and headed out.

  “Done already, FBI lady?” Elvin cracked a wide smile at me.

  “Actually, I’m not, so please don’t mess with the VCR or tape. I’ll be back in fifteen minutes.”

  “Anything you say, sugar.”

  Laughter resonated at my back as I walked out and headed to the SUV.

  Five minutes later, I entered a civilized business, found the ladies’ room, and scrubbed my hands thoroughly. At the counter, I ordered coffee and a fruit cup with yogurt. I paid, shoved a stack of napkins into my purse, and climbed into the Explorer.

  A text came in from J.T. just before I headed back to Elvin’s establishment from hell. J.T. said that the tech department was working on the footage from Bellevue. A truck had turned on Vine Street shortly before eleven o’clock that Friday night. Tech was trying to enhance the image the best they could. He asked how it was going on my end. After writing that I didn’t have anything yet, I added several emojis depicting my displeasure and told him to let Andrews know we’d have a conversation later. He replied with his own emoji—a laughing face.

  I sipped my coffee as I headed back to the gas station. Jackie’s house was just a few miles
farther down the road. I’d make a quick stop to check that the doors were secure and the crime scene tape still stretched around the property. Now that we had confirmation of her death, the house would have to be gone through once more to search for information on the whereabouts of her parents or brother. Somebody in her family needed to take possession of her house and make arrangements for her funeral.

  I passed the gas station and continued through the intersection toward Jackie’s home. I had several miles to go.

  The neighborhood leading into Jackie’s street appeared as normal as any other street in the area. The news of Jackie’s death hadn’t been released. Nobody, other than law enforcement, knew that the young lady who lived at the house wrapped in yellow crime scene tape had been found murdered in the woods a half hour north of there.

  I pulled along the curb and parked. I studied the area—quiet, safe, neighborly. This was a street where people sat on the porch with their morning coffee, walked their dogs at ten p.m., and watched out for each other, yet nobody saw a thing that day.

  I killed the engine and climbed out. I’d make a quick sweep of the property, check the doors, and head back to the gas station, hopefully to spot that truck on the video footage. I dipped under the police tape and checked the front door—secure. As I turned at the garage, a flash of movement rounding the house and entering the backyard caught my eye.

  Who the hell was that?

  I reached inside my jacket for my service weapon. As I turned the corner behind the house, a gut-wrenching pain nailed me like a lightning bolt. Blue eyes stared me in the face, then I hit the ground.

  Seconds later and with a deep gasp, I caught my breath and rubbed my midsection. I saw the contact burns from a Taser and realized what had happened. I did a quick scan of the yard. Nobody was there, and luckily my gun was still in my shoulder holster. I reached for my phone then remembered it was in the Explorer. With the back wall as a brace, I stood slowly and lifted my blouse. Two eraser-sized marks were burned into my abdomen.

  That son of a bitch was here, but why?