Race Against Time

by Christy Barritt

  Madison pulled her lips into a tight line. Poor Alfred. Though she hadn’t known the man, she did know that no one deserved to die like this. They’d arrived too late to help the business owner. She did take some comfort in knowing that no one else had been inside.

  Brody had ordered her to stay in the car. She could see him talking to Sheriff Carl in the distance. Sweat beaded on his forehead, partly from the heat of the day and partly from the inferno in front of him. From the way the two men talked, it seemed obvious that Brody was giving the sheriff a rundown on what he knew.

  Sirens wailed in the background, signaling that more rescue vehicles were on their way. She shivered. Had the killer known they were going to be here?

  Was he watching them now?

  A few minutes later, Brody slid back into the driver’s seat. Since he didn’t reach for the steering wheel, it was obvious he didn’t have intentions of leaving at the moment. He simply sat there, his head resting on the seat, the AC blowing on his face. After a couple of minutes he finally looked at Madison. “You okay?”

  “You ask that a lot.”

  “You’ve been through a lot.”

  “I can’t argue that. I’m fine, I guess. I just don’t understand. Was that explosion intended for us? Was the killer laying in wait until we left and then he blew up the building? Or this is not connected at all, just a terrible coincidence?”

  “We don’t know the exact cause of the fire yet, but right now everything points to the propane tanks behind the building. An investigator will determine whether it was an accident or not.”

  “The tanks were behind the building? Someone could have been outside and caused the explosion.”

  “Or it could have just been a horrible chance event.”

  “There are too many coincidences. This wasn’t an accident.”

  Brody’s gaze fixated on her a moment, his eyes serious and something unsaid playing there. “I think you’re right.”

  “Could the killer have been outside the whole time?”

  “It’s doubtful. We’ll know more later.”

  Madison shuddered. Was the killer lurking in the shadows right now? Was he always one step ahead of them and were they naive enough not to know it? Madison might be that oblivious, but not Brody. Certainly he would know. This killer just seemed so thorough, like he didn’t miss a beat. How did he do it?

  Brody squeezed her knee briefly, the action making her shudders become a shiver of awareness. “I need to go to the station for a minute. I need you to come with me.”

  She blinked at his words. “You need me to come with you?”

  “I’m not letting you out of my sight. I’ll pay you the money you’re losing from forfeiting this photo shoot if I have to.”

  “No, I understand. I’ll call and see if I can reschedule.” Right now she had to think about the greater good. The greater good—more important than paying her bills even—was getting this man behind bars.

  * * *

  Madison’s questions were excellent, Brody mused as he headed back to the station. Was the explosion meant to injure Brody or Madison? Had the killer been nearby, following their footsteps to the extent that he’d known they were going to that grocery store? But how would he have known? Even if the killer had had a suspicion, he wouldn’t have known when Brody and Madison would have arrived. Certainly the man hadn’t waited all day for them to show up.

  Whoever this killer was, he was deeply disturbed. He needed to be locked up.

  “Brody?” Madison’s sweet voice broke him from his thoughts.

  He pulled his gaze from the road for a moment to glance at her. “Yes?”

  “Did you figure out who William is?” Her voice cracked as she asked the question.

  “Not yet.”

  “What do you even do with that kind of information? Do you warn all the Williams in York County that they may be a serial killer’s next target?”

  “That would only cause chaos. We’re looking into each of the people in the area who have that name. We’re looking into their backgrounds, trying to figure out who might be the next target. The problem is that this killer seems to have no modus operandi. None of the victims have a lot in common.” He sighed heavily. “The first two were men in their twenties—one single and one going through a divorce. Then our suspect targeted you, a widow and single mom. Next he targeted a single nurse who just moved to the area.”

  “We’ve all got to have something in common.”

  “I agree. We just have to figure out what.”

  Madison shook her head and leaned back into her seat. “We’ve got a serial killer here in York County. I never thought those words would leave my mouth. York County is such a safe place.”

  He gripped the steering wheel. “It was such a safe place. No place is immune to crime anymore.”

  “You have to admit you didn’t even expect it here though, did you? You’re from New York. You probably moved here to get away from all of that.”

  So much for that plan. Apparently, crime had followed him here. “I do like the slower pace.”

  Her voice changed from pensive to inquisitive. “Why’d you move here, Brody?”

  The familiar ache between his shoulders returned. He prayed for a phone call or his gaslight to flicker on—anything to help him avoid Madison’s question. Finally he realized he had no excuses. It didn’t matter, he told himself. Neither of them were interested in a relationship, so there was no pressure to impress her. He shouldn’t care what she thought. “I needed to get away. I needed to leave my old life behind.”

  “Was your old life that bad?” Her voice sounded quiet.

  He shrugged and flipped up the AC another notch. “Depends on who you ask.”

  “I’m asking you.”

  He shrugged again and forced himself not to tug at his collar like he wanted. “I was living for myself.”

  “Doesn’t bring you much pleasure, does it?”

  “No, it doesn’t.” He glanced at her, happy for the excuse to change the subject. “You sound like you know.”

  “I had my moments in college of being totally self-absorbed.”

  He had a hard time seeing Madison as self-absorbed. “You don’t seem like the type.”

  “Getting married and having a child helps you grow up. So does learning to rely on God.”

  God. That was one subject he hadn’t expected to come up. “I wouldn’t know about that.”

  “Not a churchgoer?”

  “Not since I was a kid and then it was only on holidays. Am I allowed to call them holidays? Or do I have to say Christmas?”

  Madison smiled. “Christmas, please. But don’t change the subject.”

  He cut a glance at her and offered a teasing grin. “You’re not going to try and convert me, are you?”

  “Am I trying to convert you if I say that it’s too bad you’ve never learned to rely on God? It’s never too late, you know.”

  “Yeah, I know. If I ever consider it, I’ll let you know.” He didn’t ever plan on reconsidering, however.

  “Relying on Him has helped me get through some dark days.”

  He hated to think about Madison going through dark days, but that was exactly what she was going through right now. If it was within his power, he’d scare away the storm clouds and make sure they never came back. “I’ve heard God’s good for that.”

  “Give Him a shot sometime.”

  He looked over and smiled, not a wide, bright smile, but a mischievous one. “You’re a little pushy sometimes. Did you know that?”

  “I haven’t been told that in a very long time, detective.”

  Why did hearing her say that bring him a certain amount of pleasure? Then he realized it was because they
were flirting, one of his favorite pastimes. He needed to nip their playfulness in the bud before he got other ideas in his head. Madison was off-limits. Relationships were off-limits. He had to get his life figured out first.

  ELEVEN

  Madison’s eyes scanned the pictures on Brody’s office desk. The photos jutted out from a file folder, and she was pretty sure she wasn’t supposed to see them since she wasn’t a part of the investigation. The edges of the pictures teased her, though. She knew exactly what they were—crime-scene photos. Her gaze fixated on them.

  A knot formed in her gut as the crime scenes came into focus. Horrific was the only word she could think of to describe the photos taken where lives had ended. It could have been her in those images. She would never take for granted how fortunate she was to have survived.

  While Brody chatted with another detective in the other room, she picked up a photo. There was no body in this picture, but instead the photo captured other elements of the scene. Razor blades. An egg timer. Blood. All the pictures were taken in what appeared to be an otherwise empty room.

  Madison picked up another picture and squinted as she looked at it. This one was taken of the floor and showed a solitary shoe. In the background was a bookshelf. What about that bookshelf looked strange? There was something there that bugged her.

  She looked closer and sucked in a breath. It couldn’t be—but it was.

  She put the photo down and leaned back in her chair, letting what she’d just seen sink in. She hadn’t been seeing things or making anything up. Her eyes hadn’t been deceiving her—had they? She picked up the photo again and looked at the small image in the background. Yep, it was there. She had to get Brody.

  The framed image on the bookcase at this crime scene was one of her pictures.

  That couldn’t be a coincidence.

  Shudders rippled down her spine as she hurried down the hall. The two detectives who were chatting stopped midsentence and turned to look at her.

  She fumbled for words, wishing she’d sorted out how she’d bring up the conversation beforehand, especially since part of what she had to say meant owning up to her snooping. She held up a picture. “I shouldn’t have been looking at this, I know. But I did. And I’m glad I did.”

  Brody stepped toward her, a knot between his eyebrows. He reached for the photo. “What are you talking about, Madison?”

  “This crime-scene photo,” she held it up. “There’s a framed photograph that I took in the background of this picture.”

  The detectives looked at each other, before Brody squinted at the crime scene photo. “The one of the Chesapeake Bay? How can you be sure? There are lots of pictures of the bay out there.”

  “I’m sure. I remember taking it. I remember that boat and that sunset. A photographer doesn’t forget her own pictures. I took it.”

  Brody and the other detective looked at each other another moment before Brody finally nodded. “Let’s look at those other crime scenes.”

  * * *

  Madison sat on the couch at Kayla’s house and flipped on the TV. She’d assured Brody that she’d stay put and keep all the doors locked until he returned. She knew the detective had to investigate the pictures from the crime-scene photos, on top of the explosion at the local grocer. In the meantime, a deputy sat outside her home.

  Kayla was cutting out some shapes for the preschool class and Lincoln busied himself for a few minutes with some building blocks. Madison was thankful because she needed some time to decompress and process everything that had happened today.

  A story on the news caught her attention. “A string of suicides in York County might actually be the work of a serial killer. So far three people have died because of a killer that many are calling the Suicide Bandit, who murders his victims but makes it looks like they took their own lives. The latest victim was found last night in the Dandy area in York County. Her name has not yet been released, but it’s believed she was a nurse at a local hospital. One of the victims survived but has yet to be named by the police.”

  The video footage cut to a local reporter who stood at one of the piers in Seaford. Before Madison could listen to what the reporter said, a knock sounded at the front door. The ever-present tension in her shoulders tightened.

  Kayla hurried into the living room and glanced uncertainly at Madison and then at the front door. “Should we answer?”

  Madison stood, her reflexes on full alert. “Let’s see who it is. Brody shouldn’t be back yet.”

  Kayla tiptoed to the front door and peered through the peephole. “It’s a man,” she whispered. “I don’t recognize him, but the deputy is with him.”

  The man knocked again, this time faster, more urgent. Since when did the Suicide Bandit knock? Never that Madison knew of. Still, she wanted to be safe.

  Madison crept forward and gazed out the peephole also. Some of the tension was released from her shoulders at the familiar face distorted on the other side of the glass. “It’s Mark Zeskinski. He’s a reporter for the paper.” Madison unlocked the door and twisted the knob, careful to remain on guard.

  “This man said he knows you and needs to speak with you,” the deputy said.

  “He’s fine. I know him from work.”

  The deputy nodded and sauntered back to his vehicle. Mark cocked an eyebrow. A smirk teased at the corner of his lips. He’d always thought himself to be more handsome and charming that he actually was, and that was obvious now by the overwhelming confidence exuding from him as he leaned forward.

  “Police protection?”

  Madison shrugged. “Long story.”

  “You’re a very hard woman to find, Madison.”

  “How’d you manage it?” The two had worked together on numerous stories where Mark had written the articles, and Madison had taken the pictures. Madison had always suspected that Mark liked her as more than a colleague, but as he stood here now, she knew his intentions were anything but romantic. His eyes were full of hunger—for a story.

  “I’m a reporter. It’s my job to track down people.” He waited a moment before shifting his stance and looking beyond her at Kayla. “Aren’t you going to invite me in?”

  Madison shook her head and kept her arm across the doorway in an effort to not appear inviting. “No, I’m not. What are you doing here?” She stood in place to quickly shut the door and lock it, if necessary.

  “You know what I’m doing here, Madison.”

  She forced her expression to remain neutral. “I’m afraid I don’t.”

  His shoulders fell and he tilted his head in a chummy sort of way. “Come on, Madison. Give me my big break. Give me a jump on the broadcast media. You were one of the Suicide Bandit’s victims, weren’t you?”

  Indignation rushed through her and her grip on the door tightened. “You shouldn’t be here, Mark. Besides, I thought we were friends.”

  “We are friends. That’s why you should give me the inside scoop here.”

  “Mark, what if I was the victim? And I’m not saying I am. But if I was the victim and I was your friend, I’d think you’d be more concerned about me than a story or a big break.”

  His eyes lost some of their cockiness. “I am concerned. But—but you seem fine, so I didn’t even think to ask how you were doing. I know you’re a tough lady. And you obviously survived, so you must be doing pretty well. It could have been worse.”

  Madison didn’t buy it. “I don’t have anything to say to you, Mark.”

  She started to shut the door when his hand shot out. His shoulders slumped some and his eyes changed to pleading. “Come on, Madison. Please. This is the biggest story here in York County since the Colonial Parkway murders. A serial killer. In York County. It’s all people are talking about.”

  “I’m sorry that I don’t see i
t as glamorously as you do.”

  His gaze traveled down to where her shirt met her throat. “You were his victim, weren’t you? I see the evidence on your neck.”

  Madison’s hand shot to her throat. She’d forgotten about the burn marks there. Her shock turned to anger. “It’s nobody’s business. Leave me alone, Mark.”

  Before he could say anything else, Madison shut the door. She’d always considered Mark someone she could trust. Apparently he put his career before their friendship, though.

  Her mind flashed back to those pictures she’d spotted in the crime-scene photos. She remembered a time when she’d downloaded all the pictures on her camera to Mark’s computer so she could send them to their editor in time. He would have had access to those pictures.

  She pictured the photos at the crime scenes. Were those some of the photos she’d downloaded to Mark’s computer? She wasn’t one-hundred percent certain, but she knew it was a good possibility. Plus, he knew her schedule. He could have figured out where she kept her spare key. He’d asked her out once and she’d said no, so perhaps he even had motive?

  What if Mark was secretly the Suicide Bandit?

  Her pulse raced at the possibility.

  * * *

  While Detective Blackston combed Alfred’s house for clues, Brody decided to visit the other victims’ homes once more. He wanted to look at those images that Madison had spotted in the crime-scene photos. Could she have been a target in this from the beginning?

  The first home he visited was Victor’s. The young man’s mom answered again. Her eyes widened when she saw Brody. “Did you find out something new?”

  “I was actually hoping to ask you another question.”

  “Of course.”

  He held up the crime-scene photo. “Do you recognize the picture in the background of this scene?”

  She studied it. “No, I don’t remember seeing that before. I didn’t keep tabs on my son, though. He was grown, so I didn’t ask him about every picture he had in his room. Why do you ask?”