Careful little eyes: An addictive, horrifying serial killer thriller (7th Street Crew Book 4)

by Willow Rose

  Peggy tries again and writes a sentence, but then decides it is foolish and deletes it. The thunderstorm outside has been raging since this afternoon, and now that it is evening, she hopes it will die out. She doesn’t like to have her sleep disturbed by storms. It has been so warm in New Orleans this summer that she has barely been outside her townhouse in Carrollton. Usually, she likes to sit on her porch outside her small one-story white wooden house as the sun sets, in her rocking chair, watching people as they come home from work, rushing along on the street. It makes her feel so happy that she is retired and no longer a part of all the haste and hurrying around, getting to work on time, getting back home before it is bedtime so you can have at least a few hours to yourself. Oh, how she remembers it well. And how she doesn’t miss it even one bit.

  Once she retired, Peggy took up writing, and her first book sold solidly, and now the publisher wants another one. She has already given her the advance and Peggy spent it on a new couch for the living room, so there is no going back now. She has to write it, even though she might have oversold it slightly when pitching it to her publisher. Besides, she didn’t realize how hard it would be to write the stories. If only she could make something up, write fiction, but she can’t. The stories she writes are true and it hurts to dig into them.

  Come on, Peggy, you can write it. All you have to do is go back. Tap into that big base of tragedies you have been dealing with all of your life.

  Peggy closes her eyes and leans back in her chair with a deep exhale. Her husband Richard is in the living room watching television and the noise makes her lose her focus.

  Maybe you’re too tired. Maybe tomorrow it will be better.

  Peggy gets up and walks to the living room where she sits down next to Richard on their new couch that she loves so much. She has even told Richard that the dog is not allowed up on it, and so far, it has been respected, much to her surprise.

  “Did you write a lot of pages today?” he asks without looking at her.

  Peggy sighs. “Not really.” She grabs a piece of chocolate from the box on the coffee table and eats it. The news is all about the upcoming election. The Republican Convention is on and there is nothing else to watch. It bores Peggy immensely. Last week it had been all about The Axeman, but he seems to have been long forgotten by now. The world moves faster now. Almost too fast for Peggy’s liking.

  “It’ll be better tomorrow,” he says.

  “I hope so. It’s just hard to write about.”

  “Hm, you didn’t have this much trouble when writing about the other case in the first book. And that was, after all, your worst case.”

  “I know. I don’t understand what is wrong with me. Maybe I should leave it alone. At least for a week or so. I don’t feel like myself lately. I keep feeling like someone is watching me.” She shudders. “Maybe I’m just being paranoid.”

  Richard chuckles and grabs a chocolate for himself. He turns up the volume of the TV. “Sorry. I have to hear this. These Republicans crack me up.”

  Chapter Fifty

  July 2016

  Ian watches Mia in her sleep. He is standing in the doorway staring at her, his heart throbbing in his chest. He can’t stop thinking about the visit he just had, of the information he was just given.

  Could it be? Could it really be that this guy killed Cindy?

  While making sure Mia is heavily asleep, Ian thinks about this guy; Blake is the name that woman called him, but he knows him as Carl. He never knew him very well, but back when Cindy was still alive, a few years ago, they would meet him at the bar around the corner and party with him, get hammered while Mia stayed home alone, sleeping.

  When Ian is certain Mia is sound asleep, he sneaks out the front door, locks it before he leaves, then walks down the wet street. The rain has subsided and it is still hot and humid. He walks down their street till he reaches the bar on the corner and enters. He doesn’t see Carl anywhere. As a matter of fact, the bar is empty except for old Sam sitting by the counter as usual.

  “Hey, Ian,” the bartender says with a nod. “Long time no see. What can I get for you, old timer?”

  “Nothing. I’m not drinking lately. Carl been in here recently?”

  “Sure. He was in here two days ago. Had a few beers, then left, why?”

  “I need to find him. As soon as possible.”

  The bartender looks at him, then puts his glass down. “Everything all right there, Ian?”

  Ian shakes his head. “I don’t know, Eric. Hopefully it will be. Did he tell you anything that would help me find him?”

  Eric thinks for a little while wiping a glass clean. “Well, you know how it is. Carl talks a lot; it’s hard to listen to everything, right? But, come to think of it, he did say something about not being able to stay long because of some kid he is taking care of or something that he had to get back to. I think he is staying at one of the hotels in the French Quarter, ‘cause he said he walked here. You know Carl…money is not an issue. He doesn’t quite live up to the image of the starving artist, am I right?”

  “Sure are,” Ian says. “Thanks, Eric.”

  “Anytime, buddy,” Eric says with a nod. “Come back for a drink soon, will you? We miss you around here.”

  Ian doesn’t answer, since he is not sure he is ever going to have a drink again. As he leaves the bar, he realizes how many evenings he has destroyed getting hammered in there and how many days he has shown up for work still half drunk or at least so hung-over he wanted to hurl.

  Now it feels like he has woken up from a yearlong sleep. Finally, he can think clearly.

  Life’s simply too short.

  While hurrying back to the house, hoping and praying that Mia hasn’t woken up while he was gone, he wonders how much more they could have enjoyed each other if he and Cindy hadn’t been drinking so heavily for all of their time together. They had some fun times, sure. They knew how to party, but they should have stopped. Maybe Cindy wouldn’t be dead now if they had.

  She was the one who came up with the idea for pulling that trick on Carl. It was just to get a little money. He seemed to have enough. They didn’t think he would ever notice or realize they had pulled his leg.

  There was no way Ian had ever thought Carl would try and kill them because of it. No way.

  Chapter Fifty-One

  July 2016

  I feel hopeful when I open my eyes the next morning. That and Joey’s arms around my waist. I turn around and my eyes meet his. He has been crying. I pull him closer and hold him tight.

  “I was dreaming about him,” he whispers.

  I nod, then kiss his forehead and hug him again. The past days we have been taking turns feeling down. The day before, it was me who needed that extra care. Today, I am feeling more hopeful. After the visit at Ian Marks’ house, I feel like we’re getting somewhere. I don’t exactly know where, but somewhere.

  My phone rings as we are still embracing in bed. I let go of Joey, then reach over and grab it from the nightstand.

  It’s Chloe.

  “Hey there,” I say. “What’s up?”

  “I got news,” she says. Never was much for chitchatting, especially not when she has been up all night.

  “Great. What is it?”

  “They’re related. Two of the victims are mother and daughter.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes. Debra Trout was just recently married for the third time, but she is Cindy Haven’s mother. Cindy was the first victim from back in March, as you recall.”

  “Yes, we visited her home and spoke with the man she lived with last night. Get this, he knows Blake. I showed him the picture and he totally reacted to it. Almost threw us out afterwards. He said Cindy knew the guy who killed her.”

  “Great,” Chloe says. “Fits with our theory then. I spoke to Debra Trout’s other daughter last night. She lives in Arizona, but she told me Debra and Cindy lost contact years ago.”

  “So, there is another sister?” I say.

  “Ye
s, actually there was one more, but she’s dead.”

  “But they had no contact, you say? How did Blake know they were related then? They didn’t even have the same last name?”

  “Maybe he found out some other way, but it does describe a pattern, a connection between the two first victims.”

  “Gives us something to work with,” I say and look at Joey with a smile. The steps we are taking these days are small, but at least we’re moving forward. “But what about Lisa Klein, then? Is there any connection between her and the two others?”

  “None so far, but I haven’t had much time to look into her. I’ll keep looking. There has to be some sort of connection. All I know so far is that Lisa had just gotten out of a violent relationship and the police have been questioning her ex boyfriend on the sister’s recommendation, and he is in their custody still as the main suspect.”

  “But if the first two victims are connected, then I bet my old hat the last one is as well. And once we have a pattern, then maybe we can find out what Blake is up to. How he finds his victims,” I say.

  “If they are not random, that is,” Chloe says. “He has killed randomly before.”

  “I know. But I get the feeling he is doing something bigger here. If I’m right, he is trying to get my attention. I believe that with investigating this, he’ll lead me to Salter, so all I can do now is tag along and follow his leads.”

  “Just promise me to be careful, though. If you’re right about Blake, then I fear for your life. You’re the one he is after; you’re the one he wants to hurt. Please make sure he doesn’t succeed.”

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  July 2016

  Blake is going through the channels looking for a news show. Everything is about that damn Republican Convention. No more news about The Axeman or how he scared the crap out of the entire city.

  A stroke of genius, if you ask Blake.

  “Can I please talk to my mom, soon?” Salter asks. “Please?”

  Salter is sitting on the bed of the hotel room. Blake keeps him strapped down now constantly, ever since two days ago when he tried to escape by attacking Blake with the hotel letter opener.

  Blake ignores his request. Mostly because he keeps saying the same thing over and over again…ever since Salter realized his mom had come to New Orleans, when they started to talk about the email she had received on television.

  The oh-so famous blogger. It makes Blake sick.

  Blake grabs his computer and goes on Facebook. He looks at Mary’s profile. She hasn’t posted anything while in town. Probably doesn’t want him to be able to find her. She is not that stupid, but her foolish ex-husband is. Last night he checked into a diner in the French Quarter, so now Blake knows he is there with her. He wonders if they’re still fighting constantly. Probably are, especially with all the tension from not being able to find their son.

  “Pleeease…I want to call my mom,” Salter continues. “Can’t you just call her and let her talk to me? Make sure she knows I am still alive?”

  “That only happens in the movies,” Blake says. “I have my way of doing things. It’s none of your concern.”

  “But…I don’t feel well.”

  “Ha. I’m not falling for that again,” Blake says and scrolls through Mary’s friends’ profiles to see if they might be with her as well.

  The only one he ever liked was Chloe. He doesn’t want to have to hurt her. He used her back then, yes, but parts of him actually liked her, maybe still likes her a little. It scares him, since it feels like a weakness. She had woken emotions in him that he didn’t want to have.

  Maybe you should kill her just because of that. She makes you weak. She’s a risk factor you can’t afford.

  Yet, he visits her Facebook profile every day. She is not that active, probably because she knows how much can be revealed through it, but others sometimes post pictures of her, and he enjoys looking at them. He doesn’t want to, but he can’t help it. He has a weakness for older women. Only once has he ever been really in love, and she was almost twice his age.

  “I really don’t feel well,” Salter repeats.

  Blake sighs and gets up. He is sick of listening to the boy complain or try to trick him. Last time he said he wasn’t well, he tried to run for the door when Blake untied him. Blake is not doing that again. He grabs the duct tape, rips off a piece, and walks to the boy.

  “No, Blake, please. I won’t talk anymore, I promise, I won’t say a word. Please don’t put the tape on my…”

  Blake places the tape over his lips, then slaps him across his cheek. “Stop whining, boy.”

  But as his hand leaves Salter’s face, Blake realizes he can still feel a warm sensation in it. He notices the boy’s eyes look feverish. He reaches out and feels the boy’s forehead.

  It is burning up.

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  October 2005

  “You sold my car?”

  Robyn is standing in Suzy’s small condo, bent over her mother, who is just waking up, obviously drugged. A man is lying on the couch, completely out of reach. Robyn guesses he is Jamie. Melissa blinks, then smiles.

  “Hey, lady.”

  “That car wasn’t yours to sell, Melissa. I gave it to you as a loan. To help you get to work and come home earlier. How could you?”

  “Sorry,” she says, still with a wide smile. She spots Suzy. “Hey, baby. Didn’t know you had come home. You want something to eat?”

  “Stop the act,” Robyn says. “I know you never feed her. She eats breakfast and lunch at school, then dinner at my house.”

  Robyn is trying hard to keep her calm. Never has she felt so used. “How could you sell my car?” she asks again.

  “I’m sorry,” Melissa says, the smile subsiding. “It’s just…well I lost my job and I owed a lot of money and…well…I was in trouble, okay? I thought you didn’t care about it. I thought you gave it to me.”

  “How? How could you think I would give you a car?”

  “Well you have a lot of money and you said you never used it, so I thought…well I am so sorry. I’ll pay you back.”

  “You’re lucky I don’t report this to the police,” Robyn says. “And all this to the DCF. This is no environment for a little girl to grow up in.”

  Melissa opens her eyes a little more and gets up from her recliner. “Hey, lady. This is all I can afford right now. I’m doing my best here. We all are. I’m just trying to get back on my feet. I want what is best for Suzy. I want to remind you, I am, after all, her mother. I know what is best for her.”

  “Do you now? Do you? Why don’t you ever help her with her homework, then? She had a project she had to do, a timeline of her life and she got an F because she couldn’t wake you up. What kind of a mother does drugs in front of her daughter?”

  “Pah, what do you even know about having children? You don’t know how hard I have to work to give her a place to live and clothes and food. And then I was fired. How am I supposed to pay for us? You have everything. You don’t have to struggle for anything. And now you come here and yell at me? Rich people think they can just do anything.”

  Melissa reaches down and grabs a cigarette from her package. She lights it and blows out smoke, keeping one eye half closed. Robyn feels very uncomfortable in her small condo. Jamie is waking up now too.

  “Hey, babe. Who’s the old lady?”

  “She is someone who used to take care of Suzy, but she won’t anymore.”

  The words punch Robyn. She can hardly breathe.

  “Oh, Mooom,” Suzy says. “I love hanging out with Robyn.”

  “Yeah, well, you love it a little too much. It’s over now. It’s not healthy what’s going on here. I don’t like it. Besides, I’ll be home now that I don’t work. Jamie has promised he’ll take care of us, so I won’t have to work for a while. I can take good care of you. I’m your mother and this lady here has to learn that. You can’t just steal someone else’s child just because you don’t have one yourself.”

&
nbsp; Melissa is looking directly at Robyn when she speaks. Robyn is baffled, completely taken aback by this woman’s attitude and words. She doesn’t know what to say. Robyn has never been good in fights or discussions.

  “After all I have done for you…” she says, her voice breaking. She is fighting her tears.

  Melissa mocks her by repeating her words. “After all I have done…I think you should leave now, lady. I don’t want you in my daughter’s life anymore. Get out!”

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  July 2016

  “There is still the possibility that Blake isn’t The Axeman; have you thought about that?”

  Joey looks at Mary. They’re sitting in the hotel room. She is on her laptop, researching the victim’s backgrounds to see if she can find a pattern. He is watching TV, trying to get his mind off of things.

  He is not good with computers like her and it makes him feel so useless. The TV is all about the Republican Convention and Joey is so tired of watching it.

  “What’s that?” Mary says and finally looks up from her screen.

  “What if Blake isn’t The Axeman?” he repeats.

  Mary sighs. “He is. I’m sure he is. Don’t do this to me, Joe.”

  He turns to look at her. “Do what?”

  “Doubt. Don’t doubt. This is our only hope. I need you to believe this will work as much as I do, okay?”

  Joey nods. “Okay.”

  She smiles, then sips from her coffee cup. They had room service bring up breakfast so she could work on the computer.

  “Any news?” Joey asks.

  She shakes her head. “Nope. Not yet. Trying to find out everything I can on Lisa Klein, but so far nothing that connects her to the two other victims. I think Chloe might have better luck. She knows how to get places I can’t.”