When a car horn blasted behind her, Samantha jumped and looked up at the light that had just turned green. She glanced in her rearview mirror. An old man was pointing his finger at her, his wrinkled face snarled in disdain. She waved at him apologetically and hit the accelerator, then pulled over and quickly dialed Kenzie back.
“Hello?” Kenzie breathed into the phone.
“Hey! It’s Samantha. I’m so sorry I missed your call. Ava and I have been worried sick about you. Why’d you disappear on us?”
“I—I’m not going to be able to discuss Jacob’s case with you anymore.”
Samantha felt a twinge of disappointment tighten inside her chest. “Really? Why not? What’s going on?”
“Listen, I can’t talk for long,” Kenzie whispered nervously. “Alex is in the other room. But I’m hearing rumors that Collin is in the drug business and Jacob was somehow tangled up in it.”
Samantha closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the seat. “Oh no,” she moaned. “What makes you say that?”
“I don’t have any solid proof, but that’s been the buzz around Westman’s. And with Jacob turning up dead and those other guys going missing, this is all getting too dangerous for me, Sam. I really wanna help you and Ava, but... I’m sorry. This is gonna have to be our last conversation.”
“But wait, can’t you just—”
Before Samantha could finish, Kenzie disconnected the call.
Samantha pulled the phone away from her ear and stared at it in disbelief. A streak of fiery anger shot through her. She tore away from the curb and sped down the street.
“What in the hell are you doing?” she asked herself. But as she turned down Everhart Avenue and eyed Westman’s Automotive Factory, Samantha knew exactly what she was planning to do. Now it was just a matter of whether or not she would actually go through with it.
Gregory is gonna be livid, she thought while slowly creeping down the street.
She stopped the car right before she reached the factory’s parking lot and scanned the rows of vehicles. There, in front of the Reserved for General Manager sign, was Collin’s obnoxious silver pickup truck. Its enormous wheels and bright red flames lining the doors could be spotted from a mile away.
“So he’s here,” Samantha muttered. “Good.”
She hit the accelerator and sped down the street. Guilt stabbed the pit of her stomach as she thought back on the conversation she’d had with Gregory that morning.
Right before he left for work, the detective made her promise that she would go straight to Hannah’s Coffee Shop and hang out there until he could get a patrol car to watch over her house.
Well, at least I’m not going home, Samantha thought to herself.
The fact that she was heading to Collin’s house was an even more dangerous idea. But now that Kenzie was no longer willing to assist in the investigation of Jacob’s death, Samantha had to find another way to get answers.
Her heart pounded uncontrollably as she made a left turn down Canyon Avenue and drove toward Birchway Hills.
“You don’t have to do this,” she said aloud. “You do not have to do this...”
But as soon as the words were out of her mouth, Samantha knew she was going to follow through with her plan.
She’d tossed and turned all night at Gregory’s house. Between the intimate dinner they’d shared, the details he’d divulged on why he had left Chicago and the fiery attraction she felt toward him, Samantha had barely gotten any sleep. But in spite of all that, she was now wide-awake and completely wired.
Since she’d begun covering Jacob’s case, Samantha had tried to play by the rules. She’d hoped that her investigative blog posts would generate clues rather than the threats she had been getting. But at this point she’d had it. Being run out of her own home was the last straw. She refused to sit back and wait for Collin to execute another attack. Samantha was ready to take action and start fighting fire with fire.
She made a right turn down Sixteenth Street. An intense wave of heat stung her skin when Collin’s block appeared up ahead.
Samantha rolled down the window and inhaled deeply, allowing the chilly air to calm her frazzled nerves. Despite the words of doubt flying through her head, she knew that she’d come too far to turn back now.
She made a sharp left onto Birchway Avenue and let up on the accelerator. Her breathing quickened when Collin’s three-story brick townhome came into view.
Samantha suddenly felt herself beginning to panic. Her muscles tensed up as she pressed down on the brake. She swiveled her head from side to side, searching the street for neighbors or passersby.
No one was around.
Stay calm. You can do this...
But in that moment, Samantha couldn’t do it. She floored the gas pedal and sped down the street, flying past Collin’s house and exiting Birchway Hills.
As she slammed on her brakes at a stop sign, the memory of her shattered living room windows flashed through her mind. Thoughts of bricks and glass bottles lying in the midst of her broken lamps and vases came rushing back.
Samantha thought about the threatening messages left on her blog, the man in the van pointing a gun at her and the devastating sight of her damaged garage door. That, along with Jacob’s unsolved murder, his family’s grief and the missing Westman’s workers, was all it took for her to make an abrupt U-turn.
“Sorry, Gregory, but I have to do this,” she muttered aloud, speeding down the street toward Collin’s town house.
Samantha parked her car a few houses away from his. She slowly stepped out of the car and tried to walk as casually as she could despite her trembling calves.
She cautiously approached his home, eyeing the cherrywood front door and surrounding windows while wondering exactly how she was going to make her way inside.
Guess I didn’t think this all the way through...
The likelihood of there being an open window was slim to none considering it was almost wintertime. Samantha highly doubted she’d be lucky enough for the door to be unlocked. And she hadn’t even considered the fact that Collin might have an alarm system installed.
Girl, what are you doing?
“This,” Samantha grunted under her breath as she approached the side of Collin’s house. “This is what I’m doing.”
Her eyes darted along his perfectly manicured lawn and miniature evergreens. She scanned the doorway and windows for security cameras. There were none.
Samantha tiptoed down the concrete driveway toward the backyard. It was guarded by a tall wooden fence. She pressed the lever on the black iron handle and gently opened the gate.
She was surprised to see lush green bergenia plants and vibrant red twig dogwood shrubs planted among more evergreens. Samantha didn’t take Collin to be the nurturing gardener type, considering his ruthless nature. But looking around at the birdhouse he’d hung from a lacebark elm tree and leafy greens he’d planted near the back fence, she was clearly mistaken.
She pulled her black leather gloves out of her pocket and slipped them on. After glancing over in the neighbors’ backyards to make sure no one was looking, she approached the large double-hung windows along the back of the house.
Samantha gripped the bottoms of the frames, struggling to pull them up on the off chance that one of them might be unlocked.
“Dammit,” she mumbled after none of them budged.
She set out toward the other side of the house. On the way there, Samantha passed a pair of glass French doors. The blinds were open. She shielded her eyes with her hands and peered inside.
Her mouth fell open at the sight of Collin’s sparkling, modern white kitchen, elegant glass dining room table and white leather chairs. The interior of his home appeared to be just as flawless as the exterior.
Samantha was convinced that either Collin’s mother or some other woman had d
ecorated the house. There was no way a man that wild could maintain such tasteful order.
“But he is a sociopath, so there’s that...” she reminded herself as an image of Christian Bale’s character in American Psycho came to mind.
Samantha paused. She thought about Gregory. He’d been so against her doing this, and for good reason. She threw her hands in her air, wondering what the hell she was doing.
When Samantha dropped her arms down by her sides, her coat’s wrist strap looped around the door handle. Just as she pulled her arm away in an attempt to free her sleeve, the handle twisted, and the door popped open.
She froze. Her jaw tightened as she turned and quickly looked around her.
This is a sign, she thought, stumbling backward when a gust of wind blew the door farther open.
There’s something here I’m meant to find...
Samantha shuffled her feet, contemplating her next move. There was still no one in sight.
You have more to gain than you have to lose, she thought before slipping inside the house and closing the door behind her.
“Okay, where to start,” she said, her eyes darting around the room. She rubbed her hands together vigorously, then loosened the belt on her coat after growing warm with anxiety.
Just get in and get out...
Samantha stepped carefully across the birch hardwood floors. The dining room area opened into the family room, where a beige suede sectional surrounded a wrought iron coffee table. She peered around, noticing that everything was completely spotless. There wasn’t a plate, a glass, a piece of clothing lying around...nothing. The house appeared to be more of a model than lived-in home.
She headed over to the stairs and climbed them two at a time. A couple of bedrooms were located on the top floor. The first one looked to be for guests, considering the neutral-colored bedding appeared untouched and there were no personal effects or photos in the room.
Samantha checked the dresser drawers. They were empty. She looked underneath the bed. Nothing there. She glanced inside the closet. There were a couple of winter coats and sweaters hanging up. The shelves were completely bare.
“Please don’t tell me I went through all this for nothing,” Samantha muttered.
She spun around and hurried into the other bedroom. It was the master and looked a bit more lived in. Samantha was shocked to see that the bed wasn’t made. This was the first sign that Collin may not have been as obsessive-compulsive as she’d thought from viewing the other spaces.
She searched the room, looking for a laptop, drug paraphernalia or anything else that could incriminate Collin. She checked dresser drawers, shuffled through a stack of papers on his nightstand and examined the closet. There was nothing but clothes, bills, shoes and other random accessories.
Just as Samantha got down on her knees to check underneath the bed, her cell phone rang. The startling ringtone almost knocked her onto her back.
She snatched the phone out of her back pocket.
“Telemarketer,” she spat. “Of course...”
Samantha shoved the phone back in her pocket and glanced underneath the bed. It was completely bare. There wasn’t even a dust bunny rolling across the floor.
“This man must have another house somewhere,” Samantha mumbled, “because this can’t be it.”
She slammed her hand against the floor out of frustration and stood back up. She opened and closed drawers that she’d already searched and rustled through the closet once again, convinced that she must’ve missed something. This time, she looked inside several shoeboxes, then held her breath while rummaging through a pile of dirty clothes inside the laundry basket. Still nothing.
Samantha slumped out of Collin’s bedroom and headed back downstairs, deciding that the best way out would be the exact same way she’d come in.
As she shuffled through the dining room, a door off in the corner of the family room caught her eye. She initially mentally waved it off, thinking that like the rest of the house, it would turn up nothing.
Leave no stone unturned, she told herself in spite of being filled with doubt.
Samantha gradually opened the door, expecting to see a pantry or broom closet. She was surprised when a set of wooden stairs leading down to a dark basement appeared.
Her eyebrows furrowed with curiosity. She palmed the wall until her hand landed on a light switch and flipped it, then slowly descended the steep stairway.
When she reached the bottom, Samantha laid eyes on what looked to be a high-tech man cave. A pool table sat in the middle of the floor. A gigantic flat-screen television hung from the wall, surrounded by framed sports jerseys. Putting green turf covered one side of the floor, while rocker gaming chairs were propped in the other. An oversize chocolate-brown leather couch sat against the wall behind a wooden trunk that doubled as a coffee table.
Like the rest of the house, the basement was immaculate. There was a bar in the back, and the shelves were packed with liquor. Samantha walked behind it and saw nothing but glasses, a mini refrigerator and a sink.
A laundry room area was hidden around the corner from the bar. Aside from the washer and dryer, it contained only an empty countertop and a couple of shelves that held detergent, bleach and fabric softener.
“You have got to be kidding me!” Samantha griped, frustrated. She dug her fingernails into her palms and walked back into the middle of the basement. “What am I missing? What am I missing...” she rambled.
As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Samantha’s eyes landed on the wooden trunk. She studied the brass draw-bolt lock on its front. A keyhole gave her the impression that the trunk was locked. She felt compelled to try and open it anyway.
Samantha bent down, flipped the latch and gave the lid a pull. She almost fell backward when it popped open.
“Oh sh...” she uttered.
She peered inside the trunk. A Chicago Bears blanket sat on top. Samantha pushed it to the side and saw a glass bong, vaporizer and cigar box underneath. She grabbed the box and opened it, digging through several small bags of marijuana, dry herbs, e-liquids and unmarked bottles of prescription pills.
Just as Samantha placed the box back inside the trunk, she noticed a tattered marble notebook sitting at the very bottom. She grabbed it and thumbed through the pages. They were filled with a slew of numbers, percentages, random addresses and what appeared to be a bunch of gibberish, all written in bright blue ink.
“What the—”
She stopped abruptly when she heard the sound of a roaring engine followed by screeching tires. She immediately recognized the thunderous rumble. It was Collin’s pickup truck.
Samantha’s entire body stiffened as a numbing chill swept over her. She’d known this could happen. Why hadn’t she moved faster?
She folded his notebook in half and shoved it inside her coat pocket, then stumbled away from the trunk and spun around in a circle, struggling to decide whether she should make a run for it or find somewhere to hide.
After a few seconds, she slammed the lid back down on the trunk and darted up the stairs, climbing them two at a time. She could do this. She could get out as he was coming in. Simple. Her right foot got caught underneath one of the steps, and she tumbled forward, cracking her shin on its sharp edge.
Searing pain ripped up her leg. Samantha closed her eyes and tightened her lips, stifling a scream as it crept up her throat.
Get up! her inner voice shouted inside her head. Keep moving!
She grabbed the handrail and limped up the last few steps. When she reached the top of the stairwell, Samantha cracked open the door and saw Collin walking through the backyard. That escape route was out. He was waving his arm in the air wildly while talking on his cell phone.
“Oh no!” she whimpered.
She thought of the front door. Did she have time? Would it be secured by a special lock needi
ng a key? What if he came in as she was trying to get out?
Samantha quickly closed the door and tiptoed back down into basement. Her thighs quivered so much that her knees buckled, causing her to almost tumble onto the floor. Her injured shin was throbbing. She felt something drip down her leg and looked down, realizing that blood had seeped through her jeans where she’d cracked her shin.
“Dammit!”
Samantha covered her mouth with her hand as tears of panic streamed down her fingers. She limped over to the laundry room area and hid behind the washing machine.
“Dude, you have got to be kidding me!” she heard Collin say. He was in the house now. Good thing she hadn’t tried the front door. She’d have run right into him.
She looked up toward the ceiling and saw a vent that led upstairs to the kitchen area.
“I’m already at the crib,” he continued. “Dude, I know! I’m so sick of having to hide my weed, man. No, not from my girl. From my maid!”
Samantha held her breath, straining to catch every word Collin was saying.
“You know my aunt doubles as my maid,” he continued. “She runs back and tells my parents everything she finds in here. Of course I wanna fire her. But how can I? She’s my mother’s sister!”
Footsteps pounded against the floor right above Samantha’s head. Her stomach turned as she crouched down farther against the wall.
Please get out. Please get out. Please get out, she repeated in her head over and over again, wishing her words could telepathically move Collin out of the house.
“Yeah, man. I already picked up the food. I’m just gonna grab the weed, then I’ll be back at the factory. And before you even ask, yes, I remembered to get your Italian sub sandwich!”
Samantha thought about the marijuana she’d seen in the trunk.
“Nah!” she heard Collin yell. “You know I’m bringing the good stuff. Listen, that’s the midgrade weed I keep down in the man cave. It’s for the randoms who come through just to hang out and chill. Watch the game and gamble and whatnot. The top-shelf dank is up in the trap spot. Right next to the nine milli.”
Cold Case True Crime Page 10
