Colton Copycat Killer

by Marie Ferrarella

  “What the hell’s going on here?” Sam demanded, looking squarely at Zoe since she was the one who seemed to be leading this parade. “I thought I told you to go home.”

  Zoe paused in front of him, but rather than answer his question, she gave the waiters instructions first. “You can set up right in front of the first pew,” she told the two waiters next to her. “If it’s all right with you, Reverend,” she added, looking at the somewhat bemused preacher.

  “Who am I to stand in the way of feeding the masses?” he asked with a slight chuckle.

  Trying to hold his impatience in check, Sam shifted so he was directly in Zoe’s line of vision. “What are you doing?” he demanded.

  Zoe wasn’t accustomed to acting on her own initiative, but after everything that had happened today, she felt obligated to bring some sort of small order to all the ensuing chaos. She knew she wasn’t going to be much help when it came to finding out who had killed Celia, but she could at least feed the people who were involved in this investigation, be it the wedding guests who were being questioned, or the law enforcement agents who were doing the questioning.

  “I thought maybe the wedding guests might be better able to answer your questions if they ate something. The food’s all paid for,” she explained quickly, “and it seemed a shame just to let it all go to waste like that. Besides, people tend to be more mellow on a full stomach.”

  She was right, but, while he didn’t want to starve anyone, in his opinion bringing food into the equation somehow trivialized the murder.

  “This isn’t some backyard barbecue, Zoe,” he reminded Zoe.

  The smile she had deliberately been forcing herself to wear faded away as her eyes met his.

  “Yes, I know that. It’s my sister’s wedding day—except she didn’t get a chance to get married. Someone callously took her life and robbed her of that. Maybe this is my way of coping with that knowledge, by making things a little more tolerable for the people who, through no fault of their own, suddenly find themselves part of a crime scene.”

  Zoe had too good a heart for what was happening here, Sam thought. People with good hearts inevitably wound up getting hurt.

  “One of them might have done it, you know,” he pointed out.

  “I know,” she acknowledged quietly. “But then again, she might have been murdered by a complete stranger.”

  “How would he have gotten past everyone unnoticed?” Sam challenged.

  Zoe threw up her hands. “I don’t know. But I’m not going to punish the others because the murderer might be hiding in their midst. Hopefully, whoever he is, if he is mingling here, will choke on the food.” She paused, scrutinizing Sam. He looked drawn, like a man going through hell. “Maybe you should eat something, too,” she suggested. “Besides everything else, you are the one who footed the bill.”

  Her comment caught him by surprise. He hadn’t wanted any of that to come out and get around. What he paid for was his business.

  “What makes you say that?” he asked defensively.

  “Because it’s the truth,” she replied simply. “Celia bragged to me about it. That she got you to pay for the whole wedding, including her dress. And even if she hadn’t said anything, Celia was my sister. I know she didn’t have the kind of money that would have paid for the wedding she felt she was entitled to.” Zoe paused for another moment before adding, “She bragged to me about that, too, that she got you to pay for exactly what she wanted.”

  Celia had been her sister and she wouldn’t have had this sort of fate befall Celia for the world, but Sam deserved better than that—especially now that she knew Celia had tricked him into agreeing to marry her.

  Putting her hand on his shoulder, Zoe said gently, “I’m sure no one’ll fault you for taking a break to eat something.”

  She glanced toward the front of the church, where she’d told the waiters to set up. Almost all the pews had been emptied out or were in the process of emptying, with all the people filing by the carts that had been placed next to one another.

  “Provided, of course,” she observed, “that they let you cut in line.”

  “I don’t have an appetite,” Sam replied flatly.

  That didn’t seem to be anyone else’s problem, Zoe thought, watching the wedding guests fill their plates. But as for her, she understood perfectly what Sam was saying.

  “Funny, neither do I,” she confided. She hadn’t eaten this morning—there just hadn’t seemed to be enough time—and after finding Celia’s body, her stomach was so tightly knotted, there was no way she would be able to get a single spoonful of anything down today. Maybe not even tomorrow.

  Barely acknowledging what she’d just said, Sam began to head over to the wedding guests to continue taking down their statements when he stopped to glance back at Zoe one last time.

  She was standing quietly on the perimeter of the gathering, silently observing everyone else gratefully helping themselves to the food that would have been served at the reception.

  At his wedding reception.

  He knew he should be feeling a whole host of emotions about that, but the truth of it was, he felt nothing. Not anger at Celia’s untimely death, not fury he’d been cheated out of experiencing a more normal lifestyle than he’d had so far. If anything, the one thing he did feel cheated of was that he was never going to be able to hold his child in his arms. He’d never be able to look down on his or her face.

  But even that, Sam told himself, might have actually turned out for the best. Any child born these days had a great many things to overcome before he or she became an adult. He knew from firsthand experience kids didn’t always reach that stage relatively intact. Maybe it was better his child would never have to go through and endure those kinds of conditions, Sam told himself.

  For now, he shook himself free of that morose thought. Catching Zoe’s attention, he suggested, “I can have one of the uniforms bring you home.”

  Zoe shook her head. “Thanks, but I’m really not ready to be alone right now. I thought I’d just stick around here and help out with the food, or whatever else might come up and need doing,” she told him.

  Then, not wanting to get in Sam’s way or to be the cause of any further concern for him, she went up to the front of the church and offered to provide an extra set of hands. She knew that getting the guests fed would go even faster that way.

  * * *

  Taking down statements, even when the person being questioned had nothing really concrete to offer, took longer than Sam had expected. Although those guests who were being questioned had nothing in the way of real evidence to contribute, it seemed they all wanted to offer either a theory regarding the murder or an opinion as to why it had happened, not to mention awkwardly stumbling through condolences they felt obligated to offer the would-be bridegroom.

  Few of them had ever been this close to a murder and they were all apparently repelled and yet fascinated by the circumstances at the same time.

  For his part, Sam cut off the more long-winded guests once they were wound up. But he did listen to each of them, thinking there just might be some sort of a clue to be found tangled up in all their verbal ramblings.

  In the end, after taking the last statement from a sweet-faced older woman named Abigail Abernathy, Sam was forced to admit he had nothing. No motive for the murder had become apparent, no suspicious behavior was noted by anyone. He was no further along after more than three hours of taking down statements than he had been immediately after he had discovered Zoe screaming in the bridal room.

  Frustrated, he knew what his next logical step had to be—which only added to his overall frustration.

  Since the way the murder had been conducted was so similar to the way his father had killed his nine victims, Sam felt some of the answers he was looking for could very well be found with his father.

/>   Which meant he needed to travel to the prison where his father was incarcerated and question the man. By no stretch of the imagination was that something he felt like doing. It had been nearly twenty years since he had seen Matthew Colton—the exact length of time since the man had been sent to prison for his crimes.

  As far as Sam was concerned, another twenty could go by without a visit, as well.

  But he owed it to Celia—as well as to his unborn child and the other two victims that had been uncovered—to find out who killed her. And right now, he had a very uneasy feeling that the killer was most likely a devoted disciple of his father’s. Some worshipful fanatic who wanted to be just like Matthew Colton, God help them.

  The world, he thought, not for the first time, was a very strange, unsettling place.

  Sam looked around the church. Now that he had made up his mind to see Matthew and discover what sort of information he could get out of the man, he was eager to get this whole thing over with and behind him.

  But nothing would get done today. It was getting late. Visiting hours at the prison were over and he wouldn’t endear himself to anyone by flashing his badge and demanding rules be broken for him so he could question his sociopathic father.

  He needed time to psyche himself up mentally before actually confronting the old man. Besides, the first thing he needed was to sleep. That was, of course, assuming he could actually get some sleep, something that at this point he sincerely doubted.

  “Everyone,” Sam said, raising his voice and waiting until he had the wedding guests’ attention. When he did, he proceeded. “Thank you for your statements and your patience,” he told the collective gathering. “You’re all free to leave. If any of you remember anything that might have slipped your minds while giving your accounts of this morning, you were all given cards with the number of the police department on them. Please don’t hesitate to call me or one of the other police detectives.”

  Standing off to the side, Sam watched as the guests began to file by and make their way through the double doors to the outside world.

  Within minutes, the room was quickly cleared, leaving only a handful of police personnel in their wake.

  The latter group left soon enough, either heading back to the police station, or in some cases, home for the night.

  That was when he realized Zoe was still there. She was helping the waiters clear away the last of the remaining food. One of the waiters was putting what was left into a couple of large boxes that had been used to transport the sliced wedding cake.

  Once all the food had been boxed up, Zoe turned the leftovers over to the reverend, saying, “I’m sure there’re some deserving families in Granite Gulch who might enjoy these leftovers.”

  “Indeed there are,” Reverend Rimmer told her with a grateful smile. And then the smile turned sympathetic as he asked her, concerned, “Will you be all right tonight, Zoe?”

  “I’ll be fine, Reverend. I already am fine. Thank you for asking,” she told him, turning away.

  “You know, it’s not right to lie to a reverend,” Sam told her, moving out of the shadows where he had stood observing her these past few minutes.

  Zoe stifled a gasp of surprise. Recovering herself, she insisted proudly, “I wasn’t lying.”

  “Oh?” It was obvious by his tone he didn’t believe her.

  Zoe raised her chin in almost a defiant stance, something she wasn’t accustomed to. “No,” she maintained stubbornly. “I wasn’t lying. I was setting his mind at ease.”

  So that was what they called it these days, he thought sarcastically. Out loud he challenged, “And there’s a difference?”

  “There is for him,” she informed Sam. And then she shrugged. “There’s no point in making him feel he has to find a way to comfort me.” Her voice dropped to almost a whisper as she continued, “Besides, right now, there is no way to comfort me and probably won’t be for quite some time to come.”

  He knew what she was dealing with. He had gone through the same thing when his mother had been killed. “Every day it gets a little easier to deal with. It never gets easy,” he warned, “but it does eventually get easier.”

  Except for the times when the nightmares bring it all back in vivid colors, he thought. That was the sort of thing that sent a person back to square one. But Zoe didn’t need to know that right now. She would find herself dealing with all of it soon enough, at least that was his guess.

  She was grateful to Sam for trying to make this easier for her. She was well aware it wasn’t really in his nature to connect to people.

  “Was it that way for you?” she asked him.

  He didn’t answer her, didn’t want to make this any more personal than he had to. That wasn’t his way and even if he would have wanted to—and he didn’t—making any kind of a real personal connection was next to impossible for him. Because of what had happened in his childhood, he was emotionally stunted. He’d spent too many years disciplining himself to keep his distance from people, both physically and emotionally, because to do otherwise was just asking for pain.

  He’d succeeded all too well.

  Still, he couldn’t just walk away and leave Zoe here in this condition. Zoe looked too much like a lost waif for him to just ignore and forget about her. Besides, had things gone on schedule—instead of so horribly wrong—by now Zoe would have been his sister-in-law, which made her family. And family was always taken care of, regardless of any feelings that might or might not have been involved.

  “Get your things, Zoe,” he instructed. “I’m taking you home.”

  “That’s all right. You don’t have to,” she said almost automatically.

  She didn’t feel right about taking Sam away from his duties. Celia had tricked him and she felt somehow obligated to make it up to Sam. Turning him into a personal chauffeur was not paying the man back in any manner, shape or form.

  Sam exhaled impatiently. He was not about to argue with her about this. He was driving her home, which meant she was coming with him, no questions asked.

  “I don’t like repeating myself, Zoe. Consider this the one and only exception. Get your things, I’m taking you home.”

  Zoe looked at him hesitantly, as if she wanted to say something to him, but couldn’t find the courage or the words.

  “What?” he demanded impatiently.

  “They’re in the bridal room. My things,” she further clarified uneasily.

  “That makes them part of the crime scene.” But he didn’t recall seeing anything like a purse or her street clothing in the room. “Were they out in plain sight?” he questioned.

  “No, I put them in the closet. I didn’t want them getting in Celia’s way,” she explained.

  It all seemed so petty, so terribly insignificant now, she thought. Celia had been immersed in playing the queen, having her smallest wish obeyed.

  All Sam had heard was that the things were in a closet. That meant there was a chance the items hadn’t been tagged and taken.

  With that in mind, Sam started out the double doors. “C’mon,” he urged.

  Without looking to see if she was following, Sam led the way back to the room where her sister had been murdered.

  Zoe was right behind him.

  She stopped short when she saw there was yellow tape across the doorway. Zoe hesitated, looking from the tape to Sam.

  “Doesn’t this mean we shouldn’t cross it?”

  “It means that no unauthorized personnel should cross it. I’m not unauthorized,” he informed her, raising the tape. When she made no effort to move, he asked her, “Well, what are you waiting for, a special invitation?”

  “No. Sorry.” Apologizing, she hurried under the yellow tape, then went straight to the closet, where she stopped. “Can I open it?”

  “Is that what you did when you put
your things away?” he asked.

  It was a rhetorical question, but she answered it as if he meant it seriously. “Yes.”

  “Then open it now. Your prints are already on the doorknob.”

  She carefully did as Sam instructed, taking out both her purse—a small clutch thing, he noted—and her street dress.

  Now that he thought about it, she had always dressed so simply, Sam recalled. Clothes that made her fade into the woodwork. But on closer scrutiny, he realized she was like a hidden diamond, just waiting to catch the right light. Or, in Zoe’s case, it was her inner peace that just radiated outward upon inspection.

  “So, is that everything?” he asked her, nodding at what she had in her hands.

  Zoe nodded solemnly, not wanting to delay him a second longer than she had to. “Yes.”

  “Then let’s go,” he ordered.

  Wanting to protest, Zoe remained silent. She waited until she walked out again, ducking beneath the yellow tape as he held it up for her.

  Once she was out of the room, she turned toward Sam abruptly and gave it one more try. “You really don’t have to take me home, you know. I can call someone,” she volunteered.

  “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m ‘someone.’ Now stop arguing with me or you’re going to be riding home with a gag across your mouth. Understand?”

  “Understand,” she echoed. She doubted he would carry out his threat, but she wasn’t a hundred percent sure of that.

  “Good,” he said with finality just before he led the way to the parking lot.

  Chapter 5

  The silence inside his car felt oddly disturbing to Sam.

  In general, he wasn’t much for small talk—or any sort of talk actually, if he could avoid it. For the most part, he let others do the talking if they wanted to and he listened when he had to. Or when there was something to be gleaned from whatever it was that the other person was saying. He had already figured out Zoe couldn’t be classified as a chatterbox—that title had belonged to Celia and his guess was that growing up, Zoe had learned to keep her own counsel and allow Celia to take the center stage.