Still Waters

by Debra Webb

  Martha crossed her arms over her chest then and pressed a finger to her cheek as if contemplating the question. “I thought he was a bit of a loner. If he had any friends or a girlfriend, I never saw or heard about them. Why do you ask?”

  The few details the police had shared with Amber had not been released to the press, which meant she couldn’t share those with Martha. “Curious, I suppose. I’m hoping to find someone who knew him well.”

  “Are you doing a story on his murder?”

  Amber shook her head. “I’m looking for the truth. And maybe a few answers about why I’m a person of interest in the case. Maybe he was an obsessed fan. I don’t know. I feel like there’s something the police haven’t seen.”

  “You know,” Martha said, “now that you mention it, I do remember him stopping once to watch you.” She gestured to the small television that sat on one end of her counter. “He picked up the deliveries for the day, and he noticed you on the screen. He didn’t move until the channel had returned to the regular program.”

  “Do you recall when this happened?”

  Martha shook her head. “I’m sorry. I don’t remember. A few weeks or so ago.”

  “You’re certain he never mentioned any friends or places he frequented?”

  “I think he played video games,” Martha offered. “He brought my son a new game now and then.” Her smile returned. “I think they spoke the same language when it came to video games.”

  “How is Delbert?” Amber felt terrible she’d forgotten to ask Martha about her son. Delbert was wheelchair bound and very reclusive. His father had died in a car crash and then poor Delbert had been paralyzed in a football injury. Keeping a roof over their heads and food on the table were only parts of the burden Martha carried. Caring for a physically challenged child was incredibly difficult to do alone. Few could handle the stress, much less the workload of operating a thriving alterations shop.

  “He’s doing well—thank you for asking. These days he helps me remember where I leave things and what I’m supposed to be doing. I’d be awfully lonesome without him.”

  “Does Delbert know his friend is dead?”

  “We talked about it. He’ll be a little more withdrawn than usual for a while.” She sighed. “I’ll just have to find another way to keep him entertained. Would you like to say hello? He’d be thrilled to see you. That boy thinks you’re the prettiest thing.”

  Amber smiled. “I’d love to say hello.”

  Martha ushered them through her kitchen, where the scent of something wonderful emanated from the Crock-Pot. The house had originally been a three bedroom, but Martha had turned the larger of the three into a family room since the living room and dining room were lost to the business.

  Delbert sat in his wheelchair in front of the television, his focus on winning the game playing out on the screen. The cozy room had Martha’s touches all over it. Crocheted throws and framed needlepoint art. Amber often wondered if sewing was Martha’s way of escaping reality. Everyone needed an outlet.

  “Delbert, look who stopped by to see you,” Martha cooed.

  Her son looked up, his attention shifting to Amber. He smiled.

  Amber moved closer to him and crouched down to his eye level. “One of these days I need to learn to play that game.” She couldn’t remember the name of it, but it was all the rage with gamers.

  Delbert glanced from her to Sean. His smile faded, and he shut off the game and stared at the floor.

  After several moments of silence, Martha offered, “We’ll let you get back to your game.”

  “I’ll see you next time, Delbert,” Amber promised. Back in the shop, she said, “I hope Sean’s presence didn’t upset him.”

  “He’ll be fine.” To Sean, Martha said. “He’s just not very good with strangers.”

  Delbert’s story was such a sad one. Not long after the paralyzing injury he’d tried to take his own life with a drug overdose. He’d survived but the close encounter with death had left him with some amount of brain damage.

  “I understand. I was in his territory. By the way,” Sean went on, “do you know the name of the video game store where Mr. Adler shopped?”

  “That place over on Riverview Parkway, I believe.”

  “Game Master?” Sean asked.

  Amber was glad he knew about game shops. She knew nothing about video games and had no desire to learn. Several of her friends knew the lingo and all the newest games. They warned Amber that when she had kids she would have to learn. Since she had no prospects—even if she were interested—in a relationship, she doubted there would be children. Her gaze lingered on Sean. Did he want kids?

  Where in the world had that thought come from? Had to be the stress. Her mind was playing games with her.

  “That’s the one,” Martha confirmed. “I remember the bags.” She frowned. “Do you think I should call that detective who questioned me and tell her about Kyle bringing those games to Delbert?”

  “It could be significant,” Amber advised. At this point anything could be significant. “We should be going. We’ve taken up too much of your time. I hope you’ll call me if you think of anything else that might help us learn more about Mr. Adler’s life.”

  “Of course.” Martha shook her head. “It’s such a senseless tragedy.”

  Amber prayed one tragedy didn’t become two. One way or another they had to find Kyle Adler’s killer.

  When they were back in Sean’s car and he’d driven out of the parking lot, he turned to Amber. “What’s the story on her son?”

  Amber gave him the details Martha had given her after they became friends. “He’s completely reliant on his mother.”

  “I guess that takes him out of the suspect pool.”

  No kidding. “I can’t see Delbert as a suspect even if his physical and mental challenges didn’t exist.” These were people Amber had known for years.

  “You see—” Sean glanced at her “—that’s where you’d fall down in your investigation.”

  She shook her head. “What’re you talking about? What motive could that boy possibly have?”

  “First, he’s not a boy. He’s a man. And just because he’s in a wheelchair and dependent on his mother doesn’t mean he doesn’t think like a man.”

  “Okay. How is that motive?”

  “It isn’t, but you are.”

  Now she was totally confused.

  “He lit up like a Christmas tree when he saw you,” Sean explained. “His own mother said he adores you.”

  Amber frowned, understanding dawning. “Then he withdrew when he saw you.”

  “He also shut off his game. He didn’t want to share anything with me. He closed me out.”

  “Are you really suggesting Delbert is a suspect?” Please. There was no way. Even if he did think like a man where she was concerned.

  Sean flashed her a lopsided grin. “I’m just pointing out how easy it is to miss clues when you’re emotionally involved. Like Mrs. Guynes’s comment about Adler being shy. Still waters run deep.”

  “Point taken.” Amber tamped down her frustration. She’d thought the same thing about Adler. Just another reminder that the face of evil rarely looked the way one expected. “What we do know is that according to the police report there was no evidence of forced entry, which suggests Adler knew his killer.”

  “I found no signs of forced entry at your place.” Sean glanced at her again. “Someone still got in and left that bloody knife in your fan mail box for you.”

  “Good point.” Amber stared out the window. “If the police don’t find the killer, how will I prove I didn’t do this?”

  Sean braked for a light and settled his blue gaze on her once more. “More important, how will you ever be safe if we don’t find the person who did this?”

 
Amber’s hand went to her lips. He was right. As much as she wanted to pretend this tragedy wasn’t about her, somehow it was. She was part of the motive that had caused Kyle Adler’s death.

  “Let’s go back to who might want to hurt you,” Sean suggested. “And how that person could connect to Kyle Adler.”

  Amber wished she knew.

  * * *

  THE VIDEO GAME store proved a waste of time. No one who worked there recognized Adler. Defeat had set in nice and deep by the time they pulled into her driveway. Amber stared at the house where she’d felt safe as far back as she could remember. The kitchen had always smelled of fresh-baked cookies. Her grandmother had made her feel as if this house were her home away from home.

  How could she ever feel that way again knowing a killer had been in her house...had touched her things?

  Would there be Channel Six viewers out there—or maybe even friends—who would forever believe she’d had something to do with this man’s murder?

  She felt as if some part of her identity had been stolen, leaving a hole she might not be able to repair as easily as Martha mended a failing hem or split seam. No matter that she was twenty-eight years old, she suddenly wished her parents were in town. She’d insisted they not rush back. If they learned about the knife, they would be very upset. She’d have to make sure Barb didn’t tell them.

  “Is it your birthday or something?”

  Her gaze followed Sean’s, landing on the vase of flowers waiting on her porch. “No.” She started around the hood of the car, but he moved in front of her.

  She waited at the bottom of the steps while he inspected the large bouquet of red roses. Who would send her roses? If they weren’t from her parents, she had no idea. Though she couldn’t fathom her parents finding now a good time to send her flowers. The station? A fan? She went to a great deal of trouble to ensure most of her personal information, including her address, was kept private.

  Sean removed the small envelope from the bouquet and opened it. He read the card and then showed it to her. “Looks like you have another admirer.”

  I’m watching you.

  The stamp on the back of the envelope was the Thrasher flower shop. Amber checked the time on her cell. “We might be able to get back there before the shop closes.”

  “Let’s bag the card before we do anything else.”

  Amber hurried into the house and returned with a sandwich bag. “We have to hurry.”

  “Dodging traffic is one of my finer talents,” he assured her as he carefully bagged the card and tucked it away.

  When they were settled in the car and he’d started the engine, he glanced at her before taking off. “You might not want to watch.”

  Deciding to take him at his word, Amber closed her eyes. Unfortunately, the terrifying images her mind conjured about the man who’d been murdered and the one who’d been in her house—perhaps more than once—proved utterly disturbing.

  Sean was right. A connection of some sort existed between her and Kyle and maybe between her and his killer. How on earth did she find it? She’d done enough investigative reporting to know if a person didn’t want to be found, they wouldn’t be. A serial killer might use the same MO repeatedly and get away with it because he was too careful, too meticulous to leave even trace evidence.

  Sean was right about that, too. In a case like this, the only way to find the killer was to find the motive for the murder.

  Chapter Seven

  Fourth Avenue North, 6:00 p.m.

  The visit to the floral shop had been pointless. Sean had pushed Thrasher as far as he could without a badge and a warrant. The flowers had been ordered online, paid for with a gift card. The payment method was a dead end. It would take a warrant and considerable effort to trace the IP address of the computer used for the purchase. None of that was necessary in Sean’s opinion. Whoever killed Adler had ordered the flowers the day before he was murdered with instructions they were to be delivered on this date.

  The cops would see that element as proof Adler had ordered the flowers. In Sean’s opinion the date the flowers were ordered didn’t change the fact that Adler likely had a partner in whatever weirdness he was into. And that partner was in all probability his killer. Sean’s conclusion confirmed the concept that Amber Roberts was in no way connected to the murder of Kyle Adler. She was a victim. All he had to do now was turn the card with the ominous message over to the BPD. Detective Lori Wells would follow up.

  The boss called as they left the floral shop. Evidently the BPD had uncovered new evidence and wanted to meet with Amber. The drive to the office was tense. He could feel Amber growing more anxious. As soon as they arrived, he passed the card he’d bagged to Jess, told her about the flower delivery and brought her up to speed on the rest.

  Ten minutes later they were still waiting in the conference room. Amber sat next to Sean. She kept fidgeting with her bag or the hem of her skirt. She was nervous, but Sean wasn’t worried about her going down for Adler’s murder. It didn’t take a detective’s shield to see she was being framed. Whatever the motive, the killer wanted Amber to suffer this roller-coaster ride or worse. It was the worse part that worried Sean.

  Unless the detectives had found more evidence that would connect to the perp, he’d get away with murder. Why risk being caught by sending flowers to Amber? If eliminating Adler had been the goal, why continue taking risks?

  “Sergeant Wells and Lieutenant Harper should be here anytime now,” Jess announced, breaking the thick silence.

  “You have no idea what this new evidence is?” Frank Teller asked.

  Sean glanced to the other side of Amber, where Teller sat, his fingers drumming on the table.

  “We’ll all know soon enough what they’ve found,” Jess assured him.

  Sean liked his boss even if he wasn’t so sure whether she liked him or not. He’d never met anyone quite like her. She was smart and brave. As far as he could tell, she wasn’t afraid of a damned thing. She and Corlew were a strange combination. Both determined to get the job done but with different perspectives and from different avenues. Corlew didn’t blink at crossing the line if that was what it took. Oil and water, Sean decided. Yet somehow they meshed. There was a long history between the two. One of these days Sean was going to ask Corlew about it. Maybe over a beer.

  A bell jingled and the sound of Corlew’s deep voice filled the lobby, followed by Lori Wells’s laughter and Chet Harper’s quiet response to whatever Corlew had said. The two detectives were part of the family, Jess told Sean frequently. Along with Clint Hayes, Chad Cook and Corlew’s wife, Sylvia. More of those close ties, bound by history. Sean wondered if he would ever again have those beyond his immediate family. The fact that his gaze moved to Amber at the thought made him want to kick his own backside.

  The truth was, he’d thought he was ready for a lifetime commitment back in LA. He’d had the woman, the friends and the job. Life had been damned good. His life-shattering mistake had sent his friends running. The great job went next. The ties fell apart.

  Maybe it was better not to get tangled up in close ties. No worries about being let down if you kept your expectations low. His gaze drifted to Amber. He didn’t need complications like her, either. Getting involved with a client was always a bad idea. He’d learned that lesson the hard way.

  Corlew and the detectives entered the room and settled around the table. Sean nodded to Lori and Harper. Since they all knew each other there was no need for introductions.

  “What is it that couldn’t wait until morning, Detectives?” Teller steered the conversation to business with his usual dry style.

  Lori placed a folder on the table. She removed two photographs and passed them around. “Meet Rhiana Pettie and Kimberly McCorkle.”

  Both women looked to be twenty-five to thirty; Pettie was a blonde, and McCorkle
was a brunette. Sean passed the photos on to Jess.

  “Both are deceased,” Harper said. “Strangled. Ligature marks indicate they were held captive for several days before being strangled. No indication of sexual assault.”

  “These two victims are related to our case how?” Jess asked as she handed the photos to Teller.

  “We believe both women were victims of Adler and whoever killed him,” Lori said.

  Next to him, Amber drew in a harsh breath. Sean resisted the urge to reach for her hand and give it a squeeze.

  Lori withdrew more photos and passed them on. “We located a storage unit near Riverview Parkway rented under Adler’s name. Inside were three small plastic boxes. The kind you’d purchase to store a pair of shoes.” She used her hands to indicate the size. “In each box was a pair of panties. A single pubic hair as well as one from the scalp was folded into each. Analysis confirmed the respective hairs belonged to the two victims.” She indicated the photos that had made their way back around to Harper. “Along with Pettie’s panties was a wineglass. The lab confirmed her prints were on the glass. In the box with McCorkle’s was a coffee mug bearing her prints.”

  “Like my teacup and...”

  Amber didn’t have to say “red panties.” Sean had struggled to keep images of her wearing nothing but those panties out of his head more than once.

  Lori nodded in answer to Amber’s unfinished question.

  “Where were the bodies found and how were they dumped?” Jess asked.

  “Pettie was taken Valentine’s Day. She left work and never made it home. Her body was found a week later in the woods off Highway 280. McCorkle disappeared on June 20. Same scenario. She left work and wasn’t heard from again until her body was discovered in a drainage ditch in Bessemer ten days later. Both were dressed in skimpy lingerie. McCorkle was still bound by the thin nylon rope used to secure her. Lengths of the rope were secured to each wrist like a bracelet. The one from Pettie’s right wrist was missing.”

  Harper pulled yet another photo from the folder. This one showed a piece of blue nylon rope. “Considering this new evidence, we did another sweep of Adler’s house. We found the rope tucked inside a family photo album.”