He picked up the mic. “10-4. I’m on the way.”
Just what he needed, some yahoos skunk drunk before lunch and duking it out. Or worse, knives. Knives were always worse. Luckily, the roughnecks who patronized the Crater Bar generally weren’t armed with guns. Generally.
He put on his lights and sirens and sped to the bar on the outskirts of town. When he got there, the worst was over. The bar owner and patrons were sitting on a furious man who struggled to throw them off.
With the help of a couple of the men, Aiden cuffed the man and forced him into the back of the patrol car. “Who is that?” Aiden asked Clive Marston, the bar owner. “I’ve never seen him around.”
“He’s living out near Rook’s Vantage on Tom Well’s property. Brady is his last name. Thad Brady. Whatever, he’s got a screw loose. Old Junior just said something about the murder of that poor bank teller and Brady went nuts. Busted up a table and some chairs.”
“Come by and sign the charges,” Aiden said.
Clive frowned. “Let me see how the damages are. No one was hurt. You know if I start pressing charges every time someone gets into a fistfight I won’t have any patrons left.”
“Let me know.” Aiden slammed the cruiser door. He’d take the prisoner to the jail and let the sheriff sort through what to do. But first he had a few questions about Brady’s living arrangements near Rook’s Vantage. This perfect opportunity had landed right in his lap.
Aiden assessed the prisoner in the rearview mirror as he drove. Thad Brady was a well-built man who still wore his hair military short. He’d also maintained his physique. Aiden noted the lack of tattoos. Thad Brady was pretty clean cut for a midday drunkard and roustabout. “Brady, how long have you been living on the Wells property?”
“I know my rights. I don’t have to answer your questions.”
Aiden checked the rearview mirror again. The man had broad shoulders like a lumberjack, but he was younger than Aiden had anticipated. Maybe in his late forties. For some reason he’d expected Tom’s tenant to be closer to Tom’s age. Tom was such a crusty old curmudgeon Aiden hadn’t expected him to befriend someone from the ‘younger generation,’ which he constantly railed against.
“You may have information I need,” Aiden said. “You know there was a murder of a young woman and her body was dumped near Rook’s Vantage, on Tom’s property.”
“Everyone in town knows that. The minute you called the ME there, the word was out. Gossip is what keeps this place alive.”
“Help me out,” Aiden asked. “Just tell me a few things. You and Tom live on the property, if not in the immediate vicinity of Rook’s Vantage. It’s reasonable to put you on a suspect list. But give me a few answers and I can eliminate you.”
“Or trick me into what you’ll say is a confession. I know how law enforcement works.”
“Maybe in some places, but I’m pretty much of a straight shooter. I want to catch the man responsible for these killings—”
“Killings?” Brady was quick on the uptake. “There’s been more than one?”
“Yes, there is a pattern of murders using the same signature.” The Wetumpka community deserved to know the stakes. If, as he suspected, a serial killer was on the loose, he couldn’t withhold the information. “This is a dangerous situation, Brady. I’m not looking to pin anything on an innocent man. All I need from you is an alibi for yesterday, say from five p.m. until one a.m.”
“I don’t have to tell you squat.”
Aiden sighed. “No, you don’t, but it might help you, and more importantly, if you aren’t the killer, it might help me catch the person responsible for a lot of pain and suffering.”
“What do you know about pain and suffering?” Brady’s question was bitter.
“More than you might think.” Aiden couldn’t stop the onslaught of hard memories about his wife Kayla and the day she’d disappeared on her way home from her teaching job at a local elementary school. A month later, after weeks of intensive work, Aiden had found her body with the stocking used to strangle her still tied around her neck. He knew quite a bit about pain and suffering.
Brady leaned forward until he was only inches from the grill that separated the prisoner from Aiden. “I’ll answer your question. It won’t do me any good, but I will. I was in my cabin yesterday by dark. I cooked a pot of stew, read a Ritter Ames mystery, and went to sleep. I didn’t leave the cabin until daybreak when I went out to bring in more firewood.”
It was a terrible alibi, meaning it wasn’t an alibi at all. It could easily be true, but Brady had no one to confirm it. “Have you seen anyone strange hanging out around Rook’s Vantage?”
“Yeah, that bookstore woman was up there with a telescope. She was up there last night. Why isn’t she the prime suspect? Maybe the women were rivals or something.” Brady leaned back in the seat. “Or maybe you know this and are sweet on that bookseller, maybe trying to divert suspicion from her.”
Aiden was shocked at Brady’s awareness of his complicated feelings for Tammy—feelings he’d barely admitted to himself. “Were you watching us?”
Brady laughed. “I learned my interrogation techniques in the military. Maybe you should bone up on how the big dogs do it before you try to get me to confess to anything.”
Aiden met the man’s gaze in the rearview mirror. Brady was nobody’s fool. He was smart and schooled in the ways of law enforcement. He had no alibi and plenty of opportunity. He’d given away the fact he’d been close enough to Rook’s Vantage to see Tammy there with a telescope. He’d been near the body dump if not the murder site. For all of his cleverness, Thad Brady had given away far more than he realized.
Aiden delivered the prisoner to the jail and held him on creating a public disturbance until Clive decided if he wanted to press further charges. Aiden logged out—he’d been on duty for nearly twenty-four hours.
He headed to the Habitat for Humanity building site. He’d let the minister down regarding the road blockades, but he could still help with the sawing and hammering for a few hours. Physical labor helped him think—and the murder of Debby Caldwell and the re-emergence of the Silk Stocking Killer had left him with plenty to think about.
Tammy locked the front door of the Book Basket. Scooping up Trouble, she held him in her arms as she checked to be sure the dead bolt had engaged. She gave the door a firm rattle, satisfied it was secure. She had a couple of stops to make and she looked forward to Eden’s Promise, where she would pick up a giant green salad for her and a serving of grilled amberjack for Trouble. The cat had a gourmand palate, and she had to admit it did her heart good to indulge his fancy tastes.
Night had fallen over Wetumpka, but the city sparkled with multi-colored lights. The Christmas decorations had been turned on in preparation for the coming holiday. Tammy had even put up a small fir tree, filling the store with the wonderful scent of fresh pine. Thank goodness Trouble had sense enough not to monkey around with the ornaments. Some of her friends with felines told horror stories of cats climbing the Christmas tree and knocking it over. Trouble was, indeed, a superior kitty.
With the cat in her arms, she stood on the sidewalk and looked over downtown Wetumpka. The historic district, where the bookstore was located, was showing the loss of business associated with the strip malls developed on the highway. But she loved this section of her little city, the old storefronts, the park, and the beautiful Coosa River. She’d grown up here, gone away to college and a career in Washington D.C., but she’d realized that while she advanced up the ranks in her work as a grant writer for some of the biggest companies in the states, she didn’t love the city life. She’d longed to be home—and she’d ended up pulled in two different directions.
The big salary she once earned in D.C. didn’t compensate for the things she missed, such as the neighborliness that was part of day-to-day life in Wetumpka. She knew most of the people in town. She knew their children and their pets. Wetumpka had grown, too, and expanded into subdivisions and developme
nts outside the old town setting she loved, but at its heart, the town was still a place where people took care of their friends and neighbors.
She took a moment to enjoy the old-fashioned multi-colored light strings that crisscrossed Main Street. Trouble jumped to the ground, his tail swishing as he looked down the street.
“Let’s go, Trouble.” She had a package to deliver to Amelia, the former bookstore owner. Amelia had called at 4:30 with a special request for the latest Miranda James novel about the devilish library cat, Diesel, and his owner Charlie Harris. Tammy was more than glad to deliver the book. Amelia’s love of books and reading had greatly influenced Tammy as a young girl. Amelia had introduced her to Harriet the Spy, Nancy Drew, Trixie Belden, and a host of other crime solving young women. Amelia had fostered Tammy’s love of stories, especially mysteries. Now it was Tammy’s pleasure to bring the joy of reading mysteries to Amelia, who was housebound for the most part.
Tammy’s Prius, with four new tires, was parked in a small private and secluded lot behind the bookstore. To her surprise, when she turned the corner by the store to walk back to the parking lot, she realized the light had gone out. She’d have to call the power company to replace the bulb. She added that chore to her mental list for the next day.
The parking lot was inky black without the light, and she walked carefully. She was at the light pole when she crunched glass beneath her boot. She instantly froze. The light hadn’t burned out, it had been broken.
Trouble’s hiss came from her left and she turned to face that direction. In the distance she heard the shush of traffic, but the area where she stood was dark and unnaturally quiet.
Footsteps made her rotate to face the street. The figure of a broad-shouldered man was silhouetted in the driveway. Tammy froze, hoping the man couldn’t see her. If she moved, though, he’d hear the crunching of the glass beneath her boots.
The only weapon she had was the hardcover books she carried for Amelia. Running would be her best tactic. She was about to sprint behind the store, climb the wall that separated her from the bakery, and hope for the best, but Trouble was faster.
Growling like a banshee, the cat launched himself down the drive toward the threatening figure. All Tammy could make out was a black blur. And then she heard the man grunt and gasp and finally holler as the cat went for the most vulnerable part of his anatomy with teeth and claws.
The distraction gave Tammy the opening she needed to run to her car, get in, lock the doors, and aim for the man who was now on the ground. Trouble was tearing him up!
As she neared the drive opening, the man rolled away. Tammy opened the door and Trouble flew into her arms. She hit the gas and took off down the street toward an area with plenty of traffic. In the rearview mirror, she saw the man climb painfully to his feet and hobble away.
“Who the hell was that?” she asked the cat.
“Me-ow.” Trouble licked a front paw and gazed out the passenger window, completely unperturbed by the event.
Tammy only wished she could be so blasé. Her heart thudded like crazy and adrenalin flooded her body. Who was that man and why had he been there? Had he been waiting for her to lock up and leave the store? But why?
The image of Debby Caldwell, dead eyes gazing at the sky, hit her hard. Like it or not, Tammy had to accept that her wonderful city had been invaded by darkness. A killer was on the loose in Wetumpka. And he had to be stopped before he harmed someone else.
Tammy dropped the books off at Amelia’s, escaping before the older woman could detect her nervousness. Though it went against her stubborn nature, she abandoned her plans to return to Rook’s Vantage that evening. She had to retrieve the telescope, but she would do it in the daylight. She’d been lucky twice to escape without injury. She might be hard-headed, but she was smart enough not to press her luck on a third try. Instead, she’d do the intelligent thing and make a report of what had happened at the book store to the sheriff.
Chapter Three
Aiden’s cell phone buzzed relentlessly, and he reached a hand from beneath the covers and swatted at the bedside table where it vibrated and chimed.
“Hello,” he answered. He felt like he’d been asleep for no more than five minutes, but when he cracked an eye, he realized the sky had lightened. It had to be closer to seven a.m.
“Sheriff Sieck needs you to come in. There’s been another abduction.” Deputy Ricky Reynolds sounded excited and exhausted.
“I’ll be right there.” Aiden was fully awake. “Who was taken?”
“Beverly Welch. She was on her way to the early shift at the Piggly Wiggly. Someone nabbed her in the parking lot early this morning.”
“You’re sure she was kidnapped?”
“Her car door was left wide open, and her purse contents were spilled all over the parking lot. Her husband says she was due at work at five o’clock. She never showed up to clock in.”
It sounded like an abduction for sure. “Thanks. I’m on the way.” Aiden stepped into his pants, black boots, and found a clean T-shirt and uniform shirt. He grabbed his jacket and keys as he was heading out the door.
If this was the Silk Stocking Killer, he’d certainly amped up the timeline of his abductions. Normally there would be a cooling off period between the kills. Beverly’s disappearance, if it was linked to the SSK, showed that he was escalating rapidly.
Aiden drove to the grocery parking lot rather than the police station. The sheriff was consulting with the CSIs as they gathered evidence. Lipsticks, a billfold with seventy-eight dollars, change, and chewing gum remained scattered across the asphalt where Beverly Welch’s purse contents had been tossed. It looked as if Beverly had put up a fight.
“Did anyone see anything?” Aiden asked the sheriff.
“Not that we’ve found. Some of the deputies are still canvassing the employees and the houses near here. But this wasn’t the only attack last night.”
“Who else?”
“Tammy Lynn. Someone deliberately broke the booger light in her parking lot. When she left work yesterday, she saw a man stalking her in the driveway.”
“Did he attack her?” Aiden checked his impulse to rush to Tammy’s house to make sure she wasn’t harmed. If she’d filed a report, she had to be okay.
“He didn’t get a chance. That cat of hers jumped him. To hear Tammy tell it, the kitty knows a few moves about incapacitating a male. Anyway, Tammy got away and stopped by the sheriff’s office and filed a report. We had extra patrols on her street last night but it was calm.” The sheriff rubbed the furrow between his eyebrows. “We have to find Beverly. And we have to find her alive.
Aiden didn’t comment. The SSK didn’t hold his victims for long. The thrill for him came from the act of murder, not the abduction or torture of his victims. The women weren’t sexually assaulted, either.
As Aiden anticipated, there were no finger prints on the car itself, or on the young woman’s purse that had been flung twenty feet from the car. The CSI unit had taken a sample from a small amount of blood on the pavement. Looking at the scene, Aiden deduced that Beverly had been struck on the head and subdued. That was the MO of the SSK. Time would yield results from the blood tests, but he doubted Beverly had a lot of time to live.
Aiden took a moment to fill the sheriff in on what he knew of the serial killer called the Silk Stocking Killer. As he anticipated, Rob took it hard. “If this murderer is in our community, we have to draw him out and capture him immediately. Wetumpka has never faced anything like this.”
“I know, and on a lot of levels, I hope I’m wrong,” Aiden said. “But at least we have a heads up. We’re looking for the SSK.” Forewarned, as the case might be.
“And people are very much in danger. Now let’s move forward with Beverly’s abduction.”
“You want me to talk to the husband?” Aiden asked. It was the worst job in law enforcement—to speak to the loved ones of a missing person or someone who’d been injured or killed.
“No, I’ll han
dle it. I know Peter Welch. Why don’t you talk with Tammy? She may be able to give a better description of the man her cat attacked. She was a bit shaken up last night. A good night’s sleep may help her recall more details.”
“Yes, sir.” Aiden was glad of the assignment. If Tammy had actually seen her attacker—and if the attacker was the SSK--she might have clues she wasn’t aware of. “I’ll report back when I finish.”
“Make Tammy understand she could be in real danger.” Rob sighed. “She has this idea that Wetumpka is safe, some kind of haven. It is most of the time, but there’s danger everywhere. She’s sometimes reckless, well, not reckless but careless. Like going up on that ridge at night without telling anyone what she was doing.”
“Yes, sir.” Aiden tried not to smile. He didn’t know Tammy as well as the sheriff did, but he’d already come to appreciate her stubbornness and also her courage. He could only hope that her common sense would kick in and she’d do the necessary things to be safe. But he wouldn’t bet on it. Not if she made up her mind in the opposite direction.
Tammy’s home was on a tree-lined street of the historic area of Wetumpka. The gracious old homes with beautiful lawns and plenty of shade spoke of an era when residents ended the day with a sit-down on a front porch and a visit with neighbors who happened by. Modern life had increased the pace, but the street where Tammy lived still held the promise of such community. Aiden thought of what Rob Sieck had said about the bookseller—that she believed Wetumpka to be a haven from crime and difficulty. How he wished she were correct, but Aiden feared that something evil had lodged itself in the heart of the community. Two young women were dead and one missing. It was the first body that had brought Aiden to Wetumpka—the young woman murdered and thrown off the bridge and into the Alabama River. Debby Caldwell clenched it. If it wasn’t SSK, it was a copycat. And if the SSK had taken up residence here, no young woman was safe. Those who believed in a false safety would be particularly vulnerable.
Familiar Trouble Page 4
