by Becky Durfee
“Well done,” Zack said, obviously impressed.
“I can drive obnoxiously when I need to.”
She followed Mark’s car, which turned right out of the lot—the direction he would have needed to go in order to get home. After a short drive, Mark parallel parked on a street in front of some townhouses, which Jenny recognized to be the road he lived on. He nonchalantly got out of the car, spinning his keys around his finger, and went into his house. The door closed. Lights turned on.
Everything seemed normal.
She found a parking space just down the road from his. Her heart was racing, but she said, “That was uneventful, thank goodness. I’m not really in the mood to take down a serial killer tonight.”
Zack shrugged. “Eh. Maybe tomorrow.”
“So, do you want to sleep the first shift, or should I?”
“You go ahead,” he replied. “I’m still good and awake.”
“Sounds good to me. I could actually deal with a few z’s.” She poked her husband on the shoulder. “I’m serious…if you fall asleep on the job, I will kill you.”
“If I get sleepy, I will wake you, I promise. I know what’s at stake, here. I won’t fail.”
She thought about when the baby was first born and Zack’s inability to do overnight duty without falling asleep on the job. She doubted she would be able to get any decent rest; she would inevitably wake every ten minutes to make sure Zack’s eyes were still open. This was going to be a long night.
After drifting off for a short time, Jenny’s phone rang, causing her to jump to attention. Although her eyesight was blurry, she could see Kyle was calling. “Hello?”
“Jenny, it’s Kyle. Sorry to wake you.”
“No, it’s okay. I wasn’t really sleeping that soundly anyway. What’s going on?”
“I found out some information about Mark Neighbors and Gary Kimbrough. Considering the guy strikes at night, I figured you needed this information as soon as possible, just in case he was thinking about doing it again tonight.”
“No, that’s perfect. What have you got?”
“Do you have the time? I don’t want to interrupt anything.”
Sitting up straighter, Jenny said, “Tonight, my friend, I’ve got nothing but time.”
Chapter 17
“Gary Kimbrough, twenty-one, lives in Bennett with his aunt, Anita Rosencrance. I looked into his background a little bit; he’s had a bit of a troubled past. His father never lived in the same state as he did, and his mother surrendered him to foster care when he was three years old. His mother has had several arrests for drugs since then, and is currently serving five years for selling marijuana to an undercover cop.”
“Oh, dear,” Jenny said.
“Gary bounced around in the foster care system for a while, until he came to live with his aunt when he was sixteen. This aunt is his father’s sister, mind you. They had never met before he moved in with her.”
“It was admirable of her to take him in.”
“Agreed. He’s had a few run-ins with the law himself—possession of marijuana, a couple of theft charges. Nothing big like murder, though.”
“Were any of those charges recent? Or was that all back when he was younger?”
“Nothing in the past year and a half. He either hasn’t gotten caught or he’s cleaning up his act.”
“Does he work?” Jenny asked.
“He works at a big-chain department store, probably earning minimum wage or close to it.”
“What about religion?”
“I wasn’t able to find anything about religion on this guy…the other guy? Tons.”
“Before we move on to the other guy,” Jenny began, “can you give me a physical description of Gary?”
“He’s Caucasian, five-foot-ten, two-hundred-ten pounds, according to his driver’s license. Brown hair, brown eyes. I can send you his license picture if you want.”
“That would be great,” Jenny replied, envisioning this stocky man of average height. “Maybe one of the girls will recognize him. Okay, how about Mark Neighbors?”
“Mark was born and raised in rural Pennsylvania. He’s twenty-eight, also Caucasian, living at Hazel Drive in Bennett.”
“I’m well aware of that,” Jenny remarked. “I’m parked in front of his house right now.”
“I’m going to pretend I don’t know that for the next few minutes,” Kyle said dryly. “Then, the father in me is going to ask you to explain yourself.”
Jenny only smiled.
“Mark’s parents were members of a religious sect called Messengers of God. They’re an interesting group—very strict, denouncing such things as promiscuous dress, pre-marital sex…even make-up.”
“And alcohol?”
“And alcohol. The group’s leader is Reverend Artis Blakely, who is now in his seventies, but is still actively in charge. You’ll notice I called this group a sect rather than a cult. They are extreme in their thinking, but they have no history of violence. The members are there voluntarily, and there is no brainwashing or recruiting of minors or anything like that. In fact, they do good things—a lot of work for the poor.”
Jenny hung her head, wondering how this reverend would feel if he knew one of his members took it upon himself to rid the world of women who, in his mind, drank too much.
“As far as Mark himself is concerned, he has no criminal history. He graduated high school and went to work in a feed store, which was probably a popular place in the area where he is from. He just left that job six months ago, moving straight to where he is now. There is something interesting about him, though…”
“What is that?”
“He got married rather young, and his wife just filed for divorce shortly before he moved here.”
Chills ran up Jenny’s spine. “Divorce? Wouldn’t that be frowned upon amongst the Messengers of God?”
“Oh, absolutely. I’m thinking that’s why he left. And there’s another thing…his soon-to-be-ex-wife has two DUI’s now. Somehow I don’t think she was all that keen on the rules of the Messengers of God.”
As the pieces clicked into place in Jenny’s brain, she was now absolutely convinced that she had the right person. “You, Kyle Buchanan, are my hero. Do you know that?”
“Did I say something right?”
“You sure did. I didn’t tell you what was going on around here, but there’s a guy running around slitting young women’s throats in their sleep.”
“Yeah, I’d heard about that. I figured you were part of the investigation.”
“Well, the last girl lived long enough to hear the killer whisper in her ear…something about alcohol being from the devil, and then he said, ‘May God accept you and keep you, despite your sins.’ She recognized the voice to be Mark’s, and it seems the one thing all three victims had in common was that they drank quite a bit.”
“Oh, dear.”
“Exactly. It kind of fits now, doesn’t it? His wife was apparently a drinker and then filed for divorce. It sounds like she embodied the opposite of everything that the Messengers of God believe in. My guess would be that she wasn’t like that when he married her; otherwise, he wouldn’t have married her. I’m thinking she probably became that way over time. That would surely have been upsetting to him. In fact, it might have pushed him over the edge enough for him to go on a crusade against other women who remind him of her.”
“I saw that he works for a bar now,” Kyle added. “He probably sees plenty of women who drink too much.”
“As the bouncer, no less…where he gets to look at driver’s licenses that have people’s addresses on them. He knows right where these women live.”
“My God,” Kyle whispered. With renewed vigor, he added, “And you are sitting in front of his house right now?”
“My husband and I are, yes. We are making sure he doesn’t go anywhere.”
“Isn’t that a job for the police?”
“Well, there’s a small little glitch that we’ve run into�
�someone else confessed earlier today—someone who knows details about the crime scene that only the killer would know.”
“Is it safe for me to assume that was Gary?”
“It was. I have no idea how he fits into all of this, or how he might know details, but I am convinced now more than ever that Mark is the killer. But the police aren’t looking for the killer anymore—they think they already have him.”
“Which explains why you are sitting in front of Mark’s house, keeping tabs on him.”
“Yup. You got it.”
“Are you sure you’re safe?”
“Honestly, it doesn’t look like he’s going anywhere tonight. It’s, what, four in the morning? I imagine he’s sleeping right now. Tomorrow we’re going to put a tracking device on his car so we can monitor him from a much safer distance. And speaking of cars…I have a confession to make, but I don’t want you to be mad.”
“What is it?”
Jenny sighed, reluctant to admit the truth. “Somebody has been messing with my car up here…slitting the tires, leaving notes on it—they even left a note on our hotel door.”
“Oh, God, Jenny.”
“I told you I don’t want you to be mad.”
He let out an impatient sigh. “What did the notes say?”
“Nothing, that’s the weird part. They were just smiley faces.”
Kyle grunted, remaining silent for several moments after that. “Believe it or not, that’s pretty typical behavior for stalkers.”
Jenny swallowed nervously. “It is?”
“Yeah. They like to leave calling cards, at least at first. Just little messages that say, I’ve been here. It’s a psychological thing—they want to get inside their victim’s head. In fact, I’ve known of stalkers who have broken into people’s houses only to rearrange the furniture. They don’t take anything; they don’t hurt anyone; they just want the person to come home and be freaked out.”
“Well, it works.”
“I know it does. The problem is that the contacts usually become progressively more violent. It starts out small, but it can escalate to a frightening level very quickly.”
“Great,” Jenny said.
“I know. That’s why I’m troubled by this. And I know what I’m talking about; I’ve been hired by more than one stalking victim over the years. Sometimes the victim knows exactly who the stalker is; other times they have no idea. It’s bizarre what can trigger somebody to become obsessed. Some people have become stalking victims after only a brief, random encounter, like a lunch customer comes in and then devotes his life to following the waitress.”
“Even though I don’t know who it is specifically, I am under the impression that it’s somebody related to the case. My Tennessee tags probably stood out like a sore thumb at the crime scenes, and my picture—and my purpose—were mentioned in the news for everyone to see.”
“I wish you had told me this earlier. I could have come up there and kept an eye on both you and your car.”
“That’s so sweet of you, but I’ve been trying to figure it out on my own. We saw a surveillance tape of the guy, but it was night time, and we could only see his outline. He appeared to be average height and somewhat stocky—like the way you described Gary Kimbrough. But what I can’t figure out is why Gary would have confessed, but he didn’t turn Mark in along with him. Rachel has no doubt that Mark is the one who actually killed her, even if Gary was in on the planning.” She shook her head. “If Gary’s conscience was bothering him, I’d think he’d want to implicate everybody involved—especially the person who did the actual killing.”
“It may be that Gary’s conscience was bothering him, but there is also such a thing as a false confession,” Kyle began.
“I know…I remember what you said before. That was my first impression—that he was just some guy looking for attention. But the detective said he knows things about the crime scene that they hadn’t released to the public. How would he know that stuff if he isn’t involved?”
Kyle remained quiet for a moment, ultimately saying, “Let me look into that. In the meantime, be careful. Don’t develop a false sense of security just because this guy is only leaving smiley face notes. Like I said before, things can get ugly very quickly—it might be that he just wants to toy with you for a little while before going in for the kill—literally. So I’ll say it again, please be careful.”
“Well, Gary is in police custody right now. He confessed to the killings, so he can’t do anything to me tonight.”
“Are you positive that Gary is the person who’s been stalking you?”
“Well, not positive.”
“And you’re right outside Mark’s house, is that correct?”
“Yes, but he went in the house and hasn’t come back out. We’ve been keeping an eye on him.”
“Are you sure he didn’t sneak out the back door and is approaching your car as we speak?”
Jenny froze. “Uh…no.”
“You’re full of nothing but good intentions, Jenny, but you are inexperienced as a private investigator. You are dealing with a psycho who has proven he’s capable of murder. This isn’t a game. As much as I hate to say it, part of me wants you to go back to your hotel—actually, a different hotel, where nobody knows where you’ll be—and call it a night.”
“I appreciate your concern, but I don’t think Mark knows we’re out here. Truly.”
“He may not,” Kyle replied, “but remember…it appears he’s not working alone.”
Chapter 18
Kyle’s ominous warning ran through Jenny’s mind until the sun began to peek over the horizon. As the black sky gave way to gray, Jenny turned the key and headed to the police station, optimistic that Mark hadn’t done anything horrible overnight.
Unless he had snuck out the back door and killed a neighbor.
Jenny tried not to think about that as she pulled into the parking lot of the station. Instead, she focused her attention on Zack, who had finally drifted off in the passenger seat. He’d been up most of the night and deserved to sleep, but she didn’t want to leave him alone in the car. However, they were at the police station, and she doubted anyone would have assaulted him there. It was cool outside, so leaving him in a locked car with the windows up wasn’t a problem. All things considered, she decided to let him sleep.
She tried to ignore how tired she was as she got out of the car and headed toward the building. While she had gone one night without much sleep, the officers had gone many. She had less to complain about than anyone else in the building, so she sucked in some air, held her head high and pressed on.
Approaching the front desk, she stated her name and her business, asking to be put in touch with one of the investigators on the case. Detective Brennan was apparently home sleeping, so another detective came out to greet Jenny. She hoped this wouldn’t be a problem; not everyone would have been as accepting of her abilities as Detective Brennan had been.
The man introduced himself as Detective Duffin, reaching out his hand with a big smile. Jenny deduced he was friendly enough, even if he did turn out to be a skeptic.
“Chief DePalo will be glad you’re here,” the detective began, sweeping his arm to indicate which direction Jenny should walk. “He wants you to talk to our suspect—see if you can shed any light on this.”
“Sorry it took me so long to get here,” she replied. “I had some stuff to take care of.”
“That’s okay,” he said. “I didn’t want to mention it, but you look like you’ve had a long night.”
Jenny smiled, realizing what a brave comment that was for him to make. “I did, but nothing compared to what you guys have been dealing with.”
With a laugh, he said, “Yeah, thank goodness for coffee. I think I have more coffee in my system than blood right now.”
They wandered through some hallways, landing in a small room that Jenny presumed was for interrogation purposes. “Why don’t you have a seat,” he began. “I’ll let the chief know you’
re here, and then we’ll see about getting Kimbrough out here for you.”
She nodded and smiled politely. “Sounds good.” After Detective Duffin left her alone, she looked around the room, unable to stifle the shudder that worked its way up her back. Some terrible things had been described within the confines of these four walls. Peoples’ freedom had come to an end here. She was glad that she was there on the correct side of the law, although she knew, one day, she might not be.
She needed to be careful with her law bending.
The chief rounded the corner in his suit and tie, which remained remarkably crisp compared to the exhaustion evident on his face. However, mixed with the fatigue was an air of triumph, which Jenny feared was misguided. She felt bad that she was about to call the arrest they’d made into question, especially considering he seemed so proud of it.
“Jenny,” he said, smiling, “thanks for coming out this morning.”
She stood, extending her hand. “No problem, Chief DePalo. I’m happy to help.”
He took a clumsy seat across from her, his weight plopping down awkwardly, most likely because he didn’t have the energy to sit gracefully. He leaned back in the chair and sighed loudly, announcing, “I assume you’ve heard about the confession.”
“Yes, sir, I have.”
“I want you to meet him…let me know what you think.”
“I’d be happy to, but…” she began, biting her lip with a moment of hesitation, “I do have some things I need to tell you first.”
“Okay, shoot.”
She didn’t want to shoot, but she knew she had to. “As you know, Rachel Moore heard the killer’s voice before she died. She knew it was familiar, but she couldn’t place it for a long time. It took her a while, but she finally realized it was the bouncer at Shenanigans.”
The look of triumph on the chief’s face disappeared, replaced by a serious glare. “The man who confessed is not a bouncer at Shenanigans.”
“I know,” Jenny said sheepishly. “That’s my concern. I think the person who committed the crime—at least Rachel’s—is named Mark Neighbors. I got a private investigator friend of mine to look into his history, and he was born into a very religious family with old fashioned values. He married young, probably intending to uphold those values, but then his wife got a few drunk-driving arrests and filed for divorce. He must have been not only heartbroken by that, but humiliated as well. I’m thinking that’s the reason he’s gone on this rampage—to kill women that remind him of his soon-to-be-ex-wife.”
