Killing Room_Novel

by Shawn Raiford

  At the moment, they did not have any suspects. If Caitlyn had a spouse, he'd (or she'd) be suspect number one. Spouses killed each other more than people thought.

  Murder victims are almost always killed by someone they knew. Husbands. Boyfriends. Wives. Girlfriends. Lovers. Friends. All were first suspects in any murder. During the first few hours the list of suspects grew, cutting the names down later as an investigation progressed.

  Since they were friends, and the proximity (both lived in the same apartment complex), Janice just became their number one suspect. A suspect list of one; it was a little weak, but it was still early in the investigation. Tomorrow, he and Mitch would talk to her employer and coworkers, something would shake loose. Badges in the offices tended to loosen peoples' tongues.

  Caitlyn stood half a foot taller than Janice and was at least forty pounds heavier. So, it was hard to believe Janice was the killer. Too small. And weak. But, Henry knew, any human could kill another human; especially with a sharp kitchen knife.

  If they were friends, Caitlyn’s guard would have been down. The murder was brutal and violent. Which indicated a man. Women tended to kill via poison or pills.

  As he moved passed a blue sofa, he spotted a platter full of what looked like brownies on the other side of the laptop. He licked his lips and hoped that Janice would offer him one.

  "Please have a seat gentlemen and I will bring out the coffee," she said, smiling. Janice made her way to the kitchen.

  Both men sat down on the sofa, but Henry stood when he caught a glimpse of a framed picture hanging on the wall. Janice and a man with long dark hair, sunglasses, and a baseball cap made funny faces. Maybe her father or an uncle. Or a boss.

  Coffee cups clanked loudly from the kitchen. Two minutes later, she made her way to the coffee table positioned in the middle of the living room. "Here we go, gentlemen. I brought cream and sugar too."

  Henry turned and went to the couch. Plugged himself in next to Mitch. In the middle tray she brought out, a full coffee pot of coffee. Saucers, cups, a little bowl of sugar with a tiny spoon were all positioned around the pot. Also, it included a small porcelain container that looked like a boob, which he assumed had cream.

  Henry thought it was a bit much. Most people in this situation just brought out two cups with black coffee.

  ”Thank you very much Janice," Mitch said. "The coffee is terrific."

  Henry agreed.

  Perfectly white teeth glistened as she smiled. "Thank you. I don't entertain much."

  Weird. People don't consider cops in their home, regardless of the reason, as entertaining. Something seemed off about this woman. But most seemed off to him.

  "Would anyone care for some brownies? I make the best brownies," she said gleefully.

  "Yes, ma’am, that would be great!" he said in a voice louder than he wanted. Even though he wasn't hungry, he liked having pastry with his coffee. Brownies were perfect with coffee.

  She brought them over. "Please, dig in!"

  Grabbing one, Mitch beat Henry. He shoved the first one in his mouth. Whole. Although they tried their best at decorum, Henry did the same as Mitch by sticking the entire brownie into his mouth. As the last bit that traveled down his gullet, he grabbed one more. Both, coffee and brownies were good.

  "Please, you guys have as many as you want. I'll never finish the. I just had an urge to bake yesterday, so I made them," she said.

  Reluctantly, his partner grabbed another one. Mitch was eating brownies, plus he at the burger and fries. Must be a cheat day for him; he rarely ate any junk food.

  "Hungry?"

  Mitch waved him off and grabbed another brownie. Henry grabbed one and took a bite. Deliciousness exploded in Henry's mouth. Caffeine and sugar, what else did they need to stay awake?

  Once he finished eating, Mitch pulled out his notepad. "Ma'am, can we have your name?"

  "Yes, my name is Janice Gilseg."

  "Please spell your last name."

  "Oh, that’s G-I-L-S-E-G.“

  “Thank you,” Mitch said.

  Janice took a sip. “You said one of the tenants was killed. Who?"

  "Caitlyn Meadows,” Henry replied.

  Janice's hands and coffee lowered to her lap, and her face drooped. "Poor Caitlyn. She was an angel. We were friends.”

  Henry noted her use of was and were. Most people did not switch to the past tense so quickly when speaking about dead friends or family members. Probably nothing.

  "We need to establish a time line for the victim," Mitch said.

  She nodded. "Okay."

  "What time did you arrive at home today?"

  "I work as an accountant. Some days I get to leave at noon because—" she paused and turned, pointing at her laptop on the dining table, "I work from my laptop. So, I was here today around 12:30 P.M.. The office isn't that far. It's in the Galleria area."

  Both wrote in their notepads.

  "Did you see Caitlyn today? Maybe this morning? Or maybe she came home for lunch?"

  "No, I came home and worked on my computer until around five."

  More writing.

  "When was the last time you talked to Caitlyn?" Henry asked.

  As she brought up a hand to her mouth, her brow furrowed; she looked down as if contemplating. "Hmmm, I'm not sure, four or five days ago? I've been busy with work and haven't made it over to her place."

  More writing.

  "So you go to her place a lot?” Henry asked, thinking she was taking the news too causally, but a reaction was not evidence. If it was he would arrest half the people he interviewed.

  "Just to socialize. She would call me over and we'd order a pizza and binge Amazon Prime and Netflix."

  "Do you know any of Caitlyn's other friends?"

  "Not really, kind of a loner. She liked her work. Like me."

  With pen in hand, Mitch raised his head. "So, no one ever came over, while you were here, to visit Caitlyn? Maybe a relative or someone from work?"

  Janice brought her index finger up to her lips. "No, not that I know of," she said. "Caitlyn was such an angel! You know, I got sick last month, and she brought me homemade chicken soup! Who does that anymore?"

  Mitch asked, "Did Caitlyn have a boyfriend?"

  Chapter Sixteen

  Spills the beans

  JANICE LEANN GILSEG GREW up dirt poor in Detroit; her mother, drank like a fish, and was an occasional drug user.

  Most days she spent drunk or high. Cooking a meal never happened unless it was in a microwave. Cleaning house or washing the dishes or their clothes rarely happened.

  With eight-hundred dollars, Janice packed a bag and went to Houston—heard she could find a job there quick and easy from a friend—just after she turned eighteen. She got a job waiting tables. Within six months Janice was taking online accounting classes. Five years later, she received a two-year degree in accounting.

  Today she worked as a junior accountant. It was a well-paying job. Which paid her enough to have this great apartment. All she needed now was a husband. And she was working at the part. When Barry told her that he loved her, she believed him. She loved him so much, and could hardly wait to become Mrs. Olsen and have his babies.

  The older Inspector stared at her. He touched her arm and asked, "Janice, did Caitlyn have a boyfriend?"

  "No, she was into her work, no time for guys."

  The young investigator said, "Really? We heard she might be dating a man who lived here. His name is Barry Olsen?"

  Barely able to contain the anger that bubbled behind her eyes, she cut that bitch's throat just for that reason. And did not think twice about it. That's what happened when you try to take what's not yours. She'd worked too hard to allow some tramp take her man—the future father of her children.

  Barry and Caitlyn had sex a couple of times. That's all it was, sex, but that bitch was trying to trap him. Janice went over to her apartment to talk to her. Warn her to stay away from her man. When Caitlyn said that she couldn't becaus
e she was pregnant and Barry was the father, she lost it. Before Janice knew what was going on, she had a butcher knife in hand, moving in behind Caitlyn, slicing her throat.

  Barry promised Janice they would be together forever. That they would get married and have kids one day. She had been dreaming about having a family since she was a little girl. She wanted to be a wife and a mommy. A good mommy, not a bad one like her bitch mother.

  She didn't mind Barry fucking other women. Or men. In fact when he showed her videos of him having sex with other people—women and men; it turned her on. Over the last few months, he watched her have sex with several different men, and she liked him watching her have sex.

  One night, she made Barry tie her up in bed and have his way with her, and he was rough. He fucked every one of her orifices. Begging him not to stop; the pain was shear pleasure. Her helplessness, being used like a piece of meat, to be his property; to exist only to please his sexual desires, aroused Janice to a level never reached before.

  Days after that night, he showed her a video of a man killing a woman. At first she did not believe him when he told her it was real. The man in the video actually tortured and killed the woman. Only when she met that man, Janice knew it was real.

  One night, they went to a warehouse to meet Barry's cousin, Edward Rawlings, the man in the video. He exited his car, and she couldn't believe her eyes. He was enormous. Upon exiting his car, he lumbered over to them. He wasn't fat, just tall and extremely muscled.

  Edward stared at Janice quizzically.

  Barry said, "Don't worry, she's my girl, Janice. I told you about her. I brought her to help us record."

  He nodded. "Yeah, I remember. She can stay and help. Leave your headlights on so I can see getting the screamer out of the trunk." Edward opened his trunk. Still seated in the passenger seat in Barry's car, Janice gasped as she witnessed a black woman poke her head up out of the trunk.

  The woman mumbled through duct tape covering her mouth. Her face, wet with tears, her wrists bound with duct tape, her eyes begged for help.

  Edward turned and smiled at them. It was a gloriously wicked smile, Janice thought. She hoped Barry wanted Edward to fuck her. A warm intensity rushed over her.

  Although she was heavyset, Edward reached inside and picked the woman up like a ten-pound bag of potatoes. Draped over his shoulder, the woman craned her neck, attempting to see if anyone else was there.

  Behind him, they followed Edward as he carried the woman upstairs to an office. When she made it to the top, Janice realized it was not an office. An ominous-looking table with straps stood off to the left, with power tools hanging from the wall above it. Edward plopped the woman on the table. She screamed through the duct tape.

  Edward cut the tape on her wrists and ankles then tried to take off her clothes, but the woman fought him.

  "That's enough, Camila!" He hit her hard, and knocked her out. With her being unconscious, he easily strapped her down to the table. Edward turned to Barry and asked, "You ready to record?"

  Barry pulled his phone out. "Yes, I'm ready. Let Janice use your phone."

  Nodding, Edward pulled out his own phone and handed it to her. "Here. You record too."

  She accepted it. "Okay."

  Edward waited until Camila woke up. She glared at Barry and Janice, begging them to help her. She couldn't help Camila even if she wanted. Besides Janice didn't want to, too curious to see what Edward would do to her. It would be bad, she knew, and that's why she wanted to watch.

  He grabbed a power tool that had a little round blade. He told Janice to stand on the other side of him. Camila got twice as loud when Edward began cutting her fat belly. He moved the blade up and down the length of her torso.

  Edward turned to Janice and smiled at her. "What do you think?"

  Distracted from answering his question, she couldn't help but stare at Edward's hard-on. Not sure if she was more scared of Edward or his dick. He looked down and grabbed it and glanced up. "You like that, Janice?"

  The anticipation of the pain from Edward bending her over and ramming that thing into her, excited her. She grinned, and instantly became weak in the knees.

  Barry smiled at her, and said, ”My cousin likes you." Since that night, she only seen Edward two or three times at Barry's apartment. Every time she hoped that he would take her and have his way with her, but it never happened. If he asked her, she would help him record another video again.

  Janice took a quick, deep breath, and looked around. Inspector Mason leaned over with a hand on her arm, staring at her intently.

  "Are you okay?" Inspector Mason asked.

  She brought up a hand to her forehead. "Oh, yes. I'm sorry, I was lost in thought."

  Inspector Mason snapped his fingers. "I'm sorry, can you excuse me for a second. I need to make a call. It shouldn't take but a minute."

  Inspector Creed stood up. "Janice, you mind if I use your restroom?"

  "Be my guest. It's down the hall first door on the right."

  Mason pulled out his cell phone and touched the screen.

  The young one walked down the hallway.

  Then, a music tone sounded. A phone's ring? she wondered. It wasn't Janice's phone. But it did sound familiar. She looked around but couldn't pinpoint where the ringing came from.

  With his phone to his ear, Mitch winked at her. He uttered something inaudible to her.

  Confused, she wondered what was going on.

  Then, Inspector Creed moved swiftly to join him. "What you got, partner?"

  Janice frowned and joined them in the kitchen.

  He opened a drawer and studied the utensils and closed it. Janice blinked in confusion. What was he looking for in the kitchen?

  They found a pink iPhone in the next drawer he opened. It was the source of the ringing; then Janice recognized the sound—and the phone. Oh shit!

  Caitlyn's phone. Janice didn't realize she had it. She remembered coming home and taking her clothes off and washing them. But she did not remember grabbing Caitlyn's phone, then putting it in the drawer.

  Inspector Mason looked at the screen of his phone, touched it, and held it out. He turned on his phone's speaker. All three of them, including Janice, could hear the ringing on Mason's phone and the other phone. Then the rings stopped. Next a recorded message played, "Hello, this is Caitlyn, if you're getting this it means I'm busy, so please leave me a nice message and I'll call you back as soon as I can. Bye bye!"

  Both inspectors stared at her, but she did not like the way they stared. "What?" she demanded.

  Inspector Mason sighed. "Janice, this is Caitlyn's phone and you have it."

  "We're friends. She left it here and I just haven't returned it. I forgot it was there."

  The young inspector had the slut's phone, searching through it. "But you said you hadn't seen her in days?" the young one asked.

  "Yeah, and?" He irritated her.

  Using his finger to scroll, the younger one said, "The call and text history say there have been messages sent and received by Caitlyn, as well as phone calls over the last few days, including yesterday and even today."

  Janice knew she was screwed.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Lurking in the dark

  ACROSS THE STREET, KATHLEEN gazed at the warehouse.

  Lurking in the dark like some evil vampire ready to kill her and Rose, Edward might be in there. He might be killing other people's dogs or worse. The thought made her shudder. Shaking her head, she laughed at her stupidity. "Come on, Kathleen! Rose will be back soon."

  After another minute passed, she couldn't help but let her imagination run wild with other crazy scenarios. Hours ago it seem she entered the damn warehouse; in fact it was only several minutes ago.

  Rose carried an air of confidence. Kathleen thought was a strong trait for a woman to have. A drink with her would be nice. If she wasn't a cop she had to be private detective or worked in security in some way.

  Kathleen ran her own business; he
r very own successful blog on SEO and online marketing. She had made over six figures each of the last six years and expected to do the same or better next year.

  Before becoming a successful blogger and online content seller, she worked for a marketing firm; she had always wanted to have her own company—being successful. While still working her day job, she started her company, part-time. With her side business, the first year she made a few thousand dollars, working late into the night and on weekends, getting little sleep. But she was determined. She was able to quit her main job two years later when she pulled in over fifty grand.

  Christopher, her husband, and Kathleen wanted to travel the world, go backpacking throughout Europe. It had been her dream to visit Venice ever since she was a little girl. She had even taken Italian language classes when she was in high school back in Caldwell, Idaho—her birth place. If she and Christopher ever made it to Italy, she wanted to take cooking classes from a real-life Italian chef.

  The world was huge though. Europe alone presented so many potential destinations: Berlin, Paris, London, Dublin, etc. She couldn't forget India. Kathleen could imagine herself in India, traveling from town to town, by bus, teaching English.

  Amsterdam was the place Christopher wanted to visit, so he could smoke marijuana legally. He was such a stick in the mud, he didn't even drink. She liked the idea of him getting a little crazy and smoking a doobie. Since he grew up in a religious household, he had come a long way since the first day they met at the University of Miami.

  When Christopher told her about his job transferring him to Houston, she was happy; her best friend from college, Amy Udall and her husband, Danny, had been living in Houston already. Her mind wandered to that night about a year ago. They met up with Amy and Danny for dinner at El Tiempo. And as far as Kathleen was concerned, it had the best Mexican food in all of Houston. The margaritas were potent and kept coming. Everyone got wasted and ended up skinny-dipping in Amy and Danny's backyard pool.

  Next morning, she was beyond embarrassed, not to mention the world-ending hangover that took up residence in her head. More preoccupied with their hangovers, the men didn't mention the skinny-dipping at all. They drank strong coffee, and were talking about football when Kathleen finally stumbled out of bed and into the kitchen.