Tuesday's Child BK 1

by Dale Mayer

  Turning back, he caught sight of the coroner leaving.

  "James, have you got a time of death?"

  The grizzled coroner answered, "The best I can do at the moment, is between two and five." James shook his head. "I'll have more after the autopsy." The coroner walked out after smacking Adam's shoulder.

  Turning back to the crime scene, Brandt watched as one of the CSI officers picked a tiny object off the carpet with tweezers. He waited until the item had been bagged and tagged.

  "Stanley, what did you find?"

  The man stood, holding the bag aloft for Brandt to see. "It appears to be a diamond or a zirconium. Have to wait until I get it back to the lab to know for sure."

  Brandt stared at the tiny twinkling object. "Earring?" It could be the right size. He turned toward the open doorway. The stretcher had long gone. He'd have to wait to check what jewelry the victim wore.

  He walked over to the open jewelry box on the dresser to rummage through the few quality items inside. All the settings appeared intact. None matched the stone.

  Stanley, who'd worked alongside Kevin and his team for over a decade, joined him. "I'll run it through some tests. It's pretty small, probably part of a design."

  Like a four leaf-clover design? Brandt couldn't remember the exact details of Ms. Blair's statement. Had the ring always been missing one jewel or only the last time she'd seen it? Had she even mentioned that detail? He'd have to wait until he got back to the office to be sure – but it felt right.

  That waif's story sounded beyond wild, but that look in her eye had been real. Whatever demon drove her, she believed in it. Staring down at the tiny jewel, Brandt realized he couldn't discount it either.

  "Okay, keep me posted."

  Stanley nodded and headed back to his kit with the evidence bag.

  It took another hour before the room emptied, leaving only the brutal evidence of death behind. Bloodstains perpetuated the smell of death. Vestiges of violence remained behind. Brandt swore he could almost see and hear the play-by-play of her death from the scene laid out before him.

  He didn't have psychic abilities in the normal sense, still, like many of his coworkers, he had a strong intuition. Whether it had developed through his years of police work or through his long friendship with Stefan, didn't matter. He'd learned a long time ago to listen to it.

  And right now, it was screaming at him.

  ***

  2:20 pm

  Kevin Bresson pulled into the station parking lot. Lunch was over and the place was packed as usual. Around the back of the building, he found a spot and parked. "Home sweet home," he said to Adam, who was sitting in the passenger seat beside him.

  "If you say so."

  Kevin glanced over at him. "Can't be cynical at your age. Come on, you haven't been on the force long enough for that. Give it a decade or two like me – then you've earned the right to be sour."

  Adam got out and closed the door of the black SUV. He waited while Kevin grabbed his bag before walking to the rear entrance.

  "I'm not being cynical, exactly. But it's a little hard to stay positive when you come from scenes like that one."

  Kevin's normally stern face darkened. "I know what you mean."

  Adam held the door open for him. "Do you think Brandt is right? That there's a serial killer working here?"

  Kevin's pace never slowed as he headed for the elevator that would take them to their third floor offices. "I don't know. I've only seen some of the evidence. It would take more to convince me fully. Still, he has got a couple of valid arguments. Too many to discount his theory."

  "He thinks this is another one."

  "And that's possible. We'll work on it the same as every other case, and either he'll pull it for his list or he won't. We have enough work to do without keeping tabs on what he's up to."

  "Right."

  Kevin entered the waiting elevator with Adam on his heels. He was tired and fed up. The last thing he wanted was for Brandt to be correct and that a serial killer had been operating under their noses for decades. Just as the door was about to shut, a yell went up.

  Kevin stopped the doors from closing long enough for Dillon Hathaway to get on.

  "Thanks Kevin."

  Dillon grinned that affable smile that always pissed Kevin right off.

  "I hear you caught another bad one this morning. Let me know if you need any of my expertise to close this for you."

  Kevin stiffened. Just because the 'kid' had a couple of college degrees didn't make him better than the veterans on the force. Now if Dillon had some experience to go with that piece of paper then people might be more inclined to listen. As it was, Dillon, in his late twenties, had only about six months of experience. Kevin wondered why he hadn't gone into business. He had that wheeling dealing kind of attitude and dressed the part too. He'd have done well.

  Covertly, he studied Dillon's designer suit and lavender shirt. No wonder the guys in the department laughed at him. Although, it was his insufferable know-it-all attitude that made everyone want to kick his ass.

  Adam wouldn't stay quiet. Kevin shot him a warning look, but it was too late.

  "I think we can handle it. Other people, beside you, know how to do their jobs, you know."

  Grinning, Dillon put his hands out in front of him in exaggerated supplication. "Hey, no problem, Adam. Just wanted to let you know that you can call on me any time. But I understand pride. So just trundle along in your usual way."

  Kevin clenched his jaw and rolled his eyes. He did take pride in the number of cases he'd closed over the years. But no matter how many he solved or how many assholes he put behind bars, there were always a dozen more ready to take their place. If Brandt was right, they were in trouble. A serial killer with the skills to stay undetected for decades was just bad news – for everyone.

  But working with Brandt was a different story than asking this young upstart for help. Brandt might be new to the department, but Kevin respected the man – unlike Dillon. Brandt was a straight up kind of guy who you could count on in a tight spot. What made working with him hard was his special assignment status. Not that he played the maverick card, but he worked with his own agenda.

  Kevin wasn't sure what Brandt did all day exactly, only that he showed up for their meetings and any crime scenes that fit the parameters he was searching for. Cushy job if you could get it. As long as he stayed out of Kevin's way then he could work on all the task force preparations he wanted to – no harm done.

  The elevator opened. Kevin, already focused on his job at hand, pushed all worries of Detective Brandt Sutherland from his mind.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  3:45 pm

  Sam hit the next rut hard, bouncing across it before she had a chance to maneuver her truck to the left. Her driveway had more potholes and grooves than drivable surface – a free bonus with the cheap rent. Her little pickup shook hard with the next hit and never had a chance to stop trembling before it bounced again.

  Sam grimaced. She'd soon be black and blue just from the trip home. Great, more bruises. As if she needed more pain. Turning the last corner, she leaned forward to see her favorite view.

  The tree line opened to the full valley and lake. Glittering water glistened for miles. She lived for this moment. The hills and mountains in the horizon bled into wonderful shades of blue and the trees...the greens and yellows, an oil canvas of joy. She smiled. This vista sustained her soul as food never could.

  Parking the truck, Sam hopped out. Off to the left she could see her small cabin nestled just far enough back from the shore to give a front yard. She realized once again how blessed she was to have been given a chance to live there. A perfect place to stop running.

  When she'd found it, the owners – an older couple – hadn't wanted to rent it out. She'd been in dire straits and once they'd sensed that, their attitude had changed.

  Sam appreciated their change of heart. Life had dished out a couple of bad months. She winced. Who could talk in
terms of months? Her life had been a cesspool for years.

  The sun twinkled overhead. She smiled at the sky. Opening the driver's door, she started to hop back in when pain lashed through her. Black tentacles reached inside her skull and clutched her brain, dropping her to her knees.

  She cried out, her hands cradling her temple. She doubled over, rocking back and forth, as darkness filled her mind. Her chest constricted. She struggled to breathe. Then she started to panic.

  Just before she lost control, the curtain of blackness ripped aside. Sam breathed hard, struggling with the new images. They weren't of her truck or of the woods around her.

  She stood outside a coffee shop in an area she didn't recognize. The only familiar thing came from behind her. A feeling, a gaze, an energy. Comprehension hit her slowly. "No," she cried, her hands covering her eyes. Pain seared her heart as her mind finally understood. Nothing could stop the tears from welling up and tumbling down her cheeks.

  The killer had just found another victim.

  ***

  3:55 pm

  Brandt preferred to gain information in a less formal way, yet his badge did loosen tongues. Or it had until Parksville. The rotund postal clerk hadn't recognized Sam's name until Brandt gave her a description. She'd clammed up immediately, to stare at him suspiciously. When he brought out his badge, she became even more belligerent – if possible.

  "You can ask your questions over at the vet hospital as she works there part-time." She turned away to speak with another customer.

  Dismissed, Brandt left – his curiosity aroused. He walked across the street to the Parksville Veterinarian Hospital and asked his questions there.

  "Sorry, we don't give out personal information on our staff." The older woman was striking in her own way, except for the waves of protectiveness rolling off her. Odd, she too saw him as the enemy. Not an unusual reaction from the drug runners and hookers on the streets, but from someone who looked more at home dishing out apple pie and lemonade – very strange.

  Brandt turned his badge her way.

  She raised one eyebrow, yet didn't relax. Instead, she held out her hand. Brandt passed over his badge and watched as she wrote down the information before passing it back.

  "Now, can you provide me with her address, please?" he said in his most official voice.

  She appeared to consider his words. What required consideration he couldn't begin to understand. "Excuse me," he snapped. "Does she work here or not?"

  "Yes, that's true. She does." The dragon smiled as if happy to be able to answer him.

  "Good. I need her address and her phone number." Using his well-honed eagle eye, he stared her down.

  To no effect.

  "I don't think she has a phone." She assessed him again, with that same calculating look of his grandmother. "Why the interest?"

  "It's personal, ma'am." Brandt had been thinking to save Samantha unnecessary questions about the police looking for her. Then he saw her knowing glance and groaned. Heat flooded his face.

  The older woman smiled.

  Brandt shuffled his feet as if still in high school himself.

  Her smile widened.

  Shit. Brandt couldn't believe it. He shook his head to clear his thoughts and tried to regain control of the wayward conversation.

  "Police business," he clarified, hoping to get this conversation back on the right direction.

  After another long look, the dragon, as if realizing he couldn't be put off, walked toward the desk, wrote something on a small scratch pad, and held it out to him. "Here you go – her address. Now, if you'll excuse us, we have to take care of our customers." She motioned to several people waiting behind him. "Hello Mrs. Caruthers. What's the problem with Prissy?"

  Brandt snatched up the paper and strode through the front glass doors. Once outside, he glanced down at the address.

  "Shit." She'd given him the same PO Box address he already had. Technically, she'd done what he'd asked, while avoiding giving him what he needed.

  "Is there a problem, sir?" A competent-looking older man approached him. "I'm Dr. Wascott. This is my office. Maybe I can help you?"

  Brandt smiled, happy to find someone normal in the town. "I'm Detective Sutherland." Brandt once again reached into his pocket and pulled out his badge. "I'm looking for directions to Samantha Blair's place."

  "Oh." The older man smiled, his bushy brows giving him a Rip Van Winkle look. "That's easy. She's at the old Coulson homestead." He turned and pointed out the direction. "Head up the highway to the large gingerbread-looking house. Turn right onto the dirt road past the house and follow it all the way down to the lake. She's pretty isolated down there, but seems to enjoy it." He opened the front door of his office. "There's no problem, I hope?" He paused and looked back at Brandt, one eyebrow raised.

  Brandt shook his head, tucking the slip of paper into his shirt pocket. "Not at all, I'm just checking on some information she gave us."

  "Didn't think so. She's not the type." Smiling, the vet walked inside, the glass door shutting behind him.

  Brant stared up the road. A gingerbread house – that should be easy.

  ***

  4:09 pm

  Sam dragged her sorry ass out of the truck and up the wooden stairs. The vision had left her feeling as if she'd gained a hundred pounds. Every shuffling step had become an effort. That insight into a killer's mind had been downright unpleasant. Knowing he'd found another woman, hurt her. That she'd had the vision at all terrified her. It was yet another sign her 'talent' was changing. And she didn't like it one bit. Her head throbbed from the remnants of sensory overload.

  Moses barked excitedly, his madcap tail waving in the wind. He shoved his wet nose into her hand.

  "Hey boy. Sorry to be so long today." She scratched the big dog's head. The golden haired Heinz 57 mix easily came to her mid-thigh. She smiled at the oversized black paws. Moses had been the main man in her life for a long time.

  Shifting her library books, picked up over her lunch break, she strode up the front steps. On psychic phenomena, these books might hold the answers to her perpetual problem. At one time, she'd asked experts for help. Unfortunately, she'd chosen the wrong kind of expert.

  Images of padded walls and needles slammed into her mind. Ruthless, and with more experience than she'd like to admit, she slammed them right back out again.

  Moses slumped to the deck in his usual jumble of muscle and sinew, thumped his tail once, and fell back asleep.

  "Good companion you are, Moses."

  His tail thumped again, but he couldn't be bothered raising his head. Sam bent down to stroke his back. Her fingers slipped in and out of the thick golden pelt, enjoying the silky contact. A great sigh erupted from him, and he relaxed even further.

  Sam laughed at his total exit from the world. He had the right idea. She needed sleep, too.

  Exhaustion from her vision had caught up to her. Even running a hand over her forehead brought a tremor to her spine. After putting on the teakettle, she walked into the bathroom, dampened a washcloth, and wiped her face. The cool wetness helped refresh her.

  Catching sight of her face, she winced. Her porcelain skin – always translucent – now seemed paper thin, transparent even. She looked friggin' awful. She closed her eyes, shocked at how far her health had sunk. If she didn't find answers soon, her 'gifts' would kill her.

  She was halfway there now.

  While she walked through the tiny cabin, loneliness crept in. She stared at the plain walls, her hip propped against the counter and a hot cup of tea warming her hands. The support walls were old logs and the floorboards had been cut from hewn wood. They'd worn down in places and would have some incredible stories to tell if they could talk. Unfortunately, in her case, they could. Depending on the day and the strength of her energy as to what signals she picked up, the stories went from unsettling to downright nervy.

  Moses raised his bushy head and growled. Sam glanced around, puzzled. "What's the matter, Moses
?"

  He growled again, staring at the place where the driveway drove out of the evergreens at the top of the ridge.

  Sam gazed out the living room window, but couldn't see anything. Living out here, wildlife often shared her space. She loved watching the deer make their way to the river for a drink. Thus far she'd also seen raccoons, coyotes, and once, in the evening, a bear. If the animals left her in peace then she'd be happy to return the courtesy.

  A faint rumbling told her what she needed to know. A vehicle. She retreated into the house, a leery eye on the driveway. It didn't take long before a black pickup bounced into view and rolled to a stop at the porch stairs.