Cereal Killer

by G. A. McKevett

  “You’re just being hateful!”

  “And you’re being an ignoramus! I swear, girl, you’re a romance junkie, and you need serious help! But for tonight, I’m going to take my telephones, all three of them, into my bedroom, and I’m going to lock the door. While I’m at it, I’m going to take the cord off the back of the computer, too. So you might just as well go to bed and get a good night’s sleep.”

  “I can’t go back. I don’t have the money!” Marietta wailed. “I just bought a one-way ticket! I figured it would work out between me and Bill, and he’d want me to stay, and eventually I’d send for the boys and—”

  “Then you’d better sure as shootin’ get that rest,” Savannah said as she stomped to the door, “because you’re gonna need it. It’s a damned far piece to Georgia, and that thumb of yours is gonna get mighty tired with you hitchhiking all the way.”

  When Savannah rejoined the gang in the kitchen, she found them comfortably seated around her table, an assortment of snacks and beverages in front of them— mostly in front of Dirk—and the recorder on the table.

  “We waited for you,” Tammy said as Savannah poured some French dark roast and water into the coffeemaker. It was bound to be a long night and a shot of energy from Mr. Coffee would help.

  A shot from Miss Godiva might be needed, too. “Yeah, they won’t even tell me what they’ve got here until you sit down,” Dirk grumped. “So, come sit.” ‘You’d better say that smilin’, boy,” she said as she took her seat at the head of the table. “I just went ten rounds with Marietta, and I’ve got energy to spare.”

  “How did it go?” Tammy asked.

  “Who cares?” Dirk reached for the recorder, but Tammy snatched it away from him. “What’s on the tape?

  “It isn’t anything as good as a confession,” Ryan said. “And of course, it isn’t anything that can be used in court. But it is interesting.”

  Dirk settled back in his chair. “So, let’s hear it.” Savannah gave Tammy a nod and she punched the PLAY button.

  The first thing they heard was Savannah’s voice, a loud “Damnation!” then some shuffling sounds and then the soft, liquid sounds of—

  Savannah grabbed the recorder and pushed STOP. “We... ah... we had a little trouble getting it going there at first,” she said, feeling her cheeks turn the color of vine-ripened tomatoes. “Where’s the good stuff?” she asked Tammy.

  “Sorry, I thought I had it on the spot. I think it’s around twenty-five or twenty-six on the little meter there.”

  Savannah could feel Dirk’s eyes burning into her as she punched the buttons with a finger that shook slightly. She could also practically hear Ryan snickering at the other end of the table.

  Men! They could complicate a girl’s life if she didn’t watch out. Sometimes even if she did look out.

  After what seemed like a couple of years, she found the spot and started the tape.

  Thankfully, it was a man’s voice that spoke this time. “It could have been a lot worse,” he was saying, “if they’d sued you like they said... think how that would have played when it hit the news. If you ask me, we dodged a bullet.”

  “That’s why I don’t ask you for your opinion on things that matter,” said another, deeper voice. ‘'You’re shortsighted, Jerrod. You’re a chess player who only sees one move at a time, and that’s why we’re in this situation. You didn’t look ahead.”

  “I don’t think I’ve handled it all that badly so far.

  We’re in a pretty good place now what with the girls gone and—”

  “I heard from Marvin Klein today. He’s representing Kevin Connor.”

  “Connor?”

  “Yeah, Connor. He’s suing me for his wife’s untimely death. And how long do you suppose it’ll be before the other ones’ families figure it out and come after me, too?”

  “I... I don’t...”

  “No, you don’t, because you don’t think ahead.” There was a long, heavy silence. So long that the voice-activated tape stopped, then started again when Beekman said, “I’ll do something. I’ll take care of it.”

  “Bodies can’t keep dropping, Jerrod,” said the deep voice. “People can’t keep disappearing.”

  “I know. I know. I’ll think of something. Really.” Another long silence. Then, “Make sure that you do. I don’t have to tell you that if I go down... so will you.” A door slammed, followed by the sound of glass clinking and a fluid pouring. Then the recorder switched off.

  “Sounds like Wentworth needed a shot of courage,” Ryan said as they sat and digested what they had just heard.

  “How do you know for sure that was Wentworth?” Dirk asked.

  “We took turns hanging out at the end of the hallway,” Savannah told him, “watching everybody who went in and out of that office. And we kept track, writing down their names if we knew who they were and their physical descriptions if we didn’t.”

  “We listened to the rest of the conversations on the way over here after the party,” Ryan said. “Most of them were Wentworth trying to squeeze people who owe him money.”

  “And some of those debts are ten years old,” Savannah said. “Apparently, he’s desperate for cash.”

  John reached over and patted Tammy’s shoulder. “This young lady and I were watching when Jerrod Beekman went into the library and when he came out. What we just heard was the gist of their conversation.” Dirk sighed and sank a few inches lower in his chair. “It’s interesting, that business about the dead girls threatening to sue Wentworth before they died. But there’s not really a hook in there that I can hang either Wentworth or Beekman on.”

  “No,” Savannah said, “but I think they both need a closer look.”

  “A closer look?” Dirk shook his head. “I’m already looking at everybody as close as I can. And so far, I haven’t seen nothin’ that counts for closing this case.” From past experience, Savannah knew that Dirk almost always hit a wall with his cases. Fortunately, although he was grumpy and difficult when he had his nose pressed against that wall, he always rallied. And after a period of wallowing in depression, ranting and raving, he would solve it.

  “That’s why we’re trying to help, Dirko,” Tammy said, as though explaining rocket combustion ratios to a kindergartner. “Why else do you think we’d all be here at two in the morning?”

  As usual, Tammy’s approach didn’t work with Dirk. He brisded and opened his mouth to reply, but Savannah stood, walked behind him, and put her hands on his shoulders.

  “Tell us what you want us to do, buddy,” she said, massaging the knotted muscles at the base of his neck.

  “I want to find this girl, Tesla,” he said, closing his eyes and running his hand through his hair. “Until we find her body, we’ve still got a chance of getting her back alive. And from what I can see, that’s the only good thing that could possibly come out of this mess.”

  Savannah smoothed his mussed hair, much as she would have petted her grandmother’s old bloodhound back in Georgia. Then she sat down in her chair and took a notebook and pen in hand. “Okay, we’ve got suspects galore,” she said. “And we have to keep an eye on them all. Let’s divide ’em up. Who’s gonna babysit whom?”

  Having drawn Kevin Connor from the figurative hatful of suspects, Savannah pulled up to the house on the beach at 7:30 in the morning, only five hours after she had said good-bye to the team at her house. She had been hoping for Beekman or Wentworth, but Dirk was hogging them both for himself. And since he was in his “Deep-Dark-Depression-Excessive-Misery” mode, she had decided not to fight him about it.

  She had a couple of things to ask Kevin Connor anyway, so she didn’t really mind... except for the getting there at 7:30 business. Having called the hospital, she had found out that he came on duty at 8:30, so she figured he would be up and about at this hour and might give her a few minutes of his time.

  When she rang the doorbell, it took him so long to answer that she reconsidered her theory. Maybe Connor was one of those
guys who rolled out of bed at the last possible moment, gulped a cup of coffee, and arrived at work with bed hair and sheet face.

  When he answered, barefoot, wearing pajama pants and a T-shirt, his eyes half open, she realized she had blown it.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Connor,” she said. “I thought that since you’re on at the hospital at eight-thirty, you’d be up by now.”

  “I just called in sick,” he replied, rubbing his eyes with his fingers.

  “Oh, I really am sorry. I—”

  “I’m not sick. I’m just tired. It’s been a really tough last few days. We had Cait’s funeral yesterday.”

  “Yes. I know. I’m sure the hospital understands.”

  “No, they don’t understand. But to hell with them. I’m not going to be there much longer, so...”

  “Oh?”

  He seemed to wake up a bit. He shook his head and said, “No, I’m not, but that’s not important. What can I do for you?”

  “I just wanted to talk to you a few minutes, ask you a couple of questions, fill you in on what’s going on with the investigation.”

  He looked confused, then irritated. “What’s going on? What investigation? I thought it was over and done with. The coroner said she died accidentally of heat stroke.”

  “Well, yes, that’s true. But would you mind terribly if I came in? Since you’re already up...”

  He looked back over his shoulder and hesitated. “Uh, I guess so. But just for a little while. Then I’m going back to bed.”

  “I won’t take long, really.”

  Stepping back, he opened the door for her, and she entered the house. As before, it had the empty feeling of a home where the owner was absent, as though the heart and spirit of the house were gone.

  Since she had been there last, the place had become badly cluttered. Dirty clothes, dishes, beer bottles, and newspapers littered every surface, and the air carried the smell of stale cigarette smoke and booze.

  But among all the trash, Savannah’s eye caught a couple of things in particular. On the sofa, draped across the bright tropical print cushions, was a pair of jeans. And while that might not have been unusual in itself, she noted that they were a woman’s cut and the size was much too small for Kevin or Caitlin.

  And on the floor in front of the sofa were a pair of bright red clogs... also far too small for Kevin Connor’s large feet.

  He followed her line of vision, saw what she was looking at, and reached for her arm. With no great gentleness, he led her into the dining area and out the doors to the patio where they had sat and talked the day Caitlin died.

  She had the distinct feeling he wanted her out of the house, and, considering the lady’s apparel in the living room, she wasn’t surprised. She would have bet a box of chocolate-iced, custard-filled doughnuts that Kevin had a honey upstairs.

  And with his wife freshly buried.

  That was something to think about.

  He sat down at the table and motioned for her to sit across from him. “What are you talking about—an investigation?” he asked. “I thought it was all sewn up. I mean, the ME released Cait’s body to us for the funeral. They must have been finished with it.”

  “I know. Dr. Liu did rule that the cause of death was hyperthermia and its heart-related complications. But there are still some questions about the manner of death.”

  “It was an accident.”

  “That’s what we thought at first, too. But...”

  “But what?”

  “But now, with Kameeka dying so soon afterward, and with Tesla Montoya missing... I’m sure you’ve been following the news and realize how suspicious that is.”

  “Are you telling me that you believe somebody deliberately murdered my Caitlin?”

  Savannah shrugged and said softly, “What do you think, Kevin?”

  He propped his elbows on the table and covered his face with his hands. He was silent for a long time. Then he dropped his hands and said, “As much as I hate the thought, I have to admit that once I heard about Kameeka, it occurred to me that someone might have done something to Cait.”

  “You have medical knowledge,” Savannah said. “What do you think they might have done?”

  “Who knows? It’s pretty obvious how she died. She starved herself and then got overheated, just like the coroner said.”

  “Kevin, when was the last time you saw Cait that day?”

  “It was that morning, when I left for work. I kissed her good-bye and told her to eat some breakfast. She promised me she would.”

  “And that was the last time you spoke?”

  “No. I talked to her on the phone, later that morning.”

  “What time?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. She called me at the hospital about ten or eleven.”

  “What did she want?’

  A look of sadness washed over his face, and he clenched his hands together on the table in front of him. “She said she had been working out and she wasn’t feeling so good. Said she was light-headed. I told her to drink a big glass of water and to lie down for a while. She said she would.”

  “And that was the last time you heard from her?”

  “Yes. And I keep asking myself what might have happened if I’d just come home then. She said she was sick, and I should have listened.”

  “You didn’t know,” she said. “You can’t blame yourself.”

  Savannah thought of the clothes in the living room and decided to broach a touchy subject. “Kevin, I hate to ask, but... was your marriage a happy one?”

  “Yes. Why?”

  He didn’t sound all that convincing, but considering what she had recently seen and heard, she wasn’t surprised.

  “Were either of you seeing someone else, outside the marriage?”

  He looked her straight in the eye and replied evenly, “Caitlin and I had an open marriage.”

  “I see,” she said just as evenly, without breaking the gaze. “So that’s a yes?”

  “Caitlin had many lovers. I believe she was having a fling with her photographer at the time. A guy named Matt Slater. ”

  ‘Yes, I know Mr. Slater. Had that been going on for a while?”

  “Not long. Cait had a pretty short attention span when it came to that sort of thing.”

  “Was it... going well? To the best of your knowledge were the two of them on good terms at the time she died?”

  “I doubt that the affair mattered much to either one of them,” he said. “I suppose they were still friendly, if that’s what you mean.”

  ‘Yes, that’s what I meant.” Savannah paused, weighing her next words before speaking. “Forgive my candor, Mr. Connor, but have you been seeing someone recently?”

  She wondered if he would blatantly lie to her, considering that they both knew she had seen the women’s clothing in the living room. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time somebody had looked her square in the eye and told her a whopper.

  “Yes. I’m seeing someone,” he said.

  Savannah instantly gave him Brownie points for honesty. But she questioned whether he would have been so truthful if his sweetie hadn’t left her breeches on the couch in plain view. It was one thing to be forthright about your spouse’s liaisons, and quite another when it came to your own.

  “May I ask who she is?” Savannah said.

  “You can ask, but I won’t say.”

  “I wish you would tell me. It could be important.”

  “No. The lady I’m involved with is married and has children. Her marriage isn’t open. Not every couple can handle that sort of arrangement in a mature manner.”

  Savannah entertained a momentary mental image of how “mature” she would be if her husband decided to “open” their marriage. It involved a flurry of activity that included multiple whacks to the head with a skillet, digging a deep hole in the backyard under the magnolia tree, and that same magnolia tree blooming profusely the next spring, thanks to all that additional unfaithful-hubby fertilizer.

 
“That’s true,” she said. “Not a lot of people go for that anymore.”

  “Besides”—he glanced over his shoulder toward the sliding doors—“her identity isn’t important. She’s a very kind, gen tie person. She’d never hurt anyone.” Except maybe her husband and children, her family and friends, if they found out about you, Savannah thought.

  She could tell she had taken Kevin about as far down that road as he would be willing to go. She decided to try another tactic.

  “I understand that you’re taking legal action against Charles Wentworth III.”

  His face flushed dark with anger. “I sure am. I’m suing him and Beekman and Dr. Pappas. They were all complicit in her death—pushing her to jeopardize her health so that they could make a buck. They didn’t give a damn about Caitlin, as long as they made money off her.”

  “Do you think they were involved in Kameeka’s death or Tesla’s disappearance?”

  “I don’t know. That’s for you and the cops to figure out.”

  Savannah glanced at her watch. It was already past eight, and she had a lot of ground to cover before the day was over. “One last thing, Kevin,” she said. “If you were me, where would you concentrate your efforts on this case? If someone did deliberately murder your wife, who would you put your money on?”

  “Leah Freed.”

  That one took Savannah by surprise. “Oh?”

  “Yes. Wentworth and Beekman and Pappas might have contributed to her accidentally killing herself, but if she was outright murdered, I’d bet on Leah.”

  “Why?”

  “Caitlin was furious at Leah for getting her into that contract, and the day before she died, she told Leah that she was looking for another agent.”

  “And how did Leah take it?”

  “Like she was a spurned lover. She figures she made Caitlin everything she was, that she owned her. And Cait was talking to the other girls about leaving Leah, too. Kameeka and Tesla were seriously considering going with Cait to another agency—one in L.A.”