I nodded, my thoughts heavy with reminders of the capacity man had for evil. I’d never been reminded of it as much as I had the past few days.
I pulled my thoughts back to the matters at hand and pointed at the bottom of the screen. “I found out that the guy who runs this site is named Freddy Myers.”
“Real name or a play on the names of well-known horror figures? Freddy Krueger and Michael Myers?”
I shook my head. “Play on words, I’m assuming. But his company is called ‘Deadly Profit.’ I did another Internet search on the company, and guess what?”
“Don’t keep me in suspense. I have no idea.”
“It’s located here in Norfolk, Virginia.”
Riley sat down beside me with a thud. “No.”
“Yes. What do you think?”
“I think it’s worth checking out. Strangely enough, I may have a lead for you. That is, assuming that Freddy Myers isn’t this guy’s real name.”
“How’s that?”
“I called Dale and asked him if he could tell me if Jones corresponded with anyone from this area while he was in jail. He told me, only because I’m on the task force. There was one person. His name was Freddy Mansfield.”
This could be our first real lead. Adrenaline surged through me.
“I think we know where we need to look next.”
***
We left Tim sleeping in the apartment, loaded Freddy Mansfield’s address in Riley’s GPS, and took off down the road. Maybe this was the break we’d been looking for.
We pulled up to a house that looked like something from a horror movie. It was old with all kinds of interesting angles and nooks and a steep roofline. Two large turrets rose on the sides. It was painted gray, perhaps to maintain a gloomy appearance whether rain or shine. The crepe myrtle trees in the front yard may have added some warmth to the place, but they’d been severed near the trunk so that no leaves or flowers would bloom.
Despite the massive size of the place and evidence of how beautiful it had been at one time, it looked neglected now. Something about the place made me wonder if it purposely looked like this, though. Maybe this Freddy guy wanted his house to maintain a mysterious aura about it, almost like a haunted mansion still burdened by the death of its inhabitants.
Or maybe I was reading too much into this guy’s career.
After all, maybe people said the same thing about me. Maybe they heard “crime scene cleaner” and immediately thought of some sicko who got her kicks by seeing the places where people died.
It wasn’t like that, though. I wanted to help people. I wanted to speak for the dead. I wanted the bad guys to go through the legal system, to pay for their crimes.
This man . . . he exploited the dead. He opened the wounds of the families who’d already suffered too much. He rewarded the evil acts of man.
I guess Rose’s words were still messing with my mind. I knew that I was different than these people, no matter what she said.
Riley turned to me. “Shall we?”
I nodded. “There’s no time to waste.”
We climbed from the car and met on the lawn. His fingers intertwined with mine as we walked toward the front door. Dry blades of grass and weeds rose like skeletons all around the driveway and sidewalk.
We rang the front bell. Even from the porch, I could hear strains from The Twilight Zone playing as the doorbell sounded. Freddy Mansfield was creative, I’d give him that.
I don’t know who I expected to answer the door. Maybe someone as pale as a vampire, as skinny as a skeleton, as sickly-looking as a zombie.
Instead, Freddy Mansfield was probably in his mid-twenties. He had a head full of dark brown hair, a medium build, and wore neat jeans and a plaid shirt.
No weird jewelry. No blood dripping from his mouth. No creepy tattoos—that I could see, at least.
No, he appeared like the boy next door. “I’ll never convert and become a Jehovah’s Witness. Sorry.” He started to shut the door.
“We’re not Jehovah’s Witnesses,” I called, stopping the door.
“Mormon?” he asked.
I shook my head.
“Christians?”
I pressed my lips together, determined not to feel flabbergasted. “Yes, but I’m not here to talk about religion. Do you have a minute?”
“Who are you?” He paused, his eyes shifting back and forth from Riley to me.
“I’m a crime scene cleaner. Gabby St. Claire.”
His eyes lit. “You’re the one Milton Jones has been talking about on the radio.”
“That’s me.”
His eyes went to Riley. “And you’re the prosecutor who put him behind bars.” He shook his head, and then pointed to my “Don’t Worry, Be Happy” shirt. “That shirt you’re wearing. I could probably auction it and get a couple hundred off it.”
“What?” My mouth dropped open.
He turned to Riley. “Do you still have that pen you obsessively clicked during Milton Jones’ trial? That might bring in close to a thousand. I’ll split the profit with you fifty-fifty.”
“Sorry. I can’t help you. But you might be able to help us.” Riley shook his head, a look of disgust on his face.
“What’s this about?”
“A woman named Rose,” I started. “She utilized your site quite a bit.”
“I don’t keep track of all of my customers, and I don’t have to. There’s no law saying I need to background check my customers or invade their privacy in any way for that matter.” He sounded like he’d recited that one a million times before. “Besides, the police have already been here. I’ve told them all of this stuff.”
I licked my lips, charging forward. “Where do you get your merchandise?”
He shrugged. “It varies. Here, there and everywhere. People come to me with items they want to auction. I look for things from various sources.”
Riley crossed his arms. “How do you verify the objects are the real deal?”
Freddy shrugged, having the naïve confidence that only someone who hadn’t experienced that much in life could have. “I ask lots of questions. They sign an affidavit. Speaking of which, I’m sure you could get lots of good stuff from the crime scenes. We could go into business together. In fact, you wouldn’t have to work anymore. You could just hire employees to do your work for you. You’d have the money for it.”
“Tempting, but no. I’m not going to capitalize on murder.”
He locked gazes with me. “You are already, aren’t you? You wouldn’t be in business without crime either.”
“We’re on different sides of this, no matter how you try to paint it.” I wasn’t going to back down from that conviction. I couldn’t let doubt creep into my psyche.
“Whatever, lady. Listen, I don’t know anything about this Rose. Anyone is free to bid on whatever items they want, and there’s nothing illegal about it. As much as no one in our society may want to admit it, there’s a market for this type of item. Society has made serial killers superstars, like it or not.”
His words echoed in my head. This whole case was starting to bother me on so many different levels.
CHAPTER 23
I let my head fall back into the seat as we drove down the road. My temples were pounding now as my conversation with Freddy replayed in my mind.
I rubbed my hands over my face, wishing I could get the encounter out of my mind. “He’s right, you know.”
“About what?” Riley asked.
“We’ve made superstars out of killers. That’s how messed up society is.”
“There are a lot of things messed up in this world today. Not many people can argue that. Certainly not me. But it does seem atrocious that people worship men who’ve gotten their fame from murder.”
Heaviness pressed on me again. “Do you think Freddy is helping Milton?”
Riley sighed. “Gut instinct? No. I think he’s greedy and without a conscience. But I don’t think he’s a killer.”
“I’ve g
ot to find Nichole, Clarice, and Rose. That’s all there is to it.”
“What are you thinking our next move should be?”
“First, let me say how much I love the ‘we’ in that statement. It feels good to work together.” Riley and I had hit a rough patch last week when it came to my snooping. I was glad to see we were on the same page now. “Second, how about if we stop by to see Mr. Sears. Maybe he knows something about Rose that we don’t.”
“Didn’t she say he was in Florida?”
“He goes back and forth. Maybe he’s home.” Riley must have talked to Mr. Sears more than I had. Riley was like that. Friendly, warm, and compassionate. I loved that he could also be tough, discerning, and solid like a rock.
“It’s better than my plan, which was nonexistent. Let’s go.”
A few minutes later we pulled to a stop in front of a two-story house that bordered a bad area of town. A chain link fence surrounded the place, and a dog from the neighbor’s yard barked furiously at the fence.
“Based on the upkeep of this place, it looks like he could still be in Florida and that he forgot to ask anyone to help him in the meantime,” Riley muttered.
Mr. Sears had always been a cheapskate. He tried to do everything on his own, and it was never done well, which resulted in multiple calls to get him to come back again and reevaluate his previous work.
I’d had such high hopes that Rose would be different.
But then she had to be all crazy about a serial killer, and then snatched up by the very man she admired. Horrifying and sad, but ironic all the same.
I knew what it felt like to fear Milton Jones. I could still remember the panic that had rushed through me when I’d awoken to find him in my room and on top of me. None of this was a laughing matter. Yet, without a touch of humor, I might lose my mind with fear. Humor was my coping mechanism, right or wrong. Good or bad. Smart or stupid.
We climbed the rickety porch, and I pounded at the door. No one answered.
Finally, I turned to Riley. “It was worth a shot.”
We started back to his car when someone called to us. It was the barking dog’s owner. “You looking for Mr. Sears?”
I stepped closer so I could hear better, which prompted the dog to bark louder. The sun hit a window in the distance, and I squinted against it. Finally, a middle-aged woman with rollers in her dark hair appeared. She stood on her porch, holding her cat like a newborn.
I nodded. “That’s right. I guess he’s out of town. Florida, maybe?”
“I seen him two days ago.”
Maybe this conversation was worth fighting for after all. “Oh really?”
“That’s right. He was as grumpy as ever. Listen, if you see him, tell him to take out his trash. It’s causing the worst stink I’ve ever smelt to pollute my backyard.”
“His trash?” I questioned.
“You have no idea. Step back there. You’ll see. It smells like something died.”
As soon as she said that, all of my instincts went on alert. Riley and I exchanged a look.
The dog’s barks and snarls became more vicious as we got closer to the fence. The owner never called him off. She stood still on her porch, watching everything.
When I rounded the back corner of the house, I stopped.
I’d know that smell anywhere.
It was the smell of death.
CHAPTER 24
Sure enough, Mr. Sears was dead inside his home. I hadn’t been able to go inside. No, I’d been a good girl and called the police. They’d come and checked out his house.
If anyone could recognize the smell of death, it was a crime scene cleaner and former medical examiner. There were some scents that were just undeniable. Rotting flesh was one of them.
Thankfully, your sense of smell became immune after about five minutes around a scent. That was good at crime scenes, but not so good if you had B.O.
The most Detective Adams could give me on the case was that Mr. Sears had been murdered. He wouldn’t give me a hint as to what the cause had been.
But the neighbor had said she’d seen him two days ago. He must have been killed that very day she’d seen him for his body to smell this bad already.
But that meant Mr. Sears had been killed before Rose had been abducted. I still wasn’t sure how this all tied in, but I was confident it did somehow.
I also found it interesting that the neighbor told us a police officer had been looking for Mr. Sears either one or two days ago. The bad news was that she couldn’t remember what he looked like, if he was young or old, or what he drove. She only remembered his badge. I had a feeling the woman was on some kind of drug that had deadened most of her brain cells.
Had Officer Newell stopped by? Why would he?
After we left the scene, Riley and I went to a little Mexican restaurant down the street, deciding that food might be a good way to revive our minds and spirits. A TV played in the corner. It was the five o’clock news, and all they were talking about was the Scum River Killer, whom they’d dubbed simply as “Scum.” People all around us had stopped eating in order to listen. The restaurant staff even killed the overhead music for a moment.
The information the police gave to the media was simpler than what I knew. But the facts were that three women had been abducted, and the police had hardly any leads. Time was ticking away. Nichole only had two more days to live, if Jones stuck with his previous time schedule.
The station then launched into a recap of his terror spree in California.
I turned to Riley and shook my head. “I don’t often say that I’m scared, but this guy scares me.”
He reached across the table and squeezed my hand. “I know. But he’ll mess up and the police will catch him.”
“But how many women will be snatched before then? How many will die?”
Riley shook his head, and I could see the melancholy that washed over him. He didn’t have the answer to that question. I didn’t expect him to.
I’d been involved in some nasty cases before, but I was pretty sure this was the nastiest. Most of the people I’d tracked down had killed to cover up something or to hide the truth or out of fear they’d get in trouble for something else.
Milton Jones murdered for the fun of it. I wasn’t sure how to come to terms with that.
“I need to change the subject for a minute,” Riley started. “When are you and Teddi going dress shopping?”
Teddi was my dad’s new girlfriend. She’d offered to help me pick out a wedding gown, and, for some reason, I’d agreed.
“Tomorrow, now that you mention it. I’m going to have to reschedule, though. I’m behind on my work. Clarice is missing. Rose is missing. There are other things more important.”
“Just how behind are you on your jobs?”
“I’m behind behind. I just can’t work with everything else going on. One lady said she was staying with relatives out of town for a while, so it wasn’t a big deal. Another location is where the homeowner actually died. He lived alone. Relatives want to get the house cleaned up so they can put it on the market, but they’re not in a big hurry. They’re still planning the funeral for that matter.”
“The good news is that Chad will be back . . . on Sunday, right?”
I nodded. “Last I heard.”
As the waitress set our food in front of us, my stomach grumbled. I felt guilty even feeling hungry. Three beef and cheese enchiladas waited for me to devour them, along with some rice and refried beans.
Riley and I prayed for our food, for Nichole and Clarice and Rose and Mr. Sears’ family. We prayed for sound minds for all of those involved in finding Milton Jones. I felt better after saying “amen.”
I took my first bite and savored the spicy, warm food. What had Riley said before we prayed? That’s right. He’d mentioned Chad and Sierra. I couldn’t wait for them to get back, for more than one reason. First, I needed Chad’s help. Second, Sierra was my best friend and I always bounced ideas off of her. Third, I had to get
the inside scoop as to why they’d decided to elope while I was away on vacation last week.
I thought about my own wedding. We’d picked out a church in Norfolk. The place had stained glasses windows and white, wooden siding. Riley and I would get married in the evening and soft candlelight would create a warm atmosphere in the sanctuary.
I had so many other details I needed to attend to. I had to find a caterer. Pick out dresses. Send invitations. Choose my flowers.
Maybe eloping was a better idea. I knew I wanted to marry Riley, so why wait? Besides, I still hadn’t figured out how we would afford the wedding. Money was already tight, and Riley and I wanted to pay for the wedding ourselves. Now he had to buy a new car. Sometimes my business was busy and lucrative. Other times, it dragged. That meant I saved money when times were good, so I could pay my bills when times were bad. Such was the life of the self-employed.
I couldn’t even think about all of that right now.
“Let me talk this out for a minute,” I started. “We know Milton Jones is behind this. He’s the mastermind.”
“Correct, although he has veered from his usual M.O.”
“We know someone is helping him. Maybe that’s why he’s veered from his previous routine. Maybe his little apprentice isn’t sticking with the plan completely.”
“I can accept that.”
He sounded so lawyerish when he said stuff like that. Ordinarily I might give him a hard time. Not today, though. “Okay, so Rose was my first suspect. Now she’s missing, so we can rule her out.”
“Agreed.”
“Then there was the rookie cop who took pictures at the crime scenes.”
“He could have just had bad judgment as he claims,” Riley pointed out.
“It’s true. The police have their eye on him. He would have to be pretty brazen to continue to help Milton Jones, if he’s our guy. Certainly he has to know he’s under the microscope right now.”
“I haven’t completely ruled him out as a suspect.”
“Then there’s Freddy, who runs the online auction. Freak or killer’s right-hand man?”
Riley shrugged. “That’s debatable, I suppose.”
The Scum of All Fears: Squeaky Clean Mysteries, Book 5 Page 13
