by Robin Mahle
“What was that all about?” Kate asked.
“I don’t know.” Dwight shook his head. “He’s just down, I think. Maybe he’s nervous about coming back to work. I know he and Campbell have got some things to work through. But it was pretty clear he’d had a few, so he just needs to sleep it off, I think.”
“Should we be worried about that, Dwight? It seems like that’s been happening a lot lately.”
“Can you blame the guy? He’s been on forced admin leave for two months for some trumped up internal investigation. Nick’s the type of guy who needs to work. It keeps him occupied. He’ll straighten his act out once he’s back in the swing of things.”
Kate pushed open the passenger door and stepped outside. “I hope you’re right. Thanks for the ride, Dwight. Have a good weekend. You got the kids?”
“No. Not this weekend. Goodnight. I’ll see you Monday, unless we hear anything sooner.”
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The winds and rain pounded with equally brutal force, but the brunt of the storm remained on the coast, as the weatherman had predicted. Nevertheless, Arlen was on a mission as he drove down the quiet road with his headlights off. It was late in the season for a hurricane, but Arlen was a firm believer in the idea that there was a reason for everything.
This was it: the old woman’s house. He had done a pretty good job convincing Mrs. Hansby that her granddaughter should really stay with her in the event the storm got too bad. Of course, Lizbeth hadn’t been in the room when he got to talking to her. Opportunity had presented itself once again.
He was pretty sure he’d had the old woman scared enough to insist Lizbeth stay with her and, as he pulled up to the house, he beamed at the sight of her car still parked out front. The sound of his approach would surely have been drowned beneath the howling winds and whipping tree limbs and the rain would offer even more cover to the noise that he’d have to make to get inside the house.
Arlen made sure he’d gotten the lay of the land earlier today. He knew where Mrs. Hansby’s bedroom was as well as the guestroom where Lizbeth would most likely be sleeping. The two rooms were separated by a bathroom and a linen closet. Between the old woman’s loss of hearing and the space between the rooms, he’d hoped that would be enough to get Lizbeth out without waking her grandmother. The noise from the storm was a bonus.
There was a reason for everything. He believed opportunities came to those who were patient, who had a plan and were ready to follow through so as not to disappoint the gods who were kind enough to open the door.
He moved around to the side of the house where he’d left the bathroom window unlocked after he used the facilities earlier in the day. It was a small window, too small to board up, but he’d taped it, which presented no problem as he raised the single-hung frame. He was thin and knew he’d have no trouble slipping through the narrow opening. Pete, on the other hand, would’ve gotten stuck at his chest.
Arlen slipped through the window with ease, but nearly lost his footing as he stepped on the outer rim of the porcelain toilet. The rain had made his shoes slick and it could have cost him his plan. Instead, he regained his footing and made his way inside, closing the window behind him. Covering up his tracks would be the real problem, but he had a plan for that too.
Looking into the mirror, Arlen pushed away his wet hair, but the waves bounced back and fell into his face. He grabbed a towel and patted himself dry. Dry enough, he thought. The bathroom door opened quietly and, in that moment, he was grateful the old house didn’t creak at every turn. Someone had been maintaining the inside, at least. Perhaps it had been the woman’s dutiful granddaughter. What was very noticeable, however, was the smell. It must have been the rain that brought it out because he hadn’t noticed it earlier today. The damn place reeked of cat piss and he didn’t remember seeing any cats. Maybe they were dead too, along with Grandpa.
He continued along the stunted hall in the darkness, the occasional flash of lightning illuminating his position. Only a few more steps until he reached her room. He inhaled a deep breath and pulled out the knife he’d tucked between his belt and his jeans. The thought of knocking her out with some sort of drug occurred to him, but then he’d have to drag her out. Arlen was well aware of his own lack of upper body strength and so opted to go for keeping her silent with the threat of a slice to the throat. Then, they could walk out together, nice and quietly.
The handle turned easily and he pushed open the door; again, no sound emerged to alert the presence of an intruder. There she was, sleeping on her side, facing the window opposite the door, her slender figure outlined by the light quilt that covered her. Her bleached-blonde hair was neatly pulled back into a ponytail.
His chest was beginning to heave with excitement and sweat formed on his brow. It was the most pleasurable feeling, almost on par with the orgasmic sensation that erupted inside him after he’d squeezed the life from them. Arlen swallowed hard and tried to keep his head on straight. Getting her out would take focus and strength.
Standing inches from her bed, he raised the blade from his side and bent down over her. Her legs moved and her arms flinched, but he continued lowering the blade until its steel rested against her neck. The moment it touched her, Lizbeth’s eyes shot open, but she did not jerk her body around to see the intruder. Instead, she seemed to know what lay against her delicate skin and her body began to tremble.
“Lizbeth, it’s time to go.” Arlen’s voice was just above a whisper, almost inaudible beneath the sound of the storm. “Now, just turn slowly and I’ll help you up.”
She turned to see the person who held the knife to her throat. Her eyes revealed immediate recognition, only second to the fear that came next.
EIGHT
Five hundred bucks was what they charged her. As Kate swiped her credit card at the cashier’s desk, she turned to see them pull her car out to the front curb. Pocketing the receipt, Kate nodded to the woman behind the counter. “Thanks.”
A man held the driver’s side door open and Kate stepped inside. At least they cleaned it, she thought.
“Have a good day, ma’am.” He closed the door.
On the drive home, Kate knew she would have to make some decisions—and soon. The date was fast approaching and the mere thought of it sent her to near panic. She wasn’t ready to face the anniversary of Marshall’s death. Perhaps it was the car trouble that was the catalyst for her current train of thought. Remembering all that had happened in the time she’d owned this little Toyota that, up until now, had been a pretty good car.
But how long could she financially sustain her current situation? Renting a home in an expensive neighborhood and now potentially facing the need to purchase a newer vehicle. These things seemed so mundane and benign in the face of her losses and in light of her current investigation. Nevertheless, an inevitability was approaching.
More than one hundred thousand dollars was sitting in a savings account, profits from the sale of Marshall’s apartment in San Diego. Money she had refused to acknowledge, much less spend. And then there were still the occasional publishing offers, although it seemed they were waning, noting her previous rejections to write about her experiences with the notorious Joseph Hendrickson and the case that followed, bringing about the murder of her fiancé.
Yes, they were all interested in the tragic deaths that had followed Kate around for most of her life, setting her on a path she still followed today.
Marshall had never wanted her to write the story when the publishers first came calling and neither had she. So, to consider it out of financial necessity seemed most indecent. Not only that, she would have to reach out to Jarrod, Sam’s widower, and while she had spoken to him a few times since leaving California, he’d moved on. Pulling him back into her nightmares—the same nightmares that caused the death of his wife—would be cruel.
The house was just ahead now. To leave this place would send her world spinning once again and Kate was hesitant of her ability to handle such a distur
bance. It had taken her months to feel comfortable living here, no longer feeling as though she should look behind every door and walk around the perimeter, gun drawn, to be sure no one was waiting for her behind the trees.
Kate turned off the engine and sat in her car, now parked on the driveway. For a brief moment, she considered going home to see her parents for a few days, the few days that would be the hardest for her to face. But loneliness and grief were things that must be faced alone if she were to conquer them. She wasn’t the naïve Katie Reid anymore, clinging on to dreams of a husband and children. For in this life she led, the monsters turned those dreams into nightmares.
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The twisted smile on Arlen Tucker’s face turned grotesque as he slammed his hand over Lizbeth’s mouth. “You’d best shut the fuck up now before I get really upset, you hear?”
Tears streamed down her cheeks as she nodded her compliance. No one would hear her screams anyway and certainly not this far into the nearly deserted neighborhood that had never been fully rebuilt after the big fire. “Not enough money,” they said. “Economy’s in the tank,” they said. Never mind that it was now a place for bad people to do bad things.
“Now I’m gonna take my hand away, but if you make a sound, it’ll be your last.” He pulled his hand from her mouth, having pressed hard enough to leave finger marks behind. “See? That’s not so bad, is it?” He stroked her hair, still pulled back in a ponytail. “Shhh. It’ll be all right.” He pressed his hands against her shoulders to slow her trembling. “I want to show you something.” Arlen reached over to the side table.
Lizbeth’s eyes followed his movement as she sat still on the couch, his knees holding her legs in place.
He opened a photo album and set it on her lap, pointing to a picture of a young girl. “You see her? That’s my sister. Her name was Charlie, short for Charlene. She’s a pretty one, ain’t she? Oh yes, the boys liked Charlie. Can you see the family resemblance?”
Lizbeth looked at Arlen, but didn’t answer, instead casting her eyes back down to the photograph.
“I truly loved my big sister, I truly did. And you know what? She loved me too. That’s right. She showed me just how much she loved me damn near every night.” Arlen flipped a few more pages and stopped. A picture of a man and a woman, posing in front of a nondescript building, was the only one on the page.
“But you know, my daddy loved Charlene too, just like she loved me, oh yes he did.” Arlen’s eyes darkened and he grew silent, studying Lizbeth’s features. “You look a little bit like her.” He inhaled a deep breath, puffing out his scrawny chest and stroking his heavy beard. “The problem was, you see, Mama never took notice, or if she did, didn’t really give a shit, but anyways, I didn’t like what Daddy was doing to Charlene. It hurt my feelings.” He stroked her hair again and let his hand slide down to her shoulders. He could feel Lizbeth tense beneath his touch. “Girls just don’t seem to get me, I guess. Oh, they like to look at me. I’m an attractive man, so I been told. But when I look back, they just turn away.” Arlen laughed. “I guess maybe I give them the creeps, I don’t know. Do I give you the creeps, Lizbeth?”
With a face full of terror, Lizbeth shook her head. It seemed she thought that if she agreed with him, maybe he would reconsider. But what she didn’t understand was that the man now known as Arlen Tucker didn’t view her as someone whom he wished to share any sort of relationship. He didn’t view her as a woman, or even a person. Her existence was a minor inconvenience that would have to be dealt with. Once she was devoid of life, he could do what he wanted and that was to control her. That was all he really ever wanted from any of them.
“I can assure you,” Arlen leaned in to within inches from her face, “I will before the night is through.”
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The WFO was quiet as Nick made his way into the washroom. It was still early, six am early, but Nick wanted to get a jump on the day. His return would bring a lot of talk and probably a lot of changes. Straightening his tie and tugging on his jacket, Nick gave himself a final once-over and walked to the door in shoes that echoed on the slate-grey floor.
“Sir?” Nick said as he leaned into Campbell’s open doorway.
“Scarborough, please, come in and welcome back.” Campbell extended his hand to exchange a mutual greeting.
Nick unbuttoned his jacket and took a seat across from the man whom he believed brought about his preventable absence in the first place. But he said nothing and waited for instruction.
“Listen, um,” Campbell scratched at his high forehead, “for whatever it’s worth, I think this whole situation got blown way out of proportion and I’m sorry you got caught in the crossfire.”
Nick pursed his lips and nodded. “Thank you, sir. I’m just glad to be back at work.” He’d preferred to have said a few more choice words about the man’s petty behavior just because he went to the Assistant Director to ask that Kate be assigned to the WFO. Instead, Nick wanted to keep his job, realizing now how easily it could all have slipped away.
“I’m sure you’re wondering about the Blackwater investigation and where you stand on the matter of mentoring Agent Reid.”
“It has crossed my mind.” Nick intended a sincere tone and hoped it had been conveyed as such.
“I think it’s best if you step back and let Agent Jameson continue to handle this with Reid. I’d like your role to be strictly as a consultant, leaving the field work to the two of them and Agent Lyons in Atlanta along with his team.”
“Sir, Agent Jameson has done a hell of a job working with me, but he’s not the senior resident BAU agent. I am. And as such, I should be responsible for the investigation.” Nick shifted in his seat. “If this is about Agent Reid…”
“Look,” Campbell’s face hardened in an instant, “whatever deal you struck with the Assistant Director to get Reid assigned here is between you two. Personally, I thought you had a little more faith in me than to pull a stunt like that.”
“I wasn’t trying to go behind your back…”
Campbell wasn’t about to let Nick finish, though. “What’s done is done, Scarborough. Agent Reid has proven herself to be an asset to this field office and to the BAU. You shouldn’t have stepped in where her career was concerned. Point being, I’m not sure you can be objective when it comes to the Blackwater case. I may not have been in San Diego when it happened, but I know that when her fiancé died, you took it upon yourself to take her under your wing. But you and I both know she can’t stay there if she’s to become an agent who can make life and death decisions. I’d think you would know that better than most, Agent Scarborough.”
He was right. Jameson said the same thing months ago when they were in Richmond working the trafficking case, but Nick didn’t listen. Whether or not Campbell had an agenda, an almost certainty in Nick’s mind only yesterday, had now come into question. “In all the field ops I’ve been involved in, never once have you questioned my intent. Why this time? I know what Agent Hughes testified to, but we’ve been working together for a very long time. I guess I thought you had my back.”
“And I thought you had mine.” Campbell turned away, masked in frustration. He peered through the picture window that offered a stunning view of the city. “I want you to let Jameson take the lead on Blackwater. If the case starts floundering, we’ll reevaluate the situation.” He returned his attention to Nick. “You’re a good agent—many would say great—but it was my call to assign an agent to this office, not yours and not the Assistant Director’s. Mine. I need to know that I can trust you again, Nick. And it’ll be up to you to prove it to me.”
“Yes, sir.” Nick stood up and held out his hand. Campbell returned the greeting. “Thank you, sir.” He closed the door behind him.
As he walked along the corridor, his eyes cast downward, Nick spotted a pair of women’s dress flats, freshly polished. Attached were legs clad in grey pants, and as he continued to bring his eyes upwards, he noticed Kate’s smiling face.
“Welcome back!” Instead of offering a hug, Kate greeted Nick with a handshake. “It’s so good to have you back.” She glanced at the file in her hand. “Do you have a minute? We should probably go over what Agent Jameson and I have been discussing regarding Blackwater.”
“Hang on a second, Kate.” Nick thrust his hands in his pockets. “I’m not going to be working with you on this one. Jameson’s going to take the lead.”
“What? Why?”
“Just—it’s time for Jameson to get his shot, okay? And, you will learn a lot from him, I promise you that.”
“He’s still punishing you, isn’t he?”
Nick took hold of her arm. “Come on.”
They continued on to Nick’s office and walked inside. “I’m not being punished.” He was, of course, but she didn’t need to know that, or how she might not even be at this office if it weren’t for him. “Campbell thinks Jameson can handle this. He started it and the two of you, along with help from the Atlanta office and Agent Myers, well, I have no doubt you’ll find the man who killed those girls.”
“What if we’re dealing with more, Nick? I know that with these types of killings—this guy’s not going to stop at just two. He’s making a statement here and he’s only just begun.”
Nick folded his arms at his chest. “You see? You don’t need me, Kate. You’re smart and so is Jameson.” He headed toward his desk chair. “Besides, I’ve got mounds of administrative bullshit to sort through. I’ll be occupied for weeks, I’m sure. I can still be a sounding board if you need one and Campbell said if things aren’t developing or if the situation escalates, then he’ll reevaluate. If I need to get involved, then I will.”
