Saints & Strangers (A Sam Warren Mystery)

by Richelle Elberg

  I gulped and nodded. Behind Turk I could see Dennis in the passenger seat of Turk’s Lincoln. I didn’t even hear them pull in. “I’ll come to your car,” I said and shoved my laptop in my backpack. I hurried through the rain, slid into the back seat and pulled my hood off.

  “It’s him, Dennis, it’s him! That’s his house, right over there.” I pointed through the seats at the Bradley’s house.

  “He home?” Turk asked.

  “I think so, he called his mom—”

  “Whoa, Nelly,” Dennis said. “Start at the beginning. I got an unmarked watching the other side of the house. He’s there, we’ll know if he leaves. Just start at the beginning.”

  I took a deep breath and explained to them everything we’d learned at the library and what I’d uncovered since.

  “So it be dumb luck you find him,” Turk said.

  “Dumb luck didn’t find his address, Turk,” I said irritably. “He’s in there, I’m almost positive. Can’t you take him in for questioning or something?”

  Dennis stared across the water at the house for a couple of minutes.

  “We got his nickname in some notes by two of the vics, out of four, and his mom works at the Mayflower Society Library. It’s not enough. We need more.”

  “I just told you, all of his Internet browsing is related to Plymouth history. And Ancestry.com. He’s into genealogy too.”

  Dennis sighed. “That’s not illegal, Sam. You didn’t even see the guy; he could have one leg, for all you know. We’re not going in half-cocked. We’ll keep him under surveillance. If it’s him, he won’t be keeping his appointment for tonight.”

  I leaned back and sighed. My balloon was deflating.

  Dennis turned and faced me. His expression was softer now. “You done good, Sam. But we got to make sure this thing is air tight first. Fucking lawyers have a field day if there’s the slightest problem with the bust. The burden’s on us to make sure it’s all by the book, or the fucker might walk. You know that.”

  I nodded. It was so frustrating.

  “Don’t worry, Sam. If this is the guy, we’ll get him. And you’ll get that reward.” He smiled and I got a glimpse of the handsome man Dennis had once been, before the stresses of police work and three divorces did a Dorian Gray on his face.

  “You’re right.” I forced myself to smile. “I’ve got his full name now; I’ll go home and see what else I can dig up.” I put my computer in my backpack, pulled my hood back up over my head and opened the car door.

  “Sam,” said Turk. “Keep bombin’ that shit.”

  I smiled. I wasn’t sure, but I thought he said, “Nice job.”

  Chapter 31

  Through the window I could see Laura. She looked much the same as she did the day before on her couch, except now she had nasal prongs delivering oxygen to her nostrils and an IV hooked up to her arm. She appeared to be sleeping. Grady was sitting in a chair next to the bed, flipping idly through a magazine. I didn’t see Milo.

  “Hey, Sam.” Milo’s voice came to me from behind. I turned.

  “Hey.”

  He approached carrying two Styrofoam cups of coffee. Behind him, I could see a couple of the nurses eyeing him from their station. Milo was oblivious.

  He gave me a weary smile.

  “How’s she doing?”

  “Could be better, but could be worse. Doctors said it was a good thing she came in today. They’re pumping her full of antibiotics. Should see improvement by tomorrow. They hope.”

  “That’s encouraging,” I said.

  “Yeah. You want a coffee? I’ll just leave this with Dad and we can go to the cafeteria.” Milo opened the door and handed the coffee to his father. I hovered by the door and smiled at Grady. “Hey old man,” I said.

  “Hey there, Samantha.” He gave me a small smile. Then he scowled at Milo, who shook his head and walked back out of the room. What the heck?

  Puzzled, I walked over and sat in the chair next to Grady. I put my arm around his shoulders. “She’ll be good as new in a few days,” I said in his ear. I squeezed him a bit and took my arm back.

  He shook his head. “Damn sure hope so,” he said.

  “She’s the toughest lady I know,” I replied.

  He stared at Laura. Her face was still pale and her naturally high cheekbones jutted sharply from her thin face. She had a red stocking cap on her head.

  “Doc says she’ll be back home giving me hell in no time,” he said.

  “Someone’s got to do it,” I said with a wink.

  “And she’s got it down to an art, that one,” he replied.

  “I’ve spent nearly…forty years perfecting my…giving-Grady-hell skills,” Laura said between breaths and opened her eyes. “Hi, Sam.”

  I reached over and squeezed her hand. “Hey, you. How you feeling?”

  “Just tired,” she replied. “Really tired.”

  “Well, go back to sleep, Laura. We’ll stop yammering now so you can rest.” I stood. “Take care of her, Grady. He nodded without taking his eyes off Laura.

  I closed the door quietly and Milo and I walked down the hall to the elevator. The nurses giggled as we waited by the stainless steel doors. I couldn’t help but wonder if they were laughing at the frizz-haired, freckle-faced woman with the tall, handsome god. Probably.

  The elevator dinged and the doors opened. A couple of doctors in scrubs exited without giving us a glance. We stepped into the elevator and Milo pushed the ‘one.’

  “Did you find more on Zeke?” he asked as we descended.

  “What was that with your dad?”

  He shook his head. “Don’t worry about it.”

  I stared at Milo. “Seriously, what’s going on?”

  “He’s mad at me.” He didn’t offer more.

  “Why?”

  He sighed. “It’s complicated, Sam. Don’t worry about it; he’ll get over it. So, did you find more on Zeke?”

  I searched his eyes but Milo was inscrutable. I’d have to wait to learn about the trouble between him and Grady. “Um, yes. Yes, I did.”

  He eyed me suspiciously. “You went there, didn’t you?”

  “I might have parked sort of close to the house and hacked the Wifi network for a bit,” I said with a grin. “I got his name, Milo. Zedekiah Bradley.” I was excited enough to let go of the Milo/Grady drama. “That’s why we couldn’t find him; who ever heard of Zedekiah? And, I got his browsing history. Guy’s been all over Plymouth history web sites. And Ancestry.com.” I looked up into Milo’s eyes. “Dennis has him under surveillance. This might be it.” I figured I was about to get a tongue-lashing, but I had to brag a little. I was proud of myself.

  Milo didn’t smile, but I could see amusement in his eyes. “You’re incorrigible. But that’s great, Sam. So you really think it’s him?” We exited the elevator and headed toward the cafeteria.

  “It sure looks that way. Everything we’ve got could be coincidence. Hell of a coincidence though. If it is him, he’s all done. They’ll be watching his every move from here on out. Now that I have his full name, I’m going to see what else I can find out when I get home.”

  Milo nodded. We entered the cafeteria and got in line; I suddenly realized I was starving. I hadn’t eaten anything since my bowl of Wheaties that morning. I got a cheeseburger with fries and a large coffee. Milo got a banana. I raised my eyebrow at him. “I had a sandwich earlier,” he said.

  After Milo paid the cashier, we took a seat by the windows. Outside, it was still pouring, and the sky was ten different shades of grey. If the sun was still up there, it was taking a personal day. The small trees and bushes in the landscaped courtyard swayed and twisted in the wind like dancers at a disco.

  I smothered my burger with mustard and hot sauce and put some mayonnaise on my plate for the fries.

  Milo smiled. “You appear to have a case of condiment confusion,” he said.

  With a grin I took a big bite. “Yum.” I chewed for a minute. “So Laura’s really going to be
all right?” I asked.

  He sighed. “They think so. They’ll have to delay the last round of chemo now, but the doctor said he thinks it’ll be fine. They’re ‘cautiously optimistic,’” he said, making finger quotes.

  I nodded, still chewing. That was more than I’d ever had. Mom was killed instantly and Dad died after a heart attack. He was still alive when I found him, but just barely. He didn’t even make it to the hospital.

  Milo took my hand. “Hey,” he said, looking at me seriously. I swallowed and raised my eyebrows. “You gonna go out with me when the case is over?”

  Instant heat. The chest. The neck. The face. Further down. My ears were burning. I looked at his large tan hand over my smaller freckly one. Finally, I nodded, still staring at our hands. When I looked back up, he was smiling. I smiled nervously back. I still couldn’t believe he really wanted to date me. (“He’d be lucky to have you, Sam,” said Dad.)

  He took his hand back and peeled his banana. Relieved, I took some fries and swiped them through the mayonnaise and put them in my mouth.

  Shaking his head, Milo said, “Gross.”

  I just smiled.

  A half an hour later I pulled the Mini into my driveway and ran to the door with my backpack. I hadn’t heard any more from Dennis, but I was going to find out everything there was to know about Zedekiah Bradley and his mother.

  I walked into the living room, dropped my backpack on the couch, tossed my raincoat on its hook and threw another log on the embers. If I were lucky, the fire would revive without too much effort. Pepper was curled in a ball in my chair.

  “Tough life, Pep,” I muttered and stroked him. He stretched and yawned, making that funny snorty sound he makes when he yawns. I giggled and took my laptop out of my backpack. I connected it to my monitor and keyboard, went into the kitchen and put some water in a pan to boil. I pulled the Red Zinger out of the cabinet and waited.

  I ran through everything I’d found on Zeke so far, which now didn’t seem like that much. When push came to shove, Dennis was right. We didn’t have enough to storm in on the guy. His mom worked at the Mayflower Society library; theoretically that might give him access to their databases. But unless he was very computer savvy, it wasn’t clear that he’d be able to find everything necessary to work out the lineage on non-members the way that I’d done Carolyn Bishop. Meredith admitted he spent time at the library when she was there working, and his browsing history made it clear he was deeply interested in the history of Plymouth. But then, so was she; she worked there. He might just be a history buff.

  Most damning was the fact that both Anna Fuller and Reggie Cummins had met with him—or someone else named Zeke—in the weeks leading up to their murders. How many people named Zeke could there be? I needed to find a picture of the guy; if I could, I would take a ride up to the Wine Cellar and see if the bartender there recognized him as the Average Joe that came in with Reggie Cummins. If I could do that, I’d feel a whole lot better about Zedekiah Bradley as our primary suspect. I poured the boiling water into a mug, added a teabag and went back to my desk.

  I started with the DMV for Massachusetts. Nada. I went back to Vermont. Zilch. I checked Facebook. Still nothing. Who doesn’t have a Facebook account these days? I knew eight-year-olds who were already slaves to social media. Finally, I just Googled his name. I got numerous responses, but none with Zedekiah and Bradley combined. This guy really flew under the radar. Which, I reasoned, would make sense for a serial killer.

  Leaning back, I sighed and thought. Nothing brilliant came to me. I got up and put another log on the fire, which was now dancing merrily. I stood looking out the sliding glass door. It was nearly seven and while the thunder and lightning seemed to have passed, the rain was still hard and steady. I flipped the switch at the side of the door, but the outside light remained dark. Time to buy light bulbs.

  As I stared out into the black, I noticed that my umbrella was lying sideways on the deck, about to blow away. It had come out of the table stand. I pulled the broom handle out of the slider, opened it and ran out to retrieve my umbrella. I rushed back to the door, maneuvered the umbrella through the opening and slammed the door closed. It had gotten colder. I put the umbrella off to the side of the fire so it could dry.

  I went into the kitchen and stared into the refrigerator. I closed it and opened the cupboards. Sighing, I grabbed some sunflower seeds and went back to my desk. I hacked into the IRS’ electronic filing system. No returns in his name. I searched for his mother’s returns. Finally, something. Her Form 1040 told me that Zedekiah was twenty-four and that Meredith still claimed him as a dependent.

  From there I checked the student registration files for every community college and university in eastern Massachusetts and then in Vermont. That took nearly two hours and still nothing. What the hell?

  I decided to come at it from a different angle. Serial killers sometimes start smaller, with wild animals or pets, when they’re young. I hacked the Brattleboro PD and searched from 1995 until now for reports of seriously injured or malicious acts against pets. Sadly, all I found were a few examples of animal neglect or cruelty by their owners. I checked for unsolved murders. Nothing.

  Finally, it dawned on me. I looked up pediatricians in the Brattleboro, Vermont area. A dozen men and women treated children in the region, and the security for medical records was decent, but about an hour later I found what I was looking for. I read the transcript quickly, and as I did, my stress level rose. Shit!

  I grabbed my phone. It was nearly midnight, but I needed to talk to Dennis. Before I could dial, however, my slider opened and a man wearing a black ski mask and rain gear stepped in. His gloved hand held a gun; it was pointed straight at me.

  Chapter 32

  “Please put the phone down on the desk, Ms. Warren,” he said in a smooth voice as he closed the door. Slowly, I did as he asked and raised my hands. He looked over at Pepper, who was still curled up by the fire. Good companion? Yes. Guard cat? Not hardly.

  “A familiar,” he said, staring at the cat. “Of course.”

  “What?” I said shakily. Stall, I thought to myself. Stall as long as possible. I glanced at my backpack, which was still on the couch. The man was standing between me and my weapon.

  “Not to worry, Samantha.” He glanced around the room and, finding the light switch on the side of the sliding door, he turned off the overhead light. The yellow glow of the fire danced on the walls. The only other light in the room now was the blue glow of my computer monitor. I wondered if Mrs. Trimble might be up for a pee break.

  He pulled a roll of duct tape out of his pocket and, still aiming his gun at me, said, “Please come stand in front of me. Put your hands behind your back. I’d really rather not have to shoot you here, so your full cooperation would be appreciated.”

  I rose slowly, my mind racing. In the dim light, maybe I could fall, roll and then run out the front door. Getting shot in the back, however, would be a very real possibility. I stepped toward him. I’d taken self-defense classes, and I wasn’t bad with a roundhouse kick. But if I missed the gun, if he didn’t drop it, I was probably dead. (“Stall, Samantha!” said Dad.)

  “What did you mean by that?” I asked. I was still behind my desk.

  Impatiently he strode over to me and jerked my shoulder around so that I was facing away from him. The cold metal of the gun was now pressed into the side of my head. It wasn’t a good feeling. I raised my eyes up toward Mrs. Trimble’s bathroom window, but all was dark.

  Still holding his gun to my head, he put the loose edge of the tape on my desk and jerked the roll so that a two-foot strip came free. With one hand he wrapped the tape around my left wrist once, then pulled the roll to the right and did the same with my other wrist. He pulled more of the tape from the roll and wrapped it around both wrists. I tried to keep my wrists apart, but he tightened the binding with each turn of the tape. When my arms were securely fastened behind me, he pulled me roughly away from my desk.

 
I wondered if screaming would help. With the wind and the rain it was doubtful, but it might earn me a bullet in my brain. The man wound duct tape around my head, and pulled it between my teeth. So much for that idea.

  When I was gagged so tightly I had to concentrate in order not to panic, he pulled a plastic garbage bag out of his pocket. He put the gun down on the mantle, shook the bag open, grabbed Pepper by the scruff of his neck and shoved him into the bag. Now I was mad.

  I kicked the back of his knees and the man fell into the chair. I rushed the couch, where my backpack and nine were. He jumped up and grabbed my shoulder and pulled me backward. I fell over onto the coffee table, flat on my back, and then rolled to the side onto the floor.

  Suddenly, his gun was back at the side of my head. “Don’t move, Ms. Warren, or we’ll end this right here.” I froze. There’s something about the cold, hard metal of a gun pushed firmly into the side of your head that makes you stop and think. He jerked me up to my feet and pushed me onto the couch. Pepper had jumped out of the bag and was crouched under the coffee table growling. Pointing his gun at me still, he grabbed Pepper again. He moved slowly back to where the bag lay, crouched down and, never letting me out of his sight, put Pepper back in the bag. For a minute he just stood there, holding the bag and aiming his gun at me.

  Finally, he spoke. “The weather has been remarkably cooperative this evening,” he said. “I was concerned about your nearby neighbors, but it’s a very dark night. We’ll be leaving by the beach. You will walk in front of me up to the boat ramp where my car is parked. If you try to run, I will shoot you.” In the bag, Pepper was yowling and squirming. “I will also kill your cat,” he added. He moved his gun toward the slider and said, “Go.”

  I got up and walked out into the rain.