Killer in Sight (A Tom Lackey Mystery)

by Sandra Carrington-Smith

  little head into her hand so forcibly that he caused the

  cup full of pens resting near her arm to fall. The sound

  of the pens scattering on the desk scared him enough to

  make him jump out and seek shelter under the bed skirt.

  “Oh Petey…look at the mess we made. Let’s pick

  them up before Mommy or Daddy get in here.”

  She picked up the pens and colored pencils she saw

  on the desk and got down on her hands and knees to

  look on the floor for some she knew were missing. She

  was taken by her task that she didn’t notice Lily in the

  background, resting against the door.

  “Alexis, I came by to say goodbye.”

  Alexis turned around a bit surprised. “I didn’t know

  you were here, Lily. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to ignore

  you – Petey made me spill all the pens on the desk.”

  Alexis stood up and placed the orange pencil back into

  the cup before Lily’s words had an impact; when she

  finally processed the message, she looked up at her

  friend wide-eyed. “What do you mean you came to say

  goodbye? Where are you going?”

  “Where I should have gone a long time ago, Alexis.

  I am going home.”

  “But where’s home? Will you come back?”

  “I’m afraid not. Or maybe I will someday, but we

  probably won’t see each other any more.”

  Alexis’s eyes filled with tears. She already lost one

  sister, and now she was ready to lose the best friend she

  ever had. “But why, Lily? Aren’t you happy here?”

  Lily smiled, but her eyes betrayed a shadow of

  sadness. “It’s not that, Alexis. I am happy when I am

  with you, but this is not where I belong. My place is

  very far away from here, but I couldn’t go back until I

  fixed something that was broken.”

  “What did you have to fix, Lily?”

  “A broken spirit that was left in chains. I had to wait

  until the chains were loosened and the spirit could fly

  free.”

  “I don’t understand, Lily. Whose spirit was it?”

  “It doesn’t matter any more. It is fixed now and she

  will never feel the weight of the chains she was

  carrying.”

  “Was it Tracey?”

  “No, but Tracey is fine by the way. She knows that

  her killer is going to be brought to justice and for that

  she is grateful; she is ready to go home too.”

  Alexis was crying openly now, her heart shattering

  while she wrapped her arms around herself in a gesture

  of comfort.

  “How can I live without you, Lily?”

  “You will be fine. Maybe you can ask Mom to adopt

  or at least foster a child nobody wants. That way you

  will gain a sister or brother, and that child will finally

  feel the love of a family.”

  “Mom and Dad wouldn’t do that.”

  “You don’t know that, Alexis. Maybe you can

  suggest it to them yourself, and you might be positively

  surprised by their answer.”

  “But I don’t want a new sister or brother! I want

  you…”

  “I live in every little girl and boy who’s not wanted.

  If you give your love to them, you will offer that love to

  me, and even if I am far away I will be able to feel it and

  send you back my own.”

  Lily’s image began to lose density at the edges and

  soon Alexis could see through her. Her heart ached but

  something inside of her told her that no matter how

  badly she wanted Lily to stay, she had to let her go.

  “I will always love you Lily! You are the best friend

  a girl could ever dream of, and to me you are like…

  like…”

  “A sister?”

  “Yes! Just like a sister!”

  “Then continue to see me that way, Alexis, and

  know that I will always love you and watch over you.”

  A spitting sound made Alexis turn her head to see

  Petey looking twice his size, his kitten fur sticking out

  to scare away the intruder.

  “Oh, Petey, you don’t have to be scared. It’s just

  Lily.”

  She picked Petey up and hugged him tight, her hand

  gently wrapped around his underside. When she looked

  back up, Lily was gone. She sat back at her desk, put

  Petey down and buried her head into her folded arms

  while she allowed tears to flow free. When Petey rubbed

  against her head and purred, she raised her head and

  then scooped him up and kissed him gently.

  With Petey still in her arms, she opened the door

  and headed to the bathroom to wash her face; as she

  walked out into the hallway she felt a light breeze

  brushing against her, followed by a giggling sound. In

  spite of her pain, she smiled – Lily had finally made it

  home.

  #

  Rose dried her eyes as she parked her car in front of

  the grocery store. She was exhausted but her heart was

  soaring. She finally felt free – free from the past, and

  free from the guilt that kept her soul is bondage for a

  long time. There was one final thing she had to do

  before going home, and she knew that she wouldn’t be

  completely at peace until she did. She knew the police

  had tried to contact Tracey’s father without much luck,

  but Rose knew where to find him. After his latest

  marriage had catapulted into a disaster, Frank Newman

  had decided to say goodbye to the outside world. He had

  come to see her once before he left for the mountains,

  and asked for forgiveness for all the wrong turns in their

  marriage. Rose didn’t want to hear his words of

  repentance, her wounded ego still enshrouded in a cloak

  of self-righteousness, and she asked him to leave.

  Before he left her doorstep to disappear forever, he left

  one number no one else knew, and begged her to keep

  him informed about what went on in Tracey’s life. Of

  course she never did, her anger blinding her from seeing

  him as a father who loved his child despite his faults.

  Now that her anger toward herself was allowed to

  dissipate, her anger toward Frank was following right

  along. He wasn’t the best husband, but he loved Tracey,

  and he had the right to come visit her grave. She dug the

  number from the small pocket in her purse and noticed

  that her hands were shaking when she dialed the

  number. She closed her eyes and swallowed when he

  answered. The conversation was strained at first, but the

  moment that Rose mentioned what happened to Tracey,

  a long silence was followed by cleansing tears. If love

  wasn’t enough to unite them in this life, loss had come

  to join their hands in a lifelong marriage of parental

  grief. They spoke for a long time, and Frank asked if it

  was okay for him to visit the grave soon.

  “You don’t have to ask, Frank. Tracey was your

  child too, and I am sure she would love for you go by

  her grave. Please, do stop by the house when you do,

  and I’ll fix lunch. It’s time to let bygones be bygones.”

  Chapter 21

  �
�I believe what you’re telling us Ms. Brinkley, and I

  really appreciate your willingness to help, but we

  already have a suspect in custody.”

  The detective standing in front of Shannon

  Brinkley’s bed had a patronizing tone, which drove her

  mad. He was short and stout, wearing an illfitting suit

  that didn’t flatter his figure at all, and his face seemed

  unnaturally pasted to the collar of his shirt, as if

  someone had forgotten to draw a proper neck. His lips

  were curved upward toward his cheeks, fostering an

  involuntary smile that made him look like a clown

  without make-up – Shannon never liked clowns, and she

  liked this man even less. She asked for Lieutenant

  Lackey when she first spoke with the guard on duty, but

  this man was sent to talk to her instead, and he wouldn’t

  give her any information on how she could get in touch

  with the detective in charge of Tracey’s case. She

  thought of calling Mary to ask her for the number she

  knew was at the apartment, but she wasn’t ready to see

  Mary yet; it was as though the time she was asleep had

  granted her clarity, and she was now ready to stand up

  for herself and move forward. She shook her head and

  lay back on her pillow. Even if she felt better, she was

  still weak and it didn’t take much to tire her.

  “No, I don’t think you understand, Sir. I said that I

  know who killed Tracey Newman.”

  “So do we, Ms. Brinkley. Bradley Johnson was

  taken into custody for the murder of Tracey Newman.”

  Shannon sat up on the bed automatically, any

  remnant of the fatigue she felt a few seconds ago

  devoured by the words spewed from the clown’s mouth.

  “Whoa! Wait a minute…Brad is a junkie, and God

  help me if I say this, he was probably not a good

  boyfriend for Tracey, but he is no killer!”

  “I assume that you didn’t get to read the papers in

  here, Ms. Brinkley. Mr. Johnson was arrested after a

  bloody shirt was found in his trunk. The blood was

  positively identified as Ms. Newman’s.”

  Confusion registered in Shannon’s eyes. “What?

  But that’s not possible…”

  “Why would you say that, Ms. Brinkley? Can you

  offer Mr. Johnson an alibi?”

  “I can’t, but I know who can.”

  The detective narrowed his eyes and cocked his

  head on the side. “Oh? And who’s this person?”

  “Erin Winthrow. Brad was with her the night of the

  murder.”

  “If you are correct, Ms. Brinkley, why didn’t Ms.

  Winthrow come forth to help him, or why didn’t he

  mention her name himself?”

  “It’s not Ms. Winthrow, Detective; it’s Mrs.

  Winthrow. She is a woman married to a prominent

  figure in town, and she has small children. I’m sure she

  has reasons to not wish to be identified publicly, and

  Brad would not betray her this way.”

  “Even if his life is at stake? I would imagine that

  anyone with an alibi would be quick to deliver any name

  that can save him.”

  “Not if that someone is in love, and Brad is in love

  with her.”

  The detective looked at Shannon intently as if trying

  to detect anything on her face that wouldn’t support her

  statements.

  “If Brad had a bloody shirt in his trunk, somebody

  put it in there, and I know exactly who.”

  “Okay, let’s hear it…”

  “Yvonne Fowler is a woman who worked with

  Brad, Detective. She is also the mother of a man who

  was obsessed with Tracey, and she hated Brad because

  she felt that Tracey left her son for him.”

  The detective’s attention was piqued, and he sat on

  the chair adjacent to the bed with his shoulders slouched

  toward Shannon. Confident that he was willing to listen

  now, she continued. “As you know, someone tried to kill

  me…”

  “Wasn’t that attempted suicide?”

  Shannon shook her head vehemently. “I wouldn’t

  kill myself, Detective. Someone tried to kill me, and that

  someone is Eduardo Carlos—though he goes by the

  nickname Yago—Yvonne’s boyfriend.”

  “Why would this Mr. Carlos want you dead, Ms.

  Brinkley?”

  “I am not completely sure, but it might be connected

  to the fact that earlier that day I found something which

  was possibly connected to Tracey’s murder – a pair of

  work boots splattered with blood that were hidden inside

  my storage unit.”

  The detective arched his brow. “Yes, I have read

  about those boots in the case file, but how do you think

  they got in there?”

  Shannon sighed. “My roommate is Jack Little’s

  sister and Yvonne Fowler’s daughter. They could have

  picked up a key from my apartment when they came to

  visit. The same day that I was fed an overdose of drugs,

  Eduardo Carlos came by the apartment with the excuse

  that his car was overheating. I offered him a drink while

  he waited for the car to cool off and he accepted. I

  poured drinks for both of us, but I got up to use the

  restroom at some point during the conversation, and

  shortly after I went back and finished my drink, I started

  falling asleep. I’m afraid I am unable to tell you what

  happened next because I lost consciousness.”

  The detective was deathly silent, and although he

  didn’t give any signs of either believing or disbelieving

  Shannon’s story, he seemed to be considering it at least.

  “Where do Mr. Carlos and his girlfriend live, Ms.

  Brinkley?”

  “I don’t know where he lives, but Yvonne Fowler

  lives at 1420 Wintry Lane. My roommate shared her

  address once while we drove by the neighborhood.”

  “I will send a car to check it out, Ms. Brinkley.

  Thank you for your cooperation.”

  He put his small notebook into the inside pocket of

  his jacket and prepared to leave when Shannon called

  asked: “I am not trying to pry into business that doesn’t

  concern me, but why can’t I speak to Lieutenant

  Lackey?”

  “He and his partner have been away on an

  investigation I assume. They haven’t been in the past

  couple of days.”

  “So you don’t know when they will be back?”

  “I’m afraid not, Miss, but I will be happy to record

  your statement.”

  He left and Shannon closed her eyes. This detective

  didn’t inspire any trust, and she wondered if any of her

  words had made a difference, but she was too tired to

  worry about it now. She tried to clear her mind and to

  rest her eyes for a few minutes, but before she knew it

  she was asleep.

  Meanwhile, Detective Quince got into his car and

  scanned the notes he had taken in Shannon’s room, his

  mind considering the possibility that Shannon Brinkley

  was right. If she was, an innocent man was awaiting

  someone else’s trial. And suddenly, Lackey’s and

  Parker’s
absences seemed strange too; of course, their

  job allowed for them to go off on different tangents as

  they followed a lead, but in all the years she knew them,

  they never did that without at least notifying the desk.

  Maybe the Brinkley woman was still hallucinating from

  her long sleep, but Quince had also learned long ago to

  trust his gut instinct. He picked up the radio and called

  in. “This is Quince. I need a patrol car to meet me at

  1420 Wintry Lane to check out a suspect. I will let you

  know if I need additional back-up.”

  He sped out of the hospital’s parking lot and headed

  toward the beltline. He was probably chasing a white

  fly, but experience taught him that no lead was ever to

  be ignored.

  #

  Yvonne Fowler cocked the gun and pointed it at

  Parker who was still laying face down on the floor. Tom

  tried to distract her.

  “Why do you want to shoot him? He hasn’t done

  anything to you. He is not even working on this case. If

  you want to shoot someone, shoot me and let him go.”

  Parker wanted to turn his head to look at Tom, his

  heart swelling from the senseless sacrifice his friend was

  willing to make, but knowing that a gun was ready to

  spit lead on his head froze him on the spot. For a

  moment, he thought of something his father always told

  him when he was little and they lived in the country. If

  you see a dead possum, son, shoot him anyway, because

  those varmints only pretend to be dead sometimes, so

  predators will leave them alone.

  Parker wanted to play the opossum game, but he

  doubted Yvonne Fowler would buy it – she was crazy,

  but not stupid. If anything, the idea of being an opossum

  made him want to laugh, and he knew that hysteria was

  quickly setting in. In the face of death one can laugh or

  cry, but what’s the fun in going out holding on to a

  Kleenex?

  In his prone position, Parker didn’t see a shadow

  moving behind Yvonne and Yago, but Tom did. Tom

  kept his face impassive, and his resolve to buy time

  multiplied exponentially.

  “I’m serious, Yvonne. Take me. I am the person in

  charge of this case and I am the one who would be

  arresting you. I’m sure Parker is willing to negotiate

  with you and offer you silence in exchange for

  freedom.”

  Yvonne burst into mad laughter. “You can’t be

  serious, Lieutenant. Really? Do you actually expect me