The Alex Troutt Thrillers: Books 4-6 (Redemption Thriller Series Box Set Book 2)

by John W. Mefford

  We reviewed our plan with Miss Lucille, who seemed comforted to have Terri’s company for the evening. Terri would hang out inside until just before dark—or as long as she could tolerate the love tandem of Miss Lucille and Harry—and then would summon her inner Tarzan and ascend into the tree with me and half of the Somerville police force on speed dial.

  On my way to the car, I called Nick and gave him the rundown of the evidence we’d found: the lightbulb and the items hidden in the garage. I told him about Terri “volunteering” for tree duty at Miss Lucille’s house. He laughed, and then went on to tell me that Gretchen was in the process of sifting through an endless array of video footage from cameras across the city, including a number of businesses that voluntarily allowed access for law enforcement. She was using a new program that could digitally search for a match to Tripuka’s mug shot. The software had about a ninety-five-percent success rate, but it also combed through the video files at a much faster speed than any human, or team of them, could.

  As I pulled onto the two-lane road, another call beeped through. I quickly told Nick I would work from home the rest of the afternoon and for him to call or text when they had news to share. I tapped the green button and then executed a right turn, passing a mom on the right who was pulling two kids in a red wagon.

  With my eyes on the road, I answered the call.

  “Alex, did I catch you at a bad time?”

  “Dr. Strickler?”

  “Oh, yes, I thought you knew it was me.”

  “Too busy multitasking, sorry. How can I help you?”

  He chuckled. “It’s really more about how I can help you.”

  “Don’t tell me I missed an appointment.”

  “Nothing like that, Alex. I know you’ve been very stressed lately working this case involving this killer who is targeting prostitutes, and I was wondering how you’re handling everything.”

  I tensed up, which I realized was the opposite a person should feel when meeting with a shrink. “I’m fine. No problems.”

  “Ah, come on, Alex. I know you. Your brain never stops, and you usually don’t sleep or eat worth a damn during one of your high-profile cases. Be honest with me now.” He chuckled again.

  While he had nailed my MO, it didn’t make me feel any better. In fact, it felt odd to be discussing a case outside of his office.

  “I had a protein smoothie earlier,” I said, not really knowing how else to respond.

  He chuckled again, and I imagined his glasses slipping down his nose, and then him corralling loose strands of his crazy Einstein hair. I spotted a sign that said Salem was just three miles away.

  “Tell you what, Alex. My last two appointments canceled on me. I’ve got nothing better to do. Why don’t we meet at an eclectic watering hole on the North Shore…you know, at least in the direction of where you live.”

  I hadn’t thought about it, but of course he had my address on file.

  “You’re not saying anything, so I know you want to. Just a little break in the day, and I’ll let you pick my brain on any topic you like. What do you say?”

  My phone dinged, and I took a quick peek to see a text from Erin.

  Mom -- can you help me finish my art project? Pleassssseeee!!!!

  I smiled, knowing exactly where I needed to be. “Sorry, doctor, but I have plans. Gotta run.”

  I tapped the line dead, eager to see Erin. But something nibbled at the back of my mind as I turned onto our road and spotted our house in the distance. The doctor had admitted that he interacted with some very disturbed people…people who killed for the most bizarre reasons. Maybe he thought we were kindred spirits because of my own brush with crazy killers.

  Luke was shooting hoops in the driveway as I turned in. He tried showing off with some type of behind-the-back dribble, but it bounced off his knee. Needed some work. I waved, pulled into the garage, and shut off the engine. I could hear the nonstop pounding of the ball on the pavement behind me. Maybe I could help him with his game. What was I thinking? Brad was the bomb on the court. He would want to help Luke. If he would only come back from New York. I had felt off ever since he left, and I thought I knew why. Brad wasn’t there to be my anchor every day. I missed him. I missed our little intimate moments.

  I fired off a quick text to the man I cared about.

  Miss you. Come back soon.

  I wanted to tell him that I loved him. I felt it, but I couldn’t get it out of me. Too many other things were tied to that four-letter word.

  I got out, waved again at Luke, and walked toward the house, thinking about two men: the one I wanted to hold me, and the one who had just creeped me out…my shrink.

  23

  The tendrils of sleep tugged on my extremities. I found it difficult to lift my arm to prop it on Erin’s desk, let alone stay awake long enough to read the last paragraph of her paper on Impressionism.

  “What do you think, Mom?” She brought both hands together at her face, as if she really valued my opinion.

  “It’s great, Erin. You put a lot of work into this,” I said, grunting a bit as I pushed out of the chair.

  She quickly slid into the seat, her hands already on the laptop keyboard. “I just thought of a new way to end the paper. Let me change this last sentence a bit.”

  I took my phone from my pocket and saw a blank screen. Nothing from the team, and nothing from Brad. Perhaps he’d grown tired of my lack of long-distance interaction. Perhaps he had moved on. A sadness seeped through my body. I huffed out an exhausted breath and toddled around Erin’s room, admiring all of her pictures of friends and little mementos from school events, even a few trophies from youth soccer.

  I realized I was tired as hell, and I was overreacting about Brad. He was probably working late or maybe enjoying a dinner out with his New York colleagues. Rounding Erin’s bed, I saw something hanging off the bedpost.

  “What’s this, Erin?” As I pulled the red and blue strap over the post, my sleepy demeanor was replaced by utter shock, my pulse sounding like an internal drum roll. “Erin, did you hear me?” I held up what looked like a gold medal from the 1984 Summer Olympics in Los Angeles.

  She turned and instantly hunched over, draping an arm across her face.

  “Oh God,” she said, suddenly breathing like she was hyperventilating.

  “Erin, answer me.”

  “It’s nothing. Well, it’s something, but I learned from it. I just need to throw it in the trash and move on.” She lifted her face, her red-rimmed eyes pooling tears.

  My veins bulged so much I thought my head might burst. “Who did you get this from?”

  “A boy.”

  “What’s his name?”

  “Vinny. I think.”

  Vinny…Vince. Oh shit!

  “Tell me you didn’t—”

  “Mom, hell no. I’m still a virgin, all right?” She jumped out of her chair and walked over to her window, her arms crossed.

  I allowed a breath to escape my lips, although my heart was pumping like it was pulling oil from a mile underground. “Okay, Erin. I believe you,” I said in a calmer voice. “Now tell me everything that happened. Don’t leave out a single detail. It’s important.”

  She turned back around, lifted her long hair off her neck, and fanned herself. I waited for her to speak. She took in a breath. “I’m sorry, Mom. I just…you know. I was curious,” she said as her jittery hand wiped away a tear.

  “I’m not going to judge you as a person, but I need to know what happened, and then we’ll talk about the repercussions.”

  “Okay. It’s pretty simple. I met this guy online, in one of the gaming chat rooms. Seemed cool and was really nice to me. This went on for two, three weeks. We’d then leave private messages for each other, and we started talking a little deeper, you know.”

  I tried like hell to avoid the snippy retorts. I licked my dry lips. “And then what happened?”

  “We shared more about our personal lives and stuff. I guess I told him about one of
my dreams.”

  “Which is?”

  “To win an Olympic medal playing tennis.”

  “Really?” I knew she had started to enjoy tennis, but I didn’t know she was that dedicated.

  “Really.” She set her feet, stopped fidgeting. It was like I was looking at twenty-year-old Erin, focused and resolute.

  But I wouldn’t be distracted from what was important right now. “So that’s when he got you this medal?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you know how old he was before you met him? And where did you meet him?” I asked, my voice laced with anger, not at her, but at that fucking asshole, Tripuka.

  “He told me he was twenty-two. But I never saw him, so I couldn’t tell you.”

  “How did you get this?”

  “He asked me to meet him at the mall. Trish’s mom dropped us off one day after school a week or so ago, and I thought I’d finally get to see him. But some girl walks up and hands me this bag and said a guy gave it to her and asked her to give it to me.”

  I rubbed my temple. “Did you talk to him again?”

  “I wondered what the hell happened, why he got cold feet. When I got home and started chatting with him, he told me I had beautiful eyes. And then he asked me why I’d brought my friend along. I started thinking about it later, and it kind of creeped me out. He was looking at me from somewhere in the mall, but he was too chicken to talk to me in person.”

  I ran my fingers through my hair. “So you’re sure you never hung out with him or met him anywhere?”

  “I’m telling you the truth, okay?”

  I walked over and put my arm around my daughter. She rested her head against my chest and started bawling. “It’s okay, Erin. We all make mistakes. I just don’t want you to make one that keeps you from coming home at night.”

  “I know. It was stupid. I realize I’m still pretty naïve about the world.”

  I rubbed her back as she slowly calmed down. “Have you talked to him since?”

  She sniffled and then said, “He tried messaging me, but I gave him the Heisman.” She looked up and smiled.

  “That’s my girl. Why don’t you get some sleep, okay? I’m going to do a couple of work things, then hopefully I’ll do the same.”

  “Thanks for understanding, Mom.”

  I could feel my phone buzzing against my leg, but I ignored it for now.

  “I get it. I’ll think about how I’m going to respond to this. Give me until tomorrow.”

  I took hold of the doorknob, but she had something else on her mind. “You know that pickup line about my eyes? It was more funny than anything.”

  “Forget that guy. In fact, you don’t need a guy to tell you that you’re a pretty fifteen-year-old girl. Just believe in yourself, Erin, and let life happen at the pace that was meant to be. And by the way, your eyes are very pretty.”

  “Thanks.” She forced out a giggle.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “You know, when Mr. Colin showed us his artwork, I started thinking about the comment Vinny made.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Well, one of his portraits wasn’t finished. The only thing missing were the eyes.”

  A zap of electricity pierced the base of my skull. “I don’t recall seeing anything like that.”

  She looked to the corner. “Oh, right. I guess that was when I went to the bathroom. I needed more toilet paper, so I looked inside this closet, and behind a hamper was this painting of a woman. She was beautiful…well, kind of, but she didn’t have any eyes. Two blank areas on the canvas where her eyes should be.”

  A minute later, I was on the phone with Nick and Gretchen.

  “Big news, Alex. You won’t believe what Gretchen found,” Nick said.

  “In a minute. Gretchen, I need you to put everything else aside and find everything you can on a man named Colin Brewer. Background, financials, how he makes his money, and of course, his criminal history, family background. The works.”

  As expected, they pinged me with numerous questions, and I gave them what I knew.

  “Are you concerned that Erin interacted with this guy?” Gretchen said.

  “Fortunately, I was there the only time they’d actually met. At the same time, I don’t know anything about Colin. Not really. As for Erin, she’s lucky she’s alive for a whole other reason.”

  I then gave them the scoop about Vinny and the medal. I suggested pulling Brandon in to do the technical legwork to find a connection between Vinny and Vince Tripuka, if it existed.

  “I think that will be reasonably quick,” Gretchen said. “I just got a hit on my search for Tripuka in the miles of video footage. Found him entering a car dealership down in the South Shore.”

  “I knew he wasn’t bashful in the art of burglary, so now he’s stepping up his game and stealing cars?”

  “Nothing like that, Alex. He sat down in their Internet café, where they have computers set up for their customers to use.”

  “That’s it!” I exclaimed. “That’s how he’s been reaching out to these girls.”

  “I’ll hand this off to Brandon; tracking that IP to Erin’s computer probably won’t take him long. He’s a frickin’ technical genius.”

  “Coming from you, Gretchen, that’s high praise.”

  “Alex, I think we need to put a tail on Tripuka. We’ve got so much on this guy, we can’t risk him meeting up with another underage girl,” Nick said.

  “Of course, makes sense,” I rubbed my eyes as I walked down the stairs and past Ezzy. She just shook her head and didn’t say a word. She didn’t have to, but I knew what she was thinking: Alex was once again jumping off the work cliff. But this time was different. It had touched Erin. And I knew Ezzy would be urging me to catch the bastard, or bastards, once I told her what was going on. “Nick, shoot Terri a text, catch her up on what we’ve learned. I don’t want her hanging out in a tree if we’re able to catch him in the act. Once Brandon has evidence, we need to arrest Tripuka.”

  “But what if he’s also the eye killer? We don’t have the DNA analysis back yet. Other things could turn up as Brandon digs into his digital footprint.”

  “If we find real evidence that connects him to the killings, I’m all for it. But we can’t afford to wait to find something that may not exist. Tripuka is scum, and we need him off the streets, away from any girl. Away from my daughter.”

  “Do you think our favorite lieutenant detective would agree?”

  “Screw Jackson. It’s not his decision.”

  “Well, we took over the eye killer case, but technically Tripuka’s new crimes would fall to the local agency first and then—”

  “Nick, I’m not taking a vote. No offense.”

  He chuckled. “I was waiting for that definitive answer. Works for me.”

  “One other thing,” I said as I opened my laptop on the kitchen counter. “Whoever has time first, I have one more person for you to research. And—”

  “I know. It’s important,” Nick said. “Everything is priority one.”

  “This one will be a Dr. Dave Strickler. Same routine on him as you’re doing for Brewer.”

  “Do you have suspicions he could be our eye killer? If so, are you sure he shouldn’t go at the top of Gretchen’s list?”

  I closed my eyes and focused on all the conversations and interactions I’d had in the last few days, everything concerning Tripuka, Colin, and Dr. Strickler. When it came down to it, I couldn’t be certain, but Dr. Strickler seemed to be more of a threat to me than the case itself. At least I hoped.

  “Stick with the same order. Strickler comes after Colin Brewer.”

  My phone buzzed again, and I checked the screen. I knew that number. I hung up with the team and took the other call. “Crack Daddy. If you’re calling me, something must be wrong. Speak to me.”

  24

  Ten years ago

  With the stimulating smell of blood looming in the air, the man filled his lungs and steadied his hand. Usin
g a thin, black marker, on a piece of masking tape affixed to the side of a reused glass jar, he wrote: Gloria eyes.

  He added formaldehyde into the jar and then screwed the top on the jar.

  Feet swished and squeaked off the rubber exam table behind him. It was Gloria, becoming more lucid by the moment. He didn’t bother turning her way. He angled the jar just so, and the eyeballs glimmered off the portable spotlight in the corner of the room, particularly the irises. Gloria’s eyes reminded him of gold masked by a rushing stream. Technically, they were brown, but the voluminous amount of liquid somehow altered the color, morphing her eyes from honey brown into a sparkling gold. They were almost like a mood ring, changed by the elements around them.

  He glanced over his shoulder, a derisive scowl replacing a satisfied smile. “These eyes, Gloria, they’re the best of you. But at least you have something to give to mankind. Some aren’t even that lucky.”

  The sound of his voice created a stir, and her body lurched, putting a strain on the belts that held her arms and legs to the table. He had tested the belts long before this event had started. She wasn’t going anywhere. Not until he was ready.

  He gazed at the jar that held her eyes and then back to his latest victim. “I realized a long time ago that a person’s eyes are a reflection of who they really are. There are some women in the world who deserve the set of eyes they were born with. You’re not one of them. You’re a disgrace to women, to humanity even. I did what was required. It’s really that simple.”

  She began to mumble and cry out.

  “What are you trying to say, Gloria?” He leaned his ear closer to her mouth. “You need to enunciate if you expect me to understand you.”

  Another surge, this one more violent. She bent her wrists, scratching and clawing at the straps with broken fingernails. She flung her head back and forth, and drops of blood whipped just past the man’s shoulder. Then she cleared her throat and spat in his face.

  He flinched and jerked away from the table, the pungent goo clinging to his chin. Finding a towel from the supply cupboard, he wiped himself clean. “Even when the end is near, Gloria, your true colors shine through. You don’t have an ounce of class in you. Nothing. You’ve ravaged your body and your soul, allowing anyone with twenty dollars and four wheels to use you like a blow-up doll.”