by Becky Durfee
Although she remained quiet, Jenny nodded with understanding.
Isabelle continued, “When you go into Steve’s kindergarten class, I guarantee you won’t be able to pick out the kids who were breast fed, but you will be able to pick out the ones whose mothers were unhappy.”
Having been an elementary school teacher, Jenny knew that was true.
Isabelle imparted her final words of wisdom. “So the moral of the story is, be happy. Bring the baby down to me when you need a break. Order pizza so you don’t have to cook. Buy your baby food at the store. Use formula if nursing is too much, or, at the very least, get a breast pump. You don’t have to be supermom in order to be a good mom. Just be happy…that’s the best thing you can do for Steve.”
With a hung head, Jenny said, “Do you know what would make me incredibly happy right now?”
“What’s that?”
“A nap.”
“Well then go.” Isabelle patted her daughter’s arm. “I’ve got him for a while. Get some sleep, and don’t worry about the baby.” She smiled knowingly. “I have experience.”
Knowing that Isabelle was going to come up and get her when the baby needed to eat, Jenny was able to lie down in bed and sleep—soundly—without having to listen for cries or gasps or any other disconcerting sounds. She didn’t realize just how light her intermittent sleep had been until this moment, when she was able to just let it all go, and it felt amazing.
She was kneeling in the woods, looking at Elaina Maldonado’s lifeless body. She felt bad; this one in particular hadn’t done anything wrong, but the sacrifice had to be made. If she hadn’t done this, the others would have killed her for sure. She had to defend herself.
The least she could do was provide this being with some dignity. She used a blanket from the bed of her truck to cover the remains, making it so the others wouldn’t have to look at it. She patted it gently before walking away quickly, trying to get out of there before the others discovered what she had done. They may have been angry with her.
As she walked back to the truck, she fished around her pockets again. How could she have run out of weed? That definitely would have helped her stay in control of her emotions while this all went down. It worked much better than those useless pills the doctor had given her. All those did was make her nauseated and give her tremors. Stupid pills. Stupid doctor.
Get out of there, dumbass.
The voice was right. She walked a little faster, using her hands to push back the branches as she headed out of the woods.
You’re a dumbass. A worthless piece of shit.
She wished she had her weed.
As she approached the road, she saw it—the familiar truck, black with a silver electrical box splayed across the back, lettering in the side.
L & J Electrical.
“I think it’s distinctly possible that the truck wasn’t his,” Jenny said to Kyle over the phone, “or at least it wasn’t registered to him. It was a work truck, and the company’s name is L and J electrical, with an ampersand.”
“Helpful,” Kyle replied, sounding as if he was jotting that down. “I’m glad to hear this, actually, because my search was turning up nothing. None of the seven guys on the list had ever been to Wyoming, as far as I could tell. Now it seems like it should be pretty easy; we’ve just got to figure out which employee of that company drove that truck and passed away recently.”
“I can do that,” Jenny offered. “I’m sure you have other cases to work on. I always feel bad that I monopolize so much of your time.”
“What you consider monopolizing, I call job security.”
Jenny laughed. “I’m glad you look at it that way.”
“Okay, well, if you want to take care of this, I certainly won’t stop you. Please just let me know what you come up with.”
“Sure thing,” Jenny said. “When I’m done, I might want you to put in the phone calls to the police departments, offering up his name. Somehow I think they will be more receptive to tips from a private investigator than a psychic.”
“I’d be happy to,” Kyle said, changing his tone from factual to encouraging. “Now go get us that name.”
The website indicated L & J Electrical had an office in a local industrial park, so she hoped they also had a receptionist. Her wish was granted when she heard a woman answer the phone with a cheery, “L and J, how can I help you?”
“Hi, my name is Jenny Larrabee; I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions about a former employee. I am working on a murder investigation.”
“A murder investigation?” The woman sounded floored, which was a reasonable under the circumstances. “Hang on—let me put you in touch with the owner, Charles Littleton.”
“Thank you,” Jenny replied before hearing wordless on-hold music.
After a few moments, the woman gave Jenny a different phone number to call. “That’s his cell phone. He’s out on a call right now, but he said he would talk to you.”
Jenny thanked her again and hung up, immediately dialing the owner. “Charles Littleton,” the man said upon answering.
“Hello, Mr. Littleton. My name is Jenny Larrabee, and I would like to ask you about a former employee of yours.”
“Darlene said this is about a murder investigation?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Who do you want to know about?”
Jenny made a face as she braced herself for ridicule. “That’s just it; I’m not sure. But one of your trucks can be placed at the scene of two different murders a few years ago.”
“Holy cow,” Charles muttered.
“We have reason to believe the person responsible for the murders used to work for you, but we also have reason to believe he passed away at some point in the last year and a half. Do you have any idea who that may be?”
“None of my employees have passed away…ever. Are you sure you have the right company?”
“Yes, I will say I’m certain of that.”
“And you’re sure he’s passed away?”
“I’m positive. Is there anyone who might have had access to the truck who fits that description?”
He let out a long breath. “There’s only one.”
“Oh?” Jenny asked, feeling her nerves tingle. “Who is that?”
The remorse was apparent in his voice. “My step-son.”
Chapter 10
“I’ve got to know,” Charles continued, “who is he suspected of killing?”
Jenny was not prepared to be speaking to one of his relatives; she thought she’d been calling his boss. She wasn’t sure if she should tell him the details of the case yet or not.
Her hesitation must have been obvious. “Look,” he said compassionately, “I know Aiden was mentally ill. You’re not telling me anything I don’t already know; I just didn’t realize he was capable of killing anybody.”
Although she wasn’t confident she was doing the right thing, she decided to disclose half of it. She released a breath and said, “The man’s name was Timothy Reynolds; he was homeless at the time and sleeping in Hammond Park when the murder occurred. He was bludgeoned with a rock.”
She was met with silence.
“I’m sorry,” she added. “I had no idea I would be talking to you about a family member. If I had known that, I would have spoken to you in person and approached things differently.”
“Well, better me than my wife,” he replied. “I think she would be devastated by the news.”
“At this point, it’s not officially news.” Jenny was grasping at straws. “It’s just a suspicion.”
Charles sounded as if he had already accepted his step-son’s guilt when he said, “How do you know the person who committed the murder was dead?”
This conversation was not going how Jenny had wanted. At all. “The truth is, I’m a psychic. I know it’s hard to believe, but I receive visions from the deceased.” She cleared her throat nervously. “It appears your step-son is contacting me.”
“He�
�s contacting you?”
“Yes, sir. I received my first message from him when I was at Sanger Hospital a couple of weeks ago delivering a baby. I’m assuming that was where he passed away.”
His tone was sad. “It was…so what’s he saying to you?”
“He’s letting me know about some of the less favorable things he did when his mental illness got the best of him.”
“It sounds like that happened more than once,” he replied. “You said the truck was at the scene of two murders. Who was the other one?”
Jenny closed her eyes; she had forgotten how she’d begun the conversation. For a moment, she deliberated coming up with some kind of creative fib to ease the immediate pain, but she ultimately decided the truth would be the best approach. Bracing herself, she softly replied, “Elaina Maldonado…a student at Longfellow.”
“Oh, Christ.”
Jenny winced; she imagined that had been a high-profile case in this area back when it happened. “I can assure you, though, that your step-son’s actions were not motivated in hate. He was having delusions, and he thought these people were going to hurt him somehow. He was just trying to defend himself.”
Charles made a few sounds that showed he was having a difficult time hearing this information. Eventually, he said, “I believe that. He had all kinds of things going on in that head of his, but he wasn’t mean…or violent, so I thought.”
“He was terrified,” she replied sympathetically. “I experienced those moments through his eyes, and I have to say…if I believed what he was thinking, I may have acted similarly in the same situation.” Charles didn’t say anything, so Jenny continued, albeit apprehensively. “He believed all the students at Longfellow were evil and were planning to kill him. In his mind, the only way to prevent them from attacking him was to lash out at one of them first.”
“Aliens,” he whispered. “I’m sure he thought they were aliens. He talked about them all the time…that is, when he talked at all.”
“Mister Littleton,” Jenny began, “do you have the time to tell me all about your step-son? I would love to get an understanding of what his life was like and what led up to those incidents.”
He let out a sigh. “I’m in the middle of a call right now; can I finish this up and then get back to you?”
“Absolutely. Please just call me back at this number…but first, can you do me a favor?”
“What’s that?”
“Can you tell me his full name?”
“His name was Aiden,” Charles said solemnly. “Aiden Fletcher.”
Kyle was already looking into Aiden Fletcher’s background when Jenny’s phone rang with Charles Littleton’s number appearing on the screen. She allowed the phone to ring an extra time so she wouldn’t appear too eager when she answered it. “Hello, Mister Littleton. Thanks for getting back to me.”
“Yeah, no problem,” he said sadly. “I’ve been thinking about this ever since I got off the phone with you. I feel horrible that he may have killed those people.”
“I think Aiden does, too, to tell you the truth. I believe that’s why he’s contacting me…so he can give those families some answers.”
“He was a good kid, you know. God, this whole thing is so sad.”
Jenny could see that she needed to take charge of the conversation before it became too emotional. “How long did you know him?”
“He was six when his mother and I got married. His father had been killed in a car accident when he was very young.”
“Did Aiden show signs of mental illness then?”
“Not at all,” Charles said definitively. “He was a perfectly normal kid. Although, his aunt—his father’s sister—started showing signs of mental illness around the time of the wedding. Unfortunately, schizophrenia doesn’t strike until adulthood.”
“So, that was his diagnosis? Schizophrenia?”
“Yup. Undifferentiated Schizophrenia.”
Jenny jotted that down, but she confessed, “I’m afraid I don’t know what that means.”
“It means he showed signs of both Paranoid Schizophrenia and Disorganized Schizophrenia.”
He paused, as if he felt he had answered her question. Sheepishly, Jenny asked, “I’m sorry…can you elaborate a little more?”
“The Paranoid Schizophrenia made him delusional, causing him to believe things that weren’t true…like the aliens. The Disorganized Schizophrenia made him antisocial. He was emotionally flat all the time. He usually only spoke when spoken to, and when he did, it was usually just with one-word answers.”
“When did he start showing signs of this?”
“When he was married and living out in Wyoming.”
Jenny closed her eyes as the link to Seneca Lynch clicked into place. “He was married?”
“He was, to a great girl. Unfortunately, things didn’t work out because of his mental state. That’s when he came back to live with us.”
Squeezing her hand into a fist, Jenny said, “Mister Littleton, I’m sorry to say there is an unsolved murder in Chester, Wyoming, which may also be attributed to Aiden.” She winced as she waited for a response.
“Oh, God,” was all he said.
“I know this isn’t easy,” she replied sympathetically. “I’m so sorry to have to tell you all of this. I guess, if you don’t mind, I’d like to go through his history from the beginning so I can have a timeline and a full understanding of what went on.”
He seemed to be in shock. “Yeah, that’s fine.”
“You say his father died when he was young. Does Aiden have any siblings?”
“He has an older brother.”
“Does the brother show signs of mental illness?”
“Not at all.”
“But his aunt did—on his father’s side?”
“Yes.”
“If you don’t mind me asking, what is her condition like?”
“She’s Disorganized only…very withdrawn. She’s in her fifties now, and last I knew she was still living with her mother.”
For a brief moment, Jenny wondered if Steve would be an independent adult for only a few years before having to move back home due to some debilitating illness. The notion was so sad it was almost paralyzing.
Getting back to the matter at hand, she asked, “What about Aiden’s father—had he shown any signs of mental illness?”
“That’s just it,” Charles replied, “we don’t know. He didn’t live long enough for the signs to surface, if they were even there in the first place.”
“And you say that Aiden had a perfectly normal childhood?”
“Yup. He played Little League and chased the girls, just like all the other boys did.”
Jenny shook her head; this whole scenario was just awful. “And he eventually moved to Wyoming?”
“He met his wife, Eileen, at college, and she was from out there. After they graduated, they moved there to be closer to her family.”
“How old was he then?”
“Around twenty-two. They got married a couple of years later. Unfortunately, right after they got married, Eileen called us, telling us he was starting to behave strangely. I think at that point my wife knew he hadn’t escaped the mental illness.”
“Did he move back then?”
“Not right away. Poor Eileen thought she could help him—she said she was willing to stick with him through the long haul. I guess she didn’t realize just how bad he would become.”
“How long did he stay in Wyoming?”
“I guess it was five years, total. By the time he was twenty-seven, he was so far gone that Eileen couldn’t handle it anymore. We all agreed he’d be better off living with us—Eileen had a life to lead, you know? She deserved a husband and kids. Belinda and I already had all of that. Besides, Belinda felt a whole lot better when he was under her roof where she could keep an eye on him. She worried about him every minute of every day that he was in Wyoming, ever since that first phone call from Eileen. She said she slept a lot more soundly when
he was in the room right next door.”
“How long ago did he move back here?”
“A little over three years ago.”
Jenny determined that was just in time for him to come home and murder Timothy Reynolds in Hammond Park.
She let out a sigh as she approached the next difficult topic. “Do you know if Aiden was involved with any illegal drugs?”
After a long silence, Charles confessed, “We know he smoked marijuana. He used to head out of here in the middle of the night, every Tuesday night, like clockwork. Belinda and I both knew he was going to buy drugs, but we never spoke of it. It seemed to make him feel better—you know, it was medicinal—so we looked the other way.”
“Did he do any stronger drugs than that?”
“None that I know of.”
“So nothing that would cause delusions…”
“Nothing other than the wiring he was born with.”
Her shoulders lowered. “How long did he continue driving?”
“Up until the end,” Charles said. “He seemed to do okay, although we tried to minimize his need to drive. He did take my truck out from time to time. He liked to go out to parking lots and get license plate numbers.”
“License plate numbers?”
“He was convinced that aliens were trying to contact us, and they were using license plate numbers as their mode of communication. He would go to a parking lot, write down all of the plate numbers, come home, and then spend the rest of the day trying to decipher what they meant. It seemed harmless enough. I didn’t realize he was out there doing anything else with his time.”
