by Jaden Skye
“Tracy please, listen to me.” Hunter tried to break through. “You’ve done an incredible job, magnificent. You deserve to celebrate. You can interview Caleb all you like tomorrow in jail.”
“I will,” Tracy agreed. “But, I’m going to poke around at the church before I do that to see what else turns up.”
*
Tracy was happy to lie down for the night. Everything pointed to Caleb, but waves of doubt accosted her. Caleb’s anger was definitely directed at men. Why would he take women as victims? And what would he want from them after kidnapping them? Caleb seemed like a hapless, forlorn guy. That part did fit the profile. But Tracy hadn’t seen any evidence of deep volatility in him. And the fact that he was the last to see Shannon alive was interesting, but didn’t automatically amount to anything. It made sense that Caleb would be frightened and run from a room if he was being accused of murder. Tracy would talk to him more tomorrow, but Tad was right. The church was a powerful place. She wanted to get back there as soon as possible and see what else she could find.
Tracy had a fleeting thought of calling Tad and letting him know about the developments. She rejected the idea immediately, though. He would hear it on the news soon enough. And, whether she liked it or not, Tracy had to walk this path alone.
To her surprise Tracy slept soundly that night and awoke first thing in the morning completely refreshed and ready to roll. There was no way she was going to let someone be accused of anything, if there was even the smallest chance they were innocent. That happened far too often, she realized. Especially in cases like this.
After a quick breakfast, Tracy went over to the church, walked in, and stepped up to the bulletin board up front where all kinds of events were posted. On the top was an announcement of a meeting of the Women’s Good Works charity group being held in the West Lounge this morning. It was a weekly morning meeting, with coffee and pastries. Might as well start there, thought Tracy. It wouldn’t hurt to talk to anyone that turned up.
The lounge was down at the other end of the hall and Tracy walked there quickly, pushed the heavy double doors open, and entered the large, sunny room. There were photographs of needy children on the walls, bright red chairs arranged in circles, and a long table spread out for food.
A lovely older woman with silver gray hair, dressed in a pale blue silk dress, approached Tracy as soon as she walked in.
“Welcome, dear,” she said kindly, “I’m Maria Blau, director of the Women’s Good Deeds group. I don’t believe we’ve seen you here before.” She looked at Tracy eagerly, delighted to have a new member on board.
“Tracy Wrenn, FBI,” Tracy answered swiftly, showing the woman her badge.
Maria looked momentarily alarmed. “Yes, I’ve heard your name. What are you doing at our meeting?” she replied.
“I need to talk to anyone I can find, Maria,” Tracy started, knowing she sounded desperate.
“About what?” Maria wasn’t understanding. She lifted her hand to her perfectly coiffed hair to rearrange it slightly. As she did so, Tracy got chills. On Maria’s wrist was a delicate pink pearl bracelet, like the ones stolen from Candace’s shop.
“Maria,” Tracy homed in quickly. “Where did you get that bracelet?”
Maria looked down at it, confused. “I’ve had it for a while,” she replied. “Isn’t it lovely? It’s my favorite.”
“How did you get it?” Tracy was adamant.
Maria looked slightly flummoxed. “Let me remember, dear. Oh yes, I believe our delivery man gave it to me.”
“Your delivery man?” Tracy became intent. “What delivery man?”
“The one who delivers our pastries, coffee, and whatever else we need for our meetings,” said Maria. “The bracelet was a gift.”
“A gift?” Tracy stared at it. “Why?”
“No reason in particular,” Maria answered, nervously moving her hand away. “Albert’s a kind man. He often brings little gifts for the women in our group. Is something wrong with that?”
“Where is Albert now?” asked Tracy, growing cold.
“Well, in fact, he should have been here half an hour ago,” Maria commented. “You see, we’re about to begin the meeting and the coffee and pastries haven’t arrived.”
“Does that happen often?” Tracy was all over it, alarming Maria even more.
“Sometimes he’s late, but not this late,” said Maria, defending him. “Usually he’s early. Albert’s always happy to be here, he’s very kind.”
Very kind. Maria’s words resounded, sparking off all kind of thoughts in Tracy. The obvious personality of a Multiple was often very kind. Very generous and involved with charitable activities. A thousand bells went off in Tracy’s head.
“I need to speak to Albert right away,” Tracy insisted. “Where does he live? Who is he?”
“Well, my dear, I have no idea at all where he lives.” Maria took a few steps away.
“I need the name of the company he works for, the one that provides the pastries for your meetings.” Tracy wouldn’t let go.
Maria hesitated a moment, and Tracy flashed her badge again at her.
“It’s Omni Catering on Doyle Street,” Maria’s voice faltered. “Albert doesn’t only deliver pastries to our meetings, but all events that go on in the church.”
All events, thought Tracy, trembling. Children’s parties, recovery meetings, church holidays. Could this be how the killer spotted his victims?
“But Albert hasn’t done anything wrong. Nothing at all.” Maria’s voice trailed off as Tracy turned swiftly and rushed back out through the double doors.
*
It was easy to get the number for Omni Catering. Tracy called immediately, identified herself, and after just a little wrangling, got the address of Albert, the man who delivered coffee and pastries to the church. His home wasn’t far away, either, just about half a mile. Tracy thought about calling Hunter and letting him know where she was going and decided it was a good idea. This could be nothing at all, or, it could be the jackpot they all were waiting for.
Hunter wasn’t at all pleased when he heard about Tracy’s destination. “You’re chasing after windmills, Tracy,” he said. “We’ve got our man. The more Caleb talks, the deeper in he’s getting.”
“Maria was wearing the same pearl bracelet that was stolen from Candace’s shop,” Tracy insisted. “Maria said the delivery guy, Albert, gave it to her. This could be the same guy who picked up the bracelets from Candace’s shop. And he’s involved with the church. What am I missing? What else are you waiting for?”
Hunter suddenly seemed to wake up. “You’re right, I’m not waiting for anything. Go check it out immediately and be careful! Whatever you do, keep me informed!”
Chapter 37
Albert’s home was a small wooden house on the corner of a long block filled with tiny, slanted homes. From the outside the place looked old and unkempt. Tracy wondered if Albert was home and would answer the door.
She walked carefully up the front walkway, where dandelions grew helter-skelter. The place felt silent and empty. Tracy knocked on the door anyway. No answer. She peered into the windows, which were half open. Nobody seemed to be there. But Albert had to be somewhere, thought Tracy. He hadn’t shown up for work.
The front door didn’t look so solid and Tracy decided to see if she could push her way in. She put both hands on the doorknob and shook it strongly. Then she gave the bottom of the door a few hard kicks. To her delight the door cracked, flew open, and Tracy practically fell inside.
Once inside, Tracy immediately felt nauseated. It was dark, the ceilings were low, and the place a mess. Newspapers were piled in corners and also strewn around. The sofa in the main room was ripped and worn. Tracy felt nervous and unsettled here. She decided to look around quickly and get out. There was a door adjoining the living room that most likely led to a bedroom. For all Tracy knew, Albert could be in there, asleep in bed. She decided to open the door slowly and see.
No one
was there, but Tracy was right. The door led to the bedroom, which was also incredibly messy and smelled stale and dank. The bed was unmade, and clothes, books, and papers were strewn on the floor. Then something caught Tracy’s eye. At the far wall, a huge bulletin board was nailed onto the wall, stretched over a secondhand desk. All kinds of things were posted on it. Tracy decided to take a closer look.
She edged her way over through the mess, having a hard time breathing in the musty room. Tracy got closer and shuddered.
The bulletin board was filled from top to bottom with clippings about the case. In the middle three large photos of the victims stared out at her. My God, my God, thought Tracy, her head reeling, feeling as if she was about to hyperventilate. But she stopped herself. In and of itself, this didn’t mean they had the killer. The place could belong to someone obsessed with the case. There were plenty of people like that, floating around.
Tracy then saw a red wig in the corner of the desk. It somehow looked familiar. Where had she seen it, where? Suddenly, to her horror, she remembered.
Tracy suddenly flashed on the photos of the odd woman she’d seen in Tina’s album. This looked exactly like the wig she had on.
This place had to be investigated immediately. Tracy began rifling through the papers piled on the desk to see what else she could find. Letters to the editor were strewn around and beside them a tiny wooden crucifix. It was the same type of crucifix Tracy had found in the back alley. The crucifix had to belong to the killer, he must have a bunch of them. Tracy picked it up and held it, trembling, thinking of the horror that Tina had gone through. Tracy had found the link to Tina for sure, but still couldn’t stop searching. There could even be more.
She continued rummaging around on the desk and suddenly, underneath the messy papers, she spied a note that stopped her cold. It was written in baby talk in bright red crayon. Ya, ya, da, da, if you’re good enough, I’ll save you, it said. Next to the note was a crinkly map leading somewhere underground.
Tracy knew she shouldn’t stay here another minute alone. She needed backup. She’d call in a second, but first Tracy grabbed the map and scoured it. The map seemed to point to the basement of this house. My God! thought Tracy, trembling, could Albert be down there now? Is that where he’s holding Candace? Was she alive or dead?
Tracy immediately put in a frantic call into Hunter. “I got him,” she breathed. “This is where he lives, I have the evidence! Get here fast. He could be here in the basement with Candace right now!”
“Get out of there instantly, Tracy.” Hunter sounded horrified. “Wait for us under cover out on the street.”
Tracy wiped the sweat that was pouring down over her face with the back of her hand. “I’m going, I’m going,” she began to reply when she heard something rustle behind her.
“So, you finally came for a visit?” a high, shrill voice piped up.
Tracy immediately dumped her phone into her side pocket.
“I thought you would come one day,” the voice continued as Tracy spun around.
The minute she turned around, Tracy’s legs went weak, could barely hold her up.
There stood Tad, wearing makeup, dressed in a long, silvery dress. On his feet were open sandals which showed all his toes. On his wrist was a pink pearl bracelet.
“I just came up for my wig, darling,” Tad uttered, sweeping past Tracy and placing the red wig from the desk on his head. “Do you like the way I look? Am I beautiful?” He posed strangely and smiled.
“Tad,” breathed Tracy, overwhelmed.
“I beg your pardon?” he answered, looking at her oddly. “I have no idea who you’re talking about. My name is Martha Georgeson.”
Tracy’s heart pounded so violently she thought she would pass out. She couldn’t pass out now though, couldn’t. If she did she might never wake up again.
“How dear of you to visit,” Tad continued. “Can I make you a cup of tea?”
It was Tad. He was the Multiple Personality and this was one of his alternate selves. The note left at the crime scene, Find me, suddenly made total sense. Not only did Tad want law enforcement to find him, he wanted to find himself.
“I have all kinds of tea here,” Martha continued, “mint tea, chamomile, even green powdered tea.”
“Tea would be lovely, said Tracy, playing for time. Tad recognized her and didn’t. He’d been expecting her, but not him. His alternate self, Martha, had.
Tracy wasn’t sure how to address him. “Are you having a lovely day, Martha?” she asked, wanting to find out more about her.
“I definitely am, dear,” Martha replied. “And it’s even better now that you’ve come to join us for tea.”
“Us?” Tracy managed a terrified smile.
“Yes, dear, Candace and I are having our breakfast tea downstairs in her quarters,” Martha replied. “Would you care to come down and join us?”
Tracy knew if she went down to the basement, she might not ever come back up. Martha was guarding Candace, holding her captive down there. But she was alive! Tracy’s eyes filled with tears.
“Is Candace alive, is she well?” Tracy began trembling.
“Of course she’s alive.” Martha became irritated. “She’s alive and she’s having a wonderful time.”
“That’s lovely, Martha, so lovely,” breathed Tracy, thrilled to hear that Candace was still here and entering into Martha’s alternate world.
Had Martha guarded and killed the other two victims down there as well? She certainly would have been able to with the strength of a man. Had Martha been the one to lure the women away, make them feel safe?
Tracy was gripped with both horror and sorrow. She wanted her friend Tad back. She wanted to do something to shock him out of being Martha, make him return to himself. But Tracy also realized that the FBI had to see him as his alternate self. It would explain so many things.
“Perhaps we can go downstairs in a few moments,” Martha suggested then.
“Why not drink our tea up here, just the two of us,” replied Tracy.
Martha smiled brightly at that suggestion. “That’s a very good idea, very,” she replied. “Candace wouldn’t be at all pleased to see you, anyway. She’s the jealous sort, likes having time with me all to herself. And if she didn’t like that, if one day Candace grows tired of me -,” Martha paused, an odd expression on her face.
“What would you do then, Martha?” Tracy was horrified.
“Well then, I wouldn’t spend time with her anymore. No, I wouldn’t,” replied Martha, stamping her foot. “It’s simple, very simple, I’d quickly find someone else to live downstairs with me.” At the thought of it Martha’s voice began to turned steely, and she clenched her hands around her cup of tea. “It’s not hard to find companions either. So many of them are lonely, terribly, terribly lonely. Did you know that?”
“No, I didn’t,” said Tracy, trembling.
“The lonely ones gather together at the church, praying for comfort.” Martha smiled oddly. “I hear their prayers and give them coffee and little pastries. I give them bracelets.”
Tracy felt like throwing up.
“Candace is the best companion yet,” Martha went on. “I like spending time with her, and being part of the girls, you know.”
“I know, Martha,” said Tracy sadly.
“How do you know?” Martha looked startled.
Tracy wanted to say that Tad had told her how badly he’d wanted his mother’s love. And how much he needed to be beautiful, to keep his father from leaving him. As Tracy gazed at Martha she realized that Tad had turned into the person his mother and father always wanted him to be. Tracy gave Martha a long look. Who was the killer here? Tad or Martha?
“You don’t know Tad?” Tracy asked one more time, just to see what would happen. “You never, ever met him?”
Indignant, Martha raised both eyebrows threateningly. “I already told you, I have no idea who you’re speaking about. It doesn’t make me happy when people don’t believe what I s
ay. Bad things happen to people who act that way.” Martha lunged a moment toward Tracy, then looked at Tracy’s hand and stopped.
“What have you got there? It belongs to me!” She grabbed the crucifix out of Tracy’s grip. “This is mine, it’s beautiful, I love it. It keeps me going every day. Don’t you dare think of taking it from me. I would not take well to that!”
Shaken to the core, Tracy felt like retching. “I saw the note you wrote in red crayon, too, Martha.”
“That’s right, it was to that idiotic nursery school teacher, Shannon. I warned her I was coming for her.” Martha seemed delighted that Tracy knew all about it. “Shannon worked at the church nursery school where I deliver treats for the children. I saw her every day. She was lonely, too, very! Her husband didn’t care a thing for her. And I don’t blame him. Everyone said she was such a wonderful person. Well, she wasn’t. Not to me!”
“I’m sorry to hear that, so sorry,” said Tracy.
“When I drove up to the playground, she pulled the children away. She wouldn’t let any of them spend time with me. She was a selfish, nasty bitch.”
“You spent a lot of time with her after you took her, though,” Tracy spoke matter-of-factly.
Martha started laughing then. “That’s absolutely right. We had an interesting two weeks after I grabbed her onto my truck. It was easy, she stopped for coffee and I told her to come up into the delivery truck, I had something for her.”
Tracy closed her eyes. Martha probably did this with all of them.
“How did you spend the time with Shannon?” Tracy asked, wanting to keep Martha talking until the FBI arrived. It had to be any minute now.
“I kept trying to get her to write down what she’d done wrong and what she’d done right each day, but all she did was cry. She kept begging, please let me go, my children need me! I said, how about me? You don’t think I need you, too?”
“What did you need her for, Martha?” Tracy asked.
“I needed her to ask me for forgiveness.” Martha’s voice rose an octave as she gripped the crucifix in her hand. “If even once she asked me for forgiveness, things would have been different between us. She might have even lived.”
