A Secondhand Life (The Killer Thriller Series Book 2)

by Pamela Crane

This was no beast at all, but a mere mortal.

  I would take him on.

  Then I let all my fears and hurt trickle onto my steering wheel for the next hour until my grief turned into fury.

  Chapter 23

  I tossed Tuesday’s newspaper on Detective Evan Williams’ desk, revolted at the idiocy of the media.

  “Tragic hospital error? A broken IV regulator? Is that really what they think happened?” I seethed. I pitched a defeated look at Landon, who sat next to me shaking his head.

  I had whittled the morning away by driving around aimlessly for several hours, working through my shock at the authorities’ analysis of the events. According to the papers, the cops had credited Amy’s overdose to faulty equipment, completely overlooking any possibility that it was the Triangle Terror coming back to finish the job. It made no sense, which made me wonder if in fact someone on the police force was behind the scenes covering up the truth. That was the only logical explanation.

  After detouring past Brad’s apartment three times, I eventually found myself on Landon’s street, where I resigned to pull into his driveway.

  When he had signaled me inside, I told him what happened, beginning with Saturday’s visit and ending with seeing Jeremy there that evening, which only strengthened Landon’s resolve to beat hell out of the guy. When I shot that idea down because it would only invite a lawsuit, he dragged me to the police station to recount the details to Evan, just in case I was missing something. While we waited for Evan, I vented.

  “The only way it’s a hospital error is if Jeremy was behind it and somehow broke the IV drip, because it was working fine when I was there. Heck, Amy wasn’t really even using it anymore. She told me her pain was minimal.”

  “I don’t know what to say, Mia. I guess the hospital doesn’t want to believe that the Triangle Terror was able to sneak in and kill a girl while under their care—and also with police protection. Look at it from their angle: What’s worse—a serial killer on the loose in a hospital, or faulty equipment? I’m sure the media wants to avoid more fear running rampant.”

  I didn’t bother to answer his rhetorical question.

  “Either way,” Landon went on, “the hospital bears the most scrutiny, so it’s far better to blame a piece of equipment than poor security.”

  I disagreed. “An innocent nurse could lose her job over this, though. By saying it’s hospital error that the regulator overdosed Amy’s morphine, they’re letting the murderer off the hook and throwing their staff under the bus. Where is the justice in that?”

  Our argument came to a halt when Evan joined us at his desk carrying a cup of coffee and a handful of folders. He offered us a cup of the brew, but it looked more like sludge I’d find in the grooves of my shoes than a drinkable beverage.

  He dropped the folders on top of a pile of papers that spilled out from underneath. The clutter seemed to have taken over the entire desk’s surface, leaving no space for his mug. So he set it on top of more papers, leaving a coffee ring when he picked it back up to take a sip.

  “Sorry for the wait. I had some pressing matters to take care of.” He reached over and shook Landon’s hand, then mine.

  As our hands met, his blue eyes penetrated mine, and my temple seared in pain. I felt myself slipping into a memory, but I willed it to stop, forcing my eyes to remain open. Nausea slithered through my intestines, until I doubled over as a wave of sickness cascaded over me. My stomach roiled and my heart pounded so loud I was sure Landon and Evan could hear it too.

  My surroundings whipped into a whirling vortex around me, intensifying my urge to vomit. I pressed my palm to my forehead and closed my eyes to stop the spinning, and that’s when it came unheeded, uninvited. Another vision. A flashback. A blue-eyed guy, hardly a man—a younger Evan Williams. Standing in Alexis’s old living room. He was telling her something, but his voice was muted.

  “Are you okay?” I heard a voice ask. But the sounds didn’t match the movement of younger Evan’s lips.

  “Hey,” the voice said again. It was Landon, and his soothing tone was bringing me back into the present. I inhaled and exhaled, focusing on each breath, trying to regain consciousness. Eventually the blackness faded and my world of ringing phones, fluorescent lighting, and bustling police officers returned to focus.

  The moment passed, and the queasiness stopped. But a thought lingered. Evan had been at Alexis’s house. When? And was it connected to the night of the murder?

  For a moment I wondered if Alexis was leading me on a wild goose chase, throwing red herring after red herring in front of me. But they weren’t a tease; they were memories—random images tossed together. It was up to me to piece them together correctly, but this puzzle was no child’s play. I felt like I was in one of those enclosed wind machines at some cheesy trade show, wildly grabbing at dollar bills as they flew around me, and coming out with nothing.

  “I’m okay. Must have been something I ate.”

  “What brings you back here so soon?” Evan asked. “The news, I presume.” He gestured toward the newspaper’s front page plastered with the headline: Hospital Error Or Triangle Terror? The play on words sounded like a quip from a Batman movie.

  “Good guess,” I said. “Are you guys investigating her death, I hope?”

  Evan took another gulp of sludge and set the mug back down heavily, oblivious to the nasty spill it made. I wondered how anything got accomplished with such flagrant sloppiness. It was no wonder they hadn’t caught the killer yet.

  “Before you ask, we are aware of all of the details behind the alleged hospital morphine OD issue. I can’t comment about the specifics, but I assure you that we’re looking into it.”

  “Let’s cut to the chase,” said Landon. “The reason we wanted to see you is because Mia was there last night.”

  “You were?” Evan echoed. “I thought Amy was under protective watch?”

  “She was,” I verified. “The cop let me in.”

  Evan grunted his disapproval. “I thought she wasn’t allowed visitors, other than immediate family. Did the guards just let anyone and everyone in? It defeats the purpose of having one.”

  “Regardless, I told him I was a friend and he let me in to see her. We ended up talking.”

  “Oh really?” Evan leaned forward with interest. Apparently I had finally said something he found worth his time. “Were you able to get a description of her attacker? Anything that can help us?”

  “Not much. Were you able to pull anything from the security cameras?” I probed.

  “We tried. The mall security cameras couldn’t get a clear shot of his face—only a grainy image of a white male with a hat. And the hospital footage was worthless, since the only footage we have outside of her room at her time of death caught a doctor wearing a mask. Clearly he knows how to stay hidden. Tell me you got something more from Amy.”

  “Well, she said that he wasn’t old … possibly my age. White male. He wore a hat, so she couldn’t see the hair color, but it was short. Maybe five foot ten, five-eleven. And he seemed normal to her. So, I’m thinking he was clean-cut and maybe even good-looking. Other than that, she couldn’t give any unique traits or anything. Just a normal-looking guy with an urge to kill. That narrows it down, right?”

  “Yeah, to about 20 percent of Durham County residents—so roughly 60,000 suspects.”

  We all knew it wasn’t much to go on, but something was more than nothing.

  “Were you the last person to see her alive?” Evan asked.

  “No, her mom came in after me. I had told Amy to make sure her mom spent the night because I had a bad feeling.”

  “A bad feeling, huh?” Evan probed.

  I wondered if I should tell him about my run-in with Jeremy Mason at the hospital. Was Jeremy worthy of inclusion on their suspect list? I thought so, but I didn’t have much to support it, other than he lived on the street of the first victim and worked at the hospital where Amy died … and even had a shift at the time of her death. Plus
, he sure looked the part—fit Amy’s description perfectly. His record as a child predator could be the nail in the coffin. I figured it couldn’t hurt to mention him.

  “I had a hunch …” I glanced over at Landon, who nodded his approval to continue. “You see, there’s this child predator who lives on your street—Alexis’s street, Willoughby Way.”

  “It’s the house next to Norma’s, Evan,” Landon cut in.

  “Jeremy’s house?” Evan clarified.

  “Wait, you know Jeremy Mason?” I asked.

  “Yeah, remember I told you we grew up together?” Landon explained.

  “Jeremy’s lived there for as long as I remember, but he’s never been in any kind of trouble, as far as I know. I don’t normally do background checks on my neighbors—though maybe I should start. I didn’t know he was a child predator. So he’s got a record, huh?” Evan said, jotting notes down.

  “Yeah, I found it online,” I explained. “Jeremy fits the profile of a younger white male, decent-looking, and he also was at the hospital last night. And he has a record for child molestation. We just figured you might want to look into him as a suspect.”

  Evan’s pen stopped mid-stroke and he looked at me.

  “Wait—you saw Jeremy Mason at the hospital last night?”

  “Yes, he works at Duke Hospital, though I’m not sure what his job is. A janitor, I think. But he’d probably have easy access to Amy’s room. Anyway, we exchanged words, and he gave me this nasty look when I left. It was very strange.”

  “So you spoke with him? How does he know you?”

  Oh boy. I hadn’t intended to open this can of worms.

  I sighed. This conversation wasn’t going exactly as I had planned.

  “Landon and I confronted him not too long ago, and Landon kind of got into a little … well, tiff, with the guy.”

  “Tiff, meaning you cracked his skull?” Evan huffed. “I’m sure that could account for the nasty look,” he muttered, though not enough under his breath. “Why are you starting issues with the neighbors? What even makes you think this is the guy?”

  “For starters,” I replied heatedly, feeling like a redundant parrot, “he has a criminal record involving children, he’s been local since Alexis’s murder, and he was at the scene of the crime last night. What more do you need?”

  “It’s not enough to convict, Mia. I need something more substantial. Something concrete. Put the murder weapon in his hands and you’ve struck gold.”

  “How do I do that?” I whined.

  “I’ll certainly put the guy on the suspect list and bring him in for questioning, but I’ll need a lot more than this to put him at the other crime scenes. Like, say, fingerprints.” Evan pushed up from his desk and stood. His body language implied our time was up, but I stayed firmly planted. “And without a murder weapon, we’re kind of at a loss here.”

  “Can’t you get a search warrant for his house?” I pushed.

  “Not without probable cause.” Evan heaved a sigh, rolled his eyes, and grumbled, “Is there anything else?”

  There was, but I hesitated to bring it up with Landon there. I knew he’d be angry at the mere mention of it, but I didn’t have a choice, did I? In light of Amy’s death, I couldn’t harbor information. I’d apologize later and hope he’d understand. So I blurted out, “Yes, I have another suspect I’d like to mention.”

  “You do?” Landon asked with surprise.

  “Yes, your Uncle Derek.”

  “Seriously? You’re still hung up on that? I thought we were past that,” Landon replied irritably.

  “Well, look, I can only go on what my gut tells me, and I’ve had a really bad reaction to him. I’m not saying he’s the killer, but he should at least get checked out.”

  “You’re basing this on a reaction?” Evan mocked. “Take an antibiotic, for crying out loud. I’m not pounding on doors because you had a reaction—whatever that means.”

  “My uncle didn’t kill anyone,” Landon cut in.

  “Can you please just hear me out? Alexis—his niece—was the first victim, and she likely knew the killer. When I spoke with him he claimed to have no recollection of the events that happened that day, so it’s possible he’s just lying.”

  Just as Landon opened his mouth to object, I rambled on. “Also, he has a pretty extensive criminal record and was—still is, apparently—into drugs and alcohol … clearly some emotional problems there. And get this—he works for a delivery company, so he has a job that gives him easy access into these houses, since none of them show a break-in. It’s not that far-fetched.”

  “It seems to me like you’re just pulling names out of a hat, Mia.” Sensing I wasn’t letting the conversation go, Evan returned to his seat with a groan. “I can check his alibi for the dates of both Gina and Amy’s murders, but the other murders were too long ago to be able to establish a convincing timeline.”

  “What do you have to lose?” I proposed.

  “My reputation, that’s what! It may not be important to you how others view you—apparently it’s not—but I have dignity I’d like to hold on to. If I go running after every name you toss at me, I’ll end up questioning the entire Triangle. I’m not going door-to-door with this, Mia.”

  “I’m just asking for you to pay one little visit, ask a couple questions, that’s all. Isn’t that what cops do?”

  Evan sat quietly for a moment, contemplating. He shifted in his seat, shuffled a few papers aside, then propped his chin on his hands.

  “I’ll tell you what. If I promise to look into these two guys—Jeremy and Derek—can you assure me you’ll back off from the investigation?”

  Absolutely not. I couldn’t give up now. I’d already lost Amy; there was no way I was letting the killer win this late in the game.

  “Can I think about it?”

  “You better think quickly. This is a limited time offer, or I may have to start questioning you. Hear what I’m saying?”

  There he went with the threats again. It reminded me of a pouty little brat kicking and screaming when he didn’t get his way.

  “Loud and clear, detective.”

  As Landon stood to leave, I remembered something from my conversation with Derek.

  “Can you look something up for me real quick?” I asked Evan.

  “Make it snappy,” he said. “I have real work to do other than helping you play Nancy Drew.”

  “Can you see if Derek was incarcerated on April fourth?”

  Evan scratched his chin, eyeing the ceiling. “Wait, that date sounds familiar. Was that a Friday night?”

  “Yeah.”

  “The night Gina Martinez was killed.”

  He turned to his computer and typed a few keystrokes.

  “Derek couldn’t have killed Gina then. He spent the night in the drunk tank that Friday.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Positive.” He swiveled his screen for me to see his records. Sure enough, Derek Worthington was deposited into a cell at 11:16 that night and picked up the next day. Landon Worthington had signed him out at 4:35 Saturday afternoon.

  “I picked him up Friday night. I found him facedown outside of a bar and he spent the night behind bars. I remember calling Landon to come get him, but long-suffering nephew here didn’t want to post bail. Can’t say I blame him.”

  “I gotta teach him a lesson one of these days,” Landon chimed in.

  “I couldn’t count on all my fingers and toes the number of times I’ve had to call Landon to pick Derek up. It’s a shame. But the good news is there’s no way he could have killed Gina. It’s highly unlikely the perp would commit murder and hit the bar afterward, then get intoxicated enough to get arrested. Our killer isn’t that irresponsible; he’s a detail-oriented stickler for order. No, Derek’s not our man.”

  I rolled my eyes, recalling how Derek had assured me he was getting sober. So much for him being a “work in progress.”

  “That settles that, then,” Landon said matter-of-factly
. “Uncle Derek is not our killer.”

  But I wasn’t so sure. What if he killed Gina before getting picked up? It was possible that her murder was earlier in the day, leaving him plenty of time to get smashed and arrested for public drunkenness. Furthermore, he could have purposefully gotten drunk enough to get caught simply to build himself an alibi. It was the perfect plan—if he was cunning enough to carry it out.

  It still wasn’t cut and dried enough for me to write him off just yet, because my gut—my heart—told me not to. So why did it seem like everywhere I turned I found one dead end after another?

  Detective work was harder than I had anticipated. But I couldn’t give up. Alexis, Gina, Amy—they all needed me to persist. Not to mention any future victims.

  Evan and Landon must have noticed my disappointment that Derek Worthington was no longer a person of interest.

  “Look,” Evan said reassuringly, “I appreciate your concern, but let the police do the police work. You go back to painting your nails or eating bonbons or whatever it is that you do.”

  Landon touched my arm before I had a chance to lunge forward and take a swing at the stupid ape. “You know,” I said through gritted teeth, “with your condescending attitude toward others who are trying to help, it’s no wonder you haven’t solved this case yet. Two decades and a pile of dead girls isn’t enough for you?”

  With that, I grabbed my purse from off the floor and hefted it on my shoulder. “When I find this monster—and I will—you can apologize to me then.”

  A storm of emotions followed me to my car, threatening to spill on anyone I encountered. Too bad Landon didn’t know me well enough to stay away.

  Chapter 24

  “I can’t believe you!” Landon wheezed after chasing me through the parking lot. “What was that all about?”

  “What did I do?” I asked, daring him to start a losing fight.

  Landon took a moment to catch his breath before resuming the argument. “First of all, you go accusing my uncle of being a serial killer, then you nearly attack a police officer for telling you to back off. I don’t get it. What’s going on with you?”