Fatal Lies ( Lies Mystery Thriller Series Book 2)

by Andrew Cunningham

  “So, you want to tell us what this is all about?” Sabrina asked the blonde.

  “Yeah, why not? I run a small, five-person security agency. We’re all ex-secret service agents. Because of it, we know how to skirt laws when we have to. Barbara Holt knew that this Daisy Leduc person had opened a safe deposit box and Barbara said that it contained information that Daisy stole that would be damaging to the Holt’s business. She wanted us to access the box and steal back the information. We’ve worked on industrial espionage cases, so we figured this would be a piece of cake, which it was. We brought the package to Barbara. Case closed. Then she called us back and asked us to follow you—I guess your name and phone number was on the package. She gave me your phone number. I looked it up, found where you lived, and followed you. She wanted us to scare you away, so we tried. Didn’t work so well.”

  “What about this shooter?” I asked.

  “Like I said before, I have no idea who the shooter is. I doubt if the Holts have anything to do with it.”

  I could hear sirens in the distance. Lots of them.

  “So that’s it?” asked Sabrina. “That’s your whole role in this?”

  “That’s it. I had a job to do and I did it. You guys just made it more complicated than it should have been. The name is Brenda, by the way.”

  “Well, Brenda,” said Sabrina. “We still have to tell the police that you are wanted in Lubbock and in Boston.”

  “That’s fine. I can finagle my way out of the charges. I still have a lot of contacts. Losing Bob was a tough one though. He wasn’t the shiniest penny in the roll, but he was a hard worker and a good guy.”

  Four police cars screamed into the parking lot. The officers piled out of their cars, saw the gruesome remains of Bob spread out across our picnic table, and quickly used their cars for cover while they looked around for the shooter. We waved to them to let them know that we were the victims. A helicopter hovered overhead, then took off in the direction from which the shots had originated. A few minutes later the cops must have gotten an “all-clear” from the helicopter, because they all emerged from the safety of the cars and ran over to us.

  That was the beginning of an excruciating night of interviews.

  Sabrina’s fame once again saved the day, as did phone calls from the Phoenix police to Detective Morse in Boston and Detective Moody in Lubbock to verify our story. Captain America, Sabrina’s agent, had contacted a Phoenix attorney he knew to act as point man for us. Brenda was arrested at the requests of both Morse and Moody. I didn’t feel badly for her, except for her loss of Bob. She stole something that might have allowed us to avoid all of this trouble. By now we might have known who Daisy’s killer was and we could have avoided living out of hotels. But there was no sense in speculating about those things. This was the hand we were dealt. This was the hand we would play.

  We left the police station in the wee hours of the morning and headed back to our hotel totally wiped out. We showered, put the “Do Not Disturb” sign on the door, and immediately fell asleep. We woke up at noon, nowhere near refreshed, and took showers again.

  The events of the previous day had left us in a funk. Neither one of us was interested in eating and we finally admitted to each other by mid-afternoon that we were scared. Watching Bob’s head explode like that had really done a number on us. It was somehow different from the experience on our stairs where Seymour had blown the guy away. This was sudden, without any warning. Worst of all, after relating the experience to the police, we realized that the shot was intended for Sabrina. Had Bob not moved because of my spilled water, that would have been Sabrina lying dead in the park.

  With all that weighing heavily on our minds, we took the rest of the day off. We stayed in the hotel room and ordered Chinese takeout. Sabrina took care of some business with her publisher while I placed a call to my mother to give a highly sanitized version of events to date, and another to Mo to give her the real details. I didn’t bother calling Seymour. I didn’t need the grief. Besides, I knew that he’d have the whole story in no time, courtesy of Mo. Despite waking up at noon, we were exhausted by early evening and were asleep by eight.

  Chapter 28

  We woke up the next morning after a twelve-hour sleep totally refreshed and ready to continue our investigation. Somehow, though, death seemed to follow us everywhere we went.

  We were on our way to Daisy’s old apartment when Sabrina’s phone rang. I heard her end of the conversation, which started out with a “really,” and then fell into a lot of “uh huhs” and “okays.”

  When she hung up, she said, “Wow. That was my agent. That lawyer who helped us after Lucas Holt was killed called him. Barbara Holt was murdered last night. He thought we might want to know.”

  “Holy crap, can anyone related to this case stay alive? How did she die?”

  “Her skull was smashed in. The murder weapon wasn’t found, so they have no idea as yet who did it.”

  “What about Jackson? He would stand to inherit the business. He certainly doesn’t seem the type and I liked him, but he’d be the logical choice.”

  “He was out of state on a business trip when it happened.”

  “Well,” I said, “I hate to see anybody killed, but it couldn’t have happened to a more deserving person.”

  We had reached the apartment complex. I drove around a bit to get a feel for it and to see if there was anyone outside the building that Daisy had lived in, but there was no one.

  “There is something about an apartment complex,” said Sabrina. “I lived in one early in my marriage. People aren’t always very sociable. If it was a condo complex, it might be different because those people own their units, but people in apartments tend to keep to themselves.”

  Seeing no one around, we found the office. There was a lone woman sitting at a computer when we walked in. She smiled pleasantly and asked if she could help us.

  “I hope so,” replied Sabrina. “My name is Sabrina Spencer. I’m an author doing a story on someone who lived here a little over twenty years ago. After he left here, he moved east and was murdered a short time later. His murder, and all of the collateral damage, has become quite a story. I know that it is rare for people to stay in an apartment complex that long, but we were hoping that there might be someone in his building who has been here that long and might remember him.”

  “Sabrina Spencer,” said the woman. “The name sounds familiar.”

  “I’ve been in the news a couple of times.”

  “Oh, okay. I have nothing much to do at the moment, so I’d be happy to help. If I do find someone, I couldn’t just give you their name, but I could call them and ask if it’s okay to send you over.”

  “That would be great,” said Sabrina. “I’d really appreciate it.”

  “What building was he in?”

  “Seventeen.”

  She looked at a master list of residents by building and then typed each one into the computer to pull up their record. She was someone who couldn’t talk and work at the same time, so it was mighty quiet in there. She obviously couldn’t listen to music and work either. Twice, she got phone calls. Each time the computer was abandoned while she talked, and then she would go back to it after hanging up. Twenty very long minutes later she had an answer for us.

  “Believe it or not, there are two residents in that building who have been there since the place was built thirty years ago. Let me try calling them.”

  The first person wasn’t home and the woman didn’t leave a message. She struck pay dirt with the second one though.

  “James Stanton lives in unit 1709. He said he’d be happy to talk to you.”

  We thanked her and headed over to Building 17.

  James Stanton turned out to be a friendly guy in his mid-sixties. Extremely overweight with a sallow complexion, I didn’t get the feeling he made use of the complex’s gym. But he was happy to see us, so that was all that mattered. He invited us into his apartment. It was clean and well-kept, but we
could see that the unit itself was not aging well. The kitchen floor was in serious need of replacing and there was peeling paint in many of the corners. But all things considered, it was as clean as he could make it.

  He had bookcases against almost every wall and had pulled three hardcover books from the stacks and had placed them on the coffee table in the living room. They were three of Sabrina’s books. A cute gesture.

  “You really are Sabrina Spencer, aren’t you? Wow, I’m honored.”

  “Thank you. And we really appreciate you talking to us. This is Del Honeycutt.”

  We shook hands. It was nice meeting someone who didn’t see me as just an afterthought.

  “So how can I help you?”

  Sabrina started. “Twenty some-odd years ago, a couple lived in this building: Derek Boyer and his wife, Daisy Leduc. They had a little girl, too.”

  “I remember them well. Nice people. I was sorry to see them leave. I heard that Derek was murdered soon after leaving here. They said Daisy did it, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’d find that hard to believe. She wasn’t the type. She ended up going to prison, right?”

  “She did,” I answered. I told him the story.

  “Wow, I’m so sorry to hear that. What happened to their daughter?”

  “She was raised by her grandparents,” said Sabrina. “She lives in Wisconsin and has a couple of children. She seems to be doing okay.”

  “That’s good to hear. So what can I tell you?”

  “Anything you can remember about them,” said Sabrina. “We’re just trying to get a complete picture.

  “Well, as I said, a nice couple. They seemed really happy, at least up until they announced they were going to move. That wasn’t a happy time. I remember Daisy crying a lot. She didn’t want to leave here.”

  “Did they argue a lot?”

  “Before he got the job offer? Not at all. After? All the time. They had the unit above me, so I heard a lot more than I wanted to. She couldn’t understand why they had to move. She said she liked it out here and she didn’t want to move back east. He said that at three times the salary he was making here they could afford so much more. A couple of times when Derek was at work, she’d stop by for a cup of coffee and just spill her guts. She was a sweet girl. I’ve been on disability since I was in my thirties, so I was usually home. Daisy was scared to go back. It wasn’t just a case of her liking it better here. She was really scared.”

  “Did she tell you why?” I asked.

  “Nope. And trust me, I tried to get it from her. It must’ve been something really big, though. I get the feeling she was holding something back from Derek. I think there was a reason she didn’t want to go east that she didn’t want to tell him. Who doesn’t share something that big with her husband? Maybe she had a secret past life that he didn’t know about.”

  “She did,” said Sabrina. “I can’t tell you what yet, but you are on the right track.”

  “Well then, that’s the funny thing,” said James. “Because about a week before they were supposed to leave, she suddenly changed her mind and was anxious to move. It was the same time a friend of hers was murdered around here. That kind of thing could scare anyone, but this was different. It was almost like a warning to her.”

  “Did she say that?” I asked.

  “Not in so many words. But she started talking differently, like saying that she ‘had’ to go, that she didn’t have a choice, which was in direct contrast to some of the things I had heard her telling Derek earlier, when she threatened to stay here if he moved. No, something happened to her. Up until talk of the move, she was a happy person. From that point on, it was like her life had just ended.”

  We stayed a while longer just to talk. James had lots of questions about Sabrina’s books and we felt we owed it to him to stay a bit. Besides, he was a nice guy. We had a nice time chatting.

  We left about an hour later and were on the soonest flight home, finally ready for a bit of down time.

  Chapter 29

  “I don’t believe that a serial killer just stops killing,” said Sabrina.

  We were sitting at my kitchen table with Mo three days later. I had just spent two of those days back at work compiling research for the book. Sabrina had done five phone and television interviews in two days, promotion for her new novel’s publication. It was a compromise she had made with her publisher. They wouldn’t insist she do a book tour if she would be willing to do some interviews. We talked it over and had decided that one-on-one interviews were fairly benign. No adoring fans, autograph seekers, or obsessed stalkers. In an interview, she could talk about her writing with the enthusiasm that so consumed her.

  With all that was going on, her comment came out of the blue.

  “Huh?” A man of few words.

  “Jackson said that sometimes they just stop killing. I don’t believe it.”

  “No way,” said Mo. “Wackos like that don’t stop.”

  “So assuming Lucas Holt was The Taunting Man,” I said, “why did the murders stop?”

  “I don’t know,” answered Sabrina.

  “They moved,” said Mo.

  “Huh?”

  “Golly, you have a great vocabulary,” said Mo. “What I mean is that maybe he just moved his base of operations.”

  “He would probably have to change his method, too,” said Sabrina. “Otherwise, people would pick up on the fact that he moved.”

  “I don’t want to throw water on your theory,” I said, “but Lucas didn’t move.”

  “Business trips,” said Mo.

  “Of course,” said Sabrina.

  Maybe I was a little denser than the other two, so I asked Mo to explain. She looked at me as if I was an idiot.

  “You need to ask your friend Jackson about his father’s travels. He was the owner of a successful coal mining operation. He had to go on business trips. Find out if there is a record of the trips he took. If so, cross reference them with murders in those cities at the same time. He might have changed his M.O. from the Pittsburgh murders, but I would bet he didn’t change them each time. He probably just developed a new M.O. If there are similar murders in different cities, you have your proof.”

  “Mo, you’re brilliant,” I said. “Why didn’t I think of that?”

  “Because I’m brilliant and you’re not?” She stood up, giving me a playful smack on the arm. “I have school in the morning. You two have a good night.”

  After Mo left, Sabrina said, “That really was a smart suggestion. Do you think it’s true?”

  I was rubbing my arm where Mo had hit me. “I agree with you that a serial killer doesn’t just stop, so yeah, I think it’s a good possibility. We can call Jackson in the morning.”

  “What should we do for the rest of the night?” Sabrina’s hand was moving up my leg.

  “I can’t imagine.”

  *****

  “He was on the road a lot. Why do you ask?”

  We had slept late, seeing as how we didn’t get to sleep until the wee hours of the morning, so I didn’t get in touch with Jackson until almost noon.

  “Not to disagree with your theory, but we’re not convinced that he just stopped killing. We’re thinking that he continued his murderous ways in other cities.”

  “Huh, I never considered that. Give me a few hours. I think I know where his business travel records would be. These would be all pre-computer, so I’ll take pictures of them and text them to you.”

  After I hung up, I said to Sabrina. “So how do we do this?”

  “I guess we just Google the city, date, and the word ‘murder’ and see what comes up.”

  A few hours later, the texts started rolling in—forty-two in all—each text being a photo of a ledger page. We found the closest date after Lucinda’s death and went from there. Lucas did a lot of traveling for an owner. He had meetings all over the country. Some were obviously trade shows, but the bulk of them seemed to be private business meetings. Almost ever
y major city was involved, some multiple times.

  “Wow, this is going to take forever,” said Sabrina.

  “Maybe not,” I said. “It seems to me that he’d be less likely to kill someone in an unfamiliar place. He’d have to know the area well enough to find the right spot and to know how to escape if he is seen. So I suggest we look at the cities he visited more than once, preferably more than twice.”

  She liked my idea, so we each took three cities and put my plan to work. We ignored the first visit to each city and started with the second. We worked quietly for almost an hour before I hit upon something. Coinciding with Lucas’s third visit to St. Louis, I found a news item about a woman who was found in a dumpster. She had been raped and strangled.

  “I found one,” I said, reading Sabrina the news item. “He visited St. Louis five times. I’ll see if anything else shows up in his last two visits.”

  Nothing happened during his fourth visit, but during his fifth, three years after his third, another woman was found dead. She had also been raped and strangled.

  “That’s pretty damning evidence,” said Sabrina, “and it gives me hope that I will find something.”

  It took well into the evening, but we found another piece of evidence. A year before the second St. Louis killing, a young woman was found raped and strangled in a suburb of Seattle.

  “I’m sure there are a lot more, but that’s three. Three women dying under similar circumstances in cities that Lucas Holt was visiting. I’m convinced,” I said. “Now the question is, what do we do with the information? Jackson said he didn’t want to go to the police until we had proven that his father was The Taunting Man. Is this enough proof?”

  “Maybe. Maybe not,” Sabrina answered. “The bigger question for me is, how does this help us solve Daisy’s murder?”

  Chapter 30

  When Sabrina’s phone rang the next morning, she had no problem picking it up. It was her agent. She was in the middle of typing, so she put it on speaker.