It was around my third year at Harvard that the Clover Mine had its accident. Other than it being a sad situation and the fact that it was near my parents’ mine, it concerned me little. I read all the stories about ‘brave’ Senator Wheeler, who took on all the powers that be to make sure the families of the dead miners got compensated quickly.
As it turns out, my father had approached Wheeler for his help in making it go away. Wheeler was more than happy to … for a price. My father and Wheeler had known each other as children and had often done things for each other anonymously. But this was a big request and Wheeler knew he had my father over a barrel. Of course, had the situation been reversed, my father would have done the same to Wheeler.
Wheeler, I think, suspected that my father had been involved in some kind of industrial espionage and was directly responsible for the disaster, which was why he wanted it cleared up quickly. In fact, my father had nothing to do with it. He was just the one who had to clean up the mess. Anyway, Wheeler became rich with my father funneling money into Wheeler’s secret offshore account in the Cayman Islands or some such place.
I found out about the story quite by accident. I heard my parents talking about it when I was home for summer break right before my senior year. I approached my father about it and he became incensed. He threatened to pull me out of college if I ever said anything to anyone. I was so close to finishing and I had plans to go on to graduate school. “Besides,” he said, “You don’t know the situation, so you can’t judge.” I didn’t learn the full story until later.
Despite being burdened with the knowledge of what my father did, I managed to enjoy the rest of my time at Harvard … for a while. I had close to a 4.0 GPA and was planning my future. My best friend and confidante my whole life, my older brother Jackson, often visited and we did many things together. He was timid around others, so I tried to bring him out of his shell. Ha! If I had only known then.
Despite knowing what I knew about my father’s actions, it was really about six months before graduation when my life exploded. Another woman had been killed by the serial killer and I was freaking out. It was a teacher’s assistant from one of my classes. Finally, one of the murders had hit close to home and I was ready to quit school and go back to Pennsylvania. Many other students were ready to leave. My roommate had gone home for a few days, so it was just me in the apartment. Jackson happened to be in town and offered to spend the night in my apartment, which I gladly accepted.
It turned out to be a weird experience. I was pretty upset and Jackson was doing his best to talk me down. In the process, he assured me that I would never be a victim of The Taunting Man. At the time I just took it as his efforts to calm me, but after he left the next day, I thought back to his visit and I realized that for the first time in my life, I had been uncomfortable with him. Some of the things he had said were just strange. In the middle of the night I woke up sweating. It had dawned on me that Jackson himself might be the serial killer. I didn’t want to believe it, but my gut was telling me to investigate it.
I looked back at the calendar for the days that Jackson had been in town to visit me. Then I checked the news articles to see when the women were killed. All of the murders happened when he was in town. Not one woman was killed when Jackson was gone. It sent shivers down my spine. I didn’t tell my roommate. I didn’t want to put her in any danger.
I finally confronted my brother about my suspicions. At first he denied it, calling me foolish. But he finally admitted it. Despite all that he had done and all that he had become, we had spent a lifetime as best friends. It would have been impossible for him to keep it from me forever. I don’t know if he thought I would understand and would forgive him, or … or what? I don’t know. But he went into detail about what he had done to those women—details that I won’t repeat here. I was horrified. He also told me the story of the Clover Mine. It was Jackson who caused the disaster. Supposedly he had some kind of hideout at the Clover Mine. I don’t know where—you’d have to find it. It couldn’t have been anywhere close to where the mine workers would be on a daily basis, so it was probably in the back of the mountain someplace. Evidently, he was in this hideout one day when a miner stumbled upon it. Jackson said an old abandoned offshoot of the mine ran past his hideout. The miner must have been investigating it for some reason. He became suspicious of Jackson’s presence and Jackson killed him. To hear Jackson tell it, the whole thing was surreal. My head was spinning. He killed this person without giving it a second thought. He then had to cover it up. There was no way he could get the dead man back to the area where the other miners were and create a disaster, so he decided to blow the mine and hope that they would assume that the man he killed was one of the victims.
He knew his way around the mine and how to get to the main area from where he was. He also knew what he had to do to create a cave-in, and so he did it. Just like that. He was able to do it quickly—that same day. He used the mine’s own equipment and made it look like the equipment was faulty. The man he killed was the one miner whose body they never found.
He was smart enough to know that if the authorities dug into it too far, they would detect the foul play. Eventually, somehow, there might be a way for them to link it to him—fingerprints or something. That’s when he confessed it to my parents. There was no way they were going to turn him in. Knowing them, it was because of the effect it would have on their business, not out of any love for Jackson. So that’s when my father approached Wheeler. The investigation turned into a joke because of him, and the Mine Safety Board and other government agencies were livid that Wheeler was interfering, but the public was on Wheeler’s side. He was the crusading senator, working for the victims.
I knew that my parents could be corrupt, but to learn all this about my brother was devastating for me. That was when our relationship ended.
I told him that he was sick and that he had to turn himself in, which he laughed at. When I told him that I would go to the police, I saw a side of him I had never seen before—cruel and uncaring. At first he said that it would destroy the family business and our parents if it ever came out. When I told him I didn’t care, he threatened to kill my roommate. I thought that I could go with her to the police and she’d be safe from him, but he must have been reading my mind. He said that he’d never be caught and Karen would never be safe. He also said that although he didn’t want to, if he had to, he would kill me.
I knew I had to get away. It would be the only way that Karen and I would be safe. He would have no reason to kill her as long as I didn’t report him to the police.
So I spent a couple of weeks planning my escape and when the time was right, I just left. I didn’t tell anyone I was leaving. I took nothing with me, but my driver’s license and some cash. I skipped out in the dead of night and hopped on a bus heading west. From one of the stops I mailed a letter to the newspaper in my best Taunting Man impression, saying that I was dead. They would never find a body, but I didn’t care. I just kept taking different busses, finally ending up in Phoenix. I changed my name, got a job, and started a fresh life. My old life was over. All of the dreams I’d had were gone. Harvard was only a memory. I did everything possible to erase my old life, and I thought I had. But it would come back to haunt me in a few years.
You might be wondering why I didn’t make an anonymous call to the police and turn him in once I had escaped. Two reasons: the first was that he had told me that if I ever turned him in, he had things in place to assure that Karen and I would be murdered. Whether that was true or not, I don’t know. Probably not, but would you take the chance? So I left him a note and said that as long as Karen was left alone, I would never report him to the police. It was sort of a stand-off. He threatened me and I threatened him. I knew it would work. Besides, in the years after I left, no more bodies were found, so I assumed he had stopped.
Eventually, after a few years of establishing myself as Daisy Leduc, I met a man. We fell in love and married. Soon after, I
got pregnant with Veronica and when she was born, I once again felt happy. I hadn’t forgotten my old life and was always aware that Jackson could appear again. I didn’t tell my husband anything about my life, and instead, made up a story of growing up in foster homes. I told him that I didn’t want to ever have to think about that life. He respected that and never asked me questions. I felt horrible about lying to him, but I knew I had to.
I kept tabs on the story of The Taunting Man in the newspaper. My “murder” was his last. I was hoping that he had died or had been committed to a mental hospital. I never contacted my parents. Technically, I was an heir to their fortune, but I knew that I’d never see it. I’m hoping that when this is all over, Veronica and her children will get what’s coming to them financially as family members.
My second chance at a normal life ended when I was in my early thirties. My husband’s job was okay, but nothing special. Out of the blue, he was offered a job in Philadelphia for triple the salary. He was so excited about it and accepted the job before even telling me. He wanted to surprise me. He couldn’t understand it when I started to cry and I told him that I didn’t want to move to Philadelphia. I was terrified of moving so close to where I grew up. Even though it was the other side of the state, it was way too close for comfort. I made up the story that one of the foster homes was in Philadelphia. It led to many arguments and I finally gave in when a friend of mine in Phoenix, Darlene Muir, was murdered. I knew then for sure that Jackson had found me. I stopped arguing with Derek and accepted the move. It hurt our marriage, but it didn’t matter. In a matter of months, Derek was dead and I was indicted for his murder.
I won’t discuss anything about that here. If you are really curious, you can look it up. Needless to say, I had nothing to do with his death, except being born in the wrong family. I know that it was Jackson. I know that he found me in Phoenix and he was sending me a message. A day before Derek was killed, I found a newspaper article taped to my steering wheel. It was from a few months before about Darlene’s murder in Phoenix. It was a confirmation that he was responsible. At the top of the article were the words, “Silence = life for Veronica.” The next day, Derek was killed. The message was clear. If I implicated my brother, he would kill Veronica. Even if I had the police guard her I knew she would never be safe. The police would never find him and eventually Veronica would be vulnerable again. And then she would be dead.
There was the melodrama again, but I didn’t say anything to Sabrina. This was one of the saddest stories I had ever heard. Sabrina had taken a moment to catch her breath. I looked down at the wounded guy. He seemed to have passed out. Sabrina started reading again.
I never told anyone this story and Jackson has kept his end of the bargain. Veronica and her children are still alive and living in Wisconsin. Of course, he knows that if he did harm my daughter, I would give him up in a second.
So, if you are reading this, Sabrina, it means that he finally got to me. Why? I don’t know. Maybe when I was stuck in prison he knew where I was at all times and I’m a little bit more dangerous now that I have the ability to roam. I still never would have given him up, but maybe he couldn’t trust that. I do know that after Boston, he kept up his murderous ways. I did some research at the library on the computer—yes, I finally learned—and found unsolved murders all over the U.S. The police hadn’t tied them all together, but I did. Even though it was a different M.O. than he had used in Boston, I knew it was Jackson. Not all of them, of course, but a lot of them.
He has to be stopped. Maybe now that I’m dead, he won’t go after my daughter. Wheeler has to be exposed, as do my parents. Too many wrongs happened that have to be corrected. Can you take this story to the authorities? They would believe you. Sabrina, I never asked you for anything in prison, but I saved your ass a dozen times. But I’m not looking for payback from you. I’m asking as a friend. Please make this right.
Chapter 38
“A friend?” I asked.
Sabrina shrugged. “Maybe she really wanted a friend but couldn’t let her guard down. She probably saw me as her equal, intelligence-wise and maybe in her own way thought of me as a friend. She’s telling the truth, though, about saving my life. In those early days of my incarceration, she saved me from getting beaten up or killed numerous times.”
I looked down the dark tunnel. “Are you sure your agent would have sent someone? Maybe he went out of town.”
“His phone is attached to his ear, even when he’s away, and I’m a bit of a cash cow for him, so yes, I’m sure he did. If we didn’t have this wounded guy, we could keep on walking and maybe find our way out, but we can’t leave him.”
I looked down at the guy. He was awake now and watching us. His wounds didn’t seem to be life-threatening, but it was cold and damp in the mine—not very conducive to one’s health.
“I say we give it two hours,” I said. “If we haven’t seen anyone in that time, I suggest we head out. Knuckles here can chance it and hope he doesn’t die in the meantime.”
The guy glared at me menacingly without saying a word. I ignored him.
We hunkered down. Sabrina put her head on my shoulder and dozed. I might have slept as well, but if it was, it was a light sleep. I was too aware of the wounded man. About an hour and a half later we heard noise coming from the tunnel toward the front of the mine. We listened and finally we heard Sabrina’s name being called. We yelled back and a few minutes later saw light coming from close to a dozen flashlights.
“Over here,” I called out.
As they got closer, one of the flashlight beams caught the dead shooter lying in the tunnel.
“Holy shit,” came the voice behind the flashlight.
“Careful,” I said. “Don’t trip over the dead guy.”
They were members of the State Police, some local police, and a couple of paramedics.
“Sabrina Spencer?” asked one of the troopers.
“Yes,” she said. “Thank you for coming and finding us.” She motioned to me. “Del had some rocks fall on his leg. I know it’s pretty painful.”
One of the paramedics came over to me.
“And this guy is wounded,” I said, pointing to our prisoner. “Not that he’s worth anyone’s time.”
“What’s going on?” asked the same trooper, obviously the man in charge.
“A really long story,” answered Sabrina. “But the short version for now is that these two men were sent to kill us because we were in the process of uncovering some information on their boss, who’s name I’ll tell you in a minute. Down the tunnel—although it’ll be easier to get to from the outside. We can show you where—is the body of a man by the name of Jackson Holt.”
“Of the Holt family that owns the Western Penn Mining Company? “ asked one of the other officers.
“The one and the same. He was also a serial killer. He was The Taunting Man who terrorized Boston many years ago. But we found evidence that proved he continued killing women all over the United States. His most recent victim was a woman in Texas by the name of Daisy Leduc, who was also his sister.”
They looked confused.
“We can give you the whole story when we get out of here,” I said. “It’s going to take a while.”
“Meanwhile,” added Sabrina, “maybe this man will tell you who paid him and his friend to kill us.” She looked down at him. He shook his head.
“Judges usually look favorably on people who confess,” said the trooper.
“Aw shit,” said the wounded man. “Senator Wheeler.”
“John Wheeler? No way.”
“It was,” I said.
“Well, we can’t just pick him up. We’ll have to wait until we get your story.”
It took a while, but eventually we made it to the surface. At first inspection, my leg was determined to have a deep bone bruise. The paramedic wrapped it to give it support, enough to allow me to walk under my own power. The wounded man wasn’t in such good shape. He had lost a lot of blood, and owed
Sabrina serious thanks for the pressure bandage she had contrived. The paramedics had to use a portable stretcher to carry him out into the fresh air. When we reached the outside, it was still dark and the cool night air felt good in our lungs. We were transported to the local State Police barracks. They were nice enough to bring us some food and bottles of water before taking our story. The sustenance was appreciated, because we knew it was going to be a long day.
Finally they brought us to a semi-comfortable room and we related our adventure.
*****
We finished our story around noon. While we were talking, some troopers went to the cave opening through which we had entered the previous day and they found the body of Jackson, as well as the remaining trophies Sabrina hadn’t scooped up the night before.
Our prisoner was convinced to open up and since he had already admitted being hired by Wheeler, he was able to blame everything on the senator. As expected, he blamed his dead partner for all of the deaths, which included Bob in Phoenix. The troopers let us sit in on the interrogation in the hopes that we could provide questions. They were still a bit confused about it all.
One question I had for them was why they weren’t able to find more opportunities to kill us. It turned out that we had done so much traveling, they were always trying to keep up. However, the shocking part was that the attack on us on the highway in Texas was a case of mistaken identity. We weren’t the targets at all. At that point in time, Wheeler didn’t know anything about us. It wasn’t until we visited him the first time and revealed what we knew about Daisy that he realized he had two couples that he had to eliminate. The Texas attack was meant for Brenda and Bob, the detectives. By having people keep an eye on the Holts, he learned of the safe deposit box. His men were supposed to kill Brenda and Bob and steal the contents of the box. They just got confused when a second couple entered the picture and they ended up following the wrong ones. The man in the stairs in East Boston was one of Wheeler’s hires, and after the man’s death the others realized they had to be a little more careful.
Fatal Lies ( Lies Mystery Thriller Series Book 2) Page 20
