He checked his mail then climbed the stairs to his apartment, dropping the food on the counter and the case files onto the couch. He was already halfway through his roast beef and carrots when he took a break. After scanning through the mail, he tossed the junk into the trash. He opened his cell phone bill and skimmed through it, noting the calls made to and from Sarah’s phone.
He’d always paid her bill to make certain she had a means to call for help when she needed it. Two outgoing calls had been made to one number—one number he recognized. Several incoming calls had been received from that same number as recently as the day the bill was printed, three days prior. The calls ranged from ten to thirty minutes in length.
His gut clenched and he pushed away his food, losing his appetite.
Sarah was talking to Robert.
* * *
Jessica hung up the phone in her office exasperated and concerned. She’d phoned every hospital in the metro area and none listed Mrs. Brady as a patient. Of course, with HIPAA confidentiality she knew she might not be able to get information on her condition, but most hospitals gave you room numbers of admitted patients.
She tried Mr. Percy’s number instead. No answer. She tried several more times as she went about her morning, but by lunch, she’d grown worried. It wasn’t like him not to answer. What if something had happened to him? What if he’d fallen like Mrs. Brady? He didn’t have any family to come in and help him out.
She wanted to go over there and make certain he was okay. Perhaps she could locate Mrs. Brady’s nephew and find out which hospital he’d taken her to. For all she knew, her injury could have required admittance to a nursing facility or he could have brought her home by now to care for her there.
A wave of fear swept through her at the idea of going there alone. The memory of realizing Robert had been inside her house—and possibly run her off the road—stopped her. What if he was out there waiting for her to go off alone again?
You can’t stop true love.
She shuddered and reached for the phone once more. With only a few exceptions, she hadn’t left the shelter without Margo or Andrew going with her. She hated to bother Margo while she was on the job. With this new threat of an escaped convict in town, Margo was getting the opportunity to work with the FBI in tracking this escaped convict. While Jessica hoped the man didn’t harm anyone, she was glad for the bump it was giving Margo’s career.
She dialed Andrew’s number, annoyed when it went directly to voice mail. He only turned it off when he was in court, and she remembered him saying he had several arraignments to handle today.
She glanced at the time. He could be tied up in court for hours, and Jessica felt an urgency to make certain Mrs. Brady was safe. She should wait for him. She knew she should...but what if Mrs. Brady needed her?
She sighed, frustrated with his and Margo’s constant need to keep tabs on her. She only wanted to check on her neighbor. What harm could come from that? She grabbed her purse and went to find Mia.
“May I borrow your car again?”
Mia gave her a skeptical look but handed over the keys. “Where are you going?”
“I’m going home to check on my neighbors. I have a bad feeling. I’ll be back soon.”
Mia looked as if she wanted to stop her, but Jessica didn’t give her the opportunity. She marched out to the car and got in. She was tired of being treated like a victim. She wasn’t going to allow Robert to dictate her life any longer.
Jessica drove to her neighborhood and pulled into her own driveway. She walked across the street to Mr. Percy’s and knocked on the door. Several days of newspapers were piled up on the driveway indicating he hadn’t been out to get them. Had he fallen? Was he lying alone inside unable to get help?
She peeked through a window but couldn’t see him. She called his name and pounded on the door then listened for the sound of someone crying out. She heard nothing and the house was locked up tight.
She hated how her mind always went to the worst. But he’d taken Marlon. Shouldn’t she at least hear the little dog barking inside? Perhaps he was visiting Mrs. Brady. She stared at the house across the way. For several days? If he wasn’t there, she was calling 911 and having someone sent to check on him.
She walked across the street and headed up to Mrs. Brady’s house. The garage door was open, revealing her car still sitting in its parking space, but no other car was visible. What was this nephew of hers driving?
She knocked on the door and called out. No noise came from inside. She walked around to the back to check the sliding doors that led into the kitchen and gasped at what she saw. Mrs. Brady’s kitchen was always cluttered with baking pans and cooking utensils, but now it looked as if someone had been squatting there. Beer cans were stacked on the table and fast food bags and wrappers were scattered on the floor. She tried the door, finding it unlocked, and pushed it open. She was immediately assaulted by the stench of cigarette smoke. Mrs. Brady didn’t smoke.
Anger burned inside her as she realized Mrs. Brady’s nephew was trashing her home. What kind of way was that to take care of his aunt? She only hoped she wouldn’t find Mrs. Brady laid up in a filthy bed without being cared for. Her heart broke at the idea of what she might find. She needed to be in a hospital or a facility that could help her recuperate, not trapped inside her home while some distant nephew took her for everything she had.
Jessica walked back toward the bedrooms, calling her name. Movement at the corner of her eye startled her and she spun around but saw no one. “Hello?” she called. “It’s Jessica Taylor from next door. I didn’t mean to frighten anyone, but I wanted to check on Mrs. Brady.”
No response.
She glanced toward where she’d seen the movement, scanning the den for any proof of someone there. She knew she’d seen something, but no one was visible now.
She headed toward Mrs. Brady’s bedroom again, slowly pushed open the door and was assaulted by an overpowering stench. “Mrs. Brady. It’s Jessica from next door checking on you.” A figure lay unmoving on the king-size bed, covered head to toe with a blanket. “Mrs. Brady?” Fear ripped through Jessica. No one should be that still.
She reached for the blanket and pulled back the cover, stifling a scream that bubbled up inside her. It was Mrs. Brady, dead, her throat slashed and the stench of death surrounding her.
Her cell phone buzzed and she glanced at it. A text message appeared.
I’m coming for you next.
* * *
Jessica sat on her own porch steps and watched the activity taking place next door. The cops had arrived and encircled the house. Jessica trembled, remembering the frightened look frozen on Mrs. Brady’s face. She’d been so scared.
She heard a noise beneath her and glanced down to find Marlon once again taking refuge beneath her porch. How had he gotten free again? The dog shied away from her at first, but after she called to him he finally came. She scooped him up in her arms and petted him. What was he doing here? He was supposed to be with Mr. Percy...wherever he was. She glanced at the house next door. Mrs. Brady had been murdered. Had something happened to Mr. Percy, as well? Was Marlon hiding because he’d seen one or both of them killed? She checked him out, relieved to find him unharmed.
Andrew’s car screeched to a stop in front of her house and he jumped out and ran toward her. “I just heard. Are you okay?” He slipped his arm around her and she allowed it, welcomed it. She didn’t want to be alone right now.
“I found her. She was murdered. She looked so scared.”
“What have the police said? Is Margo over there?”
As if on cue, Margo appeared walking slowly toward them. Her expression indicated what she had to say wasn’t good. But then what good news could she bring? Mrs. Brady was dead and there was no changing that.
Andrew stood to face her. “What did you fin
d?”
“She was definitely murdered. We found what we think was the knife that slit her throat. The guy had the nerve to run it through the dishwasher and put it back into the set.”
“Do you know who did this? Was it the nephew?”
“We’ve canvassed the rest of the neighborhood. No one else has even heard that she had a nephew.”
“Mr. Percy said he’d met him. He described him to me—tall, dark hair. He said he reminded him of one of those slick used-car salesmen.”
“Well, Mr. Percy is MIA. I had a couple of uniforms break into his home and he’s definitely not there. One of the neighbors said she hadn’t seen him out and about in several days and she was getting worried. She was just about to call someone. We’ll check out the hospitals and see if he turns up. Right now, he’s our best shot at finding out what happened here.”
“You don’t think he’s...”
Margo sat down on the step beside her. “I don’t know what to think right now. Don’t worry. We’ll find him.” She took a deep breath then sighed. “There’s something else. We found a lot of surveillance equipment in the kitchen. Cameras and binoculars. Jessica, they were right in the window that overlooks your house.”
Andrew shook his head in disbelief. “I knew Robert was dangerous, but I never thought he would be capable of this. Murdering an old woman?”
“No,” Jessica said. “Something hasn’t felt right to me about all of this. This isn’t Robert’s style. This may be someone else.”
“Someone else stalking you? Any idea who it could be?”
“No. I just don’t think... I don’t believe this fits Robert’s style. From what I’ve learned from Sarah and the police reports, he’s much more physically aggressive.”
Andrew grimaced. “What’s more aggressive than killing someone? Besides, I’ve learned never to underestimate what someone is capable of. This was Robert. I feel it in my gut.”
Margo nodded her agreement. “Still, I’ll go back through our old files and see if there are any new players just released from prison that might want to torment you. Does any particular name come to mind?”
Mitch. This was definitely his style. But he was locked up two states away. She shrugged. “These guys all seem to play by the same book. Top Ten Ways to Terrorize your Girl.” She laughed even though it wasn’t funny then looked at Margo. “Adam Carey. He loved to play these mind games with Deb.”
“You think he’s doing this to get you to tell him where his wife is?”
“This guy could have killed me on several occasions when these pictures were snapped. He wants me to know he’s in control, that he can get to me whenever he wants. He probably is enjoying watching me squirm and so he keeps raising the stakes. He could also be trying to break me down so that when he finally does confront me, I’m too emotionally shattered to fight back.”
Margo nodded. “I’ll make a call to my buddy in the Jacksonville P.D. and ask him to drive by the safe house to make sure Deb is okay. We may need to move her to another location. I know you would never tell him where she is, but—”
“Better safe than sorry. And Margo, don’t tell me where you send her. I don’t want to be responsible for him getting to her.”
She nodded then returned to the crime scene next door.
Andrew stared at Jessica. “You do realize if it is him then he will probably kill you if you don’t tell him where his wife is.”
Chills rushed through her at the thought. Despite what Andrew must think, she didn’t want to become a target, but she couldn’t betray the trust anyone had placed in her. She clutched Marlon to her. “And if I do tell him, he will definitely kill her. I won’t let that happen.”
EIGHT
“We’re ready to start,” Mia said, interrupting the conversation Jessica and Margo were having in the hallway about what to do with Marlon. Margo had suggested the animal shelter, but Jessica was thinking about keeping him as a mascot for Dean’s Den.
“Thank you, Mia. Will you put Marlon back into his kennel in my office?” She held out the little dog but Mia backed away, her eyes wide and terrified.
“Do I really have to?”
“He’s just a little dog.”
In response, Marlon growled as Mia’s hands came near him, and his high-pitched yap made her turn and rush away.
Margo flashed her a look. “That girl is weird.”
“A lot of people are afraid of dogs. I’ll go put him up.”
She put Marlon into his carrier then locked it so he couldn’t escape. She arrived back in the common room as the women were finding their seats. Three times a week, a counselor came to lead a support group. Margo hardly ever missed a meeting.
She scanned the group. “Where’s Sarah?”
“She’s not ready.” Sarah had refused to join the group today, but Jessica was confident she would change her mind. Because domestic violence often occurred in the privacy of the home, few women had someone in their lives who understood what they were going through. Though with a group, Sarah would have a roomful of women who understood.
Margo turned her gaze toward Jessica and studied her. “What about you? Are you ready yet?”
Every now and then Margo asked her that question. Jessica’s reply was always the same. “No.”
Margo found a chair in the circle. Jessica stayed back by the door. It wasn’t fair to expect the others to open up about their painful ordeals when she never had, but her experiences with Mitch were buried so far inside her she was certain dredging them up again would be too emotional. Besides, Jessica could support these women much better with a clear head and detached emotions.
When it came time to share, Margo was the first to volunteer. “He was standing by the foot of my bed when I awoke.” Her voice trembled as she recalled the details of the night that had changed her life and sent her on the path toward police work and a desire to help the weak and wounded. “I couldn’t see his face because of the darkness. He was only a shadowy outline. At first, I didn’t think he was real. But when he grabbed me, I knew. He clamped his sweaty hand over my nose and mouth. I couldn’t scream. I couldn’t even breathe. He raped me in my own bed, in my own apartment. Then he was gone.
“He took everything from me. My sense of self, my peace of mind. I had a fiancé who couldn’t even touch me anymore without me reliving that night. I wasn’t safe in my own home. I had to move. My life was a mess. I had nowhere to turn.”
As Margo continued her story, several women hung their heads and sobbed. Jessica knew they could relate. They’d shared similar experiences although not with strangers.
“I was so ashamed. I joined the force believing if I was strong enough, no one would ever dare mess with me again. But I know now I wasn’t as strong as I believed. I wanted people to think I was tough, but the truth was that I was weak and afraid of losing control. Then an amazing thing happened...I lost control. I hit rock bottom, and with nowhere else to fall, I fell to my knees and asked God for help.
“Slowly but surely, He lifted me up. He poured out His love for me, and I soaked it up. I discovered I didn’t have the first clue about what it meant to be a strong woman. I didn’t understand it until I found the Lord.”
She turned and glanced back at Jessica, and Jessica felt a jolt. She’d listened to Margo’s story on several occasions, but today was different. Today, Margo seemed to be speaking directly to her, about her and her situation. Why was it she had never put those together before?
A tear slipped from her eye and she brushed it hastily away. No one could ever call Margo weak or burdened. She’d been victimized, but she certainly wasn’t a victim any longer. She’d overcome her trauma to the point where she could openly share about the ordeal while Jessica still couldn’t even tell her best friend what had happened. How did that make her strong?
She got up and left the room, leaning on the wall outside as more tears threatened to spill over. Voices from inside the room flowed out to her as other women began to speak up about their own experiences. Jessica longed to be inside that room, sitting in the circle and sharing with the group. Suddenly, all she wanted was to go back in time to when Margo asked her that question—was she ready to share?
She was ready.
But instead of stepping toward the door, she walked away from it. A thousand reasons why she shouldn’t suddenly flooded her. She had a position to uphold. She’d founded this shelter and this ministry. She couldn’t go backward, back to the time when she was the one who needed help. She was the one who was supposed to do the helping. Wasn’t that what God had called her to do?
She knew it was a reflex stemming from fear and uncertainty, but she couldn’t push through the maze of it all. Next time she would listen to her gut. Next time when Margo asked her that question she would quickly speak up. Next time she would be brave.
She hurried down the hall toward her office before the burning tears that pushed at her eyes finally broke through. She closed the door and let them flow.
Next time.
* * *
“The president of Westbrook College claims you’re stirring up trouble with one of his professors,” Bill said as he motioned Andrew into his office.
“I’m investigating the possibility that Shroud has assaulted other students.”
“And what have you found?”
“Three different police reports from the city police. They were called in by the hospital after each girl came into the ER with serious injuries. I want to subpoena the campus security reports for each one and possibly even their records to confirm they were in his classes.”
“Are any of these girls willing to testify against him?”
“No. The victims all refused to press charges. I’ve tried contacting each of them and they’re still not ready.”
No Safe Haven Page 11
