The Next Victim

by Jonnie Jacobs

  She was in luck. Seated behind the checkout counter, Joanna looked up when Kali approached. Blankly at first, then a flicker of recognition, but it was clear she couldn’t place Kali.

  “Hi, Joanna. I’m the attorney who spoke with you last week about Olivia. You recognized one of the girls in the photo. You said her name was Crystal.”

  “Right. Sorry I didn’t place you right away.”

  “Don’t worry about it. I was just wondering if you’d seen her around campus lately.”

  “No. I’m pretty sure she’s not a student.” Joanna scooted her chair sideways to scan a book for a student.

  “I’d like to talk to her, so if you run into her would you let me know? See if you can get her phone number or something. From what I hear, she may have cut her hair and bleached it, so she probably looks different.”

  “Is she, like, a suspect or a witness or something?”

  “Not that I know of. But it’s important I talk to her.” Kali gave Joanna her cell number, then reluctantly left the air-conditioned cool of the library for the walk back to her car in the blistering afternoon heat.

  The day had been a waste of time. She was spinning her wheels, getting nowhere. If it weren’t for the damn lawsuit, she’d pack up and go home.

  I’m sorry, John. Sorry I wasn’t there when you needed me. Sorry I’m failing you once again.

  On her way to the house, Kali stopped at an office supply store to pick up folders and paper, and then she spent the remainder of the afternoon getting organized and drafting a response to the wrongful death complaint.

  When she was done, she wandered into the kitchen and fixed herself a cheese sandwich, which she ate in front of a home makeover show on television. But she couldn’t keep her mind on the program. Finally, she turned it off, got a clean sheet of paper, and drew a grid. Once again, she was back to thinking with pen and paper.

  John and the three young women—Olivia, Hayley, and Crystal. There was clearly a connection. Kali had started out assuming the bridge was Olivia because John had been accused of her murder. But it was no longer that simple.

  She entered into the grid the various bits of information that tied one of the four to another. John had hired Doug Simon to gather information on Crystal’s parents. Hayley’s wallet had contained the phone number for Logan Foods, and John had gone to the Crazy Coyote to ask about her, so he knew where she worked. Olivia and Hayley were both involved in the adult entertainment field. Another link. Kali drew a line between the names, then put a question mark next to Crystal’s name. Crystal had moved in with Hayley, at least temporarily. Kali drew a dotted line between those two names. And the photo, of course. Whatever the connections, the three girls had clearly known one another.

  Hayley and Olivia had been murdered. Kali tapped her pen against the paper. John had hired Doug Simon two days after Olivia’s death. That couldn’t be a coincidence. Had he suspected Crystal’s parents of the crime? Or Crystal herself?

  There was evidence suggesting John’s having been at Sloane’s the night of the murders. Why was he there? Might he have gone to see Olivia rather than Sloane?

  Even with the benefit of pen and paper, Kali’s mind was spinning. It was like trying to grab hold of smoke. Every time she tried to pin down a thought, it drifted out of reach.

  She leaned back on the couch and rested her feet on the coffee table. How did Crystal figure into things? Potential victim, killer, or simply the only person on Kali’s grid who might still be alive? Any way you looked at it, Crystal was the key to understanding what had happened.

  Tony claimed not to have recognized Crystal, but Kali felt certain he’d known Hayley, even though he denied it. He might not be telling the truth about Crystal, either. At the very least, he’d known two of Crystal’s friends.

  Kali pawed around in her purse until she found the gas receipt on which Tony had written his name and phone number. She stared at it for a minute while she sorted out what was familiar about the loose round lettering and the loopy y with eyes and a mouth.

  Then it came to her: Tony’s was the handwriting she’d seen in the inscription of Olivia’s and Hayley’s books of poetry.

  Chapter 40

  Deena gave Erling the cold shoulder when he arrived home from work. Walked right past him as if he weren’t there. He’d brought flowers, but when he handed them to her, she set them on the kitchen counter, not even placing them in water. She opened the cupboard and reached for the package of chocolate chip cookies.

  “Can we talk about this, Deena?”

  “What’s to talk about?” She took out a cookie, resealed the package, and put it back.

  “Us. Me. How sorry I am.”

  She regarded him coolly for a moment. “Truthfully, I don’t know. But definitely not yet. I’m not ready for it.”

  “So what are we going to do—walk around like zombies passing in the night?”

  “You could move out.”

  She’d said it so calmly it took a moment before the words registered. When they did, Erling’s heart thudded to a stop. “Is that what you want?”

  Deena turned her back on him. She closed the cupboard door.

  “It’s not what I want,” Erling said emphatically. His arms hung awkwardly at his sides, but he was afraid that if he touched her, it would only make her angrier. “What I want is for you to give me a chance to show you how much I love you. I want to make our marriage work.”

  Her back was still to him but he could see her wipe away a tear with the back of her hand. “Fine, suit yourself.” Her tone was sharp, but underneath, Erling heard the cottony timbre of choked tears. “You usually do anyway.”

  With that, she left the room.

  Give it time, Erling told himself. She’s hurt and angry. With good reason. He unwrapped the flowers and put them in a jar of water to keep them from wilting.

  Then he wandered down the hall and knocked on the door to Mindy’s room. He wasn’t sure what, if anything, Deena had told her, and he wanted to offer his own regrets and assurances to the mix. Maybe he was even looking for a little reassurance in return. Erling was beginning to realize just how much of a mess he’d made of everything. He couldn’t bear the thought of his daughter’s rejection on top of everything else.

  Mindy wasn’t home yet. As he stood at the doorway, it struck him that his daughter’s room was no longer that of a little girl. He knew the changes had come gradually. He’d even helped make many of them—painting over the Disney border on the wall, assembling the new double bed with its maple headboard, hanging the metal-framed full-length mirror. But he’d never really stepped back and thought about what it all meant. As Deena occasionally reminded him, Mindy was no longer a child, but a young woman. Her parents weren’t the center of her world anymore.

  Moving inside, Erling caught a whiff of vanilla from the scented candles atop the bookshelf. He marveled at the clutter of cosmetics in an acrylic tray on the dresser. Did Mindy really wear all that stuff? Next to the tray was a framed family photo—one he knew well. It had been taken only months before Danny’s death. A wave of emotion rolled over him, causing his throat to grow tight and his eyes to sting. It wasn’t just Danny. It was everything. What had he done? Was he going to lose everything he held dear?

  The book of love poems Deena had told him about was on the table near Mindy’s bed. Erling picked it up. He crossed the room to the light and opened the flap. And felt as though the air had been sucked from his lungs.

  Mindy,

  There are hundreds of languages in the world, but a smile speaks them all. And yours speaks to me. Because of your smile, you make life more beautiful.

  The signature under the inscription was illegible but penned with a flourish. The last letter had a sweeping bottom loop embellished with two eyes and a smile.

  The same quote and the same handwriting he’d seen in the other books.

  Hayley. Olivia. And now his daughter.

  All three about the same age. All with identical
books inscribed in an identical manner.

  And two of the girls had been murdered.

  Erling tore through the house looking for Deena. He found her in the den reading, the wireless earphones she’d given him for Christmas two years earlier insulating her from the disruption he’d created in the ordered rhythm of her life. She looked up briefly, then went back to her book.

  “Deena, I need to talk to you. It’s important.”

  She ignored him.

  “It’s about Mindy.”

  Deena slid the earphones back behind her ears. “She’s out with friends.”

  “This book”—Erling thrust the volume in front of Deena’s face—”where’d she get it?”

  “What are you doing going through her room?” Deena’s words were sharp.

  “Who gave it to her?”

  “I don’t think that’s any of our business. And you have no right—”

  “That guy you said she was seeing. Did he give it to her?”

  Deena rolled her eyes. “She’s nineteen years old, for God’s sake. She’s entitled to have boyfriends. Besides, the protective daddy’s-little-girl act is a bit dated.”

  Erling sat down next to Deena. “Honey, listen to me. This isn’t about her having a boyfriend.” Though the very thought of his daughter with this boy—the same boy Olivia and Hayley had known—turned his blood to ice. “It’s that this book of poems—it’s inscribed the same way . . . Each of the two murdered girls had one just like it.”

  Deena stared at him. The color drained from her face. She ripped the earphones from her head. “Is this some sick joke of yours to get back at me for being angry?”

  “You think I’d do that?” Erling was appalled.

  “I never thought you’d cheat on me, either.”

  “It’s not a joke. Now tell me what you know about this guy of hers.”

  “Nothing.”

  “Nothing?”

  Deena hugged her chest. “You must be mistaken.”

  “I hope I am.”

  “You think the boy who gave Mindy this book . . . you think he killed those other girls?”

  “It’s possible.” Erling had to remind himself to breathe. “Is that who she’s with tonight?”

  “Friends is all she said. Oh, God, what are we going to do?”

  “I’m going to call her cell phone.”

  He went to the desk, picked up the phone, and punched in Mindy’s number. It rang five times, then went to voice mail. He left a message: “Hi, it’s Dad. Call me as soon as you get this. It’s urgent.”

  He paced back and forth across the room until it became clear that Mindy wasn’t going to call right back. Then he expanded his pacing route to include the entire house. He tried to settle into one spot, to finish the newspaper, to make himself a bite to eat, but whenever he stopped moving, the pressure inside him built until he thought he might explode.

  Deena stayed frozen on the couch in the den. She was so still Erling checked now and then to make sure she was still breathing.

  At ten past eleven, Mindy’s car pulled up in front of the house, and a few minutes later she burst through the door. She looked startled to see both parents hovering in the entryway.

  “What are you guys doing up? Aren’t you usually in bed by now?”

  “Who were you with tonight?” Erling demanded.

  Mindy pulled back. “A friend.”

  “A boy?”

  “What’s this, the Inquisition?” She looked to Deena. “I told you I’d be late.”

  “It’s not that you’re late, sweetie. Your dad is worried—we’re both worried—about this boy you’ve taken an interest in.”

  “You’re what? I can’t fucking believe this. What are you doing—spying on me?”

  “Watch your language/’ Deena said.

  Erling showed his daughter the book. “Did he give this to you?”

  Mindy snatched it from his hands. “What were you doing in my room? Why are you snooping through my personal stuff?”

  Erling’s approach was all wrong. He knew that, but he couldn’t help himself. He sounded angry and accusatory when what he really felt was the icy hand of fear mixed with relief that Mindy was home safe. He took a breath. “I wasn’t snooping,” he said. “The book was in plain view.”

  “In my room.”

  He stopped himself from responding In my house. “I looked in to say hello when I got home from work.”

  Rather than smooth the waters, he’d made things worse. “You looked in . . . and when you saw I wasn’t there you went right to my bedside table?” Her voice rose. “Or did you go through my drawers, too? The closet? Did you look under the mattress?”

  He gave up. “We’ve had two homicides in the last couple of weeks,” he told her, trying to stay calm. “Both girls about your age. They had copies of this same book with the same inscription and the same signature.”

  “So?” Mindy clutched the book to her chest. She was in defiant mode now. She was hardly going to give her parents the satisfaction of knowing they’d gotten to her.

  “So who gave it to you?” Erling asked.

  “A boy I know.” Mindy’s mouth quivered. It was hard to tell which upset her more: learning her boyfriend made a habit of giving girls love poems, or her father’s warning that the boy might be a killer.

  “What’s his name?”

  “I can’t believe you’re doing this.”

  Deena spoke softly. “What’s his name, honey? It’s important.”

  She hesitated. “Tony.”

  “What about his last name?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You don’t know?” Deena looked aghast.

  “You’re dating a boy,” Erling asked, “and you don’t know his last name?”

  “I’m not dating him. We’re just friends.”

  “Where can I find him?”

  “You wouldn’t!” Mindy looked mortified. “Next time I see him I’ll ask him, okay? I’ll ask him about your dead . . . victims.” She stormed into her room and slammed the door.

  Chapter 41

  Kali hated to be a pest. It had been only forty-eight hours since she’d talked to Michelle Parker, but she wanted to find out what had happened with Detective Shafer and to pass along her discovery about the smiley face signature. Since she’d raised the issue of the poetry books to begin with, it seemed only fair to let the detectives know she’d been on the wrong track—that they were simply gifts from Olivia’s brother. She should tell Michelle about Hayley’s and Olivia’s involvement in the adult entertainment business too, but she was still hoping to figure out John’s role first.

  She finally made the call, bracing herself for a cool reception, even a straightforward “Bug off.” So she was surprised when Michelle Parker greeted her pleasantly.

  “You will be happy to know,” Michelle said, “that we’re taking a fresh look at the Winslow and Perez murders.”

  “There’s new information?”

  “Well, no . . . not specifically. Your brother remains our only real suspect, but there are a number of things we’re looking into.”

  Like the fact that the lead detective had been sleeping with the victim, Kali thought to herself. And now they were covering their tails by taking a “fresh look.” She wondered how much effort they were actually putting into it. Maybe she should have gone over their heads in the first place.

  “Did you talk to Detective Shafer? What did he say?”

  “That’s not something I can discuss with you. But I assure you the matter is being dealt with.” Michelle hesitated. “That’s part of the reason we’re taking another look.”

  “So he was involved with Sloane Winslow.”

  “One of the avenues we’re exploring,” Michelle continued, ignoring Kali’s comment, “is the possible connection between the murders of Olivia Perez and Hayley Hendrix. Don’t you think it’s odd that your brother knew one of Olivia’s friends?”

  “He knew where Hayley worked,” Kali pointe
d out. “That doesn’t mean he knew her.” Though silently she concurred that the connection between John and the girl was troublesome.

  “His phone number was in her wallet.”

  “It was the corporate number,” Kali said. “Hayley could have been in touch with Sloane Winslow.”

  “Your brother knew another friend, too,” Michelle noted. “Crystal Adams. He asked about her at the Crazy Coyote.”

  That wasn’t the half of it, Kali thought. “Of course he’d talk to people who knew Olivia,” she protested. “John knew you suspected him of murder. He was probably hoping one of her friends might have some idea who killed her.”

  “Why would he assume Olivia was the target, and not Sloane?”

  “We don’t know he assumed that,” Kali shot back. “Maybe he talked to Sloane’s friends, too.” Her duplicity was making her testy.

  How much easier it would be if she could simply tell the detectives what she knew. But she was afraid that if she did she might be putting a noose around John’s neck, so to speak. Carmen Escobar would love it. And Sabrina would never forgive her. Kali wasn’t sure she could forgive herself.

  “You’re missing the point,” Michelle said. “It’s not surprising John would know Sloane’s friends. They worked together, and he was a longtime friend of her brother Reed’s. In fact, John and Sloane dated at one time, didn’t they?”

  “Years ago.” Kali wondered briefly if the old flame had been rekindled. Sloane’s murder could have been the fallout of a current romance with John. Her ex-husband maybe, except the cops had cleared him. Or Susan Harris, the woman John had been dating.

  Or even Detective Erling Shafer.

  But Kali had seen no evidence of a renewed romance between John and Sloane. If anything, there were bad feelings between them.

  “Anyway,” Michelle added, “we’ve found nothing to indicate that John talked to Sloane’s friends after the murders.”

  “What about the murder of Hayley Hendrix? You must have some leads there.”