If It Walks Like A Killer (The Carolina Killer Files #1)

by Kiersten Modglin

  “And what was her mood like?”

  “She was happy, I guess. She was fixing breakfast for everyone.”

  “Did your wife ever give you any indication that she’d known about your affair?”

  “It wasn’t an affair, but no.”

  “Would she have told you?”

  “Of course she would have. Rachael is smart. If she’d even had a hint that this was going on, there’s no way she would’ve stayed. The morning she was arrested, we were having a fight about me letting my kids down. She was ready to leave me over that. There’s no way she would’ve stayed if she’d known about Blaire. My wife is a strong person. She is a good person. She’s the best person I know.” He looked at Rachael. “That’s how I know she couldn’t have done this. She’s amazing. She never pays our bills even a day late, she donates to homeless shelters and food pantries, she never forgets a birthday or an anniversary, and she’s always there for me. She is a good person. A good person did not kill Blaire. My wife did not kill Blaire.”

  Rachael smiled at him, briefly, but he’d seen it.

  “Mr. Abbott.” Avery stepped up to block his view of his wife. “I know you don’t want to believe your wife is capable of this, but the fact is that someone killed Blaire Underwood. Whoever that someone is, they had access to the office keys, just like you; they had a reason to want Miss Underwood out of the way, just like you; and they were at the office that night with her alone, just like you. It seems to me that someone knew you were with Miss Underwood alone that night, they knew you’d be the last to see her and they’d made sure all of your coworkers were there to attest to that. They also knew your specimen would be inside of the victim. They knew you’d been fighting with Miss Underwood. They knew once news of the affair was released, you’d have a motive. Adding all of this up, it almost seems like someone was trying to frame you for murder, Mr. Abbott. Someone who was angry at you, angry enough to kill and let you go down for it.”

  Caide swallowed hard, watching Rachael out of the corner of his eye. He looked to the jury who looked as shocked as he felt.

  “So, you tell me is there anyone in your life that would have more reason than your wife to want Miss Underwood out of the picture?”

  Caide was silent. He’d made a horrible mistake taking the stand, it was written all over Hampton’s dismayed face.

  “Mr. Abbott?”

  “No.”

  “Thank you.” She turned to Hampton, her heels clicking as she strutted across the room. “He’s all yours.”

  Hampton stood up, making no effort to hide his frustration with Caide.

  “Mr. Abbott, on the night of Blaire’s murder did you see your wife’s car at the law office?”

  “No.”

  “Did you notice it parked close?”

  “No.”

  “Was it at home when you arrived?”

  “Yes. It was parked in the garage.”

  “Your wife was also at home?”

  “Yes, asleep in my daughter’s room.” As I said earlier.

  “Is your daughter a light sleeper?”

  “She’s seven. Of course she is.”

  “Was your wife dressed for bed when you arrived home?”

  “I don’t remember. I’m sure she was.”

  “Wouldn’t it have struck you as odd if she’d been dressed in ordinary clothes while in bed?”

  “Of course.”

  “So you believe you would’ve noticed that?” Hampton stared at the jury, the judge, and the audience. His eyes didn’t land on Caide once.

  “Yes.”

  “Okay. So, according to the prosecution’s theory…one of two things happened: One, your wife either walked, hid her car very well, or took a cab and was somehow at the office hiding, watching you with your girlfriend. She then waited until you left, murdered Miss Underwood, left your office, either drove, rode, or walked home, changed into her pajamas, and climbed into bed with your daughter without waking her just in time for you to arrive home and find her even though you were both traveling the same distance and you had an obvious head start on her. The other scenario still involves your wife mysteriously arriving to your office in time to watch you without anyone seeing her, she then would’ve had to beat you home, change into her pajamas, wait until you fell asleep, hope that Miss Underwood was still at the office, drive back, commit the murder, then sneak back home in time to cook you breakfast. All the while, never waking you or your daughter up, never being seen by anyone, and since you mentioned her car being in the garage, somehow moving it in and out without alerting anyone she was leaving. Tell me, Mr. Abbott, short of your wife literally being able to time travel, do either of those scenarios seem plausible to you?”

  “No. They seem crazy.”

  Finally, Hampton looked his way, a smirk on his face. “How long have you known your wife?”

  “Nine years. We just celebrated our eighth anniversary.”

  “Are you a good husband?”

  “What kind of a question is that?”

  “One that our jury needs answered.”

  “I love my wife.”

  “That’s not the question.”

  “Look, I work a lot. Rachael hates it. The job that I work requires longer hours than I’d like but I love my job. I haven’t been fair to my wife, no, but I’ve never physically hurt her. I make sure we have the money to pay our bills and keep our family healthy. I’m a provider. I’ve always been. I’m not a romantic husband. I wasn’t raised to be loving or nurturing. I’m not a present husband. Apparently, I’m not a faithful husband, so I guess you’d probably say no, I’m not a good husband. I do love my wife, though, and I’ve tried my best.”

  “No further questions your honor.”

  As he turned, Caide saw a hateful glare in Hampton’s eyes. Caide sensed that he’d enjoyed seeing Caide humbled more than he could’ve known.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Rachael

  Rachael stared at the floor. Her head reeled from Caide’s testimony. She heard Avery stand up, her heels clicking as she approached the witness stand.

  “Mr. Smith, have you ever seen this woman before?” She held up a picture of Blaire, twirling it around so everyone could see her pretty smile leap from the page.

  “Yeah, uh, she called my guy Rudy. Said her tires had been slashed. I went out to pick up her car at some law office.”

  “And when you got to the law office, what did you see?”

  “Her.” He pointed to the picture. “She was by her car. All of her tires was flat, had been for a while I think.”

  “Did you see that man?” She pointed across the court room to Caide.

  Mr. Smith scratched his balding head and squinted toward Caide.

  “Yeah, he was there. He came running at me, too, like some lunatic, said ‘Put that car down.’ That’s what he says to me. I told him, I says, ‘I was called here to pick it up, buddy.’ He was real mad at me, that’s for sure. Like I was stealing his car or something.”

  “How did Mr. Abbott act toward Miss Underwood?”

  “Well, he was real nice to her, real protective. Kept watching me with her car. I thought maybe he was her boyfriend or something.”

  “You did?”

  “Yeah, it sure seemed like it. You don’t get that upset over a coworker, you know what I mean?”

  “So you were a complete stranger and yet you picked up on their relationship?”

  “They just seemed real close.”

  “Funny then that Mr. Abbott doesn’t think his wife noticed.” She raised her eyebrows at the jury. “No further questions.”

  Hampton stood next to Rachael. “I have no questions for the witness, your honor.”

  “Very well. You may step down, Mr. Smith.”

  Smittie climbed down from the witness stand, looking like a dog awaiting a treat. Avery stood from her seat, glancing at Rachael with unforgiving eyes.

  “The prosecution calls Detective Stan Wallace to the stand.”


  As she said it a sharply dressed man in the back of the room rose from his seat, not looking directly at anyone. At the same time, a woman walked to a room hidden behind the judge’s bench and rolled out a TV cart.

  “Mr. Wallace, can you tell me if this is a picture of the crime scene?” Avery asked, holding up a picture to a visibly disturbed jury and then to the stone faced witness.

  “It is.”

  “When did you arrive on the scene?”

  “We received a call just after ten that morning and arrived just before eleven.”

  “Why wasn’t a call made until ten? Surely a law office opens earlier than that.”

  “The staff at the law office is primarily male, excluding the victim of course. No one entered the restroom where the body was discovered until a client stumbled upon it accidentally.”

  “And everything was left untouched until you arrived at the scene?”

  “Well, it is a law office. They are very familiar with crime scene protocol.”

  “Who did you question first?”

  “First we spoke with a Mr. Chester Mason and a Mr. Bart Meachum, co-owners of the law office, followed by the client who found the body, a Mrs.,” he looked at his notes and read, “Agnes Wimbledon. We then spoke to Brian Sparks, Mr. Abbott’s assistant, and finally Mr. Abbott himself.”

  “Did you question any of the janitors? It was earlier brought up that they may have been working upstairs during Mr. Abbott’s rendezvous with the victim.”

  “We weren’t able to speak with them that day, however we have questioned them since. They were both off duty the night of the murder and both had solid alibis.”

  “What did you notice when you arrived at the crime scene?”

  “The blood. There was a lot of blood, consistent to a head injury, but nothing ever prepares you for that. We noticed she was dressed and showed no signs of rape. We found the murder weapon, a metal soap dispenser with traces of blood on it, had been placed back on the sink where it had come from. The coroner pronounced that the victim had been dead about fifteen hours, which put the time of death at approximately 8:15 the night before. All stories were consistent in stating that Mr. Abbott was the last to see the victim, he claimed to have left her alone and alive at around 7:30. He, of course, became our prime suspect. We questioned him. He seemed suspicious, for sure, but news of the affair could have been the cause. We had no real evidence against him so we requested copies of the security tapes. The owners were very cooperative with our efforts. We found semen inside of the victim, which was later determined to belong to Mr. Abbott.”

  “Now, you mention the security tapes. We have a copy of that here, is that right?”

  “Yes.”

  “At this point, your honor, we’d like to present evidence piece seven sixty-one for the court’s viewing, the security footage from the law office of Mason and Meachum the night of November 11.”

  She stepped back so the room could see the screen, pressing play with ease on her remote. Rachael could only see the side of the screen closest to her, but that was enough to tell her what was happening. She watched as her perfect little husband, her good husband, her husband who’d ‘done his best’ screwed his secretary for the world to see. Rachael’s blood boiled, she felt rage in the pit of her stomach unlike anything she’d ever felt before. She wanted to look away, but couldn’t pull her eyes from the screen. Her eyes burned with tears, but she couldn’t allow herself to cry. She tightened her jaw, her vision clouding with hatred. She hated her husband in that moment, more than she’d ever hated anything or anyone. She hated him with every fiber of her being, every ounce of her soul. She sat, the embarrassment of the situation written on her face, and pretended like it didn’t bother her.

  She felt Hampton’s eyes on her, rather than on the tape. Stop staring at me.

  “Your honor,” he called out, his eyes still locked on Rachael. “Is this necessary? Can’t we just skip to the actual evidence? There’s no reason to put my client through this torture.”

  “What’s the matter, Hampton? Your client can’t control her temper?” Avery asked, dragging the last three words out to prove her point.

  “Actually I think, considering the circumstances, my client is doing an exceptional job controlling her temper. It’s inhumane to expect her to watch this. Please, your honor.”

  They both turned to the judge, who nodded. “I agree with Hampton, Avery. Have some decency. Skip to the end.”

  “Your honor, I think it’s important for the jury to see—”

  “The jury has seen more than enough, Avery. As have I. Skip ahead or I will ask you to turn it off and dismiss your evidence altogether.”

  “Yes, your honor.” Avery paused the movie on a not so flattering shot of Caide. There were chuckles heard throughout the crowd. She began fast forwarding, much to the amusement of the jury.

  A scream of rage built up in her chest. No one looked empathetic. Not a single person looked as though they were watching someone’s heart being ripped out and danced on, but rather a Saturday morning cartoon.

  Avery paused the tape. “Ah. Here you can see Mr. Abbott leaving the building. Notice the time, 7:45, just as he said. Miss Underwood watches him leave and then immediately grabs her phone. We see her dialing. Phone records along with Miss Olson’s statement prove that’s who the call was made to. Now we will see, watch the left corner closely.” She paused, watching as Blaire chatted happily on the phone. Rachael saw something shift in the far corner. “Up until this point, we couldn’t tell that this shape was actually a person, but as the tape goes on you see the defendant moving toward the staircase and then walking down the stairs to approach the victim.”

  The jury gasped. Rachael looked up and saw a faint figure walking down the staircase. The blonde hair became increasingly clear the closer to the camera she became. As the figure moved closer, it became obvious to everyone including Rachael that she was staring at herself.

  It’s a crazy feeling, seeing yourself in a place you don’t remember being. It’s like looking at photos of you from childhood. You know that it’s you, that it was you doing something in the past, but you don’t remember it. You can’t think back to that day and remember how that ice cream cone tasted or how the water felt coming at you from the water hose, you can’t remember exactly what your great grandma smelled like that day, or how that wrapping paper felt under your fingers. With baby pictures though you expect not to remember, you just smile kindly at the picture of someone else’s memory, and then turn the page. This was different. Rachael watched herself walk across the screen. There were no words to explain how utterly confused and hopeless she felt.

  “As you can see, the defendant stood in front of Miss Underwood. She remains calm, almost emotionless. Miss Underwood hangs up the phone. As this video doesn’t have audio, and the film isn’t clear enough to read lips, we can only guess that Mrs. Abbott must’ve said something to coax Miss Underwood into the bathroom with her. After a few moments, yes, there they go. Mrs. Abbott leads the victim into the bathroom, which as we know is where the body was later found. I’ll fast forward just a bit because they were in the restroom together for around seven minutes.” She stopped the video just as the bathroom door crept open. “And here you’ll see Mrs. Abbott leaving the scene of the crime. Alone.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Hampton

  Hampton watched Rachael turn green right before his eyes. Her hands left sweat prints on the table when she moved them, which she couldn’t seem to stop doing. He’d been sure she was going to pass out several times now. Finally, he stood. He’d prepared himself for this moment, but he knew there was no true way to prepare to have someone mop the floor with your case.

  “Detective Wallace, did you have any specialists look at the tape?”

  “My team of detectives, yes.”

  “No, that’s not what I mean. Did you have it tested for authenticity?”

  “With all due respect, we are trained to spot fake
tapes, sir. We did run it through rigorous tests and multiple sets of eyes, however.”

  “I see. Now, maybe it’s just me but these tapes certainly seem a lot clearer than the tapes shown on the news. Why is that?”

  “Well, it’s been enhanced, obviously.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “We’ve enhanced it through a government approved software.”

  “So you’ve changed it?”

  “No. Nothing was changed. It was put through a filter to remove the excess grain.”

  “You just removed a bit of grain?”

  “We were also able to pull bits of the video together, also through an approved software. It’s sort of like a puzzle. It fixed the pixels to make them clearer.”

  “So, it guesses at what each pixel is supposed to look like?”

  “I wouldn’t call it a guess, no. More like an educated estimation. A very, very time tested, educated estimation.”

  “Right. Now, this educated, government approved guess it shows my client leading Miss Underwood into the bathroom, correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “Not pushing?”

  “No.”

  “Not chasing?”

  “No.”

  “In fact, my client is the one being followed, is that correct?”

  “Yes, we can only assume Mrs. Abbott coerced—”

  “You know what they say about assuming, don’t you? You also see my client leaving alone, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “As I recall earlier, it was pointed out that my client’s fingerprints were not found on the murder weapon?”

  “No, they were not.”

  “In fact, it’s my understanding that my client’s fingerprints were nowhere to be found in the entire building, is that correct?”

  “Yes, but on the tape you see she isn’t seen touching anything.”

  “But she would’ve had to touch the murder weapon, unless we’re going to assume that along with being a time traveler my client is also telekinetic?”

  The detective looked annoyed. “She most likely wore gloves or wiped off her prints.”