“Thank you for the offer, but no.”
Marx smiled. “You’re a tough cookie, and I love a challenge.”
Erica pushed past him and joined Owens. When they were on the elevator together, Owens began laughing.
“What’s so funny?”
“Marx, he thinks he’s irresistible, but you really don’t like him, do you?”
“No, I don’t, and I’m not sure why. He just irks me.”
“He may be right about one thing though, the killer could be a fan of his, or someone close to him, like the man we’re going to see next.”
“Jason Warwick, his assistant?”
“Yeah, someone poisoned Luis Cantrell’s food yesterday in Howesburg, and both Marx and his assistant were in town at the time.”
“You suspect Marx?”
“Not really. He’s arrogant enough to think he might get away with committing murder, but I think he’s smart enough not to place himself in a position where he could be viewed as a likely suspect. Then again, he’s the only one profiting from the killings so far.”
“I still think there might be something to the pedophile angle you mentioned earlier.”
“Yeah, so far, that seems like the only thing linking two of the victims.”
“There are other agents looking into the victims’ backgrounds; we should be getting a report from them soon. Hopefully there will be something in it,” Erica said.
Jason Warwick had agreed to speak with Erica and Owens. He was to talk to them at the same coffee shop where he’d met with Heather Gray.
When Heather entered the coffee shop and sat across from him, Jason wondered if he had misunderstood their last conversation.
“Did we make plans to meet here for lunch today?”
Heather laughed. “No, but I spotted you through the window as I was walking by.”
“Oh, and where were you headed to?”
“I was coming back from the post office after sending off a proposal for a client.”
“You’re lucky to work for yourself. I guess it gives you plenty of free time, hmm?”
“I wish. I was cooped up inside yesterday working on the computer all day.”
“How do you concentrate with a roommate walking around and making noise?”
“Patty is quiet, and she’s off visiting her parents in Georgia. Remember? I told you that the last time we talked, that I have the apartment all to myself.”
“That’s right.”
“She won’t return for another few days… why don’t you walk me home?”
“You didn’t go anywhere yesterday, like maybe for a long ride?”
“No, I never left my apartment.”
“You know, I thought I saw you yesterday.”
“It wasn’t me; I was home working on that proposal all day.”
“No, I figured it couldn’t have been you; I was in Pennsylvania when it happened, but she sure looked like you.”
“Why are you here, Jason… do you have a late lunch date with someone?”
“I guess you’ve seen the video Ted Marx made.”
“Yeah, that was gruesome, that poor man, being poisoned like that.”
“I was there, well, I wasn’t in the police station when it happened, but I was in town at the same time with Mr. Marx. The FBI wants to question me.”
Heather’s mood changed, as anxiety tightened her features.
“The FBI? They’re coming here?”
Jason was about to answer when he saw two people walking toward his table, a man and a woman. The woman was younger than the man, and attractive. Her strawberry-blonde hair framed a beautiful face and green eyes. The man was taller than Jason and wore a serious expression. When he flashed a badge and identified himself as an FBI agent, Jason wasn’t surprised.
“Jason Warwick?”
“That’s me.”
Erica and Owens looked at Heather, and Jason introduced her. Heather smiled politely at the agents then excused herself and left the coffee shop.
“She’s a beautiful girl,” Owens said. “Are you two dating?”
Jason looked back at him with a sour expression, thinking that Owens was teasing him. Jason thought of himself as smart, not handsome. A woman with Heather’s looks would never give him the time of day. What Jason was unaware of was that he had outgrown his nerdy stage. Despite the black-framed glasses he still wore, he had developed into a good-looking man. Regardless of that, he still felt like the gawky teen boy who was rejected by every girl he had ever asked out, including one he loved dearly.
“No, Agent Owens, Miss Gray and I are not dating. We knew each other as kids and she looked me up recently to… nevermind, you’re here about the murders. How can I help you?”
“We know that you were in Howesburg yesterday with Ted Marx. Can you tell us where you were around the time of the murder?”
“I was out taking still shots and footage of the community. I think I was on the other side of town when the food was delivered. There’s not much of interest in Howesburg to look at, but they do have one of those old-fashioned trains, you know, the locomotives? In the summer, kids from the city visit a farm and take a ride on the old train. I was filming the train around that time. That thing is really noisy… I’m also not a fan of trains.”
Erica nodded. She remembered seeing an old train during Marx’s introduction of the town in the video that contained Luis Cantrell’s death.
“Did you notice anything unusual when you were in town, or anyone who looked out of place?” Owens asked.
“No, unless you count Mr. Marx and myself; I think we both look like city slickers.”
“Did you grow up in New York City?” Erica asked.
“I did, except for a brief period.”
“How long have you worked for Ted Marx?” Owens asked.
“About a year.”
“Is that your only job?”
“I’ve done some day trading on the side… with mixed results.”
“How did you come to work for Mr. Marx, Jason?”
“I drove him home once after he’d crashed his car into the back of the wreck I was driving at the time. He barely bumped me, but he was too drunk to drive. Mr. Marx was drinking more in those days. He had just split up with his girlfriend and had another television producer turn down a proposed project he was shopping around.”
“Is he an alcoholic?”
Jason hesitated, then said, “I think if he’s not careful he’ll wind up that way, but no, he’s not an alcoholic; he just drinks too much, especially when things don’t go his way.”
“So, you drove him home and he offered you a job?” Erica asked.
“As a driver, yeah, and in time I became his assistant too. If Mr. Marx gets another driving while intoxicated charge filed against him, he might lose his license for good. He’s already on suspension.”
They asked Jason several more questions and learned nothing new. When Erica asked him to stay in touch if he learned anything involving the case, Jason said he would, while smiling shyly at her.
Once outside the coffee shop, Owens made an observation.
“Heather Gray is the only one we’ve come across in this case who has long red hair like the strand found in Howesburg.”
“That’s true, isn’t it? Do you think she could be involved?”
“I would doubt it, but she is connected to the case, although that link is tenuous at best.”
As they were headed back to the Bureau’s Manhattan office, they were informed that the killer had attacked someone.
“It’s Miranda Marx,” Erica said. “Ted Marx’s first wife. She’s alive, and says the killer gave her a message.”
“This should be interesting,” Owens said, as Erica programmed the car’s navigation system to guide them to their next destination.
Chapter Eight
NEW YORK CITY, WEDNESDAY, JULY 10th
On Barrow Street in the West Village, Miranda Marx arrived for an afternoon rehearsal. She had a support
ing role in a play that was a murder mystery. As she had done on a sitcom many years earlier, Miranda was playing the part of a nosey neighbor again; however, this time she had to adopt an English accent.
Unless it was showtime, the front doors of the theater were always kept locked. Miranda left the cab she had arrived in and headed down a narrow alley to a side entrance. She carried a small bag by a shoulder strap and had a sports bottle in her left hand. The sky was a brilliant blue and the spring sun warmed the air, making the winter days of the previous month seem like a long-ago memory.
Miranda was wearing a red dress and looked fabulous. The man who rushed up behind her was dressed all in black and radiated menace.
Miranda’s sports bottle contained a vegan plant-based nutritional shake that she had made at home. By adding fruit to the gluten-free powder that was its main ingredient, it became palatable.
The sports bottle hit the ground as Miranda was grabbed from behind and spun around. When she saw the man in the ski mask glaring at her, she screamed.
The man was holding her by both arms in a grip that was so painful it brought tears to Miranda’s eyes. She felt relief as he let go of her left arm, but then her attacker’s free hand brought a knife into view. The blade was nearly a foot long and had a serrated edge.
Having heard Miranda’s scream, two of her fellow cast members came out the side door to investigate. They were an older man who was balding and a young guy with wavy brown hair. They took a step forward, then shrank back when the thug with the knife pointed it toward them.
“Stay away or I’ll slice her face open.”
The older man took out his phone. “I’m calling the cops.”
Miranda was slammed against the brick wall of the theater as her knife-wielding assailant shouted at her.
“You tell Marx that this is a warning and that I don’t like being called a whack job. If he keeps it up, tell him I’ll gut you like a fish, and then I’ll come after him.”
As emphasis for his words, the man grabbed the hem of Miranda’s dress and sliced through it, leaving a slit on the side that exposed the pink underwear she had on beneath it.
Miranda screamed again and the man ran off down the street, where he disappeared between two buildings, climbed onto a dumpster, and leapt over the wall behind it.
When the cops arrived on the scene minutes later, they pieced together the fact that the attack was connected to a serial killer case, and Erica and Owens were contacted.
Chapter Nine
NEW YORK CITY, WEDNESDAY, JULY 10th
Miranda Marx was sitting alone in a dressing room when Erica and Owens reached the theater. The room was surprisingly small and filled on one side with a long makeup table. Above the table was a mirror; it was surrounded by numerous light bulbs and ran the length of the wall. Miranda sat while the agents stood with the closed door to their backs.
They had driven to the theater nearly ninety minutes after the attack had taken place. The police had already obtained Miranda’s statement along with the accounts told by the two witnesses to the attack.
Having not had time to read them, Erica and Owens asked Miranda to tell them what happened. She did so while wiping at her eyes with a tissue. Upon meeting the handsome Owens, Miranda had smiled. Her demeanor returned to one of anxiety as she recalled the attack.
“He grabbed me from behind and his grip was so strong.” Miranda rolled up her sleeves to show the agents the bruises that were forming on her upper arms.
“You say he had a ski mask on, but were you able to tell what color he was?” Owens asked.
“He was white. I could see a little skin around his eyes and mouth.”
“Those eyes, what color were they?”
“Blue? I think they were blue,” Miranda said. “But they weren’t nice eyes like yours, Agent Owens, his eyes were cold.”
“And how was he dressed?”
“He wore black, black pants, not jeans, and a dark shirt, which I think was black, although it could have been a very dark blue. His shoes were black too.”
“What about his voice?” Erica said. “Was it a young voice, middle-age, perhaps accented?”
Miranda shrugged. “It was normal, gruff and deep, but normal. I doubt he was very old; he could run really fast.”
“And what exactly did he say?”
“He said he wanted me to tell Teddy that he didn’t like being called a whack job. Then… then he said he’d gut me like a fish if he didn’t stop, and that he would go after Teddy too.”
“And by Teddy, you mean he was discussing Ted Marx, your ex-husband?”
Miranda nodded at Erica. “The man just referred to him as Marx, and I remember Teddy calling the killer a whack job on one of his videos. Have you met Teddy, Agent Novac?”
“Yes, we’ve spoken to him.”
Miranda looked her over. “He made a pass at you, didn’t he? Yes, Teddy would like you.”
Erica didn’t answer the question; instead, she asked one.
“Why do you think the killer would target you, Mrs. Marx?”
“Excuse me?”
“Why use the threat of harming you as a means to intimidate your ex-husband? The two of you have been divorced for many years. I would think threatening someone currently involved in Mr. Marx’s life would have a greater impact.”
Miranda looked insulted by the question. “I’m important to Teddy. Just because we’re divorced doesn’t mean there’s nothing between us. We saw each other less than a week ago.”
“I see, and where did this meeting take place?”
“At his apartment house. Maybe the killer saw us together and followed me from there.”
Erica looked at Owens and saw him nod. Miranda could be right about the murderer having followed her from Ted Marx’s apartment building. If so, it meant the killer was watching Marx.
The agents went over a few more points with Miranda and learned nothing else. Owens passed her a card and told her to call if anything else happened or she felt she was being followed.
“Will you send the police, or come see me yourself?”
“Both,” Owens told her.
Miranda smiled at him and said, “I’d feel safer if you were around me.” And then she shifted in her seat, so that the slit in her dress exposed her left leg to the hip.
Owens eyed the shapely appendage, then shifted his gaze back to Miranda’s eyes.
“Stay safe, Mrs. Marx.”
“Call me Miranda.”
Owens sent her a nod and left the dressing room. As they were walking toward the stage to interview the two witnesses, Erica whispered to Owens.
“I noticed she wasn’t so traumatized by the attack that she couldn’t flirt with you.”
“Maybe she’d just feel better having someone around her who carries a gun.”
Erica smirked. “I carry a gun; she didn’t flirt with me.”
“Then it must be my animal magnetism.”
They spoke to the two actors who saw the attack and learned nothing else, although both men agreed that the man in the ski mask moved quickly as he sprinted from the scene. The older man also recalled that the assailant held the knife in his left hand.
They discussed the development and what it meant to the case as they drove toward the office.
“I guess we can rule out female suspects,” Erica said. “If so, that long red hair found in Pennsylvania will likely be meaningless.”
“That lets Heather Gray off the hook.”
“There’s still a possibility that the attacker could have been Ted Marx. He’s not very young but his eyes are blue.”
“I don’t know,” Owens said. “Ski mask or not, his ex-wife would have known it was him.”
“You’re probably right, and on second thought, I don’t think the timeline fits. We were interviewing Marx within minutes of the attack.”
“Jason Warwick is young, and his eyes are blue. We need to find out if he can account for his whereabouts this morning.”
“True, but if he caught a cab after the attack, he should have had time to make it to the coffee shop for our meeting. He might have been hoping we would assume he had nothing to do with it. Not many people have the nerve to assault a woman and then sit down with FBI agents afterward.”
“And I did jump to that assumption, didn’t I? But now that I think about it, Jason was dressed as Miranda described her assailant, in black slacks and a dark-colored shirt.”
“His shoes were black too. If Jason can’t account for his time prior to meeting with us, he’ll be at the top of my list.”
“We still don’t know the motive for these killings,” Erica said. “I mean yes, it appears that the killer is targeting child molesters and rapists, but why these particular men? Also, the method of their deaths suggest that these murders have been well-planned, and their execution was meticulous. Take the sealing up of Craig Rubio’s basement as an example. That took quite a bit of work, time, and money. Why not just shoot the man, or stab him?”
“You said it before, someone wanted him to drown, but more than that, they wanted him to experience terror and hopelessness beforehand.”
“And then Victim #2, Michael Heskett died in an instant by being electrocuted. It’s as if the killer felt no particular animus toward him, but just wanted to carry out a sentence of death.”
Owens was driving, and he reached down to lower the setting on the air-conditioning. The temperature was rising as the summer sun beat down on the city. He then continued the conversation.
“Luis Cantrell’s form of death lies somewhere in between Rubio’s and Heskett’s murders. He died relatively fast, but still experienced terror at not being able to breathe.”
“I hope we catch this perp before there are any new victims, but if not, it will be interesting to see what method is chosen next.”
“Drowning a man in his own home, electrocuting another with a toothbrush, and killing a third with tainted French fries; Ted Marx is right, the killer is a whack job.”
The Appointment Killer Page 5
