The Appointment Killer

by Remington Kane

  Heidi refused to talk to the police and told them to speak to her lawyer. The investigation into her blackmail attempt ended right there. Drew had no idea who Heidi’s investigator was, and he had no proof that the man who’d showed him the video represented her. By mentioning Heidi to the police, all Drew did was enrage the already unstable woman.

  Heidi was looking over the shoulder of her investigator as he was loading the video he’d taken onto the internet. They were in her multi-million-dollar apartment on Park Avenue. The investigator was an ex-cop named Murphy who’d been canned for using excessive force on drug dealers. He was in his fifties but still in great shape.

  “You’re certain this can’t be traced back to us?”

  “Absolutely, Miss Dyer. This laptop was bought at a flea market and will be destroyed once the video is uploaded. I would say there’s a good chance the video will go viral rather quickly. To spice things up, I added on some of the footage we captured of Drew Corbin and Miranda Marx in bed together.”

  Heidi’s face twisted into a scowl of displeasure. “That video was disgusting.”

  “Maybe so, but sex sells. This video will be passed around until millions have seen it.”

  “Will it destroy that Marx woman?”

  “It’s hard to say, but she’ll have to deal with the police now that Mr. Corbin involved them. I have a friend on the force who tells me Corbin cut a deal to walk away with no jail time and a suspended six-month sentence for disorderly conduct.”

  “He risked jail time rather than come back to me? I’ll make him pay for that.”

  Murphy looked over his shoulder. “I don’t do that kind of work, but I can recommend someone. He’ll give Corbin any sort of beating you want, short of murder.”

  Heidi smiled. “I’d like to make his acquaintance. There’s just one thing, is he squeamish about hurting women?”

  Murphy stifled a laugh. “He actually prefers it.”

  “Good then, there’s no reason that Drew should suffer alone.”

  The video came to Ted Marx’s attention, and caused him to laugh with delight. While investigating the phony assault, the police had asked him if he’d recently had contact with Miranda. Marx had grown suspicious about the timing of his ex-wife’s recent visit.

  He suspected that Miranda had made contact with him in order to carry out a scheme. When he’d learned that the killer had supposedly attacked her in retribution for a perceived slight, Marx knew it was a lie. Miranda was just trying to latch onto the story to increase her name recognition with the public.

  Marx giggled as he watched the video. Be careful what you wish for.

  In the video, Miranda was instructing her latest lover on the proper way to grab her arms during the staged attack. She reprimanded him for not gripping her hard enough.

  “Don’t be afraid of hurting me, Drew. Remember, there have to be bruises afterward, to make it seem real.”

  He linked to the video in a video of his own that he’d thrown together on the fly.

  “It would seem that my looney ex-wife is at it again, people. Miranda is so desperate to be famous that she staged a violent attack on herself. There’s also a little sex tape tacked on at the end there. I’ll say one thing for the wacko woman, she’s aging well.”

  Marx was not the only one with an audience to link to the video. By midnight, over four million people had watched it. That was a million more than would have seen Miranda on her late-night talk show appearance. Although, the host of that show played a clip from the video as well.

  By noon the next day Miranda Marx was a joke and had been kicked off the cast of her off-Broadway play. She should have limited her acting to the stage.

  Chapter Thirteen

  NEW YORK, NEW YORK, FRIDAY, JULY 12th

  When Erica and Owens watched the video of Miranda rehearsing her attack with Drew Corbin, it angered both of them.

  Not only had Miranda wasted their time, she had possibly sent the investigation down a blind alley. If the killer was female, she would have been overlooked, since the attack had seemed legitimate and indicated that the murderer was a man.

  Despite days of research and interviews with the victims’ friends, families, and coworkers, Erica and Owens had progressed no further with the case. All they had was an informed belief that someone was targeting child molesters.

  Knowing that fact had not moved the case forward. On the other hand, there had been no new murders since they connected Frank Vann to two of the victims. If Vann was the killer, he might have decided to pause or halt his murderous activities.

  Erica and Owens were keeping the child molestation aspect of the case under wraps. While Victim #1, Craig Rubio’s conviction was a known fact, few knew about the second victim’s affair with a high school student. Likewise, Luis Cantrell’s statutory rape of Anna Lee wasn’t public knowledge either. However, the killer knew, and by staying silent about his or her motive for the slayings, a suspect might let something slip during an interview.

  Ted Marx had made three more videos about the murders as he tried to keep the public’s interest high. Despite that, each of the videos were receiving fewer views than the one that preceded it. Miranda’s ill-conceived plot to involve herself in the investigation had lent a comic flavor to the story, which Ted Marx detested. He wanted people frightened, not amused. Frightened people paid attention and anxiously awaited the next video to find out if the killer had murdered again, amused people looked for entertainment in other places.

  Marx had his assistant Jason Warwick contact the agents to ask for an interview, hoping that it would spark renewed interest. When they declined, Marx called Erica himself.

  “We’re not giving interviews, Mr. Marx, not to you or anyone else.”

  “I’m not like anyone else, and call me Ted, honey.”

  “I’ll stick with calling you Mr. Marx, and my name isn’t honey.”

  “Yeah, but I bet you’re as sweet as honey.”

  Erica hung up on him.

  Miranda spoke to Marx again. However, instead of meeting him in the lobby or at his apartment, she had asked him to come to her. To make such a meeting possible, she had instructed Marx on how to reach her by entering the apartment building behind her townhouse. He could then exit out of the rear and come up on her enclosed patio. To accomplish that, he would have to climb over a four-foot-high wrought iron fence.

  “Why can’t I just come in through the front door?”

  “The media is out there, Teddy. They’ve been hounding me ever since my arrest… and they laugh at me. It’s hideous the way they’re portraying me.”

  “Why don’t you just tell me what it is you want, Miranda? I can say no over the phone.”

  “It has to be in person, and I can’t come to you. I don’t even want to leave the house.”

  “How many reporters are there?”

  “Well, there’s only one right now. The others went away for some reason.”

  “One reporter? That’s it? He’ll probably leave soon too. A city councilwoman was caught taking bribes under the table. There’s a video of her as well, and the media loves it when a crooked politician gets busted. You might be old news soon.”

  “All right then. I’ll call you when he leaves.”

  “I still see no reason why I should visit you.”

  “We’ll be alone, Teddy, all alone. Don’t tell me you don’t still fantasize about me.”

  Marx laughed. “This must be one huge favor you want.”

  “I’ll call when it’s safe to come.”

  Miranda called less than an hour later, as the last reporter left her to cover a better story. Marx took the subway to see her, since the train let him off near her brownstone.

  Fearful eyes searched the street beyond Marx’s shoulder as Miranda opened the door to let him in.

  “Did anyone see you?”

  “There’s no one out there. Fame lasts fifteen minutes, notoriety fades even quicker. Now, what’s this about?”

&
nbsp; “I need money, Teddy. They want me to pay for the cops and the ambulance and the cost of the investigation into my attack.”

  “Your phony attack, you mean.”

  “There are also legal fees.”

  “What do I look like, Miranda, a bank?”

  “I don’t have that kind of money, and now I’ve been fired from the play.”

  “Pay them out of the money I’m already forced to give you. You know, the alimony I’ve been shelling out to you for eighteen long years.”

  “That money supports me and pays for this townhouse. There’s nothing left after I handle my bills.”

  “Too bad, but it’s not my problem.”

  Miranda paced for a moment while thinking, as she did so, she glanced at Marx. When she came to a decision, she stopped pacing and folded her arms across her chest.

  “I was hoping to save this for something really big, but I guess I need to use it now.”

  “What are you talking about?” Marx asked.

  “I’m talking about you, Teddy… about you and that girl.”

  “What girl?”

  “The one you keep hidden inside your apartment, you sick pervert.”

  Marx broke eye contact as his breathing increased. After a moment, he smiled at Miranda.

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about. There’s no girl in my apartment. And you know me, Miranda. I’m no child molester. I never even date women younger than twenty-one. At least, not since I turned thirty.”

  Miranda’s grin was wicked. “I know what I know, Teddy. If you don’t give me enough money to pay these fines, everyone else will know too.”

  Marx stared at her as his hands balled into fists. “I’ll get you your damn money.”

  Five days later, when Miranda failed to materialize for her court appearance, the judge issued a bench warrant for her arrest. When police visited her brownstone, they found it empty. There was a gap in her closet where clothes had hung and also a missing suitcase. She didn’t answer her phone and the device was untraceable.

  Miranda was believed to be avoiding the consequences of her actions. When asked about her by the police, Ted Marx said that he hadn’t seen her lately, not since she had come to his apartment building and they had spoken in the lobby.

  The search for Miranda continued, but it was as if she had vanished in the wind.

  Chapter Fourteen

  By the time Saturday rolled around, Erica and Owens were certain of only one thing.

  “Whoever the killer is, they’ve either researched the victims well or they know them to some extent; the third victim’s death proves that,” Erica said.

  The toxicology report came back on the poison used to kill Luis Cantrell. It wasn’t poison at all, instead, it was a concentrated form of peanut oil. Luis Cantrell had been allergic to peanuts, and the substance was mixed in with the mayonnaise on the French fries he ate.

  “One of Cantrell’s closest friends wasn’t aware that he was allergic, so how did the killer know?” Owens said.

  “The perp could have broken into Cantrell’s townhouse and went through his files, including his medical records. We should have the townhouse dusted for prints.”

  “It wouldn’t hurt, and we’ve little else to do unless some new information surfaces.”

  They were both flying home to DC to spend Sunday with their families. Owens admitted he was nervous, because his daughters were going to meet the woman he was dating for the first time. Her name was Rhonda Wheeler. Owens had met the voluptuous redhead while working on a previous case that had taken them to Chicago.

  Rhonda Wheeler had been the personal assistant of one of the suspects, a novelist named Jake Raines. Her employer was eventually proven innocent of the crime, and Rhonda moved back to her family’s home in Virginia. She was currently working as an assistant to another novelist. This one was a woman who wrote historical romances.

  Erica was looking forward to seeing her mother and sister; both women would be working at the restaurant that Erica’s mother, Carlotta owned. Erica’s boyfriend, Angel also worked there as a waiter. With the case at a standstill, they were thinking of grabbing an earlier flight than the one they had scheduled. That idea flew out the window when Owens received a call from Gail Vann, the wife of their only suspect. Despite Frank Vann’s connection to two of the three victims, neither Erica nor Owens believed he was the murderer.

  Owens called her back, as Erica listened in on the call.

  “How can I help you, Mrs. Vann?”

  “I need to talk to you and your partner, but not at my house, and my husband can’t know about this.”

  “You have information for us?”

  “Yes, but I need to explain it in person.”

  “We’re in the city right now, but we could come to your town.”

  “No, the city will do. I can tell Frank that I’m visiting my sister in Queens.”

  Owens gave Mrs. Vann the address and she arrived before two hours had passed. The three of them settled inside an interrogation room. It was one of the larger ones, so that Mrs. Vann wouldn’t become intimidated.

  She was obviously nervous, as her eyes shifted often, and she wiped her sweaty palms on her slacks frequently. She had brought along a laptop computer, and both Owens and Erica wondered what might be on the device.

  Erica smiled at Mrs. Vann and told her to begin whenever she was ready.

  “I can… I can prove that Frank was home on the dates when the murders took place.”

  “How so?” Owens said.

  Gail Vann swallowed hard, then broke eye contact, as her cheeks flushed. “It’s embarrassing to admit, but I’ve been having an affair with the husband of one of my friends. It’s been going on for years.”

  Erica and Owens looked at each other before Erica asked a question.

  “How is that connected to knowing your husband’s whereabouts?”

  “When Frank went on his sabbatical from the college, it became more difficult to find time to meet with the man I’m… seeing. I was worried that Frank might follow me someday and learn what was going on.”

  “And did he?”

  “No, never.”

  “Why are you so certain?” Erica asked.

  In a small voice, Gail Vann said, “I placed a tracking device on his car. It would send an alert to this laptop if the car left our home. I brought this along to show you the reports the app makes. It will prove to you that Frank hasn’t budged from the house, except as he said, when we go to church.”

  “We appreciate you coming in, and we’ll take the information you have, but understand, this doesn’t prove or disprove anything,” Owens said.

  Gail’s head shot up. “Why not? It’s proof that he didn’t leave our house.”

  “It’s not proof of that; it only proves that his vehicle remained at your home.”

  Gail shook her head. “We only have two cars, his and mine, and Frank never drives mine.”

  Erica had been locating something on a computer tablet. It was information that was contained in the case files.

  “Mrs. Vann, does your lover live in your town?”

  “Yes.”

  “On Short Bridge Road?”

  Gail’s eyelids fluttered. “He does, how did you know that?”

  Another look passed between Erica and Owens, with Owens shaking his head almost imperceptibly.

  “We came upon that knowledge while conducting the investigation; however, we were unaware of the affair you’re having. I thank you for being honest with us, but the fact is, your husband had other ways to leave the house. As an example, he might have called a taxi.”

  “A taxi? Why would he take a taxi when he could drive his car?”

  “Perhaps he knew that his car would be recognized,” Erica said, and Owens shook his head more emphatically.

  Gail appeared irritated by Erica’s supposition. “Frank didn’t kill those people. He’s not capable of that level of violence.”

  “If it’s any help,
ma’am,” Owens said, “we don’t consider him to be a viable suspect, and we’re not planning to arrest him.”

  “You’re not?”

  “His having a connection to two of the victims is likely a coincidence.”

  Gail sighed, as relief softened her features. “Thank you for telling me that; I’ve been more worried about things than Frank has.”

  “He has other concerns on his mind,” Erica said, and Owens sent her a sharp look.

  They copied the information gathered by the tracking app and walked Gail Vann to the elevator. As the elevator doors closed, Owens spoke.

  “You wanted to tell her, didn’t you?”

  “I did, but you’re right, it’s not our place.”

  During their investigation of Frank Vann, they uncovered the fact that Vann had hired a cab about once a week over the last month or so. He always took the same trip across town to a house on Short Bridge Road, but never left the cab, only sat and stared at a home across the street.

  “That did clear up one thing for us. Now we know why Vann was taking a cab to that address.”

  “I wonder why he hasn’t confronted his wife?” Erica said.

  “Maybe he’s afraid that if he does, she’ll leave him.”

  “Or maybe he’s planning some way to get revenge.”

  “His wife said that he wasn’t capable of murder.”

  “If she’s wrong, someone may be investigating her homicide someday.”

  Owens thought that over and shook his head sadly.

  Chapter Fifteen

  NEW YORK, NEW YORK, SATURDAY, JULY 13th

  Jason Warwick was beginning to believe the impossible—that Heather Gray was interested in him. As they had agreed to do, he met her at the coffee shop at eight p.m.

  He had never liked her but couldn’t deny that she was beautiful. This new Heather, the one that didn’t insult him and belittle him as she had when they were teens, this Heather was nice to him.