by DK Herman
"I love you, Gram." I hugged her tight. "Don’t worry, George is tough. He's going to be OK." I said a silent prayer that I right.
It was two hours before a doctor came to talk to us. George was in recovery. He’d lost a lot of blood, but the doctor felt that his chances of recovery were excellent. The surgeon had repaired a nick in the axillary vein, and George was given transfusions to restore his blood volume. George would be moved to the Adult Intensive Care Unit for a few days. We could see him for a few minutes after he was moved to the AICU. That wouldn't happen for hours, so the doctor suggested that we leave a phone number and go home. He assured us that George would be sleeping until tomorrow.
There had been no word from Ryan Murphy. It made me more suspicious of George's son. If I got a message like the one I’d left for him, I’d be at the hospital in a flash. I knew he was asshole, but was he a big enough one to shoot his own father? My instincts told me that most of his concern yesterday, was an act.
I promised Gram we would come back later and drove her home. There were more police at our home now. I counted seven police cars, both local and state police. The same PSP van that had been at the wooden bridge, investigating the body in the woods, was parked next to George's car.
Inside the house, Gram and I headed for the kitchen. Liv handed us cups of coffee with the news that Aunt Jeannie had called. She’d boarded the cruise ship this morning.
"What did you tell her?" Gram asked.
"That you were going to church, then out for lunch." Liv assured us. "She’s gonna call back."
Thank you, Livy." Gram hugged her. "No sense ruining her trip."
Paul Woods, Herville's Chief of Police and two plain clothes cops came into the kitchen. The older of the two, identified himself as Detective Larry Kasey. He introduced his partner, Detective Mike Krause. They wanted to interview us now.
"Gram are you feeling up to it?" I asked. I got the feeling from Detective Kasey’s attitude that we didn’t have a choice. I’d seen his type before. He probably started out as a good cop, but over time he’d grown overly opinionated, cynical, and nasty, just marking time until he could retire.
Gram nodded. "I want them to find out, who hurt my George."
I offered them both coffee, which they accepted. Then Gram led the way to the living room.
My mind wondered a bit while Gram answered questions about how and how long, she knew George. They asked about my family, and if we knew of anyone with a grudge against George or us.
Against my family? I gave myself a mental slap. They didn't know about the other two attempts on George's life.
"I don't believe this was the first attempt on Mr. Murphy's life,” I told the room.
"Oh." Detective Kasey raised a gray eyebrow.
"You haven't heard about the incident at his home, Thursday evening?"
"He left his gas stove on, unlit." Chief Woods read from a notebook he had pulled from his pocket.
"No, someone broke into his home and turned it on." I was sure of it now. I told these cops the same thing that I told Ryan Murphy. They didn't look impressed, but detective Krause wrote my story in his notebook.
"Is that all?" Detective Kasey asked meanly. He obviously thought I was wasting his time.
"No." I looked at Gram. "Friday afternoon, someone attacked George with a hunting knife."
"Who was it?" Detective Kasey’s eyebrows shot up so high, they almost joined his receding hairline.
"He didn't see who, just a gloved hand and the knife,” I said. Why did all three cops sit up like Meerkats, every time I mentioned a knife?
George and I went for a swim, Friday afternoon." Gram didn’t notice their reaction and began to explain. "George was tired and laid down on a chaise by the pool. I came into the house to help with supper. I was gone about ten minutes when I heard him yell for help."
"I heard him yell from my sitting room,” I said, continuing the story. "When I got to my balcony, he was standing in the shallow end of the pool, holding his arm. I ran downstairs to see what was wrong. He told us that he fell asleep and someone attacked him. He said, this person held down his head before trying to cut his throat with a buck knife. He then rolled into the pool to escape, but his forearm got a long scratch."
"What did he say about the person with the knife?" Chief Woods asked anxiously.
"I told you. He didn't see them. They ran away while he was in the pool and then he had water in his eyes." I looked from one man’s face to the next. They blew off my story about someone trying to blow George up. But the knife incident had really caught their interest. I wanted to know why.
"Do you have any firearms in the house, ladies?" Detective Krause said.
"I do," I said. "It’s a nine millimeter Glock. I keep it in a lock box in my bedroom closet."
"Good, keep it close." He advised. We'll catch this guy, but be careful until then."
"I applied for my carry permit for this county, yesterday,” I said, studying the men’s faces. I knew something was going on, but I played along. "Andy Ross has it."
"I'll have him bring it out,” Chief Woods said.
"We took your gardener in for questioning." Detective Kasey told Gram. "We're getting a warrant to search his cabin."
"Do you think Peter did it?" Gram looked horrified.
"We took a .22 rifle to the lab that he admitted belongs to him. We found eight, .22 casings and footprints where the shooter stood. We need to see what else is in that cabin. And Peter won't give us permission to go in and look around. I find that suspicious."
"Oh boy," I said under my breath. I knew why, but still, it wasn't my place to say.
"He admitted to us that he dislikes Mr. Murphy." Chief Woods added.
"Whatever you must do," Gram said. She was fighting back tears.
I put my arm around her. "Is there anything else, gentleman? It’s been a bad day.”
"Not now. But Miss James, I wish you would have reported what happened to Mr. Murphy by your swimming pool."
"Me, too,” I agreed.
The men went out the front door. I made Gram lie down while I helped Liv straighten up the house. The police had left some disarray, during a quick search of the downstairs rooms. I promised Gram we would go back to the hospital, to peek in on George, around five o'clock.
I watched the two detectives that spoke to us, go into Peters cabin. They must have gotten their warrant. If he was guilty, I hope he was arrested. But I didn’t think the cops would find anything that I didn’t.
I heard another car pull in front of the house. It was Andy. I ran to answer the door.
"Come on in. Coffee?" I offered.
"Sounds good." He followed me to the kitchen.
I gestured for him to sit at the counter and got two cups from the cupboard. After pouring the coffee, I sat on a stool next to him.
"Here." He handed me the carry permit. "Keep your gun with you for a while."
"What's really going on, Andy?"
"Somebody shot George Murphy.” He shrugged.
"Besides that,” I interrupted. "I can smell something else.... something bigger is going on. Tell me."
Andy made a face that confirmed my instincts were right.
"It's better if I know what to look out for." I argued. "Please, for my grandmother’s sake."
"OK. But you can't say a word to anyone. Especially Gabi, my cousin lives up to her name.” He lowered his voice. "Promise? I could lose my job.”
I took a finger and made a cross over my heart.
"The other night,” he said, pausing to look around, “you and my brother found, not just one body in the woods." His eyes locked on mine. "We dug around and found two more."
"What!" He had to be kidding. "Three bodies. Who are they? How were they killed?"
He held up a hand. "According to reports from the coroner and a forensic anthropologist, all three were young girls, between fifteen and twenty years old."
I gasp. "None of them are..."
; "No. None of them was buried long enough to be my sister." Andy touched my arm. "But they think they were buried there at different times. The longest about a year, another five or six months. And the one you saw was fresh, dead for a day or two.
I instantly thought of my first night home, when I sat on my balcony with the dogs. I did see a light in the woods. The light of a monster burying his victim. "How were they killed?"
"All three girls were beaten, burned, and tortured with a knife. They think a hunting knife. Then the sick bastard cut their throats.”
I sat there with my mouth open, chills going down my spine. They were buried about a hundred yards from my home. "Were they raped?"
"No. He must have just gotten off on their pain." He looked angry. "It sounds like the same perp tried to cut Mr. Murphy's throat, too." He sipped his coffee and leaned closer. "And did you hear about Dr. Robinson?"
"Yeah, Gabi told me. He was shot in the back of the head."
"With a .22,” He added. "George Murphy has something in common with all of the murders."
"Did you ID, any of the girls yet?"
"Yeah." Andy lowered his voice again. "The most recently killed, was a seventeen-year-old girl from Bloomsbury. Her name was Ashley Cameron. They reported her missing last week."
Bloomsbury was a town about fifteen miles south of Herville. "Where and when was she last seen alive?" I asked.
"She was meeting a friend at Herville Mall last Saturday afternoon. We found her car in the mall parking lot. We have no idea who she was meeting. All of her friends deny that they were meeting her there."
We both sipped our coffee and mulled that around a little.
"The other two?" I broke the silence.
Andy finished his coffee. "The next we identified with dentals. She was a girl missing from Ohio the last six months. Her brother was here, looking for her. He has flyers everywhere with her picture and info on it."
"I think I saw one at Gabi's salon."
"Probably, like I said, he left them all over town." He stood up. "We spoke to the brother yesterday. He's said he’d be back in Herville tomorrow. The other victim, we're still not sure about."
I walked him to his patrol car. All but one of the other police vehicles were gone. We didn't speak again until he got in the car.
"Load and carry your gun, Hallie." He looked more serious than I'd ever seen Andy Ross look. "I've got a bad feeling this bastard is escalating. He's either looking for or has, his next victim. If we don't catch him soon, he's going to kill again."
I nodded and Andy pulled away from the house. "And for some reason he wants to kill George," I said to myself.
SEVEN
I took Andy's advice. My Glock was loaded and would be within reach, twenty- four, seven until this murdering prick was caught. However, I was also going proactive. I had no intention of sitting on my ass waiting for another murder. I 'd never admit that Andy told me police secrets, but I was going to do what I did best... investigate. Besides, George hired me to find out who was trying to kill him.
I had to keep my promise to take Gram back to check on George. She was ready and waiting on me at five o'clock. Driving to the hospital in Chitty again, Gram got her first good look around the inside of my RV.
"Your little bus has a certain charm," Gram said with a smile.
"Thanks." I smiled back. "It's a nice thing to vacation in, but I don't want to live in it anymore."
“Good, I should give you a spanking for doing it the first time,” Gram said.
When we got to the hospital, George was asleep in intensive care. We were told he was doing well. The nurse mentioned that his son had just left. George was being given pain medication and wasn't expected to wake until morning. We stayed for the ten minutes, we were permitted and left.
"He's moving into the house when he gets out of the hospital. I'm going to take care of him." Gram said. "I'll hire nurses if I need help."
"That's a great idea,” I agreed. It would be easier to keep him safe, inside the house "Do you mind if I make a quick stop or two?"
"Not at all, dear,” Gram answered.
I knew Gabi's salon was closed on Sunday. So, I checked the convenience store. No luck. But I found what I was looking for at my next stop. The flyer for the missing girl, Cara Gordon, was hanging on the bulletin board at the supermarket. I took it down and folding it in half, I took it with me.
When we got home, I was glad to see the police were all gone. Liv was waiting for us with hot chicken corn soup and fresh baked rolls. We dug in. It had been a long, horrible day. When the house landline rang, Gram turned white. We had given the hospital that number to call if George took a turn for the worse. I ran to answer the hall extension.
"I heard you went to church!" Aunt Jeannie laughed through the phone lines. She sounded so happy.
"Yep. How's the cruise so far?" I walked back to the dining room with the cordless. "You sound like you’re enjoying yourself.”
"It's marvelous! You and Mom must come on a cruise with me someday. You'd love it."
"Sounds like, a good idea,” I agreed. "It’s Aunt Jeannie,” I told Gram, making the color come back into her face.
Gram took a deep breath and put the phone to her ear. "Jeannie, how are you? The trip going well, sweetheart?"
I sat back down to finish my soup while Gram spoke to her daughter for a few minutes. Liv went back to the kitchen and brought back huge slices of chocolate cake.
"That looks divine, Liv, but I'm exhausted," Gram said, hanging up the phone.
"I'll wrap it up. You can take it upstairs with you. Put it in your sitting room fridge if you don't want to eat it now. Neither of you have eaten a thing since breakfast!" Liv scolded.
Liv got no argument from me, I was already shoveling cake into my mouth. And I planned on taking another piece upstairs with me. If my metabolism slowed down, I was going to be in big trouble.
A half hour later, I was on the couch in my sitting room with Buddy and Princess. I had a note pad and pen, my laptop, and the flyer from the supermarket in front of me. I had written down the most recent victim’s name first, so I searched the net for information on Ashley Cameron. I had a few programs on my laptop that most people never heard of. In a few minutes, I knew she had lived with her parents and two younger sisters, had been in excellent health, and she had been an above average student. Her drivers license picture showed a smiling young girl, delicately pretty with long, blonde hair. I shuddered thinking about the other night when I saw that hair half buried in the mud.
I didn't have my printer set up yet, so I wrote down Ashley's home address. I was going to try, talking to her family as soon as possible.
Next, I unfolded the flyer and put Cara Gordon's name into my search engines. Cara was an average student. She lived with her mother and brother after her father died when she was young.
There was a website, set up by her brother to help find her. It wasn't updated with the news of her death. Cara’s pictures were also of a happy, young, blonde girl. But looking at her pictures, I could see something fearless and adventuresome in her eyes. Her expression said that she was ready to take on the world. It was heartbreaking to know she ended up tortured and murdered then buried on a creek bank. The phone number on the website was the same as on the flyer. I picked up my cell and dialed.
"Hello." A young male voice answered on the third ring.
"Hi, my name is Hallie James,” I began. "I'm a private investigator, and I need to talk to you about your sister."
"If you're looking for work, no thanks. She's been found." I heard tears in his voice.
"No, I've been hired by someone else,” I said.
"By who?" he demanded, unconvinced I wasn't some shyster looking for a quick buck.
"By a man that somebody keeps trying to kill. And I believe, the same person who is after him, killed your sister." I heard nothing but silence, and I thought he’d hung up.
"I'm stopped along the highway on my way to Hervil
le," He said. "I'm going talk to the police in the morning. Will you meet me after?"
"When and where?" I asked.
"How about that coffee shop, Brew's. Say, around eleven o'clock?"
"I'll be there,” I said. "Your name's Benjamin?"
"Yeah. Call me Ben,” he said.
"OK Ben, call the number on your caller ID if you need to change the time or place."
He agreed, and we hung up. I went out on the balcony with the dogs and my second slab of chocolate cake. The sun was almost gone, but the air was soft and warm. I sat down, staring out at the woods. There were thousands of acres of other woods around Herville. Why was this prick using my families land as a body dump? And why try to kill a frequent guest to our home? And where did Dr. Robinson fit into this? The killer liked to torture and brutally kill young girls, but the same killer was willing to shoot elderly men. Why?
What did George and Dr. Robinson have in common other than being males over seventy? I needed to talk to Phil Robinson, his son. Phil became a physician, just like his father. I could track him down at the hospital tomorrow when I took Gram to see George.
My eyes scanned the woods for a glimmer of light. But there was nothing but darkness in the trees. I got up and went inside. I needed to be sharp tomorrow, and I wanted a bath and my bed. I made sure my gun was on the nightstand when I slid between the sheets.
Gram and I got to the hospital, a little after ten, the next morning. George was awake and already had visitors, but he was ecstatic to see us walk into his ICU cubicle. Detectives Kasey and Krause stood at his bedside, notebooks in hand. Upon seeing us, Kasey rolled his eyes while Krause greeted us politely.
"We'll talk again, soon,” Detective Kasey snarled at George. He was such an angry, unpleasant soul. Like Rupert in human form. "Maybe, you'll remember something helpful."
Detective Krause handed Gram a card. "Call us if he remembers anything that you think would help." Then nodding at me politely, he followed his partner toward the elevator.
"How are you feeling, darling?" Gram asked George while she straighten the oxygen prongs in his nostrils. "You look much better than I expected."
"Then give me a kiss, sweetheart." George puckered up and Gram leaned forward. Their lips met in a sweet kiss. "Ahhhhh, that's the best medicine,” he said.
