by Alexa Grace
Standing next to her, Cameron could see the Lucas living room in its entirety through the window. Bradley was inside trying to tend to Tisha’s cuts, and she was pushing him away. He knelt down to take another look at the shoe prints. “No drops of blood. I think our guy stood here and watched them inside for a long time, before digging up the rock.”
“I agree. But why would your typical vandal, age eleven to seventeen, stand here alone watching a middle-aged couple have dinner? Not real exciting for a teenager. The alone part of the equation bothers me too. Nine times out of ten, vandalism is done as a group activity, like those kids last year who spray-painted the windows of the junior high school. Any rock throwing we’ve seen have been restricted to breaking windows of abandoned business buildings. And no rocks soaked with blood.”
“Any prints on or around this window?”
“No, sir. Nor were there any on the remaining lower-level windows. I checked them all.”
“What about tool marks? Any indicators he tried to break in.”
“None.”
“Did you find any discarded food packaging or cigarette butts we could analyze for touch DNA?”
Gail shook her head. “Sorry, nothing like that was found.”
“Well, shit. Could we not catch a break on this one?”
“We’ll keep looking.”
“How did he get here? Any tire impressions?”
“No. Cheryl thinks he left the vehicle on the highway, or he had someone drop him off, and then pick him up later. But that idea of dropping him off and picking him up later sounds awfully risky for a guy who obviously wore gloves to avoid leaving his fingerprints. He’s more careful than that. Too many things could have gone wrong with that scenario.”
Cameron thought it over and decided he agreed with his deputy. Their guy was careful and organized. He did not want to get caught. “Here’s what bothers me. He brings blood to the scene, but not the rock. It’s like he’s been here before and knew the landscaping and exactly where he could find a large rock for his purposes. And why include the blood? Most vandals would be happy just to crash the rock through the window. But not our guy. What’s he trying to communicate? That he has the power to scare the living crap out of the Lucas couple? What was he trying to accomplish?”
Cameron shot another look inside the house. Cheryl had finished photographing the living room and was bagging the rock. Soon she appeared on the front porch to tell him she was heading back to the lab.
Cameron glanced back through the window. Bradley had left the living room, but Tisha sat in a chair, studying a folded piece of paper. When her husband returned, Tisha shoved the paper in her pocket as if she didn’t want him to see it. Something was up with her, and Cameron was determined to find out what.
“Gail, you’re thirsty.”
“How did you know? Am I on your psychic wavelength?”
Grinning, Cameron edged toward her. “You’re about to ask Mr. Lucas for a glass of water. Once in the kitchen, you will engage him in a conversation.”
Opening the front door, Gail said, “You got powers, boss. Mystical powers.”
Through the window, he saw Bradley leave with Gail, so he headed inside. Tisha still sat in the chair by the fireplace, hands balled into fists in her lap. Cameron casually approached her, hands in his pockets.
“Tisha, I forgot to ask you something.”
She angled her head toward him, wariness in her eyes.
“Can you think of anyone who would want to do something like this?”
Tisha shrugged her shoulders. “It’s probably a teenage prank, like you said.”
“We discovered some things outside that have inspired me to change my opinion on that.”
She nearly jumped out of her chair, before she quickly composed herself. “What? What did you find?”
Aiming his thumb over his shoulder at the window behind him, he said, “He stood out there watching you and your husband for a while, shuffling back and forth on his feet. The typical teenager would have shot out of your yard if he knew the couple he was pranking was in the front room, close enough to nab him. Your rock thrower was careful, he wore gloves so he wouldn’t leave any prints. He was organized, he brought the blood with him, but he knew where to find the ideal rock in your landscaping. He was sending you and Bradley a message. Any idea what that was?”
“No.”
Cameron shot her a warning look she couldn’t miss. “I don’t believe you, Tisha. I think you know exactly what your vandal was trying to communicate. In fact, I think he’s already contacted you. Hasn’t he?”
She simply nodded, eyes hauntingly dark with some unnamed emotion. Obviously Tisha was still shaken by what was written on the paper that she pulled out of her pocket and handed to him.
Slipping on a pair of latex gloves, Cameron opened the note.
You brought them into the world and you will pay for their sins. Retribution? Justice? They are the same.
—David109
“When did you receive this?”
“Last week, I found it in our mailbox.”
“Did you see the person who left it there?”
Shaking her head, she said, “No.”
Placing the note into an evidence bag, he asked, “Who have you told about the note?”
“No one.”
“Not even your husband? Why not?”
Tisha smirked. “Bradley holds the Olympics bronze for the head-in-the-sand event. Why would I tell him?”
“Why didn’t you call the police?”
“I don’t know. I guess I thought the note would be the end of it. Obviously, I was wrong.”
Chapter Fifteen
Suspect Pool
Waiting in a booth, Bryan ordered two Heinekens, one for Cameron and one for himself. It was close to one in the morning and the Hoosier Bar and Grill was quiet, which he expected for a week night. Too late for most, but not for people like him and Cameron, who were on call 24/7. A couple was making out at the far corner of the bar, two men watched a repeat of a Pacer game on the large screen television, and a guy sat by himself, who should have been cut off two drinks ago. If he headed toward the parking lot, Bryan was going to stop him. There was no way this guy should be driving. Cameron was five minutes out last time he called, and should walk through the door any minute. A night in the drunk tank at the county jail would sober the guy up and possibly save a few lives at the same time.
Cameron arrived and made a beeline for his booth, looking troubled and keyed up. It wasn’t the first time they’d met after a crime scene, and wouldn’t be the last.
Bryan waited until Cameron slid onto his seat and lifted the Heineken to his lips. “Cheryl called me. She said you wanted some items sent to the lab. Since when do we send items from a vandalism case to the lab?”
“She didn’t tell you it was the Lucas place?”
“Lucas, as in Bradley Lucas, as in County Commission President, and father to two serial killers?”
“The same.”
“What happened?”
“To make a long story short, someone threw a bloody rock through the Lucas house front window.”
“Teenage prank? It wasn’t that long ago you nabbed that Clark kid for breaking windows in the old flour mill by the river. Is he at it again?”
Cameron shook his head. “Not this time. The rock thrower went to the trouble of bringing blood to the scene, where he poured it over the rock before he threw it, and wore gloves so he didn’t leave prints. He also spent a lot of time watching Bradley and Tisha through the front window as they had their dinner in the living room.”
“Let me retract my suggestion it might be a teenage prank. Too organized. Too much preparation. Think it’s a one-time thing?”
Instead of answering, Cameron withdrew the evidence bag from his jacket and smoothed it in front of Bryan so he could read the note.
“Well, crap. I’d hoped this kind of thing wouldn’t happen to them.”
“Me, too.�
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“Why seek retribution from the parents? They didn’t harm anyone.”
Cameron ran his fingers through his hair. “The twins aren’t around anymore to hate or to hurt.”
Bryan returned his attention to the note. “So why sign the note ‘David109’?”
“Good question. Do you think it’s his Internet signature? I’ve got numbers after my name in my email address.” Cameron chugged what was left of his beer and set the bottle on the table, while Bryan signaled the waitress.
“It could also refer to his nickname for a chat room, or maybe a user I.D. for a web site. It could also be totally unrelated to the Internet.”
The waitress arrived at their table and Bryan ordered another round.
“I’m coming up with nothing. Let me know if you think of anything.”
“Do you know what happened with Tisha at Mollie’s cafe?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Last week Mollie saw a guy grab Tisha by the back of the neck as he said something in her ear. Mollie said the guy looked pissed, and he sure wasn’t whispering sweet nothings. He ended up throwing a wadded up napkin at Tisha before he stomped out of the cafe.”
A muscle jumped in Cameron’s jaw as he glared at his friend. “Seriously? And no one thinks to tell me about it?”
“Calm down, Cam. It wasn’t a police matter at that point. Besides Tisha ran out of the restaurant before anyone could talk to her, let alone ask her if she wanted to press charges. Didn’t you just see her at the house? Didn’t she tell you what happened?”
“I’m finding that Tisha Lucas keeps a lot of things to herself—even threats of revenge.”
“Why now, Cam? It’s been at least a year since the twins died and their crimes were discovered.” Bryan asked, wanting to put all the pieces together.
“Slow to take action? Waiting for the right time. Lack of opportunity? Or maybe he thought his rage would dissipate but it didn’t. It just simmered until it boiled over.”
“I don’t envy you, Cam. I don’t think your guy is a random nutcase. There were seven young women who were tortured and murdered by the Lucas boys. That means you’ve got a suspect pool of at least seven families who may want the kind of retribution spelled out in that note—the kind that involves bloodshed.”
Chapter Sixteen
The Investigation
Was there anything sexier than finding your man wearing a chef’s apron over his impressive bare chest, and pulling double blueberry muffins out of a hot oven? Kaitlyn didn’t think so as she threaded her arms around his waist and planted a kiss on the back of his neck. Gabe responded by turning around and pulling her close with oven-mitted hands. His kiss was initially slow and thoughtful, but soon all that changed as his tongue sent shivers of desire through her.
Cameron dramatically cleared his throat and the two of them broke apart as if they were high school dates caught necking by a parent who turned on the porch light. Cameron let out a short laugh and shook his head as Kaitlyn spun around, her face coloring fiercely. Passing by her, he poured hot coffee in his mug and sat down at the table.
Gabe carefully turned over a ham and cheese omelet in the skillet and then placed it on a plate, along with some garlic and herb hash browns and a double blueberry muffin. “Damn it, Cam. Could you walk a little louder? Give a guy a heads up before you enter a room?”
His brother shot him a grin. “That would take all the fun out it.”
Kaitlyn placed the muffins in a basket, while Gabe started another omelet. She placed the filled plate in front of Cameron. “You look tired, this morning. Did you have a late call?”
Sipping his coffee, Cameron looked at her thoughtfully. “There was some vandalism at the Lucas place last night.”
“Sorry to hear that. Are they okay?”
He shrugged and didn’t answer her question. “Hey, I haven’t seen you since the day I gave you the contact information for the families impacted by the Gamers’ murders. When I called them, some were eager for you to contact them, others not so much. What happened with that support group you were trying to organize?”
“Our chapter of Families of the Murdered had its first meeting already.”
“Did all the people on the list I gave you show up?”
“Everyone was there except Val Staley’s mother and stepfather. They live in Chicago and our meetings are too far away for them to attend. Margaret and I are trying to find a chapter near Chicago they can go to.”
“Margaret Bennett, right? Isn’t she the shrink that has an office in Gabe’s building?”
“Uh, oh,” Gabe muttered as he stole a glance at Kaitlyn. “You just used the ‘shrink’ word in the same sentence with ‘Margaret.’”
Kaitlyn was quick to speak up. “Margaret is not a shrink. She’s licensed as a mental health counselor and she leads the group discussion.”
“I’ve never attended a support group. What are they like?”
Kaitlyn removed her napkin and placed it on her lap as Gabe delivered her breakfast plate. “I’ve never been a part of one, either. Margaret says that groups like FOM help people through the grieving and healing process. Our particular group is special because we each lost someone we love through the violent acts of the same two people. We each understand exactly what the others are talking about because we each lived the same nightmare.”
“I’m not sure that group would do much for me. I didn’t know your sister very well, but I’m still pissed off that a couple of losers could snuff out her life for fun. Didn’t any members of your group talk about how furious they are? Didn’t any of them want justice?”
Kaitlyn placed her fork down, and folded her napkin as anger sizzled her brain. “I know what you’re doing, Cam. I’m not stupid. You think someone in FOM vandalized the Lucas place, and you actually believe I am going to finger him or her for you. Not happening.”
Choking on his coffee, Cameron recovered and lay down his mug. “I only…”
“Don’t even try to bullshit me. That’s exactly why you pretended to have interest in the group. If you’re looking for a suspect, why not start with me?”
Gabe started to interrupt, but the edge in her voice and the fire in her eyes stopped him. Instead he shot a glare at his brother.
When Cameron didn’t respond, Kaitlyn continued. “Come to think of it, I’m an excellent suspect. I’m livid that those bastards killed my little sister. Abby and I were close. We supported each other when our Dad walked out on us, and during the nasty divorce that followed. I may have been the only one who understood why she hopped from one man’s bed to another, ever seeking the male figure who deserted her.”
Cameron held his hands up in mock surrender.
“I remember Abby as being strong and beautiful, and in an instant, she’s gone forever because two teenaged pricks thought it would be fun to kill her. Do you not think I experience anger about that? Believe me, the rage burns so deep inside me, I don’t know if I will ever be able to extinguish it and forgive them. If Evan and Devan Lucas were alive today, I can’t tell you that I wouldn’t try to kill them. But torture their parents? No. They’ve been through enough.”
Kaitlyn pushed away from the table, and placed her dishes in the kitchen sink. In one smooth, angry motion, she left the room and ran up the stairs.
Scowling at his brother, Gabe shook his head. “What the hell were you thinking? I can’t believe you sat there and applied interrogation and manipulation techniques on the woman I’m going to marry. Goddamn it, Cam.”
“I’m sorry. It’s no excuse, but I’m operating on three hours of sleep, and all I can think about is that bloody rock lying on the carpet in the Lucas’living room.”
“You’re right. That’s no excuse. Did you have to involve Kaitlyn? I mean, she’s just starting to come to terms with her sister’s murder.”
“Gabe, I think the vandalism last night at the Lucas place is just the beginning. The doer left a note making it very clear he’s seeking r
etribution for the murders their sons committed. He may be a member of the FOM. group.”
“Any prints on the note?”
“Don’t know. I gave it to Bryan last night to take back to the lab, but I doubt there were prints or DNA. This guy is too careful. He wore gloves so he wouldn’t leave prints on the windows, and he undoubtedly did the same when he wrote the note.”
“Did he sign the note?”
“Yeah, he signed it ‘David109.’ Do you think it’s some kind of Internet user name?”
“Maybe, but it could refer to something else. Hold on, I’ll be right back.” Gabe hurried from the room and returned sometime later holding the family Bible in his hands. Laying it on the table, he began thumbing through the pages. “Here it is. Remember in Sunday school at church, we were both in Mr. Hunt’s class. He was teaching us the Psalms, but when he got to Psalm 109, he didn’t want to discuss it. That made me really curious, so when we got home, I looked up Psalm 109. David, the author of this Psalm, calls upon God to destroy his enemies in the most horrible ways.”
“I think you’re right on target. It makes sense. He calls himself David109 because he intends to do what David in the Bible requested of God—inflict punishment upon the family of the two men who destroyed the life of someone he loved.”
Cameron pushed away from the table, preparing to leave the room.
“Where are you going?”
“First, I’m going to apologize to Kaitlyn, and then I’m going to speak with not-a-shrink Margaret Bennett. Maybe she’ll be more open about what goes on in her support group meetings, since she’s the only one there who hasn’t lost someone to Evan and Devan Lucas.”
