Anderson’s phone buzzed.
“I’m in position,” Anderson said. “There’s a car in the driveway.”
“Callie told me patients at Passages aren’t allowed to have cars. That’s what her tour guide said. Are there any lights on in the house?”
“I can’t tell. The curtains are closed.”
“You need a cover story,” Salem said. “Go ring the bell. You’re a born-again Christian traveling around the county, spreading the good news.”
“So, if someone comes to the door, I just act like a presumptuous asshole with a screw loose?”
“Exactly,” Salem said. “Just be yourself.”
Anderson ended the call and gazed at the house. It looked empty, but there was only one way to find out. He started up the front walk with a purposeful stride and rang the doorbell. The house was silent. Anderson dropped to one knee and pretended to tie his shoe. He reached under the front welcome mat and smiled. Hal Morris was no smarter than Davis Lord. The man apparently did all his thinking with his little head. He rang the bell once more just to be sure and then unlocked the door with Morris’s spare key.
The house was the same standard layout as Lord’s with the exception of the sunroom that Morris or a previous owner had added to the back of the house. It was a nice touch. The room was tastefully furnished with a plush sofa, matching chairs, and tables. There was a small bookcase that contained mostly mystery and suspense novels. Anderson was disappointed. He had expected a sex dungeon or torture chamber.
The other rooms in the house contained nothing of interest. Anderson had saved the master bedroom for last. If Morris was hiding anything that would incriminate him as a serial killer, this was where it would be.
Anderson opened the door and recoiled at the sight before him. The entire room was a wanton celebration of smut and depravity. The walls were plastered with blown-up pictures of naked girls and women engaged in various sexual acts and poses.
He moved into the room and began snapping pictures of the girls who appeared to be under the age of eighteen. A stack of porn magazines was on the bedside table. Anderson flipped through them and put them back. The images were hardcore, but not illegal.
The television had a DVD player with a video still in it. Anderson turned it on and watched. The film was a compilation titled Blown Away. His stomach rolled over as he watched a series of young girls, all clearly underage, orally service their partners before taking a bullet to the back of the head.
Jesus, it’s a snuff film. Is it real or simulated?
Anderson took pictures of the opening title and credits and then fast forwarded to pictures of the different girls and the murder scenes. This had to be illegal, even if the shootings weren’t real. Some of the actresses looked as young as eleven or twelve. If this was the sort of thing Morris kept in plain sight, there was no telling what kind of sick images he had stored on his computer.
He opened the drawer to the bedside table and felt a chill race down his back.
Hello. I do believe I’ve hit the jackpot.
The Bible was old and well-used. Anderson flipped through the pages. Verses, sometimes entire chapters, were highlighted in yellow. The book was heavily marked all the way through, but the Old Testament seemed to be Morris’s particular area of interest.
He closed the drawer and backed out of the room. The place was revolting. It stank of corruption and insanity.
Anderson locked the front door behind him and returned the key to its hiding place. He pulled out his phone and called Salem.
“I’m out. Do you need me?”
He frowned at Salem’s reply.
“Are you kidding? All right, I’m on my way.”
Anderson tried to make sense of things as he drove to the old motel across the lake. Grace Hanes and Hal Morris had just checked into one of the rooms. What the hell was going on?
* * * *
“It must be her day off,” Salem said. “It’s either that, or she’s working a later shift today. She left the apartment ten minutes after I got there. I figured she was going to work.”
“What happened?” Anderson asked.
“She drove to Passages, all right, but she wasn’t going to work. Morris was waiting for her out front. He got in the car, and they drove straight here. That’s her car in front of room twenty-six.”
“What do you want to do?”
“The first thing we need to do is get out of this parking lot,” Salem said. “We’re standing out like a couple of sore thumbs. I want you to park a short ways down the road toward her apartment. Call me if she’s on the way. I’m going to try to get inside. I’ll let you know when I’m done. We can meet back at the house and compare notes.”
Anderson found a parking spot a half mile down the road. He sent Dodd a text and uploaded the pictures he had taken in Morris’s house. If the FBI couldn’t get a search warrant, maybe Dodd’s cybercrime people could hack into his computer and take a look around.
He checked his rear-view mirror. The road was clear. Anderson opened his coffee thermos and the box of sweet tarts. He hadn’t eaten anything prior to visiting Hal Morris’s residence, and that experience had temporarily killed his appetite. It was done now…thank God. He and Salem could figure out what to do next, or maybe Dodd would take the ball and run with it.
His phone beeped. Anderson glanced at the number and picked up.
“I’m in,” Salem said. “This won’t take long. Hanes is living like a pauper. Her place is one bedroom and one bath. I doubt if it’s more than seven hundred square feet, and the furniture looks like it escaped from a flea market or a college dormitory. There’s not much in the pantry or refrigerator, either.”
Anderson finished his tart and reached for another. His phone beeped again.
“There’s nothing here,” Salem said. “This is a woman who’s counting her nickels and dimes. She’s a perfect fit for our murder-for-hire theory.”
“Do you want to sit on her until she leaves the motel?”
“No,” Salem said. “I don’t think doing that will tell us anything we don’t already know. I’ll see you back at the house.”
Anderson checked his mirror and eased back onto the road. The motel was just ahead. He glanced to his left as he drove past. The car was still parked in front of room twenty-six. Anderson had the feeling it would be there for the rest of the day and night.
Chapter 32
“They’re a team,” Anderson said. “That’s got to be it.”
Salem got a bottle of water from the refrigerator and joined Anderson at the dining table. “I don’t see it that way. Hanes needs money. According to Callie, she’s underpaid at her job and has to help out her mother who lives in one of the Passages Assisted Living apartments. That’s not cheap.”
“So, what are you suggesting?” Anderson asked.
Salem drank some water and drummed his fingers on the table. “Hanes was selling cocaine to Hal Morris, who was buying it for Melissa, either as a gift or as payment for sex. We know that. She was probably dealing drugs for the extra money. There’s nothing to indicate she’s a user. I think she’s shacked up with Morris in that motel room for the same reason.”
“You think she’s having sex with him for money?”
Salem nodded. “She’s struggling, Anderson. Hanes is in the same boat as Finn Watson. She can make a couple hundred bucks for an afternoon of sex with Morris. That’s a tidy little income stream if she can turn it into a regular once or twice a week thing.”
“I guess that could be it,” Anderson said. “Morris doesn’t seem to be a wealthy man, and he’s between jobs at the moment. I don’t know what the going rate is for a hit man, but I can’t imagine Grace Hanes or anyone else killing Melissa for less than ten grand. Morris would probably have to tap the equity in his house or drain his savings to manage that.”
“I’m not ruling out your theory,” Salem said, “But it’s hard for me to see the motive. Melissa was a willing sex partner and always availa
ble. That’s like oxygen for a guy like Morris.”
Anderson remained silent.
“What was his house like?”
“It was a horror show,” Anderson said. “Porn magazines on the bedside table, pictures of naked women plastered to the walls, and a snuff video in the DVD player featuring girls who look like they’re still in middle school. God only knows what’s on his computer. I took pictures and uploaded them to Dodd.”
“Has he found anything interesting about the life and times of Tommy Sale?”
Anderson snorted. “Yeah, he found out Sale wasn’t the rich trust fund baby his band mates thought he was. He does have a trust fund worth about three hundred grand. It’s invested in blue chip stocks and corporate bonds.”
Salem shrugged. “That’s not rich, but it’s a good start for a guy in his twenties. He could build on that.”
“Yeah, except there was no indication of that,” Anderson said. “He wasn’t even re-investing the interest and dividends. Dodd told me Sale was living on the dividend income and the money he made from the band. Once he walked away from Mama’s Biscuits, he was faced with the choice of either getting a real job or drawing down money from the trust fund. On top of that, Sale was looking at jail time for kidnapping and attempting to assault Olivia. I guess it was more than he could handle. Dodd did say he discovered several calls to Finn Watson when he was going through Sale’s phone records. Finn confirmed Sale was a regular client.”
“What kind of client?”
“Oh, sorry, he was an escort client. Sale didn’t touch drugs, according to Finn. Frankly, I’m surprised he had the money for escorts. He must have been living on soda crackers and tap water to manage it.””
“If he was a regular client, he probably saw both Donna and Melissa.”
Anderson shook his head. “Watson said Sale was a one-woman man. He always saw Missy Hunt. Dodd said Watson told him a lot of guys like to stick with the same girl. It’s less awkward and facilitates the fantasy they’re visiting their girlfriend rather than paying for sex.”
Salem closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead. “My head’s spinning. I don’t know what to make of this anymore.”
Anderson got up from the table. “I’m going back to work. Bo must be dead on his feet by now. I say we keep patrolling your property and the campground, keep our eyes open, and let Dodd and his team work the case. If something else develops, we can jump on it.”
Salem finished his water and stared out the dining room window, seeing nothing. The case was stalled. There was nothing more any of them could do except wait for the killer to make another move. If another person had to lose their life, he hoped it wouldn’t be anyone he knew.
He got up from the table and went to the closet for his shotgun. It was time to search his property. If anyone was on his land, God help them because he was going to shoot first and ask questions later.
* * * *
Callie turned out the lights and locked the door behind her. It had been a good day. January was nearly over, and business at the store was picking up. Salem and Krista would be pleased.
She hurried toward her car, fumbling with car keys and pepper spray as she sloshed through the soft, wet snow. It was dark and cold, but the sky was clear and there was only a slight breeze.
No sign of snow. Thank God. Maybe I’ll get some supper at the Channel Marker. I don’t want to run up Krista’s grocery bill.
It was still early, and the parking lot was nearly empty. Callie found a seat at the bar and waved to Linda.
“Where is everybody?”
Linda looked grim. “That’s a good question. Business is lousy, Callie. My tip income is way down. Douglas is worried, and so am I.”
Callie glanced around at the empty tables. “I didn’t think losing Mama’s Biscuits would hit you this hard.”
“That’s only part of the problem. The place just has a bad vibe now. People know what happened to Tommy. They’re avoiding the Channel Marker. Have you heard anything from Olivia? Is she all right?”
“I haven’t heard from her since she called to tell me what happened and warn me about Tommy. I guess she’s still working on the new album.”
She ordered the burger plate and checked her reflection in the mirror behind the bar. It didn’t matter. There was nobody in her life now who cared if her hair was messy or her lipstick was smeared.
Linda brought her food and leaned in close. “There’s a woman at the end of the bar, checking you out, in case you hadn’t noticed.”
Callie turned her head and saw an attractive, full-figured woman watching her. The woman smiled and looked away. “Do you know her?”
Linda nodded. “That’s Helen Cook. She lives up the road on a small farm. I’m sure you’ve seen it. Her deadbeat husband left her a couple of years ago, and she decided to switch teams. Helen’s a good, hard-working person. Her parents died and left her some money, so she’s been able to hang onto the farm. She raises almost all her own food and operates a fruit and vegetable stand from May through September.”
Callie took a second look. “She’s a little old, isn’t she?”
“I’ll let you be the judge of that. Helen’s probably in her late forties. She looks pretty hot to me, and I’m straight.”
Callie drank some water and stood. “Let’s see what happens.” She sat down on the stool next to the woman and extended her hand. “I’m Callie Wilson, and you’re Helen Cook.”
The woman laughed and took her hand. “I didn’t mean to stare. You’re very attractive. I’ve seen you at Carson’s.”
Callie nodded. “I’m the manager. Linda says you’re a farm girl. What’s a good-looking farm girl doing at the Channel Marker?”
“Looking for a female friend with benefits,” Helen said. “I thought I would give the Channel Marker a try.”
Callie grinned. “You get straight to the point, Helen Cook. I like that. Come sit with me while I eat supper.”
Helen talked about the farm and her family while Callie ate.
“We couldn’t have children. The doctor told Ralph he was shooting blanks. It’s just as well. Sex with Ralph was about as much fun as a trip to the dentist. I’m actually relieved he’s gone, to tell you the truth. If I have to work the farm and keep the house, I’d much rather do it without a lazy man underfoot.”
Callie nodded. “It’s funny—my closest friends are men, but I’m not sexually attracted to any of them. I’ve been with a couple of guys, but I didn’t enjoy it. I didn’t hate it or find it disgusting. It was, I don’t know, just unfulfilling.”
“God, I know what you mean,” Helen said. “I didn’t have my first orgasm until last summer. I am so glad I switched to women.”
Callie finished eating and dropped some money on the bar. “I need to get home tonight, but tomorrow’s my day off. Do you want to get together?”
Helen wrote down her number and handed it to Callie. “I’ve got chores to do in the morning. Call me around noon, and I’ll give you directions to my house. We can spend the afternoon in bed. Wear something sexy.”
Callie tucked the number into her purse and headed for the door with a smile on her face. She was looking forward to a little afternoon delight with her new friend. She grabbed her keys and pepper spray and stepped outside. The temperature was dropping. Callie opened the car door and caught a glimpse of something dark in the side-view mirror.
The blow knocked her to the pavement. She stared up at two glittering eyes looking at her through a ski mask. The attacker bent down and cocked a fist. Callie aimed the pepper spray and fired.
The assailant screamed and stumbled away. Callie staggered into the car and started the engine. Her attacker weaved blindly across the parking lot toward the road. Thick woods on the far side of the road backed up to the base of Shenandoah Mountain.
She still had time. The monster had reached the grassy strip between the parking lot and the road. The ground there was flat, but still covered in snow.
Callie gun
ned the engine and hit the gas. The monster heard her coming and tried to dodge. The right front fender clipped the assailant’s leg. Callie spun the wheel and tried to line up another attempt. It was too late. The attacker was hobbling across the road and into the trees.
“Goddamnit!”
She roared out of the parking lot and skidded to a stop in the middle of the road. The monster had vanished into the woods.
“You chicken shit mother fucker! You’re a dead man walking!”
Callie took a deep breath and climbed back in the car. She would tell Salem and Anderson about this, but they couldn’t tell Dodd. The FBI would only be interested in making an arrest and closing the case. This person, whoever he or she was, needed to be eliminated.
Chapter 33
“Have you been to the doctor, Hal? There’s definitely something wrong with your testosterone. If you screw me again, I’m not going to be able to walk out of this pathetic hole-in-the-wall motel.”
They were in bed, and Hal Morris stared at her body with the wild-eyed hunger of a sixteen-year-old boy. She would have been flattered if Morris wasn’t such a sick man.
“I can’t help it, Grace. My treatment plan isn’t working, and I’ve been going without since Melissa’s death.”
Grace snorted. “You were the one who found her body. I’m surprised you didn’t strip down right there in the woods and do her one last time. Maybe you did, for all I know.”
Hal reached for one of her breasts. “That’s too sick, even for me.”
Hanes sighed. “Since your current treatment isn’t working, I think you need to change your diet.”
“What are you talking about, Grace? What does that have to do with anything?”
“The problem is blood flow, Hal. You’re too healthy. We need to get you on a high fat, high sugar, fried food diet. You have to cut out all fruits and vegetables except French fries. The goal is to raise your blood pressure and cholesterol levels so plaque can build up in your arteries. That will impede the flow of blood you need to get and maintain an erection. You can start to live a normal life. Your dick will thank you.”
Pieces of January Page 20
