One Kill Away

by Alex MacLean

  Hands tight on the wheel, Seth swung out around him. He kept his eyes locked on the Honda, coasting slowly through the tree-shrouded neighborhood.

  Seth saw his house looming ahead. As the Honda reached it, the brake lights popped on. Seth whipped his car into an empty driveway five houses before his.

  Fear coursing through his body, he watched the Honda inch past his home. The car suddenly shot forward, heaving back on its rear struts, and raced up the road a short distance before making a U-turn. It came down the other side, slowing again when it got to Seth’s house.

  Seth swallowed. They were casing his place. That much was obvious. Did Higgins somehow suspect him of committing the murders? Stanton must’ve said something to tip him off. Why else would Higgins come over here right after he left?

  The paper bag, Seth remembered. What had been inside it?

  Heart pounding, he saw the Honda slide past his mirrors. He waited for a count of five, then backed out to the curb. The Honda was at the end of the road, stopped at the stop sign, its left signal light flashing. It turned onto Robie Street and vanished from sight.

  The cop in the SUV remained stationary. Seth watched him in the rearview mirror, waiting. After a few seconds, the cop swung the vehicle around in the road and headed off in the same direction as Higgins.

  Punching the gas, Seth shot up the road to his house. He jammed on the brakes in the driveway and the tires gave off a sharp squawk. He jumped out and rushed to the back door. His fingers fumbled the keys into the three locks.

  Once inside, he threw the deadbolts into place, disarmed the alarm, and rearmed it again. He kept the shotgun hidden in the living room closet. Digging it out, he checked the breech. Loaded. He brought down a box of shells from the overhead shelf and laid it on the coffee table. Let Higgins and his crew come back for him. Seth would be ready.

  He went to the front door and made sure it was locked. Then he peeled back the curtain of the living room window, peering out at the street. No one there. No one in the driveway either.

  Everything suddenly felt like it ground to a halt and Seth snapped his head up.

  Lily. He had to check on Lily.

  Propping the shotgun against the sofa arm, he hurried upstairs and down the hallway to her room. He opened the door, expecting to find his daughter coloring at her easel desk or playing on the floor with her dolls, but she wasn’t in the room at all.

  “Lily,” he called.

  He opened her closet door. Only her clothes and some toys inside. He looked under the bed. Not there.

  “Lily,” he called again. “Where are you, honey?”

  He waited for a response. When none came, his brain ripped into panic mode. He ran down the hallway to his room, checking the closet and under the bed. He ran into the bathroom. He ran into the spare bedroom.

  Lily was gone.

  He rushed back downstairs, calling her name.

  The basement. Maybe she went down there for some reason. He hurried down the steps, almost tripping, and looked behind the furnace, under his workbench. Not there either.

  Mind reeling, he slapped both hands up to his head. Where was she? Where the hell was she? The front and back doors had been locked. The alarm hadn’t been tripped. So Lily never got out. She had to be still in the house somewhere.

  He hurried back upstairs to the kitchen.

  “Lily. It’s Daddy. You can come out now. It’s safe. Please, honey. Where are you?”

  The phone rang and startled him. It was his sister, Dana. Not now. He stopped. Wait. Maybe Dana had her. But that didn’t make any sense because she didn’t have keys to the house. She didn’t know the alarm code.

  He snatched the cordless phone from the counter.

  “Hey, lil’ brother.”

  “I-I can’t talk right now.”

  Dana’s voice filled with concern. “Why? What’s going on? You sound out of breath.”

  “Lily. I can’t find her. She’s missing.”

  There came a sharp intake of breath on the other end of the line.

  “Seth, calm down,” Dana said.

  “Tell me she’s with you. Tell me she’s okay.”

  “Calm down, please.”

  “She’s with you, right?”

  “No, Seth. She’s not. This is exactly what happened to you in March. Remember? You called the police and told them someone kidnapped Lily.”

  “No, no, no, no.”

  “Yes, Seth. You did. That’s why they put you in the hospital.”

  “What? That’s not why. I had a breakdown because of Camille.”

  “It was Lily. You started having these spells where you saw her. You even saw her while you were admitted. You talked to her like she was actually there.”

  “What are you saying? She came to visit me with you. I remember that. She stayed with you when I was in there.”

  “You convinced yourself of that. Lily was never with me. Never. I came to visit you alone. By myself. You scared the hell out of me when you said she was standing beside me.”

  Seth pinched the skin between his eyes.

  Dana said, “I knew the other day when I dropped over, you were having those spells again. The bars on the windows. The extra door locks. You should’ve never gone back to that house. I knew it wouldn’t be healthy for you to go on living there.”

  “The bars,” Seth said. “The locks. That’s for Lily. To keep her safe. I knew you wouldn’t understand. I failed Camille. I’m not failing my daughter.”

  Dana began sobbing. “Lily is gone, Seth. She’s gone.”

  “She’s not gone. What do you mean she’s gone? She was playing in her room. I went out for an hour. I came back and she’s not here. She must be in the attic. It’s the only place I haven’t looked.”

  “Seth, do you even hear yourself?”

  “She’s not gone. She was here.”

  Dana sniffed and her voice took on a plaintive tone. “Seth, please listen to me. Please. Please. You can’t admit it to yourself. Maybe it’s too painful for you to accept. Maybe you created this false reality because you can’t cope. I don’t know. But Lily died the night those men broke into your house.”

  The words crawled up his arms and neck, prickling his skin like they had tiny claws. He found it hard to catch his breath. Pain ripped through his chest.

  “No, no, no.”

  “She did, Seth. She did.”

  “No, no, no.”

  “They think she fell in her room trying to run away and bumped her head. The doctors at the hospital couldn’t stop the bleeding in her brain.”

  “Bullshit!” he screamed, and the scream echoed throughout the house.

  “I’m sorry,” Dana said. “It’s true.”

  “You’re lying. She was just here. She—”

  “Seth. It’s not your fault. It’s not your fault.”

  “What? What isn’t?”

  “Lily. Camille. What happened that night. There was nothing you could’ve done.”

  Seth blinked at the sweat dripping into his eyes. He felt himself shaking uncontrollably, the strength flooding out of his legs. He dropped his knees to the floor.

  Dana said, “I’m calling Dr. Somerville.”

  Seth gripped the phone so hard he could hear the plastic crack. “No, don’t you call him. Nobody is getting in here. Nobody. Understand?”

  “He helped you before.”

  “I’m not going back to the hospital. Don’t call him. Don’t betray me like that.”

  “Then I’m coming up there.”

  Seth perked up. “Don’t. It’s not safe.”

  “What?”

  “I don’t want something to happen to you. Just stay away. Please.”

  Dana fell quiet for a brief moment.

  “Seth, take your medication,” she said. “For me. It’ll calm you down. Make this all go away.”

  He realized he had to convince her not to come. What if Higgins returned with his buddies? What if they hurt Dana?

  “You�
��re right,” he said. “I never took my pills today. That’s probably it. I need them.”

  “Take them, Seth.”

  “I will. Going to right now.”

  “I’m still coming up there—”

  “No.”

  “Tomorrow. Right after work. You hear me?”

  Just not tonight, he prayed.

  “Okay,” he said. “That’s fine.”

  “I’m going to call you in two hours. Answer the phone. I want to make sure you’re well. If you don’t answer, I’m coming up.”

  “I’ll answer.”

  “I love you, lil’ brother.”

  “Love you too.”

  Seth clicked off the phone and it fell out of his hand.

  Dana stood over his bed in the ICU. Her eyes were red, swollen and ravaged. Hank, her husband, lowered his head with a solemn expression etched in his face. He folded his hands in front of him.

  “Seth,” Dana said. “I need to tell you something.”

  “What?”

  “It’s Lily.”

  Seth felt his chest flutter. “What? She’s okay, right?”

  Dana took his hand and he could feel the tremble in her fingers. Her face crumbled as she fought to get the words out.

  “She died, Seth. Five days ago. You were in such bad shape, we didn’t have the heart to tell you.”

  Seth vomited on the kitchen floor until his throat burned and his stomach ached. Then he hugged himself and wept.

  He wept, rocking back and forth.

  He wept, calling Lily’s name over and over again.

  53

  Halifax, November 25

  2:47 a.m.

  They had Oakland Road blocked off. A uniformed officer, standing at his car, waved Allan through. Straight ahead, the red and blue strobe of other police cars glanced off the night sky. Allan stomped on the gas and gunned it up the road. He parked behind the SIU van.

  The scene was a two-story family home with a breezeway and double-car garage. There was a dark patch of bushes below the living room window. Frost covered the deep lawn and it looked undisturbed.

  Allan sat in his car for a minute, watching those already at work. One officer strung up barrier tape around the property. Another stood on the front steps of the house next door, talking to a woman. Good. The canvass had started.

  For the first time, Allan realized how much darker it was in this part of the neighborhood, compared to the rest of it. Looking around, he spotted the burned-out streetlight across the road and he shook his head. That would have to be addressed with the city. Probably why the house had been targeted. Neighbors and passersby had reduced visibility of the place.

  Allan glanced up at the stars peppering the sky. Then he took out his notebook and wrote: Arrival, 02:47. Clear. -7° C. Roads dry.

  Stepping out of the car, he breathed in a deep lungful of crisp November air and exhaled it as steam. Dead leaves skittered past his shoes, chased by a sudden gust of wind.

  Popping the trunk, he grabbed two pairs of latex gloves from his homicide kit and slipped them on, one over the other. Next, he took out his camera and photographed a 360-degree view of the property and surrounding area. He made sure to capture the burned-out streetlight.

  When he finished, he collected a mask and a pair of Tyvek shoe covers, tucked them under his arm, and closed the trunk. At the corner of his eye, he saw flashes of a camera. ID tech, Jim Lucas, appeared under the breezeway, snapping pictures of the back door frame. He was dressed in full protective coveralls.

  Allan called out to him, “What’d you find?”

  Jim glanced over. “Pry marks.”

  Allan noted the dark outside light above the doorway. “Is there a motion sensor on that?”

  Jim looked up. “Nope.” He stepped inside the house, came out again two seconds later. “They had it turned off.”

  “Damn.”

  “I hear ya.”

  “So, we’re using the front as our entry point?”

  “Yep.” Jim said. “Malone’s there.”

  Sergeant Malone briefed Allan on the duties that had started and what was known so far. Camille Connors, twenty-nine, still lay in the master bedroom. The medical examiner had been notified. There had been two survivors, both of them rushed to the hospital.

  First officers had found the back door wide open. The front door was closed, but unlocked. Only two lights were on—the lamp in the living room and the hall light upstairs.

  Allan wrote several lines in his notebook. He looked around the living room. It had been ransacked. Framed pictures thrown on the floor. Outerwear pulled from the closet. An entertainment center stripped of whatever electronics it had.

  As Allan’s gaze settled on a Barbie’s dollhouse across the room, he got a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach.

  “Who were the survivors?” he asked.

  “Seth Connors,” Malone said. “Thirty years old. He’s a firefighter with Station Four. Officer Henley recognized him.”

  “What’s his condition?”

  “Bad. Paramedics didn’t think he’d make it. He had multiple stab wounds.”

  Allan turned to Malone. “Was he conscious?”

  Malone shook his head. He pointed up the staircase that climbed a wall to the second floor.

  “They found him lying in the hallway,” he said.

  “Who’s the second person?”

  Malone licked his lips. He slanted his eyebrows upward and hooked a thumb on his gun belt. He seemed to have trouble spitting it out and Allan swore he glimpsed a spark of emotion in the sergeant’s deadpan eyes.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  “Her name is Lily,” Malone said in a tight voice. “Henley thinks she’s around four years old. My granddaughter’s age.”

  Allan felt the words drive nails through his heart. He didn’t want to hear anymore. Dealing with the brutality adults imposed upon each other was one thing. Dealing with the grief of a child tragedy was a whole other issue. Nothing prepares you for it. Nothing.

  “Don’t tell me she was stabbed too?”

  Malone shook his head. “No, no. They found her unconscious on the bedroom floor. She had a gash on the side of her head. There.” He tapped a finger on his right temple. “It looked like she had tried to get out of her bed too fast and fell, banging her head off the corner of a night table on the way down. Her feet were tangled up in the blankets.”

  Allan clenched his jaw and shook his head. “Spooked, maybe.”

  “That’s my guess.”

  “Did the paramedics say anything about her condition?”

  “Not a word.”

  “Who rode shotgun with them?”

  “Henley went in the father’s ambulance. Officer Bowden went with the daughter.”

  Allan said, “Just in case they forget, contact both officers and make sure they ask the doctors to remove the victim’s clothing intact, if possible.”

  Malone reached for his mike. “Ten-four.”

  Allan slipped on his mask and shoe covers, then worked his way upstairs. He noticed a bloody right handprint on the banister and a left one on top of the newel post. Smears and smudges of blood covered a patch of hall floor by the stairs. Cast-off had sprayed the left wall nearby. It looked like a struggle had ensued. Bloody fingers had swiped the light switch, leaving behind four long marks across the plate and drywall.

  Allan captured everything on his camera. With careful steps, he went to the bedroom on the right. He saw a red swipe across the outer door casing and part of the wall, as if something bloody had brushed past.

  ID tech, Harvey Doucette, took measurements inside the room. He wore head-to-toe coveralls and a HEPA respirator.

  Camille Connors lay on her right hip by the dresser, one leg bent over the other. Her right arm extended across the floor; the other rested atop her waist.

  Allan’s gaze settled on the gaping wound across her throat and he winced with disgust.

  “Cold,” he whispered.

 
; The room had been ransacked. A cedar jewelry box lay upside-down on the floor.

  “Looks like the male was initially attacked in bed,” Harvey said.

  Allan looked at the blood-soaked bed sheets, at the bloody hand trail leading to Camille’s body.

  “He went to his wife,” he said.

  “Called nine-one-one from here.” Harvey pointed to the phone on the night table. It was off the hook; the handset dangled by the cord.

  Allan nodded. His gaze moved up to the bloody finger marks on the windowsill. He wondered if Seth Connors had looked outside. With it being so dark, how much would he have been able to see?

  Harvey said, “He made it out to the end of the hallway. That’s where they found him.”

  “Looks like he tussled with someone there. Unless the paramedics caused all that mess moving him.”

  “Officers said they were careful.”

  “Let’s hope,” Allan said.

  He left Harvey to his work. As he walked down the hall to a bedroom at the end, he saw an object on the floor just outside the open doorway. He dropped to a squat over a small, pink pillow with a ribbon for hanging. Embroidery on the front read, The Princess sleeps here.

  Allan took a picture of it, then he rose to his feet and stepped into the bedroom. A butterfly nightlight cast a dim glow. Was Lily afraid of the dark, of monsters under the bed, of sleeping alone?

  Allan flipped the light switch. The room was painted in soft shades of pink and purple. There were stuffed animals everywhere. Stickers of castles, princesses, and fairies covered the far wall. Big letters, coated in sparkles, hung over the bed. They spelled Lily.

  Allan looked at the tiny, white nightstand by the bed. He winced when he saw a spot of blood on the carpet.

  Three hours later, while out canvassing Oakland Road, he received a call from Malone. Lily Connors had died on the operating table. Doctors had found hemorrhaging in her brain and couldn’t get it under control.

  Allan thought he was going to be sick. When he returned to the crime scene, he witnessed Malone, a veteran sergeant who was as tough as nails, break down in tears.

  An hour after that, word came back about Seth Connors. Due to the severity of his wounds and the length of his surgery, doctors had induced coma. The next forty-eight to seventy-two hours were critical.