Claire realized she was blocking the door. “So, did you want to come in and look around?”
She stood back and Bill moved toward the door. “That would be great. Is it okay if I take some pictures of the inside?”
She closed the door behind them. “That’s fine. Come on, I’ll show you around.”
*******
Two hours later, Marcus was home with his camera. As usual, he looked forward to seeing the pictures, and especially excited to print out the one of Claire Carson posing.
She was so trusting and it had been easy to get her to let him shoot one of just her.
“My mom mentioned how nice you were and wanted to know if I could take a picture of you. She wanted to see whose house she was going to live in if she bought it.”
“Oh…okay, I guess.”
“Why don’t you lean against the kitchen counter?”
“Right here?”
“That’s perfect.”
While the photo printer warmed up, Marcus took down the photo album with the name CLAIRE CARSON printed on the spine. The shots from outside the home were already in place, today’s shots would fill most of the middle pages, and tomorrow he would finish it.
The photos from this album might be better than anything he’s ever done. He hooked up his camera, watched the photos start to come off the printer, and pulled the tab on a cold beer.
Maybe a few beers will help me sleep.
Sleep was always hard to come by the night before a final shoot.
Chapter 16
When Jason got off the elevator at the station the next morning, Vanessa was waving at him from her desk. “I’ve got something!”
She was on the phone and Jason watched her scribble on a notepad. He leaned across his desk, reading upside down, and made out a name and address.
Marcus Roberts
121-A Vance St.
Jason recognized the street name. It was just off South Presa, the main drag in San Antonio for prostitution. He’d arrested a killer, the same one that took his former partner, who had prowled South Presa for victims.
“Thanks, Dan. I’ll be in touch.” Vanessa hung up. “That was Dan Carpenter. About a week before their kidnapping, an officer answered a prowler call, and briefly detained a subject. Dan saw the report and contacted the officer. When Dan showed the sketch to the officer, he identified him as the same man.”
Vanessa was up and moving toward the stairs. “The officer said the ID checked out, and he was let go.”
Jason was beginning to understand. “So, this could be our guy’s real address.”
“Exactly. I’ll have a black-and-white meet us at the house.”
“And I’ll ask the lieutenant to secure a search warrant. Meet you downstairs?”
“Good.”
*******
They drove quickly down South Presa Road, past the seedy hotels and quick cash stores, toward Vance Street. Every corner populated by at least three females in various outfits, all vying for the occasional car that slowed by the curb. The street made Jason sad. Troubled and wasted lives were all he saw.
He focused on the task at hand, finding Vance Street and turning right. Two blocks down on the left side sat 121. A dilapidated wood structure, it had a second entrance where the garage door used to be, with 121-A scrawled above in faded black paint.
The patrol car pulled up at the same time, and Vanessa got out to brief the officers while Jason checked the rear of the house. He returned a moment later. “One exit in back.”
“Okay, let’s see if our guy is home.” Vanessa pointed to the rear of the house. “You officers take the backyard.”
The two detectives stood on either side of the door, and when Jason saw the uniforms were in position, he knocked. “Marcus Roberts!”
Thirty seconds passed with no sound. Jason pounded harder.
“Marcus Roberts, this is the police. Open the door.”
Another minute with no response. Jason tried the doorknob. “Locked.”
Vanessa stuck her head around the corner of the building and waved at one of the officers. He came to where she was standing, shaking his head. “Nobody has come out.”
“Okay. Do you carry a Zak in your car?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Get it will you?”
“Sure.”
The officer went to his patrol car, unlocked the trunk, and removed the thirty-one pound battering ram. Called a Zak after the manufacturer, it was steel with a black rubberized coating. Jason remembered training with it at the academy. It was a very effective tool.
When he returned, Jason called out once more. “Marcus Roberts, this is the police. We have a warrant.”
Fifteen seconds later, the detectives drew their weapons, and Jason nodded at the officer. The door splintered under the force of the ram, and the two detectives rushed in, while the officer stepped back.
They shouted in unison. “Police!”
The small apartment consisted of a single room with just a bathroom adjoining. Vanessa moved to the bathroom door, stuck her head in and out. “Clear.”
Jason immediately spotted three photo albums above the bed. The names printed on the books chilled his blood. The first two matched their cases, the third unknown.
He pulled the book labeled Melissa Childs off the shelf. Flipping through, he found pictures of the outside of the Childs’ home, some taken through a window. The pictures, taken through what appeared to be the living room window, showed Mrs. Childs putting on her shoes and fixing her blouse.
The middle of the book had photos of the inside of the house, and when he flipped to the last page, he found himself looking at his first murder scene.
Vanessa had released the officers back to patrol and just come back into the apartment. “What’s that?”
“Some sort of photo album. Look at the last page.”
He handed it to her, and while she stared at the photo, he picked up the book with the name Barbara Lind. He flipped to the last page, found his second crime scene, and held it for Vanessa to see.
She had set down the album she was holding, and was staring at the wall. “Jason, look.”
When he turned, he saw what had caught her eye. A pencil sketch of the same photo on the last page of both albums. There was one big difference, the woman in the drawing didn’t look like either of their victims. Vanessa moved over to the picture and took it off the wall. She turned it over and read the back.
“Mother - Death Still.”
Jason’s eyes met Vanessa’s, and he knew they were thinking the same thing. We have a very sick person on our hands.
Jason grabbed the third album off the shelf. Immediately going to the back page, he was relieved not to see another death picture. He looked at the name on the spine of the book. CLAIRE CARSON.
Vanessa was watching him. “Was there a photo on the last page?”
Jason shook his head. “Not yet. We need to find this Claire Carson before it’s too late.”
Vanessa leaned over and reached around behind Jason, pulling a newspaper off the table. “Look. Four circled ads.” She ran her finger up the column until she got to heading. “For sale by owner.”
*******
Claire Carson was busy planning the move back home, already getting emails from friends, and hearing about her mother’s plans for her and Greg’s return to Kansas.
Today, she was on the computer searching for a place to rent in Baxter Springs. Her dad offered to set up a mobile home on the farm, but Greg wanted his own place, and Claire understood. Greg loved her parents, but felt he and Claire should be on their own, especially if they were going to start a family.
The doorbell interrupted her search. She shut the computer down and went to the door. When she opened it, the now familiar face of Mr. Thompson was smiling at her.
“Hi, Claire. Did I come at a bad time?”
Claire noted the tie was especially flashy today, swirls of color, but perfectly straight as always. “No. I wa
s just goofing around on the computer.”
“Oh, good.” He stepped closer. “My mother thinks this is the place for her. She loved the pictures, especially the kitchen.”
“That’s great!” Claire was thrilled, even though she sensed a ‘but’ coming.
“Unfortunately, the pictures of the basement didn’t come out. Mom said I could make an offer without her seeing the basement. But I know my mother, she won’t be totally comfortable unless she’s seen all the pictures.”
“That’s completely understandable.” Claire stood back and opened the door wider. “Did you want to take a few more for her?”
Bill Thompson stepped into the entranceway. “That would be great. You don’t mind?”
“No, not at all.”
“Great. It’ll only take a minute.”
*******
Jason and Vanessa stood out at their car, waiting for the crime scene investigators to arrive, and looking at the newspaper found in the apartment.
Vanessa was calling the FSBO’s circled by Marcus Roberts. A man answered the first number.
“Hello.”
“Yes, sir. My name is Detective Layne with the San Antonio Police Department, and I wanted to ask you about your home for sale ad.”
“Oh yes, Detective. It’s a very nice home on the north side.”
“I’m sure it is, sir. However, I’m not calling to purchase the home.”
“Okay, what then? Is there a problem?”
“No, sir. Can I ask your name?”
“Carl Summers.”
“Mr. Summers, could you tell me if a single man, mid-thirties, has approached you or your wife about the home?”
“No. I haven’t had any calls, yet.”
Vanessa looked at Jason and shook her head.
“Okay, thank you for your help.” She hung up and Jason gave her the second phone number. It rang several times before being answered by a woman.
“Hello.”
Vanessa explained the reason for her call, while Jason watched her, looking for a sign they’d struck pay dirt. This call appeared to be another bust. She hung up and Jason looked at the third circle.
“This one has two numbers.” Vanessa dialed the first, as the crime scene guys arrived. After just one ring, a voice answered.
“Hello.”
“Yes, this is Detective Layne with San Antonio Police. May I ask who I’m speaking with?”
“Greg Carson. What’s this about?”
“Mr. Carson, we’re investigating a series of attacks on homeowners who are selling their own home. Are you married?”
“Yes, my wife’s name is Claire. Why?”
“Have you or your wife been approached by a single male, mid-thirties, interested in your home?”
There was a hesitation, which started Vanessa’s heart pounding.
“Well, yes. She told me a man had come by, and he was shopping for a home for his mother. I don’t know how old he was, though.”
“Do you know where your wife is now?”
“Sure, she’s at home. Is she in danger?”
“We’re not sure but…” There was a click in Vanessa’s ear, and she held the phone away from her, looking at it. Jason stared at her. “What?”
“He hung up.”
Jason gave her the other number in the ad. Vanessa dialed it, but after multiple rings, got the voice mail of a young woman. They climbed in the car, put the light on the roof, and sped for the address in the third ad.
Vanessa called the fourth ad, just to be sure, but hung up and looked at Jason. “Definitely not that one. It has to be the Carson home.”
Chapter 17
Claire fought the panic inside, focusing on what she might do to survive. The warnings from Greg, telling her to be careful, now echoed in her ears. She’d been too stubborn to listen, and now it would cost her, taking away everything just at the moment she treasured it most.
The duct tape over her mouth was partially covering her nose, making it hard to breath. Her captor pulled the second rope tight around her stomach, this time pinning her arms at her side. A distant sound floated down the stairway.
She recognized it as the Hallelujah Chorus, the ringtone on her phone. It played for several seconds before going silent. Bill Thompson had stopped to listen as well, and when the song ended, he finished knotting the rope.
Almost as soon as the ringtone stopped, it began to play again. Bill Thompson, if that was his name, froze again.
She watched him, trying to find a weakness, a vulnerability that would let her escape. There was nothing. His eyes, once friendly, were vacant. His smile had gone cold.
The phone stopped playing for the second time, and he moved to the chair opposite her. Claire pulled at the ropes, testing the knots, but she was tied tight. There was no escape from the chair, he’d made sure of that, and she couldn’t get enough breath to scream.
Her captor raised his camera, seeming to examine the image before him, then set the camera back down. He rummaged through the duffle bag on the floor and his hand emerged with something shiny.
She struggled to make out what it was. When he turned it sideways, she understood.
A razorblade!
*******
Greg bolted from the barracks where he’d been cleaning his gun. He didn’t stop to notify his commanding officer, or even explain to his buddies—he just ran.
Wild visions of Claire in danger flashed through his mind as he fired up his car for the seven-minute drive to his house. The Camaro roared to life, and he left rubber on the cement as headed off the base. He punched Claire’s number into his phone, and after several rings, his fear multiplied as he got her voice mail.
*******
Jason and Vanessa rushed through the midday traffic, blue light flashing and siren blaring. They were less than ten minutes away, and Vanessa had alerted Lieutenant Patton, who had dispatched black-and-whites to the address.
Jason focused on his driving while Vanessa looked at the map. The home was very close to Lackland Air Base, but Jason didn’t know the exact route, which made Vanessa the navigator.
“Right at the next light.”
The tires screeched, complaining about the abuse, as Jason forced the car into a hard turn. “What’s next?”
“Left on Bear Springs, then follow it around to Blue Mesa.”
Bear Springs Road came up quickly, another hard turn, and Jason could see Blue Mesa, only blocks away.
*******
Greg shaved his normally seven minutes down to four and a half. When he turned onto his street, he immediately saw the strange car in his drive, causing his heart to pound even harder.
Somebody is there! Claire, I’m coming.
*******
Claire squeezed her eyes open and closed. Her tears were making it hard to see, but she could tell her captor was coming toward her with the razor blade.
When he got to her, he bent over, grabbed her wrist, and turned it toward the blade. She waited for the slicing pain, but it didn’t come. Instead, he let her wrist drop, straightened up, and appeared to be listening.
Then she heard it too. “Claire! Claire, where are you?”
Greg! How did he know? What’s he doing here?
Her excitement was short lived as she watched Bill Thompson draw his knife, and hide below the stairs. Greg came through the door at the top of the stairs.
“Claire?”
Oh, no! Greg, don’t come down! Dear Lord, not Greg too!
She tried to stretch the tape with her lips, hoping to shout a warning to her husband as he raced down the stairs.
*******
Jason was forced to slow while making the turn on to Blue Mesa Drive. They were in a residential neighborhood, and the last thing he wanted to do was run over a child playing in the road.
As he rounded the corner, he spotted the house. Two cars sat in the driveway, one of them an older model Camaro, its driver’s door hanging open. The front door to the house was open, as well. No
patrol car was in sight.
When Jason’s car skidded to a halt, both detectives leapt out and drew their weapons.
*******
Greg took the steps two at time, rushing to free Claire, but she was shaking her head at him. When their eyes met, hers were wide with fear. Too late, he realized what she was trying to tell him. A knife pressed against his throat.
“Don’t move!”
Greg’s instincts took over, and he thrust his elbow back, catching the intruder in the stomach. The knife slashed at Greg’s throat, drawing blood, and sending pain streaking to his brain.
He clutched his throat and fell forward onto the floor. Instead of feeling the attacker on him, Greg turned around to see the knife lying against Claire’s throat.
He threw out his free hand. “Noooo!”
The man, who’d caught his breath, snarled at him. “Back away, now!”
*******
Jason and Vanessa worked their way down the opposite walls of the entranceway. At the living room, Vanessa ducked in and back out, whispering to Jason. “Clear.”
They moved farther, and Jason came to the kitchen. Sticking his head around the corner, he heard voices from the basement. He looked at his partner, pointed at himself, and then the stairway.
Vanessa nodded she understood, and Jason moved around the corner, Vanessa covering his back.
Jason reached the basement stairs, went down two steps, stopped, and peered into the room. Marcus Roberts stood behind a young woman, holding a knife to her throat. Lying on the ground, in front of his wife, was the man Jason assumed was Greg. Blood seeped from his neck.
Jason aimed his weapon at Marcus. “Roberts! Put down the knife!”
Marcus swiveled his head to look at Jason, the surprise evident on his face. “You move, and I’ll cut her throat!”
“Don’t be stupid, you can’t get out of here. It’s over.”
DEATH STILL (Det. Jason Strong (CLEAN SUSPENSE) Book 7) Page 8
