Blood Moon: A Gripping Serial Killer Thriller (A Grant & Daniels Detective Kidnapping Series Book 3)

by Charlotte Raine

  "Uh…that was the case where she was shot by a tourist, right?"

  "That's the conclusion that was drawn, but we never found a suspect. It all seemed to close too quickly. I think I had just begun working as an officer back then, so I don't remember too much about what happened, but I do remember thinking it wrapped up a lot faster than any other murder case…granted, I had only seen one other murder case, but from what I knew, it had seemed fast at the time."

  "So…what? You think LaPonte killed her and then paid people to cover it up?"

  "I don't know," I say. "I was just talking to him about her and he seemed really…indifferent."

  "I can seem indifferent when I feel emotional," she says. "You just get good at it after blocking your feelings for so long."

  "Yeah, but this was different. If you were pretending to not care about a sibling's death, would you then rattle off some excuses about why we shouldn't try to find the killer?"

  "No, I'd keep my mouth shut because I'd be afraid any facial movement would cause me to break down in tears."

  "Well, apparently, LaPonte is the rambling type."

  "Maybe." There's a moment of silence.

  "Teresa?"

  "Sorry. I was just thinking. There's a lot of stuff going on in the main office."

  "Do you want to talk about it?" I ask.

  "Not really."

  More silence.

  I fiddle with my keys. "Look…I don't want there to be any awkwardness or confusion…are we still in a relationship? I know things have been weird, but I just want to know."

  "Aaron…" she says. "I…don't know. I think we should just see…how the next couple of weeks go. I think things have been hard and we should both think about what we want."

  I want you. "That's probably a good idea."

  "I gotta go. I'm still in the office getting some work done. I'll try to look into LaPonte's case more, but I'll probably have to call the police station at some point to get all the evidence there."

  "All right. Good night."

  "Good night."

  I hang up, closing my eyes and leaning against the seat. There's a pain in my chest that feels like heartburn except worse. Maybe this is what open-heart surgery feels like.

  "What if people don't want to be reached? What if they're standing outside of your arm's length?"

  "Then I wait for them to be ready to step forward."

  I start my car. Looks like I'm going to church.

  Chapter Eight

  Sarah (Saturday night)

  The creek runs about a quarter mile from the Alpha and Omega's vegetable garden. The jagged rocks underneath make small rapids. As I step into it with Elijah's father—Jonah, wasn't it? Didn't that Biblical story include being eaten by a fish or a whale?—his large hand on my back, my body is shocked by the chill of the water. Of course, I knew it would be cold, but actually feeling it is something different. Logic and feeling run in two different circles, never merging with each other, unless you bend your logic to fit what you feel.

  When we're near the center of the creek and the water is at the middle of my chest, Jonah turns us around. I catch Elijah's eye and he gives me a small smile. I don't feel so cold anymore, though I'm shivering.

  "Today, we join Sarah in her acceptance of Jesus Christ as her Lord and Savior," Jonah announces. His disciples clap, their joy spreading through me. "In John, chapter three, verse five, 'I tell you, no one can enter the kingdom of God unless they are born of water and the Spirit.' Baptism cleans us of our original sin, when Adam and Eve ate the forbidden fruit against God's orders. In this act, we give up the person we once were—a death, you might call it—to be reborn like our Lord as a new man or woman. This allows you to greet God at the end of your life with a good conscience and through his Son's sacrifice—with his crown of thorns and blood dripping down his face—you are all saved. You shall not endure the pain and torture of hell, but dance in the joy of heaven."

  He turns to me.

  "Do you repent your sins and confess that Jesus is your Lord and Savior?"

  "Yes," I say. Doubt still sits heavily inside me, but since Debbie and the rest of the dead gang haven't appeared since I met Elijah, I figure I should give faith a try.

  "Are you ready, daughter of God?" he asks.

  I nod, and without warning, he puts one hand against the back of my head, the other above my chest and dunks me into the water.

  If I thought the river was cold before, this is arctic. I feel myself begin to choke as I swallow some water—the ice cold feeling as if it's spreading to my lungs. As I begin to struggle, a feeling strikes in the middle of my chest. It's as if oxygen is being produced by itself in my lungs and I can breathe better underwater than I could above it.

  Before I can dwell on the feeling—on God?—too long, Jonah pulls me back up. I shake in the brisk air, but I'm not sure it's completely from the cold. He walks with me back on to the shore, where Elijah wraps a towel around my shoulders.

  "Do you feel different?" Elijah asks.

  "I think so…"

  "Well…sometimes, it doesn't happen all at once. If you have any doubts, it can make it harder for Jesus to reach you."

  "She also has one more test before she can be considered part of this flock." Jonah steps up to me. "Sarah, I know you're special…that's why we allowed this. We normally don't let outsiders join without at least integrating themselves into our group for a few years. But, there's something about you and I feel as if God sent you to us for a glorious purpose. But I can't be certain because I can never fathom God's thoughts…for all I know, you're a trick from the devil. But there is a way you can prove you are a soldier of God and not a slave of Satan."

  "Do you really think this is necessary?" Elijah asks. Jonah gives Elijah a scathing look. Elijah bows his head, taking a step away from us. "I'm sorry, Father."

  Jonah looks back at me. "I need you to kill a nonbeliever. 'If your very own brother, or your son or daughter, or the wife you love, or your closest friend secretly entices you, saying, "Let us go and worship other gods" …do not yield to them or listen to them. Show them no pity. Do not spare them or shield them. You must certainly put them to death.' Deuteronomy, chapter thirteen, verse six to nine."

  I turn to Elijah. "Isn't not murdering people in the Ten Commandments?"

  "The laws are different when Jesus is about to return," Elijah says. "When our Lord returns, so do the laws of the Old Testament. If you don't want to do it—"

  "I want to kill LaPonte." I blurt.

  Jonah raises his eyebrow. "You are well aware that he is the White Horseman, the antichrist, bloodthirsty for conquest, don't you? I suppose it makes sense why you came to us now…you were meant to be the one who kills him. Yes, it all makes sense now."

  He turns to Elijah. "You should go with her, Elijah. As a woman, she may need help."

  "Yeah…" I say. "I don't."

  Jonah ignores me, though the corner of Elijah's lips curve up. "Of course, I'll help her, Father. The White Horseman can't be allowed to persuade her like the devil persuaded Eve or conquest her like he will feel the urge to do."

  Jonah turns back toward me. "Welcome, Sarah. Welcome to the last eight days of your mortal life."

  Chapter Nine

  Sarah (late Saturday night)

  Jonah told us the murder would be easiest tonight because LaPonte was heading to a hotel in Anchorage to give a speech about why he's running for governor. Jonah has the hotel name and number because LaPonte had wanted to build trust between himself and the group again—AKA he wanted their votes—and he figured Jonah would call with more questions.

  I stand in front of his hotel door while Elijah leans against the wall a few feet away. We had spent the car ride listening to a range of Christian music—from gospel to rock—and talking about anything that popped into our heads. I've never had an easy time talking to people—I always feel like I have to put up this persona, so they keep this idea in their heads that I'm the perfect judge's dau
ghter, the cheerleader, the A- student who is adored and respected, and the girl who has a good home life. If the persona was ever revealed to be fake, I wouldn't be sure how to conduct myself in public. But with Elijah, it's simple. It's just whole sections of time being genuine and happy.

  I knock on the door and step back. I peer over at Elijah one last time. He winks at me.

  The door swings open. LaPonte is still dressed in black slacks with a white button-up shirt, but the first three buttons are undone, so the beginning of his chest hair is visible.

  "Sarah? What are you doing here?"

  "My father sent me," I say, amused at the thought that Elijah would hear the wordplay of my biological father and his heavenly Father. "He wanted me to give you a private message without leaving any trace that the two of you talked."

  One topic I had avoided while in the car with Elijah is that my father and LaPonte have a secret business relationship because of Zoë's murder. I just told him that LaPonte would assume that when I talked about a private message, it had something to do with the justice system.

  Which, in my view, it does.

  "Of course, come in, come in," he says, stepping aside, so that I can walk past him. His grip is tight on the door, so he must think this is a conversation about Zoë or Junior. How self-absorbed and shortsighted can a politician be?

  I step in and he closes the door behind me. I walk over to his bed. The sheets are still tucked in. I sit down on it.

  "So…what was the message?" he asks. "It probably doesn't make sense to you, but it's very important that you tell me."

  I stare up at him. "I know you killed Zoë."

  "What?" He spits out. "Did your father tell you that? That didn't happen. I don't know what you're talking about."

  "You put a bullet in her head," I say. "And then you covered the whole thing up. You had my father remove the Alaska State Police from working on the case because you knew the Wyatt Police didn't have sophisticated enough resources to figure out that the shot couldn't have been an accident. You insisted that the case be closed as quickly as possible, pretending it was because you wanted closure, but you're really just a killer—"

  "Shut up," he snaps. "None of that is true. None of it."

  "I remember you coming to my house. I heard what you were talking about. You can't deny it. I know you killed her. You're a murderer."

  His face is turning red and his fists are balled up. For a second, fear that used to come over me when my father became angry and would beat me makes me want to run and hide, but a second later, I remember I have all the power right now. He can't be caught in another scandal, we're in his hotel room, and I know what he did.

  He takes a deep breath and exhales. "Fine. I did it. You're right, but no one will believe you if you tell them. You have no proof. You're just a crazy little girl who got kidnapped. In fact, I bet that is what made you crazy. Just an insane girl who can't separate fantasy from reality."

  "You know what? You're actually right about the crazy part." I stand up, walk toward the door again, and open it. There's a flicker of hope and fear on his face as he wonders if I'm about to leave. Instead, Elijah walks in and I shut the door, so we're all stuck in the room together.

  "Who are you?" LaPonte demands, staring at Elijah. "What the hell are you doing in my hotel room?"

  "'Don't let anyone deceive you in any way, for that day will not come until the rebellion occurs and the man of lawlessness is revealed, the man doomed to destruction. He will oppose and will exalt himself over everything that is called God or is worshiped, so that he sets himself up in God's temple, proclaiming himself to be God.' Second Epistle to the Thessalonians, chapter two, section two through four." A Bible is nestled in his hands, as I stride behind LaPonte. As Elijah snaps the Bible shut and LaPonte stares at him, bewildered, I take the handkerchief from my pocket and grab LaPonte by the throat. As he instinctually gasps for air, I shove the handkerchief into his mouth. He spins around, ready to attack me, but Elijah grabs him by the shoulder, forcing LaPonte to face him again. Elijah takes a dagger out of his back pocket, grabs LaPonte by his black hair, jerks his head back, and thrusts the dagger into his throat. Blood spurts onto Elijah's face and a gurgling sound comes from LaPonte's gagged mouth. I grab LaPonte by his arms to stop his body from swaying backward. Elijah barely hesitates, stabbing LaPonte in the neck four more times before letting go of his hair. I set back as well, letting him collapse down onto the floor.

  LaPonte's blood is barely darker than the red carpet.

  Elijah wipes some of the blood off his face with his hand. "What do you think?"

  "I think we both need to shower." I look down at the blood spatter on my own clothes. He chuckles and I think I'm in love.

  Chapter Ten

  Aaron (Sunday morning)

  My bed feels as if it's absorbed my body heat and I'm now lying on a sauna of sheets. I've kicked my blankets to the bottom of the bed and I'm wondering if I should get up and deal with the tired heaviness in my body or if I should just call work and say I'm sick.

  Because I must be sick.

  Nick is dead, LaPonte might be a cold-blooded murderer, and my relationship with Teresa is a mess.

  I wish I could clean the slate off and begin over again.

  I spent the previous afternoon talking to Pastor Renard, but I still feel lost. He told me I was never meant to carry the weight of my trials alone and that God wants to carry the weight for me. He said when we are in trouble and life becomes too hard for us, we need to rely on God's strength instead of our mortal strength, which allows us to be stronger after our difficulties.

  But I feel weaker than ever.

  When I returned to my house, I poured over the details I knew of Nick's murder because nobody else seems to be able to figure it out. After the autopsy was complete and Nick's body was released, Stalinski signed off on it, but he won't tell me anything about what the medical examiner found. I want to ask Sarah more questions since she was so close to Nick, but I don't want to put all of my grief onto her.

  Could Sarah have killed Nick?

  No. She's not the murderous type, plus she doesn't seem strong enough.

  I remember her cheering at a lacrosse game and one of the players accidentally slammed into her. She simply shook it off and kept on cheering. When the team won, she embraced that player as if they were best friends.

  Of course, that's when Lisa and Becky were still alive, and Lisa was cheering right beside her.

  My phone rings, which may actually be a godsend, because I don't know how much longer I could stay here with just my thoughts to keep me company. I pick it up from where it had slipped under my pillow.

  Greg Stalinksi

  "Hello?"

  "Aaron, it's Greg. We have a situation…"

  "Unless someone is dead, I don't—"

  "Someone is dead. It's in Anchorage, but…considering the person…the Anchorage Police want us to come down…check it out."

  "The Anchorage Police have always been presumptuous assholes who think they're better than the rural police. What could possibly have happened that they want our help?"

  "Well, they didn't exactly use the word help, but they figure it could have something to with our jurisdiction…"

  "Spit it out, Greg. Who is it? What did they do for a living? How is it so important that we need two jurisdictions to work on it?"

  "It's…it's LaPonte. Walter LaPonte. He was stabbed. Repeatedly."

  I feel my breath catch in my throat. The Wyatt Police were supposed to be keeping watch of him, ensuring his safety. Instead, I was busy assuming he killed his sister. How many is that now? Zoë, Brianna, Junior, Nick—no, not Nick, he has no connection to the rest of them—and now Walter LaPonte.

  This is going to be a shitstorm. The media knows we'd been keeping an eye on LaPonte and now he's dead.

  "Who was supposed to be watching him?"

  "Uh, Larson, but he said he stayed in the parking lot…because it would have been weird
for him to stay in the room or anything. He didn't think anything would happen in such a public place."

  I repress a groan. "Where is it?"

  "Silver Anchor Hotel. Room one oh nine."

  "I…will be there in less than an hour."

  "Okay, but Aaron…there's no surveillance cameras in this hotel except at the front desk. And the area is so congested, the only people in view are the ones directly in front of the counter…not to mention the various doors leading out to the parking lot aren't anywhere near the one surveillance camera."

  "I'll figure it out, Greg," I snap. "Just let me…let me get dressed."

  "Look, you don't have to get right back to work after Nick's death—"

  "Greg. Just stop talking. I'll be there soon."

  "Right," he says. "Right. Sorry. I'll see you soon."

  I hang up, drop my phone on the bed, and rub my hands over my face. If this is God's way of catching my attention, He needs to learn about e-mail.

  * * *

  When I turn the corner, I find Greg lingering near Room 109. He spots me and gives me a weak smile.

  "I should forewarn you," he mutters as I walk up to him. "The FBI is here now."

  "Great." I huff and glance into the room. Teresa, her partner, Barrett Donovan, and an Asian woman who appears to be in her fifties—but still capable of murdering anyone with a paperclip—are standing around a bloody body. Donovan must feel my eyes on them because he glances over his shoulder.

  "Aaron," he says as he turns on his heel and strides over to me, "I haven't seen you since…I don't know."

  "We saw each other at LaPonte's press conference for the governorship."

  He snaps his fingers. "Yes. That's it." He glances over at the body. "I guess he won't be doing that anymore."

  "I guess not."

  Teresa joins us. "Hey," she says to me. "Do you want to check this out?"

  "I don't want to, but it's why I drove all of the way here," I say.