Dying to Kill (Angel Delaney Mysteries Book #2)

by Patricia H. Rushford

  Well, fine. She’d do it without them.

  The phone rang, and Angel let the answering machine pick up.

  “Angel, it’s me, Callen. I’m sorry about what happened. I need to talk to you. Please call me.”

  She could hear the sadness in his voice and wanted more than anything to make things right. Remembering what the women in the support group had said, she resisted the urge to answer the phone. She didn’t want to talk to him. What would be the point?

  Someone else had left a message as well. Angel listened as her brother’s voice filled the room, telling her he’d tried to call and asking why hadn’t she told Callen about their father. The funeral was set for Sunday after church.

  Funerals. Death. It all seemed surreal, like something in a strange and terrible dream.

  Angel showered and got ready for bed. It was only 9:00, far too early to sleep—not that she could, anyway. She curled up on the couch with a copy of Physical Evidence, a manual for detectives. She sighed and started reading, determined not to think about her father’s death, determined not to think about Callen, determined not to think at all.

  At 10:00, the phone rang again. This time it was Janet Campbell. She sounded strained and frightened. Angel picked up before Janet finished her message.

  “Hi, Janet. What’s wrong?”

  “I—I need to talk to you.”

  “Sure. Want to come over?” Angel got up and headed toward her bedroom. She’d need to get dressed.

  “No, not there. You’ll have to come to my apartment.”

  “Tonight?”

  “Please. I was just going online and . . . Phillip Jenkins’s killer just sent me an email.”

  TWENTY-FIVE

  Janet lived in one of the upscale condominiums on the bay. Angel had never been in them but heard they were now selling for around a quarter to half a million dollars depending on the size. Angel maneuvered the curves on Bayside Drive, then wound down toward the waterfront. Curiosity caused her to drive a little faster than she should have, but fortunately Sunset Cove’s few officers on duty were somewhere else.

  Why had Janet called her? Why not the police? This could be the break they were looking for. Angel thought about calling Nick and decided against it. It was too soon to go running to the police, and she couldn’t tell Callen. Her bridge with the PD may not be burned, but she could sure smell the smoke. Besides, she wanted to talk to Janet first.

  Angel’s mind spun with possibilities. How had Janet known it was the killer? Why had the killer contacted her? Angel settled her thoughts into some kind of order as she paused at the security gate and punched in the numbers Janet had given her. The gate slid open, and Angel drove through, then made a left, winding through the individual homes, finally reaching the condos. She parked in the driveway and took a deep breath to settle her jangled nerves.

  Janet looked terrible. Bags drooped under her red, watery eyes as she opened the door to let Angel in.

  “Thanks so much for coming. I’m sorry to bother you so late at night, but . . .”

  “I’m glad you called me.” Angel stepped inside, hesitating in the entry. “Why did you call me and not the police?”

  “Several reasons. I’ll get to those in a minute, but you need to read these emails.”

  Seeing the champagne carpet and Janet’s bare feet, Angel slipped her own shoes off at the door. “Lead the way.”

  Angel followed Janet into a nicely decorated living room with a vaulted ceiling. The house had double sliding glass doors on the side overlooking the water. It was dark beyond the doors now, but Angel could imagine the view. Her feet glided over the cool slate tiles in the entry and kitchen.

  Janet paused at the kitchen island. “Can I get you anything? Coffee, tea, water, juice, wine?”

  “I’m fine. Thanks.”

  “I hope you don’t mind if I indulge. This thing has me creeped out.”

  “Go ahead.”

  Janet grabbed a glass of wine she’d already poured for herself and ascended the carpeted stairs to a roomy loft with its own small bathroom. A daybed sat against one wall and against the other was a desk and computer. “Nice office,” Angel commented as she looked over the railing toward the open living area.

  “Thanks.” She sat down in her leather ergonomic office chair and moved the mouse to eliminate the scenic screen saver—a sunset. Janet clicked Outlook Express and got into her mailbox and waited for the new mail to come in.

  “I had probably twenty emails. Most of them I deleted. Like I need Viagra and a new line of credit. I get so tired of all this stuff.”

  “I know what you mean.” Angel moved impatiently from one foot to the other.

  Janet groaned. “That jerk.”

  “Who?”

  “My ex-husband.”

  Angel read the note over Janet’s shoulder. The email from C. Campbell read: “It’s that time again. I hear things have been going well for you. Lucky me.”

  “What does he mean, lucky him?”

  Janet sighed. “I really shouldn’t be talking to you about this. You’re still my client and . . .”

  “Come on, Janet. We’re friends first. If it makes you feel any better, I’ll fire you as my counselor. So talk to me. Is there a problem?”

  “Oh yes.” She turned back to the computer. “I do know why I told you. I keep hoping he’ll go away. Um . . . I’m sorry. You didn’t come here to hear about my woes.”

  As much as Angel wanted to see the emails in question, she felt the dread in Janet’s demeanor. “No, but you might as well tell me about it. I have plenty of time. The only thing I was planning to do tonight was sleep.” And there wasn’t much chance of that.

  Janet smiled. “In that case, you’d better sit down. This could take a few minutes. I’ll print out the emails, and we can talk while they’re printing.”

  Angel dropped onto the bed.

  “My ex,” Janet said as she continued to type in commands, “is blackmailing me.”

  Angel wasn’t sure what she had been expecting, but it wasn’t this. “Did I hear you right?”

  Janet nodded and turned her chair around to face her. The printer began making noises as it readied itself for the task Janet had given it.

  “Why don’t you go to the police?”

  “What good would it do?” She ran both hands through her hair. It was down now and fell in large, soft curls on her shoulders. “He’s very subtle. He’s never threatened me with anything more than coming to Sunset Cove. I don’t want him coming here. I don’t want him back in my life.”

  “I don’t understand. Why would his coming here be a threat?”

  “He’d come here for one reason. To ruin my life.”

  Janet wasn’t making sense. “Can’t you get a restraining order?”

  “Yes, but it wouldn’t do any good. I doubt he’ll actually come here anyway. But that won’t stop him from going to the police.” Janet closed her eyes and hauled in a deep breath.

  Angel hardly dared to breathe. What did this man have on her that was so terrible? What was Janet hiding?

  “Okay.” Angel chose her words carefully. “You decided to tell me about it. I take it that means you’re tired of living with this—whatever it is you’ve done—over your head. Are you in some kind of trouble with the law?”

  “I suppose in a way I am. I came so close to killing that man. In a way I wish I had.”

  Angel pulled her legs up, sitting cross-legged on the bed, and urged Janet to continue.

  “I still couldn’t believe the rage I felt that day. I had lost my baby—a miscarriage. She died because of him. He hit me and pushed me down the stairs. I ended up in the hospital. They released me the same day. My baby was gone, and all I wanted to do was end my own life. I stayed in bed for five days. I hated him so much, but I didn’t think I could do anything about it.”

  “Why didn’t you go to the police? Why didn’t you go to a shelter?”

  “I don’t know. It’s easier to look back a
nd make judgments. Maybe I felt like I had no alternative but to kill myself. He’d convinced me that I was the problem. He wouldn’t get angry if I didn’t do things that upset him.”

  “And you fell for it?”

  “What can I say? I was young and fresh out of school. One day he came in and pulled me out of bed by the hair. Told me I’d had enough time to lay around. He wanted breakfast. He needed clean clothes.”

  Angel covered her mouth. “How awful.”

  “He said he was glad I had miscarried. He didn’t want a brat running around anyway. I started crying and yelling at him. I pushed him away. He pushed back and sent me sprawling across the bed. Something inside me snapped. I can’t remember ever being really angry in my entire life. But the rage . . .” She covered her face. “In that moment I realized I wanted him dead. I watched him leave the room, and I flew out after him. He was at the top of the stairs, and I hit him from behind. He fell all the way down. Ended up with a concussion and broken back.”

  Angel moved her head from side to side. How could a man be so cruel? “What happened then?”

  “I thought I’d killed him. I called 911 and told them he’d fallen down the stairs. I was terrified. He wasn’t dead. He ended up in a wheelchair, partially paralyzed. I was devastated. Charles never told anyone about my pushing him. He told everyone that he’d slipped on the stairs and fallen. I was thankful for that. For a while I thought it was my responsibility to care for him. I kept working as a counselor and hired a nurse. After all, I had caused the accident, and he had lied to protect me. I had to stand by him.

  “For a while guilt paralyzed me as much as the accident had paralyzed him. I was terrified that if I didn’t do everything exactly right, he’d go to the police and tell them what really happened. I’d lose my license and never be able to practice again. The physical abuse stopped, but not the verbal. Not the emotional. When he was finally able to manage on his own, I filed for divorce. I thought I’d be safe in Sunset Cove, but he hired a detective and found me. That’s when the emails started. Pleas for money that I owed him. I’d ruined his life and needed to pay. So I did. Every time he asked.”

  “I’m in shock. Here I thought you had everything together. I’d never have guessed.”

  “I thought I had everything together too. I’ve been paying him for three years now, and I want it to stop, but short of having him killed, I don’t know what to do.”

  “You’re serious? You’d have him killed?”

  “No. But I’ve thought about it.”

  “There’s a better way. It’ll take some courage on your part, but in the long run, you’ll come out way ahead.”

  “What should I do?”

  “Talk to Rachael. Tell her what happened to you. She can help you go through the right channels. You’ll eventually have to tell the police and get it all out in the open. Expose the jerk for what he is.”

  She sighed. “I suppose you’re right. It may mean giving up my practice here in Sunset Cove, but at least I can hopefully put it all to rest.”

  “It may not even go to trial or get into the papers,” Angel assured her. “Even if it does, no jury in the world would convict you for doing what you did. Janet, it was a crime of passion, and there were extenuating circumstances.”

  “I hope you’re right.” She lifted her chin and turned slightly to grasp the papers the printer had spit out. “I’m sorry. I didn’t ask you here to talk about Charles. You need to read these.” Janet handed the pages to Angel.

  Dear Dr. Campbell,

  For obvious reasons, I can’t tell you who I am. For now, consider me a guardian, an avenger, an angel of death—your alter ego. I think that if you were not constrained by your position, you would do the same. You talk against violence, but deep down, you know it’s the only way.

  The police are calling what I did to Jim Kelsey a murder. That’s far too strong a word. I didn’t murder the man, I simply disposed of a piece of garbage. Men like Jim Kelsey deserve to die. Don’t you agree?

  Angel read the rest of the letter and those that followed in stunned disbelief. Dragonslayer had murdered Phillip Jenkins and was planning to kill again. When she finished reading the letters, Angel glanced over at Janet. “This is unreal. Evil. Talking about a murder as if it were nothing more serious than picking out paint to redo a bathroom. Whoever wrote this is . . . psychotic. Dangerous.”

  “The women in group may have been right. Remember when we talked about the possibility of a serial killer?”

  Angel nodded. “Which means there may be other men on the list. Why would the killer send these to you?”

  “I don’t know. The notes indicate that he or she might have been a client.” Janet picked up a pen and wove her fingers over and under it. “It’s not unusual for a serial killer to confide in someone. Maybe they feel validated somehow.”

  “And maybe the killer is still a client.” Angel shifted, freeing her legs and letting them dangle from the bed. “What’s your take on the gender?”

  “A man, I think. It sounds like a business letter, and I thought it was a man when I first read it. I don’t know why. There’s something so cold and calculating about it all. And the way the men were killed—Phillip with a gun out of his own collection. Kelsey was also shot, then pushed over an embankment in his car. Both methods sound more masculine.”

  “That was my first impression too. But now that I think about it, I’m not so sure. Suppose one of the women in the group decided to take things into her own hands?”

  “I find that hard to believe. One of the things we stress is that you can’t fight violence with violence.”

  “You can stress it all you want,” Angel argued, “but you know as well as I do that people can’t always control their emotions. And whoever wrote this obviously has a lot of anger.”

  Janet’s shoulders sagged. “I just can’t believe any of those women would kill someone. Talk, yes, but act on it, no.”

  “Can you think of anyone you’ve been seeing who might have written these? Someone with a vendetta against these men?”

  “The only link is the abuse.” She closed her eyes and sighed. “I’m sorry. I can’t think of anyone. I’ll go over my files. It’s possible someone may have said something. Even then, there’s the confidentiality matter.”

  “If this pans out, the police can get a subpoena.”

  “We’ll have to deal with that if and when the time comes.”

  Angel acquiesced. “I should go. I’ll take these with me.”

  “That’s fine.” Janet licked her lips. “I . . . I’d rather you didn’t talk to the police just yet. I was hoping you’d investigate on your own before . . .”

  “Why did you call me and not the police?” Angel asked again.

  “I didn’t know what else to do. I tried to find the source of the email . . .” She hesitated. “Angel, the account is in my name, but I swear to you I didn’t write them.”

  “How could that be unless they were sent from your computer? Are you suggesting someone broke into your house and wrote these and mailed them to you?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t know. I have three computers—here, at my office, and my laptop. I carry my laptop in my car, and all I have to do is find a phone hookup. But anyone could have set up an account using my name.”

  “Something like identity theft,” Angel mused. “Develop an account in your name, using your address and maybe even your credit card to set it up. Maybe it was the killer’s way of making certain you didn’t go to the police. They wouldn’t have to use your computers at all.”

  “It worked.” She hugged herself. “The police would take one look and decide I’d written them myself. The situation with my ex doesn’t help. That’s why I had to call you.”

  “What makes you think I won’t go to the police? This may be proof that Candace didn’t kill her husband. We have to let them know.”

  “Could we take my name off them? We could fax them in as anonymous letters.”


  Angel rubbed her forehead and began pacing. “I almost wish I hadn’t seen them.”

  Leaning forward, Janet cradled her head in her hands. “What am I going to do?”

  “I wish I knew.” Angel read through the emails again. “Dragonslayer said he or she wouldn’t send these. Why the change of heart?”

  “I wondered that too. Maybe they went out by mistake.”

  “I doubt it,” Angel said. “On my email program I can save emails as drafts. They don’t go out unless I want them to.”

  “Right.” Janet’s eyes registered genuine fear.

  “Of course, there is another possibility. Maybe whoever sent these hasn’t killed anyone at all. Maybe they just want to draw fire away from Candace.”

  “Do you think so?”

  The computer dinged, indicating another message had come in. Janet turned back around. “Another one.” She clicked on the message, and it popped onto the screen.

  Angel read it over her shoulder. The words chilled her to the bone.

  Friday, May 9

  Dear Dr. Campbell,

  Angel Delaney is getting to be a major problem. I don’t want Candace in jail, but I don’t want Angel snooping around either. If she gets too close, she might discover my secret, and I can’t have that. I don’t want to hurt her, but I may have to do something to get her out of the way.

  Dragonslayer

  Angel swallowed hard.

  “You’re right, Angel,” Janet said. “You do need to go to the police. This isn’t about me—maybe it never was.”

  Seconds later another message appeared on the screen.

  Friday, May 9

  Dear Dr. Campbell,

  You’ll be happy to know I’ve chosen my next victim. It’s someone I’ve wanted to dispose of for a long time. I just never had the nerve until now.

  Dragonslayer