by T. K. Walls
It didn’t matter what they thought now. While he finished watching the morning news, he was thinking of his next kill. He never thought of his kills as victims. In his earlier days, he only killed people no one would miss. Now that he was older, he was looking forward to killing more prominent people. He wondered if the authorities would ever connect him to his latest kills. The thought of being in the midst of an investigation and yet being completely invisible was exciting to him. That feeling he longed for was back. And he really didn’t think anyone would miss his next kill.
Seth wasn’t the only own watching the morning news. Brad Rivers was also intently watching the news while waiting for his hospital discharge instructions. He too noticed that the media did not compare the prior accident to this accident. The media did mention the first one, but only in passing.
Brad was being discharged from the hospital after only a few days, having survived with minor injuries. As soon as his paperwork was completed, he took a cab to the airport and purchased a ticket to fly back to Boston. While he was waiting on his flight, he checked in with his office and was surprised when his staff told of the numerous flowers and condolences that had arrived in his absence. He asked his staff to cancel his appointments for the week, thinking it was best he seemed to be taking time to mourn the loss of his wife and children. In reality, he didn’t care. Beverly was an idiot, and he couldn’t stand her boys. Maybe it would have been better if Stephanie hadn’t been on the trip, but it was a holiday and he couldn’t find a way to exclude her. He might miss her, but he was certain he would overcome the death just as he had overcome the deaths of her mother and siblings. After checking in with his office, he placed his second call. The phone rang only twice, and the voice at the other end of the phone was hesitant but excited to hear from him.
“Hi, Brad.”
Brad paused for a moment before answering. “Are you alone?”
“Yes, I am now. I just stepped out of the office. I’ve been so worried. I tried calling several times, but it always went to voicemail,” Claire answered.
Brad ignored her concern. “Claire, I’m glad you answered my call. I need you to listen to me.”
“Of course I’ll listen. Whatever you need, just tell me!”
“I’m going to be out of the office for at least a week. I need to make funeral arrangements. I think it is best if we do not speak to each other for a while. I will see you at the office for business only. I expect you to abide by my wishes. I am sure you can understand how this would look if I am linked with you so quickly after losing my wife. I’ll call you when I think enough time has passed. You are not to contact me under any circumstances. I want to make that clear. Do not contact me under any circumstances.”
Claire didn’t respond. She had expected to remain quietly by his side. No one would need to know or even suspect that his office manager was also his lover, but to be told he wanted no contact other than professionally was gut-wrenching for her.
“OK,” she said quietly. “I’ll wait. I won’t contact you.”
Before she could say goodbye, Brad hung up, leaving her standing outside the office, fighting back tears.
His next call was to his first wife’s best friend and Eric’s former fiancée, Emily. After Rachel died, Emily had made attempts to remain close with Stephanie. He was certain Eric had probably called her, but she would be suspicious if he didn’t call her with the news that Stephanie was on the flight and didn’t make it off this time. Her cell rang a couple of times and then went immediately to voice mail. He left her a short message, telling her of the accident and Stephanie’s death, and asked her to call him. He knew she wouldn’t call back, and he didn’t care.
His flight was boarding, and Brad was excited to be heading back to Boston. He knew the NTSB would be investigating the crash, his flight records, and the plane’s mechanical records. He was in for a battle with them since this was a second crash. He didn’t care how long it would take to go through the investigative process. He would pay whatever fines they imposed, take remedial courses, participate in medical exams, and eventually gain his license back.
He stood quietly in line preparing to board, thinking of how his life would be different. He had loved Rachel, and of course he had loved his children, so he’d been surprised at how he didn’t miss any of them after the first crash. He supposed he wouldn’t miss Stephanie either. He didn’t miss her now, and if he did, it wouldn’t last. He had liked his second wife, Beverly, but he hadn’t loved her. He loved money more, and he loved his independence. He had no intention of parting with either. Besides, when you were a doctor and a successful businessman, there wasn’t a shortage of available women willing to do whatever was needed to gain your affection and your wallet.
He would need to end it with Claire. Fortunately, they had never been seen in public together; all of their liaisons had been in the office, either after hours or before hours. He was very careful. No text messages or emails. He only called her on the office cell phone, and he kept the calls short. In fact, Brad was always careful. He didn’t do anything without considering all the possible outcomes.
Once in the air, Brad ordered a gin and tonic. He quickly drank it and then settled in to take a nap.
EIGHTEEN
EMILY WAS IN HER OFFICE WHEN BRAD CALLED HER. She recognized the number, but after a few rings she let it go to voice mail. What did he want? she wondered. She already knew about the accident. Eric had called her. Trying to keep her composure, she finally listened to his message.
She had known Rachel, Brad’s first wife, for several years. She remembered meeting her after one of Eric’s flying lessons. Eric had become friends with his instructor, who was an MD who just also happened to have a pilot’s license. Besides being a flight instructor, Brad was also part owner of a small airstrip for private pilots. Eric and Brad had arranged for the two women to meet, and as they expected, the women became instant friends. Rachel and Emily shared a lot in common, having both attended and graduated from law school. Even though Rachel hadn’t taken the bar exam, she was still a lawyer, just not licensed. Eventually the women’s lives took different paths; they saw each other less and less. But when they did see one another, it was as if time hadn’t passed.
After Rachel died, Emily tried to keep in touch with her daughter Stephanie. It became more difficult to maintain any meaningful contact with her after Brad married Beverly; their relationship became strained to the point of literally having no contact. Stephanie adored her father, and she felt an instant bond to his new wife. Emily had her career and her jobs to keep her busy, and finding time to spend with Stephanie was a chore she didn’t look forward to. So instead of trying to maintain a relationship with the young woman, she resorted to an occasional phone call on holidays and birthdays. Other than that, she didn’t see her.
Emily had her suspicions about the accident, but Eric convinced her the crash was simply due to pilot error. Now that there had been yet another accident, and this time Stephanie was dead, Emily no longer doubted the first crash wasn’t intentional. Brad was a superior pilot. If anyone could fly a plane, crash-land, cause the death of two families, and still survive, it was Brad. He wasn’t just any pilot; he had a commercial license and he was a flight instructor. Flying wasn’t his hobby; it was a passion—or perhaps even an addiction. Whatever it was, it was in his blood.
* * *
Brad’s flight was uneventful, and he left the airport in a cab and headed straight for home, imagining the quiet and stillness of his house. Once home he went through his desk, looking for the name of the funeral director who had taken care of his first family. Finding Belsky’s number, he made arrangements to speak to the funeral director the following morning.
NINETEEN
THE NEXT MORNING, BRAD DROVE TO THE CEMETERY. He hadn’t been there since Rachel and the children’s funeral. He wanted to make sure there was space next to Rachel that would hold a few more graves.
He pulled into the cemetery and
made his way through the winding paths until he came to the narrow dirt road that led to the graves of his first wife and children. He parked at the end of the road and got out of the car. The dirt road was wet from an early-morning rain, so he reached under the driver’s seat and removed plastic shoe covers. He had no intention of getting mud on his shoes. He placed them over his shoes and walked toward the graves.
He stood in front of Rachel’s grave, not moving, thinking not of Rachel or their life together but whether there was enough room to place Stephanie next to her mother and whether there was room enough for Beverly and her boys to be placed a respectful distance from Stephanie. He smiled when he realized there was plenty of room and then turned to walk to his car, not once looking back.
* * *
Seth had been watching Dr. Rivers’s house. He knew when Brad had come home the night before, and he watched him leave his house for Tinker’s Hill Cemetery. He kept a safe distance behind as he followed him. He knew where Dr. Rivers’s first family was buried, and he knew the second family would also be buried in that same cemetery. He parked his car down the hill from where Brad had parked, pretending to be visiting a grave, but his eyes never left Brad. He waited until Brad left before walking up to Rachel’s grave. He removed a small dried daisy from the inside of his jacket and carefully placed it on top of her headstone. Then he turned away from her grave and started the short walk to where he had parked his car.
Leaving the cemetery, he followed Brad. He was fairly certain he knew where Brad was going, but he needed to be absolutely certain. When Brad turned and pulled into Belsky’s Funeral Home, he had the confirmation he had expected. Brad was using the same funeral director, same funeral home, and same cemetery he had used to bury his first family.
* * *
During the drive to the funeral home to make the arrangements, Brad thought about the order in which the graves should be placed. He knew Stephanie was going next to her mother—that was a given—but he might have to bury the rest a short distance away from her and her mother. To be honest, he really didn’t care where the bodies were buried, or even if there was a funeral. Placing the bodies in one location would simply be easier and more convenient, and after it was over, he knew he wouldn’t return. The funeral and burial were simply a formality, something that must be done when someone dies. He would have preferred cremations, but that might have looked too callous, not to mention suspicious.
Brad planned to hold the funerals on a Sunday afternoon. His second wife, Beverly, had been a devout Catholic, and she would have wanted her funeral to be on a Sunday. Even though it was early fall, the weather was still warm during the day, with a nice cool breeze in the afternoon. The leaves had begun changing colors from green to brilliant reds and yellows, but most still clung to their stems, with only a few falling.
Brad picked the perfect location for the graves. As expected, he chose the same cemetery he had used to bury his first wife, their sons, and Stephanie’s twin sister. The site was nestled in the back of the cemetery among the trees. He liked how the trees changed from season to season, but mostly he liked that this part of the cemetery was secluded. To reach the graves he had to drive down a narrow dirt road, park literally in the road, and walk several feet up a hill to get to the graves.
He pulled into the driveway of the funeral home, the typical gray stone building with a large circular parking lot in the front and an even larger parking lot in the back. He parked his BMW in the space furthest from the door, in the back lot. He always parked as far away from the doors as possible. He liked his privacy, and besides, walking was good.
His cell phone rang as he approached the front doors. It was Claire. Brad was instantly irritated. He had given her specific instructions not to contact him, and he thought he had made his instructions clear. He needed to focus on the funeral arrangements, and an interruption from a former lover was an unnecessary distraction he neither wanted nor needed. He had a feeling that Claire was expecting their relationship to resume now that his wife was dead. He would need to ensure that she completely understood there would be no resuming their relationship, and he would also ensure that she kept her mouth shut. Ignoring her call, he silenced his phone.
Brad had made the appointment the day before to meet with the funeral director. Since he was trying to come across as a grieving husband and father, he was intentionally late. Brad slowly walked into the foyer of the funeral home and quietly announced to the receptionist that he was there to meet with Mr. Belsky, the funeral director. The receptionist was an older woman, slightly overweight, who wore her hair in a bun on top of her head. She had been pretty once, he thought, but time or genetics was not in her favor. She quickly notified Belsky that his noon appointment had arrived. Brad didn’t wait long, as Belsky almost immediately came out of his office.
“Dr. Rivers, I am very sorry for your loss,” said Belsky, extending his hand. The funeral director was a short, bald, slightly overweight man with soft hands that squished when Brad shook his hand. Brad had never been impressed with Belsky. He asked too many questions and smiled way too much for a funeral director. He reminded Brad of the Cheshire Cat.
“Thank you, Mr. Belsky. I am stunned that I am here again. But you did such a wonderful job the last time, I knew I could trust you this time as well.”
“Of course, we will do the best for your family.” Belsky’s voice was soft, with a hint of a European accent, and when he spoke, he almost purred the words.
Brad looked around the entrance of the funeral home. “Mr. Belsky, I was wondering if you could make the arrangements for me. Last time I wasn’t able to make the decisions, as I was severely injured. I just can’t bring myself to do this. It’s such a shock. You understand.”
“Of course. We just need for you to pick out the caskets, decide on a date for the service, and pick a cemetery. I can make the location arrangements if you want, or you can pick the location,” answered Belsky.
Perhaps his accent is German or Austrian, Brad wondered absently. Brad was making a very good effort at avoiding the funeral director’s gaze, and although it was rare for him to feel uncomfortable, he was beginning to feel unnerved as he noticed Belsky intently watching his movements. But if Belsky was suspicious, he wasn’t giving any indication to Brad.
“I would appreciate that very much,” Brad said as he continued to avoid the funeral director’s eyes. “Please make all the arrangements as before.”
* * *
Belsky had been carefully watching Brad. He had his suspicions. He had always had his suspicions. In fact, he was certain this time Brad was responsible for the accident. Belsky just didn’t know how he’d done it.
Even though he had always thought Brad was probably responsible for the first accident, being responsible for making a mistake was completely different from being responsible for the intentional deaths of his family. And how did he survive two plane crashes? He expected the authorities to ask questions or, at the very least, attend the funeral. It wasn’t uncommon for the police or the DA’s office to attend a funeral for the sole purpose of watching the crowd to determine if anything was out of the ordinary.
Belsky had his own opinion about what happened, but it wasn’t his place to say anything. Whether it was a failed murder-suicide was one for the courts to decide—or for God to decide. Belsky wasn’t one to judge; he had seen hundreds of grieving families and spouses. But Brad never looked or acted like he was grieving. He acted as if he were shopping for furniture, and his dark eyes were empty when he spoke. In the end it didn’t matter to Belsky, though; Brad was a customer, and money never seemed to be an object for him.
“Mr. Belsky, can you pick the caskets for me? Price is not an issue, and I want a white one for my daughter. Please arrange for the flowers. I don’t care what you order. I’m using the same cemetery, Tinker’s Hill. I want Stephanie next to her mother and the rest in the same general area. I just came from the cemetery; there seems to be enough room. Oh, and make the servi
ce on a Sunday.”
Belsky’s thin smile slowly disappeared. He had no doubt Brad had somehow killed both of his families, but he carefully responded to Brad’s request. “Of course, we can do all of this. I understand how overwhelmed you must be to lose your wife and children again.” He watched for a reaction from Brad, but wasn’t surprised to not see one.
“Thank you again, Mr. Belsky,” Brad said as he turned for the door. “Please just let me know when the arrangements are made.”
Belsky followed after him. “Dr. Rivers, we need you to sign the financial papers and the consents so we can follow your instructions.”
Brad stopped and turned around. With a quick smile, he walked back toward the funeral home, replying curtly, “I should think you would have had this ready for me as opposed to making me wait. I am very busy, and this is taking up valuable time.” He brushed past Belsky as he walked back into the funeral home.
Fifteen minutes later he walked out again, this time with Belsky watching him from his office window. Belsky wondered why no one suspected Rivers or questioned him about how he had somehow managed to crash a plane twice, walking away with barely any injuries, yet killing his family each time.
The funeral home made all the arrangements, including ordering the flowers and publishing the announcements. And per Dr. Rivers’s instructions, the service was set on the following Sunday afternoon. Belsky made several attempts to contact Brad by phone and even by text message, which was against his personal policy and the policy of the funeral home, but he was unable to reach him. Perhaps the good Dr. Rivers won’t show up for his family’s funeral, thought Belsky. But eventually he did receive a text message from Rivers acknowledging receipt of his previous messages.
