“It appears someone is not only watching you but my grandfather as well.”
“Is he in danger?”
“I don’t know.” He turned back to the woman at the desk. “Actually, I would prefer no one visit except myself. It puts a strain on him.”
“All right.” She wrote on a purple post-it note and tacked it to a board above her desk. “Done. Can I help you with anything else?”
“That’s it.” Jackson flashed a grin, then put a hand on the small of Pressley’s back, liking the feel of it, and led her from the building. “I’ll see about pulling the DNA and prints from Roy Beckett’s medical records and let you know what I discover.”
“Thank you. I’d like to find out one way or another if he’s the man we’re looking for. If not, we can focus in on another direction.”
Which direction? If Roy wasn’t The Phantom, they had no other leads.
Chapter Nine
Frank watched from the bushes as an older model Chevy parked on the lane and turned off its lights. He’d wait until the young couple inside lost themselves in each other before making his move. His hand clutched the butt of his pistol. Was this how Roy had felt in the seconds before making a kill? Excitement coursing through his veins like a drug?
The car window rolled down and the girl giggled. The moon shone through the back, illuminating the two in the front seat. The young man leaned in for a kiss.
Should Frank shoot them outright or play with them first like a predator toyed with its prey? Already, he fed on their fear and knew tonight wouldn’t be the last time he killed. He was hooked.
Once he felt certain he wouldn’t be noticed approaching the vehicle, he pulled a ski mask over his face, grabbed the tire iron he’d laid on the ground, and then stepped from his hiding place. He slapped the hood of the car loud enough to make the couple jerk upright.
The young man scrambled to lock the doors and roll up the windows. Frank grinned at his vain attempt to protect himself and the girl. He’d anticipated such a move and broke the front window with the iron. While the girl’s screams vibrated against his eardrums, he pulled the man through the now empty windshield.
“Please, don’t hurt us.” He held up his hands. “We’ll give you anything you want.”
“I want your life, boy.” Frank raised the tire iron. “Once again, Texarkana will fear sundown.” He brought the iron down on the man’s head, once, twice, a third time until he lay still. Then, Frank turned back to the car.
The front passenger door hung open. So, history would indeed repeat itself. With a chuckle, he went on the hunt. Frank hadn’t gone far when another car door opened. He turned in time to see the girl slide from the backseat and sprint for the main road.
Today’s youth were smarter than those in 1946, it seemed. No matter. He raised his pistol and took aim. The bullet struck the teen in the center of her back. Whistling, Frank headed to where he’d hidden his car.
~
Jackson listened to the radio in his car in disbelief. A young couple killed on Lovers’ Lane. He turned on his siren and raced in that direction.
A copycat? It had to be. The Phantom would be too old now, if he were even still alive, to overpower two healthy young people.
Ten minutes later, he stood over the body of a young girl. One shot to the back. The beam of his flashlight shone on her date lying a few feet away. On the other side of the road, another young couple huddled together. Jackson headed their way.
“You found the bodies?”
The young man winced. “Yeah, we were, uh, looking for a place to park and…”
Jackson knew why they were there. “Why don’t the two of you head home now. Come to the station in the morning to fill out a report. You don’t need to be here any longer.” They’d already seen too much. “Don’t tell anyone what you’ve seen here. Not until we have a chance to notify the next of kin. Do you know these people’s names?”
“Yeah, I play football with Josh. That’s his girlfriend, Tammy.”
“Thank you.” Jackson returned to the scene to wait for the chief to arrive.
He didn’t wait long. Chief Rawlings arrived without flashing lights or a siren, pulling up behind Jackson’s car. “A damn shame,” he said, glancing at the girl’s body. “Any signs of the perp?”
“I haven’t searched yet.” Not that he expected to find much. The area was popular with the high school group and there’d be a lot of footprints and tire tracks. Jackson skirted the area, studied what he could, and snapped a few photos with his phone. He didn’t have much to go on. It was easy to see which tracks belonged to the dead couple since their car still sat there. The blood on the shards in the windshield showed how the young man had been pulled from the vehicle.
Just like in 1946. “Chief, we have a copycat of The Phantom. Should we implement a curfew?”
“And start a panic? Let’s not jump the gun here, Hudson. Could be a transient.”
“That’s what they thought back then.” He shook his head. His gut told him there’d be more deaths before too long. If they had a true copycat on their hands, they had less than a month before he struck again.
He found a set of footprints a few feet into the forest. The footprints went in, turned, and came back out. Here’s where he’d waited for his moment. Jackson followed the prints, finding where the killer had stood and taken aim at Tammy. It wasn’t much, but it was something. He put his foot next to the print. So, the man wore a size eleven.
“Find something?” the chief called.
“Size eleven footprint. Common tread on the soles, though.”
“Reporters are here. Hold them back. We don’t need them contaminating things.”
Jackson nodded and retrieved a roll of crime scene tape from the trunk of his squad car, tying it around trees well away from Tammy’s body so the arriving reporters couldn’t get too close.
“Do you have identification on the victims?”
“Is The Phantom back?”
The reporters shouted questions and thrust microphones and cameras in his face. “We don’t know much at this time. The chief will hold a press conference when we do.” Jackson turned and marched away from their eagerness. He had a long night ahead of him.
~
Pressley woke to a knock on her hotel door. She peered through the peephole to see Jackson, still in his uniform. “What happened?” She opened the door.
“A double homicide.” He entered the room and headed straight for the empty coffeepot. With a sigh, he tore open a pack of the supplied grounds and started a pot. “Done in the manner of The Phantom.”
“What?” Her legs failed her, and she plopped into a chair. “He’s too old.”
“I know.”
“You don’t think it’s a one-time killing, do you?”
He faced her. “What are the odds that we start asking questions about the murders in 1946 and an almost identical murder takes place tonight?”
How could this happen? “This is my fault.” All she’d wanted was to fulfill her grandmother’s dying wish.
“No, it isn’t.” Jackson handed her a cup of coffee and poured another for himself. “You had no idea what would be triggered.”
“You suspected. That’s why you were hesitant to let me disturb things here.” She turned the cup around and around in her hands.
“Hey.” Jackson took the cup from her, set it on the table, and then clasped his hands around hers. “A horrible thing happened, but it was not your fault. We’ll catch the guy who did this. Things are different now than they were when The Phantom terrorized this town. We’re better trained and have more ways of catching the bad guys.”
His words didn’t help. The young couple died because she’d brought up the past. Tears stung her eyes.
“Oh, sweetheart.” Jackson knelt in front of her, keeping ahold of her hands. “I don’t know what else to tell you to make it better.”
“There’s nothing you can say.” She sniffed.
“I hav
e to go to the office and do paperwork. Why don’t you come with me, and I’ll buy you breakfast when I’m finished.”
She gave a sad smile. “Grandma always thought food would make things better, too.” Pressley pulled her hands free and rose to her feet. After dressing in a pair of jeans and a loose-fitting tee shirt, she put her hair into a messy bun, grabbed her laptop bag, and followed Jackson to his car.
“Wait here,” he said when they reached the station. “I won’t be too long, I hope.”
She sat in one of the waiting chairs. Before she could open her laptop to scan her grandmother’s notes, a young couple, visibly shaken, entered the station and approached the receptionist.
“We’re here to fill out a report,” the young man said. “We’re the ones who found the bodies.”
“Please have a seat, and I’ll let Officer Hudson know you’ve arrived.”
The teenagers gripped each other’s hands and sat in the empty chairs near Pressley. The girl glanced her way with red-rimmed eyes.
“I couldn’t help but overhear,” Pressley said. “I’m a friend of Officer Hudson. He told me what happened. I am so sorry.”
“Thank you.” The girl’s voice barely rose above a whisper. “It was horrible.”
“Did you see anyone around? A car maybe?”
She shook her head. “Just Josh’s car and his and Tammy’s…bodies.” She shuddered and covered her face with her hands. “I’ll never forget that sight.”
“We did hear whistling,” the young man said. “I just remembered. But, we didn’t see who whistled.”
“Whistling?” Jackson stepped in front of them. “From which direction?”
“The end of the road opposite where Josh had parked.”
Jackson glanced at Pressley, then motioned for the teens to follow him to his office. “I’ll be right back.”
She doubted that and pulled out her laptop while she waited. The bell jingled over the door again. This time Frank Beckett entered and demanded to speak with Jackson. The quick glance he sent Pressley chilled her to the bone.
“Seems you and Hudson are inseparable.” He sat in the chair next to her and crossed his arms.
“Hello to you too, Mr. Beckett.” She closed her laptop. “Jackson and I are friends. He’s helping me.”
“Right. Helping you snoop where you don’t belong. Why don’t you go home?”
“I’m not finished here.” She met his stony gaze with one of her own. “Why does it bother you so much that I’m here? I’m no threat to you.”
“Shows what a stupid thing like you knows.” He jumped to his feet when the chief entered the room. “I heard about the murders. What do you plan on doing about it? We don’t want a repeat of 1946.”
The chief’s face darkened. “How did you find out, Mr. Beckett?”
“Police scanner and a reporter.”
He muttered something about stupidity. “We’ll do the same as we would in any situation of this kind, sir. We’ll investigate and apprehend. Excuse me.” The chief turned and marched back to his office.
“Watch your back, Miss Taylor.” Beckett stormed from the station.
That sounded very much like a threat to Pressley, and she wasn’t one to back down when pushed around. She turned to stare out the window as Beckett strode down the sidewalk. He stopped at the corner, sneered, and tossed her a wave, then crossed the street toward his hardware store.
Not only had she caused the deaths of two young people, but she’d riled one of the town’s upstanding citizens. She used upstanding loosely. Beckett might be influential, but he was anything but a nice guy.
When Jackson escorted the two teens from his office, the receptionist called out to him. “The prints and DNA results have been sent to you.”
Jackson grinned. “Come on, Pressley. Let’s take a look before going to breakfast.”
She followed him to his office and leaned over his shoulder while he checked his email. The heady scent of his aftershave dispelled the uneasiness Beckett had left behind.
“Well, look at that.” Jackson tapped his screen. “Roy Beckett was The Phantom. You fulfilled your grandmother’s wish after all.”
Pressley smiled. “Let’s keep this a secret until we catch the copycat.”
“We?”
“You need me. I have all the notes from that long-ago time. There’s a clue in there somewhere that will help us now.”
Chapter Ten
Pressley had stayed up late the night before studying her grandmother’s notes for anything she might have missed. Way too early in the morning, she sat up in bed. “Frank Beckett.” She snatched her phone from the bedside table and called Jackson.
“Hello.” A groggy Jackson answered. “It’s four a.m.”
“Sorry. I know who killed the young couple the other night.”
“All right. You have my attention.”
“Who has the most to lose when it gets out that Roy Beckett was The Phantom? Frank. He killed those kids to keep the police force occupied.”
“How do you know this?”
“Because I’ve spent months reading Grandma’s notes. I know how a psycho thinks. Yesterday at the station, he told me to watch my back.”
“He threatened you?” Jackson sounded awake now.
“Seemed that way to me.” She flung off the blankets. “We need to pay him a visit.”
“Not this early. We’ll have to wait until his store opens. Beckett won’t try anything with people around. I’ll pick you up a few minutes before nine. Go back to sleep.” He hung up.
There’d be no more sleep for Pressley. While the brew perked in the coffee maker, she paced her small hotel room. Frank couldn’t know they’d discovered Roy had killed those people. He had to believe Pressley still searched for the truth. Had he really snapped enough to start a killing spree again?
She wasn’t a psychiatrist. Maybe it was more than shell shock that sent Roy off the deep edge. Mental illness ran in families. Roy’s father had to have been off in his mind to falsify the date he had committed his son. Pressley poured coffee into a mug and carried it to the window. Her arrival in Texarkana had been the trigger to set Frank off, once again confirming it was her fault the latest victims died.
The window and the cup in her hand shattered a breath before she heard the gunshot. She dropped to the floor and crawled to the other side of the bed, grabbing her phone off the table.
“Someone shot at me through my window,” she said as soon as Jackson answered.
“On my way. Make sure your door is locked. Hide in the bathroom.” Click.
Pressley army-crawled to the bathroom and locked herself inside. Since her room was on the second floor of the hotel, no one could gain access to her room except through the door. She’d be fine. All she had to do was breathe. Jackson was on his way.
What if the shooter picked him off when he arrived? Pressley needed to do something. But what? She didn’t have a weapon. The twenty-two pistol lay at the bottom of her bag in the other room. Not that she knew how to shoot it. Maybe Jackson could give her lessons. She huddled on the floor, wrapping her arms around her bent knees.
“Pressley?” Jackson pounded on the door of her room.
She’d never been so glad to hear Jackson’s voice in her life. She raced from her hiding place and let him in. “Thank God you’re okay.”
“Me?” He put his hands on her shoulders and peered into her face. “I’m not the one someone shot at. Are you okay?” His gaze dropped to her hand. “You’re bleeding.”
Blinking in surprise, she glanced down. “The coffee mug must have cut me when it shattered. It didn’t hurt until now.” Now it throbbed with a vengeance.
“Come on.” He led her to the bathroom and told her to sit on the toilet lid. “Let me bandage this up, then I’ll scout around outside. Did you see anyone?”
“No.”
He poured disinfectant over the wound, clucking his tongue at her hiss. “You don’t need stitches, but a butterfly ban
dage would help staunch the blood. Then, I want you to get dressed and packed while I take a look around. You’re staying with me until this is over.” He gave her a quick kiss, seeming as surprised as Pressley at the act, then rushed from the room.
Putting her fingers to her lips, she locked the door after him and smiled. If that peck on her lips thrilled her so much, what would a real kiss be like?
After a quick shower, she packed the few items and made another cup of coffee. Anything to keep her mind off Jackson. Since no more shots had rung out, the shooter must have left. That didn’t make her worry any less.
She jumped to her feet when Jackson knocked and announced himself again. “Find anything?”
“Size eleven footprints. Same as the site of the murders. Ready?” He glanced at the suitcase on the bed, then lifted it, leaving Pressley to grab her laptop bag. “Let’s get you checked out. I’ll have to go to the station next to let the chief know what happened here.”
The spontaneous kiss seemed to have made him uncomfortable, if the fact he avoided her gaze was any indication. Why did men have to be so weird?
~
How could he have missed her? Frank cursed and punched the dashboard.
That meddlesome woman had discovered the truth about Roy. If the records clerk at the police headquarters to whom Frank paid money to keep her mouth shut hadn’t called him about the fingerprints, he’d still be ignorant as to what Pressley and Hudson had discovered.
Getting rid of them would accomplish nothing now other than making Frank feel better. He also no longer had a reason to copycat Roy. Except…he smiled…he’d liked the power he’d felt at taking their lives.
Going home or to the store was too risky now. It didn’t take a genius to know the new terror stalking the town was Frank. He might as well enjoy striking fear in people’s hearts as long as he could. But there’d be no waiting. He’d find his next victims that night.
Frank headed to the bank and withdrew as much money as allowed, bought supplies at the local supermarket, and made a quick trip home. He threw clothes into a suitcase, grabbed his computer and hard drive, then headed to a hunting cabin deep in the woods. He’d hide out there as long as was needed.
The Lovers' Lane Murders Page 6
