The Lovers' Lane Murders

by Cynthia Hickey

  Maybe, instead of killing Pressley outright, he’d grab her and take her to the cabin for a little fun. Roy had sexually assaulted some of his victims, as the rumor went, so why shouldn’t Frank enjoy that extra benefit?

  ~

  Jackson couldn’t believe he’d kissed her. What happened to his resolve not to get involved with her? She’d leave town once things were safe. No, he needed to keep things professional. Her first call that morning had annoyed him. He wasn’t a morning person on the best of days, but her second call had scared the hell out of him. Pressley waited in his office while he went to speak with the chief. He knocked on the open door. “Sir, do you have a minute?”

  “Sure. Have a seat.” The chief settled back in his chair, his eyes widening as Jackson told him of the attempt on Pressley’s life. “I’m taking her home with me.”

  “Smart move. I’m going to find someone to take your place here until this is over. You are now a bodyguard.”

  Jackson scowled. “You’re removing me from the case?”

  “Not at all. You seem to work well with this woman. Find Frank Beckett and bring him in for questioning. Keep Miss Taylor and yourself safe in the meantime and keep me informed.”

  “You’re agreeing to use a civilian to catch this killer?”

  The chief shrugged. “She found the identity of The Phantom, didn’t she? None of the authorities were able to. Why not use that sharp mind of hers? Whoever the killer is—and it might very well be Beckett—he has a grudge against Miss Taylor. He’ll come for her. That’s when you nab him.” The chief grinned. “You should let your grandfather know. That’s news he will want to hear.”

  “Yes, sir.” Jackson retrieved Pressley from his office, not liking the fact the chief wanted to use her as bait. “Time to talk to Frank.”

  The man wasn’t at his store or at his residence. Apparently, taking the time to talk to the chief had allowed the man to vanish. Jackson clenched his teeth hard enough to send pain into his jaw. There was no way of knowing where he’d fled to, but Jackson would bet his favorite shirt the man was still close enough to continue to wreak havoc.

  “We need to alert the media.” Pressley put a hand on his arm. “Frank will kill again. The people of this town need to be warned.” She dug in her bag and pulled out a pistol, setting it on the dashboard. “I’d like you to teach me how to shoot.”

  Jackson’s eyes widened. “You are full of surprises. Let’s visit my grandfather, then I’ll take you to the shooting range.”

  It was another good day. His grandfather grinned when Jackson told him about Roy. “I knew it. If only we’d had the evidence back then, we could have prevented the deaths of a few kids. Good job, you two. I can die in peace now.”

  “Not anytime soon, I hope.” Jackson gripped the old man’s hand. “We believe Frank Beckett is picking up where his relative left off.”

  Grandfather frowned. “Why? There are years between the two of them. Frank is what, forty-five maybe? Roy would have to be ninety-four if he’d lived long enough. I was only a few years older, the youngest detective on the force. What would killing gain him?”

  “Revenge,” Pressley said softly. “My arrival triggered whatever madness lurked in his soul.”

  “Never mind that, young lady. Your grandmother would be so proud. You have the same tenacity Mary Ann did.”

  “I take that as a great compliment.”

  “As you should. Now shake off the foolishness that this is all your fault and help my grandson find this madman.”

  “Any idea where he might have gone?” Jackson asked.

  “Not a clue.” He shook his head. “I’d guess he’s holed up on some long-forgotten family property. Maybe the courthouse would have records of his holdings. I wish I were young enough to do this with you. All the excitement has gone from my life now.”

  “You’ll have to get it secondhand.” Jackson pushed to his feet. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Looking forward to it.”

  Pressley leaned over and planted a tender kiss on his grandfather’s cheek. “I’m glad to have met you, sir.”

  Jackson’s heart warmed at her gesture. The glow in his grandfather’s eyes said he felt the same.

  “Take care of our girl, Jackson.”

  “I will.” He liked the sound of her being their girl. So much for resolving to avoid a relationship. His mind said one thing, but his heart was shouting something different.

  Once they were back in the car, he placed a call to the chief to let him know there was no sign of Frank. “We should alert the media, sir.”

  “I agree. I’ll take care of it now. The people of Texarkana will be kept informed of the danger and alerted to the possibility of a curfew. I won’t implement one immediately. I’m holding onto the hope that Beckett is long gone. But if he isn’t, I’ll slap down a curfew so fast it’ll make your head spin. We will not have a repeat of 1946.”

  Jackson was afraid that was exactly what was going to happen.

  Chapter Eleven

  “Do you want to get settled in my guestroom first or go shoot?” Jackson glanced her way.

  “Shoot.” She grinned. “It’s a skill I’ll need before long.” She wasn’t sure her attempt at humor worked.

  Jackson’s brow lowered. “I hope you won’t, but yeah…you’ll probably need to know how. The chief believes the killer will come for you.”

  Her blood chilled. “Do you agree?”

  “Unfortunately, and it scares me to death.”

  He surprised her by returning to the station. “The safest place for you to practice shooting is where I do.”

  Made sense. It was best to keep her out of sight until she could defend herself. An outdoor range would leave her vulnerable.

  After an hour of target practice and gun safety, Jackson handed Pressley the target sheet. “You’re a natural. Hit the kill zone seven out of ten times.”

  “I want ten out of ten.”

  He laughed. “We’ll practice more later. I want to head to the courthouse and see what property Beckett owns.” He glanced at his phone. “After we go check on Grandpa again. Someone tried to visit him.”

  “Beckett?”

  “I don’t know. The receptionist refused to allow the visit, and the man left.”

  They raced to the retirement facility only to find out the visitor had been a reporter hoping to question Jackson’s grandfather about The Phantom. Pressley glanced down the hall in time to see Mr. Carson being wheeled from his room. At her wave, he motioned her forward.

  “How are you, Mr. Carson?” She smiled down at him.

  “Concerned is what I am. Come eat lunch with me and the boys. We’ve some things to discuss.” He waved away the assistant. “You push,” he told Pressley.

  “Let me tell Jackson where I’ll be.” She returned to the front desk.

  “That’s fine. We’ll eat here.” He thanked the receptionist and took over wheeling Mr. Carson to the dining room.

  Lunch consisted of canned green beans, a roll, and a grilled chicken breast with rice. Pressley hated anything canned and shoved aside the beans.

  “You don’t eat vegetables?” Mrs. Oglesby asked, taking a seat at their table.

  “Not green beans.” Pressley smiled and welcomed Mr. Marvin who had joined them. “The whole crowd’s here.”

  “We always take our meals together, dear.” Mrs. Oglesby patted her hand. “Some days, Mr. Hudson joins us, but I heard he’s having a bad day today.”

  Concern creased Jackson’s forehead. “Our conversation yesterday may have tired him too much.”

  “No, he was more excited than he’s been in a long time.” She smiled. “We had quite the conversation ourselves. You telling him about Roy was a good thing. Now, Mark,” she said to Mr. Carson, “why don’t you tell these young people what you remembered?”

  He nodded and stabbed at a green bean. “Roy Beckett returned from the war on the same bus as me and Marvin here. He seemed agitated and kept glanc
ing at a letter he held in his hand. We suspected it might have been one of them Dear John letters, you know?”

  Pressley glanced at Jackson. “The trigger?”

  “Maybe. If a woman he loved broke up with him upon his return, he might have taken revenge on other young lovers.”

  “Why not just go after her?” Pressley leaned forward.

  “Well, that’s the thing,” Mr. Carson said. “He dropped the envelope. When I picked it up to hand it back to him, I noticed the postmark said Colorado. His girl had moved away. Most likely with a new bloke.”

  “You didn’t catch the name on the return address, did you?” Jackson asked.

  “Didn’t have a name. Just an address I didn’t have time to read.”

  That might explain Roy’s motive. Pressley picked at her rice. A shell-shocked soldier facing rejection from the girl he’d left in the states. A tragedy for so many innocent people.

  “You two believe Frank Beckett has taken up where Roy left off, don’t you?” Mr. Carson glanced from Pressley to Jackson. “Why would he?”

  “Because I dug up the past,” Pressley said.

  “Not your fault, girl. Evil would have been exposed somehow even if you hadn’t shown up.”

  Maybe. But her arrival might have sped things up. “There aren’t any more Becketts to take over in a few years, are there?”

  “No one left but Frank and his cousin.”

  The woman who gave them information on Roy. Pressley gripped Jackson’s hand. “We need to check on Mrs. Mayes. If Frank figured out that she spoke with us, she could be in danger.”

  “I agree.” He shoved back his chair and sprang to his feet. “Let’s go. Thank you for your help, folks.”

  “Anytime.”

  Pressley scribbled her phone number on a napkin. “In case you remember anything else.” She turned and hurried after Jackson.

  In the car, she looked up the woman’s number and placed the call. It rang and rang but didn’t go to an answering machine. “No answer.”

  Jackson’s expression grew graver. Pressley didn’t think it possible his features could harden more than they had over the last hour.

  “I’ll get her address from the station.” A few minutes later, they sped to the far side of town.

  ~

  Jackson pulled up to a small white house with aluminum siding and overflowing flower beds. Several days’ worth of newspapers lay on the walk leading to the house. Not a promising sign.

  “I suppose it’s a waste of time to ask you to stay in the car?”

  “Considering people die in their cars, yes.” Pressley shoved open her door. “Besides, I’d wonder what was happening the whole time.” She pulled her gun from her bag. “Thanks to you, I now know how to use this.”

  “But can you shoot someone?”

  “Hopefully, I’ll never have to find out.”

  He hoped so, too. Shooting another person left a mark on the person who pulled the trigger. A mental mark that never went away. Jackson pressed the doorbell, then knocked when no one answered. A few minutes later, he turned the doorknob. The door opened.

  The smell of death made him stagger back a few steps. If not for the danger to Pressley, he’d have ordered her to stay on the porch.

  “Oh, my.” Pressley pulled the neckline of her tee shirt over her nose. “I’ll, uh, wait right inside the door, if that’s okay.”

  He understood her reluctance to see a decomposing body. Swallowing back bile, he moved through the house, locating Mrs. Mayes in the kitchen. She’d been tied to a chair with dishtowels. A single gunshot between the eyes. Written in her blood on the table were the words, “Talkers die.”

  Returning to the front room, he pulled Pressley outside, having her stand behind a porch post. It would offer some protection if Frank were watching. Then, he radioed the chief, letting him know what had happened.

  “I’m calling in reinforcements,” the chief said. “Things are going to escalate fast once the media hears of this.” He cursed and hung up after muttering about there being nothing new under the sun.

  Jackson hoped the chief would implement a mandatory curfew immediately. Not that everyone would comply, but most would, and that meant saved lives. He stepped onto the lawn. Where are you hiding, Beckett?

  “Let’s visit the courthouse,” He said after the crime scene techs showed up. Since he wasn’t working in an official capacity, having been relegated to investigating on his own, he had no reason to stay and oversee things. The other officers could handle it from here. Keeping a sharp eye on their surroundings, he led Pressley back to the car, then drove into town.

  The courthouse didn’t reveal any holdings other than Frank’s house and his stores. Next stop, a warrant to visit each of those. Something he most likely wouldn’t obtain until the next day. He might as well take Pressley back to his place. Having this beautiful woman living under the same roof would make staying an arm’s length away difficult. Every time he looked at her, he remembered the feel of her lips against his. His gaze landed on her mouth. A strong urge to give her a stronger kiss, to wipe away the fear he saw in her eyes, flooded through him. Yep. It would be difficult to keep his distance.

  “I hope this is okay.” He opened the bedroom door to reveal a queen-size bed with a plain blue comfortable. “I’m not much for interior design.”

  She laughed. “This is fine. It looks more comfortable than the motel mattress.”

  He set her suitcase on top of the bed. “Pizza okay for supper? Neither of us finished our lunch.”

  “Sounds great. Anything but anchovies.” She smiled, drawing his attention back to her lips.

  He cleared his throat, nodded, and rushed from the room as if a swarm of hornets were after him. Idiot. Focus on the job and on keeping the two of them alive. Figure out how to catch Frank before he killed again. Stop thinking about Pressley!

  Safely away from her room, he ordered a large mega-meat pizza and a liter of diet soda and another regular. He’d forgotten to ask her what she preferred to drink but refused to enter her room again. Dangerous territory for a man who hadn’t dated in far too long. Work took up most of his time, and a lot of women couldn’t deal with dating an officer who faced danger on a regular basis.

  When Pressley joined him, he sat on the sofa and watched the news. Bad choice. He should have chosen the chair because she plopped down right next to him.

  “Any news about Mrs. Mayes?”

  “Top story. The media is calling Frank The Second Phantom. That didn’t take long.”

  “No, it didn’t. At least they aren’t aware yet that Frank is officially a suspect.”

  “I hope it stays that way for a long time. Catching him is going to be hard enough as it is.”

  ~

  Frank watched from his car as a young man still in his basketball uniform, his arm around a pretty little blonde, headed for a beat-up Ford Taurus. Hopefully, they wouldn’t head straight home but would take a detour.

  He eyed the gun on the passenger seat. The desire to kill gnawed at him like a rat on cheese. Strange how quickly he’d become addicted to the act. Now he craved the fear he caused.

  Good little children. They turned onto the road heading toward the lake. Lovers’ Lane wasn’t the only place for teens to go parking.

  Frank parked in the trees, then set out on foot. He’d come across the couple he’d followed or someone new. It didn’t make any difference to him. A kill was a kill. A scream, a scream.

  Pulling his ski mask low, he stepped from the woods. The couple had left the car and spread a blanket on the lake’s shore. How romantic. Gripping his gun, he moved forward.

  A twig snapped under his foot. He froze.

  The young man lunged to his feet, hands balled into fists. “What do you want?”

  “For the two of you to strip naked. Then, you get in the water, chest high.” He might as well make things fun. “I plan on having a good time with your girlfriend.”

  The girl screamed and scra
mbled off the blanket.

  The boy rushed toward her, grabbing her hand. “Help us!” he screamed and pulled the girl into the trees.

  Nice. A hunt lay before Frank. He grinned under his mask and whistled. They weren’t hard to follow. The couple made enough noise for a deaf man to find them. Frank narrowed his eyes when a road appeared through the trees. The couple made a mad dash and flagged down a vehicle. Frank raised his gun and fired, striking the young man before he melted back into the shadows. There was still plenty of hours left in the night.

  Chapter Twelve

  Jackson’s phone rang shortly after midnight. Two seconds into the call, he lunged from the bed, raced down the hall, and banged on Pressley’s door. “Get up. He struck again. Twice, in two different locations.”

  “I’m up.” Padded footsteps signaled her approaching the door. A sleepy Pressley swung it open. “What happened?”

  “He struck again. How soon can you be ready?”

  “Give me five minutes.” She raced for the bathroom.

  It took her seven. Jackson stopped his pacing when she rushed into the living room, the laptop bag she never went anywhere without clutched in one hand. She looked great in faded jeans and a tee shirt that looked like it should have been thrown away years ago. Her ponytail swung back and forth like a pendulum.

  She followed his gaze. “Sorry. I slept in it and just pulled on some jeans.”

  “Gun?”

  “In my bag.”

  “You stay by my side every second.” He gave her a hard stare. “I mean it. No negotiations.”

  “Not a problem.” She followed him to his car. “I’m aware of the danger.”

  Good. She needed to stay hypervigilant until Frank was behind bars.

  Jackson put a revolving light on top of his car and sped toward the second crime scene. The victims of the first had survived, although one was wounded. Their next destination would be the hospital. En route, he explained what the chief had told him over the phone.

  “Two?” Pressley’s eyes widened.