Winter's Web

by Mary Stone

  “Have you seen Nathaniel Arkwell yet tonight?” Jacobs’s question was calm and conversational.

  “Judge Arkwell? No, I don’t think I have,” Ryan replied.

  Winter and Bobby exchanged knowing glances before she turned back to her laptop. As the men’s discussion continued, she typed Arkwell’s name into the database search tool.

  Jacobs made a “hmm” sound. “I’ve been trying to get him to bring his son in to meet us, but Nathaniel says he’s still too young, maybe a little too wild. He’s only twenty-two.”

  Ryan chuckled. “I remember what it was like at that age. It’s all parties and girls.”

  In a couple more clicks, Winter pulled up the information. “Nathaniel Arkwell. Virginia State Supreme Court judge for the last five years, and a city judge before then, defense lawyer before that.” She narrowed her eyes at the screen. “Well, that’s interesting. Even though Mr. Arkwell is a judge, he seems to be a pretty savvy investor. He made it through the recession in 2008 without much of a financial loss, and since then, he’s almost tripled his net worth by playing the stock market.”

  Bobby snorted. “My guess is that this group facilitates more than a little bit of insider trading. Sounds like Ryan’ll have his work cut out for him after we find our killer.”

  As Ryan and Jacobs parted ways after promising to meet again soon, Winter stashed the information from Nathaniel Arkwell in the digital folder along with Mario Reyes. “SSA Parrish says that he thinks the killer is young.”

  Lips pursed, Bobby nodded. “And so far, everyone here has been in their fifties and sixties. What are you thinking? Do you think the SSA’s profile is off?”

  Winter shook her head. “I’m not sure.”

  With a thoughtful look in his eyes, Bobby shrugged. “Maybe we ought to widen the net a little bit. Like with Mario Reyes. Mario’s squeaky clean, but his son’s a meth cook.”

  “Right, yeah, that’s a good point. When we get back to the office, we can take a look through the names we’ve gotten so far. But this time, we focus more on their kids.”

  When Winter reached back to the candy bowl, Ryan’s voice came through the laptop speakers.

  “Nicole.” Despite the distance, the audio was almost devoid of static. “Nicole Nichols, it’s so nice to see you again, love. How are you doing?”

  Winter sat up straighter. The notorious Mrs. N.

  Winter had already done her due diligence on Nicole Nichols, and the woman’s records were unassuming. Though Ryan had provided them with a couple names before tonight, he hadn’t committed all the members of the group to memory. Their secretive circle kept no records of its members, so the dinner party was the best way for them to compile background information on the potential pool of suspects.

  The woman’s voice came across almost as clear as Ryan’s. “Oh, I’m hanging in there. How about you, Tom? How are you?”

  “I’m doing well, thank you. It looks like we’re short a few people tonight,” Ryan said. “I haven’t seen Nathaniel Arkwell yet. Do you know if he plans to be here?”

  “Judge Arkwell? No, I don’t think he could make it. He’s got quite a bit on his plate right now, work wise. He said he planned to stay at home and catch up.”

  Ryan made a sound that roughly equated to “ahh” over the microphone. “I was wondering if we’d have a chance tonight to talk a little bit more about that business venture you mentioned a few weeks ago. The videos of those girls, I mean. It seems like an easy way to make some quick cash.”

  “Easy?” Nichols echoed. “What do you mean?”

  “Well, just find a few girls that need a job, get them to pretend they’ve been kidnapped on camera for a few days, and then give them part of the profit. I don’t even think it’s illegal, is it?”

  A spell of quiet settled in after Ryan’s question, and if it hadn’t been for the occasional voice in the background, Winter might have thought they’d lost the connection.

  When Nicole Nichols spoke again, her voice was hushed. “That’s the thing, Tom. I…don’t think those videos are fake.”

  “You don’t?” Ryan’s tone quieted to match Nichol’s, but there was a distinct edge of panic in his voice.

  “No. I know you told me you were sure they were fake, but, well.” Another uncomfortable pause. “You’re new here, and I don’t want you to get the wrong impression about our members. Most of the folks here are decent, and I don’t want you to think we’re some group of crazed serial killers. We do what we can to help one another financially, and maybe some of the methods we use aren’t completely legal, but no one’s getting hurt. That’s not what we do here.”

  “Of course not. Do you…well, do you have any idea who might’ve made the videos? Should we go to the police or tell someone else who’s here tonight?”

  Nichols sighed. “I’m not sure that’d be a good idea. I don’t know who it is, and if the videos are real, I don’t want anyone to know that we’re snooping around about it.”

  Turning to Bobby, Winter lifted an eyebrow. “She’s worried about a serial killer ruining the reputation of her fancy club, not necessarily about the fact that they’re killing people. Is that how you took that?”

  With a scowl, he nodded. “Yeah, that’s about how I read it. I guess at least we don’t have to worry about the videos being part of a bigger conspiracy. We’ve got a rogue killer to find, which is better than trying to infiltrate the Illuminati.”

  Better, maybe. But if Ryan’s dialogue so far that night was any indication, it wouldn’t be much easier to track them down.

  No one in the group knew the specifics because no one wanted to know. They’d rather pretend their black sheep didn’t exist than face reality.

  As long as reality didn’t hurt their bottom line.

  24

  Nathaniel took the steps two at a time as he hurried downstairs. Even through his noise cancelling headphones, the gunshot had rung out clear as day. He hadn’t seen Cameron return home before he retired to his office, but as soon as he heard the gunshot, he knew his son was involved somehow.

  Panic welled up in the back of his throat, so visceral and raw that he felt like he was being strangled.

  Cameron had finally snapped and had taken out his years of anger and rage on Maddie. Nathaniel knew it. His son had killed Maddie, and Nathaniel had done nothing to prevent the confrontation.

  He should have known. Should have seen the signs.

  The emotional distance, the blatant manipulation, the lack of empathy. Since he was old enough to talk, lying had come just as easily to Cameron as telling the truth. Whenever he was caught in the midst of a wrongdoing, he showed no emotional reaction unless it suited his master plan.

  Though Cameron had always been outgoing, Nathaniel had long suspected that his son’s friendships and romantic relationships were superfluous. One dimensional. Fake. The only reason he maintained social connections was because he could manipulate them to his benefit.

  Nathaniel didn’t have to guess that manipulation was the motivator behind his son’s outgoing personality. Cameron had told him as much.

  During his senior year in high school, the boy had gone off on a tirade about how unfairly he was treated in relation to his sister, and he’d included all the questionable thoughts that had flitted through his head on a routine basis.

  At the time, Nathaniel had brushed off the admission. He’d assured himself and his son that Cameron was just angry. After he admitted that he’d harbored a twinge of favoritism for his daughter, he was sure they’d be able to turn around their strained and awkward relationship.

  But, like he so often was with his son, Nathaniel had been mistaken.

  He and Katrina hadn’t been the best parents to Cameron when the boy was little. Nathaniel knew it, but he’d never dream of besmirching his late wife’s memory by advising Cameron that she’d given birth to him well before she should have. He’d never tell his son that she’d ignored his cries and pleas for attention because she suffered
from a severe bout of postpartum depression, or that she would be diagnosed two years later with bipolar depression.

  Nathaniel knew his son’s upbringing had been rough, but until now, he’d been convinced that there was an answer to the distance between them. He’d been sure they could mend the bridge.

  He’d been sure until he heard that gunshot.

  Heart hammering against his chest, Nathaniel gasped for breath as he hopped off the final landing and rushed into the foyer.

  Even as he stepped into Cameron’s field of vision, those steely blue eyes didn’t stray from where they were glued to the front door. Though Nathaniel knew he needed to look over to confirm his fears, he held out a hand as he approached Cameron. He wasn’t about to turn his back on the kid when he held a stainless steel forty-five in one hand.

  “Cameron.” His voice was calm but forceful. It was the same tone he used in court. “Cameron, give me the gun.”

  Cameron’s pale eyes stayed on the door. Just as Nathaniel opened his mouth to make the request again, his son grasped the weapon by the barrel and extended the handgun to Nathaniel, grip first.

  As he reached for the forty-five, he noticed the smears of red along Cameron’s wrist. Scratches. Defensive wounds from whoever he’d just shot. Without hesitating, Nathaniel pried the weapon from his son’s hand.

  Jaw clenched, Nathaniel turned to the object of Cameron’s fascination—a fascination that was comprised of equal parts anxiety and curiosity.

  Nathaniel’s neck felt like it was made of stone as he moved to look at the foyer. But when his gaze fell on the crumpled body in front of the wooden door, he heard himself take in a sharp breath. He knew right away that the young woman wasn’t Maddie.

  His gaze was transfixed on the woman, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t will his legs to move.

  If she wasn’t Nathaniel’s daughter, Cameron’s sister, then who was she?

  All at once, a rush of adrenaline surged through his body to break the spell that had rooted him to the spot. Without another glance to Cameron, Nathaniel hurried over to the young woman’s side. He was careful to avoid the pool of syrupy blood as he knelt to press his fingers against her neck.

  The seconds ticked away in silence as he willed her pulse to return.

  His effort was for naught. The girl was dead.

  Nathaniel snapped his head up to look at his son. “Cameron. Cameron!”

  As if he’d been ripped away from a trance, Cameron blinked before he met his father’s stare.

  “Cameron, who is this? And what happened down here?” The gold overhead light glinted off the frame of the handgun as Nathaniel held up the weapon for emphasis. His hand shook with each rapid beat of his heart, but he ignored the tremor and forced his attention to Cameron. “Who is she, and why…why…in the fuck did you shoot her?”

  Though he wanted to launch into a string of obscenities, to ask his son what had possessed him to retrieve a hidden, semiautomatic handgun and fire a round into the back of a young woman who had been clear across the room, he bit his tongue.

  After all, wasn’t it Nathaniel’s fault this had happened in the first place?

  If he’d just paid attention to his son when he was little, they wouldn’t be standing here. He was sure of it. If he and Katrina had just waited another couple years until her mental state had been stabilized with the help of antipsychotic medications. If he hadn’t been so laser-focused on his career at the time. If he’d gotten the boy help when it was clear that he needed it. If he hadn’t been so worried about how having an unstable child would affect his goals.

  If…

  If…

  If…

  He could romanticize the past and think about how he’d follow the right path if he had it to do over again, but the truth was, he and his wife had been kids. Nathaniel was twenty-three when his son was born, and Katrina had only been twenty.

  They thought they could handle it. They wanted to start a family someday, anyway, right? What did it matter that they’d gotten a few years jumpstart? Having a family was their dream, and there was no way a dream would be the wrong path.

  But the path had been wrong. Very wrong.

  They should have waited. If they’d waited, then the girl in the pool of blood on the tiled floor would still be alive. Her parents wouldn’t receive the news that every parent dreaded.

  Her death was on the father’s hands just as much as it was on the son’s.

  A father who was a judge. A father who should have known better.

  He had to fix this.

  As he jerked himself back to the present, he glanced over to Cameron’s blank stare. Aside from handing Nathaniel the weapon, he hadn’t moved.

  “Cameron.” Raising one hand, Nathaniel snapped his fingers until his son’s pale eyes flicked over to him. “Cameron, snap out of it. The cops are probably already on their way, and if they aren’t, they will be soon.”

  Cameron’s brows drew together. The kid looked genuinely confused. “The cops? What? Why?”

  He bit back an impatient retort. “Because this is a quiet neighborhood, and this is a loud weapon. I need you to tell me what the hell happened.”

  A silence settled in between them as Cameron opened and closed his mouth, his eyes wide. “I don’t, I don’t know, Dad.”

  Dad.

  Cameron never called Nathaniel something so familiar. He called him Nathaniel or Judge Arkwell, but never Dad. Not unless he was making an effort to come across as condescending.

  Nathaniel narrowed his eyes. “Dad?”

  Cameron blinked a few times, appeared to be physically taken aback.

  Teeth clenched, Nathaniel held his son’s gaze. “What happened, Cameron? I’m going to help you, but unless you tell me the truth, there won’t be much I can do. You understand me?”

  The sharpness returned to Cameron’s pale eyes, and the feigned look of forlorn regret vanished. “She was trying to steal something.” His voice was flat, almost robotic.

  If he was lying, Nathaniel had no earthly idea how to tell.

  “She was trying to steal something?” he echoed. “What was she trying to steal?”

  With a long exhale, Cameron shrugged. “I don’t know. I went to the bathroom, and when I came out, I saw her looking through the pantry. She was about to put something in her purse. It looked like cash, but I wasn’t sure. I confronted her about it, and she hit me with her purse.” He gestured to the faint marks on the side of his face.

  Nathaniel guffawed, a single loud barking sound of disbelief. “She hit you with her purse, so you shot her?”

  Throwing both arms up in the air, Cameron took a step back. “What do you want from me, Nathaniel? I saw that she was trying to steal from us, so I confronted her. She attacked me, and I just…” eyes wide with clear exasperation, Cameron spread his hands, “I just reacted. I defended myself.”

  Though Nathaniel wasn’t sure he believed the succinct explanation, he wanted to believe it. Desperately. He wanted to believe that the only reason Cameron would harm another human being was in the defense of his home. As his thoughts veered in the direction of the flash drive and the unsettling video of the young blonde woman’s grisly murder, he clenched his jaw.

  “How’d it escalate from her hitting you with her purse to you shooting her in the back?” As Cameron opened his mouth to offer a rebuttal, Nathaniel raised a hand. “I’m not asking because I don’t believe you. The cops are already on their way here, and I need to know what happened if I’m going to help you.”

  Shadows moved along Cameron’s face as he gritted his teeth. After a few seconds of silence, he nodded. “Okay. She hit me with her purse. That was in the kitchen. You know how you keep that stash of cash in the coffee can in the pantry? I think that’s what she was going for. That’s what it looked like, anyway. She was about to take it, but she saw me and tried to put it back. When I confronted her about it, that’s when she smacked me with her purse.”

  Nathaniel was moti
onless as he waited for his son to continue.

  Cameron heaved another sigh. “She turned around, and I thought she was just going to run out through the garage. She must have realized she’d gone the wrong way, so she decided to come back in through the hall behind the kitchen. I was standing in her way, and she kicked me in the balls so she could get past.”

  The kid’s face was as unreadable as a slab of granite. It was a trait he’d picked up from Nathaniel. The ability to remain stone-faced was worth its weight in gold in a courtroom.

  “By the time I made it into the kitchen, she was holding that butcher knife. I tried to take it away from her, but she broke away and made a run for the front door. I remembered that forty-five, and I just went for it. I mean, for god’s sake, she tried to kill me! What the hell was I supposed to do?”

  Jaw clenched, Nathaniel didn’t respond.

  Cameron jabbed a finger at the knife. “She was going to kill me! You see my wrist, right?” For emphasis, he held up his hand. Sure enough, there were streaks of crimson that ended halfway down his forearm. “Was I supposed to let her get away and tell someone that I was the person who started it all? Have her press charges against me? Because you know that’s what would happen!” He sneered. “How would that look to your precious voters, Dad?”

  Cameron’s tone was just below an outright shout when he finished. It was the most emotional display Nathaniel had seen from the kid in years, maybe even an entire decade. Either he was telling the truth, or he’d perfected the art of lying.

  “Okay.” Nathaniel’s voice cut through the silence like a razor through butter. “Okay, you’re right. Even though I understand what you were doing, that doesn’t mean the cops will. Here’s what I need you to do. And Cameron…”

  In the split-second of silence, he willed every bit of vitriol into his gaze as he could manage. This was the expression he used on criminals just before he handed them their sentence.

  Cameron swallowed.

  “I need you to listen to every single word I tell you, and I need you to follow my instructions to the letter. Do you understand me.”