by BJ Wingate
WITH
THE
EYES
OF
A
KILLER
By
BJ Wingate
Contents
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-One
Twenty-Two
Twenty-Three
Twenty-four
Twenty-Five
Twenty-Six
Twenty-Seven
Twenty-Eight
Twenty-Nine
Thirty
Thirty-One
Thirty-Two
Thirty-Three
Thirty-Four
Thirty-Five
Thirty-Six
Thirty-Seven
Thirty-Eight
Thirty-Nine
Forty
Jessica Roberts, a newly appointed detective, gets her first case and it turns out to be a serial killer. Is this good luck or bad? Will the case be the first of many? Or the end of a short career.
With her partner, Tony Davaco, she follows the clues and works to uncover the murderer’s identity.
This is a work of fiction. All character’s names and places are the fabrication of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to anyone living or dead is purely accidental.
Acknowledgements:
I’d like to thank a dear friend Betty Reynolds for encouraging me to write and telling me stories of her past that gave me ideas for some of the books I have written. I’d also like to thank my readers for being there to enjoy the stories I write.
Look for more books by the author BJ Wingate including more about Detective Jessica Roberts.
Cover created by Germain Creative.
One
Mondays were always difficult for Alyson. She hated going to work but, since she had to pay the bills, what else could she do. Her life was fairly ordinary and very normal. She got up at her usual time, got herself together as much as she could – she usually laid out what she would wear the next day before she went to bed – and got ready for her normal job. She seldom ate breakfast or if she did it was a slice or two of buttered toast. Very normal, very ordinary.
As she got ready to leave her meager little one-bedroom, second-floor walkup apartment, Alyson glanced at her reflection in the mirror. She had what she called mousy brown hair that was cut to shoulder length and in her eyes always looked unkempt no matter how often she brushed it. She had brown eyes hidden behind black rim glasses. At one time she had been told she had nice eyes. As she stood there, she wished for the thousandth time that she could afford the surgery to correct her vision, but she barely made the bills every month. And that operation was expensive. Maybe a second job? She sighed. Who was she kidding? She hated the job she had now, and she would probably hate any others she might find. Her choices were limited after all. She did office work, period. Nothing more, nothing less. Turning from the mirror she straightened her mid-calf length brown plaid skirt and tugged the brown suit jacket that she wore a bit straighter. The only thing even faintly nice on her was the beige silk blouse she was wearing. And she hadn’t bought that. Her mother had. Years ago. It had been a Christmas present.
Alyson Maria Harding stood five foot four and a half inches tall and she was non-descript. Everyone said so. Her mother had said it; her last boyfriend had said it. And she believed it. No one ever noticed her. If she stood in a crowd of non-descript people, they would be noticed before she was. She was just too … ordinary. She had turned twenty-five just last month and the only birthday card she had gotten was from a company where she had her one and only credit card. She sighed again shaking her head a bit, grabbed her keys and purse off the table by the door, and headed out to her car. Even her car was non-descript. A brown Ford pinto that was old even before she got it off the used car lot. But it was all she could afford and at least it still ran, most of the time. She had had to get it tuned up after she purchased it but so far that was all. She got into the car and had to try the ignition several times before it finally coughed its way to running. She hoped the ignition wasn’t going out. She didn’t really have enough to get that replaced. She drove cautiously to where she worked and pulled into the garage that was for employees only. Even then she had to go quite a distance from the door to find a space. They shared the lot with another company and their people started earlier than the company she worked for. Once she had the car parked neatly between the lines, she got out and walked in her rather sensible shoes - brown low-heeled pumps - to the building and went up in the elevator to the third floor. She was not alone in the elevator; at least not for the first two floors. The other people using it didn’t even seem to see her standing at the back.
Entering the office where she worked, Alyson headed straight to her cubicle and sat down. She wasn’t the first one in but no one else was at their desks yet. Everyone else would head to the break room for a quick cup of coffee and some chitchat but she never did. The one time she had, she had earned the nickname of Hardy as in Laurel and Hardy. A man named Charles had started it. He sat in one of the cubicles near the windows so had a better view. Then again, no one liked her. Of course, no one really knew her either. No one ever took the time to try and get to know her, at least that was how she saw it. She often wondered if that was her fault. Did she keep people at bay? She did have a fear of getting close to people. The few times she had tried had been disasters. Her last boyfriend had only lasted a month. She supposed that it all came from how she was raised.
Alyson booted up her computer and checked her messages. Her boss had sent out a general memo stating that workloads might increase in the next week or so. A new client apparently. She sighed. She already felt like she did way more than anyone else in the office. And working in the secretarial pool for a major corporation wasn’t all that easy. But she did the job as best she could and just kept going.
Just then the delivery boy came by and dropped a load of work into Alyson’s in-basket. She reached for the first one and glanced over what needed to be typed. She opened the correct page on her computer and started to work. Soon she heard everyone else returning to their desks and starting their own work. One or two walked by her and she heard whispers and a snicker or two but never looked up.
Time flew by and soon it was lunchtime. Alyson signed off her computer and left the office. She almost always went to a local deli and had the house salad there with extra ranch dressing. Every so often the waitress would try to interest her in something new and even though it quite often sounded good, she always had the same boring lunch. Usually, she would sit and eat her salad then read until time to head back to work. She did get an hour for lunch at least so that gave her a break, both from the work and from the people she worked with. Most of the time the small deli had their TV on. Normally she sat with her back to the TV but, for once, she was facing it when a news broadcast came on.
The newsman talked about a shooting downtown that had to do with two gangs going after one another. Alyson shook her head at that one. Then he went on to talk about politics for a time. Someone from off stage slipped a paper onto his desk and he glanced at it for a minute and told another story about a missing young girl. Police were investigating it as a possible abd
uction.
Alyson shivered. Stories like that frightened her. People abducting young girls for who knew what. She shook her head and opened the book she had brought with her. It was a paperback romance novel. She loved romance novels. It was always so wonderful to read about two people coming together and defeating whatever obstacles stood in their paths. Maybe that was because she figured she would never know real romance ever in her lifetime. She sighed over one part and glanced at the deli’s clock. Time to head back. She put the book away, left her usual tip, paid for lunch, and went back to work.
That evening after work, Alyson drove to the market that was halfway between her job and her apartment. She liked that it was convenient for her and their prices weren’t too high. She picked up a few things she needed while counting what money she had left. It had to last until next Friday since she got paid every two weeks. She never cared for that, but most places paid that way anymore. One job she had had in the past had paid twice a month, on the fifteenth and the last day of the month. That had been worse. After paying, she took her few items to her car, drove home, and carried everything in. Once it was all put away, she changed into a comfortable pajama set and fixed her dinner. She almost always changed into her PJs since she never went back out. By ten p.m. she was nodding off in front of the TV, so went to bed.
The rest of the week went more or less the same way other than on occasion one or two of the people at work would wander past her desk and say, ‘Hi Hardy’ and laugh. She never paid any attention. At least not outwardly. Inside she was almost always about to cry but she didn’t want anyone to see how much it hurt her, so she held it all in.
Then on Thursday night, something different did happen. Alyson’s mother called her not long after she had gotten home. Mary Elizabeth seldom did that, so Alyson was a little surprised.
“Alyson, dear. Happy Birthday!” Mary Elizabeth sounded a bit tipsy. Not unusual for her. Alyson knew her mother was a lush but never said anything. All she would get would be the usual, ‘I’m not a drunk, I drink to forget’ line. Alyson often wondered what it was her mother needed to forget so much.
“That was last month mom. You missed it.” Alyson replied. She had just finished dinner so was washing dishes as she talked. It was a routine that soothed her a bit.
“It was? Are you sure?” Mary Elizabeth frowned then giggled. “Oh well, at least I thought of you, even if it was late.”
A month late, Alyson thought. “Thank you, mother. What do you want?”
“Want? Why would you think I want anything?” Now Mary Elizabeth sounded annoyed. That was normal as well.
Alyson sighed as she rinsed the last dish and put it in the drainer. “Maybe because the only time you call is to ask for something, money, a favor, whatever. Just say it. I … I’m busy.”
Mary Elizabeth made a huffing sound. It was her ‘I don’t believe that’ noise. “Very well. Do you have twenty dollars I can borrow until the first of the month? I need a few things at the store.” That was usually code saying that she was almost out of booze again.
Alyson shook her head. “Don’t have it. Just made my own visit to the store and spent what I had. Sorry. And I don’t get paid for another week.” She figured she better toss that in just in case her mother thought she was getting paid the next day. That wasn’t unusual for her mother. She thought everyone got paid every week like they used to be in the ‘good old days.’
Mary Elizabeth huffed again. “Well. I see. So that’s the thanks I get for bringing you into the world. Nine long months out of my life just to birth an ungrateful child. I could tell you …”
It was at that point that Alyson tuned her mother out completely. The phone was on speaker so she could still hear her, but she had heard all of this so many times that she had it memorized. She had finished doing the dishes so wiped the counter and kitchen table down. Then she got a bottle of water from the fridge and took off the top. Taking a big swallow, she let the cold-water wash through her as if to cleanse her from the inside out. She refocused on the phone when she heard her mother asking a question.
“Sorry, mom, what was that you asked?” Alyson paid attention this time, not that she really wanted to.
“I asked if you were listening to me. Apparently, you weren’t.” Alyson’s mother sighed into the phone. “Why do I even bother calling you? You never loved me. Ungrateful brat. And after all, I did for you.” With that Mary Elizabeth hung up and Alyson shook her head.
“Why indeed mother,” Alyson muttered to herself. She made sure the connection was ended on her phone, went to the living room, and turned on the TV. She liked watching the evening news broadcasts most of the time.
The news was the usual boring stuff so, eventually, Alyson turned it off and went to bed.
Two
The woman walked into the tavern, strolled the length of the bar, and settled on a stool at the far end. The place was a bit of a dive, small, dimly lit, and smoky, with very few people but she was still just a little nervous. Seeing that it was Friday night, she thought the place might have been a little busier and yet was glad it wasn’t. This was a first for her and she had no idea what to expect yet. She was wearing a dark blue dress that hit just above her knees. Her black hair was straight and brushed her shoulders lightly. She glanced around the room slowly, checking out the people that were there.
At the bar, halfway between herself and the door sat a man with scruffy-looking overalls on. He had probably stopped after work to have a beer or two. In the center of the tavern, two men sat at different tables. Neither of them looked at the other. Loud voices drew her attention to a back booth where a couple sat facing one another across the table. The man was saying something low and sinister-sounding and the woman had her hands up as if to placate him. One of the men at a table glanced that way but immediately turned back around.
The woman at the bar watched as the argument, for that surely was what it was, escalated. The man got louder; the woman cowered back. Finally, the man moved. Half standing up, he reached across the table and slapped the woman hard enough for the sound to travel. The other men in the bar pretended not to notice but they had flinched slightly. The woman in the booth began crying softly as the man called her a name, got out of the booth, and staggered out of the bar.
The woman at the bar watched and waited a few minutes then asked for a glass of water from the bartender. He gave it to her and glanced at the table. He knew who it was for. She got up, made her way to the table and set the water in front of the crying woman then slid into the seat opposite.
“You okay honey?” She said softly. “Take a sip of water, it might help.”
The crying woman shook her head. “Nothing is going to help.” She took a sip from the glass anyway and looked at the other woman. “Why do you care anyway?”
Sighing, the woman from the bar lowered her eyes. “Because I remember my mom going through something similar. No woman should be treated like that.”
The crying woman nodded. “My name is Mary.” She closed her eyes for a minute then reopened them to focus on the glass she now held between both hands. “I often feel like that too but what can I do?”
The other woman smiled. “You can call me Vanessa. What can you do? Leave him of course. Find a place to move to and go.”
Mary shook her head. “I don’t have a job or money or not a lot anyway. He has most of it. I get a check every month, but I pay most of the bills.”
Vanessa leaned back in the seat. “That isn’t right either honey.” Reaching out she brushed one finger over Mary’s cheek that was still red from the slap. “And he definitely didn’t have to hit you. I hate men that do that.”
Mary glanced at the door then at the others in the bar. “It … it’s not the first time.” She looked at the glass that she was holding onto like a lifeline. “Been getting worse though.”
“How so?” Vanessa asked.
Sitting up a little straighter. Mary looked at Vanessa. “At first it was like pushin
g, getting me out of his way. Then one day he sort of punched my shoulder, hard. It hurt and it was bruised but you couldn’t see it. This …” She lightly touched her cheek “… this is the first time he has slapped or hit me where it could be seen.”
Vanessa nodded. “You do realize that it will just keep getting worse until he seriously hurts you. Maybe even kills you.”
Mary shrugged. “I guess so. I don’t know. Sometimes I almost wish he would.” She took a drink from the water. “Do you like tea? I have an assortment at home. And I really want to leave here before he decides to come back.”
Vanessa tilted her head a bit. “Aren’t you afraid he will go home instead?”
Mary shook her head as she picked up her purse. “Not really. When he is on a binge like this he usually doesn’t come home until around four in the morning if he comes home at all.”
Smiling Vanessa nodded. “Then yes, I like tea. Let’s go, shall we?”
Standing the two women left the bar together, walked a few blocks, and up to a second-floor apartment. Mary unlocked and opened the door, stuck her head in, and then let Vanessa go in first. Vanessa set her handbag on the coffee table and watched as Mary did the same.
“I’ll go make the tea.” Smiling Mary left the room but kept talking, her voice drifting back to where Vanessa stood. Vanessa didn’t really listen to Mary. Instead, she walked around the room, looking at pictures and things on various stands and bookshelves. On one shelving unit, there were books, a few candles, and a fancy hunting knife on a stand. That had to belong to the man. Mary was still talking, something about her mother now. Vanessa glanced toward the kitchen doorway, pulled a pair of soft white gloves from her purse, and slipped them on. She picked up the knife and looked it over. Then she turned and walked into the kitchen, the knife held in her right hand down at her side almost hidden. Mary was at the sink looking out the window. Now she was saying something about the view that used to be nice having been ruined by someone putting up a fence. The tea kettle was hissing, about to sound off as Vanessa reached out, took hold of Mary’s hair, pulled her head back, reached around, and slit her throat. Blood gushed over the sink and counter as she fell. Vanessa stepped back and watched as Mary stopped moving.
