“This one!” he exclaimed, picking a folder from the pile. And as he began to leaf through the photographs, a tremor shook my insides. I shivered and tried to hide my reaction by rubbing my hands together and dipping my chin as if to study the images. “Still cold?”
“Just a bit of a chill,” I answered, lying. I wasn’t cold, though. I was staring into the faces of ghosts. Autopsy photos showed man after man, their blank faces sallow with death. I cleared my closing throat and asked, “Who are they?”
“Dozens—” Steve began. He fanned out the photographs, dealing them over the desk like a deck of playing cards.
I’d expected Polaroids or even color photos, but what he dealt in front of me were black-and-white headshots. The gray photo paper was turning yellow and the whites had become a burnt sienna; all the corners were curling. What was clear from the photographs was how each man had died. I saw strap marks on the skin on their necks and the torture of the buckle’s design—the wings of an airplane.
“We’re too young to remember, but these murders are from one of the biggest unsolved cases this area—maybe the country—has ever seen. The truck stop killer.”
“Truck stop killer?” I asked, pushing away one of the photographs. “Maybe I am too young to remember.”
“That’s what we called it—that is, me and John—on account of what we found in our investigation. The papers never had a name for the cases, though, but had called out the string of murders as being the work of a serial killer.”
“Why truck stop?”
Steve sifted through the files, producing a map as old as the box. He pointed out a set of red circles, the waxy markings chapped and flaking. “Look here,” he said, tapping at a stretch of intersecting roads. “And then here. What do you see?”
I knew the answer. It had been thirty years, but I could still hear the truck stop’s air-hose bell and smell diesel fuel. I clenched my hands, tightening my grip on the belt. Steve waited patiently for a few seconds, then raised the map closer to me.
“I don’t know what those are,” I answered, playing as if confused by what was on the map.
“That’s okay,” he told me, sounding sympathetic. “Most miss it the first time. It’s the killer’s m.o.—modus operandi.”
“I know what an m.o. is,” I snapped. He grinned, expecting my snarky response to his use of Latin.
“I know you do,” he laughed, leaning into my shoulder. It scared me to see Steve with all the info on this case, but at the same time, I was seeing the man I married. He was excited and witty again, as though nothing had ever happened. “Men—all shapes and sizes and ages and nationalities—they had one thing in common. They were picked up at a truck stop. Can I take this?”
“Take what?” I asked, slowly placing the belt on top of the desk. I almost expected the faces in the photographs to gasp or shudder at the sight of the murder weapon. But nothing happened. I held on to the belt a moment longer, thinking that any answer other than an affirmative one would raise questions. “It’s my dad’s . . . I mean, I guess it’s mine now. Take it.”
“This is the belt,” Steve said, picking it up and turning it over in his hands. “And it’s a man’s belt.”
“You said that already,” I reminded him. “From one of my father’s stupid collections.”
“I know, but we’d always suspected a woman as the killer. Never a man.”
“You think my father—”
“No no, not your father . . .” Steve began, but paused before pulling the case file back together. “Who knows where or when he got this belt buckle. Could’ve been years after the murders took place.”
“But you said a woman?” I asked, wanting to understand why they had considered a woman. Steve rocked his head back and forth like he sometimes did when uncertain about the answer.
“Not sure we’ll ever really know, but there was some consistent—and quite compelling—evidence to suggest a woman.”
“Like what?” I asked, leading him out, encouraging him to tell me more.
“Semen,” he answered abruptly. I lifted my head, my brow furrowed. “All of the men were full of it.”
I shook my head, unsure what he meant. “Full?”
Steve fixed me a ya-know-what-I-mean expression, but I didn’t. “Some of it was left in the stem. Get it?” I stared blankly at him, so he continued with the explanation. “All of the men had ejaculated just before, or during, their death. Autopsy reports found semen in their ureters . . . their penis. The coroner reported the same in every case.”
“And that is why a woman is suspected?”
“Right,” he said, nodding. “The thinking has been that the men were picked up for sex and then killed during the act when they . . . well, ya know.”
“Yeah. I get it,” I answered, waving my hand to let him off the hook. And as he placed the buckle in the box, the regret of not having thrown the evidence into Neshaminy Creek felt like a hot stone in my gut. A burning.
How could I have held on to it?
“Wait till Charlie gets a load of this,” Steve said, packing away the case. “Just sorry John isn’t around to see it.”
You want to use it again, don’t you? I heard in my head.
I jumped as if the voice was real. I heard the memory again and shut my eyes, shuddering. It was my mother’s. Her scolding voice, yelling at me the night I’d almost lost the belt. My mother had been right, though, I did want to use it again. But only because it would please her.
FOUR
THE MUSTY SMELL OF THE library overcame me, changing my mood. I didn’t want to leave behind the scent of trees and flowers and freshly cut grass. As much as I’d grown to love my new job, there was something about being in the library that day that just didn’t sit right with me. I wanted to be outside, to be in the sunlight, to do anything other than sit in front of a computer, surrounded by the dank smell of old books. That last part wasn’t exactly fair. Our library was the cleanest it could be. Not just clean, but spotless.
The younger librarian—Becky, I think was her name—gave me a short wave, the sway of her earbud cords following the rhythm of her hips. She snapped her gum, picked up a book, and scanned its barcode. The computer replied with a soft beep, but I doubt she could hear that. The screen told her something, though, and she followed its instruction, dropping the book onto a cart and picked up another. She snapped her gum again—loud enough to echo. From the corner of my eye I caught Nerd popping his head up to watch her. It wasn’t the first time I’d seen him peering over his computer in her direction either. A memory of high school days with Katie, whispering about who was crushing on who, came to me in a warm flood. The feeling was nostalgic, and a small part of me envied Nerd—his youth, and pining away for love.
I reached into my purse, slipping my finger through the new secret compartment I’d sewn into the side, and tapped the edge of the USB flash drive he’d given me. It was the key to our secret world. The red and green and yellow links we used to navigate the Deep Web weren’t keyed to just be accessible from the library’s computers—we could use the software from any computer. I realized that now. I also realized Nerd wanted to keep coming here for something else—or should I say, someone else. He liked Becky. She never noticed him, though. Not once since I’d been coming around had they spoken.
“Hello again,” the older librarian said. She popped up from behind the counter, surprising me. I pulled my hand from my purse quickly, instinctively tucking my bag beneath my arm as if hiding gold from a pirate. She gave my quick motion a quirky stare and then dismissed it as she finished with a book.
“Hello,” I answered under my breath. “I didn’t see you there.”
“Oh, I’m around. I’m always around,” she answered while picking from a tall stack of books, moving a volume from one pile to another. She scanned it, opened the front and back covers, and leafed through the yellowing pages. “People are always stuffing crap in my books. But of course, she doesn’t check them. That’s why
we split the sections. Drives me crazy.”
“Uh-huh,” I answered, glancing over at Becky. The tinny sound of music came from her earbuds, the rhythm matching her sway. I shook my head, agreeing as a courtesy while the older librarian went on to complain some more about her younger colleague. Nerd’s gleaming eyes remained suspended above his computer monitor. His infatuation was almost comical.
The older librarian finished with a book and addressed me more directly, “Now listen. I know you’ve been coming here to use the computers, searching for a job, but it’s been months. I have to ask—I’m obligated to ask—what is going on over there? Is it that Filthy Shades of—? I mean, is it porn?”
I nearly choked and tried to hold in a laugh. I bit down on my lip and managed to compose myself by shifting my feet, straightening my top, and delaying my words until I was certain a titter wouldn’t spill out. The old librarian hung her chin out and pursed her lips as if sipping sour milk from a straw. The sight of her face was nearly as funny as her question. When the inner giggle settled, I answered with what I thought would sound the most reasonable.
“We’re starting a business. I was looking for work, but then got to talking to that young man over there . . .” I pointed to Nerd and turned away in time to hide the smile on my face. “We’re exploring the feasibility of the idea now and researching the business prospects . . . very promising prospects.”
“That is wonderful. And as they say, when life hands you lemons . . .” she said, nodding her approval.
“Make lemonade,” I added quickly.
“However, the use of the library computers . . .” she began to say, but stopped and seemed reluctant to finish.
A surprise, I thought, considering her earlier porn accusation.
“The library computers are available to the public—to everyone, see? Of course you can continue to use them, but if someone else is in need, please give them time with a computer.”
“That’s fine,” I answered, agreeing in a tone that would convey I understood her concern. But more than that, it was clear to me, we needed to move on. We needed to work somewhere else. Whatever scheme Nerd had cooked up for cashing in our Bitcoin, we’d need to budget for a move, and soon. And hadn’t he said the same after working out of his garage, preparing the stun gun for Ghoul? I remembered him saying we needed a place with a workbench that didn’t include his father looming over his shoulder, curious about what he’d been doing.
I peered in Nerd’s direction, inching away from the counter conversation, and again saw him duck down behind his computer. It wasn’t because of me, though. It was Becky. She was on the move, rolling a cart of books from behind the counter and heading in his direction. Another snap of her gum echoed, and I took that as my cue to follow her. I listened to the faint squeal of the cart’s wheels and the tinny song from her earbuds. Nerd popped up once, pitching his chin toward me as if to say hello, but I knew he was really checking on where Becky was. Adorable. A hint of envy stirred again, the longing to feel that potential. Even if it was just for a brief flirt, like the relief of a passing shower on a sweltering summer’s day.
“We’ve got to move,” I announced without saying hello. I shot a glance back at the counter, feeling the old librarian’s stare. “And, I think we’ll have to move soon. I’m just not sure where.”
“Porn?” Nerd asked.
I laughed, clapping my hand over my mouth. “She asked you too?”
“She did,” he answered, shaking his head. “Not sure why. I disabled the loghost on these two computers—nothing could show up. Probably some kids got caught on another computer.”
I pulled out my flash drive and asked, “Loghost?”
“It’s centralized logging,” he answered. “An aggregate—all of ‘em feed to one log file. That way the administrator can search browsing history, flag any porn usage or questionable traffic.”
“And our activity?” I asked, emphasizing my flash drive with a nudge.
“Exactly why I made that and disabled the loghost on these,” he answered proudly. “Plus, when working from the flash drive, the computer plays the role of a host, nothing more. All of our activities are isolated. Safe.”
The host part I understood. But I didn’t know exactly what a log file was and had to ask, “So do we have a loghost on these?” I placed the flash drive in front of him as if returning the device. None of our activity should be recorded, in my opinion.
“Excellent.” That was the only reply he gave me, but his face showed more. He liked that I had asked him the question. Of course there were no logs on the flash drive. He wasn’t about to chance anything. I think I knew that before asking, but wanted to hear him say it. “And as for the move, I’m already on it.”
“You have something in mind?”
“Not just in mind, and not just an idea,” he answered. I heard the excitement in his voice. “I was going to hold off until the project was complete, but we can move on this early.”
“Move on what?” I asked, eager to hear what he’d been working on.
“We’re incorporated,” he announced. “To get the money out of the web and into our pockets, we have to be a business.”
“But don’t you need me? I mean, signatures and lawyers, and all that?”
He dipped his head and picked up the flash drive. He waved it like some magic wand. “Everything I did is legal, just online. I digitally signed us into a partnership where you own the majority shares of the company. We split it sixty-forty, per our original agreement.”
“A name?” I asked, knowing the question sounded vain. I had a million other questions about being incorporated, but I really wanted to know what name he’d picked. “What name did you give our company?”
“Team Two,” he answered, spreading his arms as if announcing I’d won a prize. He waited then, trying to gauge my reaction.
I wasn’t floored by the name. I mulled it over for a second too long before shrugging my shoulders. He’d picked a good name, a decent name. It wasn’t as if we were going to advertise and put up billboards and shove flyers into mailboxes. It was just about filing the paperwork needed to get paid.
“I like it,” I assured him. He let out a sigh, relieved. “So, how do we get a paycheck?” I set my bag down and took back the flash drive, preparing to use it. Nerd put his hand on mine, indicating I should wait.
“Oh, have I got a surprise for you . . .”
“Team Two wasn’t the surprise?”
“I’ve been busy. Very busy.”
“Do tell,” I said, intrigued.
“Every company needs an address, right? It isn’t quite ready, but if you’re up for a field trip . . ?”
I listened to Becky shelve the books and pop her gum—the chewy snaps and the sliding books grated on my nerves beyond reason. I liked the library, but it wasn’t a real home for us, for Team Two. It was time to move on.
“You bet your ass I’m up for a field trip,” I told him without hesitation. “And then you’ll tell me how we’re going to get a paycheck?”
“I’ll tell you everything.”
FIVE
THE AFTERNOON’S SUNSHINE WAS a welcome change from the dark interior of Mainsford Library, and the smell of wet asphalt told me a rain shower had just passed through. I found a cluster of bruised clouds in the east and followed the arc of a fading rainbow until it dropped from the sky. A soft breeze whispered the promise of surprise for our first field trip. I couldn’t wait to see what Nerd had in store.
Maybe it’s a pot of gold, I thought, amused with myself, as we walked toward the end of the rainbow. I took to following him, noticing for the first time how tall he really was. I’d grown accustomed to seeing him behind a computer, his head down, typing a novel’s worth of hacker prose. But Nerd had height going for him, he just didn’t know it. With a haircut and a few changes in his clothes, Becky would notice him. I was sure of it. Heck, I’d notice. After all, Nerd was handsome, he just didn’t know what to do with what he had.
He needs to find his sexy, I laughed to myself. He needs Carlos.
As I stepped around the cracks in the sidewalk, I realized that we were headed toward the alley. A familiar flutter came over me, as did thoughts of the homeless man—images of him sprang immediately into my mind. I slowed as I remembered the sound of blood splashing against the brick and shook my head as if to clear away the rusty smell. The memory was powerful—too powerful. But maybe it was supposed to be. A memory I’d never abandon, a memory to give his death merit.
“Where are we going, exactly?” I had to ask. I hesitated at the mouth of the alley, wondering if Nerd was leading me inside, wondering if he’d put the clues together about the homeless man’s murder. Did he want me to understand that he knew of my secret? He couldn’t blackmail me, if that was what he had in mind. We’d worked six cases together, five of which had been “successful.” We were well past that point. “Seriously, dude. Is it far?”
“Do your kids complain about road trips too?” he asked, snapping back. I heard the annoyance in his voice and immediately regretted my tone. “Just about there; it’s across the street.”
“Are we there yet?” I whined, trying to sound funny, to add a bit of levity. He slowed, shook his head, and lifted his hand, pointing to Romeo’s Café.
“Why yes, dear,” he answered. “Why, yes. We are.”
“Romeo’s?”
“Not quite . . .” he told me and moved his hand. “See the hairdresser a few doors down?”
“Mr. C’s?” I answered, instinctively raising my hand to touch my hair. “Why Mr. C’s?”
Nerd spun around to face me and began to walk backward as he explained. “This is the surprise,” he announced, stretching his arms out wide. “We are the new tenants! Above the hairdresser, that is. It’s the home office of our new company, Team Two.”
I stopped walking and gazed at Mr. C’s large plate-glass window. I shielded my eyes from the sun’s sharp reflection and followed the building’s stone facade up to the second floor.
Affair with Murder The Complete Box Set Page 27
