Cecelia gripped his arm and whispered, “I love you with all my heart.”
In that moment, Joey’s throat closed and he wanted to cry. Instead, he headed out the door with the intention of surviving at least one more day.
Chapter Thirty-One
It came to me in my sleep as most big revelations did. I couldn’t believe I hadn’t thought of it before, but now I was certain I knew what type of killer we were dealing with.
After locking the doors and ensuring Mason got home from work safely, I put it all together. Now it was morning and I was once again going over the pieces to the puzzle spread across my kitchen table, making sure that it all still made sense.
And it did. I hadn’t been dreaming.
In front of me were my notes on Richard Thompson along with the photos I had taken of his smart home technology system first mentioned by Matt Bales. The answers had been there all this time but until I received last night’s letter from our mysterious LilJon, I hadn’t been able to see it as clearly as I did now.
“That’s how he did it,” I said to myself, sipping my coffee nice and slow. “He hacked Thompson’s house.”
The roasted taste lingered on my tongue and my head was dizzy with disbelief. His name was Loxley, and the way he killed Thompson was genius. Without having to ever step foot inside his victim’s house, there was no evidence linking him to the crime. Which had me questioning if he even knew about Thompson having my story, or if it was pure coincidence that it had been there at the time of his death. I didn’t know. If it was coincidence, what else was at play, and who was behind that?
Without thought, I picked up the printed message Loxley had sent me just after the power went out last night. Reading it again, I was left with the same queasy feelings as I went to bed with.
Precious Bell, for we live in a time of insatiable greed, and if not checked, will give the green light for others to follow. I, for one, will not allow this to happen. I hope you won’t either. Your loving admirer, Loxley.
I sat back and rubbed my face inside my hands. There was another coincidence that I needed to make sense of, and this one scared me to death. It was the timing of when the house lost power and when Loxley somehow wormed his way into my computer to personally “hand” deliver this note. It was too perfect to ignore. He knew that I was home, but did he also know that I was alone? And if my theory about how Thompson died was right, then I wouldn’t put this past him either.
The tips of my fingers were cold as I sat there asking myself who Loxley was; if it was a he or she, even; and how close to my house were they when sending me this message?
Reaching for my cup, I slurped another hot sip of coffee, hoping to warm my shivering bones before putting my laptop directly in front of me. Over the next half-hour I scoured the web in search of news of another death similar to Thompson’s. When I found nothing, I messaged King. He was quiet and never responded to my text so I turned to my police scanner, once again coming up empty. Could Loxley still be hunting his next victim? Or was this just his way of making me believe there was a next victim?
My stomach rolled and a sour taste swelled my tongue. There were too many unknowns to decide where I should start looking. I took Loxley’s messages seriously and was worried this psycho killed somebody else or was gearing up to murder again. Who that was, I couldn’t say. King’s call last night could have been related, but he hadn’t told me anything. What really had me creeped out was how Loxley seemed to involve me in whatever sick game he was playing.
Loxley was watching me and waiting to see how I would respond to his latest letter. I had to be careful I didn’t fall into his trap. Still, there was no evidence to suggest Thompson had even been murdered, only Loxley’s admission to guilt through a series of encrypted messages that read like a vigilante’s poem to the world.
Why he chose me, I still didn’t know. Nor did I like that he had. As I sat in my quiet little house waiting for my son to wake up, waves of paranoia moved up and down my body as I looked at everything electronic being a potential point of vulnerability.
Could he be listening to me now? I asked myself when staring at the new smart speaker I purchased because Mason thought it was cool. Was he monitoring my keystrokes to know what thoughts I was having when searching the web? These thoughts crippled my pursuit and I wondered if that, too, was by design to keep him at a safe distance.
Birds chirped outside my window and cars sputtered on a nearby street, but I heard nothing until Mason’s bedroom door creaked open.
I saw my son getting ready for school, and I welcomed the distraction found in our morning routine. It was his last week before summer break and he was already mentally checked out. I couldn’t blame him. It had been a long year with plenty of ups and downs and we were both ready for a new routine.
Five minutes later, and a quick scramble to figure out who Loxley’s next victim might be, Mason skidded across the kitchen floor on his socks.
“Alexa,” he spoke to the smart speaker, “should I go to school today?”
The smart speaker didn’t respond.
“Hey, who unplugged this?” Mason asked me, holding up the cord.
“Sorry, honey, the power went out last night and I was worried a power surge might fry its insides.” Mason gave me a funny look. It was a white lie, and I felt bad about it, but I didn’t have the heart to tell him the real reason I decided to pull the plug.
Mason jammed the prongs into the outlet and fired it up. I listened to it boot up, wondering what excuse I could make to get rid of it without upsetting my son. I had none.
“Ah, shoot. Whatever,” Mason said, not having the time to wait until the software loaded. “I’m running late as it is.”
“Make the most of it, kid,” I said, blowing him a kiss goodbye.
With his bookbag on his back, Mason flung the front door open just as Allison was climbing the steps. I watched through the glass as they shared a quick laugh, Mason giving her a fist bump before turning up the street.
“Door’s open,” I said when I heard Allison knock.
Allison found her way to the kitchen. “In case you ever find yourself doubting your ability to parent, just know you’re doing an excellent job.”
I smiled at my friend. “Thank you.”
“No way I could have done as good a job alone like you did.”
“But I’m not alone. I have you.”
Allison smiled, then asked, “So, what’s up buttercup? Why did you drag me out of bed so early?”
I pushed the chair across from me out from under the table with my foot and said, “You might want to sit down for this.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
Allison was uncharacteristically quiet as she read the note I received from Loxley. “Is this who stole your article?” she asked when she finished and raised her eyes to mine.
“I don’t know. Could be,” I said. “I was hoping you’d be able to help figure that out.”
Allison cast her gaze back down to the paper. “It seems like he wants to admit that he is the one behind the murder of Richard Thompson.”
Bringing my elbows to the table, I agreed. “It’s the second time he’s hinted at wanting to own Thompson’s death. He also promised in his first message there would be others to follow. It’s like he wants people to think he did it.”
“So, the question we need to ask ourselves is if he’s only an attention seeker,” Allison raised one eyebrow, “or the actual murderer.”
“Exactly.”
“And what do you believe?”
“I think he might actually be the one to have killed Thompson.”
“Any others you know about?”
“Not that I know about.”
Allison sucked back a deep breath that whistled on its way in, and was still pinching a corner of the paper in one hand when she said, “It’s a strange way to take credit.” She lifted her gaze. “Loving admirer?”
I nibbled on the inside of my cheek and shrugged. “I�
�m struggling to decide if he’s a complete psychopath or a vigilante out to set the record straight.”
Allison shook her head and blinked a couple of times before asking, “Anyone else know about this?”
“Only Erin.”
Allison had a quizzical look on her face. “No other media outlets?”
“Nothing. I haven’t heard from my editor about any other reporting, so I’m thinking I’m the only one he’s communicating with.”
“Which would explain why he’s calling you precious and his loving admirer.”
My lip curled with disgust but I knew what Allison was thinking, because I was thinking it too. Loxley was coming out of hiding and beginning to let the outside world in. He wanted us to know he murdered Thompson, like the public would thank him for doing it. I was afraid of exactly that happening. We had a vigilante on our hands and it wouldn’t be long before his story got picked up by others—perhaps even inspiring others to take up his cause.
Allison set the note down and I watched the crease between her eyes deepen. “Tell me again how you received this.”
I rehashed the same story from a minute ago. “I know he hacked into my network; I just can’t prove how exactly he did it.”
“You’re probably right, but let’s take a look under the hood and see if we can’t find any traces he might have left behind.” Allison rubbed her hands together and motioned for me to give her my laptop. I turned my computer to her when she asked, “Is this a work computer?”
“No. Personal.”
“But you mentioned there was a hack to the Times network, right?”
I nodded. “I learned about it yesterday, but no one knows when the breach actually happened. It could have been months ago.”
We shared a knowing look. “Which could be the reason you were personally targeted, too.”
“And might also explain how my story made its way to Thompson’s home office.”
Allison held my gaze and said, “Less logical things have happened.”
Over the next several minutes, I watched Allison work. Her fingers moved swiftly across the keys, the air dancing with clicks and taps as she searched for vulnerability and points of access between the cracks in my computer security. Coming to an abrupt halt, Allison asked, “Have you noticed any unexpected redirects, popups, or unsolicited software installs?”
I thought about it for a moment before shaking my head no. “Nothing that I can recall. Everything seemed to be working as expected, it was just that one reboot after the power went out, and then my printer spat out that note.”
The lines on Allison’s forehead deepened. “Your computer seems to be running a tad slow from what I would expect, but nothing that makes me suspicious. Let me take a look at your security settings.”
I dropped my chin into my hand, propping my head up with my arm, and mentioned how my bank and other accounts all seemed to be fine. Allison nodded as she worked, then, without warning, suddenly flicked her brown eyes up to me.
“What is it?” I asked, the crown of my head floating to the ceiling like a balloon.
“It appears that your antimalware software has been disabled.”
I shook my head. “It wasn’t me.”
Allison pursed her lips and dug deeper in search of the cause. I moved around the table and dropped down in the seat next to her to see what exactly she was doing. I couldn’t keep up. When she was working, she spoke an entirely different language.
“No doubt someone gained access to your system, but I can’t prove it because there is no trace of it.” She mentioned toggling on my antimalware and putting my security software through the most recent update. Then she said, “Whoever Loxley is, he’s good.”
Looking into her chestnut eyes, I asked, “How easy would it be to hack into someone’s smart home technology?”
Allison stifled her laugh. “Incredibly easy.”
“And to trip a stove or furnace through that same system?”
“As long as it’s all connected, not difficult at all.”
I reached for Loxley’s notes and found myself staring at the words insatiable greed, wondering if Loxley was one person or two. “That’s how he killed Thompson.” I rolled my gaze to Allison. “Hacked the smart home system.”
The color in Allison’s face flushed. “If you’re right, God help us all. From what I can see here, there would be no way to prove he murdered Thompson.”
My front door slammed open and Susan came running through the house calling my name. “I’m in the kitchen,” I said, hurrying to see what was wrong. “What’s going on?”
“He’s dead.”
“Who’s dead?” I reached for her arm, my heart fluttering in a sudden panic.
“That cryptocurrency founder, the one that’s been all over the news.” Susan rolled her wrist and looked to Allison for help in remembering his name.
“Donny Counts?” Allison said.
Susan snapped her fingers. “That’s him. He died this morning.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
Loxley barely slept. He was too anxious to lay beneath the covers for too long. All night he tossed, turned, and flicked through various news channels hoping Donny Counts’s death would soon be reported. When nothing came, Loxley only grew more nervous, thinking maybe Donny didn’t die after all.
Now, morning, his blood was still jittery with nerves as he paced through his apartment complex with the same feelings of euphoria often felt after a long distance sprint. But without Donny’s death confirmed by local authorities, Loxley had no reason to celebrate.
He stopped near the couch, took the TV remote into his hand, and flicked on the television once more. The screen flickered in the dark room, casting shadows on the wall behind him, as he waited to feel some kind of vindication for what he had done.
It was a bold move the way he murdered Donny, but he should have known what was coming if he’d paid attention to the warning signs surrounding his nearly every move.
Leaving Josh Stetson behind to take the fall for their first scam was Donny’s first mistake, and thinking he could get away with scamming the public again was his second. Unlucky for Donny, Loxley had been watching the entire time—waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike. He’d taken it too far. When Loxley learning of his planned—and sudden—departure, he had little choice but to kill him before he fled the country for good.
Loxley’s grip tightened as he continued to stare at the television screen. Little John nudged against Loxley’s calf. His cat’s tail pointed straight up like an antenna as he purred and circled around Loxley’s feet.
Crouching down low, Loxley scooped up his little furry friend and tucked him under one arm as he listened to the eight o’clock newscast, remaining hopeful that his hunt would finally get the attention it deserved.
One story after another, Loxley couldn’t believe that there wasn’t a single mention of Donny’s death. What happened? How could this be? Donny had made headlines nearly daily, and now nothing? Something wasn’t right, Loxley thought as he glared at the bright screen, considering his options.
Little John jumped from his arm and scurried into the kitchen. Loxley followed, feeding Little John from a can, before gathering a handful of fruit from the bowl for himself.
Shirtless and wearing only grey sweatpants, Loxley made himself a fruit smoothie with added protein powder as he did every morning of the week. Routine and ritual were the habits of success, and Loxley knew he was successful—a perfectionist that strived to not work harder, but smarter, than anybody else.
He paused and lifted his gaze, thinking once again about Donny.
Loxley retraced his steps a couple dozen times and still didn’t know how it could be possible Donny survived the hack attack. His plan was ingenious—flawless—but nothing being reported left Loxley in a perpetual state of doubt. It was a new and uncomfortable feeling Loxley had rarely experienced before.
Keeping an ear on the television, Loxley found his way behind his co
mputer and began scrolling through dozens of webpages as he sipped his smoothie. He typed Donny’s name into the inquiry and then found what he’d been waiting for.
His shoulders relaxed as if a sudden weight had been lifted.
Breaking News. Cryptocurrency exchange founder, Donny Counts, dead at the age of 32.
Loxley folded his arms across his chest as he leaned back and smiled. Soon he found himself laughing at how absurdly easy this was for him. He now understood why the military used drones in combat zones. Killing your enemy from the deserts of Nevada was a hell of a lot easier than having to look them in their eyes when taking an enemy’s life.
Loxley read on.
Donny died shortly after being admitted to the hospital. The cause was not yet being released to the public, but to Loxley’s delight, there wasn’t a single mention of foul play.
Perfect. Loxley grinned. Fucking genius.
Taking another man’s life didn’t affect Loxley like he thought it might. And he certainly wasn’t worried about being caught. Not once had he stepped foot in either of his victims’ homes, and yesterday was about the closest he ever ventured to Donny. But even that wasn’t enough to cause suspicion if the cops did come asking questions. It had to be done. Just like Thompson, Donny was another disrupted line in the code that needed to be fixed to ensure the program of life continued uninterrupted and without flaw.
Finishing his smoothie, Loxley’s mind was on anything but work. He liked this new game of his, and he planned to continue to play for as long as he could make a difference. But still, there was something missing that could make this game more fun—Sweet Samantha.
Closing the news article, he checked Samantha Bell’s crime blog, surprised to find nothing on Donny Counts. He considered giving her another nudge toward Donny, but thought better of it. It wasn’t the risk that made him hesitate, but that he wanted to toy with the girl who melted his heart and keep her wondering what might come next. That, too, was a game he liked playing.
Bell to Pay Page 11
