BURN IN BELL

by Jeremy Waldron

  King’s fingers raked up and down my side and I felt at peace.

  Everything was better when I was with him. My world brighter, my thoughts clearer. He was even a role model to my teenage son, Mason. I felt like the luckiest woman in the world when suddenly my stomach rumbled.

  With my eyelids popping wide open, I stopped stroking his chest. I felt King angle his eyes to the top of my head. I was too embarrassed to even look him in the eye, suddenly feeling as if my luck had run out.

  “Was the dessert I fed you not enough?” King teased.

  I slapped my hand flat on his chest and clucked my tongue. “It was the right amount, in case you’re wondering.”

  King smiled. “Because there is more in the tank if you need me to take you on another ride.”

  “Another ride?” I crawled up his body and pressed my lips against his. “I’m not an amusement park.”

  The corners of his eyes crinkled. “But I am.”

  I shook my head and slipped out of bed. King kept his eye on me as I wrapped a bedsheet around my naked body. He asked where I was going and I told him I was thirsty. Then I padded my way down the hall and into the kitchen to retrieve a couple beers from the fridge.

  My toes were still tingling from our activities and there was no denying how much I liked being at his place. It felt like home. A place to escape my work and the responsibilities of my teenage son. But as I popped the tops on both bottles, I found myself once again looking over my shoulder, asking myself if King really was being stalked.

  “There might be some leftover fried chicken in the fridge,” King called from the bed.

  “You want it?” I called back, shaking off my thoughts.

  “I just want you. C’mon back.”

  I laughed at King’s playfulness—even if his needs weren’t a little desperate sounding. As I made my way back to my man, I was thinking how well he was fitting into my life. Against all odds, somehow, we were making it work. Life really was amazing.

  “I hope you brought the entire six pack,” King called out again as I stopped outside the spare bedroom that once housed his mother.

  “There is plenty to go around,” I responded, feeling the emptiness of Carol King’s absence.

  King’s mother had recently moved into an independent living facility after some hard negotiating by King. The move was hard for them both, but Carol’s demands for care were quickly outpacing what King could provide himself. The truth was, Carol’s mind was fully intact but her body was failing and she needed help.

  King snuck up behind and wrapped his arms around me. “Did you get lost? You’re not drinking alone, are you?”

  I swung my arm across my chest and handed King his beer. “How is she doing?”

  “Better than she’ll lead you to believe.” King told me how Avery Morgan, a recent graduate from the academy and King’s protégé, helped him with the move.

  “I bet Carol liked that,” I said.

  “Mom always did give preferential treatment to cops.”

  I moved to the bed and reached my hand inside a box full of his father’s awards. There was a Silver Star for bravery, a Merit Award for Excellent Arrest, and many others. King’s father, Marshall, had an outstanding career as an inspector and I knew King worked hard every day to fill the legacy his father left behind.

  “Mom hasn’t been the same since his death.” King took the Merit Award for Excellent Arrest into his hands, stared at it, and said the saddest thing I’d ever heard him say. “If only I could be half as good a detective as he was, then maybe my legacy wouldn’t be completely overshadowed by his.”

  Chapter Four

  King’s cellphone buzzed first. Then mine started going off. We shared a knowing look that our date night was over.

  It was the never-ending cycle of a crime reporter and homicide detective. We lived a life on call. The best I could hope for now was that we’d both be back in King’s bed before the night was over. But just like the vacation we had talked about taking, I knew it was another pipedream.

  King kissed me on the cheek before running to catch his call. I was one step behind as our phones were in the same room. He got to his first. I watched him move to the front window and I took mine in the hall.

  “This better be good,” I said to Erin when I answered. King brushed past me in a hurry and disappeared into his bedroom.

  Erin Tate, my co-host and partner on our growing but still infantile crime blog and podcast, Real Crime News, apologized for interrupting my evening—time she knew was rarely given to King and me—and then said, “It’s better than good, Sam. It’s great.”

  In a surprisingly fast fashion, King stepped into the hall fully dressed and on his way out the door. He kissed me goodbye and promised to pick this up after work. There was a dull glare in his eye that told me that the call he was responding to was an ugly one. I squeezed his hand, didn’t ask any questions, and said I couldn’t wait, not bothering him with the hiccup of realizing I was now without a car the moment he left.

  “Don’t you want to know what it is?” Erin asked impatiently.

  “Quit it with the hype and just tell me.” The front door opened and shut.

  Erin’s mood told me we weren’t being called to a crime scene and I was thankful if that was the case. But it had to be something big for her to interrupt my night and be calling me at such a late hour.

  “I know it’s last minute,” she said, “but I need you to get ready.”

  I looked down at the bedsheet I was wearing, feeling the breeze of nakedness beneath. “Ready for what?”

  “We’re going out to dinner.”

  I didn’t react. Instead, I thought about how I hadn’t eaten a significant meal since lunch. And since King was already out of the house, maybe dinner wasn’t such a bad idea, if a little late.

  I asked, “Like, me and you?”

  “Like you, me, and Walter Walker.”

  “The Million Dollar Man?” I was as skeptical as my tone sounded. “What’s he want with us?”

  “Sam,” Erin purred into my ear. “He’s a fan of our show and wants to turn us into stars.”

  Chapter Five

  Detective Alex King parked behind another unmarked sedan, turned off the engine, and gazed through the windshield at the familiar house with his heart thumping hard inside his chest. As soon as he received the call from his partner, Homicide Detective John Alvarez, he knew exactly who lived here. Despite asking, Alvarez refused to give King details to what happened, only saying to get his ass down here as soon as possible.

  That was what worried King the most—the untold feeling of urgency.

  King stepped out and moved beneath the flood of crimson and blue lights illuminating a path to the front door. Passing in front of the coroner’s van he stopped to stare, wondering if the victim was already zipped up and inside.

  “King,” Alvarez called out from the front stoop. “Right here.”

  King snapped his focus away from the van and followed the hedge up the sidewalk, unable to find the strength to climb the front steps and enter the house. Alvarez stared, but understood his partner’s hesitation.

  It had been years since the last time he stepped foot inside the Hill residence, but to King it felt like yesterday. He could still hear the laughs around the dinner table, the love emanating from those around him.

  “How bad is it?” King asked.

  Alvarez took a step and moved closer. “You don’t need to come inside.”

  King blinked and stared at the familiar front door. He wanted to ask who had been murdered, but found his words catching in his throat each time he tried to speak. In his gut, he already knew the answer to his question.

  Seeing it in his eyes, Alvarez said, “It’s Angelina’s mother.”

  The blood drained from King’s face. “Where is she?”

  Alvarez placed a hand on King’s shoulder and shook his head no.

  “I need to see her.” Before Alvarez could protest, King demanded,
“Take me to her, John.”

  Alvarez’s hand slipped off King’s shoulder as he nodded. Together, they marched up the stairs. Before King could enter the house, Alvarez caught him by his arm. Alvarez gave King a hard look, then released his arm without saying another word.

  King knew it was bad with the way his partner was acting, but how bad was it really? A cold chill moved up his spine the moment he entered the house. Making his way to the back bedroom where he knew Peggy Hill slept, he followed the sounds of the lab techs collecting evidence.

  Once a place he considered his second home, it now felt cold and empty. Mrs. Peggy Hill still had photos of King with her daughter Angelina hanging on the walls and perched on the hutch, as if clinging on to a happier time in her life. It was difficult to see, as it felt like a lifetime ago to King.

  Chief Medical Examiner Leslie Griffin was inside the bedroom when King entered. She hovered over Peggy’s limp body, meticulously working.

  “Died of asphyxiation,” she said upon King’s entrance.

  King moved to Peggy, his eyes traveling down her arms. He remembered how devastated Peggy was when Angelina called off their engagement—the way she clung to him as if the breakup between him and her daughter hurt her as much as it hurt him. Now the ache was back, intensified by the fact that the life they once shared was truly over.

  King looked for marks on Peggy’s neck, and Leslie read his mind. “Pillow,” she said, sweeping her gaze to the right of Peggy’s head.

  King flicked his gaze to the indented pillow next to Peggy’s head, a circular stain from what King assumed to be from Peggy’s mouth as she fought off her attacker.

  “Anything else?” King asked Leslie.

  The ME shook her head. “This story is written like one we’ve seen before.”

  With his hands buried in his pockets, King knew immediately what she was referring to. There was little evidence, hardly any clues, and King feared Peggy’s murder was nearly identical to a case King couldn’t solve nearly six years ago. A case that still haunted him today.

  King locked eyes with Leslie and they shared a knowing look. The ME shrugged and said, “It’s possible.”

  “Alex,” Alvarez said from behind. “There is something in the kitchen you need to see.”

  Before leaving, King ordered the lab techs to not stop short of collecting any evidence that could assist them in finding the person responsible. Peggy Hill was a friend—had nearly become his mother-in-law—and this time, King wouldn’t let the perp get away.

  “If our guy is back in action,” he said, “then let’s make sure this is his last victim.”

  Chapter Six

  The Shadow Stalker was back in his vehicle and in a new part of town hiding beneath a large tree whose deep shadow cut across the street. His plan had been set in motion and there was no turning back. He didn’t regret what he’d done to Peggy Hill, nor did he feel any remorse after taking her life.

  Spinning the expensive heirloom engagement ring he had taken from Peggy Hill’s house between his fingers, his mind was stuck on the great inspector himself.

  Only minutes ago, he had watched Inspector Alex King rush out of his house and speed away to what was surely the call that would bring them back into each other’s lives. At least, that was his intention.

  Staring with unblinking eyes, the Shadow Stalker calmed when a pair of headlights reflected in his rearview mirror. He wasn’t afraid of being seen or being caught. It was easy to get away with murder as long as you remained unassuming and kept your disguise intact. Which he did, as he thought of himself as the absolute best to have ever tormented a cop.

  The vehicle approached from the back and he turned his head to catch sight of a tall blonde behind the wheel. Then, as if on cue, the red Bronco’s brake lights lit up and pulled to the curb.

  “This is interesting,” he said to himself.

  Turning his focus back to the inspector’s house, the Shadow Stalker imagined his face when figuring out the message he had left for him. It nearly made him burst out laughing. There was no way in hell Alex would have seen this coming.

  The Bronco idled and Alex King was all he could think about.

  He knew more about the inspector than King knew about himself. But still, The Shadow Stalker had been surprised to learn of his relationship with crime reporter Samantha Bell who he knew was still inside the inspector’s house.

  Of course, the Shadow Stalker thought it a perfect fit; the two of them could control and manipulate the narrative with the powers and positions they held. It was brilliant, really. By design? Perhaps. But the real question was how the Shadow Stalker could use this surprise revelation to his benefit.

  “A work in progress,” he whispered to himself. “And something I would be delighted to explore.”

  But the answer to that, too, would reveal itself in due time as he worked to throw the inspector’s life into a quick and chaotic spiral.

  Suddenly, the lights in the house turned off. Opening his car door, the Shadow Stalker stepped out onto the grass needing to see her face himself. A second later, the front door opened and Samantha Bell revealed herself without ever noticing she was being watched from across the street.

  “Burn in hell you two lovebirds. The games are just beginning.”

  Chapter Seven

  Samantha Bell jumped into the passenger seat of the red Bronco and, before the vehicle was gone, the Shadow Stalker slithered his way undetected toward the inspector’s house.

  He didn’t bother going to the front door whose porch light had been left on. Besides, it was safe to assume Samantha was smart enough to have locked it on her way out. Instead, he edged around to the back, letting himself through the privacy fence gate to try his luck at the back door.

  Reaching for the doorknob, he turned it but the door didn’t budge. It was locked.

  Not surprised, he worked under the cover of darkness. Pulling his multi-tool 7-in-1 pocket lock pick set he managed to get the door open in less than a minute. No alarms were tripped and he entered with surprising ease.

  “Who needs to call the cops when you are one,” he muttered to himself as he closed the door behind him, fascinated that King’s house didn’t have an alarm.

  The Shadow Stalker supposed a department issued gun was all someone needed to feel safe, and he was sure the inspector had several of those nearby at all times. He’d bet this house was well armed—an arsenal beneath the floors—in case someone like him ever broke inside.

  “Hands up, don’t shoot,” he laughed when lifting his wrist to set his watch’s timer for three minutes.

  It was all the time he allotted himself before having to leave. Next, he flipped the switch to a small Maglite and moved swiftly through the inspector’s home.

  The Shadow Stalker wiggled his nose at the sticky scent of sex lingering in the air and he sensed tonight was special for the two of them.

  “A rare romantic evening that was sadly cut short because of me.” He laughed. “So sorry to ruin it for you.”

  He cared nothing of their relationship, and certainly wasn’t interested in Samantha Bell as much as he was Alex King. After all, it was him who he was after. He just needed Samantha to leave so he could have the inspector’s house all to himself—a chance to really get to know the man who he thought he knew everything.

  He stepped through doors and pulled drawers open, always having wondered what the inside of Alex’s house was really like. He wanted to know how the man lived, what he ate, how he cared for his body. Everything. After all, the inspector was an enigmatic creature when not wearing his badge, and it was the little things that the Shadow Stalker didn’t know that made him most curious to learn.

  “Where shall I place the next ripple?” he asked himself when floating down the hallway, fingering the engagement ring inside his front pocket.

  The house itself was bland without any sort of surprise. Perhaps he’d built up his expectations too high during the months he had spent planning for to
day. He had always pictured the house to be much more extravagant than what he was seeing now.

  The Shadow Stalker stopped and turned his head. Peering into the hallway bathroom, it was there he decided to place the ring next to the sink.

  “Welcome back home,” he said, turning on a heel and stepping through the threshold of the guestroom. He shined his light across several cardboard boxes and tilted his head to one side. “Moving somewhere?”

  His watch dinged. Sixty seconds to work.

  Quickly, he rifled through the boxes and couldn’t believe the treasure he had found. Framed pictures and life’s memorabilia not only from Alex’s life, but that of his father’s as well. He picked up one award given to Marshall King, then another.

  “Now I understand why you idolized the man,” he said, tilting an award into the light. “But I know the truth and, soon, you will too.”

  Chapter Eight

  An hour passed in the blink of an eye. After a quick stop at home thanks to Erin swinging by King’s to pick me up, I was showered and dressed, feeling nervous for attracting the attention of someone with as much money, power, and clout as Walter Walker.

  Walker wasn’t just anybody. He’d magically taken both startup and failing businesses and grown them into empires. That had to be the reason he wanted to talk to us, and though I knew of his name from editorial meetings I’d sat in on at the Times, I never expected to be sitting down with him for dinner.

  I moved to the bed and slipped my feet into a pair of heels I rarely wore. This was so out of character for me; it felt like I was dressing for prom. But I wanted it to go well—make a solid first impression. It was what Erin and I had been working so hard to achieve. Build our audience and tell stories that resonated with our fans. It was a simple mission but there was a lot at stake. Especially when I thought about the constant threat of closure at the Colorado Times.