BURN IN BELL

by Jeremy Waldron

  King heard what Tristan said, but was suddenly distracted by the woman standing against his vehicle looking anxious to speak with him. Asking himself what she was doing here now, he pushed past Tristan as he turned and went his own way and strode toward Angelina Hill.

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  Allison Doyle was at her computer when she received a notification from Patty O’Neil to check her email. She immediately closed out her browser and opened a new one. Logging into her email, she clicked the link from Patty. A new page loaded and Allison stared with disbelief as she read the headline.

  ROOKIE DENVER COP KILLED IN COLD BLOOD

  Allison knew Samantha hadn’t told her everything. But this? A cop? Really? Samantha should have at least mentioned this to her. This was big news, Allison thought as she flicked her gaze to the time stamp to when the article was published. It just went live. She kept scrolling.

  Off-duty police officer, Avery Morgan, was on foot and believed to be on her way to a friend’s house when investigators believe she was suddenly attacked by a suspect whose name isn’t being released…

  Allison couldn’t stomach the details of the officer’s injuries and skipped past them—too afraid that Marty might be the suspect whose name wasn’t being released.

  …She died on her way to the hospital. Officer Avery Morgan was only 24 years old.

  Allison looked down at her arms. They were covered in goosebumps. Now she was really scared to ask her cousin what happened in Commons Park last night. She didn’t want to believe Marty could be responsible, but the possibility was real.

  She instinctively reached for her cellphone, wanting to call Sam and demand to know why she didn’t tell her an officer was killed last night when they’d spoken this morning. Instead, she pulled her hand back—delaying the truth for just a little while longer—and kept reading.

  The police department is actively pursuing persons of interest. Witnesses are being asked to contact DPD. If you were in the park between seven p.m. and ten p.m. on Friday July 12th, 2019, the police would like to know if you saw this man.

  Allison clicked the image to enlarge the photo. Though the image was blurry, it was clearly a photograph of a stocky black man that Allison believed could be mistaken for Marty—if it wasn’t actually him—the police’s primary suspect.

  “Please, Lord, don’t let this be him.” Her words fluttered into the palm of her hand.

  The guest bedroom door opened behind her. She heard Marty exit and step inside the bathroom. Allison heard the door latch and, a minute later, the shower turned on.

  “This is my fault,” she blamed herself, scrambling to figure out what to do.

  Allison knew the risks that came with asking Marty to work for her, but she would have never imagined him doing something like this. Why would he throw it all away when he had everything right here in front of him?

  She tipped forward and scooted to the edge of her chair as she took a closer look at the blurry image. There wasn’t any doubt to what she was looking at. The longer she stared, the more she was convinced it was Marty in the photograph.

  “Why, Marty? Why did you do it?” Her dry lips fluttered against the tips of her fingers.

  Allison was afraid she pushed Marty too far, too fast. She should have made Gemma Love wait, schedule another meeting and left with Marty to dinner. But she hadn’t. She wondered what would have happened if she had.

  Her synapses were firing on all cylinders as she kept looking for a reason to explain what might have triggered Marty to relapse.

  Was it the increasingly fast pace of life they were living, or the stress of having to learn a new job that triggered him into committing a crime? It could be anything.

  Allison couldn’t believe she was asking herself these questions, but she knew firsthand the culture shock new technologies presented. Today’s world was so different from even a few years ago when Marty was first locked up. But what did she really have him do? Nothing. If he’d gone off the deep end, something else must have triggered his actions. But what was it?

  Falling back into her chair, she reminded herself what Samantha told her on the phone earlier. Just call her if he leaves. And she planned to, but why didn’t Samantha sound overwhelmingly concerned with Allison’s worries? She must have known about this photograph. Allison swore it was doubt she heard in Samantha’s voice, but maybe it was distraction?

  She turned her head and stared at the closed bathroom door, thinking about Marty.

  Allison could only imagine the anger and depression he must be experiencing. She knew nothing about his release, didn’t have a way contact to his parole officer, and wasn’t even sure she wanted to call if she did. It was just blood on his shirt, maybe even his own.

  As soon as she heard the shower turn off, Allison closed out the article and pretended to be working on something else. A minute later, Marty was slipping a shirt over his head as he strode into the kitchen carrying a thick stack of files under one arm.

  Allison tried not to stare but she couldn’t stop speculating to what it might be he was carrying.

  Marty opened the kitchen cabinet to the left of the refrigerator and reached for a coffee cup.

  Allison watched his every move, unable to take her eyes off of what appeared to be a scratch running down the length of his neck. She had so much she wanted to say, to ask, but didn’t know where to begin without prying. The best she could hope for now was that the color in her face hadn’t completely drained when she finally had the stomach to ask, “What time did you get in?”

  Marty poured himself a cup of coffee. “Things have changed,” he said without ever looking up. “The neighborhood isn’t what I remember.”

  “You were away for a long time.”

  Allison watched Marty stare deep into the cup as if looking at his own reflection on the surface of his drink. She wondered how she could ask about the scratch without upsetting him. An awkward silence filled the room and the minutes seemed to stall.

  “Did you find people to ball with?”

  “Ali, I know you’re trying to help,” Marty rubbed his nose and still wouldn’t look Allison in the eye, “and I appreciate what you’re doing for me, but I’m a convicted felon without a college degree.”

  Allison flicked her gaze across the kitchen table as she chose her next words carefully. “I can’t imagine what you went through but you don’t have to let it define you.”

  Marty’s thick muscles bounced beneath his shirt and Allison watched his eyelids fall to half-mast. “They made me a criminal. Turned me into something I’m not.” Marty turned his head and stared with intense, resentful eyes. Allison froze without blinking. “There is no getting back what they took from me.”

  Allison’s eyes began to water and she hated how the system broke him down. He wasn’t the same man she remembered—wasn’t the same man she saw yesterday. As gut-wrenching as it was, she was beginning to think Marty might have sabotaged his freedom by doing exactly what they expected him to do; mess up, so he could go back into the system and a life he understood.

  “What happened in the park last night?”

  Marty turned away and peered out the window for a long, silent pause.

  “You were fine before it.”

  Marty shook his head, glanced at the clock on the stove. “I’ve got to go.”

  Allison stood and wanted to plead with him to stay—to talk it out—but the words never found their way out of her mouth. Sweeping the thick folder into his hand, Marty marched out of the house without saying another word.

  Allison hoped her cousin could resist the negative influences she knew were out there, but feared that they had already gotten to him. As soon as the front door slammed on its hinges, Allison picked up her phone and messaged Sam.

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  The bus’s brakes hissed to a stop and the Shadow Stalker leapt off the stairs, hitting the ground with a spring in his step. Gravel crunched beneath his feet as he walked. He kept his head dow
n but couldn’t stop glancing toward Commons Park across the street and thinking about Marshall King.

  “Marshall, who could do no wrong in the eyes of the public.” He shook his head, grumbled a few choice words, and kept walking. “Have you figured it out yet, Inspector? Do you see the message I’m sending you?”

  Anger poured out of him in subtle bursts of built up energy. There was a lot to celebrate but it was what the old woman kept saying to him that shattered his self-confidence.

  You shouldn’t be here, the voice inside his head kept reminding him.

  “But I have work to do,” he would respond out loud, completely ignoring the sounds of the city around him.

  Lost inside his head, the Shadow Stalker understood the job assigned to him and he was determined to get as close to the park as possible without anyone placing him at the scene of last night’s crime. He was certain he’d done enough to disguise his presence last night, but there were never any guarantees in this crazy life.

  “You taught me that, Mother,” he said, stepping off the gravel and picking up his pace when his feet hit the sidewalk.

  Visiting the park wasn’t about a need to be recognized or to taunt the police who were still patrolling the area, working the scene, looking for clues. His presence didn’t affect them. Though he’d have to be careful, the Shadow Stalker was here to drive another message home to the great inspector—a message that he hoped would finally open up his blind eyes to the truth no one had told him.

  Moving at a quick clip, he thought about the initial news reports early this morning. He hadn’t been happy to learn his victim had lived. But Samantha Bell’s exclusive article—just released—was telling the world something different and he liked that message much more.

  “I didn’t make a mistake.” He smiled, scanning the horizon in front of him. “It was all as it should be.”

  He was starting to really like Samantha Bell, but the Shadow Stalker still had to be cautious. It was true Avery Morgan was dead, but there were loose ends that needed to be tied up. Starting with the boys on the basketball court who he suspected were now being questioned by the cops.

  He stopped at the crosswalk, waited for the light to change over, and tucked the binder he was carrying beneath one arm as he dove his free hand inside his front pocket. Inside, his fingers pulled out a crisp twenty-dollar bill.

  Brushing his thumb over the president’s face, he stared into Andrew Jackson’s eyes thinking how this clue of all clues should have been the easiest to figure out. Yet, to his knowledge, the inspector hadn’t. Why was that? Was he not making himself clear enough? Or was Marshall’s protégé, Lester Smith, keeping his lips sealed on this?

  A city bus passed, the air picking up as it did. As soon as there was a clearing in traffic, the Shadow Stalker jogged across the street holding his breath as he pushed through the black exhaust.

  Once on the other side of the street, he looked over his shoulder as the feeling of being watched crept over him. Two officers on foot were approaching. The Shadow Stalker grinned with a sense of satisfaction that came from knowing he’d taken out one of their own and he was now the most wanted man in the city.

  He knew the cops were looking at him as they hid their white eyes behind the darkly tinted lenses. That didn’t stop him from silently taunting the boys in blue.

  “Look, I’m right here you assholes.” He lowered his brow. “Catch me if you can.”

  They didn’t know just who they were looking at, but the old lady had him questioning if he was as good as he thought. To prove his mother wrong, the Shadow Stalker continued to stare the two officers down.

  Suddenly, he heard the pitter patter of feet running toward him from behind. With his heartrate spiking, his mind envisioned the police performing a tactical maneuver to flank him while he wasn’t paying attention to what was behind him. The moment he whipped around, his shoulder took a direct hit. Knocked off balance, the Shadow Stalker stumbled backward and watched a woman running her dog quickly apologize for not seeing him.

  “I’m so sorry,” the woman ran past, backpedaling she pointed at her Labrador retriever. “Sometimes I don’t know who is running who.”

  The Shadow Stalker almost wanted to laugh. “My fault entirely,” he responded. “I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

  The woman smiled, turned around, and kept running without ever missing a beat. The cops took their eyes off him and put their gazes on her. Together, they stared, lost in her delicate, loose features when he noticed a green wrist band on her arm.

  “Of course. Training for the marathon.” His thoughts jumped back to the inspector.

  “Hey buddy,” one of the cops called out. “You lost?”

  The Shadow Stalker rolled his eyes to the two officers and lifted his binder into the air. “Fine. Just needed to get some fresh air. Office work can be grueling on days like this.”

  Not once did they give him a second look. His confidence was back. With their attention moving on, so did he.

  The Shadow Stalker continued his way up the path and was once again thinking about the boys playing ball on the court he was now eyeing. He wondered how he could learn their names, questioned if he even had to.

  As he skirted past the park—still closed to the public—he caught sight of a father and son sharing a laugh. He cursed their happiness, blaming his mother for telling him his father had died when he now knew he hadn’t.

  “Don’t you know someone was murdered here last night?” he muttered under his breath. “This is no place to bring your child.”

  The old woman might have been crazy but she was right about that. Children shouldn’t be exposed to such sins. “Which is why it’s now time to show the inspector that his father wasn’t the angel the world remembers him as.”

  It was time to expose the truth and make the inspector see his father for who he truly was.

  A liar.

  A cheat.

  A man only loyal to himself.

  And as the Shadow Stalker rounded the path, he came within sight of the woman who would help him deliver the truth of his past.

  Chapter Fifty-Six

  I was still staring at the photo of Angelina Hill when Walker snuck up behind me. Together, we stared at the photo for a moment before Walker said, “Any new details about what happened last night?”

  I turned to face him. He peered down, his eyes relaxed and calm. I was surprised to see he was holding a printout of the article I’d written about Avery—equally as surprised to learn Dawson had released it to the public without me first hearing from King.

  “Detective King appeared to be extremely affected by what happened.” Walker raised the printout and arched a single brow when referring to Avery’s murder. “Unusual for a veteran inspector, but I didn’t see that mentioned in your story.”

  I said, “Wasn’t relevant.” My blood boiled at the memory of seeing him at the park.

  “No?” Walker locked eyes, searching past the colors of my irises. “I beg to differ. It’s details like those that separate you from mediocre journalism.”

  I felt my pupils laser focus on his eyes like the lens of a camera. “No, it’s tabloid fodder like that and creating the potential for a defamation suit to follow that separates me.” I paused for effect. “But if you knew anything about journalism, you’d understand that.”

  Walker chuckled as sparkles flashed in his eyes, reminding me of the stars he wanted to turn Erin and me into. “What do people want to really read? I’ll tell you. Sensational news filled with drama. They’re drawn to suffering that isn’t their own and can’t wait to see the next person fall.”

  I felt my eyes narrow when asking myself if this guy was serious. At first he made me believe he’d done his research into learning exactly who I was, but now I wondered if he knew me at all.

  “Who is Frank Lowe?” I asked, still wondering what happened to the details that were tacked to the board only yesterday.

  My question sucked the air out of the
room. Both Erin and Gemma turned to stare. I kept my eyes locked on Walker’s. His lips were sealed shut but the sparkle still twinkled in his eye.

  Gemma swayed her hips across the room and whispered something I couldn’t decipher into Walker’s ear. My cell buzzed and I quickly read the message from Allison saying Marty had left the house. When my eyes swept back to Walker, there wasn’t any visible reaction from him. Gemma’s hand slipped off his shoulder and she eyed me before excusing herself.

  “As much as I’d like to stay,” Gemma smiled at me, “I really must be going.”

  As soon as she exited the room, Walker turned his attention back to me. “You’re not curious to know why I tacked a picture of Angelina Hill to my corkboard?”

  I had a dozen different theories as to why she might be there, but I decided to keep my thoughts to myself. Walker waited for me to answer and my crocodile stare did nothing to deter him from moving on.

  Erin stood back, watching with an attentive ear.

  “Let’s get something straight,” I said. “If you want to win me over, you can start by being a team player. Your behavior yesterday was unacceptable.”

  Walker lifted his eyebrows. “You don’t conceal carry yourself?”

  I clenched my teeth and stared at him from behind a curtain of lashes. “I’m talking about the way you threatened a cop after disobeying orders and leaving the car, and how you went against my wishes and shared information with Gemma.” I shouldn’t have to remind him that what happened in the field stayed between us. “Info you promised to keep secret until our investigation was over.”

  Walker tipped his chin back and flicked his eyes to Erin before landing them back on me. “Does this mean you’re denying my offer?”

  I could feel Erin stiffen—silently pleading with me to carefully think over my answer before responding. “I can’t work with someone as irresponsible as what I witnessed yesterday.”