BURN IN BELL

by Jeremy Waldron

  King asked, “Where did he get picked up?”

  “Pulled him over a block away from his house.” LT rolled his gaze to King. The door opened behind him and Officer Lester Smith entered the room. King was surprised to see him here, but if Boyd did have something to do with Avery’s murder, Smith would be the first to want to know. LT continued, “We’ve yet to charge anyone and the mayor is breathing down my neck. I expect you to put the pressure on and see what this asshole knows.”

  King turned and nodded at Officer Smith on his way out the door. He glanced at Boyd’s files one more time before entering the interrogation box. Walking to the table, he thought about Mrs. Hill and Avery and how he’d like to have a hand in putting away whoever killed them. Taking a seat across from Boyd, the men stared into each other’s eyes. There was no reaction by either of them when King opened the folder and showed Boyd a picture of Peggy Hill.

  “Recognize this woman?” he asked.

  Boyd kept staring—gave King the look that said, should I?

  “She died two nights ago inside her house by asphyxiation.” King lifted a single brow. “Care to guess how?”

  “Not this again.” Boyd shook his head and looked away.

  “Care to tell me what you were doing two nights ago?”

  Boyd rolled his neck back to King and quirked an eyebrow. “I was at home.”

  “You haven’t been getting out much lately,” King shuffled through the files, “it seems.”

  “Kind of hard when you’re constantly being watched.”

  King flicked his gaze up to Boyd—assumed he was talking about the police surveillance parked in front of his house since Avery’s murder. “We had a nice visit with your old boss, Mike Kern, yesterday. You know what he told us? That you paid him a visit.” King stared, looking for any kind of reaction. “You made some very interesting comments, stuff that had Mike concerned for his own safety.”

  “Of course Mike would say that. He fired me for no reason.”

  “But then this happens.” King flipped over an image of Avery’s murder. “She was a cop, you know?”

  “This is crazy,” Boyd said. “I didn’t kill that woman.”

  “But you killed this one?” King held up the picture of Peggy Hill.

  Boyd’s expression pinched.

  “I’d believe you, except that Officer Morgan was murdered the same day she was called to your house.” King paused to let that fact sink in. Boyd grew increasingly more uncomfortable and when King asked him about the shattered glass Sam told him about, Boyd lurched forward.

  “You should ask that prick, Walter Walker.”

  “Did he break the glass?”

  Boyd shook his head no. “I had to do something to push him away.”

  “Push him away?”

  “He’s been after me for weeks now.”

  King drew his eyebrows together. “What exactly does he want from you?”

  Boyd was completely relaxed when he gave a strong headshake. “It’s not what he wants from me, it’s what he wants to know about you.”

  King tipped his head sideways. “Me?”

  “Yeah.” Boyd nodded. “He wants to know if you were trying to frame me for murder.”

  Chapter Eighty-Three

  “What the hell was that?” LT asked as soon as King exited the room with Boyd.

  “A fucking nightmare,” King grumbled as he leaned into Lester Smith’s ear. “I need to talk to you.”

  Leaving LT and Alvarez to clean up the mess with Boyd, Officer Smith followed King out of the room. Once out of earshot, Smith said he heard what the lieutenant said about the mayor.

  “This investigation is such a shit show,” King said as they kept walking. Agitation stitched his side and now he was curious to know what the hell Walter Walker’s intentions were really about with Samantha.

  “Goldberg’s approval rating is dropping and I hear he’s about to escalate his tough on crime policy.” Smith raised his eyebrows when he shared a look with King. “Should get exciting out on the streets when that happens.”

  King needed a win, but a legit victory and not one built on circumstantial evidence. He asked Smith, “How are you holding up?”

  “I’m hanging in there.” Smith inhaled a deep breath. “No matter what pressure is being put on you to make an arrest, I want to get this right as much as you do. The last thing I want to see is Avery’s death be the motivating factor in the next election.” Smith flicked his gaze back to King. “Any idea who might have killed her?”

  Behind them, the door opened. LT exited the room and gave the men a hard look. King lowered his voice and said, “Can we talk in private?” Smith’s eyebrows squished. “There’s something I need to ask you about my father.”

  As soon as they reached Smith’s desk, King handed him the report from Samantha. Smith read it over and, when he was finished, King asked, “You know anything about this?”

  “It was a long time ago.” Smith leaned back in his chair, still holding a paper in his hand.

  “You’re the only person I can trust to discuss what happened.”

  “I was young, naïve, and certainly impressionable.” A slight smile crossed Smith’s lips. “But I’ll never forget the hunt for Frank Lowe.” Smith looked at King. “It consumed your father, but what does this have to do with Avery?”

  “Is this my father in the report?” King pointed to the redacted name, his ears still ringing with Boyd’s suggestive comment that Walker thought maybe King was the same as his father. “Did he get an innocent man convicted?”

  Lester cast his gaze to the desk and sighed. Then he looked to King. “Why uncover the secrets of the past?”

  “It wasn’t my decision,” King said, telling Smith about his theory that Peggy’s death may have been motivated by his father’s legacy.

  Smith lowered the paper to the desk and asked, “If that’s true, why murder Avery?”

  “Because you were her training officer, just as my father was yours.”

  Smith’s eyes watered with the realization that she may have died because of him. “I hope you’re wrong,” he said, glancing to the paperwork, his eyes glimmering with memories of Marshall. “Your father,” Smith cleared his throat, “was ambitious and rising through the ranks. He was extremely competitive and hated losing.”

  “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?” King couldn’t believe Lester wasn’t denying Marshall’s involvement.

  “Marshall’s focus was admirable. A quality I strive for myself.” Smith locked eyes with King. “I learned a lot from your father but, like anybody, Marshall had his fair share of mistakes.”

  “Christ.” King stood up and turned his head away. “How could he?”

  “It’s not as black and white as you want to believe.” Smith closed the folder and handed it back to King. “But really, if you want to know the truth of your father and Frank Lowe, it’s best you hear it from your mother.”

  Chapter Eighty-Four

  The Shadow Stalker put his cellphone on the table and reached for Gemma’s purse. Turning it upside down, he dumped the contents out. Papers fluttered and makeup clattered across the surface until the loud thud of a handgun silenced everything.

  He stared at the silver glint of the pistol before grinning. “A gift to me?” The possibilities were endless now that he had a weapon with someone else’s fingerprints on it. “You shouldn’t have.”

  The wall next to him shook with several loud bangs. He cracked his neck and stood, leaving the gun on the table. Moving to the door, he opened it and felt the cool air hit his face. Flipping on a light he watched Gemma squirm on the floor, fighting her binds.

  “Don’t hurt yourself,” he said to her blindfolded face.

  As soon as Gemma heard his voice, she froze and started shaking.

  Grinning, the Shadow Stalker stood in front of the table pushed against the wall. On it he had a fresh, just opened pack of Marlboro Reds and a never before used deer skinning knife along with a
bundle of tie rope.

  “You had a busy night driving around town.” He turned to see how she’d react. “Did you find what you were looking for?”

  Gemma breathed loudly through her nose but her body remained still.

  “Tell me, that recruit of yours, did she help you find the answers to your questions?”

  Gemma’s legs kicked straight and flapped like a mermaid’s flipper as she ripped a muffled scream through the duct tape covering her mouth.

  The Shadow Stalker stepped away from the table and laughed. Kneeling next to her, he studied her tremors before placing a hand to her face. Gemma flinched and it only encouraged him to slide more of his thumb across her wet cheeks.

  “Tell me, love,” he rubbed her tears between his fingers, “which breast would you like me to cut off first?”

  Gemma started crying—a pathetic sight in the eyes of the Shadow Stalker.

  “I should have known you would be seeking to reveal the truth before me. You just couldn’t help yourself, could you?” He reeled his hand back to his side, his gravel voice deepening by the second. “You know I can’t let you do it first. When it comes to these types of games, I always win.”

  The Shadow Stalker turned his head to the wall. There, he had hung the detailed images of Frank Lowe’s suspected murders to act as a playbook to draw inspiration from. Just like his other crimes, tonight had to be perfect.

  “Though, to be honest, you surprised me with your tenacity. This wasn’t how I imagined it coming to an end,” he brought the deer knife to her breast, adding enough pressure to the tip for Gemma to feel it, “but you gave me little choice. Now I must teach both of you a lesson neither will forget.”

  Chapter Eighty-Five

  The rain beat down on my windshield as my wipers worked on overdrive. The explosive sound was all I could hear, but it didn’t interrupt my thoughts of what I was on my way to do.

  I was hesitant to meet with Walker at such a late hour. There were so many reasons I shouldn’t be going. I kept asking myself if this was real or just a ploy Walker orchestrated to test more of my skills.

  When it was hard to see, I gripped the steering wheel tighter and leaned my body forward.

  It wasn’t like we left on the best of terms the last time we saw each other. In fact, Walker scared me and made me believe he would do anything to get what he wanted. Not only was he manipulative and powerful with access to excessive amounts of cash, he also owned a gun.

  I felt the tips of my fingers go cold on the wheel, and I took turns shaking blood back into my hands as I slowly made my way to Walker’s house.

  If what he said about Gemma was true, I had no choice but to see if she really was missing.

  I drove and my mind swirled with possibilities. I didn’t like working off of assumptions but I had little to go on. I kept asking if Walker had learned what Gemma handed me earlier. She’d made it clear she didn’t want him to know. She seemed scared of what he might do if he learned the truth, and that kept me worried. A part of me kept thinking I was walking into a trap.

  My heartrate kept me aware of my surroundings—driving on my sixth sense. No matter what might be waiting for me, I couldn’t chance it. Gemma trusted me, and now I needed to trust them.

  Nearing Walker’s street, I got a call from Allison. With the driving conditions as variable as they were, I debated letting it go to voicemail. But when I reminded myself I may have put Marty in jail, I knew I had to answer.

  “Ali, I’m so sorry,” I said, thinking about her cousin. “I’ve been trying to call you.”

  When Allison didn’t respond I wondered if I had been disconnected. I pulled my phone away from my ear and checked the display. The light was green—the time clock still ticking. I asked, “Have you talked to Marty?”

  “Sam, do you know a woman by the name of Gemma Love?”

  “I do.” My vision tunneled as I pulled into Walker’s driveway. “But how do you?”

  Allison told me that Gemma approached her when doing a background check on whether or not I was a good investment for Walker. I was surprised to only be hearing of this now. As shocking as it was, it fit Walker’s mold to operate in complete secrecy. Then Allison said something that had me pause.

  “Gemma stopped by my house tonight.”

  “What in the world for?”

  “Said if I could identify someone in a photo, she’d be able to get Marty out of jail.”

  “Who was in the photograph?” I asked, wondering what exactly Gemma knew to make such a confident claim.

  “That’s why I’m calling. Once I realized who it was, I called Gemma to tell her. But before I could say, the line crashed. I don’t know what happened, but she’s not answering her phone anymore.”

  I was staring at Walker’s entrance door as the rain came down harder. He wasn’t lying, but did he take her? “Allison, who was the person in the photograph?”

  “I’ll send it to you. His name is Tristan Knight.”

  Chapter Eighty-Six

  A flash of lightning lit up the dark sky, sending a crack of thunder shortly after. Susan flicked her gaze out the window, silently hoping her power would stay on long enough to continue her research into Frank Lowe.

  A dozen tabs were open on her browser, each one of them open to a different article or specific fact she’d thought could be useful to Samantha’s investigation. She took notes of it all, realizing that this search was only the beginning. Eventually, she would have to confront many of the names she’d written down, but that would have to wait until morning.

  Navigating back to one of the first inquiries she’d opened, the graphic images of the murders Frank Lowe was found guilty of committing popped up on the screen. Goosebumps covered Susan’s arms at the extraordinary sight of violence. Susan hoped to God Sam knew what she was talking about because she didn’t want to assist in setting a guilty man free—especially the monster responsible for the atrocity she couldn’t stop looking at.

  Her cellphone rang just as another crack of thunder shook the house walls. “Hey.”

  “I’m surprised you answered,” Tristan said.

  Susan leaned back in her chair and looked out the window. “I can’t sleep,” she said, realizing those weren’t exactly the words she should have used when talking to a much younger—and certainly very attractive—single man.

  “Me neither.”

  An awkward silence followed and Susan asked herself what she thought she was doing when taking his late-night call at all.

  Susan said, “Because of what we learned in the bar?”

  “Yeah,” Tristan murmured. Susan admitted to being on the computer now; Tristan too. “I can’t stop thinking about Avery,” he said.

  “And to think her killer may still be out there.”

  “It’s scary, right?”

  Susan caught her own reflection in the window as the lights flickered overhead after the last lightning strike.

  “Do you think the police really put an innocent man in prison like Samantha suggested?”

  Susan said, “Impossible to say.”

  “What I can’t understand is why there is very little mentioned about Frank Lowe’s daughter. You would think if he was innocent, she would be the first person fighting hardest for his release.”

  Susan hadn’t recalled ever reading about Frank Lowe having any family. “I didn’t know he had family.”

  “Yeah.” Tristan mentioned where he’d read it. “But apparently she changed her last name after he went to prison. Something about starting over.”

  “What’s her name?”

  “Gemma Love.”

  Chapter Eighty-Seven

  A second after I ended my call with Allison, the photo came through.

  I pinched my fingers on the screen and zoomed in on the man’s face as the intensity of the rain grew into a shattering ensemble that drummed on the roof of my car.

  There was no doubt the person I was looking at was the same Tristan Susan brought to the bar
and I had drinks with tonight. It appeared to be taken in Commons Park, based on the buildings across the street in the background, but I didn’t know when. Why did Gemma go to Allison with this after she met with me? Tristan was in the park today with Susan and Hazel to reroute the now-cancelled marathon, but why did she care who Tristan was? The photo came from Gemma, Allison told me, but did she take it? Was Tristan watching her when she snapped it? His expression in the photo showed extreme focus in the direction of the camera. But why? And why did Gemma care?

  My mind scrambled back to the bar when I first met Tristan. He was tall, athletic, good looking—nothing suspicious about him. He even made me believe he cared for Avery.

  A tap on the window had me startled. Through the rain lashing against the glass, Walker’s eyes were staring at me with surprising intensity. He opened the door and said, “C’mon let’s get inside.”

  I gathered my things from the front seat and stepped out into the downpour, running for cover. Chasing Walker into his house, my focus was back on Gemma’s disappearance.

  “Thanks for coming,” he said. “I wasn’t sure you would.”

  “Have you called the cops?” My eyes naturally went to places he might be packing. It was impossible to tell, but I assumed he was armed.

  Walker shut the door to his house, swept a hand over his wet hair, and said he hadn’t.

  I didn’t like how the rain forced us inside, and I was quickly reminded it was just us—alone inside his sprawling house. I had told no one where I was going. “You should really call the police,” I said, feeling the rain seep through my clothes.

  “I can’t.”

  Walker had been testing me this entire time to see if I was worth his money and I didn’t have any reason to think this was any different. “And why is that?”

  Walker seemed anxious. He kept touching the back of his neck and giving me sideways glances. Did he know what Gemma gave me tonight? I assumed he did. I also assumed he knew I would have checked whether or not Angelina left the note for King like he said she had. But why did he seem to be on edge? I flicked my gaze around the room, looking for any signs of Gemma’s belongings. I didn’t see anything, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t here.