The Scum of All Fears: Squeaky Clean Mysteries, Book 5 Page 10

  He shrugged. “There’s nothing illegal about buying souvenirs from serial killers.”

  “That’s just sick. There’s a whole business out there for this kind of macabre stuff? It’s morbid and wrong.”

  “Some people call it Murderabilia. And yes, there’s not only a whole business out there for these things, but there’s a big business out there.”

  I tore pieces off my pita bread, wishing it was just as easy to pick apart this case. “Isn’t this illegal? It seems like I read somewhere that murderers couldn’t profit from their crimes by getting book deals and stuff.”

  “That was actually overturned back in the 1990s and declared unconstitutional. There are a lot of people fighting against stuff like this, though. It should be a crime, if you ask me.”

  I turned the thoughts over in my head. I reviewed each scene from today, slow enough to be play-by-play motion. Aside from the whole murder thing, there was one other thing bothering me.

  I dropped my bread and sighed. I was doing way too much sighing lately. “Rose said I’m no different from her.”

  “Because you’re a crime scene cleaner? Of course you’re different. You’re searching for justice. People like Rose are glorifying murder.”

  I nibbled on my lips in thought. “Do you think she’s helping Jones?”

  He shook his head. “It’s hard to say. My first instinct was yes, but now I don’t know.”

  Rose had insisted that the only reason she’d bought this apartment complex from Mr. Sears was because she knew Riley lived here now. She wanted one more reason to feel closer to Milton Jones. She’d definitely done her research.

  The question was: Did that make her a killer?

  I wasn’t sure. Riley wasn’t sure. The police probably weren’t even sure right now.

  But my mind was racing.

  I sat up straighter, trying desperately to sort out my thoughts. “We can both agree that someone is helping Milton Jones, correct?”

  “It makes sense to me. He can’t be in two places at once. That’s for sure. Plus, someone was driving that getaway car that night he was in your apartment.”

  I shook my head, hoping that would miraculously knock some pieces of this puzzle into place. “Clarice had a date last night with a dentist. I want to talk to him.”

  Could it have been an innocent date that just happened at the wrong time? Maybe. But since I had no other leads, this one would have to do at the moment.

  Riley stood. “I’m going with you.”

  I didn’t argue. We paid our bill, I took one last bite of my pita and hummus, and then we were out the door. We walked three blocks and then played a not-so-virtual game of Frogger as we dodged cars and ran across the busy street between the restaurant and The Grounds.

  We stepped inside. The place sounded and smelled as soothing as ever. But I knew there was something different here tonight. Grief had seeped in, the emotion nearly strong enough to be a vapor that mingled between scents of lattes and cinnamon cookies. It felt fluid, like it had invaded the otherwise peaceful conversations on how to solve the world’s problems and what movies people wanted to watch this weekend.

  I looked toward the office just as Sharon stepped inside the dining area. Her eyes were red, her nose pink enough to match her hair, and her shoulders hunched. I’d never seen Sharon upset before.

  I rounded the counter, ignoring the dirty look from the barista. I reached Sharon before she’d even dropped her keys and pulled my friend into a hug. I felt responsible for Clarice’s disappearance, even though I had nothing to do with it. Someone—Milton Jones—had pulled me into this when he used my phone to draw Clarice out.

  “Any updates?” I asked.

  Sharon shook her head. “You’ve got to find her, Gabby. She drove me crazy, but I don’t want anything bad to happen to her. Especially not at the hands of the Scum River Killer.”

  “I’m working on it, Sharon.” I shifted, took a deep breath, and tilted my head in a manner that I hoped conveyed compassion. “Listen, Clarice had a date last night with a dentist. Do you know anything about him?”

  Sharon nodded. “He just started coming in here over the past week or so. His name is Stephen . . . Alexander, I think.”

  “Do you know anything else about him?”

  She shrugged. “He seemed likable enough, I guess. He’s in his late twenties. Works in Norfolk. I don’t know.”

  “Anything else that stands out about him?” Anything would help, but putting pressure on Sharon might only make her freeze up.

  She rested her hand on the counter and turned toward me. Her gaze was steady as she said, “You know, now that you mention it, our conversation the first time we actually spoke about something other than coffee was about Milton Jones. Of course, ever since that girl was kidnapped, that’s all anyone is talking about.”

  I looked at Riley. We had to find this Stephen Alexander. Now.

  CHAPTER 15

  It was eight o’clock at night, so of course Stephen Alexander’s office was closed. Using my cell phone, I did an online search for his home address, but nothing came up.

  Which left Riley and me back at square one.

  Not the place I wanted to be.

  Not when I pictured Clarice at the hands of Milton Jones.

  Maybe Clarice would talk so much that Jones would just let her go in order to keep his sanity.

  Of course, psycho serial killers weren’t all that sane in my experience.

  By the time Riley and I got back to our apartment, I noticed a crowd of people had gathered over in the parking lot of The Grounds. They each held candles.

  A vigil.

  Someone had planned a vigil for Clarice.

  Riley and I walked over, took a candle from one of the girls handing them out, and found a place at the back of the crowd. I wanted to watch everyone, see if anyone acted suspiciously. Mostly, there seemed to be young college kids. I spotted a couple of regulars from The Grounds.

  A girl—a sorority sister, perhaps—stood at the front of the crowd humming Amazing Grace. Some people wept. Some hummed. Others sang.

  A camera crew stepped out from inside The Grounds. A reporter pulled out her microphone to do an on-the-scene update with the vigil in the background.

  “What are you thinking?” Riley whispered.

  “Besides how utterly sad this is?” I shrugged. “I guess I’m thinking that I hate feeling so helpless. I’m the girl who tracks down clues, who follows the evidence. And I don’t feel like there’s a single thing I can do right now.”

  “Milton Jones is good at staying hidden. He eluded the best of the best for three years.”

  I shook my head. “He has to be working with someone. I know that. I just have to figure out whom. If I can find out that information, maybe I can find Jones.”

  “Excuse me? Are you Gabby St. Claire?” someone said behind me.

  I looked up and saw the reporter in front of me, a cameraman right beside her. Riley pulled me closer to him. I appreciated the fact that he wanted to shield me, but I could handle myself right now.

  “I am.”

  The reporter looked beyond me just as the light on the front of the camera popped on. They were seeking a good story like a lion sought after its prey. “And you’re Riley Thomas, the prosecutor who put Milton Jones behind bars.”

  He nodded stiffly. “I am.”

  “What do you think about the disappearance of Clarice Wilkenson?” She thrust her microphone in front of Riley.

  I glanced at Riley, that unspoken couple’s code passing between us. Riley’s jaw was locked in place, and I could tell he wasn’t comfortable with this. I wasn’t either, truth be told. But how could we use this moment to help Clarice?

  I glanced beyond the camera and noticed that the crowd had stopped humming. They all stared our way, waiting to see what would play out next.

  “I think that the city and the country’s finest are all doing everything they can right now to locate Clarice and to put Mi
lton Jones behind bars again,” Riley said.

  “Are the two of you involved in the hunt for this madman?” the reporter asked.

  “I’d rather not comment on that.” Riley shook his head.

  The reporter turned her sights on me. “Gabby, you’ve helped the police solve some other crimes in this area before. Rumor has it that you have a personal connection with Clarice.”

  I pushed a stray curl behind my ear. “I do know Clarice, and I’m working with the police and other law enforcement officials to insure that she’s found safely.”

  “Do you think this is the work of the infamous serial killer Milton Jones?”

  If I answered affirmatively, the whole city would be in an even bigger frenzy. I couldn’t be responsible for that. “I can’t speak to that issue at this time as I’m not an official part of this investigation.”

  “Is it true that Milton Jones has threatened you personally?” the reporter asked.

  How in the world had she heard that? I knew the police hadn’t leaked the information, and only a handful of people knew about it.

  I shook my head. “No comment.”

  Riley tugged at me. I knew what that meant. This interview needed to be over. Like, five minutes ago.

  The reporter continued to call questions out, and Riley continued to lead me across the parking lot back to our apartment building. What a nightmare. To the media, this was the story of the year. To the people who were involved, this was the worst-case scenario of their lives.

  One thing was for certain. Fear had a reign on the people in this area. I didn’t see its grip loosening any time soon.

  CHAPTER 16

  Just as we reached the front steps, I heard a footfall behind me. I braced myself for the reporter, for more questions. Instead, I saw a lanky, college aged boy. “I need to talk to you.”

  I soaked him in. He had acne on his cheeks, gages in his ears, and a pierced eyebrow. He was sweaty. Breathing fast. Cracking his knuckles.

  This was one nervous man. But why?

  “Who are you?” Riley asked, going into protective mode again as he nudged himself in front of me.

  “My name is Colin Belkin. I have information that I think will be helpful to you.”

  “Helpful to us? Not the police?” Riley asked.

  He nodded. “Yeah, I need to tell you both this first. If you’ll give me a chance, you’ll understand why. I promise you’ll want to hear this.”

  There was no way I was asking this boy into my apartment. For all I knew, he could be the accomplice we’d been looking for. No, if we were talking, we were staying right here. “Go ahead. You have five minutes,” I said.

  I crossed my arms. I was cautious, and I didn’t know whom I could trust at the moment. The last thing I wanted was to give details to an information hungry vigilante.

  “I’m a friend of Clarice’s,” he started, looking back at the crowds behind him.

  I glanced back, too. The reporter had wandered back to the vigil and stood there, talking to the cameraman now. People had raised their candles again, and I could hear them softly humming.

  “You said you knew something,” Riley prompted Colin.

  The boy nodded, shifting uncomfortably. He rubbed his palms on his skinny, aqua blue jeans. “I don’t know how to say this.”

  “Just say it,” I encouraged.

  He cracked his knuckles so hard that I cringed. “I know it’s not right. Well, now I know that. At the time, we thought we could convince you. That you’d see things our way.”

  I shook my head. “What are you talking about?” I was clueless right now. Truly. “Who is ‘we’?” I prepared myself for him to say Milton Jones.

  Before he could answer, Officer Newell stepped from the shadows. “Do you need help?”

  I shook my head. “I’m fine. I’ll signal if things get hairy.”

  The officer nodded, looked Colin over again, and then went back to his car.

  I turned back to Colin.

  His eyes shifted. “I think Clarice may have mentioned me to you. I want to break in with Hollywood, you know? Maybe do some directing and producing and creating. I’m not sure which one yet.”

  I nodded. I did remember Clarice mentioning something about a friend of hers and reality TV. I still wasn’t making the connections yet, though. What was he getting at here?

  “I was with Clarice when Sharon told us you were looking for some help. Sharon told us a little about what you do. The whole crime scene cleaning and all.”

  “Okay.” I wished he’d get to the point. However, I had a feeling I wouldn’t like his point. That’s what my gut instinct told me.

  He cracked his knuckles more. “We thought you’d make great reality TV.”

  My hands went to my hips. “Clarice mentioned that. I told her I wasn’t interested.”

  He looked down for a minute. “Yeah, we figured you’d change your mind.”

  Okay, all this hemming and hawing was getting to me. “What are you getting at, Colin?” I finally asked.

  He sucked in a deep breath that filled out his bony chest. “What I’m getting at is the fact that Clarice wore some special glasses that had a camera in them. She was recording you on your jobs in hopes that we could convince you to let us go live with it.”

  My lips parted in shock. “Are you insane? Have you lost your mind? That’s a serious breach of so many things, both legally and ethically. I could get in so much trouble for that. So could you, for that matter.”

  Indignation rushed through me. If Riley hadn’t nudged me back, I might have lunged at the boy.

  Colin raised his hands as if to surrender. “I know, I know. We didn’t put anything online yet.”

  Riley stepped forward. “Nor will you, if you know what’s best.”

  “There’s more.” Colin swallowed so hard over and over again that his Adam’s Apple looked like it was involved in a Ping-Pong match.

  “Go on.” Why delay the inevitable?

  “We had this crazy idea. You know most of reality TV is contrived anyway, right? Everything from the personalities they choose to showcase to the plotlines they develop to the editing of the tape. Producers prompt contestants with leading questions. They set up scenarios to bring out the worst in people.”

  “What are you saying, Colin?” Riley’s hands were on his hips, and he looked none too happy about this turn of events.

  “Sharon was telling us about the first scene you were going to clean. She didn’t give any names or anything, but she gave us some details about the crime. I looked it up online, and we found the address. We had a brilliant idea. We decided to set up the crime scene. We snuck in and put that message on the wall using some blood I bought at a butcher shop.”

  “What?” I wanted to throttle the man.

  He held his hand up. “We had second thoughts. We washed it off. At least, we thought we did. We realized we could get in big trouble. Then you used the Luminol. The reaction blew us away.” He made a little blow up sound and fanned his fingers out like an explosion near his forehead. “It was some incredible footage. Totally made for TV.”

  “How’d you know where my next crime scenes would be?” I needed to stick with the facts or my emotions might knock me over.

  “Clarice took a picture of your list of crime scenes with her camera. I guess it was in the van, and you’d run inside a house or something. The next time, we left the message instead of erasing it.”

  I sighed, trying to find the right words.

  Colin shook his head. “We had no idea it was going to turn into this. We were just making up a storyline. We wanted to be . . . famous. We were going to call it Little Job of Horrors.”

  That’s where all of Clarice’s references had come from.

  “You’re going to be famous for something you don’t want to be famous for,” Riley said, shaking his head. “Messing with a crime scene? Breaking and entering? That’s just the start. You could go to jail for this.”

  The boy’s face
went pale. “It was stupid. I know that now. But we really thought this would be our big break. I mean, come on. You’re hot,” he looked at me. “You’re dating a former prosecutor. In some circles, you’re already like a little mini celebrity. We could have propelled you to the top.”

  “You weren’t concerned about propelling me to the top. You just wanted to propel yourselves.” I had to push down my anger before I did something I regretted.

  He glanced down and shuffled his feet. “You’re right.”

  Riley’s jaw looked locked in place, a sure sign that he wasn’t any happier than I was. “Is Clarice’s disappearance a part of this charade?”

  Colin shook his head with enough strength that his brain was probably dizzy. “Absolutely not. That’s the reason I came forward. I want to find her. Anything I can do.”

  Riley continued to stare him down. “You know we have to tell the police, right?”

  “I figured.” Colin’s voice cracked. “I’m going to be in big trouble, aren’t I?”

  “Maybe since you came forward with the information willingly they’ll cut you some slack.” Riley didn’t sound convinced. His eyes were still narrowed, and his body language screamed, “Agitated.”

  An idea had begun to swirl in my mind. “Wait one minute first. Colin, do you still have the video from those crime scenes?”

  He nodded. “Yeah, the feed was sent to a server. Why?”

  “Before we go to the police, I want to see the footage.” Maybe, just maybe, there was a clue there that would help me to find Clarice. We’d watch it until the police got here.

  CHAPTER 17

  Since we were short on time and Riley had left his computer at work, we all gathered around my laptop in my apartment. My home-sweet-home now gave me chills every time I stepped foot inside it. Watching this video of myself right now did nothing to make me feel better.

  I suppose we could have gone to Riley’s, but I was trying to push through this whole fear thing. Still, I wasn’t ready to sleep here alone any time soon, not with Milton Jones acting like he could come and go as he pleased.

  What really interested me, way more than watching myself clean and spray Luminol and call the police, was the video that Clarice had obtained after the police got there. We were standing out on the lawn, waiting to hear what our next step was.