The Scum of All Fears: Squeaky Clean Mysteries, Book 5 Page 8

  Parker pulled out his wallet and showed me a picture of a newborn. “Her name is George. We’re kind of fond of masculine names for women.”

  I gasped. “You had your baby?”

  He grinned like a proud papa. “Charlie would slap me if I said ‘we.’ She had our baby. C-section. Two days ago.”

  “Shouldn’t you be at home with her?”

  “She insisted I keep working. I think I was driving her crazy.”

  I looked at the picture again, my heart twisting with some kind of longing I didn’t even know was present. It was funny. I’d never thought of myself as someone who’d wanted children, at least not at this stage of life. But staring at that baby made my insides feel like jelly. “She’s beautiful. Congratulations. Where’d you get the name?”

  He shrugged. “We came up with it together.”

  “You know there’s a woman named George in the old Nancy Drew books, right?”

  A hint of a smile tugged at his lips. “I think I heard that somewhere before.”

  Okay, so that was a little weird. I’m sure it was just a coincidence that his nickname for me used to be Nancy Drew and he named his daughter after a character in one of the books in that series.

  Parker and his girlfriend Charlie weren’t married yet, at least not that I knew about. Parker had a bit of commitment phobia after a bad first marriage.

  Having a kid without the commitment wasn’t the way I’d want to do things, that was for sure. As someone who grew up in an unstable home, I wanted to give my children a secure and steady future.

  Parker lowered himself onto Riley’s couch. “Okay, back to the case at hand. Tell me exactly what happened.”

  I filled him in on everything. My voice trembled as I recalled the events of this evening. However, this was easily my third time repeating the story. Each time, it got a little easier.

  “You sure it was Jones?” Parker asked when I finished.

  I nodded. “Positive. This isn’t my first run in with him, you know.”

  “What I don’t understand is how he got inside,” Riley mumbled. He looked at Officer Newell. “You were outside of the house all evening, correct?”

  He raised his chin. “I haven’t left once. I heard the commotion and hurried to see what happened. But no one came or went all night. I would have seen them.”

  “The chain on your door was cut,” Detective Adams said. “Somehow he got into the apartment building.”

  I closed my eyes, trying to think this out. One theory rose above the rest of the possibilities hovering in my mind. When I opened my eyes, I nodded, confident in my deduction. “He was hiding in Sierra’s apartment.”

  “Why would you think that?” Detective Adams asked.

  “She’s out of town. The rest of us are here. Jones knew there was a good chance someone would be stationed outside of the building, and he must have known Sierra was out of town.”

  “How would he have known that?” Parker asked.

  “Am I supposed to come up with all of the answers here? He does his research. He knew who I was. He knew that Bill McCormick lived in the apartment downstairs. That’s why he called into the radio show today.”

  “So, what you’re saying is that Milton Jones knew he couldn’t hide out in your apartment again. So he broke into your neighbor’s place and waited there until it was nighttime. Then he crept up the stairs and broke into your apartment.” Parker stared at me like I was crazy.

  I nodded. “That’s the only thing that makes sense.”

  Detective Adams nodded. “I think Gabby’s on to something. How else would Jones have gotten inside? The window leading to the fire escape was unlocked from the inside. There were no signs of tampering.”

  “I checked it before I went to bed,” I agreed.

  “Our forensic team is checking out her place now,” Adams said. “In the meantime, you need to be careful, Gabby.”

  Why did people keep saying that?

  Out of all of the snide comments in the world, I couldn’t even begin to think of a way to make their pleas for caution funny, though.

  ***

  After everyone left, I crashed at Riley’s apartment for a few hours. I tried to sleep on his couch, but rest wouldn’t find me. I had too much on my mind and ended up just tossing back and forth in the small space. Riley didn’t even try to go back to sleep. He’d been at his computer, doing something there. Worrying about me, most likely.

  Finally, I pushed myself up and raked my hand through my hair. I would look better if I’d been run over by a truck. My head throbbed. Whenever I remembered the events from last night, a tremble shivered through me. My stomach still felt tight with unease.

  Milton Jones was toying with me, and I didn’t like being toyed with.

  “Morning.” Riley turned in his computer chair and scooted toward me. “How are you feeling?”

  “About as well as you can imagine.” I nodded behind him. “What are you doing?”

  “Just catching up on some work. Trying to keep my mind occupied.”

  His words reminded me of how much I had to do. I stood. “Speaking of work . . .” Aside from the whole Milton Jones fiasco, I still had crime scenes waiting to be cleaned, and I didn’t plan on taking any breaks from my work today. I didn’t have the luxury of paid days off, so if I wanted to make ends meet, I had to work.

  “Clarice will be with you today, right?”

  “My luck wouldn’t have it any other way,” I said drily.

  “And the officer will be with you.”

  “I’ll be fine, Riley.”

  Riley had somehow gotten his hands on a box of donuts. I spotted them on the kitchen counter. I picked my favorite—chocolate glazed—and took a bite. “I’ve got to get dressed.”

  “Can you go into your apartment? Has it been cleared?”

  I nodded. “Adams said it was fine.”

  “Do you want me to go with you?”

  The truth was that I did. But I wasn’t going to tell him that. “I’ll be all right. I’ll check in with you later, okay?”

  He nodded, looking like he wanted to argue. But he didn’t. He knew I liked my independence.

  When I walked out to my van at 8 a.m., I fully expected to see Clarice there, waiting for me with an energy drink in hand.

  Instead, all I saw was my van and Officer Newell’s police cruiser. He waved at me from the front seat.

  I was tempted to hop into my van and go to the job by myself. But I could use a hand today. Too bad that hand would include a very chatty mouth as well.

  I hurried across the street, dodging morning traffic, and stepped inside The Grounds. I’d get a latte while I was here. Better yet, maybe I should try an energy drink. They seemed to work for Clarice.

  I recognized several of the regular patrons that frequented the place lingering at their normal tables. Some read newspapers. Others worked on laptops. All sipped away on their drinks.

  “What are you doing here?” Sharon looked up from behind the counter as she twirled some whipped cream on top of someone’s drink. “And what’s with all of the cars over at your apartment? It’s like Grand Central Station.”

  “I’ll tell you about it some other time, some time when it’s not quite as busy in here.” I didn’t need any listening ears. There was already enough panic in the area. I reached the counter and leaned against it for a moment. “Anyway, where’s Clarice?”

  Sharon paused and gave me a look that clearly said, “Are you losing your mind?” “You texted Clarice last night and told her to meet you at the crime scene.”

  That familiar sense of dread filled me. “I did not text Clarice.”

  “I saw the text, Gabby. You clearly did.”

  Adrenaline surged in me. “What was the address, Sharon? I’ve got to find Clarice.”

  “You don’t mean . . .” Sharon’s face went pale.

  “We don’t have any time to waste.”

  She ran back to her office and emerged only seconds later. “He
re’s the address. I only know because I was trying to give her directions. She hates using her GPS.”

  I took the paper from her and hurried toward the door. My mind raced a million miles a minute.

  “Find her, Gabby. Please.”

  I glanced over my shoulder. “Call the police, Sharon. Get someone else out there. Now.”

  CHAPTER 11

  I ran across the parking lot and rapped at the passenger window of Officer Newell’s car. He sat up so quickly that he nearly spilled his coffee. Before he could even respond, I jumped into the passenger seat. “Officer Newbie—I mean, Newell—we’ve got to go. Now.”

  “What’s going on?”

  “I’ll fill you in on the way there. We’ve got to get to 1592 Sycamore.” I clicked my seatbelt on.

  He continued to stare at me.

  I sighed. “Milton Jones. Please. It’s urgent.”

  He only stared another second before finally nodding. He turned on his lights and sped down the road. Sweat sprinkled across his forehead as he radioed in the situation.

  My heart raced with each rotation of the tires. Couldn’t the officer go any faster? Someone’s life was on the line.

  Grief clutched my heart, causing a physical ache. Not Clarice.

  Milton Jones had used me to get to her. He was a professional when it came to toying with people, and I didn’t like that one bit.

  We finally pulled up to a rundown house in a less-than-desirable neighborhood. Just as we pulled in, two other cop cars stopped behind us, as well as an unmarked sedan.

  I flew from the cruiser and sprinted to the front door, but Detective Adams appeared and pushed me back. “Not so fast. Me first.”

  I stepped back onto the lawn and lifted up prayers for Clarice, just as I had been doing since I found out someone had texted her from my phone.

  Had Milton Jones grabbed my cell to text Clarice while I was sleeping? What else had he done in my apartment? Did I want to know?

  It didn’t matter right now. What mattered was finding Clarice. I prayed that we’d gotten here in time. I prayed that we’d beaten Milton at his own game.

  I nibbled on my fingernails in the front yard. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d chewed on my fingernails, but the intensity of this case was getting the best of me.

  Detective Adams emerged a few minutes later with something in his hands.

  It was another picture of Clarice. This time, her eyes were Xed out.

  ***

  I was in a trance-like state as I drove to my first job of the day without Clarice. Officer Newell had driven me back to my van. I’d sat there, with the AC blasting on me, for several minutes as I’d tried to figure out my next plan of action.

  Without access to the right information, there was nothing else I could do to help find my temporary assistant. I had to take a breather and remind myself that I was not some kind of crime fighting super hero. The police, and the FBI, and many of the most qualified people in the country were tracking this killer.

  The forensic unit had searched for fingerprints at the house where Clarice had been taken. They talked to neighbors, checked surveillance footage from nearby traffic light cameras, studied the ground for footprints. At my place, they’d swept the floors for any trace evidence. They were searching for the white sedan.

  I had to let them do their job.

  And I had to do mine. Which, right now, meant that I had to clean another crime scene. I felt like I was letting Sharon down by working at a time like this. But sometimes working helped me to sort out my thoughts, and currently I had a lot of thoughts to sort out.

  Before Jones had woken me, he must have gotten his hands on my cell phone. I’d left it plugged in on my end table, since the battery was nearly dead and it wouldn’t have done me any good without charge. He’d been watching me, so he knew Clarice was working with me. In fact, he’d seen her that day he pretended to be the homeowner.

  I’d guess also that the picture he left on my desk the night before was no accident. I’d thought that Clarice just happened to be in the picture. It was apparent that she was purposely a part of that photo now.

  I stopped in front of another crime scene. This one was at a townhouse in an area where grass between the narrow driveways reached upward and toys cluttered porches. Multiple cars were in many of the driveways, evidence of not enough parking spaces.

  Officer Newell pulled in behind me. We met at the front door. As I handed him the keys, I realized I was getting used to this new routine.

  I remained on the porch, my body protesting the physical labor that I knew was coming. I was tired—physically, emotionally, and maybe even spiritually. I really needed to hire some more employees. I could not carry this caseload alone, and I didn’t want my business destructing before my eyes. Even more, I didn’t want my life destructing before my eyes.

  I had some reservations about hiring more employees. I’d had some problems with my assistants in the past. One person had a fascination with blood, and I think he secretly wanted to be a vampire.

  One person had stolen things from crime scenes.

  Harold had been my favorite assistant ever, but he’d decided to retire. He deserved a little R & R in his life, so I didn’t try to convince him otherwise.

  That’s why Chad and I worked so well together. We’d started off with separate, competing businesses, but then we’d decided to join forces.

  I was definitely going to have to consider expanding, though.

  I shifted my weight on the porch, getting impatient. What was taking Officer Newell so long?

  The door opened behind me, and a grim faced Officer Newell stepped out. I braced myself for another round of bad news.

  “What now?”

  “Seven, Eight, This is your fate,” he told me.

  I closed my eyes and began praying . . . again.

  CHAPTER 12

  I left the crime scene and did something I rarely did.

  I stopped by to see Riley at work.

  I walked into the little one story building located in downtown Norfolk, on the outskirts where rent was cheaper and the traffic wasn’t quite as heavy.

  Mary Lou was his receptionist and secretary. She was in her sixties, plump, and had a halo of gray hair. She liked to talk about the price of eggs, the absurdity of rising taxes, and her grandchildren.

  I really liked Mary Lou a lot. But I didn’t want to chat with her right now.

  “I really need to see Riley. Is he in?” I knew he was. I’d seen his car outside. Actually, it was a man’s car from church that Riley was borrowing until he could buy a new one. Riley’s had been totaled in an accident on our way to the mountains last week.

  “Of course, dear. Go right on in. He’s never too busy to see you.”

  That was nice of her to say and, to a certain extent, it was true. Riley always took time for me when I needed him. But I wasn’t the only one who needed to hire more employees. Riley was slammed as well.

  He twirled in his chair, and my heart did a little thumpity-thumpity-thump for a moment. I loved this man, even if his office was so neat that it made him seem OCD.

  He stood when he saw me, his body at once tight and straight. “Something else happened.”

  Of course he knew something was wrong if I was stopping by.

  “Milton Jones snatched Clarice.” I closed the door behind me so Mary Lou wouldn’t hear too many details. I loved the woman, but she had a tendency to start prayer chains when no one asked her to. Sweet, I supposed, but there were some things better left out of the church grapevine.

  I plopped in a chair across from him. “I don’t know what to do. I don’t say this very often, but I have no idea where to start to help.”

  “You could let the police handle it.”

  “I know. But I’m involved in this Riley, whether I want to be or not.”

  He came around to the other side of his desk and leaned against it, letting out a slow sigh. “Yeah, so am I.”

  “So w
hat do we do? I’ve been racking my brain, trying to figure out something. Anything. I just keep drawing a blank.” I rubbed my forehead.

  “Let’s talk this out. Maybe something will trigger something.”

  I nodded, loving how levelheaded Riley was. “Okay, first question. Where was Milton keeping his victims before he dropped them off near the Scum River?”

  “He’d rented a house out in the middle of the country. It was more of a shack, really. He boarded up all the windows and kept the women shackled there. When they yelled for help, there was no one around for miles to hear them.”

  “How close was this house to the Scum River?”

  He shrugged. “There was really no correlation to the two. The Scum River was in town, a good forty minute drive.”

  I tapped my finger on the arm of the stiff leather chair. “Do you think there was any reason he chose the Scum River?”

  His jaw locked in place for a moment. “I think he wanted to show that he thought these women were scum.”

  “Why, though?” I shook my head, trying to think this through. “Why those women? I mean, I know some people call him a psychopath, but did he have any logic in choosing his victims?”

  “He said his older sister used to abuse him. She was in her early twenties. He was in his early teens. Some forensic psychologists said that’s why he picked pretty young women because he was comparing them to his sister.”

  “Where is his sister?”

  “She died of an apparent heart attack. People theorized that Jones killed her, but there was never any proof.”

  “He never admitted to any of the murders, did he?” I tried to remember what I’d read.

  Riley shook his head. “No, none of them. But Gabby, you should have seen the look in his eyes during the trial. I’ve never seen someone with that look before. It was like looking into pure evil. The man was soulless.”

  I remembered the look too well. “This is what still confuses me. His calling card was the photos he left. Why leave the messages at other crime scenes? It just doesn’t fit.”

  “Even killers can deviate from their plans, I suppose. He’s had a lot of time to think.”