They were in the backyard that all three of the model homes shared. Hayley went to the house in the middle. She pulled out her keys and used them to fiddle with the screen on the window.
“What about the alarms?” Jessica asked. “There are signs all over the place.”
“Those are fake. Besides, I already called the police.”
“You could go to jail.”
Hayley ignored her as she slid the window open and climbed inside. No alarms went off.
Once Jessica was inside, Hayley fixed the screen, closed the window, and then made sure the latch was secure before she went around making sure all of the doors and windows were locked.
“How did you know that window was unlocked?”
“I did a little research online.”
“Oh.”
“I figured the security signs they posted were bogus. The company is hanging on by its fingertips. They need to cut costs wherever they can.”
“Those were gunshots, weren’t they?”
“I think that’s a safe bet.”
“I never should have asked you to come here with me,” Jessica said. “I’m sorry.”
“You worry too much.”
Jessica’s hands shook. “Magnus could be dead or bleeding to death. I can’t sit here and do nothing to help him.”
“You have no idea if he’s the good guy or the bad guy. Are you ready to die for him?”
Jessica knew she was right. She listened for the police sirens. Nothing yet.
Hayley disappeared upstairs while Jessica walked back and forth, worried about Magnus, wondering what the hell had just happened. She ran to the kitchen and peeked out through the wood blinds. Both trucks were still parked outside. She saw a shadowy figure step out of the garage.
She ducked, got down on all fours, and scrambled out of the kitchen. When she reached the stairs, she ran to the top of the landing, frantically searching room after room. “Hayley, where are you?”
“Over here. Keep your voice down and stay away from the windows. He’s heading this way.”
Jessica remained on the floor, her heart hammering against her chest. Not until she heard the sounds of the sirens did she dare to take a breath.
Sacramento
Friday, June 1, 2012
Lizzy’s eyes darted from one side of the street to the other as she drove. Her car window was half open. Ten seconds ago, she had seen Eli Simpson make a right on this very street.
Where did he go?
Watchful and alert, she drove down the quiet street with her window rolled down. It was late and it was dark. The air outside was brisk. The only sound was the slow grinding of tires against asphalt. Thunder rumbled in the distance.
Unlike the street where she lived now, there were no street lamps on Bunker Street—no signs of life, for that matter. Most
of the houses were dark, inside and out. There were a few cars parked in driveways, but that was it.
Her hands held tight to the steering wheel.
She finally spotted Eli’s truck, parked to the left, empty. He had to be around here somewhere. Yep, there he was. Two blocks down, a shadow of a man. So this was where he spent his nights. Although Eli Simpson had given her his cell phone number, he hadn’t answered any of her calls since she’d talked to him in the parking lot at the police station. She’d finally given up and driven to his house instead. No sooner had she turned onto his street than she had seen his truck pull out of the driveway. So she had done what any curious private eye would have. She had followed him.
She didn’t know Eli, nor did she trust him, but there was something about him that made her believe his story. She had also run a quick search on Eli Simpson. His parents used to live in Lincoln, California. His mother had passed away recently from cancer. His parents’ house was sold, and Lizzy assumed Eli’s father had moved in with him at that time. Eli had two sisters. One was married with two kids and lived in Citrus Heights. The other sister had gone missing five years ago. There was no mention of her being murdered. No names had been cited in connection with her disappearance. In an article run in a local paper at the time of her disappearance, friends of Eli’s sister told reporters that Rochelle was friendly and outgoing, the type of person who would never hesitate to help someone out if she could. For that reason, they suspected she might have been abducted.
Nice girls finished last.
A few feet away, Lizzy saw Eli’s dark shadow. She pulled up to the curb next to him and shut off her lights. Eli Simpson was not a small man. He worked construction and it showed even beneath a dark hooded sweatshirt and denim.
She hit a button and rolled down the window on the passenger side.
He hesitated, but did finally come to the passenger side of her car and bend down so that he could pin her with a steely-eyed gaze.
“What are you doing here?” he asked.
“You wouldn’t answer my calls. What was I supposed to do?”
“You were supposed to take a hint and leave me the hell alone.”
“Yeah, well, there is that, but I don’t give up easily. Last time we talked, you seemed interested in having me help you.”
“Changed my mind.” After a short pause he added, “I don’t think you should be here.”
“I know
you
shouldn’t be here,” Lizzy said. “Get in the car. Please. We need to talk.”
He shook his head. “I don’t think you should be here. The man is dangerous.”
“Are you worried about me, Simpson?”
He said nothing.
“Tell me something: Let’s pretend this man really did take your sister. If that were true, why would he take the risk of using your name on a workers’ compensation claim? Why take the added risk of being found out?”
Both of Eli’s hands were on the frame of her car door, his forehead pressed against the top part of the window frame. “I told you the guy was fucked up. Fucked-up people don’t think logically. They just do.”
“They just
do
what?”
“They screw with people’s minds. Screw with people any way they can. A dozen people were shot and killed last month at a popular fast-food restaurant in Idaho.”
“I heard.”
“People sitting there having a bite to eat, everyone minding their own business, taking a break after a long day at work and school—families bringing their kids for a bit of fun. So some asshole comes in the place and blows their heads off. They didn’t have a chance. Evil never dies.”
Chills raced up her spine. She pointed to the house she assumed he’d been watching when she drove up. “So, who is that guy? What’s his name?”
A light went on in the house.
They both watched as somebody moved around the front room. Eli’s gaze was intense as he observed every movement the shadow made.
“Is that him? Is that your guy?”
Without answering her question, he looked back at Lizzy. His eyes were filled with distrust. “How did you find me?”
“I’ve been digging since I saw you last, looking up anything I could find regarding your missing sister—”
“You followed me here.”
She nodded.
He arched a brow. “So you consider yourself to be the real deal?”
She figured he was asking whether or not she was a real investigator, so she answered in the affirmative.
“I already know you carry a gun.”
“I do.”
“Do you understand privacy rights—the difference between videotaping from the building across the street versus looking into someone’s front window?”
She sighed. “I crossed the line. I’m sorry about that.”
“I bet you’re only sorry you were caught.”
“Not in this case,” she said. “If you hadn’t caught me, I would still be watching your father collect the mail every day—boring and a huge waste of time.”
“Are you calling my father boring?”
Before she could attempt to pull her foot out of her mouth, he said, “I bet you cross the line more often than you would care to admit.”
“Truthfully,” she said, “I don’t think I cross it nearly often enough.”
He smiled, realized he was doing so, and quickly put a stop to it.
Lizzy was beginning to see that Eli Simpson was a lot of bark and not too much bite. She relaxed, but only a little. “So, how many of these people in the neighborhood have you talked to?”
“I’ve knocked on every door dozens of times over the years. Only one person agreed to talk to me in all the years I’ve been coming here. By the time I convinced a detective to follow up, she recanted her story.”
“Why?”
“I’m guessing my guy, as you’re fond of calling him, had a chat with her, threatened to put an end to her Tuesday-night bingo or maybe kill her pet canary. Whatever it was, it worked.”
“Not too much action around here, then?”
“I don’t come here every night. I do have a business to run.”
“Can I ask you for a favor?”
“You can ask.”
She reached into her glove compartment and pulled out a sleek little camera. “This beauty takes pictures, close up and far away, night and day. Since you’re here anyhow, could you try to get a picture of him?”
“Of John Robinson?”
“Is that his name?” Lizzy asked.
“I thought you said you’ve been digging.”
“Let’s just say I’ve been preoccupied. That’s why I followed you. I needed a name.”
“Well, now you have one.”
“So, you’ll take a picture if you get the chance?”
He took the camera. “Digital?”
She nodded.
“I hope the pay is good.”
“It depends on the quality of the picture.”
“I was joking.”
“I know.”
“So, I guess this means we’re working together.”
“I guess it does.”
“What’s next?” he asked.
“Do you know what John Robinson does for a living?”
“He works for a small business downtown. He also buys nice clothes and drives a Camry. Every once in a while he has some work done in the house or in the backyard, which tells me he must be independently wealthy.”
She gave the house and the neighborhood another fleeting look. “If that were true, why would he live here?”
“Because monsters don’t just live in closets and caves; they live in dark scary houses on neglected streets like this one.”
She looked more closely at Eli and asked, “Why is there a restraining order against you?”
“Are you being nosy?”
“We’re working together,” she said with a shrug. “I need to know who and what I’m dealing with.”
He leaned his body closer, his face jutting in through her window.
She stiffened as she watched him transform back to his intimidating self.
“What you need to know,” he said, “is that you’re now working with one pissed-off motherfucker. I’ve done nothing wrong and yet the monster living in that house over there has managed to turn my entire family against me.
Me
,” he said with annoyed emphasis, his face a maze of angry lines. “The only guy in the world who seems to care enough to want to know what happened to Rochelle Simpson, my sister.”
Silence hovered over them, thick and palpable. Lizzy remained silent.
“Rochelle didn’t deserve to die.”
It made Lizzy nervous, the way he kept talking about his sister being dead as if he truly knew that for a fact. Nobody could know whether or not a person was dead until a body was found.
He pulled away, giving her some distance, and rested his arms against the window frame.
She took a breath.
“John Robinson wasn’t the first loser Rochelle brought home to meet the family,” Eli said. “She liked to make everybody’s day a little brighter. I wasn’t the only one who told her that one of these days her kindness was going to get the best of her, but I was definitely the last person to tell her so.”
“Was she dating him?”
His shoulders sank, not in defeat but in maddening resentment. It was obvious he was fighting to control his own monstrous demons, fighting to keep them tucked away somewhere inside him where they belonged. Finally he lifted his head, his jaw clenched as he said, “Nope. Never. Read my lips: she was just being nice.”
“Did John Robinson think they were dating?”
“Absolutely.”
There is no happiness without tears, no life without death. Beware! I am going to make you cry!
—Lucian Staniak
Carmichael
Saturday, June 2, 2012
Lizzy hadn’t comprehended how much she missed Jared. And the funny thing was that at that very moment, she was sitting in the passenger seat of his car, admiring his hard jaw, handsome lips, regular chin, and nose. He was right there. If she reached out, she could touch him, yet she still missed him.
“Thanks for coming with me,” she said. Lately he’d been away more than he’d been home. Long conversations were no longer the norm. They rarely had time to talk, which had led to a downward spiral in the intimacy department. She hadn’t helped matters by keeping the attack in the park from him. He felt betrayed, as if she didn’t trust him enough to tell him what had happened. Clearly, he was disappointed.
Thirty-two years old and she’d never been in a long-term relationship before now. Maybe this was how the whole thing worked:
incredible highs and depressing lows, inner turmoil, loud silence, hot sex, no sex, start over again.
Although Jared had his own caseload to deal with, they were on their way to Michael and Jennifer Dalton’s house. Soon after Michael was arrested, his parents had moved into his house so they could take care of things like collecting mail and feeding the cat. They knew that Lizzy believed Michael was innocent, and since they wanted to help him, they agreed to let her look around. Mostly, Michael Dalton’s parents wanted their only son back home, where he belonged.
“Anything new on the case you’re working on?” Lizzy asked.
“The Lovebird Killer is doing a decent job of staying one step ahead of us, which tells me he’s a quiet man, living what appears to most to be a normal life.”
“Haven’t most of the killings occurred in Sacramento?”
Jared nodded. “I suspect the unsub is living in the area.”
“What’s his MO?”
“In three of the cases, including the most recent one, the female is taken first. Husband, boyfriend, or partner reports female missing, and within forty-eight hours husband disappears, too. Every police department within Sacramento County has been instructed to inform the FBI immediately of any missing person reported.”