Disturbed Mind (A Grace Ellery Romantic Suspense Series Book 2) (3 page)

(
E
arly Thursday Evening
; Neabsco Creek, Pearland, Virginia)

THE FIRST THING I SEE
is a silver Honda Civic that is chained to a tow truck. Water drips off the edges of the car, so I can assume that it came out of Neabsco Creek. When I pull up beside the two police cars parked at the end of the bike trail, I know that the death must be grisly. The two police officers and the tow truck driver are all avoiding looking at each other and the atmosphere is full of revulsion.

I get out of my car and grab my forensic kit. I approach the car, and an intense feeling of despair grips me. As I spot the body, the skin stripped off its face and the front of the skull crushed, I can feel the bile acid start to rise up my throat. I quickly turn on my heel and walk a few steps into the woods before hurling up my lunch.

I dry heave for a couple of minutes before wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. I close my eyes, but I don’t think the image of the desecrated body will ever vanish from my conscious mind. I can only presume it’s a man from his broad shoulders and large hands, though there wasn’t much signs of aging, so he was likely in his late teens or early twenties. I can still see the bloodstain trailing down the man’s white shirt and black leather jacket with a smaller amount of speckled on his tattered jeans. When I walk back out of the woods, one of the police officers is waiting for me in front of the Civic.

“Pretty gruesome, huh?” he asks. “That’s why we needed someone special to come down here. This is the first murder that Pearland has had in…forever. The last murder was probably of Native Americans back when Columbus sailed the ocean blue…there certainly hasn’t been one in my lifetime. So, we called down to the Murray Police Station….and here you are.”

“Here I am,” I say, taking a deep breath. “What exactly happened here? It doesn’t look like the body is newly deceased.”

“We’re not sure. Two swimmers found the car earlier. They were teenagers…I think they were doing some skinny-dipping since the weather’s been unseasonably warm for this time of year. We decided to pull it up in case someone had crashed and drowned. The teens said they had no idea a body was in it after we discovered John Doe here. I ran background checks on the two of them, but they’re squeaky clean. The car has Ohio plates. Some of the guys are trying to get ahold of the owner, but the guy’s license plate says that he’s forty-nine years old, he’s two hundred and twenty pounds, and he’s six four, so…I don’t think this is the owner unless the killer did a liposuction and used lots of aging cream.”

“He could be the killer, though.” I look back into the car. I try to look at the body as a puzzle instead of someone who was once living. I still want to vomit.

“It seems that the killer wanted the guy’s identity to remain unknown. The killer was smart enough to know that the body would eventually be found. The face is gone, including the whole bone structure, so it would be difficult to reconstruct. From what I can see inside his mouth—it appears that the jaw is broken—his teeth are missing. I’d bet his fingerprints are gone, too. The killer was meticulous. He is very skilled at what he does.”

“So…what? Do you think this was a serial killer?” the policeman asks.

“Um, I can’t be sure,” I say. “It’s definitely someone who enjoys killing. You don’t go through this much trouble for logical reasons. Now, Mister…um…”

“Officer Ty Halloran,” he says.

I nod. “Officer Halloran, could you get someone to call the regional forensics lab in Manassas, Virginia to let them know that they need to collect a body and a car? I’ll talk to the director of the forensic biology lab, Dr. Bridget Carter, personally. She’s going to want to know a lot of information before she gets down here and it’s easier if I tell her directly. You’ll also want to look into any missing persons reports in the area to see if anyone from sixteen years old to twenty-four years old is in them…then get ahold of the jurisdiction of the car’s owner and get them to send over missing persons reports as well.”

Officer Halloran nods. “I suppose that we can conclude that this guy’s death wasn’t painless.”

“Yes,” I say. “It wasn’t painless, though from the slice mark around the carotid artery, it still occurred rather quickly. From the bloodstains on his clothes—and thinking from the perspective of a killer who didn’t want his victim to struggle—the killer slit his throat and then mutilated his face.”

“Ouch,” Office Halloran says. “It almost sounds like you’ve met your fair share of killers. Do you have a lot of them in Murray?”

I remember Deacon Cochrane, a boy that wasn’t even legal age, but he had still committed four murders. “I’ve met enough to know they shouldn’t be underestimated.”

I look away from the dead man. He was young, too, but instead of being the killer, he was the victim. I need to figure out who he is, so his family can grieve for their loss instead of wondering what happened to him. I glance back at the woods. Monsters are everywhere—they don’t just lurk in the dark depths of the forest.

(
E
arly Thursday Evening
; Kevin Deats’s House, Murray, Virginia)

KEVIN HANDS ME A BEER
as I gaze around his living room. This is the second time I’ve been inside his house. The first time was because I needed to get out of range of a deranged murderer who was hell-bent on killing me. This is the first time I could take note of the details of his home.

Or at least I could if there wasn’t a yellow Labrador retriever puppy rolling all over my feet, trying to get me to pet him. I pick him up and he wiggles so hard that he almost falls out of my hands. I set him on my lap and his warm tongue licks me a few times before he begins to nibble on my thumb. “What’s his name?”

“I haven’t figured one out, yet,” Kevin says, sitting across from me. “The local animal shelter acquired four pups that were left at their door by somebody and he’s one of them. I’m thinking I might keep him. I’ve been a foster parent to a few dogs, but this one…this one is special.”

“Wow,” I say. “Do you two need to be alone again?”

“Nah,” he says. “You’re better at conversation. So, did the buyers like the house?”

I grimace. “They didn’t seem too enthusiastic. I would think it was just an act in order to get me to lower the price of the house, but they seemed pretty dismissive of the house. The wife said that the photos made the house look much better than it is and the landscaping is nonexistent.”

“Really?” he asks. “She seems rude.”

“Well, she has a point,” I say. “The trees around the house have branches that look like they could break at any minute and the grass looks pretty dull.”

“If you really want it to be improved, I know a guy who does landscaping. His name is Steve Rolf. I actually helped him hire a new guy a couple weeks ago, so he owes me a favor,” Kevin says. “Do you want his number?”

“That would be awesome. Thank you.”

As he gets up to grab a pad of paper and pen, I notice a framed photograph on his table. In the photograph, he looks nearly a decade younger and he has his arm around a woman with blond hair, cut in a pixie-style. She’s a little bit chubby, but it adds to the warmth she exhibits and her contagious smile.

“Are you married?” I ask, wondering if his wife was at work or doing errands the last time I was here and why he hasn’t mentioned her before.

“Uh, no,” he says, handing me a phone number. “I mean, I guess. I don’t know. Are you still married if your spouse passes away?”

“Oh, God, I’m sorry,” I say. “I didn’t mean to pry or bring that up.”

He waves away my apology. “It happened eight years ago…April twenty-second, two thousand seven. Her name was Kathleen. She was a schoolteacher. She talked me into becoming a teacher, too. When we thought she was finally pregnant, after we’d been hoping and trying for so long…it turned out to be ovarian cancer. She fought it for as long as she could, but…it got to the point where she couldn’t fight anymore.”

“I’m so sorry,” I murmur. “What a terrible way to lose someone.”

“She was a great one,” he says, a small smile on his lips. “I should know. I had been married twice before her. The first time I was married for a little over a year when I was sixteen. The second time, we were married for forty-eight hours—me and some buddies decided to drive to Las Vegas for a long weekend, and I met a nice young lady whose asshole fiancé left her at the altar. Well, I couldn’t let her leave there without getting married…or at least that’s what my inebriated brain told me…so I became her husband for two days. When I met Kathleen, everyone thought it was going to end in another divorce, but we were married for seven years before she passed away and I never loved her any less.”

“That’s so sweet,” I say. “How did you two meet?”

“A bar,” he says, shrugging. His smile becomes more genuine. “Sometimes it’s that simple…like you don’t need to meet while being shot.”

I laugh. “Oh, well, you know Sam and me. We thrive off of dysfunction.”

“How are you two doing?”

“Good,” I say. “I think. I don’t know. He’s still pretty bad at communicating.”

“Well, you two seem to work well together when things get tough. That’s important,” he says. “Just make sure that you’re happy.”

As I take a sip of my beer, my cell phone rings. I take it out of my pocket and glance at the screen.

“Speak of the devil,” I say. I click
answer
on the screen and hold it up to my ear. “Hey, Sam.”

“You’re really mad at me, I know,” he says. “And I am really, really, really sorry. But a body was found and…it’s pretty bad. And when I say pretty bad, I mean I’m going to be in Pearland all night. We’re going to go over this whole area with a fine-tooth comb.”

“Oh,” I answer. Kevin raises an eyebrow at me, clearly picking up the curtness in my tone.

“I think it’s better if you don’t go home, yet,” Sam says. “This was murder and…you tend to attract trouble.”

“I don’t attract trouble.” I grumble. “Trouble just jumps over hurdles to find me.”

“Either way,” he says. “It’s best if you aren’t alone. Where are you now?”

“I’m at Kevin’s. He has a new puppy and we’re having a drink together.”

“Okay, well, please stay there,” he says.

I feel a flicker of annoyance that he’s not jealous of me spending time with another man. I know it’s petty and I should be happy that he doesn’t freak out that I have male friends, but there could be at least some concern that I could find someone I cared for more than I cared for him.

“How did the buyers like the house?”

“I don’t think they’re going to buy it.”

“Why? It’s a good house. Rayna has an easy pitch for it. She should have been able to sell it a lot sooner than now. It’s a great family house in a good school district”

Except for the fact that a serial killer attended Waycroft High School.

“She didn’t do much while the couple was there.” I confess. “I was the one who told them all of its great characteristics.”

“Grace, it’s her job to sell the house,” Sam says. “You’re
paying
her to do that. There’s no point in giving her a check if she’s just standing around.”

“She’s the only realtor around that I know won’t rip me off,” I tell him.

“Alicia wouldn’t rip you off.”

I bite my tongue. Alicia. The ex-girlfriend who threw a stiletto heel at Sam and there’s still a dent in the wall at his house.

“Look, Grace, I know you don’t like her, but she would do well at selling the house. She’s good with people.”

“I bet she is,” I say, the sarcasm much heavier than I had intended it to be.

“Grace, please, just think about it. At least take into consideration the fact that she could actually sell the house,” he says. “I’m sorry. The forensic team is here. I have to go. I’ll see you later.”

There’s a click and the noise on the other end of the phone goes silent. I slide my phone away from my ear and set it down beside me.

“Trouble in paradise?” Kevin asks. I reach down and pet the puppy that has fallen asleep on my feet.

“There’s always trouble,” I tell him. “Do you think I could spend tonight here?”

“Of course,” he says. “What’s going on? What kind of trouble are we talking about?”

“The gruesome killer kind.”

“Ah, your favorite,” he teases and stands up. “I’ll go get you a pillow and some sheets.”

“Thank you,” I say.

He walks out of the living room. I look back at the picture of Kathleen and him. They both seem so genuinely happy. I have no doubt that their marriage could have lasted forever. But what about Sam and me? We still seem to have trouble communicating. If we thrive off dysfunction, are we really thriving or just breaking down and fixing each other?

I don’t have the answers. I don’t know if I want them.

(
T
hursday Evening
; The Guardian Inn, Room #403, Murray, Virginia)

MARCH 15

To: [email protected]; [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Mom and Dad,

I made it into Manhattan and I’ve checked out Broadway. The trip actually had a small bump—the car finally gave out—so I just left it on the side of the road and kept on moving. Sorry! I took a ride with a trucker (female, so I was pretty certain I was safe). Anyway, New York City is amazing. There’s forty theaters total—Broadway is just the name of the road. It’s pretty exciting. I’ve moved into a nice apartment that is pretty cheap compared to the others—it’s a bit moldy, but I like it. I haven’t started auditioning, yet, but I will start next week. Anyway, I probably won’t be able to get home any time soon. I want to focus on the auditions. Honestly, I’m still angry that neither of you supported me when I wanted to become a Broadway actor. I’m not ready to see either of you, but when I am ready, I’ll tell you.

Love,

Bryce

I had sent that e-mail to Bryce’s parents the day after I killed their son. I found their e-mails in his phone. They haven’t replied. Maybe Bryce has as much of a messed-up relationship with his parents as I do with mine. I scanned through his e-mails to make sure my tone was similar to his. I hope I didn’t tip them off, but I doubt I did since his sister hasn’t figured out that she’s been texting a stranger for the last three weeks.

I click on the envelope icon on Bryce’s phone to look at her texts.

Kayla
: Send me an autograph if you meet anyone famous.

Me
: Okay.

Kayla
: Did you have Miss Vollenberg for 7th grade? I hate her.

Me
: No. I’ve heard horror stories about her though.

She’s incredibly smart for a thirteen-year-old. Sometimes I imagine she really is my sister. I think I could be a good big brother.

Which reminds me of Grace’s older brother, which makes me think of Grace herself.

I had talked to the Schneider boy and his friend when I first arrived in Murray, but the boy seemed to think Grace wasn’t going to come around to the house anymore. That was disappointing. Killing them both crossed my mind, but I didn’t want to kill for the sake of killing. That would dull the thrill of it all.

Kayla
: I miss you.

Me
: I miss you, too.

Kayla
: I love you.

My fingertips linger over the keyboard. When has anyone ever said that to me? Has
anyone
ever said that to me? But it’s not even to me. It’s to Bryce.

Me
: Okay.

The hotel phone rings, and I grab it. “Hello?”

“Hey, Bryce, it’s Steve.”

After I talked to the Schneider boy, his friend Kevin Deats came out of his house with his newest foster dog to take it for a walk. He greeted the boys and fell into a conversation with me when I asked about his dog. I was simply trying to be polite so that he wouldn’t think I was a crazy stranger preying after children, but he took my comment as a conversation-starter. He asked me to walk with him and I thought it wouldn’t help my facade to be rude by refusing. It quickly became clear that Kevin thought I was walking around knocking on doors trying to find whatever work I could. His pity was despicable and I wanted to tear out his throat for thinking I was so helpless, but I just smiled and pretended that he was right. After finding out that I could drive a truck, he steered me toward Steve Rolf's house, mentioning that in addition to running a general contracting business, Steve also offered landscaping and snowplowing services.

I talked to Steve Rolf, who was honestly thrilled to be able to hire someone who spoke English and whose citizenship he likely didn't have to worry about. He liked the fact that I kept to myself and didn’t have the same bravado as the other men. I liked him because he didn’t ask me where I came from or anything about my past. He didn’t even ask if I had a criminal record. Since I only began working a few weeks ago and he is already trying to get me to be a project supervisor, I have a feeling that I am replacing some son he never had or a son that he did have and no longer visits him.

“Hey, Steve,” I say. “I’m guessing there’s a job you want me to do if you’re calling at night.”

“Yep,” he says. “A spring landscape cleanup and refresh. It will be a good starter job for you to tackle for your first project estimate and project planning effort. It will also be good for you to go solo on a client walk-through as long as you remember to focus on the customer, rather than all of the work that needs to be done. Do you think you can do that?”

“Yes, absolutely,” I say.

“Really? Because last time we were there you avoided Miss Grace when we helped with the house repairs.”

I flush. I can’t believe he noticed that.

“Are you always that shy around women? I would think that a guy like you is picking up women on a nightly basis,” Steve says.

I exhale, relief rushing through me. He doesn’t think I’m avoiding her because I know her. Good. “I guess. I used to be a bit of a loser in high school. I don’t know how to approach them.”

“Maybe I could help you with that sometime. I used to be quite good with women. Well, anyway, lately I’ve been talking to the guy…Dr. Sam Meadows, so you might not even need to talk to her,” he says. “I know you’ll do well.”

“Thanks, Steve.”

“You should go Sunday morning. Nobody else will be there because they’re church people.”

“I’ll be there.”

“If they are there for some reason, stay out of Lori Schneider’s way,” he says. “She’s a classic bitch. But you seem to get along with her kids, so that will help you along with the job. Maybe you can get them to do some free labor.”

“I’ve played a few games of basketball with them…and they aren’t the type to do anything for free.”

“Yes, I’m sure you’re right. Well, I have to go. The missus is impatiently glaring at me because she doesn’t like me doing business after hours. Have a good night.”

“Good night.”

As I hang up, my heart is pounding inside my chest. My plans have come to fruition better than I could have dreamed. I had broken the house lockbox, lifted the key and made a copy of it before putting it back, planning to lure Grace back to the house somehow. Now I have the means to do that. I’ll also have proper tools with me, because I’ll be driving one of Steve's well-stocked utility trucks. Bryce’s murder will look like child’s play in comparison to my plans for her.