The Scum of All Fears: Squeaky Clean Mysteries, Book 5 (15 page)

My throat burned when I swallowed.
Rose? A victim? This was not how I saw everything playing out.

“What happened?” I asked.

“The newspaper delivery guy noticed the door was open this morning. Everyone’s up in arms about Jones, so he decided to call 911. The police found this inside.” Adams held up a photo.

It was of
Rose, taken at the cookout she’d hosted for all of us. Her eyes had Xs over them.

My heart sank.
Rose had been telling the truth. She was innocent this whole time. And now she’d fallen prey to Milton Jones.

Riley
squinted against the sunlight. “What about Officer Newell? Did he confess to anything?”

Adams shook his head. “No, but he’s on desk duty right now. He acted in an unprofessional manner. A rookie will make rookie mistakes. Those mistakes will have
serious consequences, though. Some people have to learn the hard way.”

“How about Colin
Belkin?” I knew he was probably innocent, but I’d take whatever information I could get.

“He’s facing some charges for crime scene disturbance
, among other things. But he’s not guilty of conspiring with a killer. Just of being young and having poor judgment.” Adams paused. “I heard about the message Jones left for you over the radio. You need to be careful.”

“Was anyone able to trace the call?”

He shook his head. “He wasn’t on the line long enough.”

“That’s no surprise,” I muttered.

I filled him in on my meeting with Dr. Stephen Alexander. He took some notes and promised to look into it.

In the meantime, I had a few things to look into myself.

**
*

“Riley, look at this.” I pointed to the computer screen. I’d brought my laptop over to his apartment, and we were crashing here until we could figure out our next step. Tim had disappeared to take a nap. Cutting his toenails must have really worn him out.

Riley wiped his hands on a dishtowel, fresh from making some sandwiches, and peered over my shoulder. “What am I looking at?”

“This is the website that sells what they call ‘murderabilia.’ It has stuff up for auction from some of the most notorious serial killers in this country. They even sell chips off of the tombstones from killers who are deceased.”

Riley leaned over me and stared at the computer screen. He studied the information there for a minute before shaking his head slowly.
“It’s a sad reality that our world has come to this.”

“
Did you see the amount that some of these items are getting at auction? It’s insane. Someone’s making a lot of cash on this stuff. I don’t think it’s always the serial killer, either.”

“It makes me think of the verse from Ephesians.
‘For we do not wrestle against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the cosmic powers over this present darkness, against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly places.’”

“Sometimes it feels like the world is such a wretched place,” I muttered. “Man seems capable of so much destruction. Human
lives have value. How do people so easily forget that?”

“It’s nothing new to this era. Think back
to Roman times when there were gladiators. Throughout the ages, there have been human sacrifices, and wars with brutal outcomes and horrific battles. Think of Hitler.”

“I don’t wear rose colored glasses, but sometimes I wish I did. I wish I could be like one of those beauty contestants who says she wishes for world peace. I don’t
have any illusions about world peace, not this side of heaven.”

“Thank goodness our hope isn’t in the world.”

I nodded, my thoughts heavy with reminders of the capacity man had for evil. I’d never been reminded of it as much as I had the past few days.

I
pulled my thoughts back to the matters at hand and pointed at the bottom of the screen. “I found out that the guy who runs this site is named Freddy Myers.”

“Real name or a play on the names of well-known horror figures? Freddy Krueger and Michael Myers?”

I shook my head. “Play on words, I’m assuming. But his company is called ‘Deadly Profit.’ I did another Internet search on the company, and guess what?”

“Don’t keep me in suspense. I have no idea.”

“It’s located here in Norfolk, Virginia.”

Riley sat down beside me with a thud. “No.”

“Yes. What do you think?”

“I think it’s worth checking out.
Strangely enough, I may have a lead for you. That is, assuming that Freddy Myers isn’t this guy’s real name.”

“How’s that?”

“I called Dale and asked him if he could tell me if Jones corresponded with anyone from this area while he was in jail. He told me, only because I’m on the task force. There was one person. His name was Freddy Mansfield.”

This could be our first real lead. Adrenaline surged through me.

“I think we know where we need to look next.”

***

We left Tim sleeping in the apartment, loaded Freddy Mansfield’s address in Riley’s GPS, and took off down the road. Maybe this was the break we’d been looking for.

We pulled up to a house that looked like something from a horror movie. It was old with all kinds of interesting angles and nooks and
a steep roofline. Two large turrets rose on the sides. It was painted gray, perhaps to maintain a gloomy appearance whether rain or shine. The crepe myrtle trees in the front yard may have added some warmth to the place, but they’d been severed near the trunk so that no leaves or flowers would bloom.

Despite the massive size of the place and evidence of how beautiful it had been at one time, it looked neglected now. Something about
the place made me wonder if it purposely looked like this, though. Maybe this Freddy guy wanted his house to maintain a mysterious aura about it, almost like a haunted mansion still burdened by the death of its inhabitants.

Or maybe I was reading too much into
this guy’s career.

After all, maybe people said the same thing
about me. Maybe they heard “crime scene cleaner” and immediately thought of some sicko who got her kicks by seeing the places where people died.

It wasn’t like that, though. I wanted to help people. I wanted to speak for the dead. I wanted
the bad guys to go through the legal system, to pay for their crimes.

This
man . . . he exploited the dead. He opened the wounds of the families who’d already suffered too much. He rewarded the evil acts of man.

I guess
Rose’s words were still messing with my mind. I knew that I was different than these people, no matter what she said.

Riley turned to me. “Shall we?”

I nodded. “There’s no time to waste.”

We climbed from the car and met on the lawn. His fingers intertwined with mine as we walked toward the front door.
Dry blades of grass and weeds rose like skeletons all around the driveway and sidewalk.

We rang the front bell. Even from t
he porch, I could hear strains from
The Twilight Zone
playing as the doorbell sounded. Freddy Mansfield was creative, I’d give him that.

I don’t know who I expected to answer the door. Maybe someone as pale as a vampire, as skinny as a skeleton, as
sickly-looking as a zombie.

Instead, Freddy
Mansfield was probably in his mid-twenties. He had a head full of dark brown hair, a medium build, and wore neat jeans and a plaid shirt.

No weird jewelry. No blood dripping from his mouth. No creepy tattoos—that I could see, at least.

No, he appeared like the boy next door. “I’ll never convert and become a Jehovah’s Witness. Sorry.” He started to shut the door.

“We’re not Jehovah’s Witnesses,” I called, stopping the door.

“Mormon?” he asked.

I shook my head.

“Christians?”

I pressed my lips together, determined not to feel flabbergasted.
“Yes, but I’m not here to talk about religion. Do you have a minute?”

“Who are you?” He paused, his eyes shifting
back and forth from Riley to me.

“I’m a crime scene cleaner. Gabby St. Claire.”

His eyes lit. “You’re the one Milton Jones has been talking about on the radio.”

“That’s me.”

His eyes went to Riley. “And you’re the prosecutor who put him behind bars.” He shook his head, and then pointed to my “Don’t Worry, Be Happy” shirt. “That shirt you’re wearing. I could probably auction it and get a couple hundred off it.”

“What?” My mouth dropped open.

He turned to Riley. “Do you still have that pen you obsessively clicked during Milton Jones’ trial? That might bring in close to a thousand. I’ll split the profit with you fifty-fifty.”

“Sorry. I can’t help you. But you might be able to help us.”
Riley shook his head, a look of disgust on his face.

“What’s this about?”

“A woman named Rose,” I started. “She utilized your site quite a bit.”

“I don’t keep track of all of my customers, and I don’t have to.
There’s no law saying I need to background check my customers or invade their privacy in any way for that matter.” He sounded like he’d recited that one a million times before. “Besides, the police have already been here. I’ve told them all of this stuff.”

I licked my lips
, charging forward. “Where do you get your merchandise?”

He shrugged. “It varies. Here, there and everywhere. People come to me w
ith items they want to auction. I look for things from various sources.”

Riley crossed his arms.
“How do you verify the objects are the real deal?”

Freddy
shrugged, having the naïve confidence that only someone who hadn’t experienced that much in life could have. “I ask lots of questions. They sign an affidavit. Speaking of which, I’m sure you could get lots of good stuff from the crime scenes. We could go into business together. In fact, you wouldn’t have to work anymore. You could just hire employees to do your work for you. You’d have the money for it.”

“Tempting, but no. I’m not going to capitalize on murder.”

He locked gazes with me. “You are already, aren’t you? You wouldn’t be in business without crime either.”

“We’re on
different sides of this, no matter how you try to paint it.” I wasn’t going to back down from that conviction. I couldn’t let doubt creep into my psyche.

“Whatever, lady. Listen, I don’t know anything about this
Rose. Anyone is free to bid on whatever items they want, and there’s nothing illegal about it. As much as no one in our society may want to admit it, there’s a market for this type of item. Society has made serial killers superstars, like it or not.”

His words echoed in my head. This whole case was starting to bother me on so many different levels.

I let my head fall back into the seat as we drove down the road. My
temples were pounding now as my conversation with Freddy replayed in my mind.

I rubbed my hands over my face, wishing I could get the encounter out of my mind.
“He’s right, you know.”

“About what?” Riley asked.

“We’ve made superstars out of killers. That’s how messed up society is.”

“There are a lot of things messed up in this world today. Not many people can argue that. Certainly not me. But it does seem atrocious
that people worship men who’ve gotten their fame from murder.”

Heaviness pressed on me again.
“Do you think Freddy is helping Milton?”

Riley sighed. “Gut instinct? No. I think he’
s greedy and without a conscience. But I don’t think he’s a killer.”

“I’ve got to find
Nichole, Clarice, and Rose. That’s all there is to it.”

“What are you thinking our next move should be?”

“First, let me say how much I love the ‘we’ in that statement. It feels good to work together.” Riley and I had hit a rough patch last week when it came to my snooping. I was glad to see we were on the same page now. “Second, how about if we stop by to see Mr. Sears. Maybe he knows something about Rose that we don’t.”

“Didn’t she say he was in Florida?”

“He goes back and forth. Maybe he’s home.” Riley must have talked to Mr. Sears more than I had. Riley was like that. Friendly, warm, and compassionate. I loved that he could also be tough, discerning, and solid like a rock.

“
It’s better than my plan, which was nonexistent. Let’s go.”

A few minutes later we pul
led to a stop in front of a two-story house that bordered a bad area of town. A chain link fence surrounded the place, and a dog from the neighbor’s yard barked furiously at the fence.

“Based on the upkeep of this place, it l
ooks like he could still be in Florida and that he forgot to ask anyone to help him in the meantime,” Riley muttered.

Mr. Sears had always been a cheapskate. He tried to do everything on his own, and it was never done well, which
resulted in multiple calls to get him to come back again and reevaluate his previous work.

I’d had such high hopes that
Rose would be different.

But then she had to be all crazy about a serial killer, and then snatched up by the very man she admired. Horrifying and sad, but ironic all the same.

I knew what it felt like to fear Milton Jones. I could still remember the panic that had rushed through me when I’d awoken to find him in my room and on top of me. None of this was a laughing matter. Yet, without a touch of humor, I might lose my mind with fear. Humor was my coping mechanism, right or wrong. Good or bad. Smart or stupid.

We climbed the rickety porch
, and I pounded at the door. No one answered.

Finally, I turned to Riley. “It was worth a shot.”

We started back to his car when someone called to us. It was the barking dog’s owner. “You looking for Mr. Sears?”

I stepped closer so I could hear better, which prompted the dog to bark louder. The sun hit
a window in the distance, and I squinted against it. Finally, a middle-aged woman with rollers in her dark hair appeared. She stood on her porch, holding her cat like a newborn.

I nodded.
“That’s right. I guess he’s out of town. Florida, maybe?”

“I seen
him two days ago.”

Maybe this conversation was worth fighting for after all. “Oh really?”

“That’s right. He was as grumpy as ever. Listen, if you see him, tell him to take out his trash. It’s causing the worst stink I’ve ever smelt to pollute my backyard.”

“His trash?” I questioned.

“You have no idea. Step back there. You’ll see. It smells like something died.”

As
soon as she said that, all of my instincts went on alert. Riley and I exchanged a look.

The dog’s barks and snarls became more vicious as we got closer to
the fence. The owner never called him off. She stood still on her porch, watching everything.

When I rounded the back corner of the house, I stopped.

I’d know that smell anywhere.

It was the smell of death.