The Suicide Killer Read online

  Don stared at the wall like he was watching the roommate. It was another demonstration of his empathy. Looking for the hurting person he was speaking about. If it had been any other detective, Greg would be suspicious of the actions, but Don was the sincerest person he knew.

  “The roommate didn’t miss the killer by much. No signs of forced entry. Maybe she knew her killer?”

  “Maybe. Do you have the girl’s ID?”

  “No, it wasn’t in her purse.”

  “The killer may have taken it for some reason. You done with the girl?” Greg asked.

  “Yeah, I’ve gotten all that I’m probably going to get from her right now. She’s had a rough time. She and the victim knew each other since third grade, so they were pretty close.”

  Greg made a lap through the rest of the house before heading back into the kitchen. Only Rachel’s bed looked like somebody had slept in it. The roommate worked the night shift. She was still sitting at the table when Greg walked into the room.

  “Ms.—?”

  “Jessica. I already told the other detective all I know. I’m sorry.”

  “Jessica, my name is Greg Burns. I only have two questions he didn’t ask, and then I will leave you alone, I promise, okay? What was Rachel’s middle name?”

  “It’s Marie. But I don’t see the point in knowing that.”

  “Ah, just a routine question. Have you heard her talk about anybody or do you know anybody whose initial is an N?”

  “No, not that I can think of. Is that another routine question?”

  “Nah, sometimes it’s another letter,” he said. “Here’s my card. If you happen to think of somebody or anything else, give me a call.”

  The girl nodded, and Greg walked back into the garage. The crime lab was still in the process of going over the scene. They brought in Floodlights to provide more light, but they were attracting moths and various flying insects. Their shadows looked like bats as they swooped through the garage. At times they blocked the entire light until they fluttered off.

  In the kaleidoscopic light, Greg saw an ashtray on a small table beside the sensors that kept the garage door from coming down and crushing whatever happened to be in its way. He picked up the ashtray. It was a rough cut square made out of heavy glass. An ash smeared smiley face stared up at him from the bottom. One of the corners had pieces of skull and hair embedded in blood. He took a few slow practice swings and noticed Don watching him. He smiled and slid the ashtray into the evidence bag Don held open for him. Greg walked into the cool morning breeze. The sun was just beginning to rise, and it was already a hot day.

  The usual suspects were all standing behind the barricade. The media crying out for his attention, so they could get the scoop on everybody else. The curious neighbors looking on horrified and telling each other ‘she was such a sweet girl,’ and ‘would help anybody if they asked her.’ Then there were the people who lived on the various streets in the neighborhood, who woke up with an early morning phone call to tell them something ‘they just had to hear.’

  Greg put a cigarette in his mouth and stared lazily into the glowing flame of his lighter. He lit the cigarette and scanned the surrounding cars, looking for his target. Mark Harper stood beside his old government sedan. He was talking to an assistant with his back to the house. Greg walked up behind him and dropped the heavy bag onto the hood of the car.

  “Found it.”

  Mark jumped and covered his head.

  “What the hell? What is wrong with you?”

  “Who knows? Maybe I’m just a little overzealous. But I thought you would want to know that I found the murder weapon,” Greg said, and let smoke slip between his lips.

  “Your behavior is highly unprofessional.”

  “Possibly, but it is also highly efficient. Not only was I able to find the murder weapon that you guys overlooked. I also was able to piss you off for no reason, and it only took like ten minutes.”

  Greg turned and walked back to the garage.

  “Oh yeah, her middle initial is not N, it’s M.”

  Mark didn’t reply, and Greg looked back. The young assistant grinned, but Mark stared with a blank face. Greg imagined Mark hiding his hand behind his clipboard and giving him the finger, but that would be highly unprofessional and Mark would never do anything like that.

  “I don’t know why you antagonize that guy,” Don said.

  “Neither do I. It’s a compulsion.”

  The truth was, he hated the guy. If he were straight out mean to him, Mark would go to the captain and complain about bullying, and Greg would get in trouble. They’d probably write him up. The department started to crack down on that a few years ago when the hazing of a rookie went a little too far.

  They were doing home breach drills. The rookie was the first one through the door. The officers who were with him backed away and let him enter the room alone, and the superior officers lying in wait opened fire with multiple beanbag rounds. He was wearing protective gear, but many of the bags hit unprotected areas, leaving large bruises and torn skin. The whole incident was recorded. Laughing could be heard in the background. Somebody was also heard yelling “Damn, he’s taking it just like RoboCop.”

  The lieutenant was fired, and everybody else involved were disciplined. Greg wasn’t doing anything like that, though he wouldn’t mind taking a shot at Mark with beanbag-loaded shotgun. He was only being mildly aggravating to him, and they hadn’t outlawed being a smartass. Yet.

  “Anyway, the only other thing I have is the suicide note. I asked her roommate, and she doesn’t know anybody with that initial,” Greg said.

  Don held the bag containing the letter up to the light.

  “I don’t know. Are we sure it’s an N? The ends on both sides are extended further than normal. Maybe it’s a red lightning bolt or something.”

  “Maybe,” Greg said. “But we’re pretty much done here for now, and I have a breakfast date with a six-year-old that I’m going to be late for. I’ll catch up with you at the office after I drop her off at school.”

  “Here, take these. I made a copy of my notes for you,” Don said, and thrust the pieces of paper into Greg’s hand.

  Chapter Eight

  Excitement greeted Greg as he walked through the door. At least somebody was happy to see him.

  “Daddy’s home,” the little girl squealed. “Where have you been?”

  “Hey, Monkey,” he said, and kissed the girl on her head. “I know I’m late for breakfast, but at least I’m still here to take you to school. Right?”

  “I guess so,” she said, and crinkled her nose at him.

  “I had to go to work very early this morning, and they wanted me to stay longer, but I told them nope. I’ve got somewhere very important I have to be,” he said to the little girl’s delight.

  “Daddy? Did somebody die? Is that why you had to go to work?”

  “Uh. Well, Hope, honey, I … uh ...”

  “How’re you going to answer that one, Greg?” his wife asked, walking into the kitchen.

  He always tried to keep the details of his job away from his daughter. He didn’t want it to scar her. And if she ever did end up on a shrink’s sofa, he didn’t want to be the main reason, at least not because of his job, anyway. He was doing a good job of it until two months ago when Hope went into his office. She pulled out crime scene photos from Amanda Cramer’s rape and murder. Amanda’s case remained unsolved, so he kept the case file on his desk. It was easier to forget the case if they were closed in a dark filing cabinet, but if he had to look at the file every day, it would remind him he didn’t always get it right. A lot of sleepless nights were spent in his office pouring over the evidence and witness statements in hopes he would find the missing piece.

  He never thought his daughter would go in there when he wasn’t home. But she did. She also scattered the pictures everywhere. It looked like she was trying to lay out the photos in order, like she was helping Greg solve the case. His wife, Shelly, was furious
. She yelled for a long time. After a while, Greg had to force himself to continue paying attention to what she was saying. She said the pictures had traumatized their daughter for life. Greg thought they had probably messed his wife up far more than his daughter would ever be. Since that day, Hope would ask if somebody died when Greg had to go to work. In the end, Greg installed a lock on the door and didn’t tell anybody where he hid the spare key.

  “Hope, just because Daddy goes to work doesn’t mean that somebody died. Sometimes people just need help.”

  “If you say so.”

  “Just go get your stuff for school, so you’re not late.”

  His wife gave him an exasperated look, threw up her hands and walked out of the room to check on their younger son, Jared.

  “That’s the truth,” he yelled after her and laughed. “Well maybe not.”

  Greg drove to the school with the dispatch radio turned off. They would not like it if they found out he was on duty and had it turned off, but he didn’t care. He enjoyed Hope’s angelic voice serenading him all the way to school. He didn’t know any of the songs she sang, and it didn’t matter to him. Shelly made him a CD with all of her favorite songs on it and he played it anytime they were in the car together. The song finished when it was their turn in line for Hope to get out of the car.

  “Bye, Daddy.”

  “Bye, Angel. Remember, don’t talk to strangers, say no to drugs and stay in school.”

  She laughed at him. “Love you.”

  “Love you too, baby. I’ll see you later tonight.”

  After the early morning wake up call, Greg was tired. He didn’t feel like going into the office and dealing with everybody. He decided to go back to his house and work on the case from his home office. His wife and son would be gone for most of the day and wouldn’t be back until it was time to pick Hope up from school.

  No matter how many times he tried, he was unable to concentrate on his notes. After staring at them for a little while, he got up and walked around the house. Not looking for inspiration, looking for something to distract him long enough to think about the case. He always got antsy when he started a new case like this. He had to get in the right frame of mind so that he could do his best work.

  ***

  The ring from an old rotary phone woke him up from his nap. The loud ear-piercing bells almost made him flip over backward in his chair. He was sleeping hard, kicked back in his chair with his feet propped up on the desk.

  “Hello. Detective Burns.”

  “Greg, where have you been all day? I’ve tried to get you on the radio in your car and called your phone earlier.”

  “Oh, I have been working from home today.”

  It was Don Murphy. Greg looked around his office for the alarm clock he set in case he fell asleep. The digital read out blinked 12:00. The power must have gone out at some point. He looked out the window, but it didn’t look like it rained, let alone stormed.

  “We got the ME’s report back. It looks like the cause of death was the blow she took to the back of the head with that ashtray you found. No sign of exhaust in her lungs. She was already dead when the killer started the car.”

  “Okay. I’m on my way in.”

  “Nah, don’t worry about it. Just go back to sleep,” Don said, and hung up the phone.

  Greg walked around the house, trying to wake himself up. He didn’t know what had come over him. The battery operated clock on the kitchen wall read 6:00. Where were Shelly and the kids? His cell phone rang in his office. It was probably Shelly letting him know they went back to her parent’s house. Before he got back to the desk, the phone had stopped ringing. He picked it up and looked at the number. It looked familiar, but he didn’t remember where from. While he was looking at the phone, it began to ring again. It was the same number.

  “Detective Burns,” he answered.

  Nobody replied. He could only hear the faint breathing of the person on the other end. This was his work phone. Only people in the department and people from the cases he worked on would have the number. Somebody may be in trouble, he thought.

  “Hello. Are you there? Is everything okay?”

  “Hello. Is this detective Gregory Burns of the Crystal Valley homicide unit?” the slow drawn out voice asked.

  “Yes. Is there something I can help you with?”

  “I would like to turn myself in for the murder of Rachel Martin.”

  Greg calmly grabbed a notebook. There were plenty of times a person tried to turn themselves in for a crime they didn’t commit. Most of the time the only thing they knew about the murder was that one had taken place. He wasn’t going to get his hopes up, plus how did this guy get his number? It was probably one of the guys at the station messing with him because they found out he was sleeping on the job, again.

  “Is this Dave? You guys aren’t screwing with me, are you?”

  “I assure you that I’m not Dave, nor am I screwing with you.”

  The guy, who was not Dave, sounded calm and relaxed. It was a bit eerie. A cold chill slithered its way up Greg’s spine.

  “Okay. First, tell me your name, and then we can meet at the precinct, and we can go from there.”

  There was a long pause. Greg thought the person hung up. Then he heard a slow guttural laugh that rose in pitch and ferocity burst through the phone. The laugh verged on hysterics.

  “Wow. I can’t believe you thought I would just turn myself in like that. Are you crazy? Those monsters in prison would kill me. I don’t want to die.”

  The voice changed.

  At first, the caller sounded afraid to speak, but he quickly gained the nerve to be assertive when he spoke. He now had the sarcastic, condescending tone of a person attempting to sound like they are from a higher social class. Greg couldn’t tell if the guy was trying to sound like that or not. It could still be one of the guys screwing with him or somebody faking, but he didn’t think so. He still had to play it like he didn’t believe him.

  “Yeah, that’s a good one, but I have real police work to do now, so—”

  “One joke and you’re ready to hang up. I thought you’d be a better sport than that.”

  “Who is this?”

  Greg sat down on the edge of his chair. The only way he’d know for certain would be if this guy would tell him something only he and the police knew about the crime.

  “I can’t just tell you who I am. That would take all the fun out of it for you.”

  The caller wanted to play games, but Greg thought of every case as a game between him and the killer. Greg was ready to play.

  “I don’t believe you’re who you say you are. I don’t want to waste my time with you when I should be looking for the real killer.”

  “Don’t believe me? Okay, let’s see, what can I tell you that will change your mind?”

  “It’ll have to be something good if you want to convince me.”

  “How about this? She was asleep when I got there.”

  Greg felt like hanging up. This moron was jerking his chain and wasn’t even being creative about it.

  “Yeah, it was after two in the morning, so that’s a sound guess.”

  “But Detective, you didn’t let me finish. She was asleep, but I got in without it looking like somebody had broken in because she left the door unlocked.”

  The suspect not entering the house by force hadn’t been released, but it was still sketchy. That could be a lucky guess.

  “Well, there you have it. I guess it really is you.”

  “Don’t patronize me, Detective. If she hadn’t left if unlocked, I would have simply gone somewhere else. Her door was not the first one I checked that night.”

  “How chivalrous of you.”

  “There you go with that tone again. How about this? I walked into the house, and then turned on the light in the kitchen. It is the room to the right off the living room. I threw some pots and pans against the wall. Those were no signs of a struggle. The bedrooms are to the left off the living
room. Rachel came stumbling out of her room, calling out for her roommate Jessica. She went into the kitchen, and I bashed her in the head with an ashtray I found on the front porch. And, well, you know the rest of the story, Detective.”

  Greg fell back in his chair. This was the guy they were looking for. They would never release the murder weapon in a briefing. And he knew too much about the crime scene to be one of Greg’s friends who weren’t on the case. He also knew the layout of the house and the way he described the events made more sense than anything they had come up with so far.

  “Detective? Are you there?”

  “Yeah, yeah, I’m here. Just going over a few things in my mind.”

  “Oh, like how did I get your number?”

  “For starters, yeah.”

  “Jessica left your card on the kitchen table. When she left to go to her mother’s house, I got it.”

  He was watching the whole time. Was he in the crowd behind the barriers while he and Don were in the house? Or was he hiding in the woods just waiting for them to leave so he could go back into the house? He could have killed Jessica while she waited on her parents. Why didn’t he?

  “I also know that guy Mark hates you. It’s so easy to tell. And your partner, Don, acts like he’s your babysitter, but he also looks like he does most of the work too, so I guess that makes sense.”

  If he could tell their work dynamic, then he was a lot closer than the street. There was no reason to search pictures of the crowd for his face. He was amongst them in the house. Greg didn’t know all the techs well, but he worked with them for years. He didn’t think it could be one of them. Certainly not Don. He didn’t recognize the voice at all.

  “I stumped you on that one, didn’t I, Detective?”

  “You sure do seem confident with how you think we work with each other. Like you were one of us or something.”

  Greg didn’t think he’d come out and say he worked with them, but it was worth a shot.