The Suicide Killer Read online

  “I listen to people and watch how they interact with one another all day long. It’s one of the hazards of my job.”

  “Sounds strenuous. How did you hear us?”

  “Oh. I was in the attic. I was right above your heads the entire time. I could hear everything.”

  The gravity of what the guy on the other end of the phone said settled heavily on Greg’s chest. He felt short of breath. This guy could have taken out any number of the people at the house at any time, and they wouldn’t have seen him coming. They didn’t check the attic. There was no reason to. Most killers don’t want to get caught. They get the hell out of the area and avoid cops. They don’t call them and have a conversation with them. Greg knew this guy was going to kill again. There was no other reason for him to call and gloat unless he wanted the police to know he was going to kill again, and they couldn’t do anything about it. He needed to talk him out of it or get him to slip up and let him know who he was.

  “I must confess, Detective. I did not fully think that one through.”

  “Why’s that? Because we could have heard you?”

  “No, I wasn’t worried about that. The fumes got pretty bad up there too. Apparently, there was an opening to the attic somewhere. Luckily for me, Jessica came home. She kept screaming. I almost yelled for her to turn the damn car off, but she finally did it after she started coughing.”

  “Yeah, lucky for you she came home.”

  “Otherwise you would have found another body when I started to stink.”

  “Why didn’t you kill the roommate?”

  “I already accomplished what I went there to do. There was no reason to kill her. But I will say she was much easier on the eyes. I kind of wish she would have been home instead of Rachel. She would have been a nicer vessel.”

  “What do you mean vessel?”

  “Ah, it’s nothing. I should really be going now. I’m pretty tired. Don’t worry. I will talk to you again soon,” he said, and hung up the phone.

  Greg sat back in his chair. What did he mean by vessel? He was definitely the guy who killed Rachel Martin, but he didn’t say anything that Greg thought was a clue to who he was or why he did it. He didn’t block the number he called from, so it was probably somebody else’s. The number looked familiar to Greg, and he searched the notes Don had given him before he left this morning. There it was, at the top of the second page of neatly written notes, the phone number and a name. The number belonged to Jessica Duvall. Greg had to get back to that house and make sure the killer was not still there and hadn’t done anything to Jessica. He grabbed his keys and ran out the door.

  Chapter Nine

  Greg pulled into the driveway of the house Rachel Martin and Jessica Duvall once shared. It looked alive in the morning’s rising sun. Now the fading sunlight cast a shadow on the front of the house and half of the yard. He walked around to the back of the house. Everything looked normal. He walked back around to the front and saw two neighbors standing at the end of the driveway watching him. He flashed his badge, and they quickly turned like they weren’t the least bit interested in what was going on at the house now.

  Greg stepped on the front porch and saw a small dustless square on the glass end table. A large X made of police caution tape covered the door. It occurred to him that he came all the way out here and he didn’t have the keys. He would need to go downtown and get them. That round trip would take him at least an hour if he didn’t get caught in heavy traffic on the streets or in the office. He could ask Don to bring him the keys, but he didn’t think he was Don’s favorite person right now. Don would also want to know why he wanted to go back over the scene and would want to tag along. Greg didn’t want him in the middle of everything. He wanted to do this on his own. He had already screwed up earlier. Plus, he didn’t want anybody to know the killer called him. That would start a whole stack of paperwork, and they would interrogate him like any other witness. No, he didn’t want to go through all of that. He should probably just come back tomorrow after he went into work. He could grab the keys, and nobody would ever know the difference. If he left now, he might get lucky and Shelly would already have dinner cooking for him. He was about to turn to leave when he tried the knob, and the door squeaked open.

  If she hadn’t left it unlocked, I would have simply gone somewhere else.

  Greg pulled down the tape and walked into the living room. He felt along the wall until he found the light switch. The room looked the same as it did earlier that morning. He walked into the kitchen. Somebody had picked up the pots and pans. They were now in the sink, along with a bowl that still had the last bit of milk in it. The spoon was missing. Did Jessica make some cereal before she left with whoever picked her up? Highly unlikely, she won’t be eating regularly for a few days. Someone also tried to clean up the blood on the floor. It looked like they started and gave up when the blood smeared all over the place. That was probably Jessica.

  Upset and tired of being idle, Jessica had probably started to clean her friend’s blood, but she didn’t have enough paper towels or willpower. Instead, she sat against the wall crying until her parents got here.

  Was he in the attic the whole time? Did the sick bastard listen while Jessica moved from room to room questioning everything? Did he take a sick satisfaction in hearing her cries?

  Greg walked into the garage. The car sat covered in fingerprint dust like an old forgotten relic in a longstanding grimy barn. He turned on the lights and looked for the attic entrance. The pull cord was on the right side of the two-car garage. Nothing would have been in his way to pull down the ladder, but how did he get it to go back up?

  Greg dragged the folded ladder down by the cable. He turned on his flashlight and climbed the protesting rungs. He thought about identifying himself before ascending into the attic and thought better of it. There wasn’t anybody in the attic, though. There may never have been anybody up here at all. He poked his head through the opening and shined the light around. Old boxes cluttered the attic entrance. They probably belonged to the owners of the house and not the renters. Greg stepped on something soft, and a loud squeak echoed through the empty attic. He jumped back and almost stepped off the platform. One more foot and he would have fallen through the ceiling. It would have been fun explaining that one. He shined the light at his foot and saw what looked like an old dog toy. Beside it lay another stuffed animal; he followed the trail of scattered animals. It looked like the Ark ran aground. Greg avoided cobwebs and ducked below joists to get to the edge of the platform. There, a flattened box hung over the edge and looked like it might be used to extend the floor further over the insulation.

  Greg lay down on top of the box and crawled to the edge. Here a lot of the insulation had been pulled out of the way. He shined his light on the area in front of him. There was an air vent with the directional blades removed.

  The son of a bitch laid right here and heard everything.

  Greg got to his feet and looked across the attic floor. Somebody removed the ductwork from a number of the other vents as well. He bet one was the kitchen and the other was the living room. There was something different about the vent in the garage. There was no ductwork around it. Most garages were not heated or cooled. The killer would have had to cut a hole in the ceiling and put the vent up to make it look like it was real.

  Must have been a leak. Yeah, he created the leak.

  He let the attic door slam and walked around the car. Everything in the garage looked normal except for the vent. It was right before the door leading into the kitchen. Now that he saw it, he could tell it looked out of place. The corners were not flush against the ceiling. It looked like it was about to fall. If the vent had fallen, this would be over, and Greg would be at home with his family. A broom stood propped against the wall in the corner of the garage. White dust covered the tips of its bristles. Greg moved the broom and behind it was a small pile of white powder from the sheetrock. He cleaned up his mess. If anybody even noticed the broom, they
would have thought one of the girls were cleaning recently. Maybe he’s not as crazy as he seems. He acts like he is highly functional and is careful not to get caught.

  The glass on the counter grabbed his attention when he walked back into the kitchen. He didn’t remember it sitting by the sink when he went into the garage. Maybe he overlooked it like the air vent. It was probably there the whole time. He stiffened and listened, but the only thing he heard was the ring of silence. He grabbed the glass and felt the cold water. The condensation covered glass slid through his hand and he drew his weapon. The killer was still in the house. Greg walked into the living room gun first. He looked out both doors, but couldn’t see anything now that the sun was down.

  Rachel’s room was dark and cool. When he was in the attic, it looked like the rooms at this end of the house still had their ductwork attached. The killer only wanted to see the police working in the crime area. Greg and Don hadn’t spent a lot of time in either of the girl’s room. He flipped on the lights. The room looked the same as it had earlier today—clean and organized. The only thing in disarray was Rachel’s bed, but according to the killer, she had been asleep when he came in. This is what her bed looked like the last night she left it. Jessica’s room was also clean and in order. Her bed also looked like somebody slept in it, except when Greg made a sweep of the house earlier today, her bed was made. She was at work when the murder occurred. He didn’t think that Jessica would have come back here and gone to sleep after the police left. She would have been too scared to close her eyes for any amount of time while her friend’s murderer was still running loose.

  A door slammed against a wall, and Greg snapped to attention. He pointed his gun at the bedroom door, but nobody came. Slowly, he crept around the corner into the small hallway. He spun into the bathroom, but it was empty. The light was still on in Rachel’s room. He lunged through the door with the same results.

  The call and response melody of creek frogs greeted him when he walked back into the living room. The back door stood wide open. He hurried to the door, but couldn’t see anything in the dark. He made one sweeping pass around the backyard with his flashlight. Whoever was in the house with him had already left. When he closed the back door, a piece of white paper fluttered against the glass. In chaotically scrawled letters, the killer left him a note.

  Detective,

  I must say you gave me quite a scare. I never expected for you to show up tonight. You caught me napping on the ‘job.’ But I am extremely tired. I think I will go back home and get some rest. I have to work at my other job tomorrow. It’s not great, but it pays the bills, kind of. Anyway, I hate to run, but I’m afraid you would spoil all of my fun.

  N

  “What are you doing?”

  The question came from behind him. He dropped the paper and spun with his gun aimed to neutralize the threat.

  “Damn it, Don. Are you trying to give me a heart attack or get yourself shot?”

  “Why are you here?” Don asked, moving from behind the couch.

  “He was here, Don. He was in the house the same time I was. I felt bad about earlier today, so I came by to see if we missed something or if I could get some inspiration on how to catch this guy. Why are you here?”

  “Same reason, I guess.”

  “Here, read this note. He was sleeping in Jessica’s bed. I think we need to get a detail on her, just in case he tries to find her.”

  “Okay, I’ll put in the request. He signed it with an N or lightning bolt or whatever it is. Just like the fake suicide note. Oh, look. He likes to take naps too.”

  It was a cheap shot by Don, but Greg knew he deserved it. He didn’t mean to fall asleep, but maybe if he had been awake they would have come back over to the house together earlier and potentially caught the guy. Of course, Greg also knew that the napping on the job was a subtle dig from the killer. He could probably tell from Greg’s voice he had been asleep before he called. Greg didn’t want anybody to know the killer contacted him, not even Don. It went against all protocol, but he needed to be the one to catch the killer. He had to redeem himself to Don and everybody in the department who thought he was a screw-up, especially Mark Harper.

  Chapter Ten

  Bobby woke up feeling like he had been asleep for days. He lay in the bed—grateful for finally getting a full night’s rest, but he still felt tired and groggy from getting too much sleep. He forced himself to get out of bed and realized he wasn’t in his room. The light scent of lilac floated on top of the musty smell of a room that had not been open in a long time. Off white lace covered the lamp on the nightstand beside the bed. The alarm clock sat on a dingy white doily. A picture of him as a child fishing with his grandfather sat on his grandmother’s vanity under a thick layer of dust. All of her jewelry was still laid out, waiting for her to return from her last trip.

  The ambulance took her to the hospital in the middle of the night. She tried to fight them the whole way out the door. She never left the house without her jewelry, and certainly not without her hair done. Finally, Bobby convinced her to go with the paramedics, and he would bring everything for her. It upset her again when he walked into her room and only had her wedding ring. He squeezed her frail hand and promised her he would return to get everything else, once the doctor came to see her. The doctor made rounds earlier, and Bobby knew she would never return home. She died holding his hand, waiting for the doctor while Bobby waited for the hospice.

  Blurry-eyed, he looked around the room and closed the door behind him. Work didn’t start for another two hours, but he would need to get ready now since he was moving so slow. He had not been in his grandparent’s room since he picked out the clothes to bury his grandmother in. There wasn’t enough time to try to figure out how he ended up in their bed last night, but it was disturbing. He stumbled his way to the bathroom.

  The vacation was over.

  He stood with his face directly in the water, trying to wash the fog and cobwebs out of his head. The alarm on his phone went off. He set it to go off in thirty minutes, so he would not stay in the shower too long. He rushed through washing his body and hair and jumped out to finish getting ready. The shower made him feel better, but his muscles were sore and tired, like he had started a new workout routine. It was going to be hard going back to the Daily Grind. It was the first vacation he had taken since starting there four years ago, and now he wasn’t sure if he wanted to go back, but knew he had to.

  The humidity hung in the air like used beach towels left outside to air dry. The walk from the front door to the end of the driveway in the heat caused his shirt to stick to him. Exhaustion weighed heavy on his bones, and the heat was not helping anything. He grabbed the door handle of his Bronco, preparing to drive to work today. It was too hot, and he was too tired to be walking. Before he opened the door, a heavier burden fell over him.

  Help me, Bobby.

  His hand began to shake. She shouldn’t still be there … he already helped her.

  Bobby, help me.

  Not being able to ignore her cries for help, he decided he would walk to work and check on her, but he couldn’t stay. It was too hot out here, and he didn’t want to be late on his first day back from vacation.

  The temperature had dropped a few degrees when he stepped into the woods, but the humidity was still there. It had only been a week since the path was last used, but the vines started their move to reclaim the open space. The encroachment was minimal, and Bobby walked through it without noticing a difference. Someone yelled up ahead, but he couldn’t tell where it was coming from. He needed to get to Emily. She probably heard the voices too, and that’s why she called out to him. He needed to get to her and try to misdirect the people in the woods.

  It’s too late.

  It couldn’t be too late. He had to help her. She was just scared of being found. She didn’t want anybody to take her away from him.

  Bobby left his path and pushed into the brush. If he were lucky, all of his noise would frighte
n away whoever was near Emily. The voices grew louder. There were a lot of them, and they sounded like they were all together. Bobby crashed through the last barrier of foliage between him and Emily.

  He broke through the yellow tape like the winner of a cross-country race. The smell overwhelmed him as he crossed the finish line, and he doubled over. He looked up to multiple guns pointed at him and screams for him to ‘freeze.’ The police found her. Did they do it on their own, or did somebody tell them about her? Somebody had to have called them. There is no reason anybody would be back here.

  I couldn’t leave. They got to my new place too fast. Don’t let them take me away.

  Bobby tried to look past the wall of police to see Emily, but they were blocking her. They countered every move he made to look around by stepping into his line of sight.

  “I…I don’t know what’s happening. I’m just trying to get to work,” Bobby yelled and put his hands above his head.

  A massive man with a bald head walked up to Bobby.

  “Son, this is a police investigation. What are you doing here?”

  “I’m sorry. I was just trying to get to work. I swear.”

  “Where do you work?”

  Bobby’s first reaction was to lie. But that wouldn’t help anything. If they checked in on him, it would make him look like he knew something about Emily’s death, which he actually had no idea what happened. Also, there weren’t too many places within walking distance. There wasn’t anything for Bobby to be afraid of. He hadn’t done anything. Was that the problem? Bobby wasn’t a good liar.

  “I work at the Daily Grind. It’s the coffee shop by the entrance to the park.”

  “If you’re on your way to work, then why are you walking in the woods?”

  “Because…because I live in the subdivision on the top of the hill and I take a shortcut through the woods, and I didn’t want to be late for work, so I was running.”