M for Murder, page 20
Justine shuffled uneasily in her seat. She glanced at the door of the diner, knowing that if she got up and walked through it now, she would never be able to face Lawrie Parker again. Not sure she was doing the right thing, she stayed where she was, her gaze focused on her lap.
She heard the man’s voice, this time less forceful.
‘Good girl, Justine. I knew you’d do the right thing.’
She looked up at him, forcing a smile, and hoped that she was.
26
Rebecca pulled open the front door and rolled her eyes when she saw Joel Hickok standing in the hallway.
‘Let me guess, you want to go exploring again?’
Hickok grinned and held up a pizza box. ‘Pepperoni and mushroom okay?’ he asked, ignoring her question and pushing his way past her into the living room.
‘Come in, why don’t you?’ Rebecca muttered under her breath, not making any effort to stop him, and swung the door shut. She was a little surprised to be getting a visit from Hickok, who had been blowing hot and cold towards her all week. One minute he was being Mr Nice Guy and acting all concerned about how she was handling things then, before she had a chance to wonder if perhaps she had him pegged wrong, he’d do something that proved him to be an even bigger jerk than she already thought him to be. Like on Friday morning, he had bitten her head off in the parking lot for suggesting they contact Jennifer Isaac, but then later on that day, having thought it over and decided it was in fact a good idea, not even having the decency to apologise. Maybe that was why he was here now. Perhaps he had come to tell her he was sorry.
Possible, but unlikely. Although she had only known him for a couple of weeks, Rebecca had quickly come to the conclusion that Joel Hickok got a real kick out of irritating her. She knew that she should try to rise above his puerile attitude and not let it bother her, but he was too good at making her bite.
She watched him set the pizza box down on the table, next to her open notebook, and cringed inwardly, hoping he wouldn’t notice the notes she had made. Her attempts to get in contact with Jennifer Isaac had proved unsuccessful. Rodney Boone’s one surviving victim had returned to her family home in New York, and she had only stayed there for a couple of months before the whole family uprooted and moved away.
There was no recent address or contact number on the Isaac family, but Rebecca didn’t doubt that by making a few phone calls she would easily be able to locate them. Hickok had told her not to bother, claiming that it was a waste of time tracking her down unless she still lived locally as they couldn’t afford the time or the manpower to go see her. Although Rebecca disagreed with him, she didn’t push the matter as she was eager to concentrate on the files she’d been studying about Rodney Boone. The more that she read about the serial killer, the more she managed to convince herself that he was still alive and had something to do with the recent spate of murders.
It made perfect sense.
Boone’s body had never been recovered from the fire, so it was probable that he was alive, but too injured to continue the killings alone. Therefore, it was plausible that he had found himself a disciple to finish the job for him. Her theory would explain why the murders had ceased for eight years, why there were slight differences in the way the victims were killed, and why the prints on the vodka bottle hadn’t matched up to those of Rodney Boone’s.
Unfortunately, neither Hickok nor Sutton shared her view, still believing that the two sets of murders were unrelated and suspecting that the recent killings were probably the work of someone at Juniper College. Hickok’s theory on Lawrence Parker had been shot to pieces and the two Feds had decided to try and get the prints of everyone in the college, in the hope that they would get a match to the print found on the vodka bottle. They had already spoken with Dean Edwards about their plans and he had given them his full support. On Monday morning they intended to set up a room in the main building of the college where the long and drawn out process of collecting the prints would begin.
Rebecca knew it was possible that they might net themselves a killer, but she was also aware that by the time everyone’s prints had been collected, the series of murders would probably be complete. That was why she had decided to do a little after-hours snooping into Rodney Boone’s background. She knew it was unlikely she would uncover anything new, but that wasn’t about to stop her. Her mother had always complained about how she tried to take on the impossible and she guessed it must be her stubborn streak again.
Of course, on most occasions her mother had turned out to be right, but that never stopped Rebecca, who was a firm believer that if you didn’t try then you’d never know, from giving things her best shot. That thought in mind, she had spent much of her afternoon on the telephone talking firstly to Information then to Wyefield Children’s Home and finally to the San Palimo Town Library.
While she had uncovered quite a bit of information on Rodney Boone’s childhood, which she had planned to share with Hickok and Sutton on Monday morning, she had hoped to come up with a good story first as to why she had gone behind their backs. Watching Hickok studying her notes, she realised that the story was no longer going to be necessary.
Finished looking at the page listed full of names and phone numbers, he glanced up at her and frowned. ‘What’s this?’
‘Just a few notes I’ve been making,’ Rebecca mumbled, feeling a bit like a child who’d just been caught doing something she shouldn’t.
Hickok raised his eyebrows sceptically. ‘So, have you actually been calling these people, or did you just decide to write their numbers down for fun?’
‘That’s none of your business!’ Rebecca snapped, perhaps a little too abruptly, having decided that anger was her best defence. ‘What I do in my free time is up to me.’
Instead of biting back at her like she expected, Hickok lowered himself onto the couch and gave her a sly smile. ‘You know. You’re way too uptight. Maybe you should try getting out more.’
Rebecca’s mouth dropped open. She was a little surprised that he wasn’t mad at her, but also amazed that he seemed to think he could continually insult her.
‘Like you, you mean?’ she retorted. ‘I’ve noticed that your social life seems to revolve mainly around my doorstep these days.’
‘I like you, Angell. Be flattered.’ He grinned at her and pulled the lid off the pizza box. ‘Pizza?’ he asked, offering her the box.
Rebecca gave an exaggerated sigh, secretly relieved that he hadn’t blown up at her for defying his orders. Taking a slice of pizza, she sat down on the floor in front of the table.
‘So, you’ve been doing a little after-hours research on Boone, have you?’ Hickok pushed.
‘You know I have, so why bother asking?’
‘I was trying to give you the benefit of the doubt, as I hoped you weren’t really that stupid.’
‘Hey! I am not stupid.’ Rebecca glared at Hickok, angry with herself for allowing him to draw her into another fight. ‘I thought that in order to investigate a crime properly you had to explore every possible angle.’
‘Rodney Boone has got nothing to do with the recent murders.’ Hickok shook his head, seeming both exasperated and amused. ‘The man gets stabbed with a butcher’s knife, locked in the cellar and caught up in a fire. Okay, I admit his body was never found, but you’re trying to tell me that eight years after disappearing without a trace, after no one has heard a word from him, he suddenly comes back to the scene of his original crimes to start killing again?’ He laughed sarcastically. ‘Jeez, Angell! This is real life, not the fucking twilight zone.’
‘What I’m suggesting is not as stupid as you’re trying to make it sound,’ Rebecca argued through gritted teeth, fighting to keep control of her temper. ‘Sutton himself admitted that Boone could quite possibly still be alive.’
‘Sure, it’s possible. Remotely possible. If he is, though, the guy has to be looking like a piece of toast. You really think he’s in any fit condition to start killing again?’
‘You don’t know what kind of condition he was in,’ Rebecca argued. ‘How can you say for sure that he didn’t manage to get out of the house before the fire took hold?’
‘Because he was trapped in the fucking cellar with the butcher’s knife in his back.’
‘Was the cellar door locked?’
‘No! I don’t know.’
‘Then it’s possible that he could have managed to crawl away.’
‘Yeah, sure,’ Hickok agreed in a patronising tone. ‘He’s some kind of superhero, right? He manages to escape from the house and then he flies away before the cops can get there to arrest him. Oh, and let me guess, the reason no one’s been able to find him for the past eight years is because he can make himself invisible. Jesus, you idiot, would you listen to what you’re saying?’
‘It’s not as ridiculous as it sounds,’ Rebecca protested.
‘Yes, it is. I know you have a crazy streak, Angell, but what you’re suggesting is completely insane. You must watch way too much television.’
‘I do not!’ Rebecca said indignantly.
‘Yeah? Well I’m surprised. I thought that maybe all those zombie flicks were starting to go to your head.’
‘All I’m trying to say is that Boone is probably still alive. I never said that I thought he was our killer.’
‘At last you’ve managed to say something rational,’ Hickok clapped his hands together. ‘In case you’ve forgotten, we already know he’s not our killer. The print on the vodka bottle already told us that.’
‘Exactly. So maybe the print belongs to someone who is helping Boone.’
Hickok raised his eyebrows disbelievingly. ‘You’re kidding, right?’
Placing her slice of pizza down on the edge of the box, Rebecca reached for her notebook on the table and started to leaf through the pages.
‘Just hear me out before you make any kind of judgement.’
Hickok gave an exaggerated sigh. ‘Great! I get to listen to another one of your lunatic ideas,’ he muttered, leaning back against the cushions and looking at her expectantly.
Rebecca studied him for a moment, briefly wondering why it was she had chosen to sit on the floor instead of next to him.
Sexual tension. You’re putting up barriers.
She dismissed the idea immediately and turned back to her notes, ignoring the colour she could feel rising to her cheeks.
‘I called the children’s home in Wyefield where Cedric and Phillipa Boone adopted Rodney from when he was a kid,’ she began. ‘The home was moved to a new location about ten years ago and a lot of the adoption records were lost along the way. I spoke to one of the old caretakers though, who started around the time that Boone was there, and he was pretty certain that Boone had two younger brothers who were both adopted by different families a year or so earlier. He couldn’t remember much else, so I decided to go back further and call the San Palimo Police Department – San Palimo is the town where Boone lived with his real mother, Helen White, before she tried to kill herself,’ she elaborated, glancing up at Hickok. Hickok rolled his eyes. ‘I know that. I’m not stupid.’
Choosing to ignore him, Rebecca continued. ‘So anyway, they put me in touch with the town library where all of the records are kept and I spoke to a woman there, Karen Harris. She only has limited information. Apparently, they’re not computerised yet and most of the files are stacked up out back. She told me that there had been some kind of family tragedy in which Boone’s father was killed.’
Hickok frowned at her, his brow knitting together. ‘So what are you trying to prove, Angell? That Boone has brothers? That his father died?’
‘Quit interrupting me, will you? I haven’t finished yet.’
‘You mean there’s more?’ Hickok grinned. ‘Great, go on, I’m all ears.’
Rebecca scowled at him, wondering why she was bothering. She continued anyway, determined to say her piece. ‘Karen Harris told me that there’s another librarian she thinks we should talk to. A woman called Agnes Barnes. Apparently this Agnes lady is the eyes and ears of the town and knows just about everything that goes on.’
‘Why would we want to talk to her, Angell?’
Rebecca bit her lip. ‘Because she might be able to tell us more about Rodney Boone’s two brothers.’
‘Oh, I see. And we want to know more about Rodney Boone’s brothers because…?’
‘Because maybe they know where he is.’
‘Of course!’ Hickok laughed scornfully. He leaned forward and took another slice of pizza from the box. ‘We’re talking about three kids from a children’s home, Angell,’ he mumbled through his mouthful. ‘They were all adopted by different families. I doubt that Boone’s brothers even know who he is, so they’re hardly gonna be harbouring him from the law!’
‘It’s possible.’
‘No, it’s not possible. It’s stupid.’
Rebecca shrugged, telling herself that she should have expected this kind of reaction.
‘I still think that someone should go down to California and talk to Agnes Barnes,’ she persisted. ‘Okay, so it might not lead anywhere, but it’s got to be worth a shot.’
Hickok nodded. ‘Maybe when this investigation is over, we’ll follow up your lead. Right now, I think it’s more important to catch our killer.’
‘So, you still won’t accept that Boone might be involved with the recent murders?’ Rebecca pushed.
‘Nope.’
She glared at him. ‘You are such a narrow-minded jerk, it’s unbelievable.’
Hickok shook his head. ‘I’m not narrow-minded, Angell. I’m just being logical. You, on the other hand, are so nuts you should be institutionalised.’ He gave her a teasing grin. ‘I guess you’re lucky I’ve got a soft spot for crazy women.’
Rebecca glared at him, infuriated at how stubborn he was being and even more infuriated that as he sat there watching her with taunting eyes, dark hair falling onto his forehead, she was finding herself undeniably attracted to him. To hide her feelings, she got to her feet and, grabbing hold of the empty pizza box, carried it through to the kitchen. She heard Hickok get up and start to follow her and for a moment she panicked, wondering if he knew what she was thinking. She didn’t want to have to deal with what she was feeling. Not now. Not ever.
She turned and saw that he was standing in the archway that separated the kitchen from the living room. He studied her face for a moment, looking as though he was about to say something, and she caught her breath as she realised that they were both thinking the same thing.
For a moment a thick silence hung between them. Hickok had lost his cocky grin and there was a fervid, almost hungry look in his eyes. Rebecca watched him, a little unsure what to expect.
The shrill ring of the phone sounded beside her, making her jump and cutting through the tension like a knife. The moment lost, Hickok gave a nonchalant shrug and turned back to the couch. Rebecca watched him, feeling both relief and disappointment. She listened as her answer machine picked up the call, wondering why it was she was suddenly finding herself attracted to an arrogant, self-important jerk like Hickok.
Maybe he was right. Maybe she was nuts.
Her mother’s voice echoed out of the answer machine. ‘Rebecca? Rebecca, are you there? Rebecca, it’s your mother…’ Not wanting to have one of Sarah Angell’s mother–daughter chats in front of Hickok, Rebecca chose to ignore her, letting the machine take her message. As she listened to her mother run on about nothing in particular, she shrugged apologetically at Hickok, who sat watching her with a bemused expression.
‘That’s my mother,’ she told him, feeling the need to explain.
‘Yeah, she said.’
‘She just likes to check that I’m doing okay.’
‘So I hear.’
‘She’s not really as bad as she sounds,’ Rebecca said, screwing up her nose. ‘Well, okay. Maybe she gets a bit carried away.’
Hickok nodded, the cocky grin returning to his face. ‘Really? Well I guess now I can see where you get it from.’
27
Justine arrived at the diner first and stood waiting outside, nervously chewing on her nails.
She waited for fifteen minutes, until eventually a brown Buick pulled up and the man who she had met earlier stuck his head out of the open driver’s window.
‘Ready to go, Justine?’ he asked, a grin lighting up his face.
Justine didn’t want to get in the car. She didn’t make a habit of riding with strangers and was even less eager at the prospect of riding with this one. Unfortunately, as he was blackmailing her, she didn’t really have much choice. Reminding herself of what would happen if she didn’t go with the man, she climbed into the passenger seat.
As they drove, Justine babbled nervously, and the man listened. At least she thought he was listening until she asked him a question and got no reply. She tried again, this time her voice louder and her tone sharper.
‘I asked if you live locally?’
This time he looked at her and gave a half smile.
Guessing that he didn’t want to talk, Justine turned and looked out of the window. She was uncomfortable being with him and her stomach was grinding nervously.
Maybe it was the not knowing where they were going or what they were going to do. Or perhaps it was because, until now, her lust for Lawrie Parker had been secret. Her own personal secret. Maybe it was knowing that someone else now knew that secret that was making her so nervous and excitable. Or perhaps it was the fact that since she’d climbed in the Buick, the guy had undergone a complete personality change.
While she talked, he drove in silence and it was almost as though she no longer existed to him or, as though, now he had her where he wanted her, there was no longer any need to keep up the charade. A shiver ran down Justine’s spine as she recalled the warning they had been given at college just the day before.
You all fit the profile of the killer’s next victim.
She wondered how come the cops seemed to know who the killer’s next victim would be. There were thousands of students who attended the college. Thousands of potential victims.
