Killing Fear (6 page)

Will glanced around the modern dance club. Minimalist with lots of sleek metal and high-end acrylic, lots of black, white, and silver. The recessed lighting appeared colorful—which would add dimension to the place when it was on. The only splashes of color were large murals hanging here and there, scenes hinting at the vibrancy of nature—bolder greens and blues in a mountain stream; vivid reds and oranges of a sunset. Deceptively simple paintings that drew the eye and the imagination.

Robin had done well for herself. He’d followed her career from the periphery, both her business and her art. He couldn’t help himself, he wanted to make sure she was doing all right. And she was. She was living her dream: owning her own business, and next week she had her first major art show.

Last year he had bought one of her paintings. At first glance it looked like the ocean on a hot summer day. Simple but vibrant. The few people populating the beach were like an afterthought. But he saw the detail from a distance, and realized she’d painted them, holding hands, watching a dolphin leap in the distance.

He’d hung the painting in his living room. Every time he looked at the picture he saw something different, felt something more. And remembered his failings.

The Solano Gun Mart was only a few minutes from downtown. When Will stepped through the doors, the scent of gunpowder and cleaning solvent mixed with metal was pervasive. Turning to the right, he looked through the windows and saw Robin at the far end of the range, her back to him. An older man—trim, six foot, graying dark hair—was also watching her. She was running through a standard target—near, close, and far—and doing a damn fine job of hitting the bull’s-eye.

His chest tightened, but he didn’t want to examine his feelings too closely. To say Robin was a good-looking woman was an understatement. Tall, curvy, with legs that went up and up, she could dress in a burlap sack and still stop traffic. She’d pulled her long, thick, dark red hair into a wavy ponytail, her high cheekbones cut sharply across her face. Long, elegant nose; full, lush lips; a slender, delicate neck.

But Robin McKenna was not delicate. She had a core of steel and an attitude to match. Everything she did, she did with passion. She loved passionately and hated passionately.

Will knew. He’d been on the receiving end of both.

Seeing her now, he knew he wasn’t ready to talk. His mouth was dry and all he wanted to do was drop to his knees and apologize for how much he’d hurt her.

There was no going back.

Dear Lord, how he wanted to. He wanted to hold her, to take her back to his bed, to make love to her and be made love to. Seeing her brought back every memory and emotion and hope and fear.

The door opened and the rangemaster stepped out. “Can I help you?”

Will needed time to stamp out this reaction and put some distance between his feelings and his job. Just a few minutes. The assistant manager at her club had told Will that Robin would be back there at noon, he’d see her then.

“Just checking out this place. I haven’t been here before.”

The owner looked him up and down. “A lot of cops shoot here. I run a clean place. I had twelve years on the job before I went out on disability.”

His limp was slight but evident as he walked around the counter.

“I’m sure you do.” Will extended his hand. “Detective William Hooper, SDPD.”

“Hank Solano. Rampart Precinct, L.A.”

“What happened?”

“Six bullets in a gang shooting. Fortunately the kid was a lousy shot and missed all major organs. But my left knee’s all plastic and metal now.”

“Who’s the girl?”

Hank didn’t take his eyes off Will. “You tell me.” His casual stance as he eased onto a stool belied his probing stare.

Will gave a half smile. “I heard she was here. I need to give her some bad news.”

“You think she doesn’t know that bastard escaped from prison?”

“Good point.” He especially didn’t want to talk to Robin with an audience. He needed to regroup, to harden his heart.

“Has he been spotted in town?” Hank asked. He didn’t have to say Glenn’s name for Will to know who he meant.

“Not yet.”

“I trained her myself. She’s a good shot.”

“I can see that.” And that saddened Will on many levels.

“Why don’t I introduce you to her? Might make any other news—or lack thereof—easier on the girl. She’s been through hell.”

“I know.” He stared at the man. “I arrested Theodore Glenn.”

Suddenly, Hank’s face hardened. What had Robin told him? Was Robin involved with this guy? Emotionally? Physically? A streak of jealousy ran through Will, and he squelched it. He had no claims on Robin. Not anymore. Maybe not even seven years ago.

“Why don’t we just pretend you never stopped by?” Hank Solano said, his voice low and vibrating with a restrained anger.

“Good idea.” Will started for the door.

Hank had the last word.

“Find that bastard, then stay the hell out of her life.”

FIVE

“Mom, please be careful,” Sherry said to her mother over the phone as she nervously glanced at the clock. It was one fifty. At two o’clock every afternoon, Sherry walked four blocks to her daughter’s school. The bell rang at two fifteen and Sherry never wanted six-year-old Ashley to have to wait, to wonder if her mother forgot.

Especially today.

“Sherry, sweetheart, Theodore would never hurt us. He couldn’t hurt anyone. It was just a big mistake.”

For nearly seven years, Carl and Dorothy Glenn had been saying the same thing.
There was a mistake. Theodore wouldn’t hurt a fly. It was all just a big misunderstanding.

And for nearly seven years, Sherry had tried to convince them that yes, in fact, their son and her brother
had
killed four women, that the police had been right to arrest him, and she had been right to testify against him.

Her brother had shown a far darker side to her than to anyone else in their family.

“Mom, you don’t know what he’s capable of. Don’t let him in the house. Promise me you’ll call the police if he shows up.”

“The police have already been here. They have a police car down the street. What will the neighbors think?”

It was useless trying to convince her mother that Theodore was anything but an angel. “I need to pick up Ashley. I’ll call you tonight. Please don’t let him in the house.”

“I’m sure he’ll turn himself in. He just wants to set the record straight,” Dorothy Glenn said.

Sherry couldn’t take any more of this conversation. “’Bye, Mom.” She hung up, angry and sad. She just wanted her parents to see who Theodore was—the person he
really
was. It wasn’t their fault they only saw good in their son. Carl and Dorothy were loving parents. Gave their children everything they could without spoiling them. A nice house, good neighborhood, a top school. Paid for two college educations and Theodore’s law school.

Why couldn’t they
see
the monster in Theodore? Sherry did. Her entire life she’d walked on eggshells around her brother. Testifying for the prosecution had been cathartic. Telling the world that she’d always known he was bad. He’d hurt Sherry for the sole purpose of hurting her. Because he could.

Most of her testimony had been thrown out. The most difficult thing she’d ever done in her life—harder even than getting clean after years of drug use—was facing Theodore in that court and telling the jury how he had tormented her when they were younger. About the time he’d broken her kitten’s neck in front of her.

Crying, he’d told their parents it was an accident.

But Sherry had watched him squeeze the life out of Muffin. She’d heard the snap of breaking bones. She’d buried the poor creature’s little body in the backyard and cried. Sherry had cried not only for the helpless dead animal, but because no one would believe her.

It was an accident,
Theodore sobbed.

He did it on purpose!
Sherry screamed.

He’d played everyone so well. Everyone but her. And he relished that only she had seen his true nature. Played with her, tormenting her until she ran away from home just to get away from
him
. She’d been branded a problem child and was in and out of juvenile homes. None of it was fun, but it was better than living with her brother.

At his trial, Theodore had objected. Nothing she said had any relevance to the murders. And the judge agreed with him. Did she have firsthand information about the murders? No, she didn’t. The nice woman from the District Attorney’s office insisted that Sherry’s testimony was important because it went to Theodore’s character. The judge didn’t agree.

Theodore had called their parents to the stand. They told the court what a wonderful child Theodore had been. A straight-A student. Graduated top in his law school. Kind, thoughtful, a good son.

“He never gave us any trouble,” her father had said to the jury.

The D.A. refused to cross-examine, and Ms. Chandler told her later that it would do more damage to their case if they went after two elderly parents than if they simply let the testimony stand. “They’re not lying,” Ms. Chandler said. “They believe every word they said, and anything I do or ask will only make us seem heartless to the jury.”

At the time, Sherry had never been so scared in her life. She’d been so certain the jury would acquit. Who wouldn’t believe Carl and Dorothy Glenn? They were good people. So good they couldn’t see the bad in anyone. Until Theodore was convicted, Sherry had planned to change her name and flee California. Go somewhere her brother couldn’t find her.

Because Sherry knew Theodore would kill her.

Two-oh-two. She had to go. It seemed ridiculous to drive four blocks to the school. A waste of gas. She’d always loved her walk, the time alone with Ashley listening to her talk nonstop about her day and her teacher and friends.

But she was scared. Her car seemed so much safer than walking. If she saw her brother, she’d run him down.

Sherry grabbed her purse and went out to the garage. Her hand automatically went to the garage door opener and pressed it.

Nothing happened. She heard the mewling of a kitten. Sherry didn’t have a cat. She’d never been able to have another pet, not after what Theodore did.

The neighbors next door had a cat.

“Hello, Sherry.” In the dim light, Theodore smiled. He was wedged between two boxes. He’d probably overheard Sherry’s entire conversation with their mother.

Her face froze, then her bottom lip trembled. He watched her face closely as he broke the neck of the animal with a quick movement of his hands, the
snap
surprisingly sharp.

Eyes wide, terrified, Sherry’s scream came out too high-pitched to be heard by anyone outside the garage. She stepped toward the kitchen door.

Theodore acted fast. He probably shouldn’t have played with his sister, but it had been fun. He took no pleasure in killing the animal, but he enjoyed the reaction he caused. When he’d killed Sherry’s furry little pet all those years ago, he’d laughed at her anguish. But what was truly the most fun was digging up the dead cat and putting it in her bed. Her scream then was even better than the pathetic yelp today.

Before she could even reach the doorknob, he grabbed her from behind. She kicked and bit at his hand. Feisty bitch. Too little, too late. He’d always been stronger, and prison made him more so. Be strong or be killed.

Sherry had been such fun for him to torment over the years. Then she’d betrayed him in the worst way. Shared their private games with the world. Told everyone he was
sick.
Thought she’d have the last laugh. Wrong.

He wasn’t sick. He acknowledged that he was probably evil, but doing whatever he damn well pleased was so much fun. But sick? Hell no. That accusation had grated on him for years, as if something were
wrong
with him.

He’d pay her back for turning against him.

He whispered in her ear, “You thought you were going to get away with talking? Sis, I told you I’d kill you. Now you’re dead.”

He snapped her neck, holding her close to him while she fell slack, then dropped her dying body to the concrete floor. He knelt over her, looked into her eyes as they lost focus, faded, taking satisfaction that he was the last face she’d ever see. Sherry’s face was frozen in fear, her mouth open, silently moving, blood trickling from the corner.

He stood, found the cat where he’d dropped it, and tossed it on Sherry’s body.

One down.

He almost left, but had an idea. Something that would fuck with William Hooper like a bitch in heat.

Theodore went into his dead sister’s house as if he owned the place and quickly got to work. He had a message for William. The only thing he regretted was that he wouldn’t be here to see his face.

But he couldn’t hang around too long. He had places to go. First the library in downtown San Diego.

Glenn had left something there seven years ago, and couldn’t wait to get his hands on it. When Hooper saw it, he would go through the roof.

Robin left the gun range an hour later with renewed confidence. She could defend herself if she had to.

Before she left, Hank said, “Robin, you should consider hiring a bodyguard.”

“I don’t need a bodyguard.”

“What about added security for the club? What about the people who work for you? Glenn is a sadistic killer. He wants to hurt you, and the best way to do that is hurt those around you.”

Like he did last time.

She cleared her throat. “Can you recommend anyone?”

Hank flipped through his Rolodex and came up with a card. “Take it, I have more. Tell Mario I sent you.”

The card was blank except for
MEDINA SECURITY
and a phone number.

“Thanks.” She pocketed the card and left.

She ran some errands, then went to the club. What else could she do? Sit home and do nothing but be scared? She certainly couldn’t paint with the fear and worry consuming her.

Today there was a private lunch at the Sin. Laughter and good humor emanated from the special dining hall. That was the way the game was played at The Eighth Sin. Leave your problems at the door and have a good time.