Murder! Too Close To Home (27 page)

Having been out of work for eight months, he could hardly refuse the offer to work when this job had come open. Normally he would turn down anything involving late night work. Nights were for sleeping. He would sleep tonight though, of that he was sure.

At least he would if he could make it to his house before running off of the road.

Opening his eyes slowly now from another micro-snooze; he was confronted by something standing in the road. Trying to push the pedal through the floor to avoid hitting the thing, he finally brought the car to a full stop.

As he looked ahead through the windshield, he was convinced that he must be seeing things, the image now standing ten foot in front of his vehicle.

Shaking his head to clear the image from his mind, she was nevertheless still standing there when his eyes reopened.

“Wow!” was all he can think to say when he realized that the sexy woman was still there, a smile now forming on her beautiful face.

“My Lord,” he whispered to himself as he stared at the stunning apparition. A woman had not been in his life for quit awhile, and the form of the woman now standing before him made his groggy mind reel with possibilities.

He closed his eyes and rubbed them momentarily to try to burn the image of the beauty into his brain.

He never got the chance to open them again.

***

The woman easily swung the shotgun up from behind her leg, going a little past level before letting the stock fall comfortably into her left hand. Taking only a moment to let everything settle, she pulled the trigger, releasing into the air the noise and confusion of certain death. The loud retort of the gun was only exceeded by the orgasm that was now working its way up her lean body, her body shaking in joyous release.

Finally shaking off the effects, she threw the gun to the ground and turned back toward her truck, walking on shaky legs as her body recovered from the orgasmic flush that now enveloped her.

Climbing into the dark vehicle, she ignited the engine and routinely accelerated arround the now damaged car. The driver was slumped back against the seat, a massive hole now claiming the space that used to be his chest.

An aftershock stirred things up inside her once again, followed by the afterglow typical of such things.

“I could use a cigarette!” the non-smoker exclaimed with a laugh.

As she continued her ride home, she was beside herself with joy over the results of her work.

“I should have done this myself from the get go,” she determined, having regretted involving the little idiot from the beginning.

“Let it go, lady,” she told herself then, “Now that you know, there’ll be no stopping you.”

She was quiet then, a smile resting comfortably on her face. Ideas popped into her head rapidly, quicker than they ever had. She was ready for what came next, and anxious to get started on the next phase of her plan.

Nervous energy overcame her caution, and she pushed the pedal a little further into the floor. She was on top of the world, and had plans to stay there.

“He’ll regret it now,” she said, totally enjoying the moment.

“Yes, he’ll regret it now.”

Chapter 71

March 26, 1997

“Out on Lancaster Drive,” Allen started, dejected. “A fuel oil truck making a delivery just found the man. The plates on the car belong to one Tony Finney, who also owns the last house on that particular dead-end road. We assume it is him; deputies are on their way.”

“Could he tell how it happened?” Frank asked.

“Guy said shot through the windshield with a shotgun,” was all Allen would add, getting up and heading toward his desk. “You two get out there and check it out.”

Picking up his phone to make a call, he noticed us still standing there and impatiently waved us out of the office before punching the buttons for the unknown recipient.

“How is this possible?” I asked Frank as we exited the office.

He answered by shrugging his shoulders before digging into his pocket for the car keys. Confusion came across his face, then resignation before he announced, “We need to take your car this time, mine’s in the shop.”

Giving a quick laugh in spite of myself, I dug my keys out of my pocket and we started for the door. Passing Ellen working the phone, she suddenly stood and raised her voice, saying, “Are you sure?”

“OK, thanks,” she said and hung up. Starting a note on her desk, my curiosity got the better of me and I asked her if there was something wrong.

“Not exactly,” she said, finishing her note for Allen. Looking up at me, she said simply “The victim is alive.”

“Deputy just got to the site, found the guy still had a pulse. He called the ambulance, they’re on the way.”

With that she turned toward Allen’s door, knocking briefly before letting herself in.

Frank and I looked at each other briefly before turning and heading quickly toward the door. Maybe the day had started looking up a little again.

Chapter 72

March 26, 1997

A thought sprang into my head as we drove toward the scene of the shooting.

“What kind of person are we dealing with, if it is this woman and she jumped into the action this quickly?”

“Damned determined,” Frank immediately interjected. Thinking on it more, he added another thought.

“She must be very dedicated to her cause, whatever that is. If it is indeed her, she would have had to gear up very quickly. It also means she would have had a backup plan ready in the wings,
very
organized.”

“Ask me, I think it
is
our woman,” he continued, “and she has some deep-seated issues of some sort. She had the guts to jump in and take care of business when her original plan went awry, but there again, there is no blatant indication that she has actively killed before. It’s like she just dropped in from another planet.”

“A closet sociopath, hiding within herself maybe, but now she’s developing psychopathic tendencies,” I said, realizing that Frank had got me thinking.

“If she has been under the radar this long, something may have happened in her recent past to trigger her escalation, her sudden activation of this plan.”

We both digested on this line of logic for the rest of the ride, which wasn’t long. Pulling up at the scene, we sat in the car while the EMT’s worked on the victim. They got him to the point they needed to and then loaded him up in the squad, hitting lights and sirens as they took off rapidly down the road.

Exiting the car, we moved toward the victim’s auto. There were pieces of glass and coagulated blood splattered everywhere on the vehicle. We saw a deputy squatting in the road in front of the car so we headed that way. He was looking over a shotgun that was lying on the road, apparently dropped there after the shooting.

It’s a Twelve Gauge pump action, well worn and scratched.

“Looks like it’s been around awhile,” I stated, mouthing the words of the obvious but actually lost in thought. I had noticed a string around the stock; a brass grommet attached to it with minute pieces of paper showing around its circumference.

“Evidence tag,” I said as I pointed to the string, “another tie to the sheriff’s department?”

“Humph,” he uttered, the one word phrase expressing it all.

“It’s one of the items that came up on our missing inventory,” the deputy interjected, “I figured it would show up like this.”

“Any tracks or other evidence so far, Dean?” Frank asked the deputy, a sergeant unknown to me.

“Looks like the perp pulled off the road about fifty feet around the curve, no tracks though as far as I can tell. I’ve taped it off for now, we’ve got the crime scene guys on the way, and one of the dogs can waste some time sniffing around. Who knows, maybe the perp took a piss or something for the dog to find.”

His disgust at another situation with no evidence showed in his face as he turned and walked off.

I didn’t blame him.

We walked around the corner and looked around where the vehicle had supposedly been parked.

“Middle of the night, she would have been able to see the approaching headlights for a mile, guy in the car would have never seen her vehicle though.”

I was talking out loud at this point, though nothing earth shattering was coming out of my mouth. I was just trying to kick start something in my brain that might help.

We stayed around long enough for the techs to show up before leaving the scene, gleaning nothing of import for our troubles. The ride back was quiet, each of us lost in his own thoughts.

Something was bothering me about the stolen evidence that kept showing up. How did it get out of the lockup in the first place?

The state supposedly cleared everyone in the department. Is the person responsible now gone from the department?

Could just anyone walk in and remove evidence?

I’m thinking we needed to dig a little deeper into the evidence locker. In my mind, we have left some stones unturned in this area of the investigation.

I shared my thoughts with Frank, and he agreed that should be our next focus in the investigation, with one possible addition.

“We should double check the state police’s findings, something smells fishy to me.”

Totally trusting Frank’s investigative nose, I agreed that it wouldn’t hurt to check on our state brothers. In my mind, we have to be missing something blatant; we just couldn’t see it for the trees this investigation had thrown in our way.

I let my mind wander for the few minutes that remained of our drive, watching the new spring showing itself off as we passed. Daffodils and Tulips were finally bringing some color to our drab winter world.

I hoped we would have time to enjoy the spring this year, but right now, we seemed to be lost in a world of gray…a very drab and ugly gray.

Chapter 73

March 26, 1997

“The woman,” Betty stated when we walk in the door.

Frank and I looked at each other before I answered.

“That’s our thinking,” I replied, “What’s
your
take on her?”

Looking thoughtful for a moment, she seemed to be gathering her thoughts.

“She wants control, losing that power just because her hired hand was captured is not in her nature. It seems a little out of character that she acted so quickly though, as everything up to this point indicated she had all of her T’s crossed before she made a move.”

“We were figuring that she may have had this as a backup plan all along, holding it back until she needed it, maybe planned months ago,” I added my contribution.

Sounded like we were all on the same page, whether that page was the right one remained to be seen. Betty told us she had some information on the hunt for the woman’s identity, so we followed her into the conference room to go over the results of her investigation.

“OK, I quickly got through the women who bought the pens
and
went to parochial school, mostly soccer moms, a few grandmothers, and some professionals. None of the handwriting matched according to Percy, and as a whole, none of their personalities seemed to match the woman we are looking for.”

“Following up with the other women that bought the pen only, we came to much the same result. Most are mothers or grandmothers, no arrests save for a DUI, and two have moved out of the area. One is a writer, and four are teachers, six have been divorced but have adjusted well.”

“Again, their personalities or history didn’t seem to indicate a deep-seated hatred or sociopathic tendencies. Percy has also cleared this group of handwriting samples.”

The room was silent. My heart fell, Betty had put so much energy into this part of the investigation with no results.

“I’m sorry, Betty,” I said sympathetically, “sometimes these things just don’t pan out.”

A small smile appeared on her face.

“Oh, but I do have a potential suspect,” she replied, her smile widening as she spoke. “We just put it together this morning.”

“One Jasmine Delarue purchased a pen in January, had it mailed to her PO Box. Her mailing address is listed as PO Box 1124, here in Allenville.

Oh, and one more thing…until six months ago, she didn’t exist.”

Chapter 74

March 26, 1997

Jasmine Delarue, it was a mysterious name for a mysterious woman. Could this really be the identity for the woman responsible for a series of vicious murders?

“Do we know anything about her?” I asked hopefully, getting too used to being behind the eight ball lately.

“I went to the post office this morning, found the worker that rented the box to her, one Ben Hurst, a very willing witness by the way. He remembered her immediately as she apparently made quite an impression on him.”

“He gave a description of a woman in her early thirties, blonde hair, and sunglasses. She wore a baggy tee-shirt, but very tight jeans which Ben described in way too much detail. She also spoke with a very pronounced southern accent.”