A Killer Among Us (23 page)

“Still hung up on that knife thing, are you?” He looked relieved at the change of topic.

“Yes, I am. He was lying about how he lost it. I want to talk to him without his father around.”

“Sounds good to me.” He made a turn and pulled into a circular driveway and parked at the top in view of the front door.

Climbing out of the vehicle, they made their way up the steps and Kit rang the bell.

For a moment there was only the echoing sound of the doorbell coming from within, then footsteps crossing the foyer. Kit saw the shadow right before she heard the deadbolt disengage. “That's probably his wife. She's in for a shock.”

“Yes.” His lips pressed together hard enough to form a white line around them.

Before she had a chance to ask him if he was all right, the door opened and a classy lady in her fifties stared up at them. A question formed in her eyes, then made it to her lips. “Can I help you?”

Kit held up her badge. “I'm Detective Kit Kenyon. This is my partner, Detective Noah Lambert.”

“Oh, you must work with Stephen. I don't believe we've met. I'm Dee Wells. Please. Come in.” She stepped back and Noah and Kit entered the well-kept home.

Dee Wells. When they'd first figured out that Stephen might be involved in the killings, Kit had done her homework. Mrs. Wells came from old money and high society. She worked with various charities and ate lunch at The Debutante's Caviar every Tuesday at 12:30 sharp.

She led them into the den area and motioned for them to have a seat on the brown leather sectional couch. Noah cleared his throat. “Ma'am, we're here on official business. We have a warrant to search the house.”

Color receding as his words sank in, Mrs. Wells placed a hand at the base of her throat. “Excuse me?”

“Ah, we have reason to believe that District Attorney Wells is somehow involved in the killings of the Wofford Law College students.”

She shook as though stranded in a blizzard. “Oh . . . oh my. But . . . but that's just not possible.”

Kit stepped forward and took the lady's hand. “Please, sit down. This all may be for nothing, but it's a lead we've got to investigate. Try not to get upset yet. Is there someone I can call for you?”

“Stephen. You can call Stephen.”

Glancing at Noah, she caught movement at the door. “The other officers are here. I'm going to let them in.”

He nodded and said, “Mrs. Wells, who can I call for you besides your husband?”

“Oh dear. I just don't know. I suppose I should call my best friend, Rachel.”

“What's her number?”

While Noah took care of the woman, Kit opened the door and waved the crew in. “Go easy on the place, okay? Treat this house with respect, but search every nook and cranny.”

The lead officer nodded and waved his team in. They got busy and Kit walked back into the den. “Where's Mr. Wells's office?”

“Um, the second door on the left down the hall. But he's very particular. He doesn't want anyone in there.”

“I'm sorry, Mrs. Wells. He doesn't have a choice today.”

The woman followed Kit. “I don't understand. What has he done? He'd never do anything illegal. Never.”

“I understand that you feel that way, but we have some evidence that simply needs corroborating. If we find that—” She broke off as she entered the office—and nearly swallowed her tongue.

Grabbing her radio, she called for Noah. “Get in here. You've got to see this.”

Noah directed Mrs. Wells into the care of another officer, then stepped inside the office, looked around, and zeroed in on the opposite wall. “Whoa.”

“Exactly.”

The wall behind the man's desk was covered with photos from Walter's crime scene. Next to those were Bonnie's photos. And then the third one, Susan Chalmers.

“He's got a copy of each victim's file and the crime scene photos,” Noah muttered. “Okay, this is a little odd, but not inconceivable. This is likely the biggest case of his career and he's going to be the one to prosecute it, right?”

“Maybe. He's definitely been working on this after-hours.”

“Studying the case? Or trying to cover up what he's done?”

“Maybe he's trying to solve his lover's murder without anyone finding out why he's so obsessed with it,” Kit muttered.

Noah walked closer, eyes narrowed, studying the photos. “Look. There.”

Kit leaned in to see what he pointed at, and he inhaled, pulling in her fresh clean scent.

“Is that the knife?”

“Yeah.” He cleared his throat. “The knife. And then look at this one.”

“The jewelry.”

“Our photographer went upstairs and snapped pictures before we got there.”

“Wait a minute, I asked him about the jewelry and he said he didn't have any pictures of it. He never saw it.”

“That's because I took the pictures.”

Noah and Kit whirled as one as Stephen walked into his office, shoulders slumped. The captain followed close on his heels.

Frowning, Noah asked, “What are you doing here?”

“He told me what you would find,” the captain sighed and shook his head. “Said he wanted to come explain some things himself.” A shrug. “Figured I'd let him come explain.”

“Like the pictures of Bonnie's room and of the jewelry.” The DA shoved his hands into his pockets and faced them with as much enthusiasm as an inquisition victim.

“Why didn't the department photographer take them?”

“After Kit came downstairs and mentioned the jewelry, I told the photographer not to worry about her room, to keep his focus on the murder scene itself,” Stephen admitted. “But . . .” He rubbed a hand over his eyes. “But I couldn't destroy evidence if it would help find her killer. Even though I knew the jewelry wasn't going to provide any sort of lead to find the killer, I felt like I should take the pictures anyway. Just . . . because. I figured if I took the pictures of her room and kept up with everything you were investigating, maybe I could piece it all together without . . .”

He looked at the floor.

“Without revealing your affair,” Noah finished for him.

“Yes,” he admitted.

Anger, swift and hot, shot through Noah. “Do you realize what you've done to this investigation?”

“I've done nothing except try to help,” the man protested. “That jewelry had nothing to do with Bonnie's death. I,” he jabbed himself in the chest with a thumb, “had nothing to do with her death. And yes, if I were standing in your shoes, I'd be questioning my sanity too, but I swear I didn't kill her.”

“And how many times have you heard that one on the stand, sir?” Noah asked coldly.

“More times than I can count. Look,” he paced to the wall and stared at it, “I was wrong. I cheated on my wife. I've betrayed a man who is—was—my best friend, and I've disgraced the God I claim to follow . . .” His throat bobbed at that admission and tears misted his eyes. Then he straightened his back and turned to look Noah, the captain, and Kit in the eye one by one. “But I did not kill Bonnie Gray.”

Kit crossed her arms. “Well, you're either the best liar I've ever come across or you're telling the truth.”

“At the very least, you're guilty of obstructing justice,” Captain Caruthers muttered. “Tampering with a crime scene.”

Stephen nodded his head. “I know and I'll face the consequences of that, but . . . I need you to keep the focus off of me. Because if you don't, then the killer is going to get away with what he's done.” His jaw tightened and the lines around his mouth turned white. “And that just can't happen.”

“Ring around the rosie, pocket full of posie, ashes, ashes, we all fall down.”

The childhood chant echoed in his ears and the Judge cringed. He hated that little song. Hated it, hated it. “Shut up!” he called from his car window.

The children stopped their game and watched him, wide-eyed. Then one ran off toward the nearest house, screaming, “Mom! Mom! Stranger danger! Stranger danger!”

The Judge cursed, put his car in gear, and drove off. In the rearview mirror, he saw the child's mother rupture through the door and onto the porch. But he knew he was far enough down the street that she couldn't get a read on his car. She might get the color, but little else.

Stupid kids. Just like the ones who used to make fun of him. They called him Binky. “Ring around the Binky, so ugly and so stinky . . .”

“Stop it! Stop it!” he ordered himself. His voice echoed in the car and helped halt the humiliating memories. To bring his mind back into partial focus.

His jaw jutted as he thought about his son. The son Kit would have for him. The perfect woman, the perfect wife, the perfect mother.

The Judge sighed and pushed those thoughts away.

And smiled.

Because by the end of the week, those who had laughed, had mocked him, would be begging at his feet, their snide comments silenced, their sneering expression wiped off their faces to be replaced with the frozen mask of death.

Yes. Silenced forever.

Justice would be served.

Kit rolled over and looked at the clock. Stephen's alibi had checked out. His wife swore the man was in bed with her all night long. When asked why she knew that beyond a shadow of a doubt, she showed them her medication—a sleeping pill.

That she hadn't taken because the grandchildren were there.

She'd been up most of the night with insomnia.

Stephen Wells had been at home that night. There was no way he could have killed Bonnie.

And he certainly hadn't been in North Carolina in the cemetery that day. No, if he'd killed Bonnie, he'd covered it up well. The other victims had been killed by someone else.

Much to her disgust, strings had been pulled and Wells had gotten off with a slap on the wrist for interfering in an investigation. At least that's the way it appeared. Who knew what went on behind the scenes when the upper-level authorities got involved? Maybe she would be surprised.

She needed a distraction. Alena's lights had been off when Kit had gotten home late last night. She really wanted to talk to the girl about Corey, but realized with chagrin she didn't even have a phone number for her.

Not that she couldn't find one pretty quick if she'd done a little digging, but she'd been exhausted and had fallen asleep on the couch around two this morning.

Now, four hours later, she was wide awake and ready for a run. Maybe Alena would keep her company.

Kit got up and threw on her jogging clothes then went next door to knock on Alena's door. “Alena? You up?”

She pounded again. “Alena?”

Nothing. Except Roscoe's short, clipped barks. Kit waited a few more minutes to see if Alena would come to the door. She didn't.

Deciding the girl wanted to sleep in, Kit had just started down the steps when the door opened.

“Kit?”

Bleary eyes blinked out at her.

A pang of remorse shot through Kit. “I'm sorry, I shouldn't have knocked.”

“Of course you should have. I told you if you ever got up to run to come get me.” She pushed her dark hair from her face and shrugged. “I just don't feel like it today.” Tears gathered in her eyes. “I guess you heard about Corey.”

“I did,” Kit whispered softly. “I'm so sorry.”

Twin tears chased down Alena's olive-toned cheeks. “I don't know why he went after Corey. I just don't understand. Do you have any idea?”

“No, hon, I sure don't, but we're investigating every angle and we're going to get this guy.”

“Before he kills again?”

“That's the plan.” Kit switched gears. “Do you mind if I come inside and talk to you a few minutes about Corey?”

The girl sniffed, then shrugged. “Sure. Let me let Roscoe out. Have a seat in the den. My mother's on the way. I think I'm going to go home with her for a couple of days.”

Kit stepped inside. The layout of the small duplex half was exactly opposite of what hers was. She made her way into the den and seated herself in the recliner. Alena opened the back door that led to the small fenced-in yard and Roscoe bounded out to take care of doggie business.

When she came back, Alena dropped onto the couch and leaned her head back to stare at the ceiling. “What do you need to know?”

“Did Corey ever mention any enemies? Anyone he'd made mad? Anything?”

One shoulder lifted in a halfhearted shrug. “Not that I can think of. He played pool a lot at the college and is always winning, so I guess he could have made some of the students there mad. But I wouldn't think that would be motive for murder.”

“You'd be surprised what sets some people off.”

Alena nodded. “Yeah, I know.” She bit her lip. “I know when he sat in on the mock trial, there was another student who was pretty belligerent toward Corey. It had something to do with the war in Iraq.”

“What about it?”

“Oh, something stupid. Just that Corey shouldn't be fighting a fight that wasn't his.” She waved a hand. “I just admire the men and women who serve our country so much, and this guy's comments were completely uncalled for. It made me pretty mad too. Then Edward jumped in and there was almost a free-for-all.”

“Edward?”

“Edward Richmond.”

“The DA's intern?”

“Yes.”

“So he was involved in this mock trial?”

“Uh-huh. He told the other guy to shut up and stay focused. That they weren't there to argue war politics. They were there to practice law.”

“What happened after he said that?”

“The guy got in Edward's face and told him what a twit he was.”

“How did Edward react?”

“He laughed and shrugged. He seemed to find the whole thing kind of funny. And yet he seemed ticked that Corey and that guy were wasting class time arguing. He walked away and sat down. By that time, our professor had called security and we broke for the day.”

“Who was the guy that Corey was arguing with?”

“Um . . . I'm not sure. I've only seen him around campus some. He never really says much and he's definitely not very social. I think I've only had one class with him, and it was in one of those big auditoriums with about a hundred people in it. Edward would know his name, though. They're both getting ready to graduate, so they've been together since day one of law school. I'm sorry, I just can't think of it.”

“That's all right.” Kit stared out the window. The sun was starting to put in an appearance on the horizon. “Can you think of anything else?”

“No,” Alena whispered. “Please catch who did this. I know Corey was a lot older than I am, but I think I could have really loved him.” More silent tears fell.

Kit put her arms around the girl's shoulders and let her cry while her mind clicked with things to do. She took inventory. Her shoulder was healing nicely and her head no longer throbbed. So, number one, she was going to take her run. Some part of her wondered if that was a smart thing to do since she possibly had a killer after her. Then again, she wasn't going to cower in fear and give this guy that much control over her life.

Number two, she was going to call Noah and they were going to track down the person Corey had gotten into an argument with.

And number three, she was going to confront Justin Marlowe and get the truth about how he lost that knife if it was the last thing she did before closing her eyes tonight.

But first, the run.

Maybe Jamie would go with her. She placed the text and gave her a few minutes to respond.

No answer.

Fine. She'd go by herself. She needed to think anyway. And on second thought, if she had a killer watching her, she certainly didn't need to place Jamie in danger. No, it was better she go alone. She sent another text to Jamie telling her to never mind.

Fifteen minutes later, Kit's feet pounded out the rhythm that she'd come to love. Running cleared her mind and pushed the stress out of her life for a brief while and she needed that.

Desperately.

At the entrance to the subdivision, she followed the sidewalk as it turned right and led to a small back road lined with trees. If she kept going, she would come to the main road, then circle around through the neighborhood that bordered hers. The entire route was four and a half miles. Sometimes, she cut it short and only did three miles. This morning she felt like doing the whole thing.

She especially loved the little stretch across the bridge where a river ran beneath. Often she stopped to look down, contemplating the purpose of the river. It gave life to the fish in it and offered a drink for some of the thirsty wildlife that still roamed in this area.

What was her purpose in life?

Noah came to mind.

His purpose was to make a difference in the life of everyone he came into contact with.

As for her purpose?

To catch the bad guys.

And to help those who couldn't help themselves.

She smiled as she approached the bridge, loving the sound of the rushing water that flowed beneath. She pounded onto the sidewalk made for joggers, leaving plenty of room for passing cars.

Noah had definitely made a difference in her life.

He'd gotten her thinking about—and sometimes talking to—God again.

A car passed and she lifted a hand in an absent greeting. The brake lights came on and it slowed. Then sped up and disappeared around the corner.

At this point, her cop instincts sharpened. Why had it slowed down so much? The road was flat and even—there wasn't a need for brakes at that spot.

She jogged off the bridge and kept going, her mind clicking.

What color was the car? A green one. What kind was it? She couldn't remember. Possibly a Mazda? Or a Honda?

Not many cars used this road, which is why she liked to run on it.

The deserted stretch mocked her. Stupid, it seemed to say. With a chill, she stared ahead. A sick feeling churned in her gut. She was so determined to have her own way, control everything around her, that she'd possibly put herself in danger.

She wondered if she would need the small pistol she had strapped around her right ankle.

Clouds hovered overhead adding to her suddenly dark mood.

Sweat dripped down her back.

Her feet slapped the pavement even as she pondered turning around and heading home.

And her pulse thundered in her ears.

As her adrenaline spiked, so did her breathing, coming faster and more labored.

With an effort, she managed to regulate it.

But couldn't get rid of the feeling she was in danger.

She did a one-eighty and decided to head home. So she'd only get in two miles today. Right now that was fine with her.

Tomorrow, she'd choose another route.

One that had some traffic on it.

Lesson learned. She couldn't control everything, no matter how much she wanted to. Especially the actions of a killer.

A car sounded behind her and her pulse spiked.

Already on edge, she glanced over her shoulder.

And saw the same green car that had passed her only moments before.

She picked up the pace.

If he had a gun, she was dead. Her little small-caliber pistol wouldn't be any kind of match for someone using a car as a shield. Her best hope was to just get away.

A quick glance around showed no place to hide.

The car came closer . . .

Kit pushed her legs faster.

. . . and closer . . .

Another glance over her shoulder got her nothing except a view of the front of the car.

A Dodge.

. . . closer still . . .

And she had nowhere to go, no place to hide . . . and a possible killer on her tail.