Authors: T.R. Ragan
CHAPTER 5
In the dead of night, Hayley no longer hung around the old house she’d once shared with her mother.
She had a new place to watch: Apartment 8C off Cornerstone. The place belonged to a known rapist. Like all rapists, he had a name, but she preferred to call him
Almost Dead
.
She never understood why perverts like this particular guy were released after a couple of years, only to set out and find someone else’s life to destroy.
He would rape again.
That was a no-brainer. Eventually he would get caught again, serve a few more years behind bars, and then get out to do it all over—a vicious circle.
Yeah, she knew two wrongs didn’t make a right. She also knew Almost Dead might get his just due in another life, but that wasn’t good enough. It wasn’t right that pricks like the guy living in 8C could go on destroying lives and get away with it.
Not under her watch.
Ever since Brian’s death, she’d known what she needed to do.
Things were going to change around here. She couldn’t get them all. Couldn’t save the world. But she could and
would
do her best to rid Sacramento of one scumbag at a time.
The lights inside the man’s apartment had been turned off a while ago, so she put out her cigarette and made her way back to her car and drove off. Although she planned to take him out eventually, she needed to be patient. In fact, she had rules that she intended to follow:
a) Catch him in the act;
then
kick his ass.
b) Do whatever it takes to make sure he would never be able to strike again.
c) Don’t get caught.
It was quiet and dark, and her thoughts, as they often did, went to Lizzy’s wedding. Tonight was Thursday night. Almost three weeks had passed since Jared and the others had been shot down.
Hayley and Kitally had headed for the shooter the moment they heard shots fired. Hayley had managed to get in the shooter’s blind spot, but Kitally hadn’t been quite so lucky. She was fast and managed to drop to the floor mostly out of firing range—but only mostly. A bullet had grazed her head, leaving a noticeable indentation in her hairline that Kitally had already managed to turn into a fashion statement. Not exactly a lightning bolt across her hairline, but close.
Magnus Vitalis, DEA, had been even less lucky. He’d taken a bullet in the spine and might never walk again.
Jared, the target of the shooter’s rage, had taken a total of five bullets and was all but dead.
And then, at the farthest, darkest reaches of the luck scale came the four people who had died that day.
Hayley had brought the shooter down, but not before all that blood had been shed, not before all those lives had been wrecked or lost. So, no, not a hero. At least not as far as she was concerned.
Not ready for sleep, Hayley found herself driving down J Street. It was two o’clock in the morning, and Lizzy’s car was parked outside the investigative office.
Hayley parked behind Lizzy’s car.
The night was dark and the air was brisk. Through the front window, she saw Lizzy sitting at her computer, both feet propped high on her desk.
When Hayley opened the door to the office, she got a whiff of alcohol.
Lizzy’s head rested on the back of the chair, both eyes closed, an empty shot glass in her right hand.
Hayley cleared her throat.
Seemingly unsurprised by Hayley’s appearance, she opened her eyes and said, “Hey.”
“Hey.”
A half-empty bottle of Scotch with a red bow stuck to the label sat on the desk.
“Grab a cup and help yourself.”
“No, thanks,” Hayley said. “What’s going on? You’re not sleeping here, are you?”
A throaty laugh erupted. “What if I am?”
Hayley took a seat in one of the two chairs facing Lizzy’s desk. “I thought you were staying with your sister.”
“Not any longer. Longest three weeks of my life.”
“I guess your brother-in-law was there?”
Lizzy’s head drooped, her chin nearly hitting her chest. “
Ex
-brother-in-law,” she drawled. “I wouldn’t be surprised if Cathy marries him again, though. My dumbass sister likes being pushed around and told what to do.”
Lizzy’s feet dropped to the floor. She sagged over her desk and somehow managed to fill her glass and swallow the contents in one gulp. Then she lifted the bottle and gave it a little shake. “A wedding gift from one of Jared’s college friends. According to the card, it was Jared’s drink of choice back in the day. Who knew?”
“Why don’t you come home with me and we can talk.”
Lizzy wasn’t the type to laugh easily, but she laughed now and she laughed so hard she fell back, causing her chair to almost topple over. Hayley jumped to her feet, but Lizzy managed to grab hold of her desk and regain balance. In the process, though, she knocked her elbow.
“Ouch and fuck.”
Hayley sat down again. Lizzy met her gaze straight on. “You want to talk, Hayley?” She pointed a finger at her. “That’s a new one. Hayley Hansen wants to talk. Everyone hear that? I’m all ears, Hayley.” She filled her glass again. “Oh, by the way, thanks for taking out my wedding crasher. I keep meaning to thank you for that.”
Hayley said nothing.
“You know, if I hadn’t sliced off that bastard’s head, I might be Mrs. Jared Shayne right now. Jared would be in Virginia discussing one case or another with criminologists and psychologists or whoever. Better yet, if I had quit this fucked-up business . . . that’s all I had to do.” Still clutching the shot glass, she leaned forward, her eyes unblinking. “If I had any sense at all, Jared would be sleeping next to me tonight, holding me close, telling me he loves me. But, no, I’m a glutton for punishment. That’s how the sayin’ goes, right?” She frowned.
Lizzy sat up straighter and took a sip of Scotch. “This shit really is good. You should try some.” She sighed. “Enough about me. What are you up to tonight? Just making your usual rounds? Seeing who’s been naughty and who’s been nice?”
“Pretty much.”
“What’s the deal with you, anyhow?” Lizzy asked.
“What do you mean?”
“What goes on in that head of yours day after day?”
Hayley scratched her chin. “Not much. Nothing good, anyway.”
“So how do you keep going, you know, living day after day in this shit-for-nothing world?”
“I guess I don’t really know. It seems I wake up and before I know it, the sun disappears and another day has passed.”
Lizzy appeared to be letting that soak in for a moment.
“It’s not your fault,” Hayley told her.
Lizzy swayed a few inches to the left, then put the glass to her mouth and drank up. She slammed the shot glass hard on her desk and said, “Bullshit.”
“If it’s bullshit,” Hayley said evenly, “then everything you’ve been telling me for the past two years is also bullshit. If you could have prevented those deaths, then that means I could have prevented my mother’s, too.”
Lizzy looked sad. “Fuck. You’re right. I’m a bullshitter. Just what we need . . . another goddamn bullshitter in the world.” She folded her arms on her desk and laid her head facedown on top of her hands.
Hayley waited a moment before she said, “Lizzy?”
No answer.
Hayley came to her feet and walked around to the other side of the desk. She took Lizzy’s purse and shuffled around until she found the keys to her car. Then she went outside and looked in the trunk. Lizzy’s stuff was piled inside, just as she’d figured it would be. After transferring Lizzy’s things to her own car, she went back inside to get Lizzy and take her home.
CHAPTER 6
A sliver of wintry morning sun snaked its devilish fingers through the blinds, its bright light clutching at the comforter and crawling up the bed until it pierced right through Lizzy’s skull.
She pried her eyes open. Her efforts to lift her head were rewarded with more painful pinpricks to the brain. Where the hell was she?
The king-sized bed was covered in luxurious bedding. The headboard was cushioned with expensive cream-colored fabric that bordered on gaudy. The walls were painted a shimmering silver, making her feel as if she were in a Vegas hotel. The sheets and comforter were white and ultrasoft. The room was clean and neat, everything in its place.
The last thing she remembered was sitting in her office downtown, drinking a bottle of Scotch.
Hayley.
Bits and pieces of last night slowly came back to her. Hayley had shown up at the office at some ungodly hour. That’s it. That’s all she remembered.
A good fifteen minutes passed, maybe longer, before Lizzy was able to will her body out of bed. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror above the bureau. Not a pretty sight. Stringy, dirty-blonde unwashed hair, hollow cheeks and eyes: the ghost of someone she once knew. Wearing an extra-long purple T-shirt that she didn’t recognize, she plodded her way into the bathroom.
Hayley had gone to the bother of setting up her toiletries? The thought of Hayley organizing her toothbrush and toothpaste didn’t compute, which meant somebody else had done it. She washed her hands and brushed her teeth, then left the room in search of answers.
This was no hotel—it was a house. A ridiculously large house. Halfway down a long stretch of carpeted stairs, she got a whiff of bacon. Her stomach rumbled in a bad way.
Despite the never-ending square footage, the kitchen was easy enough to find. Kitally stood in front of the stove, flipping pancakes.
“You’re just in time. Bacon and pancakes. If you prefer eggs, I can make them to order.”
“Just coffee. I just need coffee.”
“Cream and sugar?”
“No, thanks. Black.” Lizzy walked past the kitchen table so she could see into the main living area. Everywhere she looked, she saw beautifully carved columns and a combination of rich wood and stone floors. Leather seating. Minimal furniture. No decorative items to speak of. “Is this your house?”
“Actually it belongs to my parents. Once I turned eighteen, they moved to a bigger place in El Dorado Hills and left this one to me.”
“You live alone in this mansion?”
“Not any longer. Hayley’s landlord is selling her house, so Hayley needed a place to stay. There’s plenty of room for you, too.”
“Thanks, but no thanks.”
“Why not?”
“I have my own house.”
“Yeah, but you wouldn’t be living at the office if you were ready to move back home.”
The kid had a point, which was annoying as hell.
“Why don’t you just think about it? I’ll give you a key, and that way you’ll have a place to stay if you need it.” Kitally handed Lizzy a mug of coffee. “Hayley is in the office if you want to say hi. It’s down the main hall. Last room on the left.”
“Thanks. I’ll do that.” Lizzy found herself in a sewing room before she finally found the main hallway. Like every room in the place, the office was spacious. Hayley sat at a large mahogany desk in the center of the room. She was buried in papers, but she looked up and said, “Morning.”
Lizzy grunted. “What are you working on?”
“Just trying to catch up on all the paperwork. We’ve got a half-dozen workers’ comp claims that need serious attention. If you’re feeling up to it later, we also need to meet with a very persistent woman named Pam Middleton. She sounded panicky on the phone and said it was an emergency.”
Lizzy eased herself into a cushioned chair, propped her feet on the matching ottoman, and sipped her coffee. Was it possible for hair to hurt? Her hair hurt. “OK. So what does this Pam . . . whoever need?”
“She wants us to find the baby she gave up twenty-five years ago.”
“Do we know why?”
“She said it was a matter of life and death. And she wants
you
to be there.”
Lizzy sighed. “What time is it?”
“Ten fifteen.”
“How about noon today?”
“Sounds good,” Hayley said with a nod. “Did Kitally invite you to stay here at the house with us?”
“She did, but I’m not so sure it’s a good idea.”
“I disagree. You’ve been through some incredibly fucked-up shit. All you have to do is look in the mirror to see that much. You shouldn’t be alone right now. Go ahead and drink yourself into oblivion, but do it here where we can watch out for you.”
Lizzy looked around. “It’s not a bad setup. I’ll give you that.”
“No rent, and breakfast is included. You can’t beat it.”
Lizzy took another swig of coffee. “I’ll think about it.”
CHAPTER 7
Jenny Pickett returned home from work, parked in the garage, and walked through the laundry room to her study. As a senior research chemist, she did consulting work for various health-care, pharmaceutical, and food manufacturers, helping both small and large companies with product development and testing. Depending on which company she was working for, five days a week, usually from eight to four, she could almost always be found in a lab, wearing goggles and a lab coat over her work clothes, which consisted of a skirt or slacks with matching jacket, unless the company had a low-key dress code. In that case, she might replace the jacket with a sweater.
She made her way down the hallway, straightening picture frames on the wall as she went. She liked order, structure, and symmetry. After setting the mail in a neat pile on the desk in front of her computer, she went to her bedroom and hung her purse on the wall hook. Robotically, she removed, examined, and then finally hung up her dark-blue jacket.
After that, she headed for the kitchen, where she washed her hands twice, making sure to get the areas between every finger before using a clean towel to thoroughly dry her hands. The last thing she did was pour herself a glass of cold water from the filtered pitcher in the refrigerator. As she held the glass to her lips, she spotted the knife block. Her right hand trembled slightly.
Back in her study, she sat at her desk. Usually the first thing she did each day was look through the mail, sorting bills from junk, but not today.
Ever since she’d killed Brandon, she’d been unable to concentrate. Her moment of empowerment had been short-lived.
She reached inside her purse, unzipped the side pouch, and pulled out a small plastic container. Inside was one capsule, the size of a pea, filled with concentrated potassium cyanide. The pill was not to be swallowed whole. She would need to crush it between her molars.
She wouldn’t suffer. There would be minimal pain, if any.
Coward. You shouldn’t be the one to die for what happened to Brandon.
Her eyes watered. Her entire life had been filled with so much anguish and torment. But after all this time, she’d killed a man. Why now?
Long overdue.
She shook her head.
It’s time to make a list, Jenny.
She stared at the pill within the container. The fast-acting poison would cause brain death within minutes. Her heart would stop soon after.
Put that away and make the list. Trust me. You’ll feel better if you just make the fucking list!
OK! OK!
She’d make the damn list. She put the pill to the side and set about finding a notebook and pen. She stared at the blank paper for a few minutes before finally reaching over and grabbing the article she’d been saving. She examined the picture of Terri Kramer, her supposed friend—the woman who had stolen her antiaging formula and made headline news.
On the first line of the notebook, she wrote
Brandon Louis
and then drew a line through his name. Next, she wrote
Terri Kramer
. Beneath Terri’s name, she wrote
Stephen White
.
The names came easily after that, one after another. With each came memories: insults, snickering, nasty words whispered in her ear. Every push and every shove came flooding back to her in vivid detail.
She swallowed the knot in her throat, surprised by the emotions so easily conjured, spilling forth, as if it had all happened yesterday. Not a day had gone by in high school that she wasn’t pointed at, called names, and made fun of. One particular group of kids had been relentless in their taunting. The harder she had worked at becoming invisible, the more they had picked on her. Their actions had never made any sense to Jenny since she’d done nothing to earn their wrath.
She was the geek, the kid with no friends. All she wanted was to be left alone. The bullying had gotten so bad that there had come a point where she figured she deserved to be punished. Why wouldn’t she be made fun of? She was the poor girl who lived on a pig farm, the girl with crooked teeth and thick glasses. She was the oddball with the bangs chopped off at odd angles, the kid who wore hand-me-down clothes and flimsy shoes without laces.
The teachers were no better. They knew what was going on, but they never lifted a finger to help her in any way.
Some memories of what the other kids did to her were too painful to bring forth: recollections so awful, she kept them locked tight in her memory banks; things that made being kicked and shoved into a locker seem like child’s play; occurrences so horrifyingly humiliating and repulsive, she didn’t dare call them up. Not now. Not yet. Preferably never.
After college, and after she’d started earning a decent paycheck, she’d gotten braces, contacts, ridiculously expensive haircuts, and new clothes. Even before the mini-makeover, she’d possessed a decent body, but in the end none of it mattered. One thing she’d learned very quickly was that no amount of scrubbing and perfume could hide the fact that she would always be the poor girl from a pig farm.
Always had been.
Always would be.
Mirror, mirror on the wall . . . who’s the ugliest of them all? Jenny Pickett, that’s who.
She reached for the small canister, and this time she removed the lid. One tiny pill could end it all. Put her out of her misery forever.
For a moment in time, Jenny had thought things could be different. She’d thought hard work and success would show all her haters that she didn’t deserve their disdain.
But now she knew better.
All of those people who fucked with you are the pigs, not you! Why can’t you see the truth? Don’t you dare take that pill!
Jenny clamped her hands over her ears.
Look at the list again. Don’t be a fool. They’re the ones who deserve to die!
She didn’t want to listen to the voice. She wanted to end her misery and be done with it.
Read the list, Jenny!
Jenny dropped her hands and forced herself to look at the names. This time, she read each one slowly, letting every syllable roll over her tongue. Each person on her list had done horrible things to her. It wasn’t her fault they did what they did. They had a choice. It was them, not her. The hatred and disgust she’d felt for herself had been misplaced.
The realization caused her to feel a hundred pounds lighter.
Why hadn’t she seen it before?
She put the lid back on the container and put the suicide pill away.
It’s about time you stood up for yourself. Maybe you’re not so spineless, after all.
Brandon Louis
Terri Kramer
Stephen White
Debi Murray
Gavin Murdock
Rachel Elliott
Melony Reed
Ron Jennings
Louise Penderfor
Mindy Graft
Aubrey Singleton
Claire Moss
Chelsea Webster
Dean Newman
Gary Perdue
After reading the names over and over, confident that these were the worst of the offenders, she sucked in a deep breath of air and then slowly exhaled.
This is your kill list. It’s beautiful.
Yes . . . her kill list. Each and every person on the list would die, but she would need to follow a set of rules:
a) be smart,
b) be patient, and
c) do not get caught.
Making the list had been easy. Now she needed to work things through and put some thought into how she would end their lives.
She’d gotten lucky with Brandon. He’d kept their relationship a well-guarded secret, which turned out to serve her well. He’d never shared his private numbers with her, always calling her from airport pay phones.
But in the end, stabbing him had proved to be quite messy. Cleaning up all that blood wasn’t easy. Getting rid of the rental car and Brandon’s body had taken the entire night. Lining the trunk of her car, driving to her parents’ farm, and then digging a hole in the middle of their fifty-acre parcel had been beyond exhausting.
How could she kill them without getting caught?
It can’t be that difficult. You’re a chemist.
She couldn’t exactly bury any more dead people on her parents’ farm. She needed to make the deaths appear to be random accidents. But how?
Do I have to repeat myself? You’re a chemist. Poison.
She straightened in her seat. It couldn’t possibly be that easy. She went to the wall of books lining the shelves and brushed her fingers over the spines:
Organic Chemicals
,
Pharmacotherapy: A Pathophysiologic Approach
,
The Pharmacological Basis of Therapeutics
,
Handbook of Pharmaceutical Excipients
, and—there it was.
Toxicology: The Basic Science of Poisons.
Perfect.