She Can Scream (She Can Series) Page 28

  Brooke swallowed her queasiness. “He told me he killed Karen. Is this true?”

  “Yes.” Mike opened a file. “Karen Edwards was his first killing. He planned her murder in the weeks after he pulled her over for speeding. Setting up the ex-boyfriend was an afterthought. But he enjoyed following the trial so much that framing someone else for his murders became part of his ritual. And being a cop gave him the knowledge to do it right. His frame-ups were successful in all but two of his killings.”

  “This is why no one suspected a serial killer was active,” Jack added. “He didn’t leave a trail of unsolved murders. Most of the cases were closed. Interestingly, Maddie was the first woman he attacked this close to home. His crimes started farther away and spiraled inward. Maybe he got overconfident?”

  A knock sounded. The chief’s secretary opened the door. “There’s an Ellie Springer to see you. She says it’s about her brother, Timmy.”

  Mike got up and crutched his way into the lobby. He returned a few minutes later with a woman in her fifties. Straight-backed with determination, she clutched a purse with both hands against her belly. Years of labor and exhaustion showed in her lined face and red-knuckled hands. The graying hair scraped back from her face in a severe bun didn’t help. Her pink hotel maid uniform was just as worn.

  At Mike’s direction, Ellie lowered her stooped body into a chair.

  “Ms. Springer is Tim Kent’s older sister.” Mike introduced them.

  Ellie gave Brooke a grim stare. “I’m sorry for what my brother did.”

  No, how is he? No claims of innocence. Guess they weren’t close.

  Ellie pulled a pack of cigarettes from the front pocket of her uniform. She tapped one out and held it between her fingers. Ignoring the NO SMOKING sign on the wall, Jack slid an empty diet soda can in front of her. “Go ahead.”

  No one protested as she lit up, then sucked down smoke like it was air to a drowning victim. “Is he in prison?”

  “He’s still in the hospital.” Mike said. “You’re not surprised by any of this?”

  She blew out a stream of smoke. “The only thing that surprises me is that it didn’t happen sooner.”

  “Why?”

  “Timmy was an accident. I was in high school when he came along. Our parents were tired and busy. They hadn’t wanted another child. He was pretty much left to himself. They were killed in a house fire when Timmy was six. By that time, I was in my twenties. I was working and going to school at night. All the sudden I had Timmy to look after. I quit school and took a second job. A rented trailer was the best I could afford. I did my best with him for six long years, until the social worker came and took him away. She said I was abusive. I think the little shit called social services himself.”

  Mike stopped her. “I don’t understand.”

  “My baby brother was a sick, sick little boy. I tried everything to set him straight, but he was wired wrong. Something was missing, maybe a soul. I don’t know.”

  “What did he do?” Mike asked.

  She leveled a gaze across the table. “He killed things. Bugs, frogs, animals, whatever he could catch. I remember the first time clear as day. It was nighttime. I was making dinner, macaroni and cheese, because that was his favorite and that’s all we had left until payday anyway. In the beginning I thought he was holding his sadness about our parents’ deaths inside. It was only later that I realized he didn’t show any grief because he didn’t have any feelings. That boy was colder than February snow.”

  She took a drag on her cigarette. “I found him in the bathroom. He’d caught a mouse. The poor thing was all over the floor, all over his shoes, all over the hammer he’d used to beat it to death. Blood and bits of fur were stuck to the metal.” She shivered and took another long pull on her cigarette. The color had leached from her face. “Timmy looked up at me. He had this huge smile on his face. It was the first time I’d seen any emotion in him since he came to live with me. The first activity he’d enjoyed was hammering an animal to death.”

  Luke’s stomach turned.

  “It got worse from there. I watched him as much as I could, but if I wanted to feed him, I couldn’t miss a shift. I tried everything. I lectured him. I took him to church. I gave him time-outs and grounded him. Got to the point I tried beating on him if I caught him torturing some poor creature. You wouldn’t believe what he could do to a frog. Nothing worked. Punishing him had no effect. Screaming didn’t faze him. He didn’t care if I hit him. He just got mad that I made him stop what he was doing. He started fighting me on that. I’d have to lock him in the closet to get the mess cleaned up.”

  “Why did they take him away?” Mike asked.

  “He must have told his teacher I’d hit him.” The cigarette was down to the filter. She gave it a final pull. “Frankly, I was relieved when they took him away. He was getting bigger, and I was the only one who knew what he was inside. I’d been sleeping with one eye open and a locked door for a long time. If they hadn’t taken him, maybe he would have killed me eventually. Sometimes, I wonder if the fire that killed our parents was really an accident.”

  “Your brother was transferred to City Hospital. He’ll stay there until he can be transferred to the prison. You’re his next of kin. You can see him if you’d like to.”

  Ellie lit another cigarette. “I haven’t seen Timmy in twenty-five years. And twenty-five more would suit me just fine. I’ve never been a religious woman, but I didn’t need a Bible to know that boy was the closest thing to the devil on this earth. He was born pure evil.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  “This is your home, Lucas. I want you to visit whenever you want. You don’t need to call or ask.” Gran followed him to the car, hugging her thin frame against the chill.

  “I promise to come more often.” Luke hung his suit jacket on a hanger he kept in the back of his BMW.

  She waved as he pulled out of the drive. In his rearview mirror, she grew smaller and smaller as he drove away, shrinking until he couldn’t see her anymore. Luke ignored the empty space in his gut and focused on the road. She was getting older. There wasn’t anything he could do to halt time. Her cold was fading, but he was still going to worry. What if she’d gotten worse instead of better? Who would take care of her?

  Country roads turned into interstates. He veered onto the ramp that linked the Pennsylvania and New Jersey Turnpikes. His heart, and his sweat glands, kicked up a notch. By the time he entered the Lincoln Tunnel, his hands were clammy and his stomach was curling up like a nervous child.

  But he had something to resolve before he went back to his job and moved on with his life.

  The morning sun shone on his head, the day’s first note of warmth after the cold night. He locked his car, parallel parked at the curb between two American sedans. Under the watchful eye of two young mothers, three preschool-age girls jumped rope on the sidewalk. The sing-song chanting of an alphabet rhyme followed Luke up the steep flight of steps of the three-story brownstone, converted from one huge home into three large apartments. He pressed the buzzer labeled number three.

  “Hello?” a man’s voice answered.

  “It’s Luke Holloway.”

  “Come in. Come in.” The exterior door buzzed. Luke opened the door and stepped onto the black-and-white tiles of the lobby. His muscles were sluggish and reluctant as he climbed to the third-floor landing. A couple in their mid-fifties waited just inside the threshold to an apartment. Mr. and Mrs. Leonetti.

  Sherry’s parents.

  They’d passed their dark eyes and olive skin on to their daughter. Mrs. Leonetti was plump, her short hair dyed a uniform dark brown. Sherry’s dad was bowling-ball bald.

  “Please, come inside.” Mr. Leonetti stepped back and waved Luke inside.

  He walked into a high-ceilinged room. As was typical of converted townhomes, there was more height than space. Light streamed in through two narrow windows overlooking the street. Worn furniture, framed pictures, and oddly shaped knickknacks, the k
ind of things grade-schoolers made with clay, crowded the space. The effect was more comfort than clutter. A mass card from Sherry’s funeral lay on the hall chest.

  Sherrylyn Mary Leonetti.

  Guilt crawled its way up Luke’s chest into his throat.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t answer your calls or return your messages.” He lowered his head. They’d lost their daughter, and he hadn’t even offered his condolences. Hadn’t been able to face their grief for a woman he couldn’t save.

  He didn’t offer an excuse because he had none. Sherry’s parents had reached out to him a dozen times since the explosion. He’d avoided them like a coward.

  He’d lived, Sherry had died, and there hadn’t been a thing he could have done to change that. Luke opened his mouth to explain, but he choked on the words.

  “We understand.” Mrs. Leonetti reached forward and grasped Luke’s hands with strong fingers. Her warm eyes glistened. They were deep brown and swimming with sadness, a bottomless pool of sorrow. But other emotions lingered there too. Kindness, faith, strength.

  Mrs. Leonetti steered him toward a leather sofa. One of them pressed a cool glass into his hand. Water. Luke drank, swallowing some of his guilt. It settled in his empty stomach, cold and achy. He stared ahead, at a sideboard filled with pictures of Sherry and her sisters. Close in age, all three were curvy and petite, with long dark hair and laughing eyes. Mr. and Mrs. Leonetti sat on either side of him, flanking him with their solid presence.

  “We came to see you in the hospital. You weren’t awake.” Mr. Leonetti put a hand on Luke’s shoulder. “We wanted to thank you.”

  Luke didn’t register the last words right away. They sunk in slowly, the way rainwater seeps into parched earth. He lifted his head. They wanted to thank him? For what? Watching their daughter die?

  “You carried our Sherry out of that building.” Tears streamed down Mrs. Leonetti’s wrinkled face. Mascara trailed onto her cheeks. She grabbed Luke’s hand and clenched it tight. “You brought her back to us.”

  Luke studied the worn Persian carpet. Intricate patterns of beige flowers and vines bordered a navy center. “I didn’t save her.”

  “No one could have saved her.” Mr. Leonetti’s fingers dug into Luke’s muscle. “But you tried and risked your own life to do it. For that we will always be grateful.”

  “Three floors burned up completely.” One of Mrs. Leonetti’s tears dropped onto his hand. “Without you, she wouldn’t have come home at all.”

  An hour later, Luke stood in front of his office building. He stared up at the towering glass structure. The Leonettis had settled his nerves, but fresh panic rattled his skeleton and turned his stomach as he reached for a door.

  The truth hit him like an ax.

  He didn’t want to go inside.

  He didn’t want to go to Buenos Aires.

  He hated his apartment in New York. He hated the whole fucking city. His panic attacks hadn’t been brought on by high-rises or elevators. He’d freaked out because he didn’t want to return to constant travel and never-ending stress.

  The explosion had changed him. Before Manila, Luke was the most dedicated, type A person in the company, except for his boss. But now everything had changed. His priorities had shifted under his feet like tectonic plates. He had one foot on each side, and his ass was hanging out over the crack. Which way should he jump?

  Brooke left the cafeteria. On her way out, she spied Haley at a table with her friends. Haley had no memory of being abducted. Brooke wasn’t sure if this was good or bad. They were taking it one day at a time. Brooke opened the bag of chips she’d bought as an excuse to walk down here.

  Joe Verdi’s daughter sat at a table by the door. The police had found her father. He’d checked himself into a rehab center. Joe had been too humiliated to tell even his own father where he was. There was hope for the family, Brooke supposed. While Joe could never take back his actions, at least he realized he had a problem.

  “Hey, Brooke.”

  She stopped and turned. Owen Zimmerman was hurrying toward her. Brooke pulled back. Owen might not be the killer, but Luke had said his tastes were of the nasty variety.

  “Aren’t you done with the yearbook photos?”

  Owen nodded. “Pretty much. Just had a few makeups to do this morning.”

  Brooke wondered if she should talk to the principal about getting a new photographer. How could she justify it? My boyfriend illegally obtained some photographs…

  He shoved his hands in his front pockets. “I know you’ve had a rough weekend, but if you still want those photos for a Christmas present, don’t wait too long to make an appointment.”

  “Yeah, about that.” She inched backward.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Look, Owen. I’m just going to say it.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “I know about those violent pictures on your computer.”

  Owen’s forehead wrinkled. “What pictures?”

  “Does BDSM ring a bell?”

  “Oh.” Owen’s eyes widened. “Oh. Those pictures. How…?”

  Brooke didn’t answer.

  The light bulb went off in Owen’s eyes. “You didn’t think those were real, did you?”

  “What do you mean?”

  He laughed. “I was hired to do a photo shoot for a very adult Halloween fright night: 50 Shades of Zombies. The BDSM theme is really popular these days. People can’t get enough of it.”

  Mental. Head. Smack.

  “Seriously, you thought that was real?” Owen asked. “That was some weird shit.”

  “I’m sorry, Owen. For snooping and for jumping to conclusions.”

  “It’s OK.” But Owen was still laughing when he walked away.

  She returned to her classroom. Pretty blond Sara was waiting by the door. Brooke had promised her student extra help with her algebra today.

  “I’m sorry. Am I late?” Brooke checked her watch and unlocked the door.

  “No. I’m early.” Sara swept her long blond hair over her shoulder. “My mom wanted to know if you got the cookies she baked you.”

  Brooke dropped the chips on her desk. “The macaroons were from you?”

  Sara pulled a student desk close to Brooke’s. “Yeah. My mom wanted to thank you for helping me so much. She dropped them off at the office, but one of the other teachers said he’d bring them to you.”

  Brooke dropped into her chair. “Please thank your mother for me.”

  Sara pulled out her notebook. “I’m really confused.”

  Hours later Brooke parked in her driveway. She glanced at Haley in the passenger seat. She’d said her first day back at school had been “fine,” but exhausted circles rimmed her eyes.

  They went into the house. A beep drew Brooke to the hall closet. She stepped over the dog, opened the door, and turned off the new alarm. Worth every penny. Without it, she doubted she or Haley would be able to close their eyes at night.

  The kitchen was a mess again. All of Luke’s efforts destroyed in the few days he’d been gone. She pressed a hand to the center of her chest, where the emptiness had settled. He’d promised to visit when he returned to the States but that would be six to eight weeks from now. Then he’d be off to another exotic location.

  She went into her office. The sight of her extensive files and notes reminded her of Kent’s detailed records with a surge of nausea. She grabbed a box from the shelf and started emptying drawers. An hour later, her desk was cleared of everything relating to violence. One by one, she carried the boxes into the attic.

  The sound of a car door brought her back to the hall. She looked out the sidelight. A silver BMW sat in her driveway. Luke got out of the car and walked to her front porch.

  She opened the door. Hope lifted her heart as he stepped into the house.

  “I thought you were going back to work.”

  Luke leaned down to kiss her. “I did go back to work.”

  Disappointment brought her back down.

  “I qui
t.” He grinned.

  “What?”

  “I quit.”

  “Seriously?”

  Luke took her hand. “I’m an unemployed thirty-four-year-old man who’s going to move in with his grandmother. I have some money put away, and I’d like to start my own business, maybe do some consulting eventually, but honestly, right now, my only plans are to paint Gran’s house. But if you don’t mind a man with no real life plan or prospects in mind, I’d like to take you on a date.”

  “A date?” Brooke stammered.

  Luke nodded. Behind the pain in his green eyes, light glimmered. “Yes. A real date. We’ve faced a killer and almost died together, but we’ve never gone out to dinner or a movie. Do you like movies?”

  “I love movies.” Brooke’s heart was stuck in disbelief gear.

  “Are you teaching your self-defense class tonight?”

  “No. I’m taking some time away from all that.”

  “Really?” Luke said. “You don’t have to. If it’s important to you, I’ll even help you. Your girls can beat me up every week if it makes you happy.”

  “Here’s the thing. It wasn’t making me happy.” Brooke took a deep breath. “I was reliving Karen’s death as a punishment.”

  Luke took her in his arms and held her close. “You can’t blame yourself for not being able to predict the future any more than I could.”

  “I know.” She sniffed. “That’s why I have to take a break. I need to let some of the hurt go. I need to let Karen go.”

  “We’re a mess.”

  She leaned back. He hadn’t shaved, and the shadow on his jaw made her yearn to feel the rasp. “Maybe that’s the point. No one else ever really understood. You get it.”

  “Oh, I know all about survivor’s guilt, no question.”