Targeted (A Jenny Watkins Mystery Book 9) Page 11

  “I don’t know how much I’ll be able to answer, but you can certainly ask.”

  “You say you’ve known him for about a year…”

  “That’s right.”

  “What’s his story? Do you know?”

  “Not really. Honestly, I’m not even sure he knows his own story at this point. As you could probably gather, he’s got some mental issues.”

  “Yeah, I figured that,” Jenny replied. “I just didn’t know if you were able to talk to him before things got this bad.”

  Jeremy shook his head. “Things were this bad when I met him.”

  “Is he ever violent at all? Or paranoid? Does he ever talk about people being out to get him?”

  “No,” he said, “he talks about conversations he’s had with bugs and stuff like that, but he isn’t hateful at all.”

  “What about drugs or alcohol?” Jenny asked. “I noticed he was out of hand sanitizer, and some people have been known to drink that stuff for the alcohol content.”

  “He calls alcohol the devil’s drink; he apparently doesn’t touch the stuff. I got him that hand sanitizer about a month ago; I think he just ran out of it.”

  “No drugs, either?”

  “Nah.” Jeremy let out a laugh. “He has conversations with bugs as it is…like, two-way discussions. He doesn’t need drugs.”

  After a few steps in silence, Jenny treated her next statement as if it were unrelated. “Hey, do you happen to know about those killings in town?”

  “I know they’ve been happening, but I don’t have any information, if that’s what you mean.” He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. “Do you mind if I ask who you are?”

  Jenny smiled guiltily, realizing it was time to come clean. “My name is Jenny—I’m a psychic who is working on the murder investigations. One of the victims showed me an image of Sir Walter James Southerland the Third; he must have spooked her while she was on the jogging trail one day. I came out here to see if he was dangerous at all.”

  “You’re a psychic?”

  “Believe it or not, yes.”

  “And you had a vision of Sir Walter James Southerland the Third?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s amazing,” Jeremy replied. “That’s truly amazing.”

  Jenny hoped he’d be able to get beyond that and answer her question.

  Fortunately, he did. “Well, I can see why Sir Walter James Southerland the Third would scare some females joggers—especially the ones who are by themselves. He does look pretty unkempt. But I can assure you, he’s harmless. He’s a good man—a man of God—he just has mental issues.”

  They were reaching the parking lot, so Jenny squeezed in one last question. “Jeremy, let me ask you this…If I am able to get Sir Walter James Southerland the Third into a facility, would you still bring him breakfast?”

  Jeremy froze, looking at Jenny. “Why do you ask? You think you can get him into a facility?”

  “Probably.”

  “But…” Jeremy began, “but you just met him.”

  Jenny only shrugged. “It doesn’t matter; he clearly needs a hand. But I’d hate to see your little ritual end just because he found some shelter. I’m sure your visits make his day.”

  Jeremy continued to look dumbfounded. “Yeah, I would still visit him. Man, I’d love to see him with a roof over his head. You can really arrange that?”

  Jenny smiled. “I can try. I just hope he’d be willing to go…not every homeless person wants to be housed. Maybe you can help convince him.”

  “I’ll definitely do that.”

  “Great,” Jenny said. “I’ll start making some phone calls.”

  Looking as if he was battling tears, Jeremy added, “If you can make that happen, I’ll be so happy. Thank you. Truly.” He reached in and gave her a hug. “God bless you.”

  “God bless you, Jeremy,” Jenny said sincerely. “You are an amazing young man to do what you’ve been doing.”

  After modestly shrugging off Jenny’s compliment, Jeremy bid goodbye to the couple and headed toward his car. At that point, Zack turned to Jenny and remarked, “Are you really going to get him into a facility?”

  “I’m going to try.” They walked in the direction of their rental car.

  “I hate to burst your bubble,” Zack said, “but you might be offering to help a man who is guilty of two murders. Did you see the size of one of his shoes?”

  “I did,” Jenny replied as she opened the door and climbed in. “But I look at it this way—if he’s innocent, then I’m helping him find a home. If he’s guilty…” She made eye contact with her husband. “Then I’m putting him into a supervised situation where he can’t strike again.”

  “Very smart thinking,” Zack replied as he buckled his seatbelt. “Well played.”

  “I have to admit, I don’t think he did it,” Jenny added.

  “So far, you don’t think anybody did it.”

  She frowned. “I know. I guess I shouldn’t jump to those conclusions. I have to remember what one of the detectives from the meeting said—that the killer is probably an ordinary guy…someone you could have a conversation with and not know you were dealing with a murderer.”

  “That’s scary,” Zack noted.

  “It is scary,” she replied as she backed out of her parking space. “And do you know what pisses me off?”

  “Uh-oh.”

  “No, it’s nothing bad. It’s just that you’ve got a guy like Jeremy Washington, who takes time out of his day every morning to have breakfast with a homeless man, and he gets zero recognition. Then you’ve got a friggin psycho who kills two innocent people, and he’s all over the news. What is that about?” she demanded. “What message does that send to the young people out there who are looking for their fifteen minutes of fame?” She shook her head. “It’s totally backwards. We sensationalize the wrong things. It’s like we’re encouraging people to become serial killers.”

  “No argument here.”

  She let out a frustrated sigh. “It makes me mad.”

  Her phone rang from inside her purse; Zack pulled it out and handed it to her. She didn’t look at the caller before she answered, fearful she would miss the call. “Hello?”

  “Jenny. Detective Brennan. I need you to drop whatever you’re doing and get to 4363 Warren Road in Kensington…we’ve got another victim.”

  Chapter 11

  After a twenty-five minute drive, Zack and Jenny arrived at the address Detective Brennan had given them. Unlike the other cases, this house was in the suburbs, situated on a normally quiet residential street. At this moment, however, the scene was chaotic, with reporters and neighbors swarming around the yellow tape that surrounded the yard.

  This time, Jenny called Detective Brennan from the safety of her car, and the tiny detective made her way through the crowd to meet them. Preferring to stay anonymous inside her vehicle as long as possible, Jenny simply rolled down the window when she arrived.

  “Thanks for coming out,” Detective Brennan said. “They’re still processing the scene, so it will be a little while before you can go in there.”

  “That’s fine,” Jenny replied. “What happened this time? More of the same?”

  “The M.O. was the same…cut screen, head trauma, slit throat, no other apparent reason for being there besides the murder. The victim is different, though. This one’s name is Rachel Ann Moore. Twenty-four, Caucasian, hairdresser, has no affiliation with Perdion College that we know of, and obviously lives outside of town.” She glanced back at the scene before adding, “She had two roommates—that were home at the time of the attack. Neither heard anything; they just found her like this in the morning.”

  “That’s so scary,” Jenny muttered.

  Detective Brennan shook her head. “It appears our perp wanted this one and this one only.”

  “Well, I received another little message from my friend last night. There was a piece of paper with a smiley-face on it on my windshield. We’re hoping
that a security camera may have gotten a glimpse of the person who put it on there—which may be the same person who did this.”

  “Could be,” the detective replied. “Or it may not be. You got the paper?”

  “It’s at the hotel. I didn’t realize I’d be coming out to see you this morning.”

  “Yeah,” she replied with a snort, “neither did I.”

  “If you want,” Jenny began, “I can try to look into the note for you. I realize you probably can’t spare any manpower to investigate something that may be totally unrelated.”

  “That’d be great,” Detective Brennan said. “If you find anything out, let me know. I’ve got to get back to the scene. I’ll come get you when they’re ready for you. In the meantime, would you be willing to talk to the roommates? Right now they’re inconsolable, but once they’re able to speak more coherently, maybe you can get some information from them that will spark something. So far, they haven’t been able to give us any facts. They claim they didn’t hear or see anything unusual until they found Rachel this morning.”

  “Sure, I can do that.”

  “Okay. I’ll let you know when they get it together enough to talk.” The detective patted the door of the car and walked away without saying goodbye.

  Jenny sucked in a deep breath as she closed the window. Turning to her husband, she asked, “So, what do you make of this?”

  “It sucks,” he replied, “but it just may be different enough that we can narrow down the one thing these women have in common. She said the victim wasn’t affiliated with Perdion…that should eliminate a pretty big segment of the suspect pool. Okay, let’s review.” Zack leaned back in his seat, unbuckling his seatbelt. “The first guy we suspected was Luke Thomas.”

  “I never suspected Luke Thomas.”

  “You haven’t suspected anybody.”

  “True,” Jenny replied.

  “Well, Luke certainly had the opportunity to kill Sonya, being her upstairs neighbor and all. He may have seen Lisa out at one of the bars or in the gym. And his feet are most likely big enough to leave that size fourteen print outside the window.”

  “How would this latest victim fit in?”

  “Maybe she cuts his hair? Maybe she was in one of the bars?”

  Jenny said nothing as she nodded, thinking about his words.

  “Next,” Zack continued, “we had that Jason guy with the sick wife.”

  “Small feet,” Jenny said.

  “Small feet,” he repeated. “He was a regular customer at the pharmacy and the diner. Also a haircut customer, you think?”

  “I’m sure the detectives will get a complete list of Rachel’s clients. They already know his name; they’ll notice if it comes up.”

  “What about that hammered guy from the bar last night?”

  “Scott? Do you really think he’d be capable of killing someone as drunk as he was? He could hardly even stand up. I bet he went home and went straight to bed.”

  “We may want to double-check with the bartender and the cab driver to make sure he went directly home. His drinks were virgin after a while; it’s possible that he sobered up before the night was over.”

  Jenny grunted as she squinted. “His feet weren’t all that big, though, either. I really have trouble believing that it’s him.”

  “I guess we can eliminate the homeless guy from the park,” Zack added. “I don’t think he’d have the means to get all the way out here.”

  “You’re probably right.” She let out a sigh. “I have to make some phone calls about him. Please don’t let me forget that with all that’s going on here.”

  “I’ll try. No guarantees.”

  “Great.”

  “What about that four leaf clover?” Zack asked. “What do you think that means?”

  After thinking for a moment, Jenny came up empty. “I don’t know. I wish I did. I thought it meant we were close to finding the killer, but it doesn’t look that way.”

  Jenny’s phone, which was still on her lap, began to ring; John Zeigler’s name appeared on the screen. Dread filled Jenny’s body. “Hello?”

  “Jenny.” His tone sounded both irritated and urgent. “It’s John. My sister is here telling me I need to go back to rehab.”

  Hanging her head, Jenny replied, “Yes, I’m afraid that’s true.”

  “I had one moment of weakness. I don’t plan to do it again. I appreciate your concern, but I really don’t need to go back to rehab.”

  Jenny spoke with less conviction than she would have hoped. “That was part of our arrangement.”

  “I’m telling you, I don’t need it. I’m fine. I’m not going to go back to my old ways.”

  “We had a deal,” Jenny said softly. “You signed a contract.”

  He sighed impatiently on the other end of the phone. “You’re not seriously planning to make me do this.”

  Doubt ravaged Jenny’s mind. She had no idea if she was doing the right thing or not. However, she stood firm. “I’m sorry, John.”

  “I don’t have to go, you know. This is America. You can’t force me to go.”

  “You’re right,” she said slowly. “I can’t. But I also don’t have to provide you with a house and a job…”

  “I can move back in with my sister,” he replied defiantly.

  Jenny heard a female voice in the background.

  “Fine,” he said. “Then I’ll just make it on my own.” A beep signaled he’d hung up.

  Feeling the urge to cry, Jenny let the phone drop into her lap. She closed her eyes and remained motionless for several moments. “This day sucks,” she eventually said.

  “I take it Amanda’s conversation with John isn’t going that well.”

  “No, apparently not.”

  “Did you expect it to?”

  Jenny didn’t reply. She only rubbed her temples, thinking to herself that she was tired of hearing that her expectations were unrealistic.

  “You remember how it went last time,” Zack continued. “He tore his house apart before he agreed to get help.”

  Jenny’s eyes remained closed. This was a rental property—in her name. She hoped he wouldn’t resort to destruction this time.

  “It’ll be fine,” Zack added. “He’ll eventually cave, he’ll get some help and then he’ll be calling you to thank you.”

  She opened one eye and looked at him. “And that isn’t an unrealistic expectation?”

  “Let’s assume for the time being it isn’t.”

  She rested her head back, focusing on the roof of her car. “Today, I really wish I wasn’t me.”

  Jenny’s phone chirped with a text message from Detective Brennan. One of the roommates is ready to talk now.

  Turning to Zack, she remarked, “I guess that’s my cue. I think the roommates are most likely on the other side of the tape, so I’ll have to go it alone. No offense, but they probably won’t let you come with me.”

  “Well, you know where to find me,” Zack replied as he pulled out his phone.

  Brushing her hair into her face, Jenny left the car and walked with her head down as she neared the crime scene tape. Just at the edge of the cordoned off area, Jenny found Detective Brennan with a young woman in flannel pants and a hoodie, her hair in a messy ponytail. The woman seemed positively distraught; Jenny could only assume she was the roommate.

  Detective Brennan lifted the tape, allowing Jenny to duck under. Despite her efforts to remain anonymous, Jenny found herself surrounded by flash bulbs in every direction. For a brief moment, she feared the crazy guy would find her again.

  She quickly determined that her troubles paled in comparison to the young woman in front of her, who had just lost her roommate. Jenny reached out her hand and placed it on the girl’s trembling shoulder. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”

  The woman, who appeared to be in her mid-twenties, nodded wordlessly; her tear-soaked cheeks and puffy eyes spoke on her behalf.

  Upon touching the woman, Jenny heard a distinct voice in
her head. With a sympathetic tone, Jenny asked, “If I say ‘All for all and one for one,’ would that mean anything to you?”

  The woman’s look of anguish immediately turned into dismay. “How do you know that?”

  “I just heard Rachel say it.” Jenny smiled compassionately at the roommate. “I can hear messages from the deceased; that’s why I’m here.”

  The young woman appeared to go numb, as if overwhelmed by too many emotions at once.

  “My name is Jenny Larrabee; I’ve been trying to figure out who has been doing this by listening to the victims. Unfortunately, none of the girls know who the killer is so far, so they haven’t been able to tell me much. I’m hoping to be able to get a little more from Rachel once I get inside.”

  The woman nodded; Jenny was under the impression she wouldn’t remember any of this later.

  In a flash, an unbearable pain ravaged Jenny’s head and another tore through her throat. She grabbed her neck, trying to understand what was happening.

  Then she heard the voice.

  Chapter 12

  In an instant, the sensation was gone. Jenny turned to Detective Brennan with wide eyes and said, “I’d like to speak with you privately.” Keeping her intense stare fixed on the detective, she added, “Now.”

  Detective Brennan called on another officer to come over and console Rachel’s roommate before escorting Jenny to a more secluded part of the lawn. “What happened to you back there?” the detective asked with concern.

  “I felt the attack,” Jenny replied breathlessly. “I saw it and felt it and heard it.” She took a moment to gather her bearings, trying to determine the best way to tell the story without getting hysterical. “I felt this pain…this horrible, agonizing pain in my head, and then my throat. I was confused…panicked. I wasn’t sure what was going on—whether I was dreaming or awake. I put my hand to my neck and felt the blood spurting. I struggled to breathe. I wanted to scream, but I couldn’t make a sound. And then I heard it.”

  “Heard what?”