Targeted (A Jenny Watkins Mystery Book 9) Read online

  “A man’s voice. In little more than a whisper, he said, ‘To drink to excess is the devil’s work. May God accept you and keep you, despite your sins.’” Jenny shook her head. “I may not be saying it quite right, but it was something to that effect.”

  “The killer said that?” the detective asked.

  Jenny nodded. “Rachel heard it before she died.”

  “So you’re saying this is religiously motivated?”

  “Apparently,” Jenny replied with a shudder. “The crazy part is, I know that voice.” She closed her eyes and held up her hand. “I mean, Rachel knows that voice.”

  “Who is it?” Detective Brennan asked eagerly.

  “That’s just it,” Jenny confessed. “She can’t place it. It’s familiar, but she doesn’t know whose voice it is.” She looked helplessly at the detective. “I get the feeling it’s one of those tip-of-her-tongue kind of things.”

  “The chief is going to want to know this,” the detective said, mostly to herself. Focusing on Jenny, she added, “Stay here. I’ll be right back.”

  She watched Detective Brennan walk away, realizing she was by herself in that area of the yard. She felt exposed—like a sitting duck. The person who had been harassing her could very well have been in that crowd, watching her. On one hand, she wanted to look around to see who was there, but at the same time, she didn’t. Using only her eyes, she quickly surveyed the faces surrounding the crime scene tape, deciding none of them looked familiar or particularly menacing.

  Nonetheless, she was relieved when Detective Brennan came back with the chief. He stuck out his hand, which Jenny shook, as he said, “Thanks again for coming out here. I hear you may have something?”

  “I do,” Jenny said, recounting her story to the chief.

  He nodded as he stroked his chin. “You haven’t been in the house, correct?”

  “Correct.”

  “Tell me…what side was she lying on? Rachel, I mean.”

  Jenny thought briefly before saying, “Her left. She reached up and grabbed her neck with her right hand, and the guy spoke into her right ear.”

  He looked at her for a long time, their eyes locked in what appeared to be a visual standoff. Jenny wasn’t exactly sure what was going through his mind, so she continued to stare at him curiously, waiting for him to say something.

  “You don’t know whose voice it was?” he eventually asked.

  “It was familiar,” Jenny said. “Rachel knew it from somewhere; that’s the best I can say.”

  “If you heard it again, would you recognize it?”

  “I’d like to think so,” she replied, “but I don’t want to promise anything.”

  He turned to Detective Brennan, saying, “Sonya and Lisa were not avid church goers; we know about this one, yet?”

  “I can ask the roommates,” Detective Brennan said. “They’re just now becoming calm enough to start talking.”

  The wheels in the chief’s head were obviously turning. “I don’t think church is how he knew them. According to Jenny, the guy didn’t like how much these girls drank. If he only saw them in church, how would he know that they were partiers?” He shook his head. “No, I’m thinking we have a guy who has witnessed these women at their drunkest. In order for him to be offended by their drinking, he must have seen it happen first hand.”

  “The bars then, sir?” Detective Brennan asked.

  The chief nodded. “It may be the only connection between Rachel and the two other victims. She didn’t go to Perdion; she didn’t live near the others. Find out where she liked to go when she drank.” He turned to Jenny. “Are you willing to do me a favor?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “I’m assuming this latest victim hung out on Center Street, just like the others. Can I count on you to go to the bars tonight and strike up conversations with every man you see? I mean, literally, every man you see? Maybe one of the voices will sound familiar.”

  Jenny laughed nervously. “I can do that.” She decided to leave off the part about that being ridiculously weird. “I should also note that I have been…harassed…lately, by somebody who keeps messing with my car.”

  “You’ve been harassed?” the chief asked with dismay. His tone became protective. “What do you mean you’ve been harassed?”

  With a sigh, Jenny admitted, “The most recent episode happened last night when I was parked on Center Street—somebody put a smiley-face note under my windshield wiper. That, alone, wouldn’t have been a problem, but this was just the latest incident. Earlier in the day, someone messed with my rearview mirror and slit my tires in two separate episodes.”

  “That’s not good,” the chief declared.

  “I know. I was going to see if any local businesses have security cameras that may have caught him putting the note on my car. If it’s the same guy who is doing this,” Jenny pointed to the house, “maybe that can give us an idea of what he looks like.”

  “Definitely look into the cameras. Tell the businesses that I, personally, want you to have access to the surveillance videos. If any of the businesses give you trouble, tell them to call the station to verify. I would have one of my guys do it, but I can’t spare the personnel.”

  “Understandable,” Jenny said.

  He turned to Detective Brennan. “Go back and talk to the roommates; see what you can find about Rachel’s acquaintances in the bars and if she went to church. Ask about her customers at the salon, too—see if any of them seem like possible candidates.”

  “Sure thing, sir.” The determined detective headed back to the roommates.

  “So, I can count on you to scour the bars tonight?” he asked Jenny.

  “I will do that.” It looked like the conversation with the chief was about to end; Jenny couldn’t help but ask the question that had been burning in the back of her mind throughout the entire visit. “Chief? Before you go…Can I ask you something?”

  “Sure.”

  “Why do you take me so seriously? I mean, you should…I am a legitimate psychic.” She softened her tone. “But why do you believe in me so much?”

  Once again, he looked at her intently—expressionlessly, at first, but then a smirk graced his lips. “I’ll tell you when I have a little more time.”

  He turned and walked back into the house.

  Jenny caught up with Detective Brennan and Rachel’s roommate, who was introduced as Lauren. The other roommate, Bella, had joined them as well, finally able to gather enough composure to speak. The women stood arm in arm, leaning on each other for support, both visibly trembling.

  “I know this is hard,” Detective Brennan said to the roommates, “but the more you can tell me, the more likely we are to catch the guy who did this.”

  The women nodded, closing their eyes and sniffing, holding wadded up tissues in their hands.

  “What can you tell me about Rachel’s social life?” Detective Brennan asked. “Where did she like to hang out?”

  “She goes into town quite a bit,” Lauren said as she wiped her eyes.

  Jenny noticed the use of present tense; that one little word made her incredibly sad. Clearly, the impact of what had happened that morning hadn’t fully sunk in yet.

  Lauren continued, “She also likes Damon’s down on Oak Street.”

  “When she went into town, where did she go?” the detective asked.

  “Center Street.”

  “Any particular bar her favorite?”

  “Depends on her mood.” Bella rested her head on Lauren’s shoulder; Lauren, in turn, squeezed her a little tighter.

  “Did you ever go into the city with her?”

  “Sometimes.”

  “Did she drink a lot when she went out?”

  The look on Lauren’s face implied that the detective should read between the lines. “She has a good time.”

  “How would she get home when she drank at Center Street? It’s a pretty long drive from there.”

  “Sometimes we would drive her,” Bella s
aid.

  “What about the other times?”

  The women remained quiet.

  “Did she drive herself?” Detective Brennan asked.

  With a reluctant nod, Lauren softly replied, “Yeah.”

  “Do you know of any men she may have interacted with while she was at these bars?”

  The roommates looked like they were doing their best to think, but they were coming up blank. Eventually, Bella shook her head and admitted, “I don’t know. There are people, definitely, but I can’t give you any names right now. I can’t even think straight.” Tears once again worked their way to the surface.

  “I know it’s difficult,” Detective Brennan said, “but it will really help us a lot if you can give us some names.”

  Lauren closed her eyes tightly, as if that action would help her think better. “There was this guy, Reggie…”

  “It wasn’t Reggie,” Jenny heard herself say.

  The roommates and Detective Brennan all looked at Jenny, who sheepishly replied, “Rachel would have recognized Reggie’s voice.”

  “Who is Reggie?” the detective asked.

  “He’s this guy she’s been seeing,” Lauren explained. “They met at Shenanigans.”

  “Were they serious?”

  “They’ve been out a few times. I wouldn’t call it serious.”

  An image flashed in Jenny’s mind. A man with a closely-cut beard and a baseball cap appeared; his tight shirt highlighted his muscles and the barbed tattoo on his left arm. They sat at a bar, which Jenny recognized to be the long serving table from Shenanigans. “You want another?” The man asked. The vision fizzled out just as quickly as it came.

  “Reggie had an accent,” Jenny said. “New York, I think.”

  The roommates looked at her with awe. “He was from Brooklyn,” Bella confirmed with a nod.

  “The killer doesn’t have an accent,” Jenny replied with a confident shake of her head. “It wasn’t him.”

  “Any other names you can give me?” Detective Brennan asked, notepad in hand, ready to write.

  The girls rattled off a few more names, but they were only first names, and they were common. None of them triggered any type of memory with Jenny as the name Reggie had.

  Soon, a terrible shriek echoed from the crowd, causing Jenny and the roommates to look in that direction. A hysterical woman tore through the crowd, shoving people out of the way as she worked her way to the crime scene tape. Lauren and Bella seemed to recognize her and ran toward her, arms outstretched, ultimately ending in a three-person hug from opposite sides of the yellow barrier.

  Jenny hung her head; it was all she could do to keep from crying.

  “Well, at least I got some names,” Detective Brennan said.

  “Can you take a picture of that list and send it to me?” Jenny asked, straightening her posture—she had to remember there was work to be done. “That will help me when I go to the bars tonight.”

  “Consider it done,” the detective replied.

  Jenny glanced back at the house—a small, nice ranch that looked so innocent, like it was once an ideal place to live. Now it was forever marred. It would always be referred to as that house. “Do you know what happened there?” people would ask their friends, from this day forward. “The woman who lived there was killed in her sleep.”

  Jenny shook her head rapidly, trying to rid herself of the thought. “How long do you think it will be before I’m allowed in there?” she asked the detective.

  “Not sure. They’re processing for evidence—it could be a while.”

  Looking over at the three women who were still in a tragic embrace, Jenny decided she couldn’t take it anymore. “I think I’m going to head into town and see if I can get my hands on any surveillance tapes. It’ll be more useful than waiting out here.”

  Detective Brennan snapped a picture of the list on her phone, pressing a few buttons with her thumb. Without looking up, she said, “Let me know if you find anything worthwhile. I just sent you the names.”

  “Okay,” Jenny agreed. “Will you tell me once it’s safe for me to go in the house?”

  She lifted her eyes to meet Jenny. “You’ll be the first to know.”

  Chapter 13

  The urge to cry was nearly overwhelming as Jenny got into the car and closed the door behind her. She didn’t say a word when she turned the key and pulled out of her parking spot.

  “You okay?” Zack asked.

  She responded only with a slight nod, fearful that opening her mouth to speak would invoke a flood of tears.

  She was grateful when Zack said no more about it and allowed her a moment to gain her composure. After a few miles had gone by, she decided she was strong enough to disclose some basic facts. “Her name was Rachel Ann Moore. She was a twenty-four year old hairdresser with two roommates.”

  “Roommates, huh? That’s a new one.”

  A brief flash of the two crying women entered her mind, but she forced it away. Getting emotional only would have slowed her down. “They were home when it happened, too,” she said mechanically.

  She recounted the full story to Zack, ending with the chief’s conclusion that the bars would be a better place to look for the killer than churches. Zack didn’t reply immediately, apparently mulling over everything she had just said. “So, we’re dealing with a guy who is against alcohol,” he eventually said. “He’s not against murder, apparently, but alcohol is a no-no.”

  “Go figure,” Jenny replied.

  “And the chief thinks you’ll find this guy in a bar? If he hates the idea of drinking, the only reason he’d be there would be to find women to kill.”

  “Correction…women to save,” Jenny replied, “at least in his mind.”

  “Either way, we’re looking for a sober guy in a college bar,” he replied. Glancing at her out of the corner of his eye, he added, “That shouldn’t be too hard to spot, especially by the end of the night. Any guy who isn’t trashed should stick out like a sore thumb.”

  Jenny didn’t reply.

  “You know who this pretty much eliminates as a suspect?” Zack continued.

  “Scott Sweigert?”

  “Exactly. If the killer is against drinking, then Scott isn’t our guy.”

  “What if he’s only against women drinking?” Jenny posed. “Maybe it’s a gender thing.”

  “I suppose it could be,” Zack admitted. “I guess I shouldn’t dismiss him so soon. But this does kind of point us to a couple of people you might not like to consider as suspects.”

  Jenny lowered her eyebrows as she drove.

  “Luke Thomas, for one,” he went on.

  “Luke?”

  “Remember, we talked about the fact that he might not drink because he was an athlete. Maybe it goes beyond that.”

  Shaking her head, Jenny said, “You’ll be able to knock me over with a feather if it’s him.”

  “Don’t close your mind to the possibility. I know he and Sonya were friends, and she doesn’t think he was capable of it, but people have betrayed their friends before. It could be that he just acted like he liked her, but deep down inside he was disgusted by her drinking.”

  “Then why did he rearrange the furniture and put the bat under the couch?”

  “It sure makes him look innocent, doesn’t it?”

  Jenny sighed, realizing she’d been outdone.

  “The other person we may want to consider is Jeremy Washington.”

  “What? That guy who brought Sir Walter James whatever-his-name-was the food? You’re out of your mind.”

  “What was his reasoning behind bringing him breakfast?” Zack asked.

  “It’s what the scripture says he should do…but nowhere in the scripture does it say you should kill people who drink too much.”

  “I’m sure it condones excessive drinking somewhere in the bible.”

  “And it also condones murder,” Jenny replied. “Thou shalt not drink is not a commandment; thou shalt not kill is.”

&n
bsp; “Well, it appears that this person is concerned about God accepting and keeping the victims, despite their sins. Apparently, he views drinking to be more offensive than murder.”

  “This is all just so bizarre,” Jenny said, shaking her head. “I have always associated religion with good deeds…not this.”

  “I have to admit, I know very little about the subject. Is there any religion anywhere that preaches that it’s okay to kill someone who lives an unholy lifestyle?”

  “I’d like to think not,” she replied, “but there may be some kind of backwoods cult out there saying that very thing.”

  Jenny’s phone rang, and she reached for the button on her steering wheel to answer it. “Oh,” she said with a laugh, “this isn’t my car.”

  Zack fished in her purse for the phone, handing it to her. She answered, hearing that Mick was on the other end. “Hey, Jenny,” he said solemnly.

  “Uh-oh,” she replied.

  “Yeah, things here aren’t going that well.”

  “What’s happening?”

  “John’s locked himself in his bedroom. He tried to leave, but we wouldn’t let him, so he barricaded himself in his room.”

  “Maybe he just needs some time to cool down,” Jenny proposed. “The ambush tactic has its advantages, but it obviously has some flaws, too.”

  “Hopefully he’ll cool down,” Mick replied, “but that was pretty ugly.”

  “It was ugly the first time, too. He tore his house apart. What did he do this time?”

  “Nothing like that. He’s just really, really angry, and he’s saying that he’d rather move out and live on the streets than go to rehab again.” Mick made a scoffing sound. “It’s obvious he’s never lived on the streets before.”

  “But you have,” Jenny said encouragingly, “and maybe you can use that to your advantage.” She heard her GPS interrupt the conversation, spitting directions into her ear, but soon she was able to continue. “Once he’s had a little time to process this, maybe you can have a nice, calm conversation with him and let him know that rehab is a better alternative than the streets.”

  “I can try,” Mick replied with a skeptical groan. “The problem is that he keeps insisting that he doesn’t need rehab. He says he agreed to go last time because he was an addict, but this time he isn’t. He just had one slip-up, and rehab isn’t necessary.”