Chapter Twenty-Six #2
No, I need to do this by myself. Prove that my instincts are right. Prove that I can trust myself again. Well . . . with a little help from Lottie. “It’s fine. I just need to go and check something out. It’s only thirty minutes from here. I’ll be back in less than a few hours.”
“Okay . . .” She bites her lip, her brow furrowing. “Be careful. I’ll start cooking the risotto.”
◆◆◆
I arrive at Connor Maddox’s house and check my phone. I have a voicemail from Anthony and a message from Jonesy.
Jonesy: I hope you forgot your pajamas tonight, princess.
I snort. He’s such a goof.
I listen to Anthony’s voicemail as I approach the house, slotting the keys he gave me a few days ago into the lock.
It’s an agreement we have as I’ll often return to a crime scene to do a walkthrough.
It helps me compartmentalize my thoughts, especially when no one is around to make noise or disturb me.
I don’t want to say that a crime scene speaks to me because the scientist in me cringes, but there is something to be said about the energy of a place where terrible things have happened.
So many colleagues know what I mean because they’ve felt it too.
It’s eerie. Like you shouldn’t be there.
But I push down the thought as I reach under the Crime Scene: Do Not Enter tape and let myself into the house.
My phone between my shoulder and ear, I listen to Anthony.
“Hey, sorry it took so long, but I got the prison visitor records like you asked. The only people to visit Connor Maddox so far are his girlfriend, the colonel, and Travis Marrs. That was one of the guys from the bar. Looks like he visited three times, twice at the same time as the colonel. Let me know if you need to follow up on anything.”
I put my phone in my pocket. I’m not entirely surprised that the colonel visited the accused.
He was rather involved in the case from the start.
Maybe he was trying to get more information from Connor.
It seems a little strange that he would attend with Travis Marrs, though.
Perhaps Jonesy will shed some light on that.
He hadn’t mentioned that they worked closely together, but perhaps the colonel enlisted Marrs to help convince Connor to confess.
I make my way through the empty living room. The lone camp chair is in the same space as it was the last time I visited. The carpet needs a good vacuuming, too. My first instinct is to head to the basement. If there were any other bodies, that would surely be the place for them to be concealed.
As I walk through the doorway to the kitchen, I gasp, and a man spins on his heel to face me.
He’s tall, with dirty blond hair, short on the sides and long on top.
He’s clean-shaven, wearing an old, worn leather jacket, a black T-shirt, and dark jeans.
I try not to stare at his hands, but the thick leather gloves are a giant red flag considering he’s walking around the biggest crime scene since Thomas Vale’s house of horrors was dissected.
“Hi there.” He smiles calmly, his straight white teeth glinting.
“Hi . . . I’m Dr. Murphy,” I say calmly. I linger in the doorway, not wanting to stand too close to him.
“Yes, I’ll admit I’ve seen you on the news.” He grins sheepishly, his eyes dipping down my body in an obvious perusal that I try not to squirm over.
“Can I ask who you are?”
“I’m a friend of Connor’s. He asked me to turn off the water and things like that whilst he’s . . . well, whilst he’s away.”
I nod slowly, despite my heart thudding against my ribs. “Makes total sense he’d want his home taken care of.”
“Exactly. I’m Travis, by the way.”
“Oh, you’re in the army with Connor?”
“Yes, we’re good friends, actually. I’ve helped him out a few times over the years and vice versa.”
Connor hasn’t mentioned him at all, so I’m surprised he says they’re good friends. One of Connor’s actual friends alluded to the older guys in the bar that night. Travis must be the one. Why else would he be lurking around a crime scene?
“How so?” I ask, leaning against the doorframe in an attempt to look relaxed. In reality, I just want to steady myself. I don’t trust this man.
“Oh, you know, girl problems, things like that. The younger guys look up to me as I’m a little older than them.”
“Unfortunately, it doesn't seem to have helped Connor.” I force out a laugh, lying through my teeth.
His smile doesn’t quite meet his cold, dead eyes. “Yes, the poor thing. Unfortunately, this has been a long time coming for him.”
I make a mental note of that remark. “I’d love to schedule a chat with you, actually.
You were one of the witnesses, and as you’ve been on your training exercise, Dr. Jones and I haven’t been able to pin you down for a chat.
” In other words, not fucking now. For now, I want to get the hell out of here and away from him until I have the comfort of a steel table between us at the station and Jonesy by my side.
“Ah, yes, Dr. Jones. I’m surprised he’s not here. You two are attached at the hip, aren’t you?”
It’s my turn to give a fake smile now. “Would you be free tomorrow? We can get it done and dusted.”
“Why are you here, Dr. Murphy?” The slick diversion and avoidance of my question have the hairs on the back of my neck standing on end.
My entire body is screaming at me to get out of the house and to start calling somebody, anybody.
Jonesy? What could he do? Perhaps the police would be a better option.
He is trespassing after all; even if Connor gave him permission, he can’t just turn up and let himself into an active crime scene.
“I’m meeting Dr. Jones here, actually,” I lie, clenching my fist to stop the shaking. “We’ve come to review some of Connor’s interview in the house where it happened.” He says nothing, leaning back on the counter with the confidence of a man who is in no rush at all. “He’ll be here in a moment.”
A lie that I try to avoid sounding desperate.
“Do the ghosts talk to you at crime scenes, Katie?”
Oh, hell no. I don’t like that he’s calling me Katie.
I don’t like that he’s asking me about goddamn ghosts at a crime scene where I highly suspect there are more bodies in.
Thank you, Lottie. And now I highly suspect that Travis Marrs has something to do with it.
Which would mean that the colonel has something to do with it, too.
Holy candy cane cornetto. What was it that Connor Maddox said?
Old soldier. Boss soldier.
And before that . . . Father.
The slope of his nose, the dirty blond hair, if it were gray and thinning, could be the colonel. His eyes are different; Travis’s are much darker, as if his pupils had all but taken over.
“How do you know the colonel?”
His lips tilt up to one side, and he takes a step closer to me.
“He’s my boss.”
Nodding, I reach my hand behind my back, moving slowly until I reach my phone in my back pocket. I can’t work it from here, so I’m not sure what I’m going to do, but it feels comforting to hold it in my hand, nonetheless.
“Major Jones, the psych, he’s very possessive of you, isn’t he?”
“You seem very fascinated by my relationship with Dr. Jones.”
“I’m curious to find out why a woman like you would be interested in a man like him. Do you have a thing for men in uniform?”
I feel the heat prickle up my neck. Only Jonesy, you dried-up tissue of a man.
He laughs, his head falling back as if he’s made the funniest joke in the world. It feels like we’re in a stalemate, and I’m out of moves.
“He’ll be here soon, and you can ask him yourself.”
“I don’t think he will be. I think you’re lying. And that’s not very nice, is it?”
“Why would I lie?”
He tuts, his eyes dropping to my leggings, stepping into my space. I freeze.
“He’s not really coming, is he? Are you trying to tease me, Katie? Playing hard to get? I see the way you’re looking at me. Like you’re trying to find out all my secrets. When all you need to do is ask.”
I swallow hard, my lip trembling as I suck in a deep breath through my nose.
“How many more girls did you kill, Travis?”
His lips creep up, his teeth baring as he lets out a depraved laugh.
“How did you know?”
I shrug, my body rearing back from his. “I read people for a living.”
“Well, look at you. Smarter than I gave you credit for. Shame no one will find out.”
He lunges for me as I spin on my heel. But I’m not quick enough. He yanks me back by my hair, and I fall back against his chest.
I scream out as loud as my lungs will allow, but a swift elbow cuts down between my neck and shoulder, and I let out a whimpered cry.
His gloved hand covers my mouth as he drags me back, the scent of rubber and disinfectant singe my nose hairs.
I lose my footing and scramble to keep my feet on the floor, but he’s dragging me away from the front door and into the kitchen.
I hear a door swing open, and he drops behind me until he’s hauling me down the stairs to the basement with him.
It’s dark, one halogen bulb swinging from the ceiling like in one of those creepy horror movies.
What the hell was Connor Maddox thinking when he bought this place?
Shadows dip around the bare walls, and all I can see is a loose window big enough for a child to fit through, but no other means of escape except the doorway.
There’s an old washing machine in the corner of the room and a broken drying rack leaned against the wall.
The basement is smaller than I expected, given the layout of the house.
“Katie? Are you here?” I hear a muffled voice cry out from upstairs.
A muffled scream escapes my mouth, but is hindered by the thick glove covering my face. Travis’s hot breath chafes against my ear, making it hard to focus on anything else.
“If you make a sound, I will bring him down here and make you watch as I kill him.”
To the back of the basement, a brick wall seems to cut the room in half completely, and I wonder what he’s doing. He clicks one of the bricks as a secret button, and tears begin to fall down my cheeks.
As the door swings open, the waft of smell hits me like a punch to the gut. The sickly sweet rot invades my nostrils like it’s a rotting fist shoved down my throat, and before I can stop myself, I’m gagging against the hand on my mouth.
“Shut up,” he hisses as I pull in lungfuls of air through my nose. It’s so bad it stings; my eyes water as vomit threatens to hurl up my throat.
He pushes me down onto the floor, and my hand lands in something sludgy.
I try to wipe it on the floor, but I find another wet, soft section that makes my gag reflex kick in, and I decide to just hold my hand away from my body like a limp cloth.
No light filters through, so I’m scrambling in the dark completely, feeling my way around on my knees.
“Travis,” I hiss, feeling around until I find his leg.
He rears back like a startled horse, and the sole of his boot bucks right into my ribs.
I hear a crunch and try to take in a deep breath, but the pain is excruciating.
I’m going to die. It’s kind of ironic, really, when I had assumed that if anyone was going to kill me, it would be Thomas Vale.
I’d love to watch him find out the news that another serial killer got to me first. At least I have the satisfaction of knowing that.
“She’s not down here. Check the closet in the bedroom, under the bed. Try the yard too.” I hear Jonesy’s muffled voice and someone else, but the affirmative grunt is too muffled to identify. A hot tear slides down my cheek as footsteps thud up the wooden stairs.