CHAPTER FIVE
The weather in Dayton was pretty much identical to the weather in Portland at the moment.
The temperature hovered just around freezing and wouldn’t warm much as the day progressed.
The light dusting of snow was just enough to highlight the color on the two- and three-story colonials that populated the historic Wright Dunbar District.
Marcus wasn't sure what made the district historic, and when Kate asked, their police escort, Detective Carl French, admitted he didn't know. "I just like the cobblestone streets. Makes for nice walkin'. Damned pretty in the fall too, what with all the leaves matching the houses and whatnot."
French’s accent was more Georgia than Ohio to Marcus’s ear, but that was another thing he wasn’t particularly interested in.
He was more interested in wrapping this up as fast as possible, hopefully with Elijah Cox safely in custody and on his way to Guantanamo or the closest equivalent they could find.
“Here we are,” French said, pulling the police cruiser in front of a square, tan brick house with two stories and an attic that from the outside appeared little more than a crawl space.
“And Mr. Schulz was found here yesterday?” Marcus asked.
“Yes, sir,” French replied with disconcerting geniality. “His coworker called it in. Apparently Mr. Schulz hadn’t missed a day of work in his life. Two in a row was enough to worry her. We already checked her alibi, by the way. She’s clean.”
“The neighbors didn’t notice anything?” Marcus asked.
“Well, they didn’t call us,” French replied.
“Did you talk to them?”
French reddened slightly and looked away. “Well… No.”
Marcus stifled his frustration. “Okay. That’s what I’ll do then. Kate, go ahead and look around inside. See if you can figure out what that bird means.”
“Bird?” French asked. Then his eyes popped open. “Oh, the cardinal.”
“Yes,” Kate said. “Were there other figurines in the house?”
“Nope,” French replied. “No, as a matter of fact, there wasn’t anything decorative at all. Just that bird. Kind of weird, if I’m being honest.”
“I think so too,” Kate replied, unbuckling her seatbelt. “Let’s go see if we can find anything else weird.”
French led her into the house. Marcus let his eyes linger on her a little longer than they should have before marching across the street to the house across from the front yard.
When had things gotten so complicated with her?
He used to love how easy it was to be her friend.
She was the only person in his life he felt safe opening up to.
Now he felt like he had with Cheryl, like he was walking on eggshells all the time.
Not that it was Kate’s fault. It wasn’t.
He just couldn’t seem to figure out how to go from being someone’s friend to being someone’s boyfriend without completely ruining everything.
Maybe he was too broken for love. He had seen serious death and destruction, stuff that made Cox seem like a nippy puppy.
It had strengthened an already powerful protective streak in him and left him unable to cope with the idea of the people he cared for in danger.
That caused him to be overprotective, and that caused the people he loved to lash out, and…
And that had nothing to do with Cheryl and not much to do with why he and Kate didn’t work out. He was worried about her yes, but that wasn’t why they had failed.
He just couldn’t figure it out.
He reached the front door of a slightly more modern-looking colonial of wood and drywall construction and knocked on the door. A pair of thin fingers pulled down the slats of the blinds covering the window next to the door, and he smiled.
The fingers and the blue eyes peering through the blinds at him disappeared.
A moment later, the door opened, and a woman of around forty appeared, blond, fit, and beautiful but with the weathering that came with age revealing themselves in the lines pulling at the corners of her mouth and the thickness just beginning to soften the curve of her hips.
“Yes?”
“Good morning, ma’am. I’m Special Agent Marcus Reid of the FBI.”
“Yes, I saw the uniform. Is this about Warren?”
“Yes, ma’am. I was wondering if you noticed anything suspicious a few nights ago?”
“What night was he killed?”
“Sunday night, ma’am. The 29th.”
The woman took a deep breath. “You can call me Shirley. And no, I didn’t notice anything. We were all talking about that last night, actually, how none of us saw anything. It’s… scary.”
She folded her arms across her chest. The worry in her eyes pulled at Marcus’s protective streak, and he had to resist an urge to promise that everything would be okay. He really hoped he wasn’t going to become a basket case over the whole Cheryl and Kate drama.
“When you say we, who do you mean?”
“Me and some of the other neighbors: Ryan from next door to Warren, Cathy and Gary from next door to me, Frank from the corner. We were all disturbed by the fact that we didn’t notice anything.”
“No vehicles that didn’t belong to you or your neighbors? No late-night visitors?”
Shirley breathed deeply. It brought color to her cheeks, which didn’t help Marcus’s instincts at all.
“No one we noticed. It…” She looked down, then met his eyes.
Their blue was soft, like a fall afternoon.
“We don’t really pay attention. That’s the scary part.
We all think we’d notice if something happened, that others would notice if something happened to us.
But we wouldn’t. We didn’t. We’re all so wrapped up in our own lives. ” She shook her head. “How did he die?”
“I can’t divulge that,” Marcus replied. And you don’t want to know. “What can you tell me about Warren?”
“He was nice. Quiet. He kept to himself, but he would stop and talk if you talked to him. I used to see him at the church at the end of Dunbar Street.”
“The Catholic Church? St. Francis’s?”
“Yes. He attended morning mass every Sunday. We’d chat for a few minutes. I used to feel sorry for him. He didn’t have anyone in his life. I think he had an ex-wife, but no kids.”
“Did you have a romantic interest in him?”
Shirley giggled. It sounded nice. “In Warren? Oh no. No, he was… I’m sorry.” She got her laughter under control and said, “No. He wasn’t my type. I’m not really into burly men. No offense.”
“None taken,” Marcus replied, though that stung a little more than it should have. “Was anyone else close with him?”
“I wouldn’t say we were close. That’s actually the point.
No one was close with him. We were all friendly from a distance.
” Her smile faded. “I think that’s a problem.
It used to be that people were close with their neighbors.
We were all friends. Even if we weren’t friends, we were a community.
Now? It feels like everyone’s just out for themselves. It’s sad.”
She lowered her eyes. Marcus resisted an urge to put a hand on her shoulder and handed her a card instead. “If you think of anything else, call me.”
She took the card, but it was clear from her expression and tone that she didn’t expect to think of anything else. “I will. Thank you.”
The other neighbors all gave him the same story. They hadn’t seen anything suspicious. For most, that was a disturbing wake-up call. They should have noticed something—one of their own was dead—but they hadn’t.
They all offered similar descriptions of Warren. Quiet. Pleasant. Gentle. Unintimidating despite his size. Kept to himself. No close friends or family.
A wallflower, in other words. The perfect target for a serial killer.
But not for Cox. Elijah Cox didn’t target wallflowers.
Each of his murders was a statement. He wanted the world to see someone deserving of punishment receive that punishment.
He wanted to warn others what would happen if they broke God’s commandments.
Warren just didn’t fit that bill. Marcus feared that this was going to turn out to be another dead end.
And how would Kate react? Would she accept that, or would her zeal to find Cox override her better judgment and send her spiraling off the deep end again?
And if she dove into those deep waters, could Marcus pull her back to the surface?