CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Derek was the first to enter the house, followed by James, and then Alison.
All three walked past Howard, who stood at the door, waiting for them to pass.
Alison smiled politely as she passed Howard, looking him in the eyes and wondering if they were the eyes of a killer.
Once all three were inside, he closed the door behind them.
"Just straight ahead," Howard said. "We can sit through in the kitchen. Would anyone like some coffee?"
"No, we’re fine," James said as he followed Derek through to the kitchen.
Howard was polite and unperturbed by the police at his door. He has also not asked what the visit was for. Did that suggest he was guilty or innocent?
Alison followed her father to the kitchen, checking over her shoulder to make sure that Harold was following them and not making a run for it. If he were the killer, he would be a mess of nerves inside. He didn’t display any of that on the outside.
Alison looked around as she walked. There were pictures of children on the walls from when Howard was much younger.
His kids had grown up and had left home.
There was a shelf with some porcelain frogs, and a small cuckoo clock above it.
The kitchen was cluttered and small. A toaster and kettle took up half the counter space, but the kitchen still had a large dining table that occupied much of the floor space.
There were six chairs around the table, suggesting that Mills and his wife hosted a lot.
They were looking for a killer who was careful and had avoided capture. The kitchen didn't display an organized mind, but the clutter could also be due to the lack of space.
"Are you sure that you won't have any coffee?" Mills asked again when he reached the kitchen.
"No, that’s quite all right," Derek said.
Mills stood before the tree of them and opened his arms. "So, what can I help with?"
"Why don't we sit down?" Derek suggested, gesturing towards the table.
"Yes, please take a seat," Mills said as he pulled out a chair for himself. He sat down and placed his hands on the table.
Alis glanced at his hands as she pulled out a chair for herself. Mills’ hands were steady.
"So," Mills said slowly. "What can I do for you? It’s not often you have the FBI come to your door."
"I’m sure it’s not," Derek said with a smile, trying to put Mills at ease. "We’re in the middle of a homicide investigation, and we’re going door to door to see if anyone saw anything."
"Oh, my goodness, that’s terrible," Mills said. "This was someone in the area?"
Alison looked over at her father and saw how hard it was for him to stay calm. Mills had given them nothing so far to suggest that he was the killer, but her father still looked like he wanted something today.
"Not the immediate area, no," Derek said. "This was a few weeks ago in the park on 50th Ave. Do you know it?"
"I do," Mills said. "That’s not near here, I’m afraid. I don't know if I can be of any help."
"We’ve been to the residences in the area, and no one around there saw anything," Derek continued.
"Katrina Sands was murdered in that park late at night on the 14th of last month.
Someone might have mentioned a van in the area with a specific logo on it, and that logo matches the company that you work for. "
Derek was straying a little from the truth, but if they were sitting with the man who had killed five women over twenty-two years, then they had to do all they could to get him.
"The 14th, you said?" Mills asked.
"That's correct," Derek replied.
"And this was late at night?" Mills asked.
"Also correct, yes."
"All right, let me check," Mills said. He took his phone from his pocket, slowly swinging and tapping at the screen.
"The 14th, yes. I see. I’m sorry, I don't believe I can help you.
I was working that night, but it can't have been my van.
" Mills turned his phone to show a spreadsheet as if that explained everything.
"I was all the way across the other side of the city on a job.
I wish I could be of more help. I firmly believe in saying something if you see something. "
Alison could see that her father was struggling to sit there without saying anything. James shifted from side to side on his chair, and his lips were pressed tight. He was saved from saying something by Mills’s wife, who must have been listening to them from the next room.
"What’s all this about a murder?" she asked as she entered the kitchen. "You didn't mention anything about seeing a murderer."
"Marcy, please," Mills said. "I’m trying to talk to Special Agent Sullivan and his team. There was a murder last month, and they thought I might have seen something, but I didn’t."
"He’s always working so much," Marcy complained. "Did you offer our guest some coffee?"
"I did, Marcy," Mills said. "Please, just go back to your show. I’m doing my best to answer their questions, but I don't need the interruptions."
Marcy held up her hands as she exited the kitchen, muttering to herself. "Always far too many people killing each other in this city."
"I’m sorry about that," Mills said once she’d left. "So, no, I didn’t see anything that night, unless…" Mills rubbed the side of his head. "No, my route to and from the job wouldn’t have taken me anywhere near that park."
"Did you leave the job at all that night?" James asked, finally speaking. His shoulders slumped a little as he said the words as if they had been clogging him up from within.
"No, I wouldn’t have," Mill said. "I mean, there would be nowhere for me to go—most places would be closed at that time of night anyway. I always take food with me when I’m working overnight, and I had a thermos of coffee.
" Mills remained with his hands on the table, completely still, and he looked around at the thereof them with a pleasant smile.
"I really hope you catch whoever killed that woman.
I remember reading about her in the newspaper. "
"I hope we catch the guy, too," James said, unable to bite his tongue as Alison had.
She was too busy watching Mills, hoping for the slightest crack in his demeanor.
"We’re looking into the possibility that this wasn’t a one-off," Derek said, moving the conversation forward. "So, any information you can give us would be extremely useful."
"What do you mean by it not being a one-off?" Mills asked.
"I believe that whoever killed Katrina Sands has killed before."
"My goodness," Mills said with concern, yet within that was almost a hint of excitement. "A serial killer?"
There was nothing to prove that was the case, but Alison was sure that Mills was enjoying himself.
"We believe that she was the fifth victim, going all the way back to Emma Payne, twenty-two years ago," Derek said.
"Oh," was all that Mills managed this time.
Derek caught a whiff of something, and he tugged at the thread.
"Yes, we believe there’s a serial killer walking the streets right now, and he kills young, female joggers, then waits five years before killing the next one.
Only it was seven years between the last two murders.
That’s curious, right? We’re looking for anyone who might know anything or might have seen something suspicious. "
Mils pursed his lips and shook his head, but he didn't look as sure of himself anymore. "I haven’t seen anything suspicious," he said.
Alison could sense a change in the mood. "We’ll start looking at the last two to three years and find out if anyone had something happen, some major life event that would explain why they couldn’t kill someone two years ago."
"I assume that’s a good place to start," Mills said. "I wouldn’t really know where to go from here. I wish I had seen something so I could help in some way. I hate to think of someone like that on the streets, killing—I don't even know who is being killed."
"Young women," Derek said. "Female joggers out for late-night or early-morning runs. The killer has a type."
"I can’t imagine," Mills said, shaking his head, then rubbing his forehead. "I have a daughter in her early twenties."
"I had a sister who was eighteen when she was killed," Alison said.
Mills looked between Derek and James, not acknowledging what Alison had said.
"She was my daughter," James said. "Emma Payne was killed when she was eighteen. She was out running home from swim practice when someone ended her life."
Alison stuck out her hand so that Mills couldn’t miss it. "I’m Alison Payne. Emma was my sister. The first person he killed. If you know anything, anything, it would really help the investigation."
Mills didn’t look at anyone now, and he stood up from the table, almost knocking his chair over in the process.
"Where are you going?" Derek demanded as he stood.
"No, no, nowhere," Mills said. "I just…does anyone want some coffee?"
"We’re fine," Derek said. "You can sit down, Mr. Mills. We’re not done here."
"I’m not stopping until I find my daughter’s killer," James said, staring at Mills.
Mills bent down and picked up his chair. "I’m sorry," he said. "I can't imagine what that must be like for you. I have a daughter. Did I mention that?"
"Please just sit down," Derek said.
Derek was the only person Mills would look at. Derek looked away from Mills for a second as he sat, holding Alison’s gaze. Alison tilted her head in response: Mills was starting to act weird, but it could be a sign he was affected by what they were telling him rather than guilt.
The four of them sat at the table again, and silence descended on the table. Mills breathed deeply, obviously agitated. Then he burst upward from the chair again, knocked it over, and ran from the kitchen.
Derek was the first to react and was on his feet in an instant, going after Mills. James followed, then Alison.
She heard the door open, then steps thudding on concrete as Mills ascended. She was halfway down the hallway when Derek let out a cry and came tumbling head over heels down the stairs. James caught him near the bottom, cushioning his fall somewhat.
"Go!" Derek grunted to no one in particular.
Alison ran past Derek and her father and up the stairs, hesitant that Mills would be waiting there to push her down. She reached the top and ran out onto the street, looked both ways, but saw no sign of him. She grabbed her phone to call it in.
Alison chose a direction at random and ran down the street towards the closest intersection, sprinting in the hope that she’d gone in the same direction and would see him when she rounded the corner.
When she got there, she saw no one on the street.
Still, she ran down that street, knowing it was futile, but needing to try.
Alison had hoped for a sign that Mills was the killer, and there was no bigger one than running from them. She was sure now that Mills was the killer.
She had no idea where he had gone.