Four (Count to Ten Book 4) Page 2

  Somewhat reluctantly, he followed Rose into the apartment. He was contemplating taking a break when all his current cases were closed. He needed a break. A vacation. Maybe he’d do some travelling. He just needed to do something other than watch his brothers enjoy their families while he went home alone, and watch life after life be destroyed by crime.

  Right now though, he had a job to do. And do it, he would.

  “Rest of the house looks undisturbed,” he commented to Rose as they made their way down the hall to the living room.

  “Probably rules out robbery,” Rose noted.

  He nodded his agreement. “Wife is dead, only the one child. I didn’t sense it was the daughter, although we can look into her. Unless it’s the son-in-law, I'm thinking it’s not family related either.”

  Rose didn’t answer because they had entered the living room. Instead, they both surveyed the scene before them. The room was a good size. A small kitchen in one corner, and a round dining table with six chairs was set beside it. A large screen TV took up most of one wall; two, three-seater sofas and a two-seater were grouped around it. Another wall had bookshelves built into it, crammed with hundreds of books. Over by the window was an armchair and a small table. In the armchair sat Tarek Milford.

  However, what drew Jack’s gaze was what was on the ceiling.

  “That what I think it is?” He addressed his question to crime scene tech, Stephanie Cantini. He’d been working with Stephanie for years and considered her a good friend. She had just turned forty. She was sweet and fun and hardworking, and when she wasn't busy with work and her fourteen-year-old adopted daughter, she was an obsessive skydiver.

  Pausing from her task, she looked up. “Yep, it is,” she confirmed.

  “What do we make of that?” Jack asked Rose.

  Red brows raised in surprise, Rose said, “I have no idea.”

  “I'm hoping to get some prints on them,” Stephanie informed them. She was perched on a ladder, pulling glow-in-the-dark stars off the ceiling. Jack and his brothers had had similar stars on the ceilings of their rooms when they were kids. He had loved looking at them as he fell asleep, and then their comforting green glow if he happened to wake during the night.

  “He could have used gloves,” Stephanie continued, “but they probably would have made it more difficult to peel off the stickers and stick them onto the ceiling, so I'm hopeful we’ll get some good prints.”

  That at least was good news, Jack thought. A good print could wrap this case up by the end of the day. “Anything else?” he asked Stephanie.

  “I started up here since I thought it was our best chance of prints, but I’ll sweep the rest of the room when I'm done,” the CSU tech replied.

  Turning his attention to medical examiner, Francesca Marks, and the body of Tarek Milford, he asked, “Cause of death what I think it is, Frankie?”

  “Exsanguination from a single knife wound to the heart,” Frankie summarized. “I’ll have to confirm it, of course, once I get him back to the lab, but given the knife is still in his chest and there’s blood everywhere and no other obvious injuries, I'd say it’s a safe bet.”

  Jack had also worked with Frankie for years and had been thrilled for her and her husband when they had finally had a child after twenty years of trying. Little Tania was approaching two now and was an adorable and bubbly toddler with her mother’s big brown eyes.

  “We may as well head back to the station,” he said to Rose. “Start going through Mr. Milford’s old cases, see if there was anyone who ever threatened him. Or anyone who had any sort of fascination with stars,” he added with a glance at the ceiling. “Steph, Frankie—call us if you get anything.”

  As he and Rose exited the room, Jack hoped that this case would wrap itself up ASAP as he was already planning where he was going to visit on his much-needed vacation.

  * * * * *

  9:24 A.M.

  Laura sat at her window watching what was happening below her.

  She didn’t want to watch.

  And yet somehow, she couldn’t seem to look away.

  Police cars and crime scene vans filled the street outside her apartment building. It seemed like half the residents were milling around, for some reason enjoying the hubbub that always accompanied a crime scene.

  Laura could never understand why people were drawn to watching the aftermath of violence.

  Why would you want to watch as the police scrambled through the remnants of someone’s life, trying to figure out who had cause to hurt them and why?

  And sometimes there was no why.

  She wondered what particular tragedy had befallen one of her neighbors.

  Obviously, it was something serious, judging by the number of cops and crime scene personnel who had responded.

  She would never find out, though.

  She didn’t watch the news.

  She didn’t read the papers.

  She didn’t use any website that showed any news articles.

  And she never left her apartment.

  Never ever.

  It had been ten years now.

  Ten years that she had spent inside these walls.

  Ten years since she last felt the sun or the breeze on her skin.

  Ten years since she had spoken to someone face-to-face.

  Ten years since she had shut down her previous life and locked herself away.

  Ten years and she was no closer to ending her self-imposed exile.

  * * * * *

  4:45 P.M.

  “I can't go through another file,” Jack announced wearily, pushing away from his desk. He and Rose had been going through Tarek Milford’s files for the last six hours. They hadn’t even stopped for a lunch break.

  “Yeah, I hear ya,” Rose agreed, stifling a yawn and setting down the file she was holding.

  “Make any progress?” he asked as he stretched his back, trying to erase the kinks from sitting too long in the same position.

  “I have three piles,” Rose replied. “The definite nos, which are mainly his non-violent parolees; the maybes, which was basically anyone who had committed murder, and those who had made any threats to Mr. Milford.” She pointed to each pile as she spoke.

  He had used a similar system. “I have four who made threats, how many did you get?”

  “Two,” Rose replied.

  “That’s not so bad.” He was relieved there hadn’t been too many; six was manageable. “We should check those offenders out before we go, see what they’re up to these days. You get anything related to stars?”

  “Nope.” Rose shook her head, sending her red hair, which she had taken out of its ponytail a few hours ago, flying around her head. “Is the daughter sure they weren’t there before? He does have grandkids—maybe he put the stars up for them.”

  “She said they weren’t there when she was at the house yesterday. The killer did it. But why?” Jack had seen a lot of unusual things in his time as a cop, but these glow-in-the-dark children’s star stickers were really baffling him.

  “I have no idea, but I'm guessing once we figure that out, we’ll know who the killer is,” Rose answered.

  “We should run the MO—see if it pops up any similar crimes,” he suggested.

  “We’ll do it first thing in the morning,” Rose agreed.

  “I’ll do it tonight, after I look into the parolees who made threats against Mr. Milford,” Jack said. He had nowhere to go and nowhere to be tonight, so he may as well work.

  “He supervised a lot of murderers and violent offenders—any one of them could have killed him.” Rose was looking thoughtful. “But what would be the point? He’s retired, and even if he wasn't, killing their parole officer would have only gotten them more time and ultimately, if they ever got back out, another parole officer. And most of the murders were drug or family violence motivated.”

  “Anyone who killed just for the sake of killing?” There had been no one in his pile of cases, but maybe his partner had come across someth
ing.

  “Not yet, but we still have more files to go through tomorrow.”

  “Any of the neighbors report hearing or seeing anything suspicious last night or over the last few days?”

  “They haven’t finished interviewing everyone yet, but so far nothing,” Rose replied. “Doorman says there were no unaccounted-for visitors last night. Just residents, a few family and friends, and a couple of delivery guys, all of whom left the building.”

  “Maybe he got in a window, then?” Jack pondered. The building was secure. One of the most secure he had ever seen. Breaking in wouldn’t have been an easy task.

  “Or he lives in the building,” Rose put forward.

  “Possible,” he nodded slowly, “but super risky. It’s like inviting the police to your back door. Still, we can't discount it.”

  Rose’s phone pinged and she glanced down at it and then back up at him, a huge smile on her pretty face. “That’s Steph, she says she got a few prints from the stickers, she’s running it through AFIS right now. Maybe we’ll get a hit. Wrap this case up right away.”

  Jack could only hope. Before he could comment, his own phone beeped. He quickly skimmed the text. “Frankie says COD was exactly what we all thought. Once we finish with the parolees who made threats, we should go through anyone who killed with a knife.”

  “A knife to the heart seems personal,” Rose mused. “Maybe we’re off base with this parolee thing. Just because Tarek Milford used to work as a parole officer doesn’t mean it has anything to do with his murder. Maybe we should be looking at a jilted lover.”

  “I don’t know.” He considered this. “I agree the knife to the heart is personal, but Jordanna said that he had been in poor health since his fall. Physically and mentally. She said he had been depressed. I can't see him being involved with someone. Besides, Jordanna didn’t mention anything about a girlfriend.”

  “Could have been broken up for a while,” Rose countered. “And maybe the daughter didn’t know about it.”

  “Maybe.” But he doubted it.

  “Maybe it was a one-sided thing,” Rose suggested.

  “Like a stalker?”

  “Could be.”

  “Okay,” Jack acknowledged. “Worth looking into. We’ll talk to Jordanna again in the morning. Hopefully she’ll have calmed down by then and we’ll be able to get more out of her. Maybe Tarek was involved in gambling or something else that might have gotten him killed.”

  “All right, I'm calling it a night,” Rose announced as she stood and began to gather her things. “You should, too.”

  “I will,” he assured her. “I just want to do a few things first and then make a list of everything we need to do tomorrow.”

  Rolling her eyes, she said, “You and your lists.”

  “I'm an organized guy,” he protested.

  “That’s not all you are.”

  Playing dumb, he asks, “And what else am I?”

  Rose rolled her eyes again; this time, because she knew he knew what she was talking about. “You're stubborn, that’s what you are.”

  “If you say so.” He kept his voice mild with extreme effort. Jack knew that Rose and his family cared about him, but he didn’t like being hounded to do something he wasn't ready to do.

  “I do say so,” Rose snapped. Then in a calmer voice, she continued, “I really wish you would consider talking to someone.”

  Wanting to get her off his back, he responded, “I’ll think about it.”

  “Okay.”

  He was surprised his partner had given up that easily. “Really?”

  “That’s progress, and the best I'm going to get out of you right now. Jack, you’ve been depressed for months now; it’s time to do something about it before it gets any worse.” Then she was gone.

  Staring silently after her, Jack sighed. Maybe she was right; he did need someone. Just not a shrink someone.

  He gave up on checking into parolees for tonight, but before he left, Jack made out a neat list of tasks to be accomplished the following morning. Completing the list, he surveyed it, wishing that everything in life could be so easily organized and worked through.

  * * * * *

  11:19 P.M.

  He was very excited.

  Stage one of the plan had gone perfectly.

  Tarek Milford hadn’t put up a fight. When he’d broken in, well technically not broken in since he had a key, one that he had acquired illegally, the man had done nothing. Nothing at all. Just simply sat there. Looking at him with dull, empty eyes. He hadn’t begged for his life. He hadn’t pleaded for mercy. He had just sat and waited.

  Which, if he was honest, had taken a little of the fun out of killing the man.

  Not that he minded too much.

  He wasn't all that interested in killing.

  Well, at least not indiscriminately.

  There was one person he needed to see dead.

  And that one was personal.

  Hence the plan.

  The knife to the heart had killed Tarek Milford instantly. It was also a symbolic gesture. She had pierced his heart, all but ripping it out with her callous actions. He would simply return the favor.

  Then he’d had fun with the stars. The police would be baffled by them, of course. As they should be. The stars weren’t there for them or for him or even for Tarek. The stars were a message. For her. And she would understand.

  He wondered if she knew yet.

  If she didn’t, she would soon.

  And she would be terrified.

  The thought of that aroused him.

  But he didn’t have time to think about it right now.

  Right now, he was on to stage two.

  Stage two was going to be a little more fun.

  Mainly because Judith Barclay was so hot. The twenty-year-old had big brown eyes, long brown hair, and an awesome figure.

  He couldn’t deny he was a little excited about what the evening ahead held.

  Usually he wasn't a believer in taking a woman against her will.

  Not that it was often an issue.

  He was good-looking, charming, intelligent—he had no trouble getting women to willingly sleep with him. In fact, many threw themselves at him.

  He only resorted to force when it was necessary.

  And tonight, it was necessary.

  He needed to send his message.

  His recipient had thought she’d gotten away. She thought he had forgotten all about her, and about what she had done to him.

  But he hadn’t.

  In eleven long years, he had thought about her every day. He had searched for her relentlessly. He couldn’t allow her to get away.

  His thorough searching had paid off. Finally, he had tracked her down. And now that he’d found her again, he was going to finish what he’d started.

  Unfortunately for Judith Barclay, she was just a casualty of the plan.

  Sliding his key into the lock, he quietly pushed the door open and tiptoed inside. The apartment was quiet. And dark. Judith no doubt already in bed.

  Which definitely made things easier for him.

  He checked the equipment in his bag. He had plastic zip ties, duct tape to cover her mouth, a ski mask, and a gun.

  He had debated on whether or not to bring some cleaning supplies, to clean down both the apartment and the girl. In the end, he had decided it wasn't worth the trouble. He didn’t have a criminal record, so even if the police got his prints or his DNA, it wouldn’t help them find him. Sure, it would prove that he had committed the crimes if he got caught, but he wasn't planning on getting caught.

  How could he?

  There was nothing to connect him to his victims. They were simply a means to an end. And there would be no one to even notice when his intended victim ended up dead. In short, there was no reason for the police to ever even think of him, let alone suspect him.

  Putting on the ski mask, he headed for the bedroom. No sense in hanging around any longer than he had to. He didn’t wan
t to tempt fate. Just because the police would never come looking for him didn’t mean someone couldn’t unintentionally stumble upon him.

  In the bedroom, Judith was snoring away. Covers tossed to the side, dressed only in an oversized T-shirt. For a moment he just stood there, staring at her lithe body and drooling. Then he roused himself. No need to daydream; soon he’d be experiencing every inch of that perfect body.

  With his gun in hand, he climbed onto the bed. One hand clamped over her mouth, the other held the gun at her temple.

  At his touch, her eyes opened groggily. It took a moment but then she registered the feel of a hand on her face and the cold metal against her head. Her brown eyes grew wide as shock turned to horror.

  “Don’t be stupid, Judith,” he warned.

  Apparently, she wasn’t stupid because she didn’t try to fight him, but her entire body stiffened as though she had been turned into stone.

  With quick, efficient movements, he yanked her hands behind her back and secured them with a zip tie, then added a strip of duct tape to her mouth. As he studied her terrified eyes, he wondered briefly whether he ought to say something. Offer an explanation. Or maybe some words of condolence. In the end, he decided against it. Really, there was nothing to say. She was simply a means to an end.

  Instead, he pushed her shirt up over her head, revealing her naked body beneath. Then he removed his own clothes and got busy.

  JULY 20th

  1:06 A.M.

  Running.

  She was always running.

  And yet no matter how much she ran it was never enough.

  They always caught her.

  It wasn't fair.

  They knew the area better than she did.

  Plus, they were better prepared.

  Still, there wasn't time to complain. Or to contemplate the unfairness of it all. Or to cry. Or even to sleep. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d slept. Or eaten. And all she’d had to drink since she got here was a couple of mouthfuls of water from a small stream she’d passed a while back.