Almost Dead (24 page)

CHAPTER 57

Kitally’s house looked like Grand Central Station. Everywhere Lizzy looked, there was coffee, pizza, and soda. Not to mention stacks of files, notebooks, and enough laptops to supply everyone in the room with two computers each.

Tommy had run off hours ago to instruct classes at his karate business, and Lizzy and Jessica had followed Hayley and Kitally home.

A giant whiteboard was propped up against one of the windows. In big bold letters Lizzy had written:
Identify the man following Lizzy. Identify the Ambassador Club killer.

It was past nine and nobody showed any signs of slowing down.

Kitally wasn’t talking much. She was pissed off after spending two hours filling out a police report and leaving with nothing more than a promise that they would look into the matter further since it ended up being his word against theirs. After the police finally showed up, Chalkor insisted that they had broken into his warehouse because they were angry they hadn’t been able to find any evidence incriminating him in the workers’ comp case. It hadn’t helped Kitally’s case that she’d beaten the crap out of him.

Kitally sat on the biggest couch in the room. She had fabrics and a sewing kit spread out as she worked on a new project. Nobody went near her.

Hayley and Jessica had taken over the kitchen table.

Lizzy had lists, papers, and maps spread out across the floor, where she did her best work.

“How many mug shots have we looked at?” Hayley asked.

“At least a thousand.”

“Any possibilities yet?” Lizzy asked.

“Three maybes.”

Hayley kept right-clicking, keeping the pictures moving at a good pace. “Wait,” Jessica said. “Go back.”

Hayley clicked the left button until Jessica said, “Him—I think that’s our guy!”

In less than a minute, all four of them were staring at the man on the screen in front of Hayley. Hayley didn’t look convinced. “Are you sure?”

Jessica had used Kitally’s copier in the back room and made copies of the sketch Hayley had drawn that morning. She took one of the copies and handed it to Hayley. Then she handed her a pencil and said, “Can you give him a beard and make his hair darker?”

As soon as Hayley finished with the drawing, they were all nodding in agreement. “Those two men are identical,” Kitally said.

“What’s his name?” Lizzy asked.

“Frank Lyle. He served ten years for aggravated assault, rape, attempted murder.”

“I know that name,” Lizzy said. “He was the convict who was more than happy to take credit for Spiderman’s victims. For a long while everyone thought he was Spiderman and the media went crazy for him. He was—”

The sharp report of a gun outside cut Lizzy off. She grabbed for her weapon, but she wasn’t wearing her holster.

Jessica ran to the door leading to the backyard. “There’s someone out there.”

Lizzy ran down the hallway and up the stairs, put on shoes, and grabbed her gun. By the time she ran outside, Kitally was at her side with her machete in hand. They found Hayley standing over a man who lay bleeding on the ground. Jessica was kneeling over him, and barked orders at Kitally to call 911 and get her something to stanch the flow of blood. Kitally ran back to the house.

Lizzy took off her coat. She bent down and made a makeshift pillow for Detective Chase’s head. He’d been shot in the chest. He was bleeding bad.

“You were right,” he said, his voice weak.

“What are you talking about? What are you doing here?”

“Not a phantom,” he said in a whisper. “Your guy is real.”

“What about Shelby’s other boyfriend? What happened with that?”

“Turned out”—he paused for a breath—“the kid made up the entire story.”

“They’re on their way,” Kitally told Lizzy as she bent down and moved Lizzy’s hand that was pressed over the detective’s wound. Kitally made quick work of cutting open his shirt and using clean cloths and lots of gauze to stop the bleeding.

“The girl’s parents dragged her to the station, made her apologize,” Chase said, his voice clear, as if the shock was wearing off and he’d gotten a second wind. “She was jealous of the attention Shelby was getting, wanted a piece of the action. Can you imagine?”

“So you came here? Why?”

“I came to tell you what I knew, thought I’d let you gloat a little. I parked a few blocks away, figured I’d take a look around, keep an eye out for this phantom of yours. And lo and behold, I saw a shadow moving through the trees, heading this way. I thought I could catch him unaware. Turns out your guy has eyes in the back of his head. I had no idea he knew I was there. He wheeled around and shot me and then took off through those trees.”

“It’s Frank Lyle,” Lizzy said. “That’s his name.”

A flicker of recognition crossed his face. “No kidding?”

Chase didn’t look good. He’d lost a lot of blood. Lizzy wanted him to stay conscious. “Stay with me, Detective.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said.

“You’ve been shot before?”

“Nah,” he said, wincing. “I’ve been doing this for thirty years and not a scratch. I had a feeling my first time would have something to do with you, Gardner.”

CHAPTER 58

It was seven in the morning. Lizzy sipped her coffee as she watched the men working outside. Last night, crime scene investigators had squared off a large area around the spot where
Detective Chase had been shot. A bullet casing had been found. Tests were being done, footprints photographed and documented.

Where the perpetrator’s footsteps ended at the edge of the wooded area behind Kitally’s home, an official police search was about to begin. A group of officers and dogs were going in search of the shooter.

A light drizzle was not helping matters. Everyone was dressed in parkas and rain ponchos. They wore heavy boots.

Thirty minutes ago, Lizzy had been told that Detective Chase was in stable condition. That was a relief. Despite their somewhat hostile relationship, she liked the man. It was obvious he had his own demons to deal with, but who didn’t?

As Lizzy headed outside, she only got a few feet before Jessica came up from behind and grabbed hold of her arm. “Frank Lyle dropped a letter off at the news station on Broadway,” Jessica said in a low voice. “The letter has been turned over to authorities. Jimmy Martin is taking over for now, and he wants you to take a look at it.”

Lizzy knew the drill. Because it was a kidnapping case and probably due to the possible connection to a past serial killer, a joint task force had been formed. For that reason, and because Chase was out of commission, Jimmy Martin, FBI, was now in charge. Despite Jimmy’s continuous attempts at retirement, one more case always seemed to pull him back into the fold before he could make the final leap to sandy beaches and pristine golf courses. Lizzy didn’t ask questions. She just followed Jessica around the house to her car.

The morning air was crisp, her body chilled. Sticks snapped and leaves crunched beneath her feet. A feeling of déjà vu washed over Lizzy. It was happening again. Different players, different surroundings, but in a way nothing had changed.

She couldn’t remember ever feeling as if she was in control of her life.

Life happened to her, not the other way around.

She and her sister used to talk about fate. Cathy believed everything happened for a reason. If that were true, what was all this madness about? What more could she possibly learn from Shelby’s abduction? The girl had been missing for well over a week now. That didn’t bode well for her.

Jessica unlocked the car and opened the passenger side to her SUV.

Lizzy climbed in, then waited for Jessica to start the engine before she said, “We need to find her.”

“I know. We will.”

“I can’t let him get away with this. You know that, right?”

“What do you mean? Are you talking about Frank Lyle?”

“These monsters can’t just do whatever they want. Roam around until they find another victim. Time after time.”

“Lizzy, I’m not sure what you’re trying to say.”

“It never stops. Never.”

“Should I take you home? You don’t need to look at the letter right now. It can wait.”

“No,” Lizzy said, an intense look in her eyes. “I need to see that letter.”

Lizzy read the letter for the third time.

Across his desk from her, Jimmy was talking on the phone with someone at the crime scene behind Kitally’s house. From what she could overhear, they had yet to find more than a few footprints and one shell casing.

Jessica had left a few minutes ago to get them both a cup of coffee.

Every five minutes, someone stepped into the office. This time, Jimmy gestured for the person to go away. Every time the door opened, it sounded as if shit were hitting the fan on the other side. Now that the Shelby Geitner case had been pronounced an official kidnapping, the police department was crawling with federal agents. She knew from working with Jared that the FBI had the ability to tap into resources at a moment’s notice when there was a big case such as this.

When she and Jessica had arrived, there were outside broadcasting vans and production trucks at every corner. They all wanted to know the latest scoop on Shelby. And how exactly was Lizzy involved? They heard there was a shooting. Had they found Shelby?

Lizzy pushed her thoughts along with the noise out of her mind.

Focus.

She read the very last line.

Shelby Geitner is alive. She rote most of this leter. She didn’t know it yet, but she will be ded soon.

Lizzy felt nauseous, took a sip of water, and started at the beginning.

I did it. I took Shelby Geitner. The news people are all idiots. When we met before, I told you I was responsible for the deaths of so many girls, but you did not believe me. You stupid journalists treated Spiderman like a god. He was nothing compared to me. This time you will see what I am capable of. You will see. You will all see.

I told you. I warned you all and what did you do? You ordered your men in blue to open the gates and let me out.

I sit here now with a lost soul at my side. It is easy to see she yearns for attention. We both think it is sad that it had to come to this.

Am I invisible? Shelby says NO. I am in control. I have the power. I think she is right.

Lizzy took a breath before reading the next paragraph, the paragraph that stopped her every time. She read each word slowly.

Shelby wants me to tell her parents she is fine. She is happy and there is joy in the world she says and also she thinks it is important to teach me the words to
Gerammia
Jeremiah was a bullfrog. She is verry annoying at times. She makes so many promises.

The letter went on, paragraph after paragraph—the rambling words of a crazed man. And yet it was obvious which parts Shelby had helped him with. Shelby was trying to tell them something.

Which was why Lizzy kept going back to that fifth paragraph.

Shelby had been taking her defense classes for five years. She’d been there the day Lizzy brought in a special guest, a woman who had been held captive for months before she’d convinced her captor to write a letter. The woman had told the class how her captor had felt as if nobody would listen to him, so she’d suggested he write a letter and send it to the media. Not only had he written the letter, he’d unwittingly allowed the woman to include clues that led the authorities right to her.

Shelby was a bright student—an exceptionally smart girl.

Lizzy stood. When she looked across the desk at Jimmy Martin, he hung up the phone and said, “What is it?”

“We need to talk to Shelby’s boyfriend, Ben. You need to bring him here now. He needs to see this.”

Jimmy didn’t question her. In the past, there had been far too many moments like this one for him to bother with mindless interrogations of her or time-wasting uncertainty. Instead, he pushed a button and made the call.

CHAPTER 59

It was late by the time Lizzy got home. She had stopped at a restaurant and asked for a grilled cheese sandwich to go, but by the time she’d arrived at the hospital, they weren’t allowing visitors. Even if her timing had been better, it wouldn’t have done any good. Detective Chase had gone from stable to critical.

She put the wrapped-up sandwich in the fridge, surprised to see Hayley and Kitally still up, grinding away on the Ambassador Club killer case. “Where’s Jessica?”

“She went to bed,” Kitally said.

“Smart girl.”

“Any news on Shelby?”

“No.”

“Every news station is talking about the letter he sent to the media. I know you can’t say much about what they know, but do they think she’s still alive?”

“I have to believe she is.”

The room fell silent for a long moment except for the clacking of Hayley’s keyboard.

“Eighteen of the thirty-three women on the list of Ambassador Club killer suspects,” Kitally said, holding up a list, “have degrees in something that could be considered connected to the medical field.”

She stood and handed Lizzy the list. “Here. I’m going cross-eyed.”

It was easy to see that Kitally’s night in the abandoned warehouse had done some damage—taken some of the light out of her eyes and the kick out of her step.

“Go to bed,” Lizzy told her. “I’ll take over from here.”

Kitally yawned. “We should all call it a night.”

“I’m not tired,” Hayley said without looking up from her computer.

“You do realize,” Kitally said before she disappeared down the hallway, “that this person could have a degree in mathematics for all we know. Hell, she could be self-taught.”

Neither of them responded.

“It’s a matter of crossing one person off at a time,” Lizzy said under her breath.

Twelve o’clock the next day, Hayley strolled into the kitchen. She found the grilled cheese sandwich inside the refrigerator and shoved it into the microwave to heat it up. After the microwave beeped, she grabbed a paper towel and took a seat at the table across from Jessica. “Where is everyone?”

“Good morning to you, too. Or should I say, good afternoon?”

Hayley shrugged and took a bite.

“Lizzy left a note.” Jessica slid it across the table.

Hayley read as she ate.

Girls—I wanted to get an early start on the Ambassador Club case. I decided to take the four names at the bottom of the list that Hayley and I came up with last night:

Jenny Pickett

Kat Remington

Julie Smith

Latochia Bell

The rest of you pick a couple names and see what you can find out. Let’s meet back at the house at six p.m. to see where we’re at. —Lizzy

Hayley took her time finishing her sandwich, then tossed the paper towel in the garbage. “I’ll grab my bag. Are you ready to go?”

Jessica looked behind her before saying, “Who, me?”

“You don’t have anything else to do, do you?”

“True, but—”

“And I don’t see Kitally around.”

“She went to get her car in El Dorado Hills. Tommy took her.”

“OK, then,” Hayley said. “I’ll be ready to go in five minutes.”

Lizzy had already crossed three people off her list.

She went about things a little differently this time. Instead of barging in like a maniac and making accusations, she rang the bell, introduced herself, calmly told whoever answered the door why she was there, and then proceeded to ask questions.

So far, so good.

If she hadn’t been running on adrenaline and caffeine when she’d paid Dana Kohl a visit, she might have seen that the woman wasn’t who she thought her to be. She’d gone to the woman’s house with her mind already made up.

She’d made a mistake. She’d been making a lot of them lately.

But not today. She knew what needed to be done. Today she would proceed with care and professionalism. If she had done the same when she’d first met Melony Reed, the woman might still be alive.

It turned out that Latochia Bell had a husband and three kids. She was clearly overwhelmed. She didn’t have time to feed the baby, let alone plan a murder.

Julie Smith was newly married with a baby on the way and was quite possibly one of the sweetest ladies Lizzy had ever met—she was not a cold-blooded killer.

Lizzy had just left the third woman on her list five minutes ago. Kat Remington had turned out to be a major yapper. Lizzy had nearly fallen asleep listening to her stories about how the Ambassador Club members only did what they did because they were insecure. Apparently, Kat believed strongly in forgiving those who she believed didn’t know any better. After her lecture on forgiveness, she spent the next forty-five minutes complaining about how her impossible mother-in-law told her what, when, and how to do everything, including how to make a bed, iron a shirt, and cook a proper dinner for her husband.

The woman was beyond exasperating, but no killer.

Jenny Pickett was next on the list.

The only Picketts listed, though, were Ophelia and James Pickett in Elk Grove.

It was just past five.

Lizzy was tired, but she was only fifteen minutes from the Pickett pig farm, and she figured she might as well get this over with so she could cross one more person off the list.

“Third time’s a charm, right?”

“Sure,” Hayley said. “Next person on our list is Tracy Carson.”

“I wonder how Lizzy is doing. I don’t like the idea of her going out alone. She’s obviously exhausted. Otherwise she never would have stormed into that woman’s house.”

“She needs time.”

“And a break from all of this.”

“I agree,” Hayley said.

There was a long pause before Jessica said, “I can’t begin to imagine what Lizzy is going through. When do they actually take Jared off life support?”

“I guess you haven’t heard.”

“What?”

“Jared’s parents have petitioned the court for guardianship of Jared’s health care.”

Jessica sighed. “It just goes on and on.”

Hayley nodded.

“Poor Lizzy.” Jessica pulled the car to the curb across the street from a small Victorian house. “Let’s go,” she said. “I’ll do the talking this time.”

“Sounds good to me.”

As they walked up the pathway, Jessica felt a droplet of rain hit the top of her head. She looked heavenward. The clouds were gray and rippled.

Hayley knocked and a woman opened the door. She was short and frumpy, with thin, disheveled hair and a moth-eaten sweater two sizes too large.

“We’re here to talk to Tracy Carson,” Jessica said.

“Why? What is this about?”

“My name is Jessica Pleiss, and this is Hayley Hansen. We’re doing a story about the Ambassador Club. We were told that Tracy attended Parkview High School. Is she in?”

The woman blinked at them, then sighed. “I’m Tracy,” she said. “And, yes, I did go to Parkview.”

The thirty-year-old woman looked much older than her age. “Any chance we can come in and talk to you for a few minutes?”

“It depends.”

Hayley and Jessica exchanged a quick glance.

“On what?” Jessica asked.

“It depends on if you’re telling the truth or not. Are you really writing a story about that group of good-for-nothing assholes, or is this about something else?”

“No,” Hayley said, speaking out before Jessica could answer. “We are not writing a story at all. The truth is we’re doing an investigation.”

“Why did you lie about it?”

Hayley gestured toward Jessica. “It was her idea.”

Jessica rolled her eyes. “People are usually more open to talking if it’s for a story.”

“What a load of shit that is,” the woman said. “Truth. Always start with the truth.”

Hayley smirked.

The woman crossed her arms and gave Jessica the once-over. “Come on in,” she finally said.

Tracy Carson moved the newspapers from her tattered couch in the front room and pointed, which meant take a seat.

Jessica noticed that the weeks’ worth of newspapers were all folded to various stories having to do with the recent accidents. “Looks like you’ve been following the Ambassador Club story pretty closely.”

“You bet I have.”

“Do you remember the Ambassador Club?” Jessica asked.

“How could I forget?”

The woman disappeared. They could hear cupboards being opened and closed in her small kitchen. She came back minutes later with a plastic pitcher filled with some god-awful-looking foggy-yellow concoction and three glasses.

Jessica leaned back into the couch as if the pitcher were filled with acid and Tracy might suddenly toss it at them.

Hayley took over. “Are you aware that more than half of the thirteen members of the Ambassador Club have perished recently?”

“I am,” Tracy answered with a smile. “I can only hope that the person responsible finds a way to get all of them.”

“Are you saying you’re not disturbed by any of this?” Jessica asked.

“That’s what I’m saying. Every time I turn on the news and see that another member is gone, I celebrate. I kick my shoes off and do a little jig right here in this very room.”

“What did they do to you?” Jessica asked.

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” Tracy Carson pulled her sweater tight around her waist and then took a seat in a La-Z-Boy close by. “But I won’t talk about it. Not to anyone. Most times I make believe it didn’t happen at all. The memories, though . . . the memories live in me like a tumor that’s too close to vital organs, so it can’t be cut out. When every member of that club is dead, the tumors will still be there.” She placed a hand over her heart. “But I’ll sleep like a baby when it’s done.”

Jessica scooted to the edge of the couch. “Do you have any idea who might be responsible?”

“If I did, I wouldn’t say.”

“So you do have an idea of who might be responsible,” Jessica said.

“You look parched,” the woman told her. “Go ahead and have some lemonade. It’s nice and cold.”

Jessica looked at the particles swirling about inside the pitcher. Was this their killer?

“I made it myself. I have a lemon tree out back.”

“No, thanks. I’m not thirsty.”

“I am,” Hayley said and proceeded to pour herself a glass. Before Jessica could stop her, she guzzled it down, then wiped her mouth with her sleeve and said, “Delicious.”

“You knew that was a test, didn’t you?” Tracy asked.

Jessica couldn’t believe what Hayley had done. “A test?” she asked.

“Tracy believes we might think she’s the killer,” Hayley said.

A perfectly reasonable assumption
, Jessica thought. “You have a degree in chemistry,” Jessica told her. “For four years, you were abused by one, maybe more, of the members of this club. Of course you might be on our radar.”

“Well,” Tracy said, “I’m flattered. I only wish I had the nerve to pull off something as delicious as this. But I don’t. She’s bound to get caught, and when she does, she’s going down. Prison and me, that’s not a good mix.” She grinned. “I just hope she finishes the job before they get her. You think she’ll go after the ones who moved away?”

Jessica and Hayley looked at each other, then turned back to her and shrugged. “Hard to say,” Jessica said. “What makes you think the person responsible is a woman?”

Tracy lifted a brow. “Why are you here talking to me?”

“All righty, then,” Hayley said, pushing herself to her feet.

Jessica joined her and thanked Tracy Carson for her time. While there was no arguing the woman was a little strange and overly excited about the Ambassador Club deaths—that in itself was no crime. But still . . . Tracy Carson made her uneasy.

On their way to the car, Jessica turned to Hayley. “How can you be so sure she’s not the killer?”

“That woman can hardly see. She has uveitis.”

“Uveitis?”

“An inflammatory problem that causes swelling and destroys eye tissues.”

“How do you know this?”

“While you were watching Tracy, I was looking around the room. The cane was my first clue, the medication for uveitis was the second.”

“How does she read the newspaper?”

“You didn’t see the magnifying glass on the table?”

Jessica sighed. “Are you feeling woozy yet?”

“Not even a little,” Hayley said. “If anything, she might have put some sort of energy drink in that lemonade. I’ve never felt better.”

Jessica snorted and then opened the door and climbed in behind the wheel.