An Evil Mind--A Suspense Novel (11 page)

1

Gordon Stryker called Sam the next day around ten in the morning, while he was sitting in a coffee shop in Arlington. Stryker asked if Sam could come to his office tomorrow morning to discuss Sam’s proposal.

“Sure.” Sam grinned, his heart hammering in his chest.

Ten million dollars was now almost within his reach.

“What time?” he asked.

“How about ten o’clock?”

“Ten is fine.”

2

A few minutes after Gordon Stryker phoned Sam Curtis, Seth Elsworthy, a technician at the Express DNA Testing Service lab, handed Mark the DNA test report. According to the document, the sample submitted by Mark was human blood. Mark took Helen’s DNA report from his jacket pocket, gave it to Elsworthy, and said, “Can you tell me if both of these samples came from the same person?”

Elsworthy studied the reports for about two minutes, his eyes shifting between the documents every two seconds, and then said, “Yes, they came from the same person. The profiles match perfectly. All markers are identical.”

“What are the chances that these samples came from two different people?”

“One in a billion.”

So the knife sent by Chuck was really the knife used to kill Helen.

And Edward Phillips’s story was really a lie.

If it was Phillips who had murdered Helen, then who had killed Laura Sumner?

Either Laura Sumner’s murder was unrelated to Helen’s, or she had been killed by one of Phillips’s friends.

Mark called the Allan B. Polunsky Unit and scheduled a visit with Phillips. This was going to be the last time he ever spoke to him. He decided to turn the knife over to Detective Blanco on Monday.

3

On Thursday, Aguero requested a search warrant for Jeff Phillips’s and his wife’s credit card and bank records for last August. He also applied for a warrant for geolocation records for Jeff’s cellphones (because Jeff might have more than one cellphone number, the warrant covered all cellphone numbers registered to him). The good thing about cellphone tracking was that a phone’s location was recorded by the network—usually several times a minute—as long as it was switched on and getting a signal.

4

“A police detective came to my house yesterday,” Jeff said.

“What did he want?” Sam asked.

They were in Sam’s living room, drinking beer.

“He’s investigating Laura Sumner’s murder. He asked me if I left Dallas on August twenty-third.”

Laura Sumner. That was the name of the girl Sam had killed in Austin last August.

“What did you tell him?”

“I said I didn’t.”

“The name of the girl I killed in Austin was Laura Sumner.”

“Yep.”

“When did we go to Austin? August twenty-third?”

“Yes.”

“Did he explain why he asked
you
this question?”

“He thinks that Laura Sumner’s murder is connected to the murder of Helen Hinton.”

“I see.”

“He probably thinks that Edward had a partner and that the partner killed Laura Sumner.”

“And he thought it might be you.”

He
thought
it might be you.

What he should have said was “He
thinks
it might be you.” Sam hoped the detective had crossed Jeff’s name off the suspect list but doubted it had happened.

“He asked Emily where she was on August twenty-third,” Jeff said.

“Jesus, is she a suspect, too?”

“I guess so.”

“They might want to search your house. Make sure you have nothing illegal there.”

“Illegal… I’ll bring the guns here.”

Jeff was talking about the two unregistered pistols he had at home.

“Okay.”

“I’m glad we installed those cameras.”

“Do you think this detective talked to Edward?”

“I bet he did. I wonder if Edward told him I killed that girl in Austin.”

Could Edward have told the detective that Jeff had murdered Laura Sumner? Of course he could. Not because he thought Jeff was Sam’s partner—he had no reason to think so—but because he wanted to hurt Sam.

Why hadn’t Edward told the detective that Sam was his partner?

Perhaps he thought the detective wouldn’t believe him.

“I’m glad we buried Edgar,” Jeff said. 

Sam nodded slowly. “Yeah.”

1

“Thanks for visiting me,” Phillips said.

“No problem,” Mark replied.

“Did you get my letter?”

“Yes, I did.”

Phillips ran his right hand through his hair. When his eyes fell on the barbwire tattoo on Phillips’s wrist, Mark remembered that Curtis had a similar tattoo on his wrist.

“Curtis has the same tattoo as you,” Mark said.

“You mean this?” Phillips raised his right hand.

“Yes. When did you get it?”

“A year ago. Have you read the text messages Sam and my dad sent each other?”

“No, I haven’t.”

Sam Curtis’s cellphone company had sent the text messages to Mark on Wednesday, but he hadn’t bothered to read them yet.

“Are you going to?”

Mark’s heart was thumping hard in his chest. He wanted to scream at Phillips, to bang the receiver against the glass separating them.

“Yes.”

“Have there been any new cases similar to Helen’s?”

“No.”

“Have you followed Sam since last Saturday?”

“No.”

“You still don’t believe me, do you?”

“No, I don’t.”

“Did they catch Leonard’s killer?”

“No.”

“You sound… irritated. Is something wrong?”

“Everything’s fine.”

“Good. I got a new lawyer. I met him yesterday.”

“I received the knife I told you about the other day.”

Phillips’s calm expression did not change.

“Did it have Helen’s blood on it?” Phillips asked.

“Yes. Also, there were fingerprints on the handle. You want to know who they belong to?”

“Who is it?”

“You. These fingerprints are yours, Edward.”

Mark wished he could have said ‘motherfucker’ instead of ‘Edward.’

Would his visit be terminated if he called Phillips a motherfucker?

Phillips raised his eyebrows in surprise and removed the phone from his ear. Mark sensed that his surprise was feigned. They stared at each other in silence for a long moment, and finally Mark said, “How do you explain it?”

“It’s not the knife your daughter was killed with.”

“There’s Helen’s blood on the blade. I did a DNA test. It’s her blood.” Mark clenched his teeth, feeling anger heating his skin.

“It can’t be that knife because I didn’t kill Helen.”

“Are you deaf? There’s my daughter’s blood on the blade. You killed her, you son of a bitch!”

Phillips shook his head. “I didn’t kill Helen.”

“Do you think I’m an idiot? Well, I guess I am an idiot, because I believed you. What was this charade all about? Did you get bored?” Mark squeezed the phone hard and closed his right hand into a fist.

“I didn’t kill your daughter, Mark.” Phillips sighed deeply. “I can explain this, but you’re not going to believe me.”

“Try me.”

“Leonard didn’t believe me, and he was my lawyer.”

“I’ll believe you if you can prove what you say.”

“Let me think about it.”

“Did you kill Helen?”

“No.”

“Cut the crap, Edward. I know you killed her. Your fingerprints are on the murder weapon. There are no other prints on it.”

Why wouldn’t this bastard admit that he had killed Helen? Why the hell was he so stubborn?

“I didn’t kill your daughter. Sam Curtis sent you that knife. He’s trying to frame me.”

“Is that your explanation?”

“No.”

“So that knife was sent by Sam Curtis?”

“Yes.”

“Was that knife used to kill my daughter?”

“Maybe.”

“Why did he keep the knife? To frame you?”

“I don’t know.”

“How did your fingerprints get on the knife?”

“I can explain it, but you won’t believe me.”

Mark shook his head in exasperation. “I’ve had enough of this bullshit. You fooled me, Edward. Congratulations. But guess what? The joke’s on you. You’ll be dead in a few years. Enjoy your stay in hell.”

He slammed the receiver on the hook.

2

Could Phillips have left fingerprints on the handle of the knife before or during the trial?

This would have required assistance from a guard.

Sam Curtis might have bribed a guard.

Mark was convinced that Phillips’s prints had gotten on the knife when he used it to murder Helen, but for some reason his mind was thinking up alternative theories, and he was unable to stop it. He felt as though his mind was a debate club, where two teams argued for opposite positions.

Maybe Curtis had killed Helen with a knife he had stolen from Edward Phillips’s house?

Or maybe Curtis had collected some of Helen’s blood after killing her and then sprinkled it on the knife (which he had stolen from Phillips’s house)?

Why didn’t Phillips say he’d found the knife after Helen was killed? Because he didn’t want to lie?

Phillips had said his lawyer hadn’t believed his explanation. Leonard Barlow might have written Phillips’s explanation down in his notebook. Would Alice Barlow let him go through her husband’s notebooks? Mark doubted it, but he thought it was worth a try.

1

On Monday morning, Mark called Detective Nelson Coogan and asked him for an update on the Leonard Barlow case. Mark thought Alice Barlow would be more cooperative if he gave her some inside information about her husband’s case. Coogan said that no arrest had been made yet and that they still had no suspect.

As he climbed the porch steps of Alice Barlow’s house, Mark asked himself what he was doing here.

There were Edward Phillips’s prints on the murder weapon and Helen’s belt buckle. Phillips’s jeans and boots had Helen’s blood on them. It had been proved beyond doubt that Phillips had killed Helen. He ought to accept it and move on instead of trying to refute the evidence against Phillips.

What the hell is wrong with me?

Alice Barlow looked pale and weary. She recognized Mark as soon as she saw him.

“What can I do for you?” she asked.

“I’d like to ask you for a favor. Leonard defended the man who killed my daughter. That man was sentenced to death. I was wondering if you would let me read Leonard’s notes about this case.”

If she says no, I’ll get up and go home.

“I’m very sorry about your daughter. What was her name?”

“Helen. She was fifteen.”

“When did it happen?”

“Last December.”

“What’s the man’s name?”

“Edward Phillips.”

“Why do you want to read Leo’s notes?”

Should he tell her the truth?

“I think Edward Phillips might be innocent, and I believe that your husband might have found evidence exonerating him.”

“You think Edward Phillips might be innocent? I find it hard to believe.”

“Well, that’s what I think.”

“Leo was working on Edward Phillips’s appeal. How do I know you’re not gathering information for the DA’s office?”

“It’s not the kind of thing the DA’s office would do.”

“What makes you think Leo found evidence exonerating Edward Phillips?”

She was not going to let him look at Barlow’s notes. It was time to get up and go home.

“I have an idea. Can you go through your husband’s notes for me? What I want to know is how Phillips explained his fingerprints on the murder weapon.”

“They never found the murder weapon.”

“Did Leonard talk to you about the Phillips case?”

“Yes.”

“They found the murder weapon a few days ago. It has Phillips’s fingerprints on it.”

“Where did they find it?”

“It was sent to the police by mail.”

He should go home. The investigation was over. Phillips was guilty.

“So the murder weapon has Phillips’s fingerprints on it, but you still think he might be innocent?”

“Phillips told me he was being framed.”

“You talked to Phillips?”

“Yes, I did.”

“Is that all he told you?”

“He said he knew who killed my daughter.”

“Did he strike you as insane?”

“No.”

“Did he say anything weird?”

“No.”

“Did he ever mention body switching?”

“Body switching? No. So what do you think about my idea?”

After a silence, Alice said, “You don’t need to read Leo’s notes. I know what Phillips told him.” She paused. “He said that he wasn’t Edward Phillips.”

“What does that mean?”

“He told Leo that Edward Phillips had switched bodies with him last January.”

“Switched bodies?”

“Yes. Have you seen Freaky Friday?”

Switched bodies. Had Phillips lost his mind?

“Did he tell your husband who he really was?”

“Yes. Leo mentioned his real name to me, but I don’t remember it.”

“Is it Sam Curtis?”

Alice thought for a moment, then shrugged. “It could be Sam Curtis.”

“Did he say he used to share a cell with Phillips?”

“Yes, he did.”

“Did he explain how Phillips had switched bodies with him?”

“He said it was black magic.”

Of course it was black magic. What else could it have been?

“This is crazy,” Mark said.

“He said he could prove that Phillips swapped bodies with him.”

“Did he prove it?”

“Leo told him that the jury wouldn’t believe him no matter how much proof there was.”

Mark stared at the floor for a few seconds and then said, “You’re not pulling my leg, are you?”

Alice smiled. “No. Why would I do that?”

“What did Leonard think about Phillips’s story?”

“He thought it was nonsense.”

2

Why had Phillips told Barlow this ridiculous story?

Phillips wasn’t crazy, that was for sure. If he was, Barlow would have tried an insanity defense.

Why didn’t he tell me about the body swap?

Because he knew I’d laugh in his face.

He had said he could prove that Phillips had switched bodies with him. It had to be bullshit. Why? Because body switching was impossible.

Ridiculous as it was, Mark was intrigued by Edward Phillips’s body-swap story. The next morning he realized that he wanted to hear Phillips’s proof. He was motivated by curiosity, and he thought it was as good a reason as any. On Wednesday, Mark scheduled a visit with Phillips.

3

Sam was watching a rerun of Family Guy when his disposable phone rang. It was Gordon Stryker.

“Hello, Mister Stryker,” Sam said cheerfully. “How are you doing?”

They had met in Stryker’s office on October 27 and talked for forty-five minutes. Stryker asked a dozen questions and then said that he wanted his mother to try the procedure.

“Do you have two hours? I’d like you to explain the procedure to her,” he said.

“Sure, no problem,” Sam replied.

He reminded Stryker that the procedure cost ten million dollars, and Stryker said that he remembered that. They got in Stryker’s Mercedes and went to Stryker’s house in Preston Hollow. After Sam explained the procedure to Charlotte Stryker, Gordon told his mother that she should try it.

“Yes, it sounds great,” Charlotte said. “Let’s do it.”

Sam had said that he would schedule her for November 3.

“Good evening, Jake,” Stryker said. “I’m calling to tell you that I have to cancel the deal.”

Sam’s heart sank.

“Why? What happened?”

Had this motherfucker gotten cold feet? Or was Stryker trying to make him lower the price?

“My mother passed away last night.”

“Oh my God! I’m very sorry.”

Sam grimaced. Three days. All this old bitch had had to do was stay alive for three more days.

“Goodbye, Jake.”

Sam put his cellphone on the couch and shouted, “Shit! Shit! Shit!”

The next day he searched the website of The Dallas Morning News for Charlotte Stryker’s obituary and found it. Gordon had told the truth, his mother had really kicked the bucket.