Deadly Web (26 page)

Konner stared at Jacob, tears in his eyes. “It was an accident,” he said.

Jacob nodded.

“We were in love. She knew that. And I was moving to live next to her. It was supposed to be a surprise.”

“And then you found out she had a boyfriend?”

“He wasn’t a boyfriend!” Konner shouted. “He was just some random guy! He didn’t understand her the way that I did! What could that… that… criminal know about Dona?”

Jacob refrained from mentioning that Konner was now a criminal himself.

“When I told her I was moving to Glenmore Park, she started saying that we were just good friends. Just good friends. That she was in love with someone else. And then we argued a bit. I said some things… things I shouldn’t have said, and she walked over to the door. She wanted me to leave.”

Konner became silent. He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand and sniffled. Jacob waited. Detective Vern cleared his throat, clearly impatient, but Jacob ignored him. Every detective had his own ways. Jacob was a sound believer in long silences.

“I don’t know what happened then,” Konner said. “I guess I was on top of her. I… and then suddenly I was sitting by her body, and she was dead.”

Jacob nodded.

“I wiped everything. Everything! I think I was there for a whole hour, just wiping. Then I got back to the motel. And… and the following day I called the police. I pre-recorded a message about Dona, and I played it to the woman on the other end of the line.”

“Why?” Jacob asked.

Konner shrugged. “I didn’t want her to just lie there.”

“After you killed her,” Jacob asked, curious, “why did you log into Dragonworld to play?”

“Well, I thought if I just joined the raid as if nothing happened, it would give me a good alibi.”

“But you got drunk,” Jacob said.

“I never got drunk,” Konner said. “I was just devastated. I didn’t really know what was the point. What was even the point of playing Dragonworld anymore? What was the point of playing it without Willow?”

“Well,” Jacob said, “her name was Dona, but I think I know what you mean.”

Chapter Twenty-Three

It was late in the evening of the following day when Detective Mitchell Lonnie finally sat down to write the report of the arrest of Henry Konner. There had been some complications, of the type that made Mitchell believe humanity had taken a wrong turn somewhere in the past. It had been understood that Henry Konner had to be extradited, so he could be charged for Dona Aliysa’s murder back in Glenmore Park. This required the district attorney to formally charge Henry Konner with murder. Fine, that was the easy part.

The difficult part was to schedule a rushed extradition hearing. No judge was available. Mitchell and Jacob had tried to explain to various secretaries, clerks, lawyers, and cops that they lived Really Far Away, and it was a long drive, and no, they wouldn’t be able to do it again in a week’s time. Someone had suggested they stay for the week. Things had started to get ugly.

Finally, Detective Vern had called his brother-in-law, who had a friend who played
Settlers of Catan
—whatever that was—with a judge every Friday. The judge had agreed to do the extradition hearing. The hearing had been incredibly fast, and the detectives could finally be on their way back. Except it was evening. Once again, they had driven late into the night, slept in a motel, and got back to Glenmore Park only late in the morning.

All they had to do was write up the report. Mitchell had told Jacob he could go home to his wife, volunteering to do the report himself. Jacob didn’t need to be told twice, and disappeared instantaneously, leaving an imaginary cloud of smoke in his wake.

Writing the report, of course, was no big deal. Mitchell had been writing truckloads of reports for the past nine years. Submitting it to the Glenmore Park’s police new and improved report management application was where things went awry. Apparently, the fact that the suspect was arrested in a different city was problematic. Mitchell stared at the error message,
Err-87 City Name Malformed Please Insert
, feeling tired and frustrated. He usually had no problem with the system, but the long drive seemed to have impaired his technical skills, and he could not fathom what the idiotic program was asking for.

A very angry female voice approached the squad room. Mitchell turned around, only to see Hannah storm in, yelling into her phone. Mitchell was always amused by the fact that while other people became red with rage, Hannah’s face became a cute pink.

“No, I will not hold!” she barked into the phone. “You tell me right now why the hell this happened!”

The unfortunate person on the other end of the call said something, to which Hannah replied, “But that’s not his name, you idiot! His name is Mikey!” She blinked, then turned to Mitchell, confusion in her eyes. “He hung up,” she said.

“How very strange,” Mitchell said.

“They released my suspect,” Hannah said.

“Who? Frank’s murderer?”

“No, not him. Mikey.”

“Who’s Mikey?”

“The drug dealer I caught a few days ago. I caught him red-handed with fourteen rocks of crack. Damn it!” Hannah kicked a chair, and Mitchell watched it roll on its wheels across the room. Sometimes chairs with legs instead of wheels were better. You kicked a chair with legs, it fell down. Way more satisfying.

“Why did they release him?” he asked.

“There was something wrong with the paperwork. The Sheriff’s department got it into their heads that his name is Devin Derkins.”

“I know Devin Derkins,” Mitchell said. “He’s a drug dealer in Wellington Square. A real pain in the ass.”

“Yeah, I know that, Mitchell.”

“Why did the Sheriff think that it was Devin Derkins?”

“Because I told… Look, forget it, okay? They’re a bunch of morons, and my suspect was just released because his lawyer said we can’t hold him.”

“That sucks,” Mitchell said. He looked at the monitor. The hell with it. He inserted
Glenmore Park
in the city text-box and submitted. A satisfyingly green message informed Mitchell his report had been stored. Victory.

Hannah sat down in front of her computer, muttering. Mitchell rolled his chair next to hers. Sometimes chairs with wheels were much better.

“Congratulations on catching Frank’s killer,” he told Hannah.

“Yeah,” Hannah said, looking at him. “It’s one of those cases where I almost wish I didn’t, you know?”

“I know.”

“We found this revenge porn site, where people post nude photos and videos of their exes. We reported it to the Cyber Crime Division… They said they’d take care of it. But it’s still online.”

“These things take time, Hannah.”

“I don’t know if they’ll remove it. I’m not even sure it’s illegal.”

They both lapsed into silence.

“Oh, and congratulations on catching Dona’s killer,” Hannah suddenly said.

“Thanks,” Mitchell smiled.

“Piece of work, that guy, huh?”

“Yeah,” Mitchell said.

“Love is a dangerous thing,” Hannah said.

“That wasn’t love, Hannah. He was obsessing over that girl, creating a false picture in his head about who she was and what she felt. That guy was completely delusional.”

Hannah looked at Mitchell, then glanced away. “Well,” she said, “I guess that’s exactly what falling in love is.”

The silence stretched between them for a few seconds, until Mitchell cleared his throat. “I was just going. Uh… You want to grab a beer before going home?”

“Sure,” Hannah smiled at him. “I think we earned it.”

They stood and left, switching the light off as they walked out the door. Only Mitchell’s monitors still stayed on, casting an eerie blue light in the dark squad room.

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About the Author

Mike Omer is the author of the Glenmore Park Mystery Series. He has been in the past a journalist, a game developer and the CEO of the company Loadingames. He is married to a woman who diligently forces him to live his dream, and the father of an angel, a pixie and a gremlin. He has two voracious hounds that wag their tail quite menacingly at anyone who comes near his home.

Mike loves to write about true people who are perpetrators or victims of crimes. He also likes writing funny stuff. He mixes these two loves quite passionately into his mystery books.

You can contact Mike by sending him an e-mail to [email protected]

Acknowledgments

This book could never have been written without Liora, my wife. It would have been a three chapter long attempt at a book, and probably written poorly as well. She’s my everything - my developmental editor, my brainstorm partner, my coach. I’ve been informed many times that I was very lucky to find her, and to those who tell me that, I say, you have no idea.

Thanks to Christine Mancuso for giving me incredibly valuable, unfiltered comments, which made this story so incredibly better.

Thanks to Richard Stockford who answered all of my questions with the patience and diligence of a saint, and then added some additional helpful and insightful beta comments.

Thanks to Axel Blackwell and my dad for their extremely helpful beta reading input.

Thanks to Tammi Labrecque for editing this novel. She does great by my books, and I cherish her contribution gratefully. It’s worth noting that she doesn’t edit the acknowledgments section, because I find that tacky. So any mistake here is my fault.

Thanks to all of the authors in Author’s Corner, for surrounding me with love and assistance, and for being a second family. And thanks for all the hats, dudes.

Thanks to my parents for both their invaluable advice and their endless support.