Dying to Kill (Angel Delaney Mysteries Book #2) (26 page)

“Yes, but it wouldn’t do any good. I doubt he’ll actually come here anyway. But that won’t stop him from going to the police.” Janet closed her eyes and hauled in a deep breath.

Angel hardly dared to breathe. What did this man have on her that was so terrible? What was Janet hiding?

“Okay.” Angel chose her words carefully. “You decided to tell me about it. I take it that means you’re tired of living with this—whatever it is you’ve done—over your head. Are you in some kind of trouble with the law?”

“I suppose in a way I am. I came so close to killing that man. In a way I wish I had.”

Angel pulled her legs up, sitting cross-legged on the bed, and urged Janet to continue.

“I still couldn’t believe the rage I felt that day. I had lost my baby—a miscarriage. She died because of him. He hit me and pushed me down the stairs. I ended up in the hospital. They released me the same day. My baby was gone, and all I wanted to do was end my own life. I stayed in bed for five days. I hated him so much, but I didn’t think I could do anything about it.”

“Why didn’t you go to the police? Why didn’t you go to a shelter?”

“I don’t know. It’s easier to look back and make judgments. Maybe I felt like I had no alternative but to kill myself. He’d convinced me that I was the problem. He wouldn’t get angry if I didn’t do things that upset him.”

“And you fell for it?”

“What can I say? I was young and fresh out of school. One day he came in and pulled me out of bed by the hair. Told me I’d had enough time to lay around. He wanted breakfast. He needed clean clothes.”

Angel covered her mouth. “How awful.”

“He said he was glad I had miscarried. He didn’t want a brat running around anyway. I started crying and yelling at him. I pushed him away. He pushed back and sent me sprawling across the bed. Something inside me snapped. I can’t remember ever being really angry in my entire life. But the rage . . .” She covered her face. “In that moment I realized I wanted him dead. I watched
him leave the room, and I flew out after him. He was at the top of the stairs, and I hit him from behind. He fell all the way down. Ended up with a concussion and broken back.”

Angel moved her head from side to side. How could a man be so cruel? “What happened then?”

“I thought I’d killed him. I called 911 and told them he’d fallen down the stairs. I was terrified. He wasn’t dead. He ended up in a wheelchair, partially paralyzed. I was devastated. Charles never told anyone about my pushing him. He told everyone that he’d slipped on the stairs and fallen. I was thankful for that. For a while I thought it was my responsibility to care for him. I kept working as a counselor and hired a nurse. After all, I had caused the accident, and he had lied to protect me. I had to stand by him.

“For a while guilt paralyzed me as much as the accident had paralyzed him. I was terrified that if I didn’t do everything exactly right, he’d go to the police and tell them what really happened. I’d lose my license and never be able to practice again. The physical abuse stopped, but not the verbal. Not the emotional. When he was finally able to manage on his own, I filed for divorce. I thought I’d be safe in Sunset Cove, but he hired a detective and found me. That’s when the emails started. Pleas for money that I owed him. I’d ruined his life and needed to pay. So I did. Every time he asked.”

“I’m in shock. Here I thought you had everything together. I’d never have guessed.”

“I thought I had everything together too. I’ve been paying him for three years now, and I want it to stop, but short of having him killed, I don’t know what to do.”

“You’re serious? You’d have him killed?”

“No. But I’ve thought about it.”

“There’s a better way. It’ll take some courage on your part, but in the long run, you’ll come out way ahead.”

“What should I do?”

“Talk to Rachael. Tell her what happened to you. She can help you go through the right channels. You’ll eventually have to tell the police and get it all out in the open. Expose the jerk for what he is.”

She sighed. “I suppose you’re right. It may mean giving up my practice here in Sunset Cove, but at least I can hopefully put it all to rest.”

“It may not even go to trial or get into the papers,” Angel assured her. “Even if it does, no jury in the world would convict you for doing what you did. Janet, it was a crime of passion, and there were extenuating circumstances.”

“I hope you’re right.” She lifted her chin and turned slightly to grasp the papers the printer had spit out. “I’m sorry. I didn’t ask you here to talk about Charles. You need to read these.” Janet handed the pages to Angel.

Angel read the rest of the letter and those that followed in stunned disbelief. Dragonslayer had murdered Phillip Jenkins and was planning to kill again. When she finished reading the letters, Angel glanced over at Janet. “This is unreal. Evil. Talking about a murder as if it were nothing more serious than picking out paint to redo a bathroom. Whoever wrote this is . . . psychotic. Dangerous.”

“The women in group may have been right. Remember when we talked about the possibility of a serial killer?”

Angel nodded. “Which means there may be other men on the list. Why would the killer send these to you?”

“I don’t know. The notes indicate that he or she might have been a client.” Janet picked up a pen and wove her fingers over and under it. “It’s not unusual for a serial killer to confide in someone. Maybe they feel validated somehow.”

“And maybe the killer is still a client.” Angel shifted, freeing her legs and letting them dangle from the bed. “What’s your take on the gender?”

“A man, I think. It sounds like a business letter, and I thought it was a man when I first read it. I don’t know why. There’s something so cold and calculating about it all. And the way the men were killed—Phillip with a gun out of his own collection. Kelsey was also shot, then pushed over an embankment in his car. Both methods sound more masculine.”

“That was my first impression too. But now that I think about it, I’m not so sure. Suppose one of the women in the group decided to take things into her own hands?”

“I find that hard to believe. One of the things we stress is that you can’t fight violence with violence.”

“You can stress it all you want,” Angel argued, “but you know as well as I do that people can’t always control their emotions. And whoever wrote this obviously has a lot of anger.”

Janet’s shoulders sagged. “I just can’t believe any of those women would kill someone. Talk, yes, but act on it, no.”

“Can you think of anyone you’ve been seeing who might have written these? Someone with a vendetta against these men?”

“The only link is the abuse.” She closed her eyes and sighed. “I’m sorry. I can’t think of anyone. I’ll go over my files. It’s possible someone may have said something. Even then, there’s the confidentiality matter.”

“If this pans out, the police can get a subpoena.”

“We’ll have to deal with that if and when the time comes.”

Angel acquiesced. “I should go. I’ll take these with me.”

“That’s fine.” Janet licked her lips. “I . . . I’d rather you didn’t talk to the police just yet. I was hoping you’d investigate on your own before . . .”

“Why did you call me and not the police?” Angel asked again.

“I didn’t know what else to do. I tried to find the source of the email . . .” She hesitated. “Angel, the account is in my name, but I swear to you I didn’t write them.”

“How could that be unless they were sent from your computer? Are you suggesting someone broke into your house and wrote these and mailed them to you?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know. I have three computers—here, at my office, and my laptop. I carry my laptop in my car, and all I have to do is find a phone hookup. But anyone could have set up an account using my name.”

“Something like identity theft,” Angel mused. “Develop an account in your name, using your address and maybe even your credit card to set it up. Maybe it was the killer’s way of making certain you didn’t go to the police. They wouldn’t have to use your computers at all.”

“It worked.” She hugged herself. “The police would take one look and decide I’d written them myself. The situation with my ex doesn’t help. That’s why I had to call you.”

“What makes you think I won’t go to the police? This may be proof that Candace didn’t kill her husband. We have to let them know.”

“Could we take my name off them? We could fax them in as anonymous letters.”

Angel rubbed her forehead and began pacing. “I almost wish I hadn’t seen them.”

Leaning forward, Janet cradled her head in her hands. “What am I going to do?”

“I wish I knew.” Angel read through the emails again. “Dragonslayer said he or she wouldn’t send these. Why the change of heart?”

“I wondered that too. Maybe they went out by mistake.”

“I doubt it,” Angel said. “On my email program I can save emails as drafts. They don’t go out unless I want them to.”

“Right.” Janet’s eyes registered genuine fear.

“Of course, there is another possibility. Maybe whoever sent these hasn’t killed anyone at all. Maybe they just want to draw fire away from Candace.”

“Do you think so?”

The computer dinged, indicating another message had come in. Janet turned back around. “Another one.” She clicked on the message, and it popped onto the screen.

Angel read it over her shoulder. The words chilled her to the bone.

Angel swallowed hard.

“You’re right, Angel,” Janet said. “You do need to go to the police. This isn’t about me—maybe it never was.”

Seconds later another message appeared on the screen.

TWENTY-SIX

D
etective Riley.” Janet said his name as if it were the answer to all her problems. “We can show these to Callen. He’ll know what to do.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea. I’d rather not involve him.”

Janet frowned. “What happened? I thought you and he . . .”

“I think he may have an anger problem. And the way he yelled at me tonight . . . I don’t know.”

“Did he hit you?”

“No.” Angel didn’t want to talk about Callen. She wasn’t ready to deal with her feelings. Yet suddenly she found herself telling Janet about the argument they’d had.

Janet frowned and seemed to be having difficulty accepting the concept. “Callen Riley? Abusive?”

“I don’t know for certain that he is.”

“I’d never have pegged him as the abusive sort, and I should know. I’m a pretty good judge of character these days.”

“You know him?”

“Yes, he interviewed me regarding the Jim Kelsey case. He was very kind. I suppose I could be wrong, but I don’t think so.”

Angel felt as if she were gossiping about a good friend—as though she were betraying him. “I didn’t realize you knew him. I shouldn’t have said anything.” She remembered his kindness in the interview room shortly after she’d first met him. He’d listened intently, been protective. And after she’d been attacked after Billy Dean’s funeral . . .
Protective.
Maybe that’s what it is.

His anger had been because of the way she’d endangered herself. Those were the only times she’d seen him angry—at least with her. But how healthy was that? Angel needed to rethink things. Callen had been upset when she’d told him about Darryl. He didn’t want to see her in a job in which she could be hurt. But what did he think being a police officer was all about?

She had gotten angry with him as well. In fact, she was the one who’d run away from their conversation, acting like an adolescent instead of a responsible adult. She should have stayed and talked the issue through.