Eight in the Box (13 page)

CHAPTER 36

A
ndi Norton had trouble inserting the key into the knob. The
hallway was poorly lit, several bulbs burned out in the chandelier. She heard a noise on the first floor and waited to see if anyone was following her up the stairs. Everything was silent. She opened the door to her condo with one hand, holding Rachel up over her shoulder with the other. Rachel had fallen asleep during the ten minutes it took to go from Newbury Street in the Back Bay to their condominium in Southie. Her own place was a reward from her parents for getting into law school. They were pretty cool, choosing to give their only daughter some of her inheritance while they were still alive.

Without turning on any lights, Andi moved quietly down the front hall, through the living room and into Rachel’s bedroom. Andi felt Rachel’s regular breaths on her neck. She was sleeping soundly. Andi pulled the quilt back and gently placed Rachel on the bed, her blond hair forming a halo around her head as it spread out on the pillow. She slipped off Rachel’s jacket and her shoes. She could sleep in her leggings and jersey. No need to wake her up. Pulling the covers up, Andi kissed Rachel on the forehead. “Sweet dreams, princess.”

Back in the living room, the answering machine was blinking. One message. It was Connie. “Hi, Andi. Just me. I’m still out with Mitch. We’re at Kilronan’s. Just checking in to see how dinner went. Miss you. Talk to you tomorrow.”

A muted rustling sound just outside her door. Was someone in the hallway? Her door was at the end of the hall. It couldn’t be Connie. He was at Kilronan’s. Had she locked the door? The dead bolt? She moved toward the door. Don’t run. No need to panic. Then she heard the noise again. Someone fooling with a doorknob? She turned the dead bolt and leaned against the door, trying to relax. She took a breath and turned to look out the peephole. Down the hall was her neighbor, balancing grocery bags and fooling with her keys in the dark hallway just as Andi had done a few minutes before.

She needed a drink.

Andi went into the kitchen and poured herself a glass of merlot. On the couch, in the dark, she sipped the wine. She tried to think positive thoughts. Connie. She’d been seeing him for only a few months, but she was starting to care for him. He seemed to understand her situation as a single parent, how she wanted to take things slowly for Rachel’s sake. It was important that she not have a bunch of men walking in and out of her daughter’s life.

Andi needed a man that wasn’t just out for sex, someone who was mature enough to realize that there was a child involved in the relationship. Conrad Darget was starting to look like that man. But she needed to be sure. She took another sip of wine. He respected her responsibilities. During the time they’d dated, he’d never tried to do more than kiss her. A perfect gentleman. He’d told her that they could take their time until
she
was ready, and he had kept his promise.

Andi couldn’t believe she cared so much about a man she’d never slept with, or maybe what she couldn’t believe was that she hadn’t slept with a man she cared so much about. Connie had been very patient. Too patient? A nagging thought crept into her daydream. What if she
was
being played? What if this
was
his way of getting to her?

No. It was the wine, the late hour, too many bad dates talking. He’d done so much for her at work, and he wasn’t showering Rachel with gifts and attention to win her over. Andi moved into her bedroom without turning on the lights.

CHAPTER 37

M
itch stayed at the table while Connie went to the bar for another
round of Murphy’s Irish Stout. He felt miserable, but grateful that Connie had made him go out. The workout had helped take his mind off things and now the beers were working their magic, helping him forget a little. Hanging out with a friend was much better than sitting all alone in that empty apartment, thinking about how Sonya was right.

It was Connie’s idea to go for a beer at Kilronan’s in Mission Hill, a Boston neighborhood made famous by Charles Stuart. Stuart shot and killed his pregnant wife before making a frantic 911 call. He accused a black man of the shooting, bringing the city to the verge of a race war as the police engaged in an aggressive manhunt for the killer. The police eventually turned their attention back toward Stuart, but the damage to the black community had been done. In the end, Stuart took his own life by jumping off the Tobin Bridge into the Mystic River.

Kilronan’s was about a mile from the courthouse and right around the corner from where Stuart had killed his wife and unborn son. Tonight, there were only a couple of other people in the pub, all sitting at the bar, while the two of them huddled at a table in a dark corner.

“Hey, buddy,” Connie said as he returned with the beers, “you’re not getting depressed on me again, are you?”

“No.”

“Good, because if we’re going to survive in this business, we have to get used to making tough decisions. Once we get up to superior court the stakes will be even higher.”

“Connie, I killed a man today. Could the stakes be much higher?”

“You only did your job. You were given a set of facts and presented those facts to a judge. And, like you said in court, the law is the law, no matter what Woodrum says.”

“But what if I am a sellout? I feel like the Judas that Furr accused me of being.” That quickly, Mitch felt dangerously close to breaking down again. “Connie, my sole purpose in life is sending young black men to jail. I don’t know if I can do it anymore.”

“You’re anything but a sellout. It would be easier for you to become a defense attorney like Woodrum and get up on your soapbox and talk about oppression. Instead, you’re a role model to the young kids growing up in the city who want to make their neighborhood a safer place to live. You’re the one trying to eliminate the drugs that are destroying the black community. You should be proud of yourself and what you do. What happened today was tragic. But we’re not responsible for the choices a man makes.”

“What would you do if you were in that situation? You’re a law-abiding citizen your whole life. Then one day you make a mistake that’s going to send you to jail for a couple of years. Would you be able to tough it out or would you kill yourself?”

Connie thought for a moment and said, “I think I’d be able to do the time.”

“I couldn’t make it through a single day being caged. I’d probably kill myself the same way Furr did. Quick, easy and painless.”

Mitch remembered his own father, who had struggled for so long with the loss of his wife, Christina. Around the time Mitch was going off to college he finally realized that his father had adopted him to fill the void left by her death. It was during his sophomore year in college, just after the Christmas break, that Mitch had received the call that his father had killed himself. Apparently Marshall Beaulieu had felt he was losing Mitch and couldn’t stand the thought of being alone again.

“Furr’s death was messy,” Connie said, “but you’re right about it being quick and painless. I don’t think I could ever kill myself. I think it would be harder to kill yourself than to survive in jail. If nothing else, the man had balls.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Mitch said as they both downed the last of their beers.

Mitch thought about how jumping off a balcony took a lot of guts, but it was nothing like the meticulous time and effort employed by his father to hang himself, with his hands tied behind his back. Mitch never figured out how he’d done it, but it certainly took nerve and commitment to go through all that and not change his mind. Mitch wished that his father had called him first. Maybe hearing Mitch’s voice, thinking of Mitch being alone, would have changed his mind.

Mitch had inherited the entire Beaulieu estate, but it wasn’t financial security that he needed. He needed his father for guidance and counsel. He no longer had Sonya to help him work things out. The only one he could talk to, the only one he trusted now, was Connie.

CHAPTER 38

“B
lood Bath Killer Strikes Again!” Nick Costa poked his head into
the conference room as he pointed to the Tuesday morning headline in the
Herald.
“This guy is really on a tear.”

Connie felt the temperature in the room drop by a few degrees. He’d just been updating Liz on the most recent murder. And she wasn’t pleased. The television and print media had picked up on Robyn Stokes’s death. The BPD was taking shit for burying the story. They were also being accused of recklessly creating a public safety risk.

“That’s not funny,” Liz said.

“Doesn’t anyone have a sense of humor around here?”

Liz was biting down on her lower lip to control her anger. Nick had made a big mistake with this one. Best to stay out of it.

“A young woman was killed over the weekend,” Liz started. “She’s the third woman murdered in the last few months, the second in the past week, and you think there’s something funny about that?” Liz raised her hand to stop Nick from responding. “And, correct me if I’m wrong,” she said turning to Connie, “but I don’t think the police have any leads.”

“They don’t,” Connie said. “I talked with Alves ten minutes ago. They’re getting a lot of heat, but they’re no closer to catching this guy than they were after the first murder.”

Liz focused back on Nick. “Which means more innocent victims may lose their lives.”

Nick tucked the newspaper under his arm.

“Alves sounded pretty concerned.” Connie was enjoying this.

“As well he should,” Liz said. “We should all be concerned, especially since we work for the district attorney, the city’s chief law enforcement official. If you think there’s something humorous here”—she gave Nick a withering look—“please let me in on it. Maybe we can give the DA a call and share the joke with him.”

Nick looked defeated. After a few seconds of silence he said, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have been kidding around.”

“No more jokes. No more trying to scare people in the parking lot at night. This isn’t high school. You’re a lawyer. Start acting like one.”

Nick turned and silently left the conference room.

“I don’t have time for his bullshit. Nick’s prank in the parking lot got me thinking. We need a plan to ensure our own safety coming and going late at night and early in the mornings.”

“Maybe we should have a staff meeting to set up a protocol,” Connie suggested. “All these women were killed at home, but Alves said that doesn’t mean he won’t attack somewhere else. They haven’t figured out his pattern yet. He could be stalking women and waiting to attack, or he could just be an opportunist, killing women he’s never seen before.”

“Do they have an idea as to the common thread linking the victims?” she asked.

“It could be anything. He might be watching them as they leave work, go grocery shopping or to the cleaners. Alves thinks that women should be vigilant at all times, keeping an eye out for anyone who could be watching or following them. You’re right, nobody should walk out to the parking lot alone at night. Anyone who works late should call next door for a police escort to their car.”

“That’s good,” she said. “We’ll have a meeting so we can discuss different safety options.”

“If you want, I’ll call a community service officer and see if she can get rape whistles for the women.”

“Do you think you can get ahold of her this morning?”

Connie looked at her, surprised by the request’s immediacy, and thought he saw a shadow of fear cross her face.

CHAPTER 39

T
he crisp sheets felt cool against Richter’s skin, the ceiling fan
whirring above his bed. He had just finished with Robyn Stokes, allowing him some time to reflect on all he had accomplished. The past week had been eventful. He would have to slow down a little to keep the detectives off balance. He would pick up his pace when the time was right, but for now Richter would simply take pleasure in his achievement.

He could take a life without feeling any anger or hatred. It was a skill he had worked on for many years. There had been times when he had acted on his emotions, but those were in the past. Richter knew that killing out of anger would eventually get him caught, because anger is a motive. That was the beauty of his current work. No one would ever realize that Richter was killing anyone, because he had no motive to kill anyone.

Looking up at the ceiling fan, he remembered the first time he had wanted to kill. At that time, the desire arose from anger. He was young and he had not yet harnessed his rage.

Richter never took his eyes off Pam Brown’s tight pink panties as she ran to get the Ouija board out of the closet. They had just finished playing a game of strip poker and Richter had called for a vote to decide if they should play with the Ouija board before getting dressed. It was, in theory, a democratic vote. Unfortunately for the girls they were outnumbered three to two, so everyone had to stay in their underwear a little longer.

It was ninety degrees and humid, with only the ceiling fan to cool the room. At sixteen, Richter was the youngest of the group, but he was bigger than the other boys, almost six feet tall.

Frank and Brian Jansen, twin brothers whom Richter had nicknamed the Smurfs because they were short, chubby and looked exactly alike, sat on one end of the couch across from him. Pam strutted around in her pink panties and bra, enjoying the attention from the boys. Luz Perez had taken over the other end of the couch, trying to cover herself using her yellow midriff T-shirt as a blanket. She wasn’t her usual flirty self. Stripping her down to her underwear had exposed her as a tease.

Luz was curled up on the couch with her knees clamped together and pulled up to her chest. Her face was flushed and she looked as if she was ready to cry. It was obvious that she had no intention of playing any more games.

Richter stared down toward her feet and said, “Luz, your epidermis is showing.”

She looked up and saw where his eyes were focused. She tried to close her legs tighter together and lower the shirt.

“It’s still showing,” he said, this time staring at her chest.

She put her arms across her chest.

“I can still see it, Luz.”

“No you can’t. You can’t see anything, you liar.”

“You have no idea what your epidermis is, do you?”

“Yes I do.”

“What is it, then?”

She was silent. Richter could have told her right away, but he enjoyed watching her embarrassment as everyone waited for her answer. He let it go on for a few seconds before he said, “It’s your skin, stupid. Your epidermis is your skin.” The boys all laughed.

Luz started to cry and Pam went over to comfort her. “Jesus, you know she’s upset, so stop picking on her.”

Richter looked at Luz and said, “I’m sorry. I was just teasing.”

“Fuck you. Don’t even talk to me.”

He shrugged. The truth was that he’d enjoyed making her cry.

Pam set up the Ouija board, trying to break the tension. “The board is ready. Let’s ask it some questions.”

Luz didn’t move. Frank Jansen stayed where he was on the couch too. He hated it when they played Ouija. Frank was terrified that the devil made the planchette move across the board. Anything that might involve the devil scared him to death.

Richter, Pam and Brian huddled close to the Ouija board. They touched their fingers lightly to the planchette and Pam asked the first question, “Am I going to be married someday?”

Their hands slid across the board to the word “Yes” and Pam smiled. Richter had been interested in Pam and thought she looked great in her scanty outfit. But he couldn’t resist the chance to have a little fun with her too, so when she asked who she was going to marry he moved the planchette to the L, the U, then the Z.

“Real funny, you jerks,” she said, taking her hands off the planchette. “Who did that?”

“Not me,” Richter and Brian said in unison.

“Yeah, right.”

“Now it’s my turn,” Richter said. He waited for the others to put their hands back on the game piece. “Is there anyone in this room who has a crush on me?” Richter slowly moved the planchette toward the “Yes.”

“Who is it?” he asked. Before he could move the planchette to spell out Pam’s name, it started toward the letter S, then A, T, A and N. Now Pam laughed with Brian and Luz joining in. Luz laughed extra loud.

Frank didn’t think it was funny at all. “I told you that thing is evil,” he said.

For a moment Richter was stunned by what had happened. How could the Ouija spell out “Satan” when he was trying to make it spell Pam’s name? Then, with everyone laughing at him, he realized Pam or Brian had done it. But which one? Brian wasn’t smart enough. It must have been Pam. He watched her face as she continued her forced laughter. She didn’t seem so cute anymore.

“Who did that?”

“Not me,” Pam said in a sarcastic voice, mimicking what he’d said to her a few minutes earlier.

It wasn’t funny. He fixed his eyes on Pam’s. Richter could see that Pam was starting to feel uncomfortable. She forced out another burst of laughter. He clenched his teeth, the way he did when he was angry. His eyes didn’t waver. He wanted to whack her on the head. Then he thought of a better way to spoil her fun.

He walked over and stood above her. “Come clean and I’ll forget it happened.”

“Hey, buddy,” Brian said, “chill out. We’re just having a little fun.”

“I’m not your buddy,” he said without looking away from Pam.

“I didn’t do anything,” she said.

Richter held both of Pam’s arms and pinned them against the sides of her body. “Admit you did it.”

“Let go of me. You’re hurting me, you maniac,” she said as she twisted and turned her body, trying to break free from his grip.

“I’m a maniac, am I? I’ll show you maniac,” he said, calmly lifting her off the floor.

He looked up and saw that they were directly beneath the ceiling fan that had kept them cool all afternoon. He lifted her higher so she could hear the hum of the motor and her hair began whipping around. Richter never took his focus off her eyes. They showed how frightened she was at the thought of what he might do to her. She couldn’t move her arms. He had perfect control of her until he felt the paralyzing pain in his groin, so intense it reached his head instantly. Even in agony he maintained his grip on her. He felt her stiffen in fear once she realized her kick had only served to anger him even more. “Somebody stop him,” she begged the others. “He’s crazy. He’s trying to kill me.”

But they were all just as afraid of him as she was. He was bigger and stronger than any of them and he was sure that none of them wanted to switch places with her. “Listen to me, Pam,” Richter said. “I don’t like people who cheat. We have rules for a reason. When people break those rules, they need to be punished. That’s why I teased Luz, as punishment for being a tease. Your sentence is going to be a little harsher, and more permanent, if you don’t admit what you did.”

“All right, you made your point. Now, why don’t you let her down before you hurt her?” Brian tried to intervene.

Richter ignored him. When Brian started toward them, Richter said, “Step the fuck back or her head gets chopped off. She needs to confess her sins.” He looked up into her eyes and said, “So what’s it going to be?”

“I didn’t do it,” she pleaded. “I swear to God I didn’t.”

Richter slowly lifted her closer to the fan whizzing above her head. They all looked up and saw the gap between the blades and her head start to narrow. Her long blond hair was getting sucked up toward the blades. She tried to struggle but he was too strong. She made one more attempt to kick him in the groin, but he blocked it this time. She started sobbing, begging him to let her go.

When the fan caught a few strands of her hair and pulled them out of her scalp she let out a scream.

Richter smiled. “You’re running out of time, Pam. You know I don’t mind doing this.” He loved being in control of her fate. He felt like God.

The look on her face let him know that everything had changed between them. It didn’t matter that she liked him or that she thought he was handsome.

“I’m sorry I moved the Ouija,” she said, gasping for air.

“See, it wasn’t that difficult, was it?” Richter put her down. She collapsed to the floor, scrambling toward the others. Luz took her into the kitchen to try to comfort her.

“What the fuck was that all about?” Brian shouted.

“I was just messing with her,” Richter said. “I wanted to spoil her little joke.”

“You were going to cut her head off just to spoil her fun? Are you fucking crazy?”

“Relax. I wasn’t really going to do it, but I had to get her to admit what she’d done.”

“That’s sick.”

“Yeah, well, maybe Satan made me do it.” He laughed, as he looked down at the Ouija board with the planchette still pointing to the letter N. He felt no regret for what he had done. Pam had broken the rules and she needed to be punished.