I'm Watching You (15 page)

They all laughed.

"Let me guess, your crankiness is a sign that you're
scheduled to speak at the academy today. Am I right?" C.C. said.

"I was there last Friday. I've heard it said there are no
stupid questions, but sometimes I wonder," she said, smiling, then opened
her file. "Everyone under twenty-two thinks it takes the press of a
button to get DNA results. The
CSI
craze is killing
me."

Again everyone laughed.

"What have you found?" Zack said. He didn't mean to
sound so abrupt.

Sara straightened. She was all business. "From the crime scene, I
didn't learn that much. So let me start with the body. I spoke to the ME
this morning. Harold was killed with a .45-caliber shot to the heart.
We've got the slug but so far no matches to anything in the ballistic
databases. I
can
tell you that Harold was dead before
he hit the ground. The bullet shattered his heart. He had no defensive wounds
or any other signs of trauma on his body. His hand was removed postmortem with
the use of a very sharp object."

"Any theories on the instrument that was
used to cut his hand off?"
Warwick said.

"Machete or an ax.
The
ME
and
I are leaning toward a machete. The cut was narrow and did minimal tissue
damage at the wrist. Bone was severed cleanly." She flipped a page over.
"We won't have the toxicology screen on him for a couple of weeks,
but there were track marks on both arms and behind both knees. This guy was a
full-blown drug addict. Just the promise of drugs would be enough to get him to
go almost anywhere."

"Which explains why he'd have gotten into a car with his
killer," Warwick said.

"Exactly."

"And the crime scene?"
Zack said.

"The killer was very careful and very methodical. He left no
fingerprints, shell casings, or hair or fabric fibers; however, there was a
footprint. I was able to get a very good footprint impression by the back gate.
The ground had been softened by a leaking garden hose, so the soft soil created
the perfect medium to make a mold." She glanced at her notes.
"Men's size twelve running shoe.
And I can tell
you that his foot turned inward. My guess is that he has an excessively high
arch, which can shorten a foot up to an inch. If the print belongs to the
killer he has a slight limp. Also, there was an unidentified white powder on
the heel. It's definitely not drugs and I'm having it
analyzed."

"That's it?" Ayden said. He looked frustrated.

Sara nodded. "As I said, the killer was careful and,
unfortunately, I only had a couple of hours to collect data before the rains
came and literally obliterated the evidence. We returned after the rain, but
the backyard was a mess."

"What about the hand sent to Lindsay O'Neil?" Zack
said.

Sara nodded. "It's definitely Harold's. His prints
match ones we had on file. I also checked the hand's nails, hoping for a
partial print from the killer, but nothing. The flowers are fresh irises. They
can be bought in fifty different places in the metro area."

"What about the flower box?" Ayden said.

Sara frowned. "The only prints on the outside and inside of the
box were Lindsay's and her assistant's."

C.C. nodded. "I worked with a couple of robbery detectives last
night and we called all the florists in the city. None had an order for the
shelter address yesterday."

"Did anyone notice who delivered the box?" Ayden said.

Zack shook his head. "The cop parked in the driveway was on the
phone with his kid's day care. He'd received a call that his child
had been badly injured.
Turned out to be bogus.
And
Ruby Dillon had three calls come in at once to the shelter. She was too
distracted to notice the guy."

"You and Sara refer to the Guardian as a male, but do we know for
sure that the Guardian is a man?" Ayden said.

Zack frowned. "Not for sure."

"What about the TV news crews?" Ayden said. "Think a
camera might have picked up something? Shaw at Channel Ten had her cameras running
all morning."

"I'll talk to Shaw," Warwick said.

"Do you think the killer delivered the flowers personally?"
Zack said.

Warwick shrugged. "Who knows?"

No one spoke for a moment as the weight of what he'd said sank in.
Did the killer return to the shelter to deliver the hand?

"And the note that was attached to the
flower box?"
Zack said. "What do you know about that?"

Sara glanced at her notes.
Lindsay, you are not alone
anymore, The Guardian.
"I've sent it to a handwriting
expert. At first glance, he says the Guardian likes control, as exhibited by
the note's neat block lettering and the deep indention of the letters.
He's going to look at it more and see what he comes up with."

"And the paper?"
Zack said.

"The paper is extremely common and can be found in dozens of card
stores."

Zack kept his voice neutral, trying not to hint at the fear he felt for
Lindsay. "Lindsay's never heard of the Guardian and doesn't
know why he's fixated on her."

"What's her connection to Turner?" Ayden said.

Zack recapped the facts as Lindsay had told him.

C.C. looked skeptical. "I saw Lindsay once in court. It was the
trial of a woman accused of shooting her husband. Lindsay testified for the
defense about battered victim syndrome. She said that a perfectly sane woman
who has been badly battered can snap. On cross the Commonwealth attorney tried
to get Lindsay to waver but she didn't. Lindsay is one intense
woman."

"Lindsay
is
intense." Zack
hesitated, dreading what he needed to say next.

"There's something we all should know about Lindsay,
isn't
there," Warwick said. "You hinted in
the car yesterday that there was domestic abuse in her home when she was
growing up."

Warwick was right. Everyone did need to know about Lindsay's past.

Zack folded his fingers together. "Lindsay had a complicated
childhood." All gazes zeroed in on him. He felt disloyal even though the
Department of Social Services had done a background check on her and knew her
history. "She's from Ashland, about twenty miles north."

"I thought she came from California," C.C. said. "I
remember talking to her about USC at some department Christmas party. She led
me to believe she was from California."

Zack nodded. "She did go to school out there but she's from
here."

"So why lead everyone to believe she's from the West?"
Ayden said.

He drew in a deep breath. "Her mother was abused by her father for
years, but it's worse than that. Her mother was murdered by her father.
It was twelve years ago. Lindsay was seventeen. And her last name was Hines
then." A hush fell over the room.

C.C. and Vega glanced at each other and Warwick sat back in his chair,
his shock evident.

Ayden leaned forward. "Shit. I remember that case. The Hanover
sheriff was a friend of mine. We talked about it a lot, because the murder
scene was so bloody. It really shook him up."

"Lindsay's father beat her mother to death with a
hammer," Zack said. "Lindsay found her mother."

No one spoke for several seconds.

"When did Lindsay change her name?" Warwick finally asked.

"When she turned eighteen," Zack said. "O'Neil
is her mother's maiden name."

"For those of us who didn't live here then, what else can
you tell us about the case?" Vega said.

Zack longed for a cigarette. "I don't know much more than
that. I only know what Lindsay told me. I'd like to send a teletype to
the Hanover sheriff's office and request the murder file. I don't
know if the details are relevant but they could be."

Ayden nodded. "Do it."

"What happened to her after her parents died?" Warwick
asked.

"She told me she moved to California. For a while she lived in
shelters and in her car. Eventually, a social worker got involved with her and
encouraged her to get her high school diploma. This woman also helped her earn
a scholarship to the University of California."

Vega frowned. "No disrespect, Zack, but the more I hear about this
the more I worry about how impartial you can be. Lindsay is your wife. Are you
the guy who should be looking into this murder?"

Ayden tented his fingers. "Vega, we've already taken care of
that. Warwick is taking the lead and Kier is backing him up. But I want
everyone working this case."

Zack hid his satisfaction.

Warwick didn't miss a beat. "I'd like for C.C. to
start going through the phone records. Look for any patterns, connections to
the shelter, any unusual calls Mrs. Turner might have made."

C.C. nodded.
"Will do."

"Vega, talk to Ruby Dillon, the woman who stayed at the shelter
the night of the murder. Kier talked to her but she made it clear she
doesn't like him. She might remember something if
you
ask the questions."

"Sure," Vega said.

Zack wasn't about to take a backseat to Warwick. "Also,
C.C., once you've gone through the phone records,
find
out who sells machetes or anything sharp enough to cut bone."

She glanced at Warwick, and when he didn't protest she nodded.
"Sure."

Warwick glanced at his watch. "I'll send the teletype to
Hanover now and then Zack and I will head up there."

Tuesday, July 8, 9:15
A.M
.

"We're with Henrico County
Police," Warwick said to the clerk at the Hanover sheriff's office.
"I'm Detective Jacob Warwick."

Zack showed his badge. "I'm Detective Zackary Kier. We sent
a teletype an hour ago about the Hines murders."

The clerk was a short, round woman in her midfifties. She wore her
graying hair in a tight perm that drew attention to a strawberry birthmark on
her left cheek. "The sheriff and most of his deputies are in a staff
meeting this morning, but the deputy who worked the case stuck around so he
could talk to you personally. Let me buzz him."

She picked up the phone and told the person on the other end
they'd arrived. "Deputy Graves will be right out."

"Thanks," Warwick said.

Zack knew the personnel turnover in this office had to be low.
"You been here long?"

The woman nodded with pride. "Thirty years."

"You remember the Hines case?"

Her weathered face twisted into a deep frown. "I sure do. It was
one of the saddest cases I'd ever seen. Just about everyone in Hanover
knew someone who knew the Hines family. And when their little girl ran away, it
just about broke my heart. We said prayers for her at Sunday service for
months."

Zack rattled the change in his pocket and tried not to pace. He thought
about Lindsay at seventeen: young, alone, frightened.

The urge to protect her was so strong.

They didn't have to wait long for Graves. He pushed through a side
door. He was a tall, stocky man with full, ruddy cheeks and thinning red hair.
His protruding belly stretched the fabric of his brown uniform.

He offered his hand to Zack.
"Deputy Marty
Graves."

Zack shook his hand and discovered the deputy's grip was strong.

"You've come about the Hines murder?" Graves said.

"Yes," Zack said.

"I've got the file on my desk. Come on back."

They followed him through a pair of heavy security doors and down a
narrow corridor to his cramped office. Both took a seat in front of his desk.

"Can I get you men coffee?"

Both declined.

Graves sat and put on his reading glasses. "I remember this case.
Fact, I knew Frank Hines from Rotary. Nicest guy you'd ever want to meet.
And Deb was in my wife's circle group at church. Both would give you the
shirts off their backs." He cleared his throat. "We were all
shocked at first when Frank did what he did. But then later, as folks started
to compare notes, we started to piece together a few things. Life in the Hines
house had to have been bad for years."

"What about the daughter? What can you tell me about her?"
Zack said.

"Lindsay." A sad smile played at the corners of
Graves's mouth. "She was a lifeguard at my grandkids' pool.
She saved a child from drowning that summer. The youngest Thompson kid, a
four-year-old, had gotten out of the baby pool and fallen into the deep end of
the main pool. The
Herald-Progress
did a story on
her. Both her folks seemed proud. And all the boys wanted to date her, but she
kept them at arm's distance. My grandson, Joel, worked with her as a
lifeguard at the pool. He always figured she was playing hard to get. Of
course, none of us really knew what was going on at home. Her mother never
reported any abuse and Lindsay never said a word."

Zack wondered what kind of hell Lindsay had witnessed in her home.

Warwick tented his fingers. "What happened to Frank Hines?"

Zack knew the short answer to that question but wanted to hear the
deputy's version. He realized now how much Lindsay had downplayed the
problems in her past.

"After he killed his wife, he fled the scene. Went to a local
motel, downed a bottle of Jack Daniels, and then killed
himself
."
Graves flipped through the file. "He left a suicide note for Lindsay. I
never showed it to her." He found the note in the file and handed it to
Zack.

Zack read it.
Typical MO for a wife beater.
"Shit."

Graves nodded. "There was no sense dumping that kind of crap on a
kid. She had enough to deal with."

Zack handed the note to Warwick. "He blames his wife and Lindsay
for his problems. Said if they'd been a better wife and child he'd
have been fine."

"What a piece of work," Warwick muttered.

"You think you know a guy," Graves said.

Zack thought about the hell he'd put Lindsay through when his
drinking had gotten so heavy. No wonder she'd tossed him out.

Graves dropped his gaze to the file. "We did receive a 911 call
from the Hines' house about three months before Frank and Deb died.
Before the caller could speak the line went dead. According to the report, the
dispatcher called the house back. Frank answered. He said it was a
mistake."

"Only the one call?" Zack asked.

"Yes."

"Anything unusual happen recently to remind you of this
case?" Zack said.

"Nope.
Of course, I saw that article a couple of
months ago about Lindsay. I recognized
her the
very
instant I saw her. She's the spitting image of her mama. It did my heart
good to see she's done so well for herself."

"That article didn't prompt any talk about the murders in
town?" Warwick asked.

"Well, of course it did. We all remembered it. I talked about it
with Joel at Sunday supper after the article came out. But nothing out of the
ordinary came up.
Why all these questions about a
twelve-year-old murder?"

"Just following up on a lead," Zack said. "Lindsay
have
any relatives?"

"No one came forward after her parents' deaths."
Graves shook his head. "There was no one to take custody of her, so the
state stepped in. She was sent to a foster home."

"But she ran away," Zack muttered.

"Right," said Graves. "This got something to do with
the murder at Sanctuary yesterday?" When they hesitated, he smiled.
"I wasn't born yesterday, boys. You think that murder's tied
to Lindsay's past?"

"We don't know," Zack said honestly. "Can you
tell us where the Hines house was?"

"I can draw you a map to the lot. The house burned to the ground
not one month after the murders. Fire department said it was arson, but we
never did figure out who set it."

"Was Lindsay a suspect?" Zack said.

"No. She'd run off by then."

"We'll take a look at the lot then."

"Sure." The deputy drew a map, clipped it to a copy of the
file, and slid it across the desk.

Five minutes later, Zack and Warwick left the building armed with the
hand-drawn map and the Hines file.

Zack tossed his keys to Warwick. "Mind driving? I'd like to
look at the file."

"Sure."

They got in the car.

Zack opened the file and studied the color photos of the murder scene.
The victim lay on her back, her face discolored and swollen from the brutal
beating. Her wide-eyed death stare reflected the panic she had to have felt
those last few seconds of her life.

"My God," Zack said.

Warwick glanced at the map. "Never gets easy."

"No, it doesn't." His problems with alcohol abuse this
past year had been a bitch, but through it all he'd had a solid family
behind him. Lindsay had been alone when she'd lived her nightmare.

"The less personal you make this," Warwick said, "the
easier it will be."

His partner's sudden empathy surprised Zack. "Autopsy reports
on Lindsay's mother show that she'd suffered multiple factures over
the years--nose, right arm, left hand." He flipped over a page and
discovered a medical report on Lindsay. "Lindsay's doc reported
that she was in a state of shock. He also stated that she'd suffered a
spiral fracture of her right wrist."

"Someone twisted her hand so hard her wrist broke."

Zack tamped down his anger.
"Yeah.
Doctors reported that her and her mother's breaks
occurred
a couple of years before the murder/suicide."

"What does the report say about Frank Hines?"

"Died of a single gunshot wound to the
chest.
A forty-five."

"Like Turner," Warwick said.

Turner and Hines shared similar fatal wounds made by the same caliber
gun.
Another coincidence.
Things weren't looking
good for Lindsay.
"Yeah.
Autopsy reports show
advanced liver disease, a by-product of excessive drinking."

Warwick shook his head. "Lindsay ever
tell
you this stuff?"

His wife had hidden her darkest secrets even from him.
"Only the barest details.
I tried to talk to her about
it, but she always changed the subject. She said she'd put her past
behind her and didn't want to discuss it."

Warwick tightened his hands on the wheel. "This is the kind of
stuff that can really fuck with someone's head."

Zack flipped to a picture taken of Lindsay when she was a junior in high
school. Challenge radiated from her eyes. "That doesn't mean she
killed Turner."

"Turner smacked around his wife. Lindsay knew it. Maybe
she'd had enough of bullies."

Zack stared at the more than decade-old crime scene photos. And then he
noticed the date. "
Shit
."

"What?"

"Yesterday was the twelve-year anniversary of the Hines
murder/suicide."

Warwick tightened his jaw and turned down a country road. "This is
a little too connected to be a coincidence."

"Yeah."

Another right and another left and they arrived at the Hines'
driveway. As Graves's map indicated, it was marked by a tall oak tree
that had been split down the center by lightning. The rusty mailbox had long
fallen from its post and lay on the side of the road covered in weeds.

They drove down the rutted driveway until they reached the end. Before
them stood the charred remains of the home Lindsay had grown up in. The only
part of the structure left standing was the brick fireplace and the foundation.

They got out and walked toward the foundation.

"Who owns the land?" Warwick said.

"Lindsay said the county took it for back taxes about eight years
ago. They tried to sell it to a developer, but the well water in the area
turned up contaminated from one of Hines's underground storage tanks.
Remediation was too expensive so the land has just been sitting."

Lindsay had said her mother had loved to garden, but there were only
hints of the flower beds she'd told him covered the property. Soil mounds
for vegetables cut through a portion of the field behind the house. A flowering
vine twisted around a gazebo that had been ravaged by the weather and time. And
on the back of the lot, there was a greenhouse.

"Let's have a look."

They walked around the house's foundation toward the greenhouse.
Most of the windows had been shattered by vandals' rocks. The door hung
on one hinge and it was easy to push open. Inside were rows of long-dead plants
and a collection of clay pots. Zack picked up a stack of pots. Lindsay's
birthday was tomorrow. If he had time, he'd clean these up for her.

"We'd better get back to town," Warwick said.

"Yeah."

As they turned, Zack spotted words carved over the doorjamb. The letters
were crude and looked as if they'd been carved with a knife.

He reached up and wiped the dirt free. The words
read,
L and J forever
.
"L and J.
What was Graves's grandson's name?"

"Joel Heckman."

"Let's have a chat with Joel."

It wasn't hard to find Joel Heckman. He worked at a bicycle shop
in the town of Ashland, the county seat. Zack and Warwick stepped through the
shop's doors fifteen minutes later.

A lean man in his early thirties stood behind a glass display case
filled with expensive bike accessories. He was holding a bike shoe and trying
to fasten a clip to the bottom. "Welcome. Can I help you?"

Both detectives pulled out their badges as they approached the counter.

"Joel Heckman?" Warwick queried.

"Yeah."

"We came to ask you a few questions about Lindsay
O'Neil."

He looked puzzled. "O'Neil?"

"You'd know her as Lindsay Hines."

Joel's eyes widened. "Lindsay. God, I haven't seen her
in years. What's this all about? Is she okay?"

"She's fine," Zack said. "We're looking
into her background."

Joel nodded.
"Her mother's murder."