In the Shadow of Angels (10 page)

Edward Digby sat in his van and watched the little blonde make a frantic phone call. When no one answered, she typed out a text message every bit as frantically. She stared at her phone, pacing back and forth waiting for a response. After a short time, two minutes or so, she made another frantic call. This time it was clear that someone answered.

Edward was now regretting that he hadn’t taken the time to dig his parabolic microphone out of the back of the van when he saw her pull up. Without it, he could only look on limply as the little blonde had a conversation that was clearly of dire importance. Her arms flew about as she spoke and even from his van some fifty yards away, the intensity of her conversation was perfectly clear. When he saw her pull the phone from her ear and end the call, he knew she would be leaving soon.

Edward started the van and pulled out onto 62, heading back toward Ashwood. Edward had a bit more experience than Dr. Stephens did when it came to tailing someone and found that the best way to do so was to be in front of them. This little blonde had pushed Jezebel over the railing, returned to the scene (why on earth would she do that?), and made a very frantic call. She was clearly going to be getting the hell out of there and in enough of a hurry that she would likely pass him immediately after she got on the road. Once she did that, she wouldn’t even consider that he was
following
her.

He had only been on the road for thirty seconds when Beth’s Mini flew past him. He sped up a bit to try to keep pace with her, but even with his speedometer reading 80mph, she was still losing him. He didn’t dare go any faster though, or it would be apparent that he was following. He had to hope that he would see her when she made a turn and try to catch up then.

Another thing Edward learned about tailing someone is the importance of knowing the area at least as well as the person you are following. If you made a turn to follow down a dead-end road, you would compromise the pursuit. So when he saw the Mini make a right turn onto Turner Road, he knew he would have to pick up the pursuit later. That road led to the quarry, but nothing else. There wasn’t a turn-off to speak of on that old dirt road and based on the abbreviated conversation that she had on the phone, he expected she would be meeting someone there. He didn’t know if that person or persons had already made the turn and being stuck between the two could be suicide.

Edward made a left onto Turner Road and pulled into the first public parking lot available: O’Halligan’s pub. He located the darkest portion of the lot and backed his van into a space. It would take only a couple of seconds to get back onto the road when it was time.

Edward picked up his cell phone and dialed his voicemail. He selected the option to record an outgoing message and recorded a new one: “You’ve reached Ashwood Safe Ride. Please leave your name, location and a callback number. We will contact you as soon as possible.”

Surveillance 101: if you are going to post a fake phone number, don’t use bogus area codes or numbers. Expect that someone is going to dial it and prepare for that eventuality. An active sign for a business should have a real telephone number associated with it. If it doesn’t, you are asking for trouble.

He got out of the van and looked around for any prying eyes. Seeing no one outside, he quickly peeled the magnets, which read:

C
ollectible
A
shwood

  
U
nique
G
ifts
&

   
H
idden
T
reasures

off the sides of the van. He opened the back door of the van and started flipping through his signs. He kept dozens of magnetic signs in the back of his the back of his van for a variety of situations. Near midnight on a Saturday was the perfect time to post the safe ride sign:

Ashwood Safe Ride

Don’t Drive Drunk – Ride Safe

634-518-0111

Doing so while sitting in the parking lot of a bar might seem a bit risky, but he already worked out that conversation as well. He would tell them all rides need to be scheduled through the number posted on the van, and when they called the number, they would actually be calling his cell phone. He would then call Ashwood Ride Safe, the name of the actual business operating in town, and give them the information. So why post his number on the van at all? He liked to monitor who was calling based on seeing the van - that was the best way to know if his cover was compromised.

Once he found and applied the Safe Ride signs to the side of the van, he went to the back again and found the magnetic roof sign that read
Livery Vehicle
. He found out early on that posting a taxi sign on the roof could lead to people jumping into the van, even if the light was out. With the livery vehicle sign, he could usually talk his way out of it by citing some bogus regulation that didn’t allow for non-scheduled passengers. Besides that, he was only looking to make the van look different than it had when he was in the lot of The Place in case anyone had been paying him too much attention.

Edward still felt a bit of unease about continuing to pursue this little blonde though. She had already attempted to kill someone tonight, so there was no way to know that she, or whomever she was meeting, wasn’t going to do it again. In one final move to disguise the van, he popped his hood open and disconnected the passenger side headlight. Now even if he got directly behind her again, she wouldn’t have any indication that this was the van following her back to town after she passed it outside of The Place.

Edward sat back in the driver’s seat waiting to see the Mini come back down Turner Road. He waited for perhaps fifteen minutes when he saw something else. A pair of headlights was coming down that old dirt road at breakneck speed. As it neared highway 62, it didn’t even slow for the stop sign. At about the same time, two men scrambled out of the bar and got into an old Econoline. The car coming down Turner Road crossed highway 62 too quickly and may have even lost contact with the ground. The Econoline spun its tires as it pulled out directly behind it.

Edward still wondered what happened to the mini, but wherever these two cars were going, they were doing so with a purpose. He made the decision to let the Mini go for now and follow the action.

*****

Devin had the gas pedal of the Mercedes hammered to the floor. The rear of the car was sliding through the turns on the old dirt road leading from the quarry back to Turner Road. When he reached the last straight stretch before the dirt gave way to highway 62, he grabbed his cell phone and hit speed dial #2.

Brent answered on the first ring. “Devin! What’s up, man? Jezebel got you cleaned out real good and you’re coming back for…”

Devin cut him short. “It’s go time,” he said. “Meet me at the T in the road by my house.”

Devin saw that BrentandJimmy were still at O’Halligan’s when he drove past on the way to the quarry. Brent had been driving the same 1978 Chevy Econoline van since he was in High School. It was a metallic-flake painted, root-beer brown color with the words
Pleasure Palace
written on the side in a plump font. It had a dark, diamond-shaped portal window on the side, just above a mural meant to look like the inside of some exotic and mysterious palace somewhere in the Middle East. It was barely cool in 1978 and the amount of cool had been dropping faster than a stripper’s g-string ever since. Now it might as well just say pedophile on the side. It would have the same effect on the women it was meant to entice, at least, but Brent continued pouring money into it. It was as much a part of his identity as the Brillo pad of hair on his head.

Devin had an understanding with BrentandJimmy. The phrase it’s go time to them was as sacred as The Lord’s Prayer is to Catholics. It started when they were in college and was the rallying cry that would begin any number of illogical, and often extremely dangerous, events. From the first time they went skydiving, to the time they scaled the radio tower on the hill behind the college campus. As they got older and left their wilder days behind, the phrase had become far less common, but endlessly more important. The last time any of them spoke it was just after Jimmy wrecked his car on highway 62. He was fairly drunk at the time and couldn’t risk police involvement. When Devin’s phone rang at nearly 3am, he shot out of bed to meet him there in a half an hour or less. They got his car dragged out of the ditch and back to his house before anyone notified the police. None of them spoke of it again.

The time before that was when BrentandJimmy got into a fight in the bar. While Devin wasn’t sure which one of them did it, one of them pulled a gun and accidentally shot one of the guys. Devin was there before the police arrived, no questions asked. He later perjured himself to testify that Brent fired the shot only after the other guy pulled a knife, even though he honestly didn’t even know if Brent was the one on the trigger. Since the gunshot wound caused only a minor injury to the leg and it was done in self-defense, as sworn by a local attorney in good standing, all charges were dropped.

In life, you may be lucky enough to find one person to share this bond with and regardless of what directions your lives may take, that bargain will remain. Twenty years from now, even if he hadn’t seen BrentandJimmy in a decade, if he got that call in the dead of night: it’s go time. He would be there without a thought. Especially after tonight, Some couldn’t understand the bond they had, but these ties run deeper than what can be explained.

Devin’s fear of running into another cop was long gone. As his Mercedes flew across highway 62 and past O’Halligan’s, he saw BrentandJimmy running out of the bar and climbing into the Pleasure Palace. The van peeled rubber as it pulled onto the road behind him. The short distance between O’Halligan’s and the turn to Devin’s house was covered in a flash. Both vehicles topped out at over 100 mph before slowing for the turn.

The quarter mile to the T in the road was gone in seconds and Devin locked up his brakes. The van behind him did the same. Devin shut off his lights and got out of the car. BrentandJimmy followed suit.

“What do we got, Devin?” Brent asked. Any hint of the alcohol he drank completely lost in the seriousness of the moment.

Devin looked up to BrentandJimmy. “To the grave.” He said, looking at them with piercing eyes. “No matter what happens tonight, no matter what you see, we take it to the grave.”

“No questions asked.” Brent replied in agreement.

Devin shook his head. “This is different. If you want out, get out now.”

“You’ve never let us down and we’re not going to…” Jimmy started.

Devin’s eyes still pierced like knives. “Jezebel is dead and her body’s in the trunk of my car.” He paused and waited for a reaction. There was none. He continued. “I don’t know why, but my psychiatrist is in my house right now, looking for her.”

“Call the police!” Jimmy offered.

“If I call the police, Beth and I are both going to prison.”

“Beth?” Jimmy questioned.

“I’ll try to explain later.” Devin said, “But for now all you need to know is that there is a man in my house looking for a body. We have to stop him from leaving
no matter what.
”

“We’re going to kill him?” Brent asked.

“I don’t know.” Devin replied frankly, “but he killed Jezebel and I don’t think he is going to leave without what he came for. If he has to kill me to get it, I think he will. And whatever he is looking for… Once he finds it, I’m sure he’s going to call the police and tell them that I killed Jezebel.”

“Jesus, Devin. This is bad.” Jimmy said in a cowardly, defeated voice. “This isn’t spilling a car in…”

“Shut it, Jimmy!” Devin yelled. “If you want out, you’re out. I won’t fault you for it, but we don’t have time to wait for you to change into your big girl panties right now. If you’re in, you’re in, no questions asked. We have to get this done!”

From Devin’s other side, Brent yelled “
It’s go time
!”

Devin was still looking to Jimmy, who remained silent. “All right, Jimmy. At least wait here and if you see someone other than me or Brent coming down this driveway, you stop them. Can you at least do
that
?”

Jimmy looked to be on the verge of tears, but he remained silent.

“I’m not mad at you, Jimmy. If I was you, I wouldn’t want to be doing it either.”

Devin looked to Brent now. “All right, we’re walking in. I don’t want him to see us coming.”

Devin and Brent left Jimmy there with the cars and started the short walk toward the house.

Dr. Stephens hung up the phone in a hurry. He immediately regretted making that call at all. No good came of it. Sure, now he knew that neither Devin nor Bethany were at the house, but he could have just as easily found that out by walking up and ringing the doorbell. In his desire to be careful, he made several sloppy mistakes of increasing severity.

Based on tone alone, both Devin and Bethany knew he was at their house. At least he took that much away from the conversation. But that was the same tone that made it very clear that neither one of them believed his
concern for Jezebel
excuse. Of course, that all took a back seat to the biggest mistake of it all. If Devin was with Bethany, she would also be arrested for Jezebel’s murder and when the police checked her cell phone for a record of recent calls…

A doctor checking in on a patient? Would that work as an excuse for a short call at damn near midnight on a Saturday? It seemed razor thin at the very best. He would be questioned far more than what would be comfortable in regards to this matter.

Worse still, his hubris made him pull his car onto the road near the Bryant’s driveway before he walked down here. That made perfect sense when his primary concern was if Devin or Bethany spotted him walking the road, but what would the police make of it once Jezebel’s body was found?

“So, let me see if I have this right. You don’t know anything about what happened to Jezebel Anders that night?”

“That’s right, officer, nothing at all.”

“Yet immediately after the murder took place –indeed, while the body was being moved from one location to another, your car happened to be within a mile of the home of the alleged killer. Completely empty, nonetheless. You, on the other hand, were nowhere near it.”

“I agree that is a rather odd coincidence.”

“And while your car was sitting by their house and while they were moving around the body, you just happened to call them to see how their marriage counseling was working out?”

He just dug himself quite a hole. That was something he would have to deal with. Eventually. For now, he needed to get the damned earring that started this whole mess.

Dr. Stephens made no attempt to conceal himself as he approached the house, opting for speed over stealth, as he had no way of knowing where Devin and Bethany might be. He surmised that wherever it was, they were leaving it quickly to get back home. Speed was crucial right now.

The garage doors were all securely closed and try as he might, he just couldn’t make them move. He moved to the front of the house and tried the door there - also locked tight. The back door of the house leading into the kitchen was also locked. It had a small, sliding window in it, opened ever so slightly. He tore the screen from the window, again giving no thought to trying to be clandestine about it. He simply ripped the soft mesh from the aluminum frame and tossed it aside. He was able to reach his hand through the window and unlock the door.

As he swung the door open, he heard a stuttered chirping sound. At first, he mistook it for the sound a smoke alarm gives out when the battery is near dead, but as the door opened completely to reveal the wall beside, he could see the control panel of their alarm system. There was a flashing light coinciding with the chirping. Not every alarm system is the same, but this one made an audible tone to remind you to enter your disarm code. In his estimation, he had thirty seconds to guess their alarm code before the police would be on their way. It just kept getting worse.

One of the most closely guarded secrets he kept as a psychiatrist, is what was actually happening on the clipboard he was holding while he was with a patient. He typically had an internet tablet on it now, but prior to the invention of that slick little device, it was a crossword puzzle. He wasn’t the only one, either. Ever wonder why people with clipboards always seem to be writing things down that don’t seem important? When one of his patients fell asleep on the couch, as happens far more often than you would think, or even if they were just having a dialogue with themselves, he would take that time to skim news articles and check his social media. One of the many articles which he read was one detailing the failure of home security systems. A number of them used to come with stock disarm codes and the users often didn’t change them. This led directly to the systems requiring you to input your own unique code when you first set up the device, but people were so afraid they would forget the code they either used very simple codes, or just patterns of the keys instead of numbers.

Remembering what he read in the magazine, Dr. Stephens started with what were listed as the top two most used security codes: 1,2,3,4,5 and 5,4,3,2,1. Nothing. The next most commonly used were the patterns. First up was the ‘T’, he tried that next: 1,2,3,5,8. Nothing. Followed by the ‘X’: 1,3,7,9,5. Still nothing. And then the ‘+’:4,5,6,2,8. He didn’t even have the chance to try the ‘+’ done the other way: 2,5,8,4,6, because now the alarm was blaring like a car alarm played through a megaphone. One thing was sure - that article was really overstating the severity of the commonly used disarm codes problem.

The alarm going off didn’t change much. The security company would be contacting Devin and Bethany, but he was certain they already knew he was here anyway. He still had to get that earring and get his car moved. Now he just had even less time to do it. The security company would also be dispatching the police. Aside from that, the alarm may have been loud as hell, and boy was it, but the nearest house was the Williams’ and even that one would be a good half mile away. They would be hearing the noise, but at the volume they would be hearing it, it could probably be mistaken for a car alarm. It didn’t seem likely that they would come rushing down to see if anything was the matter.

Dr. Stephens turned away from the alarm control and scanned for a door to the garage. There was usually access off the kitchen. He saw a door next to the refrigerator and ran to it. It was a pantry. No good. The kitchen opened directly into the living room and he went there next. Looking to the right, he saw another door. He ran to it and swung it open. Bingo! Directly in front of him was Devin’s Pontiac Sunfire.

He made his way to the driver’s door to find it locked.
Who locks the doors of their car when it’s inside their garage?
He wondered to himself. While he hadn’t expected an answer to this rhetorical question, his subconscious returned one anyway:
Someone who has a body in the trunk of their car.

Just then, the alarm suddenly stopped. For a moment, he wondered at his good luck. Maybe one of the codes worked after all? He quickly dismissed that thought. No. If the alarm was turned off, either someone was physically in the house and disarmed it, or someone did so remotely. Not nearly enough time passed for someone to have made it to the house after he made that phone call, so it must have been done remotely. That would only happen if the security company contacted the owner and they gave them direction to do so. That, in turn, would only happen if…

And that was it. He showed his hand too soon. When Devin drove away from The Place with Jezebel in the trunk of his car, that hand seemed to be four Kings. Maybe three, he supposed, with his earring being the fourth. Now that hand was closer to a weak pair at the very best. If he got his earring back and moved his car, maybe he could get back the upper hand... But now there could be no doubt that Devin and Bethany knew he was in the house. In the house, with the body, his own car parked a short distance away and his earring securely locked in the trunk of the car. On that body, no less. When the police arrived, he would be bluffing with a very weak hand.

Would the police be coming? The alarm was off now, so Devin must have told the security company to shut it off. Would he have told them to kill the alarm
and
dispatch the police? He didn’t think so. What cards was Devin holding? If the police weren’t coming, then Devin was. Dr. Stephens turned his attention away from the car for the moment and went back into the house.

As part of his counseling, Dr. Stephens always tried to establish his clients’ capacity for violence. This could be very difficult to do in a clinical setting, as the patients were on high guard to any suspicious questions. Devin was no different. He answered the questions in exactly the way one would answer them if he were trying to make it seem that they had no capacity for violence at all. This was pure deception in every case.
Everyone
has
some
capacity for violence and trying to make it seem that you don’t only makes your capacity seem both greater and more devious. Devin mentioned that he kept a handgun in his nightstand for home protection and that would give him both the capacity for violence and the ability to act on it. That was a risk that Dr. Stephens wasn’t ready to accept.

He found the staircase leading to the bedrooms going up from the opposite corner of the living room. As he walked up the carpeted staircase, he saw the many pictures of Bethany and Devin on the wall. It was a scrapbook of their life together. Starting at the bottom were the pictures from their adventures together in college, when their love would have far outweighed their means, backpacking together, hang gliding and rock climbing. That gave way to their wedding photos. What a beautiful wedding it was; a picturesque grassy lawn overlooking the ocean and Bethany and Devin both looking crisp and perfect in their formal attire. This led into more current photos - still just as beautiful and still just as happy - their means having caught up with their love. Yes, Dr. Stephens thought to himself, forgetting their current situations for a moment, their marriage was going to be just fine.

When he reached the top of the stairs, he snapped back to reality. He opened the first door he came to and identified it as a guest room. The second one was a bathroom. The third another guest room. The room through the fourth door was much larger and he could see the entrance to another bathroom on the left wall. This was the master bedroom.

What a magnificent bedroom it was. There was a beautiful, arched canopy bed in the center made of some indeterminate hardwood. Fine, white lace drapes hung from its corners and tied neatly around the posts with silken bows. The bed was part of a set matching a large bureau, two chests of drawers and two side tables. He wished he came over to see the house under different circumstances. Bethany had really outdone herself on interior decoration. For now, he opened the drawer of the side table on the left of the bed. On the first try, he found Devin’s loaded .38 and quickly grabbed it.

He was no killer, the corpse in the trunk of Devin’s car notwithstanding, so as he made his way back down the stairs, he removed the bullets from the cylinder of the gun and put them in his pocket. He carried the gun in his left hand as he walked back through the house. Once he was back in the garage, he started looking for a key.

Dr. Stephens began running his hand around the inside edges of the wheel wells of the car. Maybe there would be a spare key in one of those magnetic holders. He checked all four wheels with no luck. He scanned the garage looking for a tool, maybe a pry bar. Nothing. In fact, this was probably the cleanest garage he had ever seen. No tools at all. The only things in the garage aside from the cars were a deep freezer along the wall next to the door and a set of golf clubs next to that. It was even painted, as so few garage interiors are. Ideas. Ideas … A spare set of keys.

He quickly made his way back through the door and into the living room. There was no key hanger beside the door, but there was a small table there. He slid open the drawer and found nothing aside from a phone book. Who still has a phone book in this day and age? He went back into the kitchen and looked near the door for anything that might hold keys. Nothing seemed likely. Maybe a junk drawer? One by one, he started sliding open kitchen drawers. Silverware. Measuring cups and big spoons. Tupperware and Ziplocs. Finally, junk.

In a tremendous stroke of luck, there was a ring of keys right there in the front.

Keys in hand, he began making his way back to the garage. He was fumbling through the keys as he did so, a task made more difficult by the gun in his left hand. Of the many keys that were on the ring, one of them had the familiar arrowhead design of a Pontiac. When he arrived back at the car, he had the key at the ready and slid it into the keyhole. Almost expecting it not to work, as his luck had been decidedly poor of late, he was surprised to feel the latch slide away and the trunk make the familiar popping sound.

Perhaps his luck was improving.

He opened the lid to expose the sheet covering what he knew to be Jezebel’s body. He steeled himself against whatever emotion would come when he pulled back the sheet and was rather surprised, if a bit disappointed in himself, that when the sheet was gone, exposing her lifeless form, he felt nothing at all. She was facing the front of the car, so he couldn’t yet see her face. He saw no sign of his earring on the sheet, nor did he see it somehow clinging to the back of her dress. He put the gun down inside the trunk and used both hands, clumsily turning her onto her back. It was a mess of legs and arms not cooperating to complete this task, things kept getting stuck, but he couldn’t figure out what or where.

When she was finally on her back and her lifeless eyes stared into his own, Dr. Stephens was again surprised, and still disappointed, that he felt no emotion at all. Either he was a real monster or she was. Possibly both.

He checked her hands for any signs of his earring, but found none. He checked the front of her dress and found the same. He began grabbing tufts of her hair and running his hand down them feeling for anything solid and still found nothing. His search growing more frantic now, he tried feeling through her dress for anything that could be it, but felt nothing. She was wearing no bra or panties, so there didn’t seem many places it could be. There was no zipper for it to stick on; no jewelry for it to cling to and no sign of it on her dress, but it had to be here. It
had
to.