Killing Fear (12 page)

She made one too many furtive glances at the cop standing sentry in the kitchen. Will turned to him. “Officer, do you mind giving us some privacy? It may be easier for Ms. Lange to recount her ordeal without an audience. How many are on scene?”

“Four, with more units on the way.”

“Great. Pick someone to help canvass the neighbors. I don’t care that it’s four thirty in the morning, we need to know if anyone heard or saw anything between one thirty and four, or has seen Theodore Glenn anytime in the last twenty-four hours. You have his sheet?”

They’d put together photos of Glenn at arrest along with sketches of him with altered appearances. The first thing he’d have done was purchase over-the-counter color contact lenses. Glenn’s sharp blue eyes were so bright and unusual that people would remember them. According to Chief Causey, the FBI was following that avenue by contacting businesses along the 99 corridor, which they now knew he’d driven after his escape.

“I’m on it,” the cop said, and left.

Trinity carried the mugs to the table. Will sat down next to her, facing the entrance to see who came in through the door, while Carina was to his left, directly across from Trinity.

“Tell me what happened,” Will said.

“I woke up with him on top of me. He clamped his hand over my mouth.” She shuddered. “He told me he wouldn’t kill me. Then he used duct tape to bind my feet together and my right hand to the bed.”

“Just your right hand?”

“He handed me my notebook and a pen. Told me to take good notes.”

“He knew you were left-handed.”

She nodded. Though it was unnerving that Glenn remembered such a small detail nearly seven years later, Will wasn’t surprised. Glenn was smarter than most people gave him credit for.

“What did he tell you?”

“He wanted to set the record straight. He insisted that he didn’t kill Anna Clark.”

Will slammed his mug down on the table, hot coffee sloshing over the sides. Trinity grabbed her notebook out of the way of the spill, and Carina jumped up to get paper towels.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled.
That bastard.

He helped clean up the mess, placed his mug carefully in the sink. He rarely lost his temper, but look what he’d done. Here, and decking Frank. Theodore Glenn brought out his dark side. Will hated him for it.

“You remember what he did to his victims,” Will said. “He tortured them with an X-ACTO knife before tiring of the game, dragging them to the front door, and slitting their throat so that the next person who walked into the room slipped in their blood. We
know
he killed those women.”

Carina frowned and Trinity stared at him. He took a deep breath. “Trinity,” he said through clenched teeth, “Glenn loves the game. He’s using you. He will kill you when you don’t do what he wants.”

“What did he say he wanted from you?” Carina asked.

Before Will could say anything, Trinity said, “He takes credit for the first three murders. He admitted to me that he killed Bethany, Brandi, and Jessica. He wants me to prove he didn’t kill Anna.”

Will bit his tongue. Hands clenched, his heart rang in his ears. What was his angle? Why would he admit to killing the first three victims, but not Anna? It didn’t make sense. Just another one of his many games. Did he just want to torment Robin? Knowing that if Anna’s murder was discussed in the media it would hurt Robin?

Will would do anything to spare her the pain.

But—why? Why would Glenn admit to three murders and not the fourth? There were some minor discrepancies in the murders, but Bethany was different as well. He hadn’t used bleach on Bethany, but had on the other three. Yet Anna had fewer marks on her. Will and the crime scene analysts had determined at the time that Glenn was rushed. There had also been the theory that Anna hadn’t been the intended victim, that Glenn planned on Robin coming home, not Anna, who was supposed to be out of town.

But the truth was the M.O. was virtually the same, the knife was identical, and the jury was unanimous in its verdict that Glenn killed all four women.

“Trinity,” Will said, forcing calm. “We’ve known each other for what? Nine, ten years?”

She nodded, searching his eyes, her face piqued with interest but her expression unreadable.

“Glenn wants attention. He wants you to stir the pot, create dissent in the ranks.” Will would look into Anna’s case again, one last time, but he was confident Glenn killed her. His hair was found in her fist. She fit Glenn’s profile…except Anna hadn’t slept with him.

Will shook his head. “You’ll be bringing up the past and hurting the victim’s friends and family. Don’t let him use you. Don’t print his words. He wants that. He wants to be the focal point. The animal is a convicted murderer. During his escape, he fatally bludgeoned an injured guard. He killed his own sister yesterday because she testified against him. His intelligence and good looks disguise a sociopath. He has no remorse, and he will kill you without a second thought.”

Carina cleared her throat. Will took a deep breath, the red rage that grew whenever he thought of Theodore Glenn fading but not gone. It would never be gone as long as Glenn walked free.

Carina asked Trinity, “Did he give any hint as to where he was going? What his plans are?”

Trinity shook her head. “Nothing.”

“Did you get a good look at him? Has he altered his appearance?”

“It was dark, and he stayed in the shadows. I only saw his outline. He seems bulkier than during trial. Not fat, but like he’s been working out.”

“The damn prisons let the convicts use a weight room,” Will muttered. “Are we talking upper body muscle?”

She nodded. She opened her mouth to say something else, then closed it.

“Don’t hold back, Trinity. We need to know everything.”

She glanced at her notepad, which was still facedown.

“Like Will said,” Carina interjected, sensing that, like Will, Trinity was holding something back, “Glenn plays games. But the truth is, forensic evidence—biological evidence—proved he did in fact kill Anna Clark. His hair was found on the victim’s body. Evidence doesn’t lie.”

“He contends that the evidence was planted,” Trinity said.

“Him and O.J.,” Will spat out, standing. “Are you buying into his act?”

Trinity stood and looked up at him, hands on the table. “I’ll tell you what I
know,
William Hooper. I know that he hates you. I know that he hates Robin McKenna, Anna’s roommate. And I know that he would kill me in a heartbeat if he didn’t think I was helpful to him.

“But I also know the police can screw up. I know that
individuals
can make mistakes. We are all human and fallible.” She pulled an envelope out of her notebook and slapped it in front of Will. “Frankly, if what Theodore Glenn says is true, a killer has truly gotten away with murder. And if I can prove it, I’ll have a ticket to New York City so fast I won’t have time to say
thanks for the ride.
”

“Is that what this is about?” Will fumed. “Your career?”

“He picked me because I know about this case and—”

“Listen to yourself! He
picked you
! This isn’t a popularity contest. He picked you and he will kill you. Don’t play his game. Don’t give him print.”

“Last I heard this was a free country, Detective Hooper,” Trinity said, her hackles raised.

“Don’t be stupid.”

“I’m not.”

“You’ve got to watch your back.” Angry, yes, but Will was concerned about Trinity’s safety. He didn’t want anything to happen to her.

His obvious concern diminished the anger between them. He touched her hand. “I’m serious, Trinity,” he said softly. “You’re not safe here, not alone.”

“Thank you.” She swallowed, squeezed his hand. “I’ll be okay.” She nodded toward the envelope. “He left that for me.”

“Why did you touch it?”

“I—I almost forgot he’d left it. I had to see what was inside. I only touched the corners. But I want that picture, Will.”

Will frowned, slipped on latex gloves, and flipped open the flap of the envelope. Judging by the glue, it had never been sealed.

Inside was a single picture. Of Frank in the car he drove seven years ago, a large American sedan. Asleep at the wheel, his mouth open, his head back. Will could almost hear him snoring.

From the angle of the shot, Will could see a flask on the passenger seat.

He turned the picture over. In block letters:

APRIL 2 1:05 AM ASLEEP ON DUTY

Jessica Suarez had been murdered on April 2. Frank had sworn he’d watched the house all night. Will hadn’t believed him. When he confronted Frank, his partner had jumped all over him. Brought up his affair with Robin. That he, Frank Sturgeon, was a cop with over twenty-four years on the force, and who was Will Hooper? Ten years and change? Walking in his daddy’s footsteps?

Frank had always known how to rub Will the wrong way. And Will had no proof Frank had fallen asleep on the job.

Until now.

“I’m running with the story, Will,” Trinity said softly.

“What story? That a killer paid you a visit?”

She shook her head, looked at the photo.

“Don’t,” he said. “This is evidence.”

“I don’t care. I already scanned a copy and sent it to my boss. Glenn contacted me for a reason, Will. And you know what? I believe him.”

“He killed four women!”

“He killed three women. The jury’s still out on whether he killed Anna Clark.”

“Don’t—” He caught himself. Shit, he was only going to make it worse if he made ultimatums. He was going to have to trust Trinity that she would be smart. And he’d do what he could. Increase patrols in her neighborhood. He could probably even justify to Chief Causey that she needed a tail.

“You’re going to destroy Frank Sturgeon.”

“That should be the least of your concerns,” Trinity said. “Did you cover for him back then?”

“I didn’t know—” Again he caught himself. He was not going to be trapped into an interview with a reporter. He wanted to rail against her, threaten her, but instead he said, “Be careful, okay?”

“I promise.”

“You have no problem with the crime techs coming in and collecting evidence?”

She shook her head. “Anything they need. And—”

She stopped.

“What?”

She glanced at Carina. The look wasn’t lost on either Carina or Will.

“I’ll call you later if I remember anything else,” she said pointedly.

Jim Gage stepped into the kitchen. “Carina, Will. Are we set?”

“He appeared to have spent the most time in the bedroom,” Will told Gage. “He left this for Trinity. She’s touched it.”

Trinity said, “You can print me, no problem. I pulled off the duct tape and left it upstairs. I changed, but didn’t touch anything except my dresser, and haven’t been back in there.”

“I’m not holding out hope that he dropped a motel receipt, but you never know,” Will said, still disturbed by the photograph and trying to figure out what Glenn’s game was this time.

Carina spoke up. “How did he know where Trinity lives?”

No one spoke. Then Will said, “Trinity is a public figure. She works at a television studio, he could easily look up the address, follow her home, come back whenever he wanted.”

“Which means he could be following anyone and they might not know.”

Jim turned around and motioned for his team to come in as he asked Will, “Do we know how he entered?”

Carina answered. “The responding officer said the door was jimmied.”

“You don’t have security?” Will asked Trinity.

“I didn’t think I needed it.”

“Maybe you should rethink that,” Will admonished.

Diana Cresson and Stu Hansen stepped into the modest kitchen, crowded now with six adults standing around the four-seat table.

“You brought the A-team with you,” Will said with a nod to the two crime techs Jim had with him. Diana was the assistant lab director under Gage, and Stu was a trace evidence specialist who’d done his training in New York City. Both had been in the lab for more than ten years. Will often wondered why Stu hadn’t moved on—he was more than capable of running his own lab, as Gage once told him. But Stu simply said he never wanted to be in charge. Diana, however, was definitely on a career-focused path. Will wouldn’t be surprised if she soon announced she was leaving for a lead position in another jurisdiction—Jim Gage wasn’t yet forty and didn’t look like he’d be retiring anytime soon.

“I have clearance for any overtime necessary,” Gage said, “which isn’t surprising. This won’t take long, Ms. Lange.”

Trinity rolled her eyes. “God, Jim, we’ve known each other for a gazillion years and you call me
Ms. Lange
?”

He shrugged. “You’ve never been a victim before.”

“And I’m not a
victim
now,” she insisted. “I’m fine. He didn’t hurt me, and I’m going to be careful.”

Everyone turned to stare at her.

“I promise,” she said, forcing the confidence into her voice. “I’m going to be very careful.”

ELEVEN

Theodore Glenn started visiting RJ’s a year before he killed Bethany.

He’d hit a low point in his life. The thrill of killing Dirk Lofton wore off after the investigators ruled that it was an accident caused by a poorly packed chute. No one even considered that someone might have messed with Lofton’s equipment. Why would they? There had been no threats on his life, there was no money at stake, and Lofton had always been arrogant about his jumps. He would have laughed at anyone who wanted to double-check his equipment.

Theodore went home after that week, the elation waning, completely gone by the time his plane hit the tarmac—
his
plane, because he’d obtained his pilot’s license a few years back. He still enjoyed flying, but not as much as he used to. There was no challenge in it, unless he was battling the elements, and no one cleared him for takeoff if a storm was expected.

One of the managers at the megacorporation where he served as the staff attorney had a bachelor’s party at RJ’s, a strip club in the gaslight district. Back then, it was still an area where hookers walked the streets and drugs could easily be bought, usually in the open. The police presence was nominal, or focused on encroaching gang activity, not streetwalkers and low-level drug dealers.