Stolen Lives: A Detective Mystery Series SuperBoxset (70 page)

Cooper flung the pieces of rope to the floor and helped Katie sit on the edge of the bed. With her hands free, Katie instinctively covered her womb, and Cooper placed her hand over Katie’s. “Did he tell you where he was going? Did he give you anything?”

Katie motioned over to the nightstand. “I saw him write something down over there.”

Cooper snatched the note and held it up to the moonlight in the window. The distinctive red shimmer of the crayon glimmered, and Cooper read the killer’s final note silently to herself.

Calburry Books.

“Cooper, what’s going on?” Katie had turned around to watch her, keeping her hands over her stomach.

Cooper looked to Katie’s stomach, unable to take her eyes off Hart’s unborn daughter that rested inside. She picked up the cell phone on the nightstand and pulled up the store’s location on GPS. The address was too far away for her to get to on foot without being seen, and with dawn close, it would only further complicate the way there.

“Katie, listen to me.” She walked over and clutched the woman’s hands in her own, the dirt and grit from Beth’s body still on her fingers. “I can get Jason back, but I need your help.” She showed her the paper. “I need you to take me here. Just drive me there, and the moment I get out, you head to the nearest police station and you tell them where I’m at. Got it?”

Tears streamed down Katie’s face as she rocked from side to side. “It was him, wasn’t it? The killer? He has Jason.” A soft moan escaped her lips, and her shoulders trembled.

“I’ll get him back.” But the reassuring squeeze and words did little to stem the flood of grief. Cooper let it run its course, sitting on the edge of the bed with her until it was over. It could have been the fact that she’d just seen her sister’s body or that Katie was pregnant, but for some reason the moment made Cooper think of what would have happened if she’d gone down a different road in her life. She’d clutched so tightly to the bitterness a fatherless childhood cultivated that it had seeped its way into nearly every facet of her life. But the what-ifs and the could-have-beens were worthless now. She’d chosen her path. And there was only one direction left to go.

“Katie, we need to go now.”

Katie sniffled, closed her eyes, and drew in a breath. “Where?”

Cooper showed her the address and then helped her put on her slippers and robe. She led Katie out to her car, shielding her from the dead officers in the driveway. Cooper crawled into the back seat and remained low in case another patrol showed up.

“What happens when we get there?” Katie kept her hands on the wheel and her eyes on the road.

“You just drop me and go. That’s all you have to worry about. Tell the cops exactly what happened, and then make sure you call Agent Hemsworth.” Cooper snatched a stray piece of paper in the back seat and then reached into Katie’s purse, pulling out a pen. “This is his number. If there’s anyone that I’d trust, it’s him.” She passed the note between the gap in the front seats and rested her head on the soft brown leather.

“What’s going to happen to you?” Katie asked, glancing in the rearview mirror, which only revealed the seat backs. “What happens when I leave?”

Cooper remained silent for a second, hoping to come up with something that would comfort Katie and maybe even herself, but the longer she thought about it only blank answers echoed back. “Honestly, I don’t know.”

Chapter 12

The neighborhood was worn down. But a few stores remained open, owned by the stubborn residents who refused to vacate even with the plummeting property prices and growing crime rates. Katie pulled up to a small store, the windows dirtied from the long absence of use. The bookstore’s marquee still had a few letters left from when it had been open, and even with many letters missing, Cooper could fill in the blanks.

“Adila, wait until I can get help.”

Cooper opened the back door and got out. “Just make sure you call Hemsworth when you get to the station, and do not stop until you get there, for anything, understand?” Reluctantly, Katie nodded. “When you get to the station, and you tell them what’s happening here, make sure you have them send a unit over to 576 Westworth Way. There’s a body there they need to pick up.”

Again Katie nodded, her face a ghost white. Cooper watched the taillights of the car fade in the glowing grey sky, which had lightened from the encroaching sunrise. She turned back to the store and removed the revolver from her waistband, aiming it at the door that read “Calburry Books” in faded letters.

The bell on the door chimed when Cooper opened it, and she was met with the musty smell of aged paper and books. It was dark, but the outlines of bookcases crammed full of literature that stretched all the way to the ceiling could be seen. In the back of the store, she saw light break through the outline of a hidden trapdoor in the floor. Cooper approached cautiously and clutched the revolver tight. Light flooded the inside of the store when she lifted the handle and revealed the staircase to take her below.

“Ah, Detective!” The killer’s voice was faint, but it grew louder when he poked his head around the bottom corner of the staircase. “I’m so glad you could make it!” He smiled and waved her downward then disappeared.

Cooper’s heart caught in her throat, but she took her first step downstairs, the wooden planks groaning with the same anxiousness that she kept bottled inside. The smell in the basement contained a heavier moisture but retained the same musty smell of books as the rest of the store.

The light grew brighter, and when she reached the bottom, she had to squint against the harsh florescent lighting that had been wired into the ceiling. The walls were bare save for a bookcase on the opposite side. It stretched from floor to ceiling, with fifteen rows of neatly organized books. All of them with the same color spine. She raised the revolver and aimed it between the killer’s beady eyes. “Where is he?”

The killer leaned up against a desk, the only other piece of furniture in the basement. He lifted his hands in the air, shrugging off the accusation. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about, Detective.”

“No more games!” Cooper aggressively sprinted forward, shoving the pistol’s barrel into the killer’s chest, resisting the urge to squeeze the trigger. “Where is Hart?”

The killer smiled, then stepped aside from the desk and revealed a small television screen, which was turned off. He clapped his hands together, rubbing them excitedly. “Well, here we are!” He circled Cooper, who kept the revolver aimed at him the entire time. He wagged a finger at the display, shaking his head. “Now, I know you have a lot of questions, but I thought now would be a good time for us to spend some quality time.”

Cooper felt the hot tears form in the corners of her eyes but refused to let them fall. She wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction, not now. “You killed my sister, you fucking bastard.” Her arms trembled with rage, and her mind raced with all of the different ways she wanted to torture him. “All that’s left for me to do is watch you burn.”

The killer kept his hands in the air and his eyes locked on Cooper. “I never broke my word with you, Detective.” He glanced down at the revolver. “I only shot her. It was the medical team at the cabin that failed to save her life, and besides, you tried to snuff your end of the deal. I was allowed to get away, and I needed insurance to make that happen.”

“Fuck you!” She jammed the barrel’s tip into his cheek, and the killer’s head was flung back as she forced his gaze away from hers.

“I can see that’s still a sore spot for you, though, but that’s why I did it. That’s why you’re here.” He slowly backed away, his hands still in the air, and moved toward the bookcase. “You’re my magnum opus, Detective. I’ve searched for an ending to my story for years, and you’re here to finally give me one.” He ran his hands along the spines of each cover, caressing them gently. “All of these stories, all of the tales I’ve heard. All recorded here.”

Cooper lowered the revolver, taking in the size and number of the books that lined the shelves. There were hundreds of them. Her jaw dropped in horror. “Those are all… murders?”

“No! No, Detective. Not murders, liberations! These people are now immortal!” The killer snatched a book from the shelf and clutched it firmly in his hands. “In here they live on forever! Look.” He opened the novel, flipping to a page, showing her the text. “This was one of my favorites. A man who’d just lost his wife and son in a car accident was about to kill himself on a bridge. He was distraught, tormented, his life had no meaning. A woman nearby watched the man step onto the banister in preparation for his jump. She sprinted over, hoping to save him before he plunged into the dark unknown, the river consuming him in the night. But slowly, she talked him down. She gave him a reason to live, to carry the torch that was his family’s memory in this world, instead of extinguishing both in the river below. They fell in love, a complicated, painful, wonderful, inexhaustible love.” He snapped the book shut, smiling. “He was just one of hundreds, Detective. Billions of people walk this earth, and hardly anyone will ever know their names. But I gave each of these people a story. And after today, every single one of them will be remembered forever. Because of us.”

Cooper watched him slowly slide the book back into place then gently run his fingers across the same row until he reached the end. “You think that man’s wife wants a story?” Cooper raised the revolver once more, her finger on the trigger. “You think children would rather read about their mother than have her hold them in her arms?”

The killer scoffed. “Mothers.” He raised his arms, gesturing to the ceiling and the business above. “This store was all that my mother left me. And I had to fight her tooth and nail to get even that. But in the end, she received her own story as well. Though I have to admit that I may have stolen a bit from
Hamlet
on that one.” He tapped one of the books, a half smile curving up his right cheek. “But today is about you, Detective! Today is about your story and how it connects with mine.”

The killer grabbed a stepladder and climbed it to the very top of the bookshelf, plucking one of his stories from the middle of the row and waving it in the air. “This! This is why you’re here, Detective. This is what brought you into my life.”

Cooper shifted the sight on the revolver from the killer’s head to the cover of the book, then slowly lowered the weapon. Even from that distance, she was able to read the name on the cover.
Henry Miller.

“Yes.” The killer inched closer, and Cooper recoiled, dropping the revolver. “I know you’re curious. Take a look.” His words left his lips like an intoxicating whisper, numbing her senses. “The man was your father. The father who left your mother and sister and you. The father who I slew.”

Cooper reached for the book, trembling as she ran her fingers over the cover. Her knees buckled, and it took every ounce of strength she had left to not collapse on the floor then and there. She opened the cover, her father’s name the title, and turned to the first page, which began with Miller meeting her mother.

A tear landed on the page, and Cooper quickly flipped through the text, glazing over some parts while homing in on others. But it was the last few pages that caught her eye, one passage in particular:

The coated pills were scattered on the glass table like dying stars in a night sky. The clouds of cocaine filtered between them and he sensed the end. It was the easy way out, but he’d taken that route his entire life and he didn’t see any reason to stop now. He pressed his nose into the pile of white powder and inhaled, the sudden rush so overwhelming and paralyzing that he was barely able to reach for the pills and whiskey to chase it down. He clustered a handful and dumped them into his mouth, swallowing them whole as the liquor burned his gut.

Exhausted and alert at the same time, he collapsed back onto the couch, the cushions devouring him like the coke and pills he’d just inhaled. There wasn’t anything else he could do besides wait. His heart pounded irregularly, quick, then slow, then skipping a few beats. His fingers twitched and he lolled his head to the side, his whole body suddenly weightless. He curled himself into a ball and closed his eyes.

And that’s when he saw the two of them. They couldn’t have been older than four and two. Their ponytails swaying in the breeze as they played on the swings in the park. He couldn’t see their faces, but he heard their laughter. A pain suddenly hit his gut, and he felt his head spin, losing the memory to the drugs. He clutched his head tightly and tried to bring the image back.

When it did return, both of the girls turned around, the laughter gone from their voices and their smiles turned to frowns. They called out to him, screaming for their father, but in his memory he sprinted from them, running away in a frenzied panic.

“No.” He shook his head back and forth, sweat pouring from his face. “No, I can’t.” The coke and pills had done their work, providing a hallucination that felt too real. “I’m sorry.” He cried, tears mixing with the sweat oozing from his pores. “I’m so sorry.” He rolled off the couch and onto the floor, his body numb to the pain of impact.

For the first time in his life he felt the regret of the father he never was, the pain and shame he passed on to the daughters he never knew, and all of the moments he should have shared with them.

A slow tremor started to overtake his body, which morphed into violent spasms. Frothy vomit foamed at the corners of his mouth, and his eyes rolled back into his head. The last few moments of life were full of nothing but pain and loss, and the two faces of his daughters were imprinted on his mind, never knowing the women they grew to become and them never knowing the pathetic trash of the man that was their father.

Cooper stared at the last few paragraphs, rereading them a few times before she slowly shut the book and stumbled backward until she felt the sturdy concrete of the wall.

“When I spoke to your father, he told me a lot of things, mostly about how pathetic his life was, but he did speak of one shining moment, which was that memory of you and your sister at the park.” The killer watched Cooper from across the room, staying close to the bookcase. “Now, I did take some creative license with the rest of the story, but the core of that character is your father. Of course, the pills and coke weren’t how he really died. Though I did kill him with chemicals. It was a time in my life where I had grown bored with guns and knives, though I found the lives I’d taken with poison weren’t nearly as satisfying as more traditional methods.”