Secret Letter: The Beginning Page 5

  ***

  Victoria sat at her desk the next morning, adding some last-minute notes to a PowerPoint slide for an upcoming conference call. She had barely looked at the flowers sitting atop her filing cabinet, but their scent lingered. Her office door was open, and every so often she would look out over her desk as the other employees walked by.

  Her attention went back to her monitor as she continued typing. She had been staring at the same PowerPoint presentation for so long that her vision had gone blurry. Suddenly, someone knocked at the door, startling her.

  She looked up to see Eric Stanfield, another project analyst, standing at her door, smiling at her behind glasses that seemed to magnify his eyes. “Hey there, Vicky!” He was wearing a vest and dress shirt, and tan Dockers. He was always friendly, if not a little bit of a pest sometimes.

  “Hi Eric,” she said, distracted but polite.

  “Just checking in. How’s your project going?”

  Victoria brushed her hair back and resumed typing. “Busy.”

  Eric walked into her office, hands in his pockets. “I’m working on a budget myself for drone optics.”

  Victoria nodded with her eyes on the screen. “Military?”

  “Commercial,” he said with a laugh. His attention then went to the flowers sitting nearby. “Nice flowers. Who sent them?”

  Victoria glanced at the flowers and shook her head. “I have no idea.”

  “Really?” Eric asked, surprised. “That’s strange.”

  “You want them?” she asked in an indifferent tone.

  Eric looked at her, surprised at the offer. “That’s all right, thanks. I’ll let you get back to your work.”

  He then wished her a good day and left as quickly as he had arrived. Victoria continued typing, as the sound of his footsteps began to fade. She then got up, walked directly to the flowers, lifted them up with both hands, and carried them out of the office, receiving curious glances from coworkers along the way.

  She walked past a line of cubicles and into a hallway that led to the break room. She turned into the room and went directly for the large trash can in the corner, where she dropped the entire floral arrangement inside. She heard a thud and then turned, leaving the room and feeling better already.

  Victoria arrived home before sunset, pulling into the driveway with a sense of relief. Todd wasn’t home yet, naturally, and Brooke was staying at her friend Katie’s house for dinner. It seemed the first time in a long time that she had the house to herself. The day was behind her, and she was looking to relax. She parked the car inches from the garage door and shut off the ignition. Just then, she noticed the chain-letter sticking out of a pocket on the side of her purse.

  “Damn it,” she said, seizing the letter.

  She had forgotten to stop by the police station on her way home. With the busy day, her mind had been elsewhere. She placed the letter back in her purse and then gripped the steering wheel, trying to decide what to do. She certainly didn’t feel like driving back through town to reach the police station. What would they do about the letter anyway?

  She then thought of an idea. She could contact the Connecticut Homicide Department and ask to speak with the detective in charge with investigating Elizabeth’s murder. She’d tell them about the letter and let them take it from there. Case closed.

  Victoria stepped out of her car and felt a cool breeze amidst the whirling leaves falling from their elm tree. She continued up the walkway, observing her quaint house with pride. There was no other house she wanted to live in. No other place she wanted to be. She was happy in Maine and couldn’t imagine living anywhere else. She even liked the snow.

  She walked up her creaking porch steps and then halted a few feet from the front door. Sitting right at her doorstep was a green gift box tied by red string. There was no shipping label on it and no indication of what was inside. She turned around in haste and looked out into the quiet neighborhood street. She then looked again at the mysterious package with her heart beating fast. She hadn’t ordered anything. Was it Todd’s? She approached the box with caution, unsure if she should even touch it.

  Someone had put it there for a reason. She turned the door knob, just to be sure, and was relieved to see that it was locked. She knelt close to the package and saw that there was a note attached to the side. She pulled her cell phone from her purse, prepared to call Todd—or maybe even the police. She then paused and took a deep breath, reconsidering. The note had piqued her curiosity. She had to read it. She had to know.

  She looked around again and then pulled the small envelope from the box, feeling a chill down her spine. She opened the envelope and pulled out a single message, the size of a business card, vague and cryptic.

  Hello, Victoria. This gift is very important. Make sure that you’re alone when you open it, and do not tell anyone. Enjoy!

  The tiny cursive scrawl had been typed as well, much like the note in her flowers, though with a different font. She rose, back against the door, and looked out front, her eyes darting left and right.

  “Whoever is doing this, you need to stop!” she shouted. But she heard and saw no one. “I’m going to call the police! You hear me?”

  Her threats went unanswered. She held her cell phone up and immediately called Todd. After several rings, the call switched to voicemail. She waited for the automated message to end and then spoke. “Todd, call me back as soon as you get this message. I just got home and there’s some weird package at our door. There’s a note on the side of it, addressed to me. I think…” she paused to catch her breath, noticing that she was growing so nervous that her hands were shaking.

  “I think that it’s the same person who sent me the flowers. This is getting too strange. I think I should call the police.” She paused again, trying to think of what else to say. She didn’t know. All she knew was that she wanted him to answer his damn phone. “Just call me back. Please.”

  She hung up the phone with a sigh and stared down at the sad, strange box below. Perhaps it was just another piece of some demented riddle. Part of her wanted to toss the box in the trash, while the other part had to know what was inside. She knelt and carefully picked up the box with both hands. It was light, and as she shook it, she could hear something shifting around inside. Eager to get into the house, she pulled her keys out and unlocked the door, stepping in with one last glance into the front yard. She closed the door, locking it behind her.

  The house was eerily quiet without Brooke. Its dead silence was unnerving. Victoria walked into the living room and placed her purse onto the center coffee table, together with the mysterious box. She then walked through the house and checked each room, window, and lock. The house appeared to be safe, with no sign of a break-in. Maybe they’d get a dog sooner than planned.

  She journeyed back into the living room, found the remote, and sat in the middle of the sofa, turning on the TV. She pushed her purse aside and examined the green box in front of her as a television court-drama played with the sound turned low.

  She considered never opening the package, denying whomever had sent it the satisfaction. But as the thought crossed her mind, she realized that the scissors were already in her hands. She brought them under the ribbon and snipped it off. The only thing left to do was to open it.

  Victoria carefully lifted the lid and braced for the worst. She looked inside the box to see what appeared to be a small box of chocolates and nothing else.

  “Cute,” she said, reaching into the box and pulling out the small, silver box.

  She set it directly in front of her and pulled off the next lid. There were indeed chocolates inside, but that wasn’t all. Three small envelopes rested on top, labeled numerically: one, two, three. With the contents of her mysterious package now revealed, she hesitated to touch anything. But there was no going back. She’d already opened the box. All that remained were the envelopes.

  Her heart pounded with anticipation as she reached for envelope
number one, and pulled the seal open. Inside, there were two black and white scanned pictures of varying quality and size. At first, she couldn’t tell what she was looking at, but then it began to sink in.

  The first, larger picture was of her senior class photo from high school. She stood among the crowd, identified by a red circle someone had drawn. Standing next to her was none other than Liz. She stared at the picture, her nervousness rising, and tried to make sense of its meaning.

  The next picture was a simple wallet-size cutout of her yearbook photo, when her hair had been styled into a wave, like many of the girls wore back then. Who was so interested in her high school years and why? Was there a deranged classmate on the loose? Had he murdered Liz? And most concerning of all, was he, or they, coming for her next?

  Victoria didn’t know what to think. The ordeal felt like an elaborate prank. Who was dredging up the past and why? She felt determined to find out, even if it meant playing along. She placed both images back inside the envelope and then set it aside, ready for number two. She opened the second envelope and pulled out a photo of the old house she grew up in when she lived in South Carolina.

  It was just as baffling as the other pictures, but there was more. The next picture was a color photo of her current house, taken from the street. She recoiled at the sight, hands trembling as she flipped to the next and last picture, this one of the very three-story building where she worked.

  Impossible, she thought. Who took these pictures and why?

  It was reasonable to assume that she was dealing with a stalker; someone from her high school class, she suspected. They had found her and were attempting to scare and harass. Feeling she had enough evidence to take to the police, Victoria returned the pictures to the number two envelope. Now, all she had was number three. She took the envelope and noticed that it was thicker than the others, most likely packed with surveillance photos of her or her family.

  If the pictures were meant to scare her, they had failed. In fact, she felt eager to find out who was behind the harassment. She opened the last envelope and pulled out a small stack of ten colored photos that looked as though they had been recently developed.

  She examined the first grainy photo, trying to understand who she was looking at. A man and woman were walking together hand in hand down a sidewalk in a park. They both had sunglasses on. The girl looked young and pretty. And the man? Although it was slightly out of focus, she took a closer look and had the strangest feeling that it was Todd. No, she was mistaken, but her hand was shaking.

  She flipped to the next picture and saw the same couple, this time leaving the second-story of what looked like a hotel room. She stared at the picture as an unsettling stir brewed within. The next photo showed the same couple in a parking lot. The woman was behind the wheel of her car, lifting her chin to kiss the man as he leaned in.

  The next picture showed them walking together again and holding hands outside an apartment complex. Her attempts to find rational explanations, to cling to denials, were failing. The picture after that showed them walking inside. By now, there was no doubt in Victoria’s mind that the man in the photos was Todd. In some of the pictures he wore a hat, jacket, or sunglasses. In others, he wasn’t concealed at all.

  The only question involved the identity for the woman. A crippling realization washed over her, and a queasy sickness gripped her stomach. The blow felt unreal. Her vision began to blur with a surreal dizziness, as her trembling hands dropped the photos onto the floor.

  Of everything that could have been causing the recent distance between them, the last thing she had expected was seeing photos of Todd with a mystery woman. Stunned, blindsided, and nearing a state of shock, she tried to comprehend what she had just seen.

  An affair? She thought. It had to be a joke.

  Any minute now, Todd would come home and tell her so. But that wasn’t the case, and she knew it. She thought of his frequent late nights, his disheveled appearance and rumpled clothes whenever he walked through the door. The signs were there, she just hadn’t seen it. She sank back against the couch with the wind knocked out of her. Warm tears fell down her cheeks. She couldn’t think straight. She felt crippled, paralyzed, and all she could do at that point was to wait.

  To Catch a Killer

  Leesburg, South Carolina

  The next morning, Captain Nelson had called all detectives into a meeting room for a mandatory briefing. Detective Dobson had just arrived in the small, crowded room to find most seats full and the captain standing at a podium with Lieutenant Fitzpatrick beside him. He walked to the front and found a seat next to Harris as chatter continued among the detectives, drinking coffee and laughing.

  “What’s this all about?” he asked.

  Harris shrugged. “Beats me. A breakthrough in the case?”

  “Yeah right,” Dobson said.

  “Can I have your attention, please?” Captain Nelson announced, hands out and wearing his dress-blue uniform with ribbons and rank affixed.

  The chatter ceased as detectives turned to the front of the room where there was a presentation board with several glossy photos tacked to the surface. Many were of the same bearded, disheveled man, others of a run-down mobile home community.

  “Thank you,” Captain Nelson said to the quiet room. “As many of you know, the investigation into Mrs. Bailey’s murder is currently ongoing and we have reached no conclusions at this point. That means we will decline comments to the press until our information is substantive and verifiable.”

  He paused and leaned forward with his arms gripping both sides of the podium. “Having said that, some information has come to light which may help us in narrowing down a suspect. And I will let Lieutenant Fitzpatrick take it from here.” The captain stepped aside, letting the lieutenant take the podium.

  “Thank you, sir,” Fitzpatrick said, glancing at some notes and then looking up to the group. “I don’t want to take up too much of your time, so I’ll just get to the point.”

  He paused and then motioned to the presentation board behind him.

  “Some of you may be familiar with the name Randall Morris. He has a rather extensive criminal record. To put it simply, a rap sheet twenty pages long.” He paused and began reading from his notes again. “Mr. Morris has been charged with theft, drug possession with intent to distribute, public intoxication, harassment, fraudulent statements, identity theft, check fraud, and I could go on.

  “Mr. Morris has been in and out of our county jail more times than I can count. He’s what you would call a career criminal. Mr. Morris’s latest endeavor involved selling stolen frozen meats door to door. We know this because Mrs. Bailey’s own niece, Evelyn Bailey, confirmed that a few days before she left town, Mr. Morris arrived at her aunt’s estate and badgered Mrs. Bailey to purchase his frozen meats, stolen from the back of a truck at the local Food Mart. When turned away, Morris grew visibly angry and spiteful before he was forced to leave.”

  Fitzpatrick backed away from the podium next to the board as he pointed along the row of pictures. “These are his mugshots. Here, we have pictures of the mobile-home community he lives in, way out in the sticks.”

  He then approached the podium confidently, as though making his case in court. “We’ve also learned that Mr. Morris owes thousands in court fees and alimony to his ex-wife and three children, who no longer live in the area. This is a man deeply in debt, who, I have no doubt, enjoyed teaching Mrs. Bailey a lesson for turning him away.”

  Dobson and Harris looked at each other as Fitzpatrick held up some photos of the crime scene, displaying them for everyone to see.

  “I’ve requested a warrant to search Mr. Morris’s property. Once the warrant is approved, Sheriff Hughes will assemble a team to issue the warrant and apprehend Mr. Morris as we conduct our search.”

  Dobson suddenly raised his hand, receiving a reluctant response from Fitzpatrick to call on him.

  “Detective Dobson… what is it?”
>
  “Thank you, Lieutenant. I was wondering if you could clarify the witness statement about the vehicle.”

  Fitzgerald thought to himself and then answered. “Yes, thank you for reminding me.” He looked to the group and continued. “The Chevy Suburban was seen around the area by witnesses close to the day Mrs. Bailey was murdered. It is also the same vehicle her niece, Evelyn, claims to have seen Mr. Morris driving when he tried to sell them stolen meats.”

  “Can we talk to these witnesses?” Dobson asked, cutting in. “I’d like to verify their statements.”

  The room got quiet as Fitzpatrick fidgeted at the podium, clearly taken off guard by the question. “That’s not important right now.”

  Captain Nelson then approached the podium and leaned in. “Yes, please. Hold your questions until the end.”

  “Yes. Thank you, sir.” Fitzpatrick said, reshuffling his notes. “Coincidentally, that’s all I have. Thank you for your time, and I’ll be expecting all of your support to bring this killer to justice.”

  The detectives stood up to leave as chatter resumed throughout the room. Captain Nelson took the lieutenant aside and spoke quietly as Harris stood up and tossed his empty coffee cup into a nearby wastebasket. The other detectives began filing out, a questioning air floating through the room. Though no one had a better theory.

  Dobson stood as Harris yanked at his sleeve. “I did some investigating into Andrea Bailey’s will. Even spoke with her attorney. A guy named Lenny Neumeier.”

  “Oh yeah?” Dobson asked, intrigued.

  Harris led him toward the back of the room as though they were speaking in confidence. “Mr. Neumeier explained that once her niece moved into the house, Mrs. Bailey had made several amendments to her will.”

  “To give the money to her niece?” Dobson asked.

  “No,” Harris said. “To donate her assets to charities. Hundreds of them.”

  Dobson stroked his chin, thinking. It was the last thing he had expected to hear.

  “Detective Dobson,” Fitzpatrick called out, walking toward him.

  “Yeah,” Dobson said, turning around.

  “I want you to accompany me to Mr. Morris’s residence and help conduct the search. I have a feeling that we’re close here.”

  “Well, Detective Harris and I were just headed to probate to investigate financial transactions within the Bailey estate.”

  Fitzpatrick scratched at the stubble on his face and nodded. “That can wait. Captain Nelson is fully on-board with this raid. It’s about time we got this scumbag off the street for good. Don’t you say?”

  Dobson glanced at Harris, who then looked away, wanting nothing to do with an argument.

  “Sure,” Dobson said. “Let me know once that warrant’s been signed off.” With that, he turned and walked out of the room with Harris.

  “You’re all in now?” Harris asked as they continued down the hall.

  “Doesn’t look like I have much of a choice,” Dobson said with a shrug. He stopped at his office and opened the door, turning to face Harris. “I want to get in contact with that attorney before I leave, though. Email me his contact info, if you can.”

  Harris pulled out a piece of gum from his coat pocket and put it in his mouth. “You got it.”

  They parted ways, saying little else. Dobson walked inside his office and took off his coat jacket. The wall clock ticked just past 9:30 a.m. It was a Thursday; one day closer to the weekend. He sat at his desk and opened his email, finding one in the list of messages from none other than the law offices of Lenny Neumeier.

  Detective Dobson,

  I spoke with Detective Harris earlier in regard to Mrs. Bailey’s estate. He informed me that you are one of the lead detectives on the case. Rest assured, I will keep your department updated on the eventual proceedings. I have not taken any action thus far, as her will and testament bequeaths assets of ten million dollars to various charitable organizations. Feel free to call my offices when you have a moment.

  Best Regards, Lenny L. Neumeier, Attorney at Law.

  Dobson reached for his phone to call the number listed below, when his line suddenly rang from extension 228. He knew exactly who it was. “Dobson,” he said, hitting the speaker button.

  “You ready?” Fitzpatrick asked. “I just got word back from the judge. We’re good to go.”

  Dobson hung his head and sighed under his breath. “Are we now?” he asked with suspicion

  “I thought you’d be more excited, Detective.”

  “I am,” he said, hanging up.

  There was no doubt that Randall Morris was a shady character. However, something just didn’t add up. Dobson closed his email and rubbed his forehead, unable to clear his head. The beige walls of his small office felt as though they were closing in. He got up, grabbed his coat, and quickly left the office to join the raid before he could change his mind.

  He emerged into the busy hallway leading outside the building where he could see Fitzpatrick already waiting for him and several police officers standing around wearing flak vests over their uniforms.

  “You have one of those for me?” Dobson asked.

  “Relax. I’ve got two in my car,” Fitzpatrick said, pointing toward the exit. “Let’s go.

  Dobson followed the group down the hall and outside, where several police cruisers sat parked under the bright morning sun. Their destination was on the outskirts of town among rural tight-knit communities where authority was often looked upon with a suspicious eye.

  Randall Morris didn’t live far from the wilderness surrounding the Bailey estate, and he could easily have driven through the open gate to the house, kicked the back door in, and murdered Mrs. Bailey just as Fitzpatrick suspected, though Dobson couldn’t shake the doubts from his mind. It all seemed too perfect a scenario. Or maybe Fitzpatrick was sharper than Dobson had given him credit for.

  He stepped into the passenger’s side of the department-issued SUV and sat on the hot vinyl seat as Fitzpatrick turned the key in the ignition and blasted the air conditioning.

  “I do appreciate you coming along, Detective,” Fitzpatrick said, closing his door and adjusting the rearview mirror. He then looked at Dobson from behind the dark lenses of his sunglasses. “I can tell you’re a little hesitant about this. I understand. You want to consider all the options. I get it.”

  He paused, watching as the three police cruisers backed out of their parking spaces and drove ahead. Fitzpatrick backed out, then followed as the police radio hanging below the dashboard crackled with chatter. There was a shotgun locked into place next to Dobson, barrel up, and two vests in the back seat, just as the lieutenant had promised.

  Their vehicle shook after hitting a pothole outside the parking lot, then they turned onto Anderson Street, the main road through town, and continued to follow the three cruisers ahead.

  “I have to say,” Fitzpatrick began. “Solving this case could be a real boost for the department. Think of all the press we’ll get.”

  Dobson turned away from the window as they passed several old brick buildings. “Sure.” He then leaned back in his seat as Fitzpatrick pushed the gas, following the line of police cars along the tow-lane road.

  Dobson reached into his pocket and pulled out his cell phone, glancing at the screen. It was just past ten in the morning, and he had no idea of how the so-called raid was going to turn out, but couldn’t help anticipating the outcome. He wasn’t optimistic.

  “I found a toothpick at the top of Mrs. Bailey’s staircase,” he said as they took quick left turn at a busy intersection.

  “A toothpick?” Fitzpatrick said, giving him a strange look.

  “I gave it to forensics to run some tests. So far, they’ve got nothing.”

  “Must have been nothing then,” Fitzpatrick said, veering to the right as their convoy reached a stop sign.

  “I guess we’ll see,” Dobson said as they proceeded quickly down a long, narrow road with forest on both sides. He sta
red ahead, closing the matter.

  Fitzpatrick gripped the wheel with both hands as they ascended a sharp curve where the pavement soon turned into a bumpy dirt road. “If everything goes right, we’ll be heroes, you and I. Think about it.”

  Dobson chuckled to himself while glancing at his phone. Rachel had sent him a text message reminding him to pick up some milk and trash bags on his way home at the end of the day.

  Before he could respond, however, the convoy suddenly slowed, because of the increasingly uneven dirt road. Pine trees and thick foliage consumed both sides, with wire fencing and tall grass pastures farther ahead.

  The SUV rocked along the bumpy ruts and followed the other vehicles into a mobile home park with six or seven residences arranged in one large circle. They pulled to the side of the road at the end of the circle where a single trailer looked out from behind some thick bushes, half-concealing a rusty, dark-gray Suburban.

  “Looks like our boy’s home,” Fitzpatrick said, leaning over the wheel. He reached for the radio microphone and held it to his mouth, addressing the officers. “Keep an eye on the place, and wait for my lead.” He then looked at Dobson. “Are you ready?”

  “What’s the plan, exactly? Are you going to arrest him? If so, on what charge?”

  Fitzpatrick shook his head. “We just want to search his premises. If he cooperates, there shouldn’t be a problem.

  Dobson turned to look at the trailer and caught a glimpse of a man peeking from behind the curtains inside. Their presence was not a secret. He opened his door, following Fitzpatrick, and stepped outside. No one looked to be around, and the eerie silence hinted at possible danger.

  He opened the back door and grabbed a vest, only to see Fitzpatrick already striding down the line of cruisers, standing at the hood of the lead vehicle and talking with the other police officers, who resembled a SWAT team, with their vests, helmets, and rifles. He slipped the vest over his shoulders, a snug fit, and checked his pistol, ensuring that it was loaded.

  As he hurried alongside the vehicles to catch up, Fitzpatrick was in the process of instructing the group. “I want an officer at each window and door. Once in place, I will coax Mr. Morris outside to present the warrant. He will have two options: exit the premises immediately and allow us to conduct our search or be forcibly removed and detained. Everyone understand?”

  The police team confirmed as much while Dobson nodded. Fifty feet away from them, the aluminum trailer sat atop cinder blocks a few feet in the air. The Suburban in question was parked at the side in a patch of dirt, near a stack of firewood. Pine cones littered the front yard of patchy grass and sand, and a canopy above the home’s front entrance shaded a small wooden deck. There was no visible movement from inside, despite Dobson’s having seen a man in the window just minutes before. Maybe he had run. Or maybe he was taking cover.

  Amid explaining the layout of the trailer’s interior, Fitzpatrick pointed at Dobson. “You’re going to stick with me, and watch my back.” It seemed a strange request, given their history, but Dobson agreed. Fitzpatrick then returned to describing the layout: two bedrooms, one bath, kitchen, and living room. “Look for cubbyholes, crawl spaces, and especially places out back where he might have buried evidence.”

  Suddenly, the patio door swung open and Morris emerged, gripping a shotgun with both hands, his long gray hair flowing wildly in the wind.

  “Twelve o’clock!” Dobson shouted.

  The officers turned with their rifles aimed as Fitzpatrick spun around and dropped to one knee, pistol in the air.

  “Drop the weapon, Morris!”

  Morris halted halfway into his yard and stared at them vacantly, his scruffy beard sprinkled with gray, and his arms covered in tattoos. His white, muscle T-shirt was torn and stained as badly as his faded blue jeans. His pale skin showed through the holes in the knees. He kept his shotgun aimed to the side, careful not to point it directly at them, while maintaining his look of defiance.

  “We have a warrant to search your premises,” Fitzpatrick continued in a loud, commanding voice. “Drop the shotgun, step away with your hands in the air, and I promise there won’t be any trouble.” His voice echoed as a flock of birds jettisoned from a nearby tree, scattering into the blue sky.

  Morris remained in place, standing his ground. He brushed one side of his hair behind his ear and then gripped the shotgun, pulling it closer to his chest as though it was protecting him.

  “This is my land. My property, damn it!” he shouted. Suddenly he lowered his voice, and revealed a Southern accent. “State your business, or get the hell out of here.”

  Fitzpatrick glanced at the other officers and then back to Morris, confounded. “I just told you that! We have a warrant. Now stand aside or face criminal charges. The choice is yours!”

  “A warrant?” Morris shouted back. “For what? I ain’t broke no more laws. I ain’t bothered a soul.”

  “We’ll see about that,” Fitzpatrick said as tensions rose.

  “Get the hell off my property now, you sons of bitches!” Morris shouted.

  Dobson’s heart raced as he moved carefully behind the first cruiser with his pistol aimed over the hood. The man was going to get himself killed, ending the standoff quickly and violently.

  “Okay, Morris!” Fitzpatrick said, keeping his steady aim. “Let’s be smart here. Don’t do anything rash. We can work this out.”

  “Drop the fucking weapon now!” One of the police officers shouted.

  “Do it!” another officer added.

  This is it, Dobson thought. This dumbass is going down.

  But before that could happen, Morris tossed his shotgun in the grass in front of him and took a step back, with pure contempt on his face. He then dropped to his knees and placed both hands behind his head as though he knew the routine all too well.

  “Move! Take him down!” Fitzpatrick shouted.

  The police officers charged forward and tackled Morris in a frenzied blur of grunts and shouts. Fitzpatrick moved quickly across the yard as Dobson cautiously followed. Morris was thrown to the ground with an officer’s knee digging into his back and his arms pulled together and handcuffed at the wrist. Another officer pushed Morris’s face into the dirt, applying most of his force to Morris’s neck, while another held his legs down.

  “Get him in the back of a patrol car,” Fitzgerald said as he headed toward the swaying front patio door.

  “I’m not resisting, you fucker!” Morris screamed as he gasped for air.

  Fitzgerald suddenly turned around and called out to Morris. “Is there anyone else in the house? Anyone at all?”

  “Go fuck yourself!” Morris shouted.

  “All right, get him out of here,” Fitzgerald said, giving up.

  Two officers lifted Morris up, gripping both arms and yanked him over to the nearest police cruiser. The other four followed Fitzgerald and took positions around the dilapidated trailer. As they threw him in the back seat of the car, Dobson examined the shotgun at his feet. It was a twelve-gauge pump-action Mossberg shotgun, like the kind they had at the station—the same manufacturer of the one locked in Fitzpatrick’s SUV. It was a popular brand and model, but most concerning of all was that Morris had it in the first place.

  While Fitzpatrick remained at the front door, peeking inside with the officers at the windows, Dobson approached the makeshift carport to get a look at Morris’s vehicle. Its rear left tire was flat, and a thick layer of dust and pollen covered its windows, roof, and hood. It didn’t look as though it had been driven in weeks, let alone days.

  He circled the car, shoes crunching against leaves, and stopped at the driver’s side door where he cupped his hands against the window and tried to look inside. There looked to be magazines and empty soda and beer cans on the floor, a stuffed ashtray under the dashboard, and what looked like a tackle box on the passenger seat. He moved away from the window and tried to open the door, but it was locked. He then re-circled the ve
hicle and attempted the other doors, but those were locked too.

  He backed away and took a picture of the vehicle and then walked back to the house. Fitzpatrick was no longer in his sight and he wanted to keep an eye on him, as promised. Pistol drawn, Dobson circled to the front of the house where two officers had just rushed inside.

  “Living room clear!” one of them shouted.

  Kitchen all clear!” the other officer shouted back to him.

  Dobson soon followed and entered the cluttered trailer with its coarse, stained carpet and old furniture, the rooms dimly-lit. He passed one officer who had just conducted his sweep, followed by another. In all the movement, Dobson had yet to see Fitzpatrick. He called out for the lieutenant from a narrow hallway as he passed a darkened bathroom the size of a broom closet.

  “Back here,” Fitzpatrick said.

  Dobson entered the only bedroom, situated at the end of the hall, and found Fitzpatrick standing there amid clothes and auto-trader magazines covering a lime-green carpet. A bed rested in the corner, consisting of only two stacked mattresses with no frame. Sunlight glowed from behind a beach towel blocking the one window. There was an old wooden dresser in the corner near some boxes and scattered belongings, but that was it. Evidence of a robbery was nowhere to be seen, that is until Fitzgerald stopped at the cluttered dresser and stared down with acute attention.

  “What is it?” Dobson asked, approaching him.

  “I knew it…” Fitzgerald said under his breath.

  Dobson scanned the dresser until his eyes stopped at the sight of a shoe box with glittering jewelry inside.

  Fitzgerald stepped closer and pulled a string of pearls from the box, holding them up to catch the light. “Do these look familiar?”

  Dobson studied the pearls and shook his head. “No, should they?”

  “Come on,” he said, lowering them. “Don’t be so dense.” He placed the pearls back inside the box and then pulled out a gold necklace with a diamond encrusted heart. “What is a man like Randall Morris doing with all this jewelry?”

  “Maybe it’s his girlfriend’s,” Dobson said.

  Fitzgerald placed the necklace back inside and then took the entire box over to Dobson, holding it close to his chest for a better view. Inside were the two necklaces, several expensive-looking bracelets, and some earrings. “I think it all adds up, Detective. In an act of desperation and rage, Randall Morris broke into Mrs. Bailey’s house to rob her. Maybe he had no intention of killing her, hence the sloppy crime scene. Maybe she just said the wrong thing to him. Maybe he decided that she had to pay.”

  Dobson stared at the shoe box, unconvinced. “We need to verify who this jewelry belongs to.”

  “Open your eyes. Who do you think?” Fitzpatrick said, arms out wide.

  Dobson pointed toward the window. “His Suburban out there hasn’t been driven in at least four days. Maybe a week. How’d he get around?”

  “Doesn’t matter,” Fitzpatrick said. “We have evidence from the scene of a crime.”

  Dobson turned away, stepping over the clothes in his path. “I don’t know, Lieutenant. It’s fishy.”

  Fitzpatrick’s face went flush as he took a measured step toward Dobson. “I don’t get you, Detective. I bring you along so we can work together on this. Instead, all I get are your petty doubts.”

  “Excuse me?” Dobson said, crossing his arms.

  Fitzgerald took another step, stopping inches from his face. “I want you to think about this. Captain Nelson is moving on in another year or two. With any luck, I’ll be promoted right into his place. Is this how you want to establish our working relationship? You’re close to retirement, right? That’s what I heard. Now, do you want those coming five years to be good, or bad? The decision’s yours.”

  Betrayal

  Clearwater, Maine

  Victoria paced the kitchen in a circular frenzy, with her anger steadily rising. It was past six and she had heard nothing from Todd. Not even a text message. She felt anxious and short of breath. She wanted to call her mother, but felt too upset to even talk. She stopped at the faucet and gripped the sink, staring out through the kitchen window. The empty space in the driveway next to her car remained. There was no sign of him yet.

  Brooke was at a friend’s house but would be home soon. Victoria had no idea what would she tell her. The reality of the situation hadn’t fully sunk in, but she knew that things were going to change. Though Todd’s betrayal had stung her deeply, she had no idea what she was going to do.

  The pictures were spread out on the kitchen table for Todd to see. She turned away from the window, unable to think straight and repeatedly glanced at her cell phone on the counter. The minutes crept by at an excruciatingly slow pace. The longer she waited, the more the thought of leaving him began to make sense.

  Her cell phone suddenly rang, startling her. She turned and saw Brooke’s name on the screen. She paused before answering and took a deep breath, calming herself.

  “Hey, honey.”

  “Hi, Mom. I was getting ready to leave a voicemail. I didn’t think you were going to answer.” Victoria could hear other girls talking and laughing in the background.

  “Well, here I am. What’s up?” she said, turning back toward the kitchen window. The sun was sinking below the trees, and it was getting dark outside. How much longer would Todd make her wait?

  “We’re still waiting on dinner, so I’ll probably be home around eight if that’s okay.”

  “I see,” Victoria said, somewhat pleased to hear the news. “Will you need a ride home?”

  “Katie’s mom offered to drive me home later.”

  “Okay, dear. Have fun,” Victoria said. Suddenly, she saw the headlights of Todd’s car appear at the end of the driveway.

  “Thanks. Oh, Mom. One more thing,” she began.

  Victoria watched out the window, distracted. “Yes?”

  “We might have a slumber party here Saturday night. Is that all right too?”

  “That should be fine. I’ll talk to you later, honey. Love you, bye.”

  She watched as Todd’s car pulled up and parked beside hers. The driver’s side door swung open as Todd stepped out, leaning back in for his briefcase. He closed the door and pressed the remote lock on his key.

  The car beeped and its lights flashed as he walked past her car and toward the house, not seeing her at the window. Victoria turned from the window to look at the pictures scattered on the table like courtroom evidence.

  She heard the door unlock and Todd walk inside. She moved swiftly across the tiled kitchen floor, through the walkway and into the foyer, prepared to face him as her heart pounded wildly in her chest. Todd looked up to see Victoria standing in his path, arms crossed and staring him down.

  “Oh, hi,” he said, startled. He set his briefcase down and then immediately began loosening his tie. “How was your day?”

  Victoria kept her mouth in a straight line, not saying a word. His facial expression then turned from curiosity to concern. “Is everything okay?”

  She brought a hand up as tears began to well in her eyes, and immediately began rubbing them away. She didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of seeing her cry.

  Todd took a cautious step forward and placed a hand on her shoulder. “Honey… what is it?”

  Victoria shuddered and backed away from him, fighting back her tears. “Don’t touch me.”

  Todd’s eyes widened with shock as he slowly lowered his arm.

  She pointed to the living room and spoke with a trembling tone. “Go. Sit. Please. We need to talk.”

  Todd straightened up, wary, and took a step back. “Can you tell me what’s wrong?”

  Victoria’s legs began to shake, and she reached for the back of a chair for support. She shook her head and walked into the living room, stopping at the sofa. “I just need you to sit down so we can talk.”

  Todd glanced into the living room, surveying it suspiciously. He then turned to
the darkened kitchen. “Come on, Victoria. Stop playing games. I’m starving.”

  Her silent, fierce stare wiped the tight, sarcastic smile from his face. After a loud, resigned sigh, he walked to the couch, sat in the middle and reached for the remote.

  “No,” she said, standing over him. “This is serious.”

  Todd dropped the remote and leaned back with his arms behind his head. “Vicky, what’s going on?” He paused for a moment and leaned forward to look down the adjacent hallway. “Brooke here?”

  “She’s having dinner at Katie’s house,” she said, approaching the couch. “She’ll be home later.” With Brooke gone, she could sense the sudden nervousness on his face.

  “Okay,” he said as he leaned forward with a deep breath, his eyes shifting downward.

  “I called you today,” Victoria said. “Two hours ago. What happened? Did you miss the call or forget to call me back?”

  He opened his mouth to speak, only to be cut off.

  “Did you even listen to the message?”

  Todd rubbed the dark stubble on his cheeks with growing frustration. “You got me. I completely missed it.” He then reached into his pocket and pulled out his cell phone, swiping at the screen. “Oh, there it is.” He glanced up at her with his light, apologetic eyes. “I’m sorry, okay? I was very busy, and I haven’t looked at my phone for a while.”

  “Why don’t you listen to the message right now?” she said, crossing her arms.

  He held the phone, still unsure what was going on. Victoria watched as he went to his voicemail and held the phone against his ear. She walked away from him and into the kitchen. She flipped on the light switch and approached the table where the pictures lay.

  She heard no movement from the living room. The message, she assumed, only further baffled him. She stood over the pictures and waited until she heard Todd get up from the couch and walk over, calling out to her along the way.

  “What is this all about? You received a package today? From who?”

  She kept her back turned toward him as he entered the kitchen. “Probably the same person who sent me the flowers.” She turned around and extended her arm toward the pictures on display. “This time it wasn’t flowers. I was sent chocolates. And in the box of chocolates were these photos.”

  He walked toward the table as she stepped back, allowing him to see. She watched as his pace slowed, his eyes darting across the table, moving from one photo to the next. His shoulders and head slumped forward. It seemed that everything was beginning to add up. He stared at the photos of himself and the woman as color left his face. He then slowly reached for one of the photos and flipped it around, holding it up and examining it in disbelief.

  “What is this?” he finally said.

  Victoria wiped the tears from her eyes. “You tell me, Todd.”

  He slowly set the photo down and spoke in a quiet, serious tone. “Someone…” he said, swallowing. “Someone sent these to you?”

  “They were in the box left on our doorstep. The box I called you about earlier. The note was addressed to me. It said that there was some important information inside.”

  Todd’s hand rubbed his chest wildly and then he turned away from the table. “Doesn’t make any sense. Who’s doing this?”

  “I don’t know,” Victoria said. “But it looks like they’ve been following you.”

  Silence fell between them as Todd walked to the sink, as though the wind had just been knocked out of him; he leaned against the counter, staring out the window.

  “Who’s the woman?” she asked.

  His back remained to her, and he gave no answer.

  “Are you going to answer me? Victoria continued, her voice shaking.

  “I want to know who sent you those pictures,” he said in a soft, defeated voice.

  A flicker of rage sent her stepping forward with her fists balled and her voice raised. “It doesn’t matter! Who is that woman in the pictures, Todd? What are you doing with her? When were these taken?”

  Todd’s quick, shallow breathing filled the silence.

  “You think you can just stand there and not answer me?” she asked as tears rolled down her cheeks. “You owe me an explanation, Todd. Or you could just leave.” She paused and waited, wanting nothing more than the truth no matter how hurtful.

  “She was a temp at the office,” he said under his breath.

  “What?” she said, taking a step toward him.

  He slowly turned around to face her with reddened, watering eyes. “She doesn’t work there anymore.”

  Victoria thought to herself, confused by his answer. “So? Why are you with her in these pictures?” She spun around and grabbed perhaps the most damning photo, holding it up. “Why are you kissing her?”

  Todd began to speak, but Victoria wasn’t finished. She tossed the photo on the floor and rushed at him, stopping inches from his face, cutting off what he was about to say.

  “No! You’re going to hear me out first. When I saw those pictures, I was in complete denial. At first, I didn’t think it was you, and then when it became clear that it was you, I still didn’t believe it. I thought someone might have put you in those pictures, digitally manipulated your image.” She paused, wiping her eyes and taking a deep breath. “But I know they’re real. I can tell just by your reaction.”

  He attempted to touch her again, but she backed away.

  “I’m sorry, Victoria. I really am. It was a mistake.”

  “A mistake?” she shouted.

  Todd through down his arms. “It was never supposed to happen. We were working together. We got along. It was just…”

  “You slept together?” she asked.

  Todd’s eyes shifted to the floor as though he was shutting down.

  “How many times?” she continued.

  He looked up with his hands interlaced, his unshaven face pale. “What does it matter?”

  Victoria narrowed her eyes in disgust. “You son of a bitch.”

  “It’s over between us, okay?” he suddenly protested. “In fact, it never really started. It was a mistake. I was ashamed to tell you. I’m ashamed to tell you now.”

  She tried to listen, but every word he said was like a dagger in her heart. She held her hands to her face, shaking her head and walking back toward the refrigerator. “No more. I’ve heard enough.”

  Todd stepped forward defensively. “It was one week, Victoria. One week. I made a mistake. I’ve never done anything like this before, and it’ll never happen again!”

  Victoria backed against the refrigerator as heightened emotions rushed through her. “I don’t believe you,” she said. “How can I ever trust you again?” She brought her hands to her face, sobbing as Todd inched toward her, attempting to provide comfort. Sensing him near, she jerked her head back and opened her eyes and pointed to the foyer. “Get out…”

  Todd paused, distraught. “Come on, Victoria. Let’s talk about this.”

  “Get out!” she shouted, startling him.

  The house went silent once more as she looked away from his pleading eyes, her hand still extended toward the front door. She waited, but he wasn’t moving. She then turned and walked away, grabbing her cell phone from the counter. “I mean it, Todd.”

  She made her way to the living room as he stood in the kitchen. The box of chocolates was still on the coffee table. Her mind raced in a hundred different directions. Someone was watching them. Of that, she was certain. Who knew how long they had been following Todd, or her for that matter. For a moment, she felt ready to forgive him, but as he crept into the living room behind her, all she could feel was anger.

  “Vicky, if you could just listen to me for a moment.”

  Facing their bookcase with her arms folded, she turned her head slightly and then back.

  He said, “I’m very concerned about this individual who took these photographs. If it’s the same person who sent you the flowers, we’re looking at a clear level of harassmen
t.”

  “Save it, Todd,” she said. “Now’s not the time to act concerned about my stalker.”

  “This is my house too!” he snapped.

  Victoria spun around with fire in her eyes. “Tell me something,” she began as he quietly began to back away. “Did you happen to see this woman last month during your week-long business conference?”

  Todd shook his head, stunned.

  “Or what about all the other late nights you’ve worked?” She paused, clutching her chest. “My God. Who knows how many times you were lying?”

  “This is ridiculous,” he said.

  “That message on your phone,” she said, thinking to herself. “It said, call me ASAP. I wonder if that was her.” She stepped toward the coffee table in haste, grabbed the box of chocolates, and launched them at him with all her might. The box flew past Todd’s head and hit the wall, busting open.

  “What is wrong with you?” Todd shouted, astonished.

  “It was, wasn’t it?” she shouted back. She could tell by the look in his eyes that she was closer to the truth than she had hoped.

  “I told her not to call me again,” he said. “Nothing else happened.”

  Victoria turned away again, disoriented. Her whole body was shaking and she couldn’t think straight. All she knew was that she didn’t want to talk to him anymore. “Get out…” she said, head down and leaning against the wall. “I’ll call the cops if I have to.” She raised her head, her vision blurred by tears. Todd was still standing across from her, stunned to silence.

  “Okay…” he finally said. “I’ll leave.”

  He stormed off toward the hallway as she regained her balance and sat on the couch. Their bedroom light switch turned on and she could hear him rustling around in the room. She reached for the remote and turned the TV on just as he reemerged with a packed bag. She made no effort to look at him or say anything, but as he entered the foyer, he stopped and told her that he was sorry.

  “I guess I’ll find a hotel,” he said.

  Victoria began flipping through the channels without responding. If he was waiting for her to reconsider, it was a futile effort.

  “I know that you’re angry, and you have every right to be,” he continued. “But I love you and would never do anything to intentionally hurt you.”

  “Too late,” she said in a strained voice.

  Todd looked at her for a minute and then turned and left, slamming the door on his way out. Victoria got up and walked to the kitchen at the sound of his engine starting. She watched from the window as he backed up and pulled away. With Todd gone, the house felt empty and quiet again. She turned the faucet on and splashed her face with water, distraught by all that had just transpired.

  Head down, she dragged herself to the kitchen table and plopped down on the nearest seat. The photos lay under her arms, each one a reminder of what had happened to her marriage. Brooke would be home soon, and she knew that she had to pull herself together.

  She took a deep breath and brought her arms to her chest, exhaling. For a moment, she felt like everything was going to be okay. Then suddenly, a sadness drilled into her and the tears began to flow once again. Her arms dropped to the table. Her head soon followed as she sobbed and cried out in endless pain.