The Sholes Key (An Evans & Blackwell Mystery #1) Page 24

  “She’s not in yet.”

  “She? Last week when I was here, a man helped me.”

  “We have two librarians, but today is Ken’s day off. Only Nick—”

  “How many employees work here?” Theo asked.

  The girl stood there holding Sophia’s books, staring at the group of them. “Why?”

  Directing the girl by the elbow, Theo led her inside. He handed her the search warrant and took out his warrant card. “Look, I need information and I need it straight away. When will the librarian be in?”

  Sophia and the team entered the library, and all of them began searching the aisle for staff.

  “She should be in, but she’s just a little late is all,” the girl said.

  “All right, and you’re not able to get the list?”

  “What list?”

  “The list of staff, the—” said Theo.

  “What’s going on here?” asked a woman. “Susan, who are these people?”

  “This man, he’s police, and he needs a list of all our employees.”

  “Why?”

  Theo handed her the search warrant. “We need a list of everyone that works here. It’s urgent.”

  Sophia asked her, “How old is Nick?”

  “He’s about twenty, twenty-one. Why?”

  “I will have to see his face, but I don’t think we’re looking for Nick.” Sophia folded her arms in front of her to keep them from shaking uncontrollably. “Don’t worry, we’ll be discreet. It would be helpful if you could get us that list as soon as possible.”

  Opening her office door, the librarian sat down at the computer and started typing. Sophia looked around the room. In the back corner, a young man walked toward a mobile shelf carrying an armload of books. Sophia tapped Theo’s arm and pointed toward the man. “If that is Nick, he is not the man I saw a few days back.”

  A few minutes later, the librarian held a sheet of paper. There were only two names with addresses on it.

  “And that is Nick?” Sophia pointed at the young man who watched the goings on.

  “Yes.”

  “No, it’s not him,” Sophia said. “Can you check the records of any who have library cards? What I mean is, do you have a way of knowing if someone has a card if I get you the name?”

  “Of course.” She tapped nervously on the piece of paper in Sophia’s hand. “Why is this information so important? Is someone who works here in trouble? Is it Kenneth?”

  “Please, just check a name. I’ll give you a couple of names to look up. You don’t need to tell me what their addresses are, only tell me if they have library cards.”

  “What is the first name?”

  “Margaret Hill.”

  The librarian typed in the name. “We have two women by that name.”

  “What about Carrie-Ann Morgan?”

  “Yes, there is a Carrie-Ann Morgan.”

  “Lorna McCauley?”

  “Yes.”

  “What about Helena Smithwick?”

  More typing. “No, no Helena Smithwick.”

  “Are there any Smithwicks?”

  “We have a Jordon. Is her husband’s name Jordon?”

  “No, no it’s not. That’s strange. Anyway, thank you.”

  Almost at a run through the front door, Sophia and Theo headed for his Jeep. The rest of the team stayed behind to question the staff—especially Nick.

  Holding up the piece of paper with the address on it, Sophia said, “We have him. Kenneth Raleigh Houghton.”

  Whatever Sophia imagined the house of a serial killer to be, it wasn’t what she found. The house where Kenneth Houghton lived was in a long row of similar homes; and while his neighbors seemed satisfied with the unholy mess of rubbish that littered their front lawns, Mr. Houghton’s yard was immaculate.

  No car sat in front of the house. “God, I hope he hasn’t left,” Sophia said as she and Theo walked toward the entrance. Sophia looked along the ground for anything unusual, although not sure what. A man who kept his home this tidy would not make a mistake easily.

  Armed officers surrounded the house. Theo asked one of them, “Are the men in position?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Theo rapped on the door and pressed his ear against it. When no one answered, he pressed a large green bell on the door frame. The sound echoed throughout the house. Sophia peered in the window. Sheer white curtains revealed an equally clean and tidy house. Light brown hardwood floors and tile stretched as far as she could see. The walls were white, the sofas were white; everything was so clean. Sophia couldn’t be sure the house was occupied at all.

  “Did you ring?” asked Dorland, who had made his way around the house to the front. “There’s no vehicle. I don’t think he’s home.”

  “I don’t think so either,” Theo said. “Call and get any information you can on the vehicle, anything under his name or this address. I want him found.” He motioned a man over to break down the door.

  SOCO and the rest of the team entered the house. It had house had white walls, white counters, white shelving, and white bathroom. Sophia watched as SOCO swabbed the drains for blood or any sign of a cleanup job after one of his murders. She checked the bedroom, wondering if this was the man who splattered red all over the white wall of her childhood bedroom. She thought that the bedroom of a serial killer looked very much like what she wished all her previous boyfriends had kept—neat, clean, and simple. Not a single piece of clothing lay on the floor. Going over to a bookshelf in the corner of the room, she looked over the titles: gardening, home renovation, many simple mysteries and old classics.

  “What would you like me to do?” she heard Dorland ask Theo.

  “Have Evans help you check his computer,” said Theo. “Our killer used a computer to print out the cryptogram, perhaps he saved it there. Oh, and if by chance you can’t find the code, just print something from the printer and we can compare the sheet with the note he sent to Sophia.”

  “Sir,” called an officer from the closet. “You should see this.”

  Sophia followed Theo to the closet; the SOC officer turned on the light. It lit all the corners of the small cramped room. She looked up at the books lining the shelf. An officer stood on a stool and flipped through a few.

  “He keeps a collection of books in his closet?” Sophia asked the officer.

  “That he does, but it’s the type of books that I think you would find interesting.” Hopping down off the stool, he held out his hand to help her onto it. “You should see what’s up there.”

  Climbing up, her head was now above the row of books only to reveal another row behind the first. Picking up a book at random, she saw it was about a serial killer. Non-fiction. She picked another and another, also true-crime related.

  “Police procedural, crime, mystery, anti-Semitic, this man has it all,” said the officer.

  “Box it up,” Theo said as he helped Sophia step down from the stool.

  “Howard Hughes could live here,” said Sophia. “Not a speck of dust to be found in the whole house.”

  Entering the kitchen, Sophia opened all the drawers until she found the one with the cutlery and utensils. Rummaging through, she picked up a pastry cutter and held it up. “What do you think of this?”

  “That is a very nice teddy bear you have there,” replied Theo.

  “Funny.” She yanked on the head and the feet of the pastry cutter. It broke apart and fell against the counter. Finding a pair of scissors in with the set of knives, she started cutting. “See, flimsy metal. Now all you have to do is take a pair of scissors and snip, snip… you have yourself a very good 2. See?”

  “The perfect size. Some fiddling with those, and he could make all the shapes he needs.” Theo rummaged through the drawer and came out with pastry cutters in the shape of circles, squares, and four-leafed clovers.

  “Can I test it on your forearm?” Sophia laughed.

  “Not a chance. He must do a very good job cleaning up. I haven’t seen a speck of
blood or hair anywhere in this house.”

  “After seeing his house,” said Sophia, “I highly doubt he would take any of the victims here. He takes them somewhere else.”

  “Dorland,” Theo called, “did you find out any information? Any other addresses he may keep; or his parents, mother or father, anything?”

  “I printed a copy of some of his poems, a bit old-fashioned for my tastes but nothing code-related on his computer. Maybe Evans can find something that I missed,” Dorland replied, holding a bagged sheet of paper.

  “I’ll take a look at his computer, but this is exactly why I think this is our killer,” Sophia said. “He’s not an idiot and he would not leave clues, even if he thought we were too stupid to figure them out.”

  Chapter 32

  He loved looking at her. He had been watching for hours: her hair, her arms, her thin fingers. Sniffing, it was almost as if he could smell her hair, the wind-blown sweet aroma, imagining he could wrap his fingers around it. An hour he sat in his car watching her. Her every movement, her every breath. He wanted to taste her.

  It was a preference of his to observe them when they did not suspect it. They acted so naturally then, none of the false pretenses he was presented with on a daily basis. Spending most of his time off work watching her was wonderful. It was these occasions he was most happy. Seeing her walk down her front steps in the morning and get into her car. Following her to work, swaying in time to music from the eighties. He would love to add her to his collection.

  A fine collection he was building. He had to go and purchase a new freezer, but it was worth it. They would be his; they would belong to him. Everything would be all right, and for the moment the pain would be gone. If only they could thank him; if they only knew.

  The park, the park was his favorite. She liked the park, he liked the park, and the baby liked the park. The baby always slept, slept for at least an hour. It gave her time, time to divulge herself. That was what she wanted, wasn’t it? Didn’t she always think about what would make her happy? Of course she did. We all do, it’s only natural, and we all want to be happy. And he would make her happy, make the baby happy, make his mother happy, and then he would be happy, wouldn’t he?

  Remember the feeling, the feelings you get when you finally have the chance to touch them. Remember the feeling? He remembered and it made him feel so good. He would make her feel good, too. It was always over, over so quick, no more pain, no more loneliness. He had planned it so well. Everything was ready.

  It was not difficult to take the things from her bag. She never paid any attention to the items; she was always lost in a book. She never noticed, and she never would. Not until he brought the items to her attention. Convincing her would not be hard, and he would only have to convince her for a few minutes. It was easy. So easy. It was always so easy. He laughed at his own brilliance, feeling the excitement welling up within him.

  Here she came, she was coming, headed toward her car. He looked around. The park was perfect, always quiet. Dinner hour, no one walked about during dinner hour; they all wanted to be home, relaxing. That is why it was so perfect. He was alone, she was alone, and no one would see or hear anything. It was so perfect.

  She was only a few steps away. He could see she had a smile on her face. She didn’t notice him sitting in his car. She was lost, lost in her book. She wanted a man, the perfect man, the man in the book she read, the handsome, romantic man, who fulfilled her every need. She wanted the man who did not exist. They all did. He could see it on their faces. How lost they were. How hopeless. Well, it would not be hopeless for long now. No more pain.

  The baby started to wake. Started to fuss. She started walking faster. Now she was standing at her car door, pushing and pulling the buggy back and forth, trying to appease the crying child. It was not her dream, was it? It was not the fairytale, this life. This life as a single mother, a mother with a child. He knew what she wanted, the life of the fairytales she read.

  Opening her car door, she threw the book across the back seat and bent forward to pick up the child; she was angry with the child. He could see it, the anger. The anger she felt as she lifted the child sharply from the buggy. He could hear it, the anger. The anger in her words, the frustration. Now, now, don’t be like that, he silently thought, don’t you see how your actions are affecting the child. The child knows you’re frustrated; but it is not his fault, he never chose this life.

  He stood close to her now, only steps away, he could reach out and grab her, but he wouldn’t. No, he must be patient, he must follow the plan. It must be carried out exactly.

  She turned and looked at him as he spoke to her. A look of shock crossed her face as she placed the child close to her chest. He explained, he explained about the items she left in the library, the ones he wanted to return to her. She asked how he knew where she was. He knew the answer he would give; he had rehearsed it many times in his head. She would never be the wiser, she would never doubt that he lived nearby and he just happens to see her in the park. He had planned to drop the items off at her house when he saw her here. She bought it all. It was so easy. All according to plan, this was wonderful.

  Come, he told her, come to my car, it is just over there, you see, that one. No danger, just put the child back in the buggy and follow me, he told her. How obedient. She followed him as directed, she was thankful to be getting the items back, she hadn’t been aware they were missing.

  He showed her the bag, the one on the floor of the back of the car. She nodded in recognition, recognizing the toy he had placed half outside the bag. She thanked him again. This is how it would work, he explained to her, making sure she followed his orders because it would not work if she did not follow his orders. He would unlock the front door and then he would unlock the back door, she could open the door and reach across for it. It was easy. She could do it. And she did.

  She leaned over the seat. She never suspected a thing. Busy picking up all the toys outside the bag and stuffing them in, she never heard him lean over her with the hard, heavy ball; she never realized what a bloody mess her cracked skull made all over the little clown doll’s face.

  She would never feel anything, ever again.

  Chapter 33

  Disappointed and desperate, Sophia paced back and forth in Theo’s office. Nothing. Not one shred of evidence found in the whole house. She felt sick. She was sure this man was the killer. How could she be so wrong?

  Theo had brought her coffee, trying to appease her. “We are working hard to find information about his family and any residences or property he might own. He’s somewhere and we’ll find him.” He patted her arm before leaving the room again.

  A half hour passed. She was ready to tear her hair out. Repeatedly, she went over the code. It was right. Librarian. Was he a librarian, or was she wrong about the profession? Was it a play on words?

  Theo opened his office door, interrupting her thoughts. “Grab your bag. We think he’s struck again.”

  “What? What happened?”

  “They found an abandoned baby in a pushchair at a park. The mother is nowhere to be found. It’s similar to the case of Carrie-Ann.”

  * * *

  The park was dark now. The dim street lamps barely lit the paths. “How the hell are we going to recover anything tonight?” Sophia said, getting out of her Merc. “Damn it. He knew we would not be able to do anything now.” She slammed her car door.

  Approaching the men crowding around the pushchair, she looked down at the missing woman’s infant. He was crying uncontrollably, shaking, unable to catch his breath, arching his back trying to escape.

  “Don’t you officers know how to hold a baby?” Unlocking the clasp, she lifted the boy out of the chair and held him tightly to her chest. “Has anyone found a bottle or some sort of food? He’s probably starving.” Heading toward the car park, she held the crying baby. There were only a handful of cars, and men in uniform were combing around the cars with torches.

  “Find
anything yet?” Theo yelled in no particular directions, causing the baby to cry louder.

  An officer came to Sophia with a bottle of milk. Turning the baby over, she held it to the baby’s lips. He greedily sucked between gasps of air.

  Theo said to her, “There was no identification found in the chair. The mother must have had it on her when she was taken. In the bottom of the pushchair were a few diapers, the bottle, nappy wipes, and a library book.” He held up a thin novel.

  “Either she lives round here, and one of the neighbors has seen her, or she drove her car here. One of these cars belongs to her.” Sophia started peering inside the vehicles. Holding babies was not her usual custom, and the strain on her arms was torturous.

  Two cars had car seats for infants. Trying the first one, she found the doors locked. Inside, the car was clean, a few child toys, no books. Who the hell leaves their car here? Are they actually in the park at this time? She looked around. No walkers. This was crazy. The second car was a bit messier, with food wrappers and toys on the floor. Lifting the back door handle, Sophia found it locked. Moving around to the driver’s side, she stopped. “Theo, this is her car. It must be.”

  Theo came running over and turned the keys that were left in the lock. Quickly, he opened the door and reached across to the glove box. When he opened it, papers spilled out on the floor. He gathered them up. “The car belongs to a Clair Rheaume. How the hell do you pronounce that? Roomy?”

  “Can you find something with her address?” Sophia asked.

  “Yes, found it.” Crawling out backward, Theo radioed in the address and sent uniforms over ahead of them. “Break the door in. There’s still a chance we may be able to find her alive… somewhere.”

  “Gov.” Dorland came up behind Theo. “We have the woman who found the baby waiting to give her statement. Would you like to meet her?”

  Sophia followed them back into the park. Dorland led them down the pathway past a group of officers mingling, drinking coffee, and laughing. Theo yelled to the group, “Can’t you officers find something useful to do?”