12 Days (23 page)

Day 7: 7:07 p.m.

He kept the room dark; the light increased the intensity of the pain behind his eyes. The only light in his house came from the television that occupied the space next to his front door. He was watching “Jeopardy” when he heard someone knock.
This is it
, he thought.
They found me.
He removed the knife from its sheath and was about to slice his wrist when the second knock was followed by the sound of a female voice.

He fell back against the door. He had already given up on completing his task. He couldn’t walk, he couldn’t use his right hand, all he wanted to do was sit in his apartment and die. Now the milk lady shows up at his front door holding a dish of food. The unmarried milk lady – a maid - comes to him! It had to be a sign, a call to keep going, to continue his quest. He put away the knife and opened the door.

“Well, then, anyway, I was alone at home and I made this tuna casserole and I said to myself, Phyllis, you can’t eat that entire casserole by yourself, I bet Mr. Deus would like some. Would you like some tuna casserole, Mr. Deus? I also brought some cottage cheese.”

He stood aside and let her enter his home. He looked up and down Apple Road to see if anyone was watching. Nothing. When he was convinced that no one had seen them, he closed the door.

Day 7: 8:25 p.m.

Lisa had to admit that the meal had been surprisingly tasty. She had a couple of ribs, but Jim’s cooking had won her over. He cooked the salmon with sprigs of dill, which made the orange-colored fish quite delectable. She put the last of the dishes into the sink as Jim tuned the stereo to a local radio station that only played soft jazz. They had finished the champagne and were into a bottle of Hungarian Tokay when they sat at the table to go over Lisa’s list. She had that feeling again; that sensation that she and Jim were crime-solving partners, Nick and Nora Charles for a new millennium. Lisa did not think that at this moment, anything could make her happier. They went though all the names Lisa had copied in great detail, but despite their combined fertile imaginations, nothing would click into place.

“There are fifty or sixty dairy farms in the phone book, but how does a farm come into play? Marty isn’t going to kill some woman on a farm, it’s not clever enough.”

“No, someone who works with milk. For example, there is a lady who drives a milk truck in my neighborhood. I always see her when I go for a run in the morning. She would be someone Marty would jump at. Especially if he is familiar with the West Covina area like we thought from the beginning.”

Jim thought about this. On the morning that Alice Edwards was killed, he had seen a woman delivering milk stop to look at him when he was busy cleaning his teeth.

Lisa threw her arms around his neck and kissed Jim hard on the lips. She bounded across the kitchen floor and into the bedroom. Jim loved the fact that Lisa was so happy. He picked up the phone and dialed the number from Lisa’s list.

Day 7: 9:15 p.m.

He sat at the kitchen table and put another forkful of tuna casserole into his mouth. He had to commend Phyllis, it was very good, but she would never hear the compliment since she was reclining awkwardly on the couch. The chloroform had sent her into a deep sleep, which was good because with his useless right arm, it took him a good twenty minutes to get her duct taped. Moving her was going to be a problem, as Phyllis Crenshaw was not a small woman. He definitely couldn’t carry her and he did not think dragging her was an option. He had taken another bite of tuna when he saw his wheel chair in the corner.
Of course
, he thought,
I finally have a use for that thing
.

Day 7: 9:46 p.m.

Jim and Lisa pulled into the parking lot of the Dairy Farms home delivery center at a quarter to 10:00 on New Year’s Eve. Jim shut off the engine and was preparing to exit the car when Lisa grabbed his arm.

“Lisa, every good idea I’ve had in this case has been your idea. Every lead, you gave me. At this point, I want you next to me all the time. The milk delivery truck is your call; let’s see if you can go three for three.”

Lisa grabbed Jim’s hand and they walked into the building. As it was New Year’s Eve, Dairy Farms only had a skeleton crew working. Only the fact that Dairy Farms delivered milk 365 days a year gave Jim and Lisa the opportunity to see anyone at all this night, and that someone was Brian Loring, the night dispatch manager for Dairy Farms home delivery. He had been at his job for two and a half years. Brian knew all the drivers and had access to every client. He had taken Jim’s call and invited him to the plant to look around, saying that he would help in any way he could. Jim flashed his badge, made his introductions and got right down to business.

“Yes we do. However, we have reason to believe that the serial killer who has already killed two people in West Covina has chosen his next victim and that victim could very well be Phyllis Crenshaw. So Brian, every minute counts. Are you really going to waste my time or are you going to help me save Phyllis’ life?”

Brian led Jim and Lisa to the manager’s office. He opened the top drawer and produced the file on Phyllis Crenshaw. Jim was about to open it when Lisa cut in.

“Brian, do you have a list of the customers that Phyllis delivers to?”

“Sure, hold on.”

Brian opened a different drawer and produced a file of invoices for purchases made by customers along Phyllis’ route. Lisa grabbed the folder and started to leaf through the invoices when Jim turned to Brian.

Brian took his cue and exited the office toute suite. Jim wrote down Phyllis’ address and phone number and dialed her home. After the sixth ring, Jim hung up.

Day 7: 10:12 p.m.

It took every ounce of his energy to move Phyllis from the couch to the wheelchair and then to push her down the driveway to his truck, but he had done it. Luckily, he had a mechanical disability lift attached to the rear of the flatbed, so getting Phyllis into the truck was the easiest part of the task. He didn’t have the energy left to put the hard cover back over the bed, so he threw a tarp over her, tied it in place, then walked back to get a jacket; it was cold tonight. He was just about to enter the side door to his home when he saw the car come speeding down his street. He peeked around the hedge that bordered the property and saw the car brake suddenly in front of Phyllis’ home. He gasped when he saw the dark-haired cop leap from the car, gun in hand.

Day 7: 10:13 p.m.

“Stay in the car,” Jim told Lisa.

“Be careful,” Lisa warned.

Jim unholstered his gun and approached the house. He knocked on the front door, knowing that Phyllis was not about to answer.

“Phyllis. Phyllis Crenshaw. This is the police.”

No answer. Jim walked along the south side of the house, gun drawn, and looked in all the windows. He couldn’t see anything until he reached the back door, where the light over the sink illuminated a small tabby cat that was licking up some milk. He put the gun to his side and started to walk back to the car when he saw Lisa waving frantically at him. She had the invoices in her hand.

“I found him! I found him!”

Everything that happened next occurred in slow motion before Jim’s eyes. A dark gray Ford truck appeared suddenly on Jim’s right and sped directly at his car. Jim raised his gun and screamed to Lisa to get away, but it was too late. The Ford struck Jim’s car on the right side, ripping the passenger side door from its hinges and sending Lisa through the air until she landed twenty feet away in a crumpled heap on the street. As the Ford sped away, Jim ran to Lisa and felt for a pulse. It was faint but it was there. Several neighbors had heard the crash and were out of their homes.