Authors: Erica Spindler
Tags: #Contemporary Women, #General, #Romance, #Suspense, #Thrillers, #Fiction
Justice for Sara (3 page)
Monday, June 3
10:10
P.M.
It was nearly ten o’clock before Kat left Jeremy and Lilith’s home. She made it home without getting lost in their sprawling neighborhood, despite the glass of wine with dinner. A significant feat. She’d been teased for her ability to get lost in an elevator.
Kat stepped inside her house and stopped cold. As if some sixth sense had kicked in and sounded an alarm, the hair at the back of her neck prickled.
Something was wrong.
Her gaze dropped to the shadow on the foyer floor, the spot where Sara’s blood had pooled.
Just a shadow.
Swallowing hard, she closed the door behind her, listening intently. It was pin-drop quiet.
She rubbed her arms as she crossed the foyer into the front parlor. She flipped on the overhead light, then switched on the table lamp, flooding the room with light. Nothing out of place. Not there or in any other room. Everything was as she’d left it.
Until she reached her bedroom. She frowned when she saw the door was closed. She had left it open. She was certain of it.
Heart thundering, Kat stared at the paneled wooden door. The old-time glass knob.
Do not open that door, Kat. Call the police. Now.
And tell them what? That some
sixth sense
warned her something was wrong? Right.
She closed her eyes, took a deep breath. She had been here before, many times. Afraid of the shadows, her imagination running away with her.
But the boogeyman hadn’t jumped out at her, not once. She had shut the door without thinking. It was an old house. The heavy panel had swung shut on its own.
What an idiot. Open the damn door, Kat.
She grabbed the knob and twisted, the glass cool against her palm. As the door creaked open, her doorbell chimed.
Startled, she snatched her hand back and swung around. The bell chimed again, followed by firm knocking.
“I’m coming!” she called, hurrying that way. She peeked through the sidelight and saw Luke Tanner standing on her doorstep. “Sergeant Tanner?” she said, cracking open the door.
“May I come in?”
She stared at him, surprised silent. “I’m sorry,” she said, when she could speak, “it’s just so weird to have you show up at my door right now.”
He looked beyond her, into the house. When his gaze returned to hers, she saw concern in his eyes. “Is everything all right?”
“Yes, I’m fine. I’m just—” She stepped aside so he could enter. “Come on in.”
He did, though she noted how his gaze scanned behind her and his right hand hovered over his gun holster. “I got an anonymous call. Caller said you were in trouble. Have you been here all evening?”
An anonymous call?
Rubbing her arms again, she shook her head. “No, I had dinner with Jeremy and Lilith. At their place. I got home a few minutes ago.”
She glanced over her shoulder, in the direction of the bedroom, picturing the closed door.
“What?” he asked.
“It was silly. At least I thought it was.” He waited. “Don’t laugh, but I had this weird, creepy feeling something was wrong.”
His lips twitched. “Normally weird, creepy feelings aren’t my area, but I think in this situation I’d better make an exception. How about I take a look around.”
“I already have. Everything was fine except—” She hesitated a moment. “The bedroom door was closed and I remember leaving it open.”
“Let me check it out. You stay here.”
He drew his gun and made his way almost silently down the hall. Ignoring his order, she followed, cursing every creaking floorboard. How had he managed to avoid them?
When he reached the door, he motioned her to stay back and to the far side. In case an intruder burst out. The same reason he flattened himself against the wall. And moments ago, there she’d been, ready to simply open the door and step inside, totally vulnerable.
“Police,” he called out.
She held her breath. Only silence answered.
He called out once more and when he again got no reply, he inched the door open with his foot. She watched as he stepped inside, gun out, then as he swung from right to left. He moved beyond her vision, then reentered it a moment later.
Kat swallowed hard. She felt a little like a character from a romance novel—admiring a man’s backside when she should be afraid for her life. But he did have an amazing backside. And watching him do his cop thing had been kind of sexy.
“All clear,” he said, lowering the weapon.
She cleared her throat, flustered. Until now, she hadn’t had any use for cops—she’d hated them mostly. And here she was, feeling flushed and aware of one—who happened to be the son of the very cop who had made her life a living hell ten years ago.
“I knew I was being ridiculous,” she said. “I hope you don’t hold it against me.”
“Actually, you weren’t. At least I don’t think so. You better take a look at this.”
She crossed to him, legs unsteady. He indicated her bed.
Lying across her pillow was a baseball bat, a bloodred bow affixed to the grip.
Monday, June 3
10:35
P.M.
Luke kept his gaze trained on her face. Her expression registered horror. She went white. He grabbed her arm as she swayed slightly.
Without speaking, Luke led her back out to the front porch. “Sit,” he ordered. “I’ll be right back.”
He went to his car for a flashlight and scene kit, then returned to the bedroom and did a second search. Window was locked. No footprints or other debris on the floor near the window or the bed. Earlier, he’d checked under the bed and in the closet; he did so again in an abundance of caution.
Nothing.
He trained the flashlight on the bat. Peeking out from under it was something he hadn’t noticed before. A plain white envelope.
He slipped on latex gloves and eased it out. A standard legal-size envelope. Loosely sealed. Nothing written on the front or the back.
He returned with it to the front porch. Kat hadn’t moved.
“Are you okay?” he asked. “Do you need some water or something?”
“I’m fine,” she answered. “Thanks.”
“I found this on the bed. Under the bat.”
She looked up at him. “What is it?”
“You tell me.”
Recognition crossed her features, but she shook her head. “You open it.”
He carefully unsealed the envelope. Inside was a single folded piece of paper. He slid it out. Three words:
JUSTICE FOR SARA.
Luke gazed at it. Not kids this time. Too thought-out. Slick. And not just mean. A threat. Meant to terrorize.
“May I see it?”
He held it out for her to read. She made a choked sound and looked away. “He found me. I suspected he would.”
He shifted his gaze to hers. “Who?”
“My fan.” Without further explanation, she stood and went back into the house. He followed and watched as she crossed to the hall closet and removed a plastic bin. She carried it to the living room, set it on the coffee table and removed the lid.
It was filled with other envelopes. Other correspondence. Neatly lined up. “They’re all from him? Your fan?”
“Yes, except for a few pieces of random hate mail.”
Random hate mail.
She said it so matter-of-factly. As if hate mail was expected, a part of everyday life.
For her, it was.
He wondered what that felt like. How it had affected her. “May I?”
“Sure. They’re organized oldest to most recent. I don’t know why I kept them. Ghoulish masochism, maybe.”
“Or maybe you thought you’d need them someday?”
She hugged herself. “Yeah, maybe.”
Luke sat on the sofa. He began at the beginning. Hatred. Vitriol. Threats of violence. Old Testament Scripture about the Lord’s vengeance. Reading them turned his stomach. He’d done a stint with the NOPD, he’d experienced evil. He’d seen firsthand the cruelty one person could inflict upon another. The hatred rooted in it.
This was like being hammered with it.
She sat quietly beside him. Every so often she glanced at him, or peered over, reading with him, commenting. She did that now.
“That was one of my favorites,” she said. “The irony of it, you know. Quoting the New Testament, then damning me to hell.”
“Which is so Old Testament.”
She looked at him as if surprised he got it. “Exactly.”
He refolded the page and slipped it into its envelope. “You seem pretty calm now. But before, you were scared. What gives?”
“I’m okay now because I know he left it.”
He frowned. “I don’t get that.”
“This has been going on for ten years. There’s over a hundred letters in there. And I’m still here.”
Alive. Unharmed.
He nodded, understanding.
“When did you begin receiving them?”
“Within a month of my acquittal. They came frequently at first, then slowed to a trickle. I always get at least one on the anniversaries.”
“The anniversaries?”
“Of Sara’s death and my acquittal.”
“You showed these to the police?”
“Of course. Right away. I was terrified. They weren’t too worried. They assured me that this sort thing was expected to happen to people in my position.”
“In your position?” He thought of his dad. “You mean, acquitted of a crime the general public is convinced you committed?”
“That’s the one.” She smiled slightly. “They also said that the type of person who writes threatening letters rarely takes it any further. The letters satisfy their aggression. If they’d wanted to physically attack me, they knew where I lived.
“At first, I didn’t trust them and I moved. Somehow they found me. The letters started again. After the third move, I figured the cops were right and went on with my life.”
“How did this fan keep finding you? Didn’t you change your name?”
She shook her head.
“Why not?”
“My name was all I had left of my past. The good part of my past.” She met his gaze, the expression in hers defiant. “And I didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Why’d you come back?”
“It was time.”
Time for what, he wondered. To set the record straight? Face her accusers. He thought of the message:
Justice for Sara.
Could that be why she was here? For justice?
But for whom? Her or her sister?
“Did the police warn you that this type of perpetrator often escalates their campaign of terror?”
“Yes. But they haven’t.”
“Until now.”
She frowned and he turned to fully face her. She had her hands folded in her lap; he covered them with his. She looked startled, which was good. He’d wanted her full attention.
“Kat, whoever this person is, they were in your home. They left you that bat. Why?”
“Sara was beaten to death with a bat. One just like that.”
He waited for the information to sink in. For her to realize that this message was unlike any that had come before it.
Her fan had escalated his campaign of terror.
He knew the moment the realization hit, when her hands trembled beneath his. She jerked them away and jumped to her feet. “Why’d you have to tell me that? This whole thing, coming back here to … it’s hard enough. I didn’t think I’d have to worry about this … freak.”
He stood to face her. “I’m not trying to scare you, or make your life more difficult. But in this case, ignorance is not bliss. You need to be careful.”
“Dammit. I’d rather be pissed.”
“Go ahead. Just be careful while you’re at it.” He shifted his gaze to the front door, then from one window to the next. An old place like this had a lot of them. In the days before air-conditioning, folks relied on fans and a crossbreeze.
“How’d this person get in? Your doors were locked?”
“Absolutely.”
“Windows?”
She hesitated. “I can’t say positively because I haven’t had any open.”
They checked. And found two unlatched. The first was a small window in the kitchen, above the sink. The second was in the back bath, above the old-fashioned claw-footed tub.
“This is the window I used to sneak out of at night.”
The tub had been rigged with a spray nozzle and circular curtain rod to create a shower. Luke pushed aside the curtain, lifted the window and peered down.
It was a bit of a drop. Even though a single-story home, like many of the homes in Liberty, it had been built on brick pilings because of the threat of flooding.
“Okay,” he said, nodding, “you stood on the edge of the tub and pulled yourself through. You were young.” He looked over his shoulder at her. “But how’d you get back in?”
“I’ll show you.”
He followed her outside and around to the back of the house. The top of a brick piling jutted out from under the house, creating a step.
“I’d grab here”—she showed him a notched piece of siding—“use this as a step, then pull myself up and through.”
“Who knew about this?”
“All my friends. My boyfriend.” She lifted a shoulder. “I was pretty much a complete asshole.”
The words were flip, but the emotion behind them heartfelt. He heard her regret in them and felt bad for her. He’d been a jerk at seventeen, too. But his parents had lived long enough to see him through it.
“We all are at that age. I was the reigning king of assholes. Just ask my dad.”
“I’d rather not, but I’ll take your word for it.”
Apparently, she and his pops felt exactly the same way about each other.
They went back into the house. He locked the bathroom window. “No climbing out windows at night, okay?”
“I don’t know if I can make that promise.”
She said it with such seriousness, he had to grin. “Well, don’t call me if you break a leg.”
“First person I’m going to call.”
He laughed. “I have a little work I need to do here, including collecting the bat and letter, see if we can get anything from them. I’ll try to be out of here as quick as possible.”
“No worries. Being alone tonight isn’t at the top of my list.”
He’d done all he’d needed to in thirty minutes. As he was saying good-bye, he sensed she wanted to ask him to stay awhile. Have a cup of coffee or cold drink. But she didn’t.
Luke wondered why.
“I’ll follow up on the anonymous call, maybe we’ll get lucky and it’ll lead us to him.”
“You’ll keep me posted?”
“Absolutely.”
“Good night then,” she said, standing at the door. “Thanks.”
The expected “Anytime” jumped to his lips. He swallowed it. “You realize there’s a good chance your fan’s from Liberty?”
“I figured he was.”
“But you still came back.”
She paused a moment, then met his eyes. In them he saw steely determination. “Because he challenged me to.”