***
Victoria sat at her desk the next day, staring at the computer screen with an unshakable numbness, but determined to make it through the work day. She couldn’t bring herself to talk to Todd. The wounds were still fresh. The less she thought about it, the better. Not thinking about it, however, had proved impossible.
She hadn’t told Brooke anything yet. When she came home later that evening, Victoria had simply told her that Todd was working late. The charade wouldn’t hold much longer, and she knew that she was going to have to tell Brooke the truth soon.
Her computer screen was nothing but a blur. It was already lunch time and she still couldn’t concentrate. She had planned to leave work early, but that depended on how much she got done. Every time she tried to focus, Todd would reenter her mind. He had done a selfish and hurtful thing. How could she take him back? Then she thought of Brooke, and it wasn’t so easy to decide. They were a family. Was there a chance she and Todd could work things out?
She sipped the last of her coffee, no longer warm, and stretched back in her chair. Her clothes were wrinkled, her hair was pulled back with strays falling to the side, and she hadn’t any makeup on. The last measure of concern was for her appearance. If she could finish the day out from behind her computer, that would be more than okay. In his flimsy line of excuses for the affair, Todd had managed to make one good point.
They did need to find out who had sent the package and why. Someone had taken an interest in her and her family, and she hadn’t the faintest notion why. She needed to contact the police and report what was going on. It wasn’t the last time she’d hear from the mysterious stalker. That much she was sure of.
Her fingers sat atop the keyboard, not moving, as her mind continued to drift, puzzling over her dilemma when a knock on her door snapped her back to reality. She looked up to see her boss, Greg Daniels, standing in her doorway. He was all-business in a gray suit and tie, with an ID badge handing from a lanyard around his neck.
“Hello, Mr. Daniels,” she said with a slight aloofness.
“Good morning, Victoria,” he said, holding a coffee mug in one hand, the other in his pocket.
He was a competent boss and generally easy to work with. She never saw much in him in the way of personality, but he’d always been courteous and professional with her, during the three years she’d been on the team.
She quickly wiped her eyes and face and tried her best to attempt a smile as he continued. “I was just passing by and thought I’d check the status on that budget forecast analyst.”
Victoria nodded and then glanced at the screen with a sliver of panic. She was supposed to have finished the work last night. Her last email to him the day before had implied that she would.
“I’m almost done, sir,” she said, moving her mouse randomly across the screen.
Daniels rocked back on his heels and took a sip of coffee. “That’s fine. I just wanted to make sure. I’ll check back with you in an hour or two.”
“Sounds good,” she said,
He nodded and stepped out of the office, only to stop and pivot his way back in. “Hey…” he said, leaning forward. “Is everything okay?”
Victoria stared back at him, unblinking, as though she had no clue what he was talking about. “Um… Yes. I’m fine. Thanks. Just a little under the weather today.”
“Okay,” he said, tapping the frame of the door with his knuckles. “You look a little out of it. No offense.”
“Of course,” she said with a feigned laugh. “It’s just been a long week. Looking forward to the weekend, though.”
“Same here,” he said, turning to leave. “Finish up that proposal and get out of here.”
“Will do,” she said as he walked away. A headache was starting at her temples.
She glanced at the screen, trying her best to focus, but nothing worked. She minimized her spreadsheet, opened her web browser and did a search for marriage counselors in the area. Several results came up. She had called her mother the night before and left a voicemail.
She thought of calling her again but re-opened her spreadsheet as Daniels walked by her office, apparently in a hurry. She began typing just as her office phone rang, displaying an unrecognizable number on the caller ID screen. She hit the speaker phone button and said hello.
After a brief pause, Todd spoke up. “Victoria, it’s me. Don’t hang up.”
Her finger went for the disconnect button but stopped.
“Please hear me out,” he continued.
She grabbed the phone receiver and held it to her ear. “Todd. This is not the place or time. I need to think, and you need to give me space.” She glanced past her desk, conscious of a group of co-workers walking outside her office.
“I understand that, but you can’t keep me in limbo. I want us to work this out.” She could detect fear in his tone—a realization that everything was on the line.
“I don’t think that’s possible right now,” she said.
“What have you told Brooke?” he asked.
“Nothing yet,” she said, “but she’s going to have to know soon.”
“I want to be there. I’ll tell her the truth.”
“No,” Victoria said, adamantly. “You need to give me the weekend to think about things. I’ll get in touch with you on Monday.”
“Victoria, please.”
“This is your doing, Todd,” she said, voice rising. “We all have to face the consequences of our actions.” She hated the way she sounded like a lecturing aunt.
“I told you that it was a mistake. You know, forgiveness is a virtue,” he said, voice growing desperate.
“I agree. Now I have work to do. We’ll talk on Monday.”
She hung up without letting him get in another word, feeling a sense of empowerment. She wanted him to be uncertain and afraid. She felt that he deserved it. She then wondered where, exactly, he was calling from. It wasn’t his cell phone number.
She brought a hand to her forehead as her headache began pounding fiercely. Her office phone suddenly rang again from the same number. After a frustrated sigh, she picked it up.
“Stop calling me, Todd. I mean it.”
“I want to talk to Brooke,” he said. “Let me pick her up from school and explain everything to her then.”
“That’s not happening. Goodbye.”
“Victoria, wait!” he said, panicked.
She paused, halfway from hanging up. “What?”
“What can I do to make it up to you?”
She couldn’t help but find his vulnerability persuasive, but her mind was made up. “You can leave me alone,” she said, hanging up again.
She then returned to her keyboard and felt a little better after hanging up on Todd twice. She almost wished she could do it a third time. The phone suddenly rang again, much to her surprise, and she immediately looked at the caller ID screen. This time the number was different. Was Todd trying to be clever now?
“You need to stop this now!” she said as she picked up.
She waited and listened and heard nothing but distant static. “Hello? Todd?”
A growling laughter crackled through the phone, something sinister and threatening.
“Who is this?” she asked, voice shaking.
The laughter ceased as she heard the beginnings of faint chant that grew louder as the repetition went on.
“Tricky Vicky… Tricky Vicky…
“Who the hell is this?” she asked, pressing the phone against her ear.
“Where’s your tricks, Vick?” the man’s voice said in a clownish, spite-filled voice. “I’ve got plenty of tricks too”
“I can see your number,” Victoria said, writing it down with her free hand. “Whoever this is, I’m going to find out.”
“Oh, you’ll find out soon enough…” He hung up before she could respond.
Victoria sat frozen with the phone against her ear, stunned. The unsettling voice was no prank call.
She hadn’t heard the name Tricky Vicky since high school. She glanced down at the number she had written on a sticky note. 888-531-6768. She hung up and immediately called it back. After several rings, the call went to an automated message spoken in a man’s friendly voice.
“We’re sorry, the number you’re trying to reach has been disconnected. Thank you.”
Victoria hung up and called the number again, only to receive the same message.
Impossible, she thought.
Someone was toying with her, and there seemed to be no end to the harassment. They knew where she worked and where she lived. How much more would she have to endure? She thought of calling the police, but didn’t know what to report. Someone had delivered flowers to her at work and pictures of her husband with another woman. And now the phone call. It was enough to at least file a complaint and have the police look into it. Wasn’t it?
She felt trapped and conflicted, with no clear answers to her dilemma. She gently placed the receiver back onto the cradle and then went back to her computer, where she did a search for gun stores in the area. She found a few listed, clicked onto a local website and quickly looked through photos of their stock, eager to get a gun as soon as possible.
Case Closed
Leesburg, South Carolina
Lieutenant Fitzpatrick had his man, and most of the department agreed that it looked like an open and shut case against one of Leesburg’s most notorious residents. With the search for additional evidence ongoing at his mobile home, Randall Morris had been transported to the Summerville Police Station for questioning. He had since been read his Miranda rights and formally charged with the unlawful possession of a firearm but not with the murder. Yet.
Upon their arrival, Fitzpatrick and Dobson were warmly received by the other detectives at the station. Heads turned from cubicles and offices as two officers escorted a limping Morris, bruised and dirty, to Holding Room A for questioning.
Fitzpatrick walked behind them with his head high to clapping and several Atta-boys for his impressive detective work. Dobson kept his distance as he followed, increasingly skeptical of the applause. Perhaps it was envy. The thought had crossed his mind. Or maybe it was something else.
Captain Nelson was waiting for them, eager to put eyes on their unruly suspect. As the officer opened the door and pushed a handcuffed Morris inside, Nelson patted Fitzpatrick on the back and congratulated him.
“Fine work, Lieutenant. Fine work all around.”
“Thank you, sir,” Fitzpatrick said with a smile. “He gave us a little fight, but our well-trained task force quickly subdued him.”
“I heard he pulled a shotgun on you?” Nelson said.
Fitzpatrick shrugged. “He wasn’t happy to see us, that’s for sure.”
Nelson then eyed Dobson. “A quick word with you both.”
Fitzpatrick glanced at Dobson and then back at the captain. “Sure. What’s up?”
Nelson beckoned them toward a shadowy nook farther down the hall. “Follow me.”
Fitzpatrick raised a finger and then stuck his head inside the holding room to address one of the officers. “Have him sit, and we’ll be back in a moment.”
“No problem,” the bulky officer said. Morris grunted as they pushed him down onto the seat behind the table and then Fitzpatrick turned away, closing the door behind them.
Dobson and Fitzpatrick followed the captain down the hall to the security desk in the corner, where black and white monitors displayed the interiors of each holding room. They collectively watched the screen in the middle where Morris slumped in his chair and lowered his head, long hair covering his face, his arms locked behind him.
“He certainly fits the bill.” Captain Nelson’s eyes then shifted from the screen to Dobson. “What do you think, Detective?”
Dobson didn’t know what to say but tried to play along. “I think that we have a very unstable man in custody.”
“You think?” Fitzpatrick said with a laugh.
“We need hard evidence,” Dobson continued. “The gun fired in her bedroom, for starters.”
“The jewelry represents a direct link,” Fitzpatrick said.
“We don’t even know if it’s hers,” Dobson said.
Fitzpatrick opened his mouth and was promptly cut off by the captain. “That’s enough. I agree, finding the weapon would be a breakthrough. It would solidify the case. I just want to make sure we have the right person.”
“We might,” Dobson said. “But I don’t believe that he drove there.”
Nelson’s eyes widened a bit in surprise as Dobson continued.
“His vehicle looked like it hasn’t been driven in ages. Certainly not within the past week.”
Nelson then took a deep breath and rubbed his forehead. “Go in there and talk to him. Get something out of him. Maybe he’ll reveal where the gun is. Has he requested a lawyer?”
Fitzpatrick shook his head. “We read him his rights, but he’s made no formal request for legal representation.”
“Okay,” Nelson said, leaning closer. “Book him under felony possession of a firearm for the shotgun. I’ll trust you two can work together on this.”
Dobson and Fitzpatrick exchanged glances.
“Certainly, sir,” the lieutenant said.
“Good. I’ll watch from here,” Nelson said.
With that, he dismissed them as Fitzpatrick moved swiftly toward the holding room with Dobson trailing behind, feeling the hunger pains of a missed lunch and the day far from over.
Fitzpatrick scanned his key card at the holding room door and walked in with a friendly demeanor. Morris remained slouched, head drooping toward the table. “How are you feeling, Mr. Morris?”
Dobson closed the door behind him and pulled his chair back from the table, sitting.
“Can we get you anything?” the lieutenant asked while pacing the room. “Coffee? Soda? Water?”
Morris said nothing in response. Fitzpatrick pulled his chair closer to the table and sat, hands folded over its surface. “We want this to go easy, Mr. Morris. All you have to do is tell us where the gun that you used to shoot Mrs. Bailey is at. Cooperate with us, and I’ll be sure to put in a good word for you. Maybe even lower the charges to second degree. She did, after all, fall down the stairs, right?”
Fitzpatrick waited as Dobson leaned back in his chair. Morris made no movements. A puddle of drool had formed on the table under Morris’s scruffy beard.
“Mr. Morris?” Fitzpatrick asked.
He slowly raised his head and stared at the wall beyond them, his gray eyes glossy and dazed. “I didn’t do it…”
“What was that?” Fitzpatrick asked.
Suddenly, Morris jerked forward, teeth gritted and seething. “I said, I didn’t fuckin’ do it!” He then kicked at the table with his leg and twisted around in his chair, startling both detectives.
“Mr. Morris, please calm down,” Fitzpatrick said, backing away.
Dobson then pushed his chair forward. “Didn’t do what?”
Fitzpatrick looked at him, surprised. “He knows what he did.”
“I don’t think he knows what year it is,” Dobson said, rising from his chair and walking close to the table. He leaned against its surface and studied their frantic suspect as he turned away and spit on the ground. “Mr. Morris, do you even know what you’re being accused of?”
“’Course I do,” he said, head down. “It’s that bitch ex-wife of mine. Just ‘cos I wanted her dead, don’t mean I killed her. I just thought about it. So what? She left me and took my kids.”
“We’re not talking about your ex-wife,” Dobson said, making the connection. “We’re talking about Andrea Bailey, the elderly woman that you’re accused of having murdered.”
Morris looked up in utter confusion. “Who?”
Fitzpatrick suddenly jumped in. “The woman you tried to sell frozen meats to. Wealthy woman who lived in a mansion.”
Morris dropped his head again, inches
from the table, and said nothing. Dobson backed away from the table and sat, thinking to himself.
“Is your ex-wife dead?” he then asked.
Morris said nothing.
Dobson looked at Fitzpatrick then back at Morris.
“Do we know if any of this is true?”
Fitzpatrick shook his head and leaned close to Dobson, talking softly. “She’s alive and well. Lives in Missouri, newly remarried.” He then turned to Morris, speaking louder. “He knows exactly who we’re talking about. Don’t you Randall?”
Again, Morris said nothing.
“You can tell us,” Fitzpatrick said in his most understanding tone. “We’re here to listen to you, but you have to know that we found the jewelry. We know you stole it from Mrs. Bailey, so why don’t you tell us what happened?”
A prolonged silence followed, to which Dobson turned to Fitzpatrick and spoke softly. “Can I talk with you outside?”
The lieutenant turned to him, slightly annoyed.
“Just for a minute.”
Fitzpatrick rose with a sigh and walked to the door as Dobson followed. They stepped into the hall and could see Captain Nelson in the distance, an impatient expression on his face.
“What is it, Detective?” Fitzpatrick asked.
“He’s not talking,” Dobson said. “If you want to waste an hour in there listening to his ramblings, that’s fine, but I’ve got other avenues to pursue.”
Fitzpatrick narrowed his eyes. “Like what?”
Dobson thought to himself but had no immediate answer. At least nothing that would appease the lieutenant. “I’ll let you know when I get there.”
Fitzpatrick’s breathing increased and his nostrils flared. “Are we going to work together on this or not? Or do I need to have you reassigned to a different case?”
“That won’t be necessary,” Dobson said. “I know what I’m doing.”
Fitzpatrick stammered and then placed his hands on his hips, leaning forward and frowning. “I can’t believe what I’m hearing from you after what we’ve seen. I’m shocked, frankly.” His eyes moved beyond Dobson’s shoulders to Captain Nelson in the distance. “I’m going to recommend your removal from this case immediately.”
Dobson narrowed his eyes. “Under what justification?”
Fitzpatrick stepped forward. “That you’re out of your fucking mind!”
A silence seemed to permeate the entire hallway. Captain Nelson looked up from the monitor desk, prepared to walk over as Fitzpatrick recomposed himself and backed away.
“Maybe that wasn’t the best choice of words.”
Dobson shook his head. “I’m not trying to sabotage this case. I only want to capture the person or persons responsible.
Before he could respond, Fitzpatrick’s cell phone rang from his coat pocket. He paused and pulled the phone out, glancing at its screen. Initially, he seemed hesitant to answer but turned his back and held the phone to his ear, walking away.
Curious, Dobson listened as Fitzpatrick spoke in hushed tones.
“Yeah. He’s here right now. You’re more than welcome to come down and see.” He then turned around and hung up the phone, noticing Dobson’s stare. “That was Evelyn Bailey, if you must know. She wants to see the man who killed her aunt.”
Dobson pointed to the door. “And you’re going to show her that head case in there?”
“Cute,” Fitzpatrick said. “You’re dismissed, Detective.”
Suddenly, Captain Nelson emerged from farther down the hall with a woman walking beside him, Evelyn Bailey.
“Ms. Bailey. Glad you could make it,” Fitzpatrick said, walking past Dobson.
“She came here in record time,” Captain Nelson joked as they huddled in the hallway, leaving Dobson out of their circle.
“So, he’s in there,” Evelyn said, pointing to the door. “You actually caught him?”
Fitzpatrick extended his arm toward the monitor station. “Why don’t you have a look for yourself?”
Evelyn and Fitzpatrick walked past as though he wasn’t even there. Captain Nelson then placed a hand on his shoulder, concerned.
“Why the long face, Detective?”
Dobson shrugged and looked at the captain. “Nothing, sir. Just thinking.” He considered leaving, but then had an idea to stay close to Fitzpatrick and the Bailey heiress.
“Why don’t you join us?” Nelson said, walking toward the monitor station.
Dobson followed as Fitzpatrick looked up and noticed his presence, but gave no hint of any tension between them. “You remember Detective Dobson?” he asked Evelyn Bailey.
She looked up from the screen, distracted and then smiled when she saw Dobson standing off to the side. “Oh, yes. I’m sorry, Detective. How are you?”
“Fine, Ma’am,” Dobson said.
Fitzpatrick cut in. “He did a hell of a job during our raid. Though, he’s a little unsure about Morris’s involvement.”
Evelyn glanced at the screen then at Dobson. “I don’t understand. Didn’t you find my aunt’s jewelry in his trailer?”
“We found jewelry, yes,” Dobson said. “But did it belong to Mrs. Bailey?”
“It did,” Evelyn said. She wore her blonde hair pulled back into a bun, showing off her pretty features. “Lieutenant showed me the pictures. That was her jewelry without a doubt in my mind.”
They all looked back at the screen to see Morris sitting handcuffed and staring at the wall in front of him.
“That’s him,” she said. “That’s the man who tried to sell us the frozen meats or whatever he had. I’ll never forget the deranged look on his face.” She turned away, wiping her eyes, tense and upset. “I want him brought to justice. I want—” She stopped and pushed between Fitzpatrick and the captain, moving swiftly back down the hall.
“Give me a minute,” Fitzpatrick said, following after her.
Dobson and Captain Nelson watched as Fitzpatrick caught up and stopped Evelyn near the exit. She seemed distraught as she turned to him and began talking, though neither Dobson nor Nelson could hear a word.
“What’s on your mind, Mike?” Nelson asked.
Dobson’s focus remained down the hall. “I’m not sure, sir. I need to get some air and clear my head.”
“We need that gun. Without a weapon, this case remains flimsy,” Nelson added.
“I’m sure we’ll find it soon enough, sir,” Dobson said walking off. He quietly approached Evelyn and Fitzpatrick at the end of the hall, keeping his head down and trying not to bring any attention to himself. He glimpsed Evelyn placing her hands inside Fitzpatrick’s, squeezing them.
Dobson stopped and hid by the filing cabinet as the pair continued to talk in hushed tones, eyes locked onto each other. She then pulled her hands away, stepped forward and walked through the door to the lobby as Fitzpatrick held it open for her.
Dobson kept his head low and pulled out his cell phone, pretending to talk as Fitzpatrick raced back past him to reconvene with the captain. Seeing his moment, Dobson continued down the hall through the exit, just in time to see Evelyn enter the lobby on her way out of the station.
He pushed through the lobby doors, keeping his distance as Evelyn raced outside. Beyond the glass, he could see her driver parked at the roundabout in front of the station, Mercedes idling. He moved past the manned front desk, head down, and nearly ran into a man wearing a trench coat and ball cap who had just entered the station.
“Excuse me,” Dobson said as their shoulders collided.
The man’s shoes squeaked on the tile floor as he stopped and turned to look, exposing a face of burn scars under the bill of his hat. “Quite all right, Detective,” he responded in a quiet, raspy voice. “Can you tell me where your records department is?”
Dobson pointed to a door on their right, but kept his attention on Evelyn as her driver held the door open for her. “Down the hall and to the left.”
“Thank you,” the man said, displaying what looked like a press pass.
“I’m doing some research.”
“Sure,” Dobson said, walking past him. “It’s down there.”
“Have a good day, Detective,” the man said.
“You too,” Dobson said as he pushed the entrance door open and walked outside. Evelyn’s Mercedes drove off as the cool breeze of the afternoon hit his face. They stopped at an intersection just outside the police station, giving Dobson just enough time to run to his vehicle and get inside before they pulled away.