But Not For Love, page 21
part #9 of Clint Wolf Series
Mallory had told Susan earlier that a team had been set up on the post office in Eagle, but everything was quiet so far. The officers had avoided making contact with the post master just in case it would tip off Walter Garner, or Gregg Smith, or whatever name he was going by nowadays.
My mind raced as I drove, realizing I must’ve come into contact with the killer at some point. The picture Abel showed us had a definite ring of familiarity to it, but why? Who did it resemble? It didn’t look anything like Baylor Rice, so I knew immediately upon seeing the photo that Baylor was in the clear. But I’d met someone who looked like that photo, and I needed to figure out who it was—and I needed to figure it out fast.
We pulled up to the front of the district attorney’s office in record time. I still hadn’t figured out who the killer was. Mallory was right behind us and we all exited our vehicles and converged on the front door. Britt Lucas met us in the lobby and there was a look of concern on her face.
“Natasha should’ve been back by now. I’ve been calling her cell, but she’s not answering.” She licked her lips. “I’m worried. I…I think something might’ve happened to her.”
I whipped around and headed back for the parking lot, calling over my shoulder, “Susan, I’ll be back!”
“You’re not going without me!” She started toward the door, but I stopped and held out a hand.
“Please stay here, Sue.” I gently touched her belly. “For the sake of our child, please stay here where it’s safe.”
She opened her mouth to argue, but then clamped it shut. She frowned deeply and her eyes moistened. “Go, and hurry before I change my mind.”
I sprinted across the sidewalk—with Susan calling after me to be careful—and jumped into my unmarked cruiser. I caught sight of Mallory heading to her car, and she was calling out on the radio as she ran.
My heart pounded in my chest as I drove, wondering what we’d find when we arrived at the house. Had the killer struck again? If so, had he killed Natasha, too? I applied the brakes when I came up to an intersection where two cars were waiting for each other to go. My lights were already flashing, so I turned on my siren and drove around them, working the steering wheel like I was wrestling a bull to the ground.
I was only vaguely familiar with Northern Chateau, so I drifted to the shoulder and allowed Mallory to pass me up and take the lead. Within a few minutes, we were turning onto Cedar Street and we both shut off our lights and sirens.
As we whisked down the street, I shrugged out of my seatbelt and sat easy, ready to jump out of the Tahoe.
“Can you catch the back?” Mallory asked over the police radio as we neared the end of the street. “I’ll get the front.”
“Sure.” I studied the house we were approaching. It was a large brick home centered on about two acres of neatly cropped property. The back yard was wrapped in a black metal fence that was about five feet in height—it would be an easy jump. There were two cars in the driveway, and I was guessing one of them belonged to Natasha.
I allowed my Tahoe to ease to a stop. Leaving the door open, I slipped out and made a dash for the fence. I stopped and squatted where the fence married up to the house, and turned to see Mallory slinking through the front yard. When she reached the edge of the porch, she crouched near a large white column and glanced in my direction. I gave her a nod and she held up five fingers, letting me know she would beat on the front door in five seconds.
In one smooth motion, I leapt over the fence and made my way around to the back, hugging the exterior wall as I moved. There was a screened-in patio that stretched the entire width of the house. I hesitated at the corner, trying to see through the screen and to the windows and door at the back of the house. Thanks to the shadows back there, it was almost impossible to do so.
Screw it! I thought. Mallory was going to knock on the front door at any moment, so I needed to get to the back door quickly. Taking a deep breath, I drew my pistol and stepped out into the open, exposing myself to whatever danger might be out there. I rushed for the patio door. The lock stuck when I jerked on the door, and a loud clanging noise reverberated along the metal framework.
I winced inwardly, but didn’t slow down. I pulled the door free and stepped into the screened area. A quick scan of the patio revealed a large barbecue pit, some wicker furniture, and a large green garbage can arranged neatly around the space. I was about to reach for the knob to the back door of the house when the door was jerked open and Natasha Lee came barreling out, running right into me.
I spun to keep from falling and reached out to steady her. Her eyes were wild as she pointed toward the doorway with her left hand. “I…I was too late. It’s too late. He…he got her!”
“Is he still inside?” I asked, turning toward the opening. I heard a crashing sound and splintered wood flying, which told me that Mallory had made entry. I needed to get in that house.
I was just glancing over my shoulder to tell Natasha to stay put when realization hit me like a freight train to the sternum—but that moment of revelation had come a few seconds too late.
Natasha Lee, whose facial features looked very similar to the picture of Walter Garner that Abel had shown Susan and me, held a large, bloody ice pick high in the air. Without hesitation, she drove it straight toward my left eyeball—and there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it.
CHAPTER 43
Thirty minutes earlier…
Walter Garner, who had assumed the identity of a local woman named Natasha Lee, stood in front of his bathroom mirror and adjusted the padded bra. Once it looked perfect, he pulled on a black turtleneck sweater—being careful not to smudge his makeup or shift his wig—and then took a final look at himself.
“Damn, I look pretty.” He frowned, knowing this would be the last time he would assume the identity of Natasha Lee. He had enjoyed being Natasha. Not only did he get to use the women’s bathroom everywhere he went, but he was best friends with the hottest prosecutor in the state and he worked with half a dozen other women at the advocacy center where he volunteered. He’d learned a lot about women while being one, and he would use that information to his advantage later on, when he moved to a different town.
Walter grabbed the duffel bag that contained everything he owned and slung it over his shoulder. He then hurried out the front door of the one-bedroom apartment he was renting in Northern Chateau. He clambered down the stairs to the garage below. While he had exclusive use of the apartment, he was forced to share the garage with the old man from whom he was renting. Walter had wanted it all to himself so he could come and go as he wished—sometimes as a man and sometimes as a woman—but the old man was unrelenting and Walter was a beggar, so he was in no position to demand anything.
“Hey, sweetheart,” called the old landlord when Walter made it to his car. He tossed the duffel in the back seat. The garage door was open and the landlord was sitting on a stool in the driveway working on a lawnmower. “You’re looking nice today.”
Walter growled under his breath, but smiled affectionately and batted his fake eyelashes. The old man flirted incessantly with him, as did other men, and he was beginning to realize what a real asshole these types of men were—another thing he’d learned by being a woman. He paused by the front door of his car and stared back at the old man, whose tongue was hanging out like a hungry dog.
Before I go off the grid again, he thought to himself, I’m going to come back and get naked for that old bastard and watch as his heart explodes in shock when he sees what’s going on downstairs. If that revelation doesn’t kill him, I might just finish him off with the wrench he’s holding.
Walter waved goodbye and slipped into the driver’s seat. Taking a deep breath, he pulled down the sun visor and stared at the picture he’d pinned there. It was of his sister, Pam, who would be alive today if it hadn’t been for Tammy Eastman dropping the charges on her ex-husband.
Next, Walter pulled out his disposable phone and again read the text message he’d received from Britt, who wanted “Natasha” to go to Cedar Street and pick up Julia Hebert and bring her to the DA’s office.
“I’ll pick her up, alright,” Walter mumbled, tossing down the phone and pushing the visor up. “I’ll make damn sure she doesn’t drop the charges and I’ll see to it that her husband gets what’s coming to him.”
It had been frustrating for Walter to learn that the detectives recovered his print inside the latex glove near Cassandra’s home and then released Nikia. When the same thing had happened in Mobile, he had sworn to never leave evidence at a scene again—even in the trashcan. He’d been very careful the last time and had thrown the gloves in the bayou.
When I’m done with Julia, he thought, I might go back and kill that kid who found the glove.
He suddenly dismissed the thought. Killing kids was where he drew the line. Besides, there was still a chance the authorities would arrest Nikia when they discovered his DNA on the Halloween mask. Walter had seen Nikia wearing it and knew Nikia’s DNA was all over it, so he’d planted it along the trail. Walter had worn a balaclava under the mask, so his DNA wouldn’t be on it.
Walter turned onto the highway and headed for Cedar Street. He picked up his cell phone and called Julia when he was turning onto her street. Britt had already called Julia and she was supposedly ready to leave, but Walter didn’t want her meeting him in the driveway. He needed to get in that house so he could deal with her in private and then disappear. He had wanted to go to the post office to get his money from Sheriff Chandler before leaving, but he’d noticed a strange car in the parking lot. If there was one thing he’d learned when he was a cop back in Georgia, it was to spot things that were out of place.
“I’ll be there in two minutes,” Walter said when Julia answered the call. “Keep your doors locked and don’t come outside.”
Walter was thankful to his mother for forcing him to take drama classes in high school, because he’d perfected the feminine voice of Golde, the mother in Fiddler on the Roof. He had tried out for the part on a dare from his buddies and, to his shock and his buddies’ delight, he had landed the part. He’d been putting that voice to good use in the two months he’d been pretending to be Natasha Lee. Hell, he had been in character so long, he didn’t even know if he could get his original voice back.
“Am I in danger?” Julia asked, the worry evident in her voice.
“Yes, absolutely,” Walter said, seizing on her fears, “or we wouldn’t be doing this. There’s a killer out there and we have reason to believe he’s targeting you.”
“Oh, Lord, what am I supposed to do? I’m all alone. If only—”
“I’m up the street. I’ll come in through the back door, but don’t unlock it until you see that it’s me. Got it? I’ll keep you safe…I promise.”
“Can you stay on the line with me until you get here?”
“Sure, honey, I’ll be here with you the whole time.” Walter grinned to himself, thinking, Hook, line, and sinker! I’ll get in, do my thing, and then be gone before anyone knows what happened.
“I’m pulling into your driveway right now.” Walter took a good look around. There were no cars at any of the neighboring houses, which probably meant everyone was at work. “I’m getting out now and walking along the side of the house.”
Julia was breathing heavy on the other end of the phone. “Okay, I’m waiting by the back door.”
Walter cleared the fence, cursing to himself as the shoes he wore pinched his feet. He couldn’t wait to wear men’s boots again. When he reached the back patio, he saw the blinds to one of the windows pulled aside and Julia was standing on the other end. He smiled warmly and waved. There was immediate relief in Julia’s eyes and she quickly disappeared, only to reappear a second later in the doorway, her purse hanging from her shoulder and her cell phone still in her hand.
“Oh, Ms. Lee, thank God you’re here!” Julia started to step outside, but Walter put up a hand to stop her.
“We need to stay inside until the detectives arrive,” he said in his Natasha Lee voice.
“Oh, the police are coming?”
Walter nodded. “You might want to gather up some belongings while we wait, because I don’t know when it’ll be safe for you to come back here.”
Julia nodded and headed deeper into the house, tossing her purse and cell phone on the table. Walter closed the door behind him and threw the bolt. He shot a quick glance around the kitchen and found what he was looking for—a weapon in the form of a giant ice pick. He liked using items from the homes, because it was less he had to carry to and from the scene, and it bolstered the case against the husband.
Snatching the ice pick from the knife block and concealing it behind his back, Walter followed the sound of Julia’s footsteps and found her in a back bedroom. She had pulled a small suitcase from a closet and was filling it with clothes.
“Why’d you decide to drop the charges against your husband?” Walter asked, looking Julia up and down. The question caught Julia off guard and she stopped what she was doing.
“I…I heard there was a killer running the streets and I knew I would feel safer with him around.”
“You do realize he’ll never change, right?”
“Excuse me?”
“Your husband—he’ll never change. He’ll continue beating you until he eventually murders you. Hell, you’re practically dead already.” Walter removed his hand from where it was concealed behind his back. He saw Julia’s eyes widen when they fixed on the ice pick. “Ian Eastman used to beat his wife. He would get arrested and his wife would keep on dropping the charges.”
“Who?” Julia’s face was twisted in confusion and fear. “Who is Ian Eastman?”
“Thanks to his wife, Tammy, who kept dropping the charges against him, he remained a free man and then married my sister. Do you want to guess what happened next?”
When Julia didn’t answer, Walter continued. “Ian murdered my sister—butchered her with a knife like she was a varmint—and it was all because some woman did what you’re doing. Domestic violence is a problem in this country, and someone has to put a stop to it.”
Julia clamped her jaw shut and her eyes turned to slits. She stood a little straighter. Walter cocked his head to the side, surprised at the sudden display of defiance.
“So, your solution is what?” Julia asked mockingly, pointing to the ice pick. “Are you going around killing the victims of domestic violence to protect them from the men who beat them? How does that make any sense? Your logic is flawed and nonsensical. You’re an ignorant woman, aren’t you?”
Walter felt his blood boiling. “Shut your mouth!”
“Why don’t you come over here and make—”
Before Julia could finish her statement, Walter rushed across the room and shoved the ice pick into her stomach. Julia tried to push him off, but he was too strong. She gasped and her mouth fell open as the ice pick plunged deeper. Walter pulled the weapon out and stabbed her again, putting his face close to hers and smiling—
Walter’s head jerked around when he heard tires screeching outside. He stepped away from Julia and allowed her to collapse to the ground, where she lay moaning. He took a quick glance out the window and saw Detective Mallory Tuttle approaching the front of the house, a pistol in her hand.
“Oh, shit!” He bolted for the back door.
CHAPTER 44
I was immediately blinded. Although my eyes were open, I couldn’t see a thing, as blood and other fluids gushed down my face. There were chunks of flesh in my mouth and I spat violently, trying to rid myself of the taste. There was a sharp pain in my leg and I suddenly realized something was wrong—the pain should’ve been in my eyeball.
The sound of boot steps clanked loudly against the ceramic tile behind me and I heard Mallory gasp. “Jesus Christ, London shot Natasha Lee!”
I’d heard of London Carter. He was commonly referred to as a “ghost” and he was the most feared sniper in Louisiana—maybe even the country.
“Where was he?” I scrubbed the blood and tissue from my eyes and forced them open. My vision was blurry, but I could see Mallory standing over me, a look of concern in her eyes. “I didn’t see anyone but Natasha.”
I saw Mallory scanning our surroundings. “Hell if I know—perched on a cloud, maybe?”
“We need to check on the victim.” I pulled the front of my shirt up to wipe my face. I then pushed myself off the ground and rose to my feet.
“Clint, are you sure you’re okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine. We need to check on—”
“There’s an ice pick in your leg,” she said. “Don’t you feel it?”
“Yeah.” I smiled through the pain in my thigh. “It was meant for my eyeball, so the pain in my leg hurts real good.”
As Mallory rushed into the house to find the victim, I paused to look at Natasha. The front of her face was grossly distorted.
I cocked my head to the side when I realized a large portion of her hair had been separated from her head. I leaned closer and grunted, remembering where I’d seen Walter Garner’s face before—Walter was Natasha Lee. I immediately realized what had taken place. Her—or, rather, his—head was shaved. Walter had been wearing a wig and dressing like a woman. He had been hiding in plain sight this whole time.
Sheriff Chandler’s words came back to me, and I realized just then how truly profound they were. “Walter is extremely resourceful, after all,” the sheriff had said.
“And that was an understatement,” I muttered before standing to my feet and looking out into the distance. I knew London was still out there providing over-watch protection, so I mouthed my thanks. I then limped into the house and made my way to the bedroom, where I heard Mallory speaking softly to our victim, who was moaning in pain.
Those moans were the sweetest sounds I’d ever heard, because it meant she was still alive. Sirens blared in the distance and Mallory looked up when I got closer.
