Inspired by Murder Page 13

  Stephenson tried to gather his thoughts as he approached the sergeant's office. He knew what he was about to ask was against protocol and there was probably no way the sergeant would go for it. But, if anyone would see the need to break standard procedure for the sake of catching a killer, it would be McKinnon.

  The glass door to McKinnon's office was closed and Stephenson could see him sitting at his desk behind his computer. He knocked against the glass enough to get the sergeant's attention. McKinnon lifted his head and motioned for him to come in. He took a deep breath as he opened the door.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  Eric rose early on Thursday morning to get some writing in before work. His drunken escapade on Monday night had put him behind on his writing schedule. He took a sip from his freshly brewed black coffee and sat at his desk. He looked out his large window at the city that was still dark. It was so quiet, he felt like he was alone in the world. It was the perfect atmosphere to work his novel.

  After Blondie's visit to his office on Tuesday, Eric started to think he might need to take some precautionary measures in the unlikely event they charged him with murder. He was sure he’d been careful and was confident they wouldn't find adequate evidence to arrest him. All they probably had to go on was that he knew all three of the deceased. It was certainly not proof that he killed anyone.

  Even so, he needed to prepare for the worst-case scenario. He had stopped by his bank on his way home from the office the day before and withdrawn ten thousand in cash. It was safely stowed in his fireproof box under his bed where he kept his passport and other important documents. Just in case.

  He still had two hours before he needed to leave for the office. He ran a Google search of Dwayne Morrison to see if there were any updates on his arrest and when he might go to trial. Eric choked on his coffee as he read the first headline that came up.

  He set down his mug and coughed while he reread the headline. Surely, he’d read it wrong. But he hadn’t. He clicked on the article and subconsciously shook his head as he read through it. Unbelievable. Starsky and Hutch really were as dumb as a box of rocks. Their incompetency was infuriating.

  He looked at the time and got up to take a shower. There was no way he could work on his novel now. He needed to go have a word with his inept friends at the Seattle Homicide Unit.

  It was just becoming daylight when Eric got to the Police Headquarters. He knew his way around from his visit over the weekend. After convincing the cop at the front desk that he needed to speak with the detectives regarding his secretary's murder, the officer had Eric wait while he called the homicide unit.

  “The two detectives you wanted to speak to are both on the phone, but another detective will be down shortly to escort you upstairs,” the officer said after making the call.

  “Fine.” Eric paced back and forth while he waited for the detective to bring him upstairs.

  A dark-haired detective stepped off the elevator five minutes later. He introduced himself as Detective Suarez. He used his ID badge to get back into the elevator with Eric and pushed the button for the seventh floor.

  “I’ll take you to one of our interview rooms where you can wait to speak to Detectives Adams and Stephenson,” Suarez said as they got off the elevator and entered the homicide unit.

  Ignoring the detective, Eric stormed into the large open room cluttered with desks. There they were sitting across from each other. Dumb and dumber.

  “How could you let him go?” he yelled.

  They both looked up as Eric marched toward them.

  Adams mumbled something under his breath and looked across at his partner. Eric must've heard wrong because it sounded like, that's what I said.

  “What?” Eric asked.

  Suarez caught up to Eric and pulled both of his hands behind his back.

  “It’s okay,” Blondie said, signaling for Suarez to let him go.

  Eric felt the detective slowly release his grip from Eric’s wrists.

  Blondie rested both his elbows on his desk and leaned forward.

  “We're working on a theory that the same person who killed Daisy, also killed your client, Patricia Watts, her husband, Martin, and your neighbor, Robert.”

  While Eric was happy the blond one was not as smart as he thought, he was irritated he couldn't solve something so simple as Daisy's murder. “That's ridiculous.”

  “Is it?”

  “I know her boyfriend killed her. She was clearly afraid of him.”

  “Did she ever tell you specifically that he'd hurt her? Or that she thought he might kill her?”

  No, he thought. But he couldn't say that. “Yes.”

  They seemed to notice his hesitation. “And did you tell her to go to the police?”

  This time Eric didn't hesitate. “Well, she only told me last Thursday. I told her she should leave him. Maybe that's what she was trying to do when he killed her.”

  “Hmm.” Blondie folded his arms and sat back in his chair.

  From what Eric could tell, he wasn't taking him seriously.

  He turned to Marky Mark. “If you had enough evidence to arrest him over the weekend, why in the world would you release him now?”

  Marky Mark cleared his throat. “He has an alibi for the time of Daisy's death. It was just confirmed yesterday.” Eric noted that he didn't look happy about it.

  “That has to be a mistake. I'm telling you he killed Daisy. You've let her killer back out on the street.”

  “No one seems to know where Daisy was last Thursday night, the night before she was killed. Was she with you?” Blondie asked.

  “Why? You think I killed her?” He pointed to his chest.

  “Did you?”

  “Of course not! I—” He stopped short, realizing he was about to say he loved her. He guessed maybe he did, but he couldn't say that to these buffoons. “She was my friend.”

  Blondie seemed to be taking pleasure from his outburst, which only made him more furious.

  “You haven't come across her phone, have you? Maybe she left it in your apartment?” he asked.

  “No, I don't have her phone. Maybe if you two were doing your jobs properly you'd have found it by now. Are you still even treating Dwayne as a suspect?”

  “His alibi has pretty much ruled him out. He couldn't have been in two places at once.”

  “Well he couldn't possibly have been wherever he said he was, because I'm certain he killed Daisy.”

  “Sorry, doctor. I'm afraid, with a confirmed alibi, we have to accept that he's not our guy.”

  Only the jackass wasn't sorry. Eric might've been imagining it, but he looked like he was trying not to smile. Eric narrowed his eyes at him before turning to Wahlberg. He couldn't read anything from his expression.

  “You're wrong. You need to check his alibi again.”

  “Do you have any other information you're not telling us?” Blondie asked.

  “No. Except that Daisy wasn't killed by the same person who murdered Patricia, her husband, and my neighbor. Daisy was killed by Dwayne.”

  “And who killed Patricia, her husband, and your neighbor?”

  He was nearly tempted to confess for the sake of getting Daisy the justice she deserved. Nearly, but not quite. “That's your job to find out, not mine. You two have made a serious mistake,” Eric said before he turned and walked out of the homicide unit.

  If they weren't going to make Dwayne pay for what he did to Daisy, he'd have to kill him himself.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Stephenson’s desk phone rang an hour after Dr. Leroy’s visit. He recognized the number from the security desk on the building’s first floor.

  “Stephenson.”

  “Hey, it’s Drew from security. I’ve got a couple down here who want to speak with you about their son’s murder. They said his name is Robert Benson.”

  “Tell them I’ll be right down.”

  Stephenson stood from his desk after hanging up. Adams looked up from his computer screen.
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br />   “The Bensons are here and want to talk to us about Robert’s case.”

  Adams nodded. “I’ll see if the conference room is available.”

  Stephenson put his hands on his hips and stared at the floor while he waited for the elevator. It was possible the Bensons had some information that could help him solve their son’s murder. But, most likely, they had come for answers. Answers he wouldn’t be able to give them.

  “How can you not know who killed him? He lived in a secure building.”

  Robert’s mother gripped the armrests of her chair. Her eyes searched for answers as she shifted her gaze between Adams and Stephenson.

  Scott and Linda Benson looked like different people from the put-together couple Stephenson had met two days earlier. Linda’s strawberry-blonde hair was pulled back in a severe ponytail. From the dark circles under their bloodshot eyes, Stephenson doubted they’d had any sleep since he last saw them.

  “We’re still processing some of the evidence from Robert’s crime scene. And we have a person of interest.”

  “So, why don’t you arrest him?” Robert’s father asked, taking hold of his wife’s hand.

  “We don’t have enough evidence to arrest anyone at this time,” Adams said. “But we’re doing everything we can to prove who killed him.”

  Scott Benson choked back tears. Stephenson slid a box of Kleenex across the conference table.

  Linda pressed Stephenson. “Robert’s been dead for nearly three days now. I read that if a homicide isn’t solved after the first forty-eight hours the odds of solving the case go way down. Does this mean you might never catch his killer?”

  Before Stephenson could answer, Scott loudly pulled a tissue from the box.

  “It’s true that the first forty-eight hours are critical in a homicide investigation, but we can’t always make an arrest that quickly. Some cases just take longer to solve. It doesn’t mean that we aren’t going to solve your son’s case.”

  “There wasn’t even a mention of Robert’s death in the news today. All they could talk about was that big-shot author who offed his wife before killing himself. It’s like the world has forgotten him already. I want to make sure that you won’t forget him.”

  Stephenson chose not to correct her assumptions about Martin and Patricia’s deaths.

  “We promise. We’re doing everything we can to find your son’s killer. And we won’t forget him,” Adams said.

  “We’ll let you know when we make an arrest. In the meantime, feel free to contact us if you have any questions.”

  Linda gave a somber nod and the couple stood from their chairs in silence.

  “I’ll walk you out,” Stephenson said.

  After escorting the Bensons out of the building, Stephenson rode the elevator back to the seventh floor. He hated not being able to give them closure by proving Dr. Leroy killed their son and arresting him for Robert’s murder. The elevator stopped and the doors slid open.

  Stephenson took a deep breath before getting off. He could only hope his plan would work. A lot depended on what the doctor would do in response to Dwayne’s release.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Eric was still seething over Dwayne's release when he got home from work that night. He was too upset to start his evening yoga ritual and instead went about madly cleaning his apartment.

  Over the years, he'd employed a few different house cleaners, but none of them ever quite matched his standards for cleanliness. He always ended up finding dust around the baseboards or an unwiped surface in the kitchen after they left, forcing him to do his own cleaning anyway. He'd let all of them go after a brief period of disappointment. It was better to simply do it right himself.

  He didn't mind cleaning. In a way, he found it an effective stress releaser. Which was exactly what he needed tonight.

  The more he thought about it, the more he became convinced Dwayne’s release was a trap. Those cops had to know Dwayne was guilty. And they must have enough evidence to prove it or they wouldn't have arrested him in the first place.

  Blondie seemed to have it out for him, but he obviously couldn’t prove he killed Patricia, her fat husband, and whatever his name was who lived next door. Eric’s guess was that they had let Dwayne go and placed him under surveillance in the desperate hope they could catch Eric in the act of killing him. Then, if they intervened in time, they'd rearrest Dwayne when they arrested Eric. Killing two birds with one stone, as the saying went.

  But that wasn't going to stop Eric from killing him. If they were watching Dwayne, then they were probably watching him too. He'd just have to work around it. Fortunately, Harry and Lloyd weren't that hard to outsmart.

  Two hours later, he was on to his final cleaning task: the floors. He didn't have a single strand of carpet in his apartment. Carpet was disgusting, filled with dust and festering bacteria. He plugged in his vacuum and started in the living room.

  When he glided it under his couch, something shiny skidded out from the other side. He picked it up and recognized the bedazzled phone cover instantly. It was Daisy's. And it had been here all along.

  He tried to turn it on but it was, of course, dead. He grabbed his phone from his desk and searched for the number for the Seattle Homicide Unit. There could be evidence on it that proved Dwayne killed her.

  He found the number but paused before selecting it. How would he explain that Daisy's phone had been in his apartment this whole time? What if it made him look guilty, instead of Dwayne? There was possibly nothing on her phone that would incriminate Dwayne anyway. Plus, the detectives had already let Dwayne walk when it was obvious he killed her; that gave Eric little hope that turning in her phone would make any difference. He set his phone back down on the desk instead of making the call. He had a better idea.

  A quick Google search told him the cops probably couldn't track Daisy's phone to his place unless he used it to make a call, but he didn't want to risk it. Plus, if Dwayne used a tracking app on her phone, it could alert him to its location the moment Eric turned it on.

  He threw on his coat, grabbed his killing gloves and a pack of antibacterial wipes, and went down to his car in the parking garage. He plugged Daisy's phone into the car charger as he drove. He waited until he pulled into Discovery Park to turn it on.

  Leaving his engine running, he watched her screen light up and ask for the passcode. Crikey. He tried to think of what it would be. Daisy was a sweet, simple girl. He typed E-R-I-C. Incorrect passcode.

  He drummed his fingers against his steering wheel. Her birthday. She’d asked for the day off. He tried 0-1-2-4. Her phone unlocked. Fair dinkum.

  Eric disabled her phone's location settings and went to her text messages from Dwayne. While some of his texts could be construed as controlling, Eric was disappointed not to find anything more incriminating. There were no threats, not even any hostile messages.

  He searched for Dwayne’s name in her email next. Nothing. He looked out the window into the night. It wasn't as he had hoped, but he could still use it to blackmail Dwayne. He was grateful he hadn't been stupid enough to turn it over to the police. It wouldn't have helped them build a case against Dwayne anyway.

  Eric pulled on his gloves and cleaned Daisy's bedazzled cover and screen with one of his antibacterial wipes before stepping out into the vacant parking lot with her phone in hand. After removing the SIM card, he placed her phone on the ground behind his rear tire. He laid the SIM card on top of the phone and got back into the car. He reversed over it, hearing it crunch against the gravel parking lot. He pulled forward before driving over it once more.

  He put the car in park and got out to retrieve the smashed phone and SIM card. He could see by the red glow of his tail lights that they were nicely damaged. The phone screen had shattered, and the SIM card was now broken in two. He picked them up and placed them in his cup holder before pulling out of the dark parking lot.

  He hopped on Interstate 90 and headed for the nearest bridge to dispose of her phone. Twenty
-five minutes later, he slowed to ten under as he crossed the middle of the floating bridge that connected Seattle to prestigious Mercer Island. With his passenger window rolled down, he grasped the phone and SIM card from his cup holder and flung them as hard as he could out the window.

  He watched to make sure they made it over the side of the bridge when the blare of a horn on his left pulled him from his concentration. Eric turned his attention to the road and saw he had merged halfway into the adjacent lane. The car beside him moved as far into the shoulder as the bridge would allow to avoid being sideswiped by his BMW. Their vehicles were only inches apart. He jerked his BMW back into his lane as the car beside him sped ahead, laying on their horn another time.

  Eric over-corrected and felt his front fender smash into the concrete barrier, which protected his car from going over the edge. He swerved to the left, crossing over into the passing lane once again. Only this time there was no car next to him. He slowly merged back into his lane and let out a deep breath, thinking how close he'd been to a much worse collision. That was the last thing he needed.

  He leaned his head back against the headrest and tried to relax. He’d taken care of Daisy's phone and had a sure-fire plan to blackmail Dwayne. He'd work out the details of his murder later. He just hoped his car wasn't too badly damaged.

  His blood pressure had nearly returned to baseline when he saw the flashing red and blue lights in his rear-view mirror. Crikey. He hoped the squad car would pass him in its pursuit of another vehicle, but his hope disintegrated as the lights drew closer and the wail of a siren filled the quiet void of the night. Great.

  There was nowhere to pull over on the bridge, so he kept driving with the cop car on his ass until he found a place to stop when they reached Mercer Island. He rolled down his window and waited calmly for the egotistical patrol officer whom he was about to have the pleasure of meeting.