Star Spangled Killer Page 6

“Who is the victim?” he rasped, barely able to utter the words.

  “Night nurse. The desk staff heard screams coming from the room’s occupant, and came in and found her like this,” an officer in the room replied.

  “Where is the… occupant?”

  “Upstairs, in a secured room, zonked out on some kind of injection that they gave her.”

  “Did she…?” Tim couldn’t bring himself to finish the thought.

  “Ice the nurse? Nah. She was in restraints the whole time. Strange thing is, no one here will fess up to having put her in the restraints. Maybe whoever killed the nurse did it,” the cop shrugged, and Tim paled at the thought.

  “Are there any leads?” he asked hopefully.

  “Not so far. Scene is clean. Whoever did this was pretty skilled. Aren’t you supposed to be taking pictures or something?” the officer frowned.

  “Yes, I am,” Tim mumbled and knelt by the body. Lifting up the woman’s long hair, he discovered something that made his blood run cold. Hurriedly standing, he rushed from the room, dialing Chas Beckett’s number as he went.

  ***

  Spencer Bengal walked from the tiny shack on the beach that he’d rented in Key West, to a cozy little shop that advertised the “World’s Best Key Lime Pie”. He intended to speak with the owner, a feisty gal named Marilyn, who, by complete coincidence, he’d met last year when she’d vacationed at Missy and Chas’s inn. He hoped that she didn’t recognize him so that he could play the part of private investigator a bit more convincingly. When they’d last met, he was working under the guise of being a handyman, pool guy, and limo driver at the inn, all while actually serving as personal security for the couple; he didn’t want to have to explain the transition.

  A cheerful and chubby grey-haired woman greeted him from behind the counter when Spencer stepped into the heavenly smelling shop.

  “Hiya, handsome! What do I have the pleasure of getting you today?” she grinned, grabbing a pair of plastic gloves and slipping them on.

  “I’m actually hoping to speak with Marilyn Hayes if she’s around,” Spencer returned her smile, adding dimples in for good measure.

  “Sure honey, I’ll go get her, but are you sure I can’t tempt you with any of these goodies?” she gestured grandly to the luscious-looking treats in the spotless glass display case.

  “Well, I feel like I have to at least try the World’s Best Key Lime Pie while I’m here,” he nodded, stroking his chin.

  “I knew it!” the attendant was delighted at his decision. “Let me just get a slice plated for you, and I’ll run and get Miss Marilyn,” she promised. “Whipped cream?”

  “Double whipped cream,” Spencer agreed.

  “Good man,” the woman nodded happily, and once she’d sat him down with pie and an iced water, she hurried toward the back of the shop to let Marilyn know that she had a handsome visitor.

  Spencer was nearly finished with the most amazing piece of pie that he’d ever put in his mouth, when the two ladies came back up front.

  “Hey, there,” Marilyn called out. “I’m Marilyn, what can I do for you?”

  “Hi, my name is Spencer Bengal, and I’d just like a few moments of your time, if that’s okay,” Spencer stood to greet her, then sat back down when she did, attacking the rest of his pie.

  “I already have certain charities that I contribute to, so if…” she began.

  “I’m not soliciting anything,” he assured her with a raised hand.

  “Oh? Then, sure. What would you like to talk about?” she leaned over the table, putting her chin in her hands.

  “You used to have a neighbor named Timothy Eckels.”

  “Yes, I did. It was a couple of years ago,” she frowned. “Oh dear, is that poor, strange soul in trouble?”

  “How well did you know Mr. Eckels?” Spencer ignored the question.

  “Not very well at all. I had a few encounters with him out in the yard. He applied for a job here, and when I didn’t hire him, he was pretty upset about it.”

  Spencer licked his fork clean and put it down on his plate. “Wait, Tim Eckels wanted to work in a pie shop? Did he say why?”

  “Repeatedly,” Marilyn chuckled. “He swore up and down that his grandmother made the best pies ever, and she’d taught him to do the same.”

  “So, why didn’t you hire him?”

  Marilyn looked uncomfortable. “Frankly, he weirded me out a little. He seemed to appear out of nowhere sometimes, and he was always looking for a missing cat,” she pursed her lips, remembering.

  “Did you ever see him with… a woman?”

  Marilyn let out a snort of astonishment. “Tim Eckels? Uh, no. He wasn’t exactly Casanova. He could barely hold a conversation. My daughter thought that he was just tongue-tied around me because he had a crush on me,” she chuckled softly. “He talked to her like a relatively normal human, so she thought he was nice. What’s this all about? Has he… done something?” her tone suddenly turned serious.

  “No. Nothing like that,” Spencer assured her.

  “What’s your interest in Tim anyway? A fine-looking young man like yourself asking questions about my strange ex-neighbor strikes me as being a little bit odd.”

  “Do you recognize this woman?” he showed her a photo of a plump young woman with blonde hair.

  Marilyn studied the picture with a frown, then slowly nodded. “Yeah, I used to see her around, but I haven’t in a good long while. Her hair was darker. I think she may have been homeless or something. I’m a horrible person, but I used to joke with my daughter about her,” she sighed.

  “Why?” Spencer asked casually, observing Marilyn’s every move.

  “Because every time I saw her hanging around, something awful would happen at the store. Our freezers would be left open and everything inside would be ruined, there was a dumpster fire, burst pipes. We called her the harbinger of doom,” she smiled wryly. “Who is she? Is she related to Tim or something?”

  “Did you ever have strange things happen to you or your home when Mr. Eckels was your next-door neighbor?” Spencer sidestepped the questions.

  “All the time. I don’t know why he’d do strange things, but they stopped when he moved away. It was a relief, really.”

  “What kinds of things happened?”

  “Oh, little things mostly… like these weird, paper-thin leaves scattered outside my doorway, eerie scratching sounds at my back door at night, silly things like that. It wasn’t dangerous or anything, it just seemed a little juvenile and irritating. I also would find my kitchen utensils in different drawers, the knives and herb shears especially. He was just looking for attention, I suppose.”

  Spencer nodded and took the photo back from her.

  “Do you know if Mr. Eckels left a forwarding address when he moved from here?”

  “I really have no idea,” Marilyn shrugged.

  Spencer stood and reached to shake her hand. “Thank you for your time, Ms. Hayes, it was indeed a pleasure.”

  “The pleasure was mine, handsome-stranger-who-managed-to-avoid-every-one-of-my-questions,” she grinned, standing. “How about a slab of that pie in a to-go box the size of your head?” she offered, heading toward the counter.

  “Well, if you have an extra piece that you need help with…”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  * * *

  “Is Fiona McCamish under police protection?” Spencer demanded, as soon as he was out of Marilyn Hayes’s earshot.

  Chas hesitated on the other end of the line for just a moment. “I don’t know. Her night nurse was murdered. I got a call from Tim Eckels this morning. He was pretty upset.”

  “Let me guess, the body had a certain characteristic marking.”

  “You got it. What do you have for me?”

  “We need to make certain that Fiona has 24/7 security. I believe that she may be the target of a serial killer.”

  “That’s gonna be a tough one,” Chas sighed, running a hand over his face. “You and I both k
now that Solinsky isn’t exactly inclined to listen to my hunches, or yours, and he already has a suspect in custody.”

  “Send a picture of the suspect to my phone,” the younger man suggested. “We’ll see if Solinsky might have gotten lucky and jailed the correct perp.”

  “I’ll go through some channels down at Calgon PD and see if I can get an ID. Eckels swears that they have the wrong woman and that Fiona is in grave danger. Are you headed back here?”

  “Yep, and when I do, I’ll need to talk to Missy,” his voice was grim.

  “Missy?” the alarm in Chas Beckett’s voice was evident. “Why?”

  “I have a hunch that she may have had some interaction with the killer.”

  “Get here as fast as you can,” Chas said quietly, and hung up.

  ***

  “Eckels, if what you say is true, you have to go to the police and tell them what you know,” Chas encouraged the pale, bedraggled mortician.

  “Solinsky is incompetent,” was the simple reply.

  “I’m aware of that, but there are quite a few officers over there who aren’t, and the situation that you’re describing is one that they need to know about. I’d go to him myself, but he’d refuse to investigate, not only because the info came from me, but because it would be secondhand. You have firsthand knowledge that he needs to know about, and if he won’t follow up, you need to contact the FBI.”

  “I just wanted to live my life. I just wanted to forget. Was that too much to ask?” Tim sounded utterly defeated.

  “I’ll drive you to the station,” Chas stood.

  ***

  “Spill it, Freakshow, I ain’t got all night,” Solinsky sucked on his teeth, feet on his desk, hands locked behind his head.

  He’d thrown his weight around by insisting that Chas couldn’t come back to the office. Tim had to talk to him alone, and to say that the coroner was unhappy about that would’ve been quite the understatement.

  “You have the wrong person in custody for the murder of the vice mayor,” Tim said softly, not realizing that his usual forthright honesty would be offensive to the prickly detective.

  “Oh really? You gonna tell me how to do my job now?” Solinsky swung his feet down from the desk and leaned over it angrily staring at the miserable lump of humanity that was Timothy Eckels at the moment. “You got a lotta nerve. I oughta throw you outta here right now,” he threatened, blustering.

  Tim was unfazed. “More people will die and they will die horribly. She’s not going to stop. She can’t stop. It’s her art.”

  “Now you’re talking gibberish,” Solinsky rolled his eyes. He moved as though to rise from his chair to escort Tim out, when an urgent knock sounded on his door.

  “What?” Solinsky barked, settling back in his chair and picking up a pen that he twiddled in his fingers.

  A uniformed cop with decades of experience poked his head in the door. “Sorry to interrupt. We got a PI out here who says he has info about the murder of Dallas Puxton and the night nurse over at the psych hospital.

  “Of course,” Solinsky tossed the pen down. “Get Doctor Death outta here and send in the rent-a-cop,” he sighed.

  Moments later, Spencer Bengal strode in and took a seat across the desk from the odious detective, who sneered at him. Tim gave him a look that seemed almost desperate when they passed one another.

  “Well, don’t this just make my night complete. Chas Beckett’s boy. I shoulda known. Don’t waste your breath, sonny. I know you’d do whatever you need to do to help Beckett out, but you don’t gotta worry about it. I cleared the wife, she ain’t a suspect, now run along back to the clubhouse, and give the folks a hug from big, bad Detective Solinsky.”

  Spencer stared at the sour little man for so long that the detective began to fidget under the clear blue gaze. Then he leaned forward, eyes still locked on Solinsky’s.

  “You’re going to listen to me, or it’ll be the end of your pathetic career, Solinsky. You’ve got a serial killer on the loose. And while you’re wasting time holding the wrong suspect. I’ve tracked the killer from Minnesota to Key West to here, with a few bloody stops along the way. I can assure you, the streets of this town will run red if you don’t drop your condescending, big-city attitude and listen to me,” the PI growled.

  Solinsky started to speak and Spencer silenced him with a glare, then opened a manila envelope that had photos in it which would turn the stomachs of most regular folk.

  “See these?” Spencer spread photos that he’d gathered from Timothy Eckels’s archives, as well as from the files of morticians and coroners all along the killer’s path, having circled some startling similarities. “Notice anything in common?”

  Solinsky gave the photos a cursory glance, then shrugged. “Buncha bloody stiffs. So what? See ‘em all the time in my line of work.”

  “Look closer,” Spencer’s tone somehow spurred compliance, as he pointed out strange leaf-shaped patches of skin that had been removed from each of the victims.

  “Yeah, so? What’s that got to do with Dallas Puxton? He didn’t have that done to him.”

  “Serial killers don’t necessarily follow the same pattern with every victim. For some reason the killer wanted to keep the fact that they’d killed Puxton a secret.”

  “A secret? Now serial killers are breaking from their established patterns and playing games?” Solinsky was skeptical. “Tell me, oh wise one… why would they do that?” he raised an eyebrow in a most patronizing manner.

  “Because the killer knew that there was someone in town who would be tipped off immediately if the piece of trophy skin was taken, and they’re wanting to remain hidden for the moment,” Spencer replied, ignoring the jibe.

  “Who would be tipped off?” Solinsky was suspicious now. “Don’t tell me that you’ve been taken in by that crackpot Eckels’s nonsense,” he scoffed.

  “Tim Eckels isn’t a crackpot, and his claims aren’t nonsense. He knows who the killer is, he knows why she’s here, and he knows what she’s capable of. I’ve just spent the last several days collecting data that proves this killer is one sick and ruthless individual. You can either get on board with helping to bring her to justice, or you can sit back with your wrongfully accused suspect while I do it. In either case, there’s a young woman who needs round-the-clock protection until this killer is caught,” Spencer insisted.

  Solinsky sighed and made a face as though he’d just experienced a bad episode of acid reflux. “Okay, sonny, I’ll humor you for a minute. I’ll pretend that your big bad serial killer actually exists, despite the fact that I have physical evidence linking Maria Rossman to the crime. Who is the bloodthirsty boogeyman wanting to snuff?”

  A vein pulsed in Spencer’s forehead, and the muscles at his jaw flexed. The part of him that had been well-trained for years by the U.S. government kept him in check and allowed him to squelch the impulse to dive across the desk and throttle the ignorant detective. As much as he hated having to work with him, he needed to get the job done, and working with him was better than working against him.

  He paused, swallowed, and forced himself to have a neutral tone of voice. “Fiona McCamish. She’s the killer’s target. The night nurse who was murdered either got in the killer’s way, or was used to send a message.”

  “And you know this how?” Solinsky looked bored.

  “Because she was missing a patch of skin in the shape of a leaf, and Tim Eckels verified that he’s seen the killer’s work before.”

  “How do we know that Eckels isn’t the killer?” Solinsky challenged. “Maybe you’ve bought into his nonsense and are now helping throw me off his tail. I mean, anything is possible, right?”

  “Timothy Eckels is married. His estranged wife, who was arrested for multiple murders years ago, escaped custody and has been on the rampage ever since,” Spencer laid his cards on the table, knowing that precious time was being wasted. “She’s left a trail of carnage from Minnesota to Florida, and seems to be a dark angel of sorts, wat
ching over her husband, despite his attempts to keep a low profile and elude her. She must have just recently found him, because there have been several deaths in the area where the victims had a signature leaf-shaped patch of skin missing. I’ve talked with dozens of morticians and coroners, and they all agree that the removals are done by someone who is quite skilled. Fiona McCamish is in danger because she is a woman who works closely with Tim, and apparently Susannah doesn’t appreciate that. The objects left at Fiona’s house were trophies from some of her kills. She’s been sending a very clear message, and we need to make certain that Fiona is protected.”

  “Susannah?”

  “Yes, Susannah Eckels. She’s dangerous, and she’s escalating her behaviors. We can’t waste time.”

  “Still doesn’t tie her to Dallas Puxton’s murder.”

  “According to the studies that the FBI has done on her, she has a problem with authority figures, particularly men who tend to be domineering. From what I’ve heard of Mr. Puxton, he’d be a prime target for Susannah.”

  “How would she have even had contact with him?”

  “Isn’t that what you should be out there right now finding out?” Spencer goaded him. “Trust me, Solinsky. Susannah is going down, one way or another. Either you do it, or I do it. On second thought, maybe we should just call in the FBI. Let them make the high-profile arrest in your jurisdiction. Wouldn’t that look great on your resume?” he got up from his chair, thoroughly disgusted. “You get some protection on Fiona McCamish. Anything happens to her, it’s on you, and I’ll make sure that everyone knows it when it hits the national news,” he said quietly, closing the door behind him.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  * * *

  Missy hadn’t heard from Angel Tucker in several days, and was hoping that the kind-hearted young woman would call, because she could really use the help. She had several orders that needed to be delivered this week, and with Spencer out of town, there was no one to make the deliveries. Her only alternative, if she couldn’t find someone to help out, would be to close the shop while she made the deliveries herself. She was in the middle of frosting the last three dozen cupcakes for a Boy Scout meeting when the bells over the front door sounded. Glancing at the clock above the doorway to the front, Missy grumbled a bit when she realized that, today of all days, she had customers who had come in despite the fact that it was clearly well before business hours. She sighed inwardly, put down her frosting bag, and hoped against hope that her early visitor might just be Echo, coming for coffee and a cupcake.