The Numbers Killer Page 4

  As soon as he saw her standing in his doorway with the gun, he knew exactly why she was there. And he didn’t want to die. He begged her not to kill him. “Please. Please don’t do it. I didn’t see anything,” he insisted. And when she came closer, gripping the gun with all her might lest it drop from her shaking, sweating hands, he kept on pleading with her, sounding more desperate, more stricken with each second. “I won’t testify. I promise. I’ll just forget everything I saw, and I’ll disappear, somewhere far away, where no one will ever find me. I won’t tell. I promise I won’t tell.”

  Yeah, right. As if she believed him.

  Danny hadn’t been lying. Todd Meiser had seen her. He knew what she had done. Which meant they all did. And it sounded like he’d already formulated a plan to tell the authorities.

  Beth shivered. Thank goodness she had gotten to him first.

  She was so freaked out when she left his house, she didn’t even think to steal anything. She’d barely noticed her surroundings and couldn’t even recall anything about his home. But the image of his desperate eyes and the sound of his begging—those were seared into her memory.

  Her thoughts were jerked back into the present when a man and woman around her age blocked the entire sidewalk by holding hands with fully extended arms. Instead of walking around them, Beth stopped to watch. The woman peered into a furniture store window without letting go of him, then laughed as he twirled her around and into his arms. They kissed. It seemed to happen in slow motion, like a scene from a movie. The couple reminded Beth of Jason and Kelly Smith. Those foolish lovebirds now had every reason to appreciate their last few days. Too bad for them, they didn’t know those days were numbered, but it didn’t seem to matter. They’d acted unrealistically happy every time she saw them.

  Beth pretended she was also interested in the strange contemporary art chairs in the display window while she thought about the Smiths and spied on the hand-holding couple out of the corner of her eye. A pang of jealousy struck her, followed by a deep sadness, a hard pit forming inside her stomach. Her life could have been like that of the smiling woman in front of her. Wait—it still could be. It wasn’t too late. But it was never going to happen if she went to jail.

  The door to a café opened and a family exited together. A little girl held her mother’s hand, both wore matching yellow sun dresses. Beth wove around them, past a souvenir shop, a coffee store, and a donut store. In front of her, someone held the pink, brown and orange waxed bag she remembered from when she was young. Her father used to bring home bagels and coffee for him and her mother and donuts for Beth and her sister. Strawberry frosted with sprinkles used to be her favorite. Every Sunday he did this, to make up for his binge drinking the night before, until he left them for good.

  Without thinking, she stopped and backtracked into the store, looking over her shoulder. Brightly lit bins of colorful donuts filled the shelves. She scanned each neat row. Blueberry cake, nine of them. Double chocolate, eight. Boston Krème, seven. Powdered Sugar, thirteen. There were no strawberry frosted donuts on the shelves. Maybe the donut store didn’t make them anymore.

  “What can I get you?” asked the unsmiling, acne-ridden boy behind the counter.

  “Two double chocolate.” She peeled a folded bill out of her jacket pocket and handed it over in exchange for the donut bag. She moved to a corner booth and sat down with her back to the rest of the store. Removing the first donut from the bag, she stared at it before finally taking a small bite, savoring the sweet richness. The next bite was bigger. She chewed faster, counting. Four chews, a swallow, and a bite. Four chews, a swallow, and a bite. All of it happening with a mechanical efficiency as if she had been given a maximum amount of time to consume the food.

  The second donut didn’t taste as good as the first. She gulped it down with a furtive glance toward the door. She was almost finished with it when Danny’s barking smashed her reverie. “What the hell are you doing here?”

  The remaining donut dropped from her hand and onto the table. She stared at it as heat flooded her face. “You’re following me?”

  “Do you have any self-control? You have a job to do. Get to it. Before they get away and you can’t even find them.”

  “I know what I’m doing,” she hissed. A fat man in a navy-blue T-shirt with Munchkins and a large coffee stared at her, one eyebrow raised.

  “Oh, yeah?” Danny laughed, a mean sounding huffing noise. “How long do you think a body can stay in the woods before it starts to smell?”

  An uncomfortable electric current shot through her brain again, just like it had in the hotel bathroom. Beth jumped out of her chair and ran toward the ladies’ restroom, counting her strides. The fat man watched her run past.

  “Don’t run away from me,” Danny yelled after her.

  She locked the door and crouched down on the dirty cement floor in front of the toilet. She gagged once. Twice. The third gag released a hot lumpy torrent of brown processed carbs.

  She gasped and tried to catch her breath. Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, she slumped down on the dirty floor, her face hot and clammy, an irritating vibration occurring inside her, like she’d drunk one too many Red Bulls. Her breath came in hitching gasps. She shuddered and dropped her sweaty head back against the wall, letting her knees rest against the toilet. Her esophagus burned, and the taste of vomit repulsed her.

  I hate you, Danny.

  Chapter Five

  Beth hurried back to the Vista View hotel, focused on what she needed to do next. Danny wasn’t there. She brushed her teeth and rinsed her mouth before her stomach acid ate its way through her tooth enamel and she needed to visit the dentist again. So much for the walk making her feel better. She hadn’t set out to eat donuts and vomit, but hey, she hadn’t set out to become a killer either. Look at me now! Ha! She laughed aloud, without the slightest sense that anything was funny. I may be a killer, but I’m not going to jail.

  After a bit of research on the internet—two YouTube videos on how to load a gun—Beth took the weapon apart. She filled the magazine with new bullets, painfully pinching her finger somehow during the process. Seeing the gun in pieces made her temporarily vulnerable, but it had to be done to make sure it was full. She wasn’t going to be like the dumb asses in horror movies who walked away from their kill before it was really dead. Those who didn’t or couldn’t finish the job almost always ended up being sorry. The magazine slid back into place with a loud click. She sighed with relief. Good work. Using a tissue, she scraped a sticky dark splotch from the muzzle. Danny’s gun was quickly becoming her good friend.

  Without changing her clothes, she grabbed her laptop and keys and hurried back to her car, hoping to avoid Danny. She drove back to the same spot they had parked in last night. She would wait. It would only be a matter of time before someone came out. Had to be. She’d done her research.

  Only a few empty spaces separated her from the Smiths’ shiny red Jeep, waiting dutifully and somehow looking as irritatingly cheerful as its owners. Kelly Smith hadn’t posted anything else yesterday, not since sharing a picture of her fresh manicure, a deep dark purple, almost black, with tiny silver moons on two of her nails. Maybe Jason had bombed his sales pitch and Kelly just wasn’t in the mood to pretend their life was one big, happy, romantic adventure. Because no one’s was. But from what Beth had seen of the Smiths, they were doing a commendable job fooling everyone. And it had to be an act, didn’t it? Or were they still in bed, holding hands, legs intertwined, snuggling under the covers after making love? Was Jason whispering in a sexy voice that she was the only woman for him? The only woman he needed? The only woman he would ever love? Were they so happy they didn’t even notice that the hotel was a dump?

  Beth cringed, scrunching up her nose in disgust. Even with the windows down, the pungent smell of her unwashed body wafted through the car. Wishing she had showered, she gnawed at her cuticles one finger at a time until she drew blood. She frowned and closed her hand into a fist, a
s if that could repair the ragged mess. Danny would find something nasty to say about it. Oh yeah…she didn’t care what Danny thought any more. To hell with him. She stretched out her fingers, the flaking pink polish in dire need of a fresh coat. She smiled. Killing each witness may have been his idea originally, but she was the one doing it now.

  Lucky for her, the Sonesta Hotel hadn’t been booked to capacity and the back side was barely occupied.

  What’s wrong, people? The Sonesta isn’t your cup of tea? Was it the ugly carpets? The lobby from the seventies? Afraid you’ll go the way of Jack Torrance in the The Shining when you get there? No reason to worry…it’s only me following in his footsteps. Just me. Jason and Kelly Smith are having a fricking second honeymoon in there…I’m the only one sitting alone in my car, counting the seconds, counting the future corpses, and waiting to kill the next person on my list.

  One down, six to go.

  She viewed her surroundings. The parking lot was quiet. She was still alone. Sighing, she woke up her cell and pressed the news icon. Her feed contained mostly national headlines—politics and more politics, Russia, China, trials for people whose names she recognized but nothing more, food recalls, accusations against politicians—articles she’d never cared about and never would. She read about one celebrity’s suicide and another’s overdose, then moved on, tapping and swiping and occasionally looking up, until a story grabbed her undivided attention. She stopped chewing on her nails and bit down on the tip of her finger, holding it tight between her teeth as she read the headline written to grab everyone’s attention—Homicide in broad daylight, victim shot inside his own kitchen!

  Todd Meiser had been found.

  Beth smiled, and wished Danny was there to witness her achievement. She played the accompanying video, staring intently at the image of Meiser’s street lined with police cruisers, a television station van, two black SUVs, and a crowd of spectators. The scene was jumping with activity, a whole lot busier than earlier in the day.

  The camera honed in on two people wearing gray suits and white shirts. They were walking away from Meiser’s house. The woman was very pretty, but there was also a steely determination in her eyes, a seriousness that said, “don’t mess with me or you’ll be sorry.” Her eyes drew Beth in like magnets. She was slim but muscular with flawless skin, perfect eyebrows, and a pert nose; one that had never been broken like Beth’s. Her silky, shoulder length blonde hair parted to one side.

  The handsome man beside her had short dark hair and a chiseled chin. If he tore off his shirt and posed, he could grace the cover of one of Beth’s steamy romance novels. The couple stood a few feet away from each other while the female reporter asked them a question. The blonde introduced herself and Mr. Sexy as Agent Victoria Heslin and Agent Dante Rivera.

  Agents?

  The reporter asked them what they had found inside the house. She looked excited and sounded almost breathless. And all because of Beth.

  Beth leaned forward, absorbing every bit of the scene. This was all about her! They were all gathered there because of her. The reporter wanted to tell the world what she’d done. What would the agents say? What did they think about Todd Meiser’s death? Did they find any clues? That last thought wiped a bit of the grin from her face.

  The agents said nothing about what they had discovered inside, nothing at all, although they were professional and polite and sure looked damn good doing it, and then it seemed the interview was cut short as the reporter asked another question.

  That was it? Really? That was all they had to share? Perhaps they just needed more time before they could tell people what they found. And anyway, why was the FBI there? Didn’t they only get called to work special cases?

  Beth watched the video again, this time focusing more on Agent Rivera. He had a tough edge to match his hard body and projected a comfortable confidence in his suit, but it was something about the way he watched his partner that caused a stir deep inside her. A pang of . . . what was it . . . longing? She recognized what she’d seen in him. Something that was sorely lacking in her life, but she still knew it when she saw it. He cared about that woman. It was obvious. Did Agent Heslin feel the same about him?

  She played the short video clip two more times, scrutinizing the agents. FBI agent—that was an unusual occupation for a woman. Beth felt a kindred spirit with Agent Heslin. They were both special. Even if Beth didn’t have anyone to tell her so. Even if Danny sometimes went above and beyond to tell her otherwise. She and Agent Heslin even looked a little alike. They both had blonde hair. Beth’s came from a box at Walmart, but that didn’t matter.

  Beth unzipped her purse and fished around for her comb. After combing her hair forward, she changed her part from the middle to the side. Turning her head right and left, she studied herself in the rear-view mirror, eventually tucking her hair behind her left ear just like Agent Heslin. With one last glance at her new look, she settled back against the driver’s seat and shut off her phone. But images of the agents replayed in her mind.

  The air inside the car was stagnant and stale. She opened the windows to let in some cold, fresh air, started the engine and the heat to counter the chill, and plugged her phone charger into the cigarette lighter. She fiddled with one of the studs on the top of her ear, twirling it until it started to hurt. Bored, she typed Agent Victoria Heslin into her browser and opened the agent’s FBI profile and headshot. She was really beautiful. And obviously smart. You could see it in her eyes. No wonder Agent Sexy respected her. And a Georgetown grad. Fancy, fancy. There wasn’t much else in the profile. She closed out and returned to the other links, opening one that intrigued her.

  Well, what do you know! Who would have thunk it!

  Victoria Heslin, the lovely FBI agent, was also the daughter of Gardener and “the late” Abigail Heslin and heir to the massive Heslin family fortune. Beth huffed at their elegant picture, a beautiful family with one of those tall skinny hounds on each side. The mother, daughter, and the son all had the same golden blonde hair. The father was handsome, with a strong jaw and an air of importance to him. His thick silver hair had probably been cut and his face shaved in one of those salons for rich guys. Their smiles were relaxed and self-assured. Like it was nothing to be part of this strikingly beautiful family, dressed and groomed to sophistication, perfectly posed, right down to the dogs. Nothing at all.

  Beth sneered. Agent Heslin was damn lucky.

  But now the mother, Abigail, who didn’t look very old, was dead. Why? But even more interesting than that question, she wondered what compelled Agent Victoria Heslin to track down criminals if she didn’t even have to work. Earlier that very morning, when Beth fled through Todd Meiser’s front door, doing her best to choke back the overwhelming urge to vomit, Todd had looked like something straight out of a gory horror flick. Who would choose to visit dirty, disgusting crime scenes day after day, buzzing with flies crawling on corpses and stinking of blood and puke and urine? Who’d do that when they could be sipping a piña colada on daddy’s yacht in the Caribbean?

  Beth shook her head and stretched out her fingers, gazing through the window. What would she do if she were rich like that? If she could do anything at all and didn’t have to scramble to make ends meet? Inhaling deeply through her nose, she let her imagination run wild. First, she’d make up a new identity. Disappear completely. And once she got there—massages. Definitely. Swedish massages every week, maybe every other day. And facials. And vacations at luxurious resorts surrounded by celebrities. She’d get a new nose, a perfect nose like Victoria Heslin. And a new car. One with valid license plates so she didn’t have to constantly worry. She slapped the steering wheel. This piece of crap would be the first thing she’d leave behind. After Danny, that is. Unless he wanted to come with her.

  An older man and woman exited through the front entrance, jolting her from her daydream. The Cossmans, room 383, on their way to an afternoon hike with their two mangy little fur balls. They’d told their families and fri
ends as much on Facebook, right above yesterday’s image of them smiling with a waterfall as the backdrop. Hands full with bags and water bottles, they crossed the parking lot, their faces animated as they alternated speaking and smiling. At least they would die happy. If they really were. Who really knew just how many times Robert Cossman had betrayed his wife when they were younger. Beth didn’t know he had, but she didn’t know he hadn’t.

  After both dogs walked in ridiculous circles and peed, and after the couple took their sweet time arranging stuff inside their Subaru Outback, they were on the move. Beth started her car and pulled out of the lot after them.

  As expected, after a few miles, their little SUV made a left from the business road, onto a long, winding country road with gradually increasing elevation. They drove past picturesque farms, and rustic barns, and fields of fat cows grazing on grass made exceptionally green by the recent rains. How far away was this National Park place? Beth grimaced. All of it smelled like manure. She’d never been an outdoorsy person.

  Would Agent Heslin and her handsome partner be the ones called to the scene once someone found the Cossmans? Beth sure hoped so. Perhaps she should leave a message for Heslin. The idea intrigued her. But what should she say?

  Beating a red light by a fraction of a second, the Cossmans drove straight through a small-town intersection. Beth flexed her foot, about to ram the gas, noticed the police cruiser on the other side, and slammed on the brakes instead.

  “Damn it!” She drummed her fingers against the dashboard. Two, four, six, eight, two four, six, eight . . . “Come on. Come on. I can’t lose them.”

  She had to keep herself from going to jail, she had something big to prove, and now she had a new, added purpose. If she wanted to get to know Agent Heslin better, she had to hurry up and create another crime scene.