The Choir Director 2 (27 page)

“Tia, I'm not a murderer!” he yelled desperately. “It was an accident!”

I loved this man more than anything, but it hurt my heart to see him in such denial about the truth. He was stuck on something that happened ten years ago, as if everything he'd done in the last month had never occurred.

“Aaron, this is not about the car accident. This is about you killing three men in cold blood.”

He flinched as if I had slapped him in the face, then sat there quietly for a second. I assumed that in that moment he was deciding whether to come clean. “What are you talking about?” He chose the path of further deception, assuring me that I was making the right decision.

“You don't have to pretend with me anymore,” I said. “I went back to Mark King's house today.”

“Why would you do that?” There was a hint of anger behind his question, as if he felt I had betrayed him somehow by going there.

“I don't know. Something just didn't sit right with me, the way everything got tied up so neatly. I mean, the woman who murdered Pippie and almost killed you…why would she take it upon herself to kill the men who raped me? I couldn't stop asking myself that question.”

He had a look of fear in his eyes, like I was too close to the truth that he hadn't wanted me to know. He tried to stop me from saying it, to convince me I was wrong. “Tia, why are you doing this? Pippie had a bloody
R
on his head just like the others, and you know for a fact that Lynn killed Pippie. I don't know why she killed those other men, but she was crazy. Crazy people do crazy things.”

I sighed, wishing it really was that simple. “I know. I tried to convince myself that she was just crazy, but then I had to ask myself one question: Why would she have left Mark King's mother alive? If she was just killing to be killing, then why would she let one go?”

“Tia—”

I cut him off. “Aaron, stop. You can't change the truth. I spoke to Mark's mother today. She told me everything.” I got up and started to put on my clothes. Aaron lay back down on the bed, sheer devastation written on his face.

“You know, I didn't go in there thinking this had anything to do with you,” I said. “To tell you the truth, I didn't know what I was going to find there. Her son was a monster, but I knew that she had to be hurting because of his death, and something made me want to see her again.

“Do you know she apologized to me for mourning her son's death? She knew what he'd done to me, and she said she knew he deserved to die, but she couldn't help but still love him. That was her child.

“And then do you know what she said? She said ‘You have someone who loves you that deeply, too, you know.' I had no idea what she was talking about. I thought maybe her grief made her crazy or something too. But then she said, ‘The boy with the pretty smile and the dimples, he loves you that much.'”

I was crying now. “And that's when I knew it was you. She told me how it went down too. You went in there after I left, and you took things to a whole other level. All that time I thought I was losing my mind, freaking out about cars that weren't really following me…It was you, wasn't it? You were following me, and you killed the men who raped me.”

“But I did it for you!” he cried out. “Those men didn't deserve to live.”

“No one knows that better than me, Aaron, but it wasn't your decision to make. Don't you think I could have killed them if I wanted to? Believe me, I came close, but in the end, I realized that only God gets to decide who lives or dies. I didn't want to become a monster myself, and now I can't be married to one.”

“Tia, please, don't do this.”

“She's not going to tell the cops, and neither am I,” I said, ignoring his plea. “I just can't marry you.”

“Tia, I love you.”

“I know that.”

He got up and grabbed hold of my arm, begging, “Please don't leave me.”

“I don't have a choice,” I told him, removing myself from his grip.

“We can get past this,” he insisted. “You'll see. One day it will be as if none of this ever happened.”

“No, it happened, and we can't change any of it—not my rape, and not the murders—but I intend to leave it all behind. I wouldn't be able to do that if I married you. This tragedy would be at the center of our marriage forever. I will pray every day for their souls, for yours, and for mine, but I'm moving on, Aaron.”

I walked toward the door, stopping to take one last look at him. “I do need to know one thing, though.”

“What's that?”

“How did you do it? When you were following me, I kept losing your tail, but you always seemed to find out where I was. How?”

“When I bought your iPhone last Christmas I added the Find My iPhone app.”

What he said made sense, except for one thing. “But I changed my number.”

“You never changed the phone. As long as the phone was on, I could log in and find you.”

I nodded my understanding. He stood there with tears streaming down his face as I opened the door. “Good-bye, Aaron.”

“I can't do this,” he said. “I can't say good-bye. I won't be able to see you every day around the church and just pretend like we were never in love. I'll have to leave the church.”

“Aaron, we will never be together again, but one thing will never change: I will always love you.” I left him standing there, feeling at peace with my decision. Feeling like I would finally be all right.

1. Were you surprised when Tia left Aaron at the altar? 
   
2. Did you think Tia's dream was reality? 
   
3. Did you think Aaron was going to sleep with Desiree? 
   
4. What were your thoughts on Jackson? Did you think he was in charge? 
   
5. Did you realize who gave Ross an STD? 
   
6. Who was crazier: Lynn or Desiree? 
   
7. How did you feel when Pippie died, and did you think Tia killed him? 
   
8. If you were the bishop, would you have left Monique? 
   
9. Would you have taken things to the same level as Aaron if you were him? 
   
10. Was the
    Choir Director 2
    what you expected? Did it live up to its predecessor? 
    
11. What do you think is next for Aaron? 
    

 

 

September in New York City

It was one of those muggy Indian summer nights, where Detective Sergeant Dan Thomas of the 113th Precinct in Queens sat at his desk thinking about his latest case. He was now in his third hour of overtime, and it didn't look like he was going home anytime soon to splash around in his new pool with wife number two as he'd promised. He'd just left a horrific crime scene, where a local man had been found dead in his apartment, burned beyond recognition. Both his partner and lieutenant had already come to the conclusion that this was probably some unfortunate accident, or perhaps even a suicide, but Dan's gut told him different. It told him this was a homicide, and in all his years on the job, his instincts had never led him astray. So instead of heeding the advice of his lieutenant and letting the case go until morning, Detective Thomas sent his partner to the fire marshal's office to see if she could find out the exact cause of the fire. He also had a couple of uniformed officers bring in some of the dead man's neighbors for routine questioning. Maybe one of them would be able to shed light on the situation. Thus far, they'd only turned out to be concerned citizens, singing “Kumbaya” and praising the deceased as if he were the next messiah, but Detective Thomas wasn't convinced.

Nobody's this well loved,
he thought.

“Dan,” his partner, Detective Keisha Anderson, called as she entered the squad room waving a folder. She was panting, as if she'd literally run the entire way from the fire marshal's office. “I gotta give it to you, partner. Your instincts were right on as usual. Fire marshal said it was definitely not an accident. They can't tell exactly what started it right now, but someone used an accelerant to start the fire so they could contain it to one room.”

Thomas nodded his approval. “Nice work, Anderson. Those idiots over at the fire marshal's office usually take two weeks to get us anything relevant. What'd you do, promise to sleep with one of them?” Thomas laughed.

“Nope, promised you would,” his partner replied with a laugh of her own. “Big, burly guy named Sullivan. He said he likes to be on top, so you're catching tonight, not pitching.” Thomas gave her the finger, and she shot back, “Hey, just thought you might wanna be prepared.”

Anderson handed Thomas the file, then sat on the arm of a nearby chair as she waited for him to read it. When he finished, Thomas looked up, trying to hide a vindicated smile that spread across his thin lips. He'd call the wife and tell her the pool would have to wait. Once again, his intuition had been spot-on.

He looked over at his partner.

“So where do we go from here?” she asked as Thomas got up from his chair.

Thomas didn't say a word. He gestured for Anderson to follow him as he headed toward another room. Once inside, he pulled back a curtain that revealed a large picture window, which served as a two-way mirror.

“You wanna know where we go from here, Anderson?” Thomas asked as he stared at the five people sitting on the other side of the glass. “For starters, we're going to drill each one of them until we find out who the murderer is.”

Walking away from the glass, Thomas retrieved a small notepad from his suit jacket and began flipping through pages. His partner watched the five suspects. They were all eating fried chicken from Popeyes and drinking soda and coffee ordered by the lieutenant and paid for by New York City taxpayers.

“I don't know, Dan. They all look like one big, happy family.” She shrugged. “What makes you think one of them is a murderer? I mean, there's still the possibility of suicide.”

“Possible, but not probable. This guy didn't kill himself, and my gut tells me one of them did the job for him.”

Thomas walked back over to the window next to Anderson, and they observed the group on the other side.

“What do you mean? What do you see that I don't? To me they all look pretty normal, more like the guy or girl next door than killers.” Anderson's eyes went from the group to Thomas and then back to the two-way mirror again.

“Maybe, but you've been on the job long enough to know that looks can be deceiving. I see five people who are hiding something.”

“Hiding something like what? They all look content.”

“If you had just lost a member of your ‘big, happy family,' as you put it, would you still be sitting here, smiling and laughing while enjoying your food? Or would you be genuinely broken up about it?”

She scanned the group again. “Yeah, I guess you're right. I never thought of it like that. The only one remotely upset is the kid.”

“Mm-hmm,” Thomas said. “It's like when the troublemaker of the family dies. Everyone shows up at the funeral for protocol. Do you see any tears being shed for that man in there, Anderson?”

“Nope, I haven't seen anything more than a few crocodile tears. All I see is a bunch of people getting fat on the city's dime.” She folded her arms. “So, who do you think looks good for it? They can't all be in on it.”

“No, but my guess is that it's one of the two ladies. A gruesome murder like this could only be a crime of passion. It's not an easy thing to light a person on fire and burn them to a crisp. Not unless you really hate them.”

Anderson nodded her agreement. “Which one?”

“Take your choice.” Thomas glanced down at his notepad, then at the very scantily clad woman at the end of the table. “The neighborhood gossip said the deceased had a history with them both. Word is the pretty young thing over there is a schoolteacher, but I ain't never had a teacher who looked like that.”

“Me neither. What was her connection to the deceased?”

“From what I'm hearing, jilted lover.”

“Now that, my friend, would give her motive,” Anderson reasoned. “But if that's the case, why are you even looking at the other one?”

“You mean the fat ass?” Thomas said without missing a beat.

“Dan!” Anderson snapped at his lack of political correctness, then added under her breath, “Although she does have one hell of a donkey butt.”

“No, I'm not saying she's a fat ass. That's what the deceased called her in front of the entire neighborhood this morning.”

“Damn. I'd kill a motherfucker for that shit myself.”

This time Anderson managed to get a laugh out of Thomas. “Exactly my point.”

Anderson shook her head and then moved on to the next suspect. “If I had to put my money on somebody, I'd put it on him.” She pointed at the handsome man sitting next to a young college-aged kid. “You do realize that Cliff Huxtable over there is a fireman. And who would know more about setting a controlled fire than him?”

“Nobody, except maybe a fireman's son.” They both turned toward the boy.

“Isn't he like some straight-A genius or something like that?”

“Mm-hmm, and so was the Craigslist Killer. That same gossip I spoke to said that he and the deceased spent a lot of time together in the deceased's apartment—until they had a falling out.”

“What about him?” Anderson pointed to a thin, light-skinned man in his late twenties wearing a well-tailored suit and a silk tie. He had a plateful of chicken in front of him but never took a bite. “Why does Mr. Shirt and Tie look so nervous?”

“Him? Not sure, but he's the jilted lover's current boyfriend, and I hear him and our victim had a lot of beef over the girlfriend.”

“Ohhhh. I've handled more than my share of love triangle cases. He could easily turn out to be our number one suspect.” She shook her head uncertainly. “I just don't know, though…”

“What's there to know?” He looked his partner in the eye. “Like I said, one of those people in that room is a murderer. Now all we have to do is figure out which one.”