The Ghoul Next Door (24 page)

“We’re trying to solve this case and you’re
napping
?”

“I’m up now,” Gil said, a note of irritation in his voice.

“Did you do any research on Lester?”

Gil yawned again. “I found two men in the U. S. with that name. Neither of them lives or has lived in Massachusetts.”

“Crap,” I said.

“Is that all?”

“No. You owe me other stuff.”

“Like what?”

I felt my temper flare again. I just knew Gil was trying to be difficult, but because I was mad, I couldn’t immediately think of what I’d assigned to him, so my brain went right to the names on the two cards I held in my hand. “Heath and I think that Butcher Bill and Murdering Mike might’ve been active between the years nineteen seventy-six and roughly two thousand nine or ten.”

“Oh, that’ll be a snap to look up,” Gil said drily.

“Just see if there were any women murdered between those dates who might’ve had similar MOs to all the other victims. See if there were any girls stabbed on the streets late at night by unidentified suspects. Or even known suspects. Or even convicted criminals.”

“You don’t ask for much, do you?”

I sighed, trying to find a common theme between all the murders, and then I had one. “Gil, in all the murders that we know Sy the Slayer had a hand, the murder weapon was never found. Not even in Bethany’s case, which is weird because Dan Foster was arrested only an hour after her murder and he still had blood on his clothes and hands.”

“Luke didn’t come home with a knife either,” Gil pointed out.

“Yeah, but I’m still not convinced he did it. Anyway, plug that into the search.”

I’d been staring at the list of killers from the closet and, getting an idea, switched my gaze over to the index cards of all the murdered women. “You know, the victims might also be a link. All the women were white, but I think they might’ve ranged in hair color.” I’d seen a photo of Bethany, who was blond, and Brook, who had brown hair. “Still the ages aren’t too far apart. Brook was the oldest at thirty, but all the others were in their late teens or somewhere in their twenties. And maybe there’s something about their build—see if the known victims were all around the same height and weight.”

I could hear Gilley scribbling down some notes and I was happy he seemed to finally be taking this seriously.

“Okay,” he said. “That it?”

“For now.”

“Good. Can you get me something to eat?”

“Are you kidding?”

“No. Remember? You owe me.”

I sighed heavily to let him know he was pushing it with me, but I also had to admit that he sort of had a point. “Fine. What is it you’d like, your royal highmaintenance?”

Gil gave me his order and I took Heath’s lunch order too and he said he was going out for quick run while I was picking up lunch. I was glad because I didn’t want him to be alone in the condo, where I couldn’t get to him quickly if I needed to. About the time I was pulling up to the deli, I realized I’d left my phone behind in my messenger bag. I’d only grabbed my wallet on my way out.

I had to suffer through what felt like a long wait while my order was prepared—there’s nothing worse than realizing you’ve left behind your electronic tether.

At last I had the order and raced home. I breathed a sigh of relief when I passed Heath on his way back to the condo and I had to marvel at the beauty of the man as he ran. Heath has an amazing stride. He moves so lithely, so effortlessly, he’s like a gazelle. It’s amazing to watch. I waited for him in the parking lot and he glided in and smiled when he spotted me. “You were really flying,” I said as he slowed to a stop. The turkey wasn’t even breathing hard.

Heath checked his watch. “It’s a perfect day,” he said. “I always run better when it’s cool.”

I took a peek at his time. “A six-twenty pace?” I said. “Whoa!”

He wound an arm around my shoulders. “I was having fun.”

“I’m totally slowing you down,” I said. “No more running together.”

Heath made a derisive noise. “The only thing better than really opening up on a day like today is running with you, babe.”

That made me feel all warm and googley inside.

We checked in with Gilley on our way upstairs, and after handing him his lunch, he said, “Who do you love?”

“You apparently,” I replied, reading his expression well.

“Yes. Yes, you do!”

“What’d you find?”

“Not what. Who. I found Butcher Bill.”

“Get out!”

“Before or after I tell you about Billy Boy?” Gil said, rocking back on his heels.

“After. Spill it, Gillespie.”

“Well,” Gil said, dragging it out even longer. “I believe Bill the Butcher is actually Bill Radcliff, who was convicted of murdering two women, Heidi and Paula Kennedy, sisters who shared a house on Stoughton Street just a half block down from the rental house.”

“When was this?” I asked, interrupting Gil.

“The girls were murdered in late June nineteen eighty-two. Bill had a fixation with one of the girls and they went out a couple of times. By all accounts he turned into a stalker and one night he caught Heidi out at night walking home from the train station. He followed her nearly to her door before stabbing her, and while he was in the middle of the attack, her little sister, Paula, came running out of the house to stop him and he stabbed her too.

“She lingered in a coma for a few days afterward, and they thought she’d pull through, but she developed an infection and died in the hospital after telling the police who the attacker was.”

“Where’s Radcliff now?” Heath asked.

“Don’t know,” Gil said.

I eyed Gil sharply. “Wait. I thought you said he’d been convicted of the girls’ murders?”

“He was,” Gil said. “He spent twenty-five years in the state pen and was released two years ago. I was able to confirm through the newspaper article that he lived in the house on Stoughton at the time of the murder, but there’s nothing other than his prison address since then. I also can’t find a record of him online, but that doesn’t mean much. He would’ve been behind bars during the tech revolution, so I doubt he has a smartphone.”

“So how do we find him?”

“We could try to find out through his parole officer, but those guys don’t usually give out that kind of info without a damn good reason.”

“I’d say Brook Astor’s murder is a damn good reason,” Heath said.

Gil made a face. “Try convincing his parole officer that Bill had a hand in a murder where another guy’s currently awaiting trial. A guy who was found covered in the victim’s blood, hiding in the upstairs bedroom of a house just down the street from the murder scene moments after the killing.”

I sighed. “See what you can find out, Gil, okay?”

“Oh, you know it,” he said. “Right after I eat.”

“Of course,” I said, and couldn’t hide a slight grin. I was willing to cut him a little slack because he had helped us come up with another viable suspect for Brook’s murder. Then I thought of something else. “Did you maybe get any other details about him or the murder, Gil? Like, was the murder weapon found? Or if he was maybe right-handed?”

“Don’t know about the right-handed or left-handed characteristic, but I was able to learn that the murder weapon was never found. At least from what I read in the article, it was never recovered.”

“Well, that takes care of number five. What about number six on our list of mystery killers: Murdering Mike?”

“So far, he’s a complete mystery. Of course, if you look at the photo of the closet, his name is low and close to Sy’s, so maybe that means something.”

“Like what?” Heath asked while Gil moved to the kitchen to get some plates for our meal.

“Well, it could mean that the closet is somewhat chronological. If you look closely, you’ll see that Sy’s name is the lowest, then Mike’s, then Guy’s, then Bill’s, Dan’s, and Ken’s, then Luke’s.”

“Ken killed Gracie before Dan killed Bethany,” Heath said.

“Yeah, I know, it’s not perfect, but maybe those two got a little confused when they wrote their names in the closet. It looks a little like a tree, though, when you just look at the image. I think that maybe Mike may be one of our older killers.”

“Okay,” I said. “Run with that theory and see what you can come up with. If you’re right, then you’ll want to look for someone maybe in the sixties or even earlier. And if that’s the case, then maybe we can rule him out due to age.”

Gil nibbled on a potato chip. “I wish I could find this Lester Atkins,” he said. “Or who that freaking house belongs to.”

“What did you guys find out about it?” I asked, remembering that Gil and Kendra had been left to that task when I’d bolted the day before.

“Not much.”

“How much is not much?” I pressed, because Gil was looking guilty.

“We blew off the search right after you left and went to find food and drink.”

I sighed. “Well, I’d appreciate it if you called Kendra and gave the search another go.” As that came out of my mouth, I remembered that I still hadn’t heard from her. Reflexively I patted my rear pocket. Then I remembered that I’d left my cell upstairs in my messenger bag. I excused myself and headed up to retrieve it. There was a message from Kendra. I tapped the voice mail as I hurried back down the stairs. “Hey, M.J., listen, I’m always careful when I’m working this kind of a story, and you can explain all you want about this morning, but first I think I’ve figured out the link between this Sy the Slayer and the Stoughton Street house. I’ve got a deadline to make and some other stuff to run down first, though, so plan to meet me in the parking lot of the nursing home across from the hospital a little later. I’ll call you after three with the time and I’ll fill you in when we meet up.”

I walked back into Gilley’s place and told the guys about Kendra’s message. “Does that mean I don’t have to call her and go back to that dungeon?” Gil asked.

“Dunno, Gil. Depends on what she tells me this afternoon.” I then heard a beep and looked at my phone. “Dammit,” I said as an image of the battery popped up with a red stripe across the bottom.

“What?” Heath asked.

“My phone’s out of juice. Gil, you got a charger nearby?”

“On the counter,” he said. “You can take mine off,” he added. “I’ll put it back on later.”

I put my phone on the charger and stared at it a little frustrated. There wasn’t any other lead we could track down before I talked to Kendra, and I really wanted to go for a run to work off some of my anxiety, but I didn’t want to leave the condo without a phone. “Gil?”

“Yeah?”

“Can I borrow your phone while I go for a run?”

Gilley narrowed his eyes at me. “No way, M.J. If memory serves me, I believe you’re on your fourth phone in less than a year and they’re crazy expensive. You have a habit of destroying your gizmos and I need that phone. Besides, my charge was pretty much out too, and as I just plugged it in when you went upstairs to get yours, I don’t think there’s enough battery for you to use it.”

“What’s with all our phones not holding charges?” I said.

“Can probably blame it on Sy,” Heath said, before he pulled his own phone out of his pocket and handed it to me. “Here,” he said. “Take it.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah,” he said. “I’m gonna stay here and keep an eye on things.” He motioned subtly with his chin to Gil, and I understood. Gil was likely to get tired of wearing his vest at some point and Heath wanted to be nearby should Sy show up unexpectedly.

“Maybe I shouldn’t go,” I said.

“Oh, you should go,” Heath said. “Besides, there’s not much we can do on this case until you hear back from Kendra. Go for a run. It’ll do a lot to settle you.”

I leaned forward and kissed him. “Thanks, sweetie.”

Gilley yawned loudly as he sat back and gave a pat to his full belly. “Y’all do your thing. I’m gonna get in another nap.”

I waved to them and headed out.

The run was just what I needed and I went a little longer than I’d planned. Heath was right. It was the perfect day for a good long run. When I got back to the condo, I snuck into Gilley’s place and saw him sleeping comfortably on the couch, his vest draped over him like a blanket. I tiptoed over to my phone and took it off the charger, plugged in his, then headed upstairs, where I found Heath on the computer typing away. “How was your run?” he asked absently.

“Really good. You were right. It’s a gorgeous day.”

Heath didn’t say anything else and I walked over to peer over his shoulder. “What’cha doing?”

“I’m digging into Murdering Mike. Gilley showed me how to get into this database where I could fish around for anything that might look like it could fit.”

“He taught you how to do his dirty work, huh?”

“He’s a talented hacker,” Heath said. “And I’m a quick learner.”

“Any luck?”

Heath sighed; sitting back, he swept a long lock of hair out of his eyes. “Nothing yet. I’ve been going year by year, and I’m almost done with the sixties. Although, there was a string of murders that went unsolved close to that neighborhood, but the women were all strangled.”

I shook my head. “In every other case the women were stabbed and/or their throats were slashed,” I said. “Doesn’t fit that Sy would get the men he possessed to change methods.”

“My thinking too.”

“The thing that puzzles me is this elusive murder weapon. I mean, has anyone done any kind of comparison to the wounds of the other murders? I know it sounds crazy, but what if, in each case, it was the same murder weapon?”

Heath’s brow furrowed. “You think?”

I shrugged. “It could be,” I said. “I mean, how else is it that in every single case the knife used just vanishes? What if the knife originally belonged to Sy, and he has the men use it to murder these women and then he has them stash it in a familiar place to him so that the next killer can find it?”

“The only familiar place it could be would be the house on Stoughton,” Heath said, and I could see an idea sparking in his eyes. “You up for a road trip over to that house to snoop around again?”

I checked my watch. It was almost three. Kendra was going to call me soon to tell me what time to meet up, but I could certainly go with Heath and root around with him. “Okay, but if Kendra calls, we may have to go meet her.”