The sun was cresting over the tree line when Lester pulled the van into his driveway, parking it in the usual spot. He sat behind the wheel for a few minutes collecting his thoughts in anticipation of the day ahead of him. The hours he’d spent sitting outside Caroline’s B amp;B waiting to see if Blanche would venture out for an evening walk or run had been a total waste of time. By 2:00 a.m. he was convinced that everyone in the establishment would be in bed, all the lights were out and all appeared quiet. He’d left the van parked in the alleyway between the homes that led to garages and backyards. With his face painted black and wearing his standard issue dark shirt and jeans he had made his way around to the rear door that entered into the kitchen area. Lester thought back, closing his eyes as he sat in the van, reliving the previous hours and events.
Standing on the porch he felt for the hunting knife attached to his belt and slid it from the sheath, the blade gleamed in the dim light of the lone street lamp that sat atop a pole two houses down. The 9mm stuffed into the front of his pants was somewhat uncomfortable; he smoothly moved it to the small of his back, and certain his belt would hold it in place. His gloved left hand grasped the old doorknob and tried the lock. It was secure but he was sure it would not take much pressure just to force the door open without damaging the frame. He’d seen these old style locks too often to have it slow him down. Inserting the blade of the knife between the jam and the door, he twisted his wrist while turning the knob and pushing with his shoulder. The door popped open like using a bottle opener on an old-fashioned coke bottle.
Once inside Lester inspected the frame and lock for damage, it would be difficult for Caroline to see that anything had changed. For a split second he was unsure what he was doing in the home, but the thought of seeing Blanche one more time and the remote possibility that he could spirit her away tonight, rather than waiting, spurred him on. The antique old wood planks that made up the kitchen and dining room floors squeaked as he tiptoed across their surface. He had not bothered to remove his shoes. The Stalker would not be there long. Lester knew exactly which room was Blanche’s after spending an evening a short time ago watching her through the bedroom window. He eased his way up the stairs from the dining area, the knife still in his right hand.
Rooms appeared on either side of the long hallway, a small lamp cast shadows and eerie images along the walls. He counted the doors on his left, assuming each room would have a single window visible from the street. He stood before Blanche’s; his heart beat wildly causing his hands to shake and ears to ring. Patiently he waited for the initial adrenaline rush to subside before he tried the lock with a steady hand. The handle rattled ever so slightly but it did not budge. He dropped to one knee to inspect the lock more closely using only the faint light of the hallway to help him. An obvious skeleton keyhole looked back at him and he could see a diffuse light inside the room. The intruder moved his eye close enough to the keyhole to get a better, less obstructed view of the room’s contents. It was not perfect but he could make out the woman’s form on the bed, moonlight providing the light he could see through the hole.
Lester felt for the gun in the hollow of his back and adjusted it slightly, then removed a lock pick device from his front pocket. With both hands he manipulated the small metallic rod and file, slowing himself when he felt he was making too much noise, even though it was barely audible. Years of doing the same, on more sophisticated locks, made the old skeleton lock open without much of a challenge. He returned the pick set to his pocket and pulled the knife again from the sheath before entering the room. The door opened without a sound, he closed it but did not allow the lock to fully latch. Standing within the very room that he had only taken pictures of the week before, thrilled the assailant. He concentrated on keeping his breathing under control, slowing his heart and perspiration in the process. Lester held the knife in his right hand as he approached the sleeping Blanche. To have her so close, so vulnerable, was mind blowing for the thief. He yearned to slide into bed with her and prove his love for the woman, but he knew better, at least for now. With the knife in his right hand he approached the bed standing inches from the edge and within reach of the woman’s throat.
Lester loomed over the woman, taking in her beauty, hair swept across a portion of her forehead, her face fully exposed to him as she slept on her back. The perp couldn’t pass up the opportunity. The small digital camera was extracted from his rear jean’s pocket and he took a picture of the slumbering damsel. He contemplated the possibility of removing her tonight, half convincing himself that it could be done without disturbing the others, but he had come unprepared, no ether and no plausible way to keep her quiet.
“Only a few hours,” he told himself, and she would willingly give herself to him, but his patience was at its limit.
He wanted and needed to feel her soft skin, to know the sensation of skin on skin with the striking beauty. Lester peeled the glove from his left hand, partially sticking it into his jean’s pocket, and brought the razor sharp knife blade within an inch of the sleeping woman’s jugular. He would need to control her if she suddenly awoke. With the left hand exposed he placed it as close as he dared below his sleeping victim’s nose. The feel of her breath caressing, then ebbing and returning to caress his hand again, made him feel invincible. He looked closely at her face, so perfect, light freckles scattered across her delicate nose, her lips slightly parted calling for a kiss. Leaning in close, his hand pulled away from her face but the knife still in place, he inspected her closely, taking in the smell of her skin as he did so.
The Stalker detected movement under her lids, Blanche's eyes moving back and forth, right and left in a rapid saccadic motion. She was dreaming, he’d seen it before and knew what it was. The idea excited him as he closely watched her closed eyes wondering if she was thinking of him after he ruffled her feathers earlier in the day. His will power was fading. To touch her once would be ecstasy and would possibly be worth the risk, but he fought off the urge and settled for running his hand over the sleeping woman’s figure just an inch above the single sheet that covered her motionless form. The knife, still very close to her throat, did not vary as he extended his left hand above her navel. The Stalker was able to see through the thin sheet revealing a tiny nightgown, hiked up, and showing the outline of her panties underneath. Slowly he moved his hand upward over her flat stomach to the rise of her breasts, which strained against the fabric of the sheet. He stopped, his hand just above the breast closest to him and ached to touch and squeeze her.
Behind him he heard the creaking of an old door opening, he wheeled quickly but without sound to see Blanche’s still in place. His breathing stopped as he listened for further indication that someone was up. Footsteps moved down the hallway just outside the door and he moved to see what and who it was. As the muffled noise moved beyond Blanche’s room he pulled the door in just enough to look into the hallway. An older woman dressed in a robe and slippers, her head wrapped with toilet paper, was making her way down the hall. Lester watched her closely as she opened a door, flipped on a light and stepped inside.
“Must be the bathroom,” he thought.
He watched and waited for her to make the return trip, closing the door slightly so he could still listen to her pass. A few minutes later she did and he could hear the toilet flush as she exited the bathroom. Caroline moved down the hall and back to her own room without any concern and was once again safely tucked away behind a locked door. The intruder breathed a sigh of relief but knew it was time to go. As he stood across the room, he once again removed the camera and took a departing picture of the still restful woman, returned the camera and knife to their places and slipped out the door, carefully closing and latching it behind him.
Lester made it back to his van in the early morning hours and climbed behind the wheel for the drive home. The packet he was anticipating should be there and he could make the final plans for his departure the following day. He removed the key from his front pocket and inserted it into the ignition, starting the car with the help of some pressure on the accelerator. He grasped the wheel with both hands, expecting to see both covered with a glove, but only the right was thusly encased. His mind dashed back through the last few minutes and remembered that he had stuck the glove in his front pocket when he had felt Blanche’s breath. He reached down to secure the glove and put it with the other in the van. It was gone! Lester scrambled from the idling van and looked on the ground but it was nowhere in sight. Again he ran his hands through his pockets, front and back, it was definitely gone.
Now sitting safely in his own drive, he continued to berate himself for being so careless, however, he would soon be gone and the glove would provide the authorities with only the smallest of advantages. Exhausted and needing to get to bed, he made the walk back to the distressed mailbox one last time. His steps were plodding, fatigue setting in, but he wanted to see if the parcel was there. He opened the latch as he had done now for the third time in as many weeks and saw the familiar manila envelope inside. He withdrew it but it was heavier than he had expected.
Inside the house, with the kitchen light on, he opened the envelope and inspected the contents. A woman’s picture slid out first, followed by a newly cut key. The woman was attractive, a bit heavy set perhaps but pretty features. He tipped the enclosure higher and a stack of worn twenties landed on the table with a mild thud.
“That’s nice!” he said.
Lastly a stack of documents with a cover letter slid from the envelope, an explanation given just as Jeremy had given it to Iggy. The ‘outing’ must take place tonight at 8:00 p.m., he would have the house to himself for a few hours to tear it apart. The remaining information was similar to that previously provided, address, general information about the owner, the layout of the home and a few odds and ends. Sounded easy enough, the money was a bonus for a job well done.
“At least they appreciate excellence when they see it,” he again said aloud.
Lester Cummings was about to retire and he was tired but exhilarated knowing that the end of one life was in sight and the beginning of another within his reach.
He spoke to the picture of the woman, “Well, Ms. Beverly Davis, looks like you’re my ticket to paradise.”
Thursday morning Sheriff Angelo Lupo sat in his office, facing three of his subordinates, looking for answers. Deputies Guest and Breland sat with their hats in their hands, Ricky Dean held a ream of documents on his lap using them as a platform for his notebook computer, which he had on and opened. The group had been in conference for over an hour, bringing the Sheriff up to date on the progress with The Stalker case. The Sheriff did not look happy.
“I get the feeling people, that once Mr. Wood was taken into custody we let our guard down. Granted there have been no further break-ins since his arrest but my gut tells me we’ve got the wrong guy sitting back there,” he said, motioning to the cell area.
Ricky Dean nodded his head in agreement. He had been the hero last week but lately his department had been under the gun to provide something that would break the case open. That lingering bit of information had yet to be uncovered. For the past hour he had gone over the reasons why it was highly unlikely that Seymour was The Stalker but could not rule him out as the shooter in the Jackson shooting.
“Okay Ricky, let me run this back and you tell me if I’ve got it,” the Sheriff said. “The fibers collected at the Wood residence do not match any of the fiber evidence you’ve collected at any of the crime scenes, and the castings made of Seymour’s foot do not match the Nike’s we’ve processed at the scenes either. Have I got it right so far?”
“Yup, sure ‘nough Sheriff,” Ricky agreed. “His feet are at least two shoe sizes bigger.”
“So what you are saying, and listen up you two,” he said, looking at his deputies. “There’s no way, based on the evidence alone, that Seymour Wood can be The Stalker!” again Ricky expressed his agreement.
“Then tell me you three, how did Seymour wind up with a gun stolen from our third crime scene and used in a shooting of a black man on the other side of town. I’m inclined to believe every word that has come out of Mr. Woods’s mouth. There doesn’t seem to me to be any plausible explanation other than he’s being set-up. I want to know who and why and I want to know it yesterday! You got me,” he said, his voice rising with each syllable. “Where do we stand with our other leads?”
Deputy Breland spoke up first. “I’ve been able to get to 80 % of the witnesses at the diner and they have each ruled out Seymour’s glasses and conclude that it’s one of the two wire frames with the tear drop style lenses. One of the witnesses pegged the Ray Bans right away, said she used to work in an optical store and recognized the style. She was apologetic that she didn’t bring that to our attention before but didn’t think she needed to be that specific. I’ll get to the remaining witnesses this morning. The Delaney woman also ruled out Seymour’s before I let her speak to him.”
“Good Breland, I’m inclined to believe our shooter is wearing the Ray Ban sunglasses. I want you to get a hold of the distributor and find out which shops sell them and if they carry that specific style. You’d also said that Mrs. Wood was able to come up with the bail money, is that right?”
“Yeah, Blanche Delaney told me that last night when she dropped by,” Breland confirmed.
“I can’t help but think that the Delaney woman is involved in this somehow. Have we explored old boyfriends, jilted lovers, anybody that may have a thing for her?”
It was Natalie’s turn to take a run with the ball. “Sheriff, I went over her past pretty carefully with her. She’s only ever been in one serious relationship. He turned out to be gay and she left him in Arizona. I personally don’t think it’s related. Since she’s been here she’s had no flings or one night stands. A pretty conservative woman that does her job and stays to herself. Isn’t into the bar scene, stays at Caroline’s Bed and Breakfast and doesn’t get out much. She randomly met Jasper and has a friendship but nothing sexual, and with Seymour there is a budding romance but they are not involved sexually either. I tried to get her to identify anyone that has struck her as strange but she didn’t come up with anybody, at least when I talked with her last.”
“How about the students from the school, did you get over there this morning?”
“I did, that’s where I was just before we started this meeting. I found the students from the racquetball class and nobody remembered anything about a man in sunglasses and baseball hat, except for a couple of girls that said they spoke to a man matching that description at the end of their match on Monday morning. And get this, he was asking where he could find Seymour Wood.”
“Excellent. Were they able to expand on the description we have to date?” Ricky interjected.
“I think so, but they have agreed to come in this afternoon and have a sketch done with our artist,” Guest explained.
“Now we’re finally getting somewhere, those two girls have probably got the best chance to identify him. Have them go through the photo listing of known burglars,” the Sheriff instructed.
The three wrote down notes making sure that they didn’t miss anything they were directed to do. The investigation was taking a sudden left turn, just after they thought they had it solved with the arrest of Mr. Wood. Apparently he would be walking out on bail for now but maybe for good based on the discussion of the morning.
“You got anything else Guest?” the Sheriff asked.
“I’ve got an appointment with that couple from the farm community I spoke with the other day that phoned back with some information. It’s been difficult to nail him down but his wife has promised they will be home this afternoon and I can go and get a statement. I’ll let you know what I find out, it has something to do with the motorcycle.”
“That sounds fine, what else have you got to work on?” Lupo asked, dropping his hand to scratch Otis behind the ears.
“Remember the guy I talked with you about before we all thought Seymour was our man? His name is Lester Cummings.”
“Yes, have you done any follow-up?” Sheriff Lupo said leaning across his desk to write down a note.
“I did but didn’t come up with much. He has no priors, not even a parking ticket. Clean as a whistle, almost too clean. One thing of interest, the van is registered in his name and is legit, but he also has a motorcycle registered in his name, color identified as yellow and I’m sure, I could swear it, that I asked him about a motorcycle and he denied having one. But I can’t be sure, I didn’t write it down. Was just before I got called back to the station.”
“Okay, that’s a good start. I like this guy as a possible suspect, let’s follow your hunch and get a warrant. Get the ball rolling before you head out for that interview but I want you to present the documentation we need to the judge before the end of the day. I want to be able to surprise him first thing tomorrow morning with a raid. Is that understood? Breland, Ricky, you two help her as she needs ya.”
The three looked back and forth between them and assured the others that they would be on call to assist as needed and able.
“If you can’t think of anything else, I’m going to go home for a few minutes, catch a few Z’s, shower, eat something other than a Twinkie and then I’ll be back. If you need me patch it through Arlene,” the large man declared.
Just before noon a determined Mrs. Lillian Wood, accompanied by Ms. Blanche Delaney and their driver, Mr. Marcus, entered the foyer area of the Sheriff’s office. A notice and receipt in hand from the Lowndes County Court instructing the Sheriff’s Department to release Seymour into the care of his mother. The reunion was sweet, Seymour more than happy to be out of the jail issued coveralls and back in his jeans. The foursome was on their way out the front doors when a voice hollered across the office, feminine but barking nonetheless.
“Ms. Delaney, don’t leave just yet, will you!” the shout came from the back of the office area.
Deputy Guest could be seen moving quickly through the desks and chairs to reach the group.
“I have a couple of quick questions for you if you don’t mind, will only take a second,” the officer said.
“Sure, you guys just wait for me outside, I’ll be right out,” Blanche said.
Officer Guest directed Blanche into the Sheriff’s office, she was sure he wouldn’t care.
“I was wondering if you’ve given anymore thought to who might be causing these problems for Jasper and Seymour? I have a possible suspect in mind but I’d rather hear it from you before I plant the information in your head, if you know what I mean.”
“Yes, I have thought about it but can’t say there’s anybody…, wait a minute, there is somebody that is a little odd but he’s not done anything to me, if that’s what you’re after?”
“Not necessarily, but even odd behavior that struck you as unusual,” the deputy further clarified what she was looking for.
“Working with the public we run into odd behavior all the time, but directed specifically at me, there is a guy that has been in the library a couple times in the past few weeks. His name is Rob, was in just yesterday, struck me as odd, kind of hitting on me, but said he had a girlfriend he was trying to convince to move to California with him. Sounded like the move was imminent.”
“Describe him for me,” Guest requested.
The librarian did so with amazing clarity and recollection, speaking faster than Natalie could keep up. A few minutes later the two had worked out a statement, which Blanche read over and confirmed it was a concise overview of the things she had reported to the deputy. Blanche signed the statement, as she was familiar with doing by now, and was about to leave when the deputy thought of one more thing.
“Did anybody else see this guy or were you working alone?” she asked.
“Yeah, for sure, Mr. Marcus, the gentleman with us today acting as our chauffeur talked with him as well,” Blanche replied.
Officer Guest could hardly contain her excitement. The description given to her was a dead ringer for Lester Cummings and now she had a second witness that could also put Lester in the mix. It was interesting that he had chosen to use the name Rob when speaking with Blanche. The deputy made sure to write everything down this time around. She asked that Blanche send him in and she went through the same process with Marcus. The custodian issued a more vague description but generally the same as Blanche. He agreed to provide any further information that came to mind, signed the statement and left with the others.
Beverly was disappointed that she’d not heard from Felix after their morning romp the day before, but was sure she would get a chance to pull his chain again today. He’d said something about the property they had met over and the possibility of an offer, which would certainly be the icing on the cake for the realtor. She reviewed her calendar for the day, over her usual cup of coffee, picked up the house a bit before she dressed and headed to her office. The planner reminded her of the date she had with Blanche for the following night, she was so anxious to tell her about the new man that had swept into her life and bedroom.
In the late afternoon she finally heard from Felix. He apologized for not getting back to her sooner but had been on the phone non-stop with the developers. They had come to an agreement, at least from their side, in terms of an offer with a few ‘subject to’s’ still in place. Felix told her he had done his best to hammer out an agreement that he thought would be acceptable to all parties and was anxious to present it to her. He also indicated that he wanted to show her something else and would be by later to do just that. The con man was vague on the time he would do the presenting but asked her to be home from 6:00 p.m. and on, that way she wouldn’t miss him. Beverly was more than excited; perhaps she was turning the corner on a newfound and more fulfilling life.
Just that morning her lawyer had phoned saying that Mr. Jeremy Marshall, her stepson, had contacted their office, with one last lowball offer of ten million, which they flatly turned down given the prior direction they had received from Beverly herself. The lawyer suggested that with no further hang-ups there was a possibility that she’d be a millionaire by Christmas. He was careful not to give her too much hope as Jeremy had already filed a petition to reduce the amount arbitrarily assigned by the court as the final value of the estate. The Marshall lawyers were contesting the value assigned in a market that was in an undeniable downturn. Beverly was disappointed but not surprised, in any case, she knew the estate issue was winding down and she could soon get on with her life and maybe her new love.
Seymour was anxious to get his life back to normal as soon as possible. Taking advice from his mother and rejecting it outright, he returned to the one class he had in the afternoon, astonishing some of the students and drawing high fives from others. The few hours he was away from home passed without incident but he was excited to go to work that evening. He needed to be with Blanche in a way he’d never felt before with another woman. His heart yearned and craved her companionship, he could tell from the pull on his heartstrings that the infatuation had grown. He could not deny the feelings of love and concern he had for the fascinating Blanche D. Delaney.
Shortly before six, Seymour ate with his mother at the kitchen table and talked of the week’s past events. She tried to persuade him to stay home from work but knew it was a losing argument. Nothing would keep him away from Blanche or the library tonight. Their discussion went full circle and ended up at the jail earlier in the day.
“I was so glad to walk out of there today, mom. Probably next to dad dying, the worst few days of my life,” Seymour said.
“If it weren’t for Blanche you’d still be sitting there,” his mother informed him. Having said that she got up from the table and started clearing dishes away.
“What do you mean? What did she do?” he asked, anxious to hear the answer.
“She didn’t tell you?” his mom asked.
“Tell me what? She just told me you had arranged the bail and I’d be getting out today.”
“Seymour, she took the money she had set aside for a down payment on a place and gave it to us for your bail. The bank would only give me $150,000; she came up with the rest. I have to say, she’s a remarkable girl. I was wrong about her,” his mother said, moving to stand behind him and putting her hands on his sinewy shoulders.
“You’re kidding, I had no idea.” He could think of nothing else to say but sat in silence the last few minutes he had before needing to leave for work.
With his mom in the kitchen, Seymour went to her room and removed the rifle from the closet and filled his pocket with a handful of shells from a box that was nearby. He managed to get out the door and put the gun behind the seat of the truck without her being the wiser. Jasper had been unprepared in defending Blanche; he would not make the same mistake. Seymour had shot the old rifle a few times. He knew enough that his dad called it a.50 caliber Sharps, the bullets as big around as his index finger and almost as long. The weapon had been handed down over the generations from the days of the Civil War, and although old, his father had used it yearly to put venison on their table. Seymour had shot it a little bit in his youth, had one hell of a kick, but never had much interest in hunting but would go just to hang out with his dad. He tossed the shells in the glove box, hollered out the window to his mother that he’d see her later and headed for town and Blanche at the library.
Deputy Guest worked feverishly throughout the afternoon, with the help of Deputy Breland and Ricky, to put the finishing touches on the warrant request. The information provided by the old timer had proven just what they needed to put the final piece of the warrant together. She had driven out earlier in the afternoon and taken their statement. It seemed that the old guy got to thinking after they talked the other day and the more he drove the tractor around his field the more he remembered about a friend of his that passed away a good ten years before. Had a son that raced motorcycles on the MX Circuit when he was younger. The farmer’s friend would often brag about the trophies his son was stacking up. The Deputy had grown more excited with each passing minute, hoping the old timer could remember the name.
As he concluded his statement she asked, “And can you remember your friend’s name or his son’s?”
His wife had helped to translate some of the slur and slang but there was no missing his answer. “Well, shur I do, ain’t losin’ ma mind am I motha. Feller’s name was Cummings, Spencer Cummings, but I can’t say I mumber the bo’s.”
With Lester Cummings squarely in their sights and the paperwork in hand Guest had raced to the courthouse in hopes of catching the judge. The timing was close; she caught the judge climbing into his 4x4 as she pulled into the parking lot. She hit her lights and siren to get his attention causing Otis to bark and growl from his cage. The judge had been more than understanding, especially considering the impact the information could have on the Wood and Stalker cases. He informed the deputy that he would review the request at home and issue the warrant from there. He would notify the Sheriff’s Office once he had done his work and she could drop by his house to pick up the search warrant later.
Deputy Guest now found herself staring at the phone and talking with the dispatch staff as most of the officers had retired for the night. She could see a light on in 'The Wolf’s office, making plans for the raid in the morning no doubt. All officers had been told to report for duty at 4:30 a.m., they would need to gear up with vests and shotguns, in preparation for the raid which would go down at 5:30 the next morning. The office had been abuzz with excitement in hopes of bringing The Stalker to justice.
At 5:30 p.m. the charming wise guy parked his car a mile from Bev’s location in the parking lot of a busy restaurant and began the walk to her house. Iggy would soon be on his way to the property near the base and then off for chicken to be enjoyed by the director and his new acquaintance. A college football game was the lure that brought the two men back to Savard’s after looking over the property and discussing the legal description and the survey information. It was plausible and easy to remember for both men. As he walked, Felix tried to envision how the events of the night would go down. He felt for the silencer that Iggy had purchased online, making sure he had put it in his suit pocket. His own 9mm rested against the small of his back, a constant reminder that he was deadly if messed with.
In his mind he would arrive at Bev’s the same way Lester would, over the back fence, but he would ring the bell and Lester would use the key. Bev’s house was on a cul-de-sac, her lot heavily treed, large, mature oaks and spruces that reached into the sky and hid her house from the neighbors. She had homes on both sides but the drives were 150 feet apart and the houses barely visible through the dense trees. He should have no trouble getting in and out without anyone seeing him. A rolled up document cover swung back and forth in his left hand as his arm swung with his strides. The valid offer would show that he was there earlier in the evening, presented the offer, and then been on his way after he’d serviced the realtor.
Felix could see the back of the Davis home from the trees where he stood hidden from view. A small creek with only a trickle of water running down it was between him and the fence. Not yet dark, but it would be almost impossible to see him from the house, unless Bev happened to be looking into her backyard when he climbed the fence. The mud from the creek could pose a problem but he decided he would simply leave his shoes on her front step.
While Felix contemplated his options, Lester prepared for his last ‘outing’ in Valdosta, GA. He didn’t know if it was the fact that it would be his last, or the small variations in the way tonight was to be carried out, that had him on edge. Something just didn’t feel right but he had taken some precautions just in case. Normally he would not take the 9mm with him but it felt appropriate slipped into the waist of his dark pants. After he had a chance to get a few hours sleep he again went over the information and layout of Beverly’s house. He checked the location on the map and noted that her house fell a good two blocks out of the area they had been working, without an explanation as to why the deviation. Could just be his paranoia or that somehow he felt a noose tightening around him, but then again it could be nothing at all. The employers had been right on target before with their information, except for Katie’s prosthetic leg.
He would be cutting it close tonight. The work at Davis’ would have to be quick, the house torn apart in a matter of minutes, not hours, allowing him enough time to get to the library, pick up Blanche, and be on their way. He didn’t know how much persuading it would take to get her to see his vision of their future. Just in case he was prepared for that as well. Into the back of the van he put a box containing the Gulf War costume he had used before, including the jacket and cane, along with a canister of ether and wool cloth. He also put his backpack, with the essentials, on the floor of the passenger’s side but didn’t think he would even need it tonight. He wanted to be in and out as quickly as possible. No pictures, and was not even going to bother with paint on the walls, just a melee of destruction on the order of a small tornado.
The burglar stood on the landing to his kitchen area and ran the list of items through his mind and was about to depart when he saw the spectacle case on the table. He’d almost forgotten the key to his disguise, his father’s glasses, with them in hand he climbed in the van, put the glasses on the seat next to him, and pulled out of the drive headed to Beverly Davis’ home. Lester left a few minutes earlier than he normally would, anticipating that he would need to find an appropriate place to ditch the van while he did the job.
Seymour felt uncomfortable with the gun behind the seat and was somewhat unsure if he knew how, or had the capability to use it, if needed, but he’d rather have it for insurance, just in case. It was heaven to be back in the library and doing something he enjoyed. The romantically inclined pair hugged when they were sure no one was watching, which was difficult considering that the library was fairly busy for a Thursday evening. The criminology student got to work dealing with his list of responsibilities, often taking the time to walk past the front desk for a quick smile or wink. It looked like it would be a normal night at the library with no surprises. How wrong he would be.
Felix managed to get across the little creek without slipping and covering himself in mud, but his shoes did get somewhat mucked up and he cussed as the bottom of his expensive suit was dirtied as well. Just wasn’t right climbing into someone’s backyard wearing an Armani suit. The things he did to keep his reputation and lifestyle even astonished him. Once over the fence and without Bev looking into the yard, shades were drawn and with no sign of the woman from the back of the house, he walked around the side and went to the front door.
The sun was still in the sky but the trees gave a late dusk feel to the area. He knocked softly knowing she would be anxious to see him and near the door. A short moment later she opened the door dressed somewhat provocatively and ready for their rendezvous. Felix stepped inside pulling her close; kissing her but not allowing her to put her arms around him for fear that she would feel the pistol.
He covered, by holding her arms and telling her, “Business before pleasure.”
“Whatever you say sweetie, you’re driving this train tonight,” she said as she reached up and pulled a make believe lever while gyrating her hips — “Whoo Whoo”.
Her Southern accent and movements made him smile but tonight was a work night and he could not, would not, be distracted, at least not until he’d had his way with her. Felix dropped the rolled up document he held in his hand on the table and asked her to sit. She did so taking the document in her hands and pulling her reading glasses from her purse. She looked at the details of the offer, the amounts, the caveats (subject to's) and the other provisions that Felix had included in the final draft. She was acceptable to most and told him she would make arrangements to present the offer to the seller in the morning and get back to him and the development group. Felix was happy with that and informed the train that the engineer was ready to get things rolling.
The pair retired to her bedroom, a room Unger was quite familiar with. The large king sized bed was already turned down, soft music played in the background and the lights were set to invite a romantic mood. Bev quickly stepped into the bathroom while Felix took off his suit jacket and folded the 9mm in the middle of it, laying the garment on a low lying dresser at the end of the room. By the time Bev appeared back at the bathroom door, Felix stood in his wife beater t-shirt, silky stretch underwear and socks held up with sock supports. Didn’t matter to Bev, she still found him sexy. She pressed herself up against the door jam and again let out — “Whoo Whoo.”
The two met at the bed, falling onto it as their passion consumed them. Each hungry for the other, both with different visions of what the future would hold.
Lester drove the blocks surrounding the Davis home and was not satisfied with anything he had found until he came to a small dirt service road that led to a utility box with nothing else around. The walk would be further but it could not be helped. He would just have to work that much faster to allow time to get to the library. He arrived at the back of Beverly’s house at 7:30 p.m. and stood approximately where Felix had a short time before. He waited for the lights to go out before he ventured forward. Ten minutes later they did just that.
Shortly after 7:30 p.m. Deputy Guest got the phone call she had been waiting for, the judge indicated that the request was in order and a search warrant had been signed for execution the next morning, early. The Deputy stuck her head into her bosses office, gave him the good news before she left for the judges home. It would be a late night for Natalie, it was just 'The Wolf' and her holding down the fort till morning at which time she would be off, but she was not missing the raid on the Cummings home. No way in hell would she miss that opportunity!
At exactly 8:00 p.m. Lester used the key provided by Iggy and unlocked the back door stepping into Beverly’s kitchen. The entire house was dark, looked like the information was accurate again. He relaxed and turned on the handheld LED, scanned the kitchen, then proceeded into the hallway.
“Hello Lester,” a calm voice, that he recognized, called from the darkness of the living room.
Instinctively he knew running would mean certain death. “Felix, I’m guessing.”
“Good call, I knew you’d be right on time. Ever the professional, huh?” Felix said, now bathed in light from Lester’s LED. “Go ahead and turn on the light switch there to your left but keep both of your hands where I can see them,” the mobster instructed. Bev’s small 32 automatic pointed at Lester’s center of mass, a silencer extended the length of the barrel. The room suddenly came into focus as Lester hit the switch. He tossed the portable to Felix who caught it in his left and placed it in the chair next to him.
“Thought something seemed different about tonight, should have listened to my gut.”
“Yes, you should have. Yes indeed,” Felix confirmed.
“Let’s get rid of the pistol, shall we? Know you don’t normally like to carry one, goes against your principles or something but I get the feeling you must be packing tonight. Turn around slowly and let’s see what you’ve got.”
Lester did as he was told, knowing the man seated before him would not hesitate to pump a few rounds through him if he disobeyed. When Felix could see his back, he told the thief to stop, he stood and removed the weapon from The Stalker’s waistline and put it into his own.
“Nice gun, glad you brought your own so I don’t have to leave mine. I’ll even bet this one is registered in your name, isn’t it?” he accused the man of being stupid in a roundabout way. The look on Lester’s face gave away that Felix had been correct. “I knew it. Honest in a strange kind of way, aren’t you? The Sheriff will find your own gun in your cold, dead hand. Works far better for us in the overall scheme of things.”
“What’s this all about anyway? What are you doing here and ….,” Lester asked, trying to think of a way to get out of this with his life.
“You poor guy, I really do feel bad about this, you’ve been so willing to put yourself out there for us and this is the way we repay you. Must really piss you off!” Felix prodded.
“What do you think, smart ass?”
“Let me just say that you’ve opened the way for me and my friends to be very rich….I like the way that sounds verrryyyy rrrriiicchhh,” he said again, very slowly.
“Asshole, shoot me and get it over with.”
“Not so quick. Aren’t you anxious to meet the lady of the house?” the killer asked.
“She still here? Thought she would be out for the night.”
“You really are clueless aren’t you Lester. Wish I had time to explain it all to you but some other time. Oh wait a minute, you won’t have another time, will you?” and he laughed, mocking him. “Let’s go talk to Bev.”
The two walked up the stairs, Lester leading the way, the 32 pointed at his back. Once in the bedroom Felix turned on the main light, illuminating Beverly sitting up in the bed, a red rubber ball in her mouth attached to a black strap pulled around her head. She was silent, saliva dripped from her chin, a look of wild panic in her eyes. Her hands and feet were bound with plastic, pull-tight strips with a towel between the skin and plastic as not to leave any marks. She grunted ever so softly, trying to get enough air without choking.
“See how I’ve got her all wrapped up for you tonight. Saved you the trouble of doing it yourself. We really did consider bringing you in at one point and letting you ‘off’ the fatty on your own but you were just one more loose end we had to take care of. You know, give us peace of mind so we could sleep better at night. You’ll go to your grave knowing you served a higher purpose.”
“You really are a cold, heartless son of a bitch aren’t you?” Lester asked.
“Yes, I’d have to agree with you there but you left out rich; a rich, cold, heartless son of a bitch. Kind of has a ring to it. What do you think?” He did like to remain upbeat even in the face of crisis.
“Well, Bev dear, I’m going to need your help with this next part. If you’ll cooperate I promise I’ll make it quick for you. Believe me you’ll thank me rather than enduring the opposite.” He looked into her eyes and had a fleeting bit of compassion for the woman that was quickly replaced with dollar signs. No mercy tonight, cold hard cash would rule the day.
“Lester if you would be so kind as to stand just there at the end of the bed. Perfect, I’d hate to have you move around too much. Could get messy if Bev here has to pump the entire clip into you.” He looked back at Bev briefly. “Oh, don’t worry my dear, I’ll help you aim but don’t piss me off or I’ll put the first slug through your scheming little brain. Do you understand?” He looked back at her, she did not move.
Again he said with more authority, “Do you understand Beverly?”
She immediately shook her head in agreement, tears spilling down her face and on the sheets covering her body.
“Fine. Lester, don’t get any stupid ideas, trust me this is not my first ‘outing,’” he said, drawing Lester’s Beretta from his waist with his left hand and leveling it at The Stalker’s head. This could get very messy, very fast, so do as you’re told!”
Lester stood motionless at the end of the bed, the edge of the mattress just above the height of his knee. With all the concentration he could muster he brought his right foot up, bringing his leg to a 90-degree angle, allowing him to almost reach his calf. He stood motionless like that for the time being, confirming that Felix could not see what he was doing. For all visual purposes he was still standing with both feet on the floor, his balance perfect and his concentration precise.
“Okay Bev, this is the tricky part, I’m going to undo your hands but you have to promise me that you will not fight or I’ll drill you with this baby,” he said, still holding the 9mm in his left hand and placing the muzzle against her head.
Laying the 32 cal. aside momentarily, he cut the strap that held her wrists, allowing her hands to spring free and rest in her lap. Felix sat on the bed next to her, wrapped his left arm around her shoulder and aimed Lester’s gun directly at her left temple. With the right, he retrieved the longer, silenced 32, forcing her to bring her hand up to hold the grip on her own pistol. He carefully watched Lester with his peripheral vision while instructing Bev on what he wanted her to do.
“I’m going to hold this for you so you don’t miss and just squeeze off a couple rounds. He’s just a few feet away.” He quickly looked back at Lester to make sure he was not moving. He was not. “Okay, let’s give this a try, shall we gang.”
In that very moment Lester saw it in Bev’s eyes and knew it was now or never. She pushed with all the energy she had, forcing Felix off the mattress, accidentally firing the 32 at Lester standing at the end of the bed. The round found its mark, ripping through his lower right abdomen but blasting cleanly through the flesh, not hitting any bones or vital organs. Felix ripped the pistol away from Bev and in that brief struggle gave Lester the second he needed to respond. Reaching his right calf he slid the pant leg up enough to pull the 7-inch blade from the sheath, which was taped to his calf, handle end down. Felix looked up as Lester released the blade, could see it tumbling toward him but there was no time. He fired a wild shot into the side of the bed then fell back, the hunting knife buried in his skull. It had entered through his right eye, crushed the orbit, and lodged the tip deeply within Felix’s visual cortex at the back of his head. He was dead before he hit the ground.
Bev was still unable to scream but she desperately was trying to. Her hands flailed in an attempt to protect herself from Lester who walked over to Felix, put his foot on his forehead for leverage and pulled his knife from the skull. He casually wiped the blood and brain matter from the blade on Felix’s Armani suit. He replaced the blade, and then took the towel that had been around Bev’s hands and held it to his bleeding side.
“Now what the hell am I’m going to do with you?” he asked, looking at the pleading woman. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to kill you.” She breathed a noticeable sigh of relief.
“But I can’t have you calling the police in the next ten minutes either, can I?”
With that he took his Beretta from Felix’s hand and struck Bev about as hard as he dared to the side of her head. Her eyes rolled back and she slumped forward and fell to her side on the bloodied sheets. Lester felt for a pulse, and finding one, bound her hands once again and left her on the bed.
He looked through her bathroom and found the items he needed to slow the flow of blood from his ‘through and through’ wound. Checked her again to make sure she had not stopped breathing and left the house. Time was against him now and he knew it. He would have to fly if he was to take care of business at the library before it closed.