Four: Count to Ten, #4

Four

Jane Blythe

Copyright © 2017 Jane Blythe

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, distributed, reverse engineered or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, including photocopying and recording, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented without permission in writing from the publisher.

All characters and events in this publication, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Bear Spots Publications

Melbourne Australia

Paperback

ISBN: 0-9945380-2-2

ISBN-13: 978-0-9945380-2-4

Cover designed by QDesigns

I’d like to thank everyone who played a part in bringing this story to life. Particularly my mom who is always there to share her thoughts and opinions with me. My awesome cover designer, Amy, who whips up covers for me so quickly and who patiently makes every change I ask for, and there are usually lots of them! And my lovely editor Mitzi Carroll, and proofreader Marisa Nichols, for all their encouragement and for all the hard work they put into polishing my work.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Book List

About the Author

JULY 19th

7:34 A.M.

She was running late.

Again.

That seemed to be the story of her life.

Jordanna Milford had never expected her life to turn out like this. She was thirty-five years old, married, with four kids and an elderly and ailing father who required daily visits. Jordanna had always imagined she’d make her fortune in real estate and then live a life of luxury. Instead, she had gotten pregnant at eighteen, married the baby’s father, and been forced to give up her dreams of really making something of herself to instead becoming a wife and mother. Sure, she had a job as a secretary at the local pediatrician's office, but mainly her life consisted of ferrying her children around, cooking, cleaning, laundry, and the mundaneness of family life.

She loved her kids, of course. She just wished she’d waited, not messed up her life with one night of sex with a guy she knew at the time she didn’t love and was now stuck with.

Now to top it all off, Jordanna made daily trips to her father’s place to help him shower, prepare meals, organize his medications, and do a general tidy-up. He needed to be in a home, she knew that, and even though she hated the daily visits, he was still her father and she couldn’t face doing that to him.

Still, on days like today, it was particularly difficult. She’d been up late last night helping her nine-year-old with a science project she’d left till the last minute. Then the four-year-old had awakened her at three in the morning, claiming the monster under her bed was singing nursery rhymes. In the car this morning, on her way to drop the three older ones at the bus stop then take the youngest to preschool, she’d had an argument with her seventeen-year-old who wanted permission to attend a college fraternity party. And now, running late as always, she was on her way to her father’s place before heading to work.

It was days like this that Jordanna thought about divorcing her husband, leaving behind her kids, and starting on the life she really wanted. She was only thirty-five. She’d managed to keep her figure despite four pregnancies, and she knew that men found her attractive. She was tall with long legs, long blonde hair, and big green eyes that she could bat at any male and get her way.

Unfortunately, Jordanna believed in following through with the choices that you made, no matter how things turned out. She had chosen to marry Barry and raise their son together, she had chosen to add three more children to their family; she had chosen this life, and she was stuck with it.

Sighing as she pulled her car into a spot outside her father’s apartment building, she turned off the engine and trudged up the sidewalk and into the building. She ferreted through her bag searching for the key. As she slid it into the lock, Jordanna sensed immediately that something was wrong. 

At first, she wasn’t sure why she felt that way.

Nothing in the hall appeared out of place. And Jordanna convinced herself it was just her imagination.

Dad? she called out as she set her handbag on the table by the door and carried the grocery bags toward the kitchen and living room, which were at the end of the hall.

There was no response.

Her anxiety edged up another notch. Dad? It’s Jordanna.

The doors to the apartment’s two bedrooms were open and as she glanced inside, she could see that both were empty.

Subconsciously, her steps slowed as she neared the closed door at the end of the corridor.

What was waiting for her on the other side?

Had her dad had a heart attack? A stroke? A fall?

He could be lying on the other side of the door, dead.

Jordanna was not good with dead bodies. She’d only ever seen one before. Her mom’s. Shortly after she had given birth to her first son, her mom had taken a fall from a ladder while cleaning out drainpipes. She’d broken her neck, died instantly. Jordanna had been the one to find her body. She hadn't even been able to touch her mom to check if she was still alive.

She couldn’t even touch a dead animal. When the family pets died, her husband had to deal with them.

She couldn’t even pick up a dead insect.

With a trembling hand, she reached for the door handle.

She was almost too scared of what she would find on the other side to actually turn it once her hand grasped it.

Dad? she called one last time.

Expecting no response, she got none.

Anxiety was starting to cause the hairs on the back of her neck to stand up.

Something was wrong. She could feel it.

The apartment had a creepy air to it. Usually, Jordanna just found this place depressing, but today it was more than that.

Knowing she couldn’t put it off any longer, she opened the door.

All the air left her lungs in a rush.

Instantly lightheaded, she swayed unsteadily as she surveyed the room.

It wasn’t what she had been expecting.

But who would ever suspect this?

Suddenly nauseous, Jordanna turned and stumbled toward the bathroom. She dropped to her knees once inside, just managing to lift the toilet lid before she threw up.

*  *  *  *  *

8:49 A.M.

As he approached the apartment building, he couldn’t help but sigh.

Another murder.

He was so sick of murder.

More so than ever the last six months.

Still, murder was a part of his life. There was nothing he could do about that. It was the life he had chosen, so there was no point complaining about it.

Hey.

A woman appeared beside him. Early thirties, tall, red hair, green eyes, pretty. She should be tired of murder, too.

Jack? You okay? The green eyes that studied him were now tinted with concern.

He uttered another weary sigh. Yeah. With that, Detective Jack Xander resumed his walk toward the building where another dead body laid waiting.

The woman fell into step beside him. We both know you're not, his partner commented mildly.

Not what? he asked, pretending he didn’t know what she was talking about. Jack hated that his growing depression was obvious to those around him.

Not okay, Rose Lace replied patiently, narrowing her eyes at him.

We don’t both know that, he lied. Of course, they knew he wasn’t okay. In fact, it wasn’t only the two of them who knew it. Rose wasn’t the first person to point out to him that he wasn’t doing so great these days.

I think we do, Rose contradicted him, then she too sighed. I wish you'd talk to someone. Me or one of your brothers or a professional, but you need to talk to someone.

I don’t need a shrink, he protested immediately. For one thing, he didn’t have anything to say to one. Some things were better left unsaid.

Never said you did, Rose replied.

He was irritated that Rose couldn’t be provoked into an argument and annoyed with himself for being irritated about it. Jack didn’t really want to argue. He just wanted to feel something other than depressed. Maybe he did need to talk to someone. He just didn’t know whom he trusted enough.

Look, we’re at work, he reminded his partner, can we just drop this conversation?

Sure, Rose smiled agreeably. For now.

Rolling his eyes, he knew that was the best he was going to get out of his partner. Victim is sixty-six-year-old Tarek Milford. He changed the topic to the reason for their presence here.

Who found the body? Rose asked.

Daughter, he replied. She’s waiting for us inside. First responders said she was nearly hysterical by the time they arrived, so they called an ambulance.

Think we can get anything out of her? Rose asked.

Worth a shot, he replied, not really thinking it was particularly likely. The woman had just found her father’s dead body; right now she probably wasn't going to be able to give them any information that would help them find out who may have committed the murder.

Mmmhmm, Rose agreed, sounding about as confident as he felt.

As they entered the large apartment complex, Jack noted the secure doors, the doorman, and the security cameras. Breaking into this place wouldn’t have been easy. Which no doubt meant their killer was a pro. He stifled a sigh; that was all he needed.

There was no need for directions to find the right apartment; all they had to do was follow the hubbub. Rounding a corner, they spotted a woman, sitting huddled on the floor, propped up against the wall, close to the only open apartment door. An officer stood at the open door. A pile of CSU equipment sat nearby, and crime scene techs and officers bustled about.

No one paid the woman much attention. Although another officer was standing nearby and had obviously been told to stick with her. The lack of attention from those around her didn’t seem to bother Jordanna Milford. Her head was tilted back to rest against the smooth white wall. Her eyes were open but appeared to be staring sightlessly into space. Her hands were clenched tightly together in her lap.

Ms. Milford? Jack called out softly as they approached.

Big, round, green eyes looked back at him. They were brimming with tears and glazed with shock.

Reaching her, he dropped down into a crouch at her side so they were eye to eye. I'm Detective Jack Xander, he told her, and this is my partner, Detective Rose Lace. We were hoping to talk with you for a moment, if you don’t mind?

Okay. Her voice trembled, but she met his gaze squarely.

Mind if I sit? Jack asked.

Jordanna gave a shake of her head.

Moving to sit beside her, he propped himself against the wall as she had done, while Rose took a discreet step back. He was always the one to interview victims. Especially traumatized victims. Apparently, he had a gift for calming them, helping to pry more out of their dazed subconsciousness, getting them to trust him. It was a gift that had helped him many times in the past. As was his unflappable calm. If you asked anyone who knew him to describe him, they would say calm, good with people, and quiet. His two younger brothers may add bossy to that list, but Jack always thought that being the oldest entitled him to be a little bossy with his siblings.

Has someone called a family member for you? Jack asked, focusing his attention solely on Jordanna Milford and blocking out the bustle of activity around them.

My husband, she replied. He’s on his way here. Someone killed him, she blurted, her scared eyes looked over at him, pleading with him, as though he could somehow change that fact.

I know. He nodded sympathetically. I'm so sorry for your loss. I can only imagine what you're feeling right now, but we really need to ask you a few questions so we can find the person who did this. I know it’s hard, he added, but anything you tell us could be really helpful.

Okay. Jordanna tried to visibly pull herself together and focus.

Giving her an encouraging smile, he asked, When was the last time you saw your father?

Yesterday morning. I come by every day. Usually in the morning, unless I'm running really late. My dad had a fall about eight months ago. He broke his hip. Then developed an infection. He can't get around like he used to anymore. He needs help with pretty much everything. He kind of became depressed after the accident. Stopped looking after himself, stopped eating and showering, just kind of sat there, watching TV and doing nothing. Jordanna’s voice grew stronger and more confident with each word. Reciting facts was helping her to calm down, to distance herself a little from the horror that lay just beyond them.

And everything seemed in order when you left?

Yes, at least I think so. She hesitated a little. I was in a hurry; I had to go out and get some stuff for a project my nine-year-old had to have in by today.

Not wanting her to distract herself with worry and guilt, he pressed on. How many kids do you have?

Four, Jordanna replied, all traces of guilt fading from her face. The oldest is seventeen, then I have an eleven-year-old, a nine-year-old, and a four-year-old.

Sounds like you have your hands full. Jack squashed a sudden shaft of jealousy. He was thirty-one now, unmarried—not even involved—and he was beginning to despair of ever having a family of his own. Realistically, he knew that thirty-one wasn't that old. That he had plenty of time left to meet someone, fall in love, get married, and have kids, but the fact that his brothers were busy with families of their own had been fueling his loneliness lately.

Yeah. A small smile lit her lips.

Plus, taking care of your dad, Jack continued, you must be run off your feet most days.

He probably should be in a home, she admitted, guilt crept back into the eyes that stared back at him.

But he’s not, because you take such good care of him. He was very lucky to have a daughter like you, he said gently. You came here every day to look after him, to make sure he was okay, to make sure he had everything that he needed. Has anything seemed out of place lately, anything odd or unusual or concerning?

No, everything has been the same, she replied.

Has your dad mentioned anything out of the ordinary?

No, but he never said a lot, he was so quiet these days. Jordanna began to twist her hands tighter together in her lap. Tears started to spill out and trickle down her cheeks, but she didn’t seem to notice.

Is there anyone you can think of who may want to hurt your dad?

No, She lowered her gaze so she was studying her hands.

Jack caught the hesitation in her voice. Jordanna? he pressed gently, reaching out a hand to cover hers and still them. Is there anyone with a grudge against your father who may have wanted to hurt him?

She continued, her voice a mere whisper. My dad was a parole officer. I'm sure there are any number of criminals he supervised who could theoretically have a grudge against him.

That was enough for now. They weren’t going to get any more out of Jordanna; adrenalin was ebbing from her system, leaving her drained and exhausted. At least they’d gotten a potential avenue to investigate. As soon as they were done here, he and Rose would start searching through his old cases.

Okay, Jordanna, he kept his voice gentle, you did really good. Officer … He paused, casting a glance at the name tag of the closest officer. … Biggs will stay with you until your husband gets here. If you need anything—anything at all—give us a call. He released her hands and pulled out a card, sliding it into the trembling hand she held out. Can I help you up? Jack pushed to his feet and extended a hand.

She looked as if she were about to protest, then Jordanna gave a weary sigh and let him grasp her hand and pull her to her feet. She staggered a little, and he moved his hand to hold her elbow, steadying her until she got her bearings. Thank you, Detective Xander. She shot him a grateful, albeit shaky, smile.

You're welcome. Take care of yourself, and let your family take care of you, too; they’ll want to show you they love and care about you by taking care of you. As he watched her walk away, Jack wondered why he didn’t take his own advice. He’d never even told his family when he needed their help and support, let alone actually let them offer it. Jack guessed he could add hypocrisy to the list of things that summed him up.

That went well, Rose said quietly as Officer Biggs led Jordanna Milford away. Maybe we’ll luck out and find one of his old parolees who had an axe to grind with Mr. Milford.

Yeah, Jack agreed halfheartedly. There would be hundreds of old parolee cases to go through. Finding the one they wanted would be like looking for a needle in a haystack, if indeed it was even there at all. This could have been random. It could have been a family member. It could have been a robbery gone wrong. It could have been anything.

Somewhat reluctantly, he followed Rose into the apartment. He was contemplating taking a break when all his current cases were closed. He needed a break. A vacation. Maybe he’d do some travelling. He just needed to do something other than watch his brothers enjoy their families while he went home alone, and watch life after life be destroyed by crime.

Right now though, he had a job to do. And do it, he would.

Rest of the house looks undisturbed, he commented to Rose as they made their way down the hall to the living room.

Probably rules out robbery, Rose noted.

He nodded his agreement. Wife is dead, only the one child. I didn’t sense it was the daughter, although we can look into her. Unless it’s the son-in-law, I'm thinking it’s not family related either.

Rose didn’t answer because they had entered the living room. Instead, they both surveyed the scene before them. The room was a good size. A small kitchen in one corner, and a round dining table with six chairs was set beside it. A large screen TV took up most of one wall; two, three-seater sofas and a two-seater were grouped around it. Another wall had bookshelves built into it, crammed with hundreds of books. Over by the window was an armchair and a small table. In the armchair sat Tarek Milford.

However, what drew Jack’s gaze was what was on the ceiling.

That what I think it is? He addressed his question to crime scene tech, Stephanie Cantini. He’d been working with Stephanie for years and considered her a good friend. She had just turned forty. She was sweet and fun and hardworking, and when she wasn't busy with work and her fourteen-year-old adopted daughter, she was an obsessive skydiver.

Pausing from her task, she looked up. Yep, it is, she confirmed.

What do we make of that? Jack asked Rose.

Red brows raised in surprise, Rose said, I have no idea.

I'm hoping to get some prints on them, Stephanie informed them. She was perched on a ladder, pulling glow-in-the-dark stars off the ceiling. Jack and his brothers had had similar stars on the ceilings of their rooms when they were kids. He had loved looking at them as he fell asleep, and then their comforting green glow if he happened to wake during the night.

He could have used gloves, Stephanie continued, but they probably would have made it more difficult to peel off the stickers and stick them onto the ceiling, so I'm hopeful we’ll get some good prints.

That at least was good news, Jack thought. A good print could wrap this case up by the end of the day. Anything else? he asked Stephanie.

I started up here since I thought it was our best chance of prints, but I’ll sweep the rest of the room when I'm done, the CSU tech replied.

Turning his attention to medical examiner, Francesca Marks, and the body of Tarek Milford, he asked, Cause of death what I think it is, Frankie?

Exsanguination from a single knife wound to the heart, Frankie summarized. I’ll have to confirm it, of course, once I get him back to the lab, but given the knife is still in his chest and there’s blood everywhere and no other obvious injuries, I'd say it’s a safe bet.

Jack had also worked with Frankie for years and had been thrilled for her and her husband when they had finally had a child after twenty years of trying. Little Tania was approaching two now and was an adorable and bubbly toddler with her mother’s big brown eyes.

We may as well head back to the station, he said to Rose. Start going through Mr. Milford’s old cases, see if there was anyone who ever threatened him. Or anyone who had any sort of fascination with stars, he added with a glance at the ceiling. Steph, Frankie—call us if you get anything.

As he and Rose exited the room, Jack hoped that this case would wrap itself up ASAP as he was already planning where he was going to visit on his much-needed vacation.

*  *  *  *  *

9:24 A.M.

Laura sat at her window watching what was happening below her.

She didn’t want to watch.

And yet somehow, she couldn’t seem to look away.

Police cars and crime scene vans filled the street outside her apartment building. It seemed like half the residents were milling around, for some reason enjoying the hubbub that always accompanied a crime scene.

Laura could never understand why people were drawn to watching the aftermath of violence.

Why would you want to watch as the police scrambled through the remnants of someone’s life, trying to figure out who had cause to hurt them and why?

And sometimes there was no why.

She wondered what particular tragedy had befallen one of her neighbors.

Obviously, it was something serious, judging by the number of cops and crime scene personnel who had responded.

She would never find out, though.

She didn’t watch the news.

She didn’t read the papers.

She didn’t use any website that showed any news articles.

And she never left her apartment.

Never ever.

It had been ten years now.

Ten years that she had spent inside these walls.

Ten years since she last felt the sun or the breeze on her skin.

Ten years since she had spoken to someone face-to-face.

Ten years since she had shut down her previous life and locked herself away.

Ten years and she was no closer to ending her self-imposed exile.

*  *  *  *  *

4:45 P.M.

I can't go through another file, Jack announced wearily, pushing away from his desk. He and Rose had been going through Tarek Milford’s files for the last six hours. They hadn’t even stopped for a lunch break.

Yeah, I hear ya, Rose agreed, stifling a yawn and setting down the file she was holding.

Make any progress? he asked as he stretched his back, trying to erase the kinks from sitting too long in the same position.

I have three piles, Rose replied. The definite nos, which are mainly his non-violent parolees; the maybes, which was basically anyone who had committed murder, and those who had made any threats to Mr. Milford. She pointed to each pile as she spoke.

He had used a similar system. I have four who made threats, how many did you get?

Two, Rose replied.

That’s not so bad. He was relieved there hadn’t been too many; six was manageable. We should check those offenders out before we go, see what they’re up to these days. You get anything related to stars?

Nope. Rose shook her head, sending her red hair, which she had taken out of its ponytail a few hours ago, flying around her head. Is the daughter sure they weren’t there before? He does have grandkids—maybe he put the stars up for them.

She said they weren’t there when she was at the house yesterday. The killer did it. But why? Jack had seen a lot of unusual things in his time as a cop, but these glow-in-the-dark children’s star stickers were really baffling him.

I have no idea, but I'm guessing once we figure that out, we’ll know who the killer is, Rose answered.

We should run the MO—see if it pops up any similar crimes, he suggested.

We’ll do it first thing in the morning, Rose agreed.

I’ll do it tonight, after I look into the parolees who made threats against Mr. Milford, Jack said. He had nowhere to go and nowhere to be tonight, so he may as well work.

"He supervised a lot of murderers and violent offenders—any one of them could have killed him. Rose was looking thoughtful. But what would be the point? He’s retired, and even if he wasn't, killing their parole officer would have only gotten them more time and ultimately, if they ever got back out, another parole officer. And most of the murders were drug or family violence motivated."

Anyone who killed just for the sake of killing? There had been no one in his pile of cases, but maybe his partner had come across something.

Not yet, but we still have more files to go through tomorrow.

Any of the neighbors report hearing or seeing anything suspicious last night or over the last few days?

They haven’t finished interviewing everyone yet, but so far nothing, Rose replied. Doorman says there were no unaccounted-for visitors last night. Just residents, a few family and friends, and a couple of delivery guys, all of whom left the building.

Maybe he got in a window, then? Jack pondered. The building was secure. One of the most secure he had ever seen. Breaking in wouldn’t have been an easy task.

Or he lives in the building, Rose put forward.

Possible, he nodded slowly, but super risky. It’s like inviting the police to your back door. Still, we can't discount it.

Rose’s phone pinged and she glanced down at it and then back up at him, a huge smile on her pretty face. That’s Steph, she says she got a few prints from the stickers, she’s running it through AFIS right now. Maybe we’ll get a hit. Wrap this case up right away.

Jack could only hope. Before he could comment, his own phone beeped. He quickly skimmed the text. Frankie says COD was exactly what we all thought. Once we finish with the parolees who made threats, we should go through anyone who killed with a knife.

A knife to the heart seems personal, Rose mused. Maybe we’re off base with this parolee thing. Just because Tarek Milford used to work as a parole officer doesn’t mean it has anything to do with his murder. Maybe we should be looking at a jilted lover.

I don’t know. He considered this. I agree the knife to the heart is personal, but Jordanna said that he had been in poor health since his fall. Physically and mentally. She said he had been depressed. I can't see him being involved with someone. Besides, Jordanna didn’t mention anything about a girlfriend.

Could have been broken up for a while, Rose countered. And maybe the daughter didn’t know about it.

Maybe.