Victoria
Oh, God… That voice. My blood ran cold. “How… how did you find me?”
A cruel laugh crackled over the phone line, raising the hairs on the back of my neck. “Still so naïve, aren’t you?”
“What do you want?”
I heard him draw in a deep breath before exhaling. “I want you.”
Why was he doing this? “I don’t—”
“1143 Woodard Drive. Monique needs your help, Bekah.”
“What did you do?” My voice was little more than a whisper as I gripped the phone.
“It’s almost time.”
“Wait, I don’t—”
I pulled the phone away from my ear and stared at the blank screen. Shivers racked my body and my hands shook as I dialed the police.
“911, what’s your emergency?”
“M-my name is Dr. Victoria Carr.” I swallowed hard and tried to modulate my voice. “I just received a phone call from someone asking for help. 1143 Woodard Drive. I… I think she might be hurt.”
“Ma’am—”
“Just send help!”
I hung up before the dispatcher could say another word. Springing from the bed, heart racing, I yanked on the closest pair of jeans and a sweatshirt to ward off the chill that snaked through my body. Grabbing up my phone, I ran down the steps, taking only a moment to gather my hair into a ponytail and check my reflection in the mirror that hung in the hallway. Snatching up my keys and purse from the side table, I threw the front door open then quickly relocked it before sprinting toward the driveway.
Heart still racing, I backed down the driveway and sped toward the exit of the allotment. I braked as I passed the guard station, suddenly realizing I had no idea where I was going. Digging my phone from my bag, I spoke into the microphone. “Find directions: 1143 Woodard Drive.”
The stilted voice in the phone called out directions and I cut across a back road to a small suburb of Dallas. Blue and red lights pierced the dark sky, and dread congealed in my stomach as I pulled up in front of the small house. The men and women on scene moved slowly, milling around the lawn, and my heart dropped to my toes. I was too late.
* * *
“What exactly did the caller say?”
I wrapped my hands around the Styrofoam cup, trying to absorb what little warmth filtered through the thick material. “He called me Bekah, told me that the woman—Monique—needed help. I… I was still half asleep, but I remembered the address. I called you guys as soon as I hung up.”
“You said that a male called you, not Ms. Henderson herself?” Detective Sanchez propped a hip on the table and crossed his arms over his wide chest as he inspected me.
“Yes. He had a deep voice and the way he said it, to send help soon, I had a feeling something bad had happened. He seemed… familiar.”
“Because he called you Bekah?”
“Yes.” I gave a jerky nod. “But there was something else. I can’t describe it, but… I feel like it’s him.”
Detective Sanchez studied me. “You believe this is the same man who killed Leah Wilson?”
“He sounds older, more mature… but there was something about his voice. The tone, maybe. Just the sound of it…”
A shiver raced down my spine at the memory of his words grating over the phone line, and the coffee sloshed precariously in the cup. I leaned forward and set it on the table before lacing my fingers together and pressing them between my thighs, a gesture that always made an appearance when I was nervous.
“The only person who knows about my past is my friend Kate—Dr. Winfield. We’ve known each other since college, but I haven’t told anyone else. I moved in with my grandparents in Snyder before my senior year of high school and changed my name. No one here has ever known me by anything other than Victoria.”
“I see.” Sanchez dipped his chin. “Ms. Henderson was a nurse at St. Mary’s Hospital. Were you ever in contact with her?”
I shook my head. “No. I’m not a licensed physician, so I don’t have to make rounds. I’ve never met her that I’m aware of.”
“Did the caller say anything else?”
“No, not that I can remember.” I wrung my hands together. “Oh—he did say something like ‘it’s almost time.’”
“In reference to Ms. Henderson?”
“I don’t know.” I lifted one shoulder. “He hung up before I could ask.”
The detective nodded as he pulled a card from his pocket and handed it over to me. “Thanks for calling it in and for answering our questions. I assume you’ll be around if we need anything?” At my nod, he continued. “Let me know if anything else comes to mind.”
“Thank you.” I accepted the card and stood. “I appreciate your help.”
Detective Sanchez held the door for me as I left the small interrogation room. Over the past few hours, the sun had risen fully in the sky and its bright light streamed through the glass doors. I walked outside, shielding my eyes, debating what to do. Still shaken from the call this morning, I debated canceling today’s appointments but quickly nixed the idea. It would give me something to do—something to keep my mind off the woman’s murder.
Shortly after I arrived at Monique’s house, reporters had flocked to the scene in droves, the information apparently leaked by a neighbor or someone working the case. I’d spoken with the patrolmen as well as the coroner but it seemed they’d never had a chance to save Monique.
The killer must have spent several hours with her, judging from the damage inflicted on her body. The deceased woman had several defensive wounds, as well as the deep laceration that stretched from ear to ear and ultimately ended her life. Just like Leah.
I shivered at the thought. I’d tried for so long not to think about that night, but it always loomed in the back of my mind. I recalled each detail as if it were yesterday instead of almost ten years ago now. Leah had put up a good fight, but her killer had overpowered her, taken advantage of her before killing her with a vicious slice across the throat. And now he was back.
Looking left and right, examining my surroundings, I strode quickly through the parking lot and climbed into my car. As soon as the door closed, I locked it. Even the oppressive heat couldn’t dispel the chill that had seeped into my bones, and I ran my hands briskly over my arms. Starting the car, I headed toward my office building and made my way to the top floor.
Phyllis met me in the lobby. “Good Lord, girl, what in the name of all things holy happened this morning?” Dogging my steps the entire way back to my office, she continued, “I turned on the news this morning and there you were. I couldn’t believe my eyes.”
I scrunched up my nose. “They already ran the story?”
Phyllis shook her head. “They only showed a little clip this morning. Said they’d have the ‘full story’ at six.”
I rolled my eyes. “Vultures.”
“So?” She stood next to the desk, hands propped on her generous hips. “What happened?”
Sinking into my chair, I leaned back and rubbed my temples. “I got a call this morning from the killer. He said a woman needed help and gave me her address, so I called it in to the police and drove to her house. I’m sure the police would have stopped by to check things out, but I needed to see for myself.”
“Why in the blue blazes did he call you?”
I bit her tongue. I’d never told Phyllis of my past and I didn’t intend to now. No use worrying the poor woman until the police were able to find more information. Little spooked Phyllis, though; the woman would probably take it upon herself to be my personal protector.
“I’m not sure. The police are trying to figure that out.”
Concern settled over her face. “Are you sure you don’t want to go home and relax?”
I shook my head. “No, I need something to take my mind off it all.”
Phyllis nodded sagely. “Well, if you change your mind or if you need anything, you just let me know.”
I shot her an appreciative smile. “Thank you. I’m sure I’ll be fine.”
Shutting off thoughts of Monique’s murder, I turned my attention to the computer, determined to lose myself in work. Four sessions and several hours later, I walked through the front door and dropped my purse and keys on the console table in the foyer. Exhaustion pulled at me, my mind and body tired from having been roused from bed so early. Too tired to cook, I poured myself a bowl of cereal and carried it to the living room.
Curling up in a corner of the couch, I flipped on the TV. Immediately, my face filled the screen and a female reporter spoke in the background. “… local doctor was called to the scene early this morning. Monique Henderson, a resident of a quaint community just outside of Dallas was the victim of a brutal…”
I flipped channels until I landed on a home and garden show. I couldn’t believe the news had spread so quickly. And why did they have to involve me? It was bad enough that a woman had been brutally murdered, but now everyone would think I was somehow involved. We hadn’t attended college together, nor were we even passing acquaintances. I’d told the cops the same thing this morning, but the reporters didn’t know that. Hopefully, no one leaked any details of my past. I’d reserved that information until speaking with Detective Sanchez, and he seemed intent on keeping it secret as it wasn’t yet relative to the case. If they found new evidence though, they might have to dig further into my background. I had no desire to dredge that up again.
I’d spent months after Leah’s death working with the local police, appealing to the community, trying to find the killer. It seemed he’d just vanished into thin air. No one had seen him, no one had recognized him or come forward.
But now I knew—he’d always been there watching, waiting for the right time.