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Kevin
Now that Fred was out of the way, it left the group wide open to do what it would. However, there was still the novelist to deal with. Did Jessica know anything and would it end up in her book? He had to find out. Even if she hadn’t written it into the plot, her knowledge was dangerous to the group.
Kevin felt woozy from the drugs. Nonetheless, he knew the group’s plans took precedence over even an innocent life.
Sometimes sacrifices had to be made for the greater good.
CHAPTER TEN
Joe
The van crawled up the hill, keeping a safe distance from Jessica’s Dodge Dart. Cotter slowed and pulled over, as Jessica parked and got out.
“She’s heading to the apartment.” Billy spoke in a high-pitched singsong.
Cotter grunted.
Billy shook his head. “Man, she’s gonna run now.”
“Maybe it’s for the best.”
Billy stared at him. “But what about . . . .”
“Billy.” Cotter struggled to keep his voice low and even. “What did I tell you before?”
Billy’s face furrowed in thought. “If she runs, we follow?”
“Right.”
“And the others?”
Cotter raised a hand and dropped it. “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”
“So . . . just keep watching her for now?”
Cotter looked at Billy. “You catch on quick, Sport.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Jessica
I felt the room spin at the sight of Fred’s corpse. Seeing him dead was like a punch in the gut. From the sight of his pants, it was obvious the stench wasn’t just from bodily deterioration. He’d emptied a full bladder and moved his bowels upon death.
The sewage smell was overbearing, so I stepped back outside, gulping the fresher air in the hallway. I shut the door behind me, but the foul odor lingered in my nostrils.
The door across from me opened, and I jumped. I gaped as an old woman came out. She had disconcertingly light blue eyes embedded in wrinkled flesh, and her head was topped with a shock of gray hair. Wrapped in a tattered pink robe, she jangled a set of keys in one palsied hand and held a tissue in the other.
“Are you all right?” Her voice sounded quivery and nasal.
“I . . . I’m okay.” I wasn’t ready to talk to anyone about Fred yet. Let alone a little old lady in a pink robe in a hallway where I didn’t even want to be.
The old woman gave a vague nod, shuffled toward the steps, and descended them, keys jingling all the way.
I stared at Fred’s door and tried not to think of what was behind it. Fred had been acting peculiar, but he hadn’t struck me as suicidal and I hadn’t seen a weapon. So why would someone kill Fred? What did Cynthia mean when she said it might have something to do with me?
I considered calling the police, but frankly, I didn’t want to get involved. I could call in an anonymous tip from a phone booth. Assuming I could still find one. Could they trace the call, if I made it from my cell? Besides, the cops couldn’t bring Fred back to life.
I felt dizzy. I backed away from the door, hands raised as if to ward off evil, my thoughts reeling. When did this happen? Who was the last to see him alive?
