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The man took his time. Ella sensed the hesitation in his words. He was being careful and meticulous, as with everything he’d done so far. Her presence at his door thwarted everything he’d worked so hard for, but what unnerved her most was his calm tone. When psychopaths were cornered, they usually acted out in a rage. John Milton – or whatever his real name might be – maintained a cool composure.
And that suggested he had a backup plan.
“You need to go,” he said.
“I’m not going anywhere. Come out, or I’ll come in.”
The buzzer cut out. The connection died. Ella was left with no choice.
She stepped back and charged forward with a brutal kick, sending a shockwave of numbness through her right leg. After a second assault, the sturdy wooden door burst open, ripping the chain lock clean off its wooden panel. Ella rushed in, pistol drawn, snaking through the long hallway.
“John Milton, FBI!” she called. The room to her right was barren, devoid of life. She followed though to a kitchen, equally deserted. She kept herself near the walls, checking corners, constantly looking over her shoulder.
But then a sudden bright light invaded the hallway. Ella glanced up to the top of the stairwell to see a groggy woman in a satin gown. “What the hell?” she screamed. “Get out of my house!”
“Charlotte Milton?”
Charlotte descended the stairs halfway. “You. It’s you. Why are you kicking my door down?”
“Miss Milton, please come down here. Where’s your husband?”
“John? Out.” She rubbed her eyes like she was trying to scrub away a bad dream. “You need to start explaining yourself. Miss Dark, was it?”
“Charlotte, I need to find your husband as soon as possible. Where is he?”
“Why?” she demanded.
“Because he’s a murderer. That body you found two days ago? John did that. I’m sorry, but it’s true.”
Charlotte scrunched up her face. “What? I don’t think so. That doesn’t make any sense.”
Ella had to give her the quick story and hope she believed her. There was no time to cover everything because John Milton’s motivations stretched back over three decades. “Charlotte, do you know where your husband was last night? The night before? Thursday night?”
“Yes I do. He was working. He’s a busy man.”
“Three women have been killed in this town over the past week, on those nights. It’s not a coincidence that John couldn’t be accounted for on those nights. I spoke to our killer through one of the victims’ phones, and I just spoke to John through your door cam. It’s the same voice. John is a murderer. I’m sorry.”
“You don’t know him. My husband wouldn’t do anything like that!”
Ella had to go back to the start. “Charlotte, I’m guessing it was John’s decision to move into this house? He was dead set on moving here, wasn’t he?”
“Yeah, but so what? He’d had enough of Baltimore.”
“Because this house means something to him. When John was a kid, he stalked the people who lived in this house. He lived in the vents in this house without them knowing.”
“Oh, God,” Charlotte said, clutching onto the handrail. “The vents. He’s always talking about the vents.”
“That’s why. John has a very dark past and we need to make sure no one else suffers at his hands.”
Charlotte collapsed on the stairs. Ella rushed to catch her. She caught the handrail and barely stopped herself from falling forward. Ella sat her down as she began hyperventilating.
“Please tell me this is a sick joke,” Charlotte said, every word punctuated by a puff of air.
“I’m not. Your husband isn’t who you think he is. I really need to know where he’s headed because lives are at stake.”
“I…. just….” Charlotte said. “John would never do this. He’s innocent.”
“Please, now isn’t the time for debate. You could be the next target. We need to know where he is.”
