If It Walks Like A Killer (The Carolina Killer Files #1) (18 page)

“I could, couldn’t I?” Rachael smiled at the small amount of freedom. “Has he told you how they’re doing?”

“We don’t talk much. Your husband is a hard man to get in touch with.”

“Yes. He is. Usually, he’s at work. I hope he’s taking off to help the kids adjust. I can’t imagine how hard this has been on them.”

“I’m sure he’s doing whatever he can for them.”

“I just want to see them.”

“They’ll visit, if they can, I’m sure.”

“What do you mean, if they can?”

“Well, I just mean I’m sure they’ve got a lot going on right now. Besides the usual stuff that they’re now doing with one less person, I’m sure the press is blowing up the phones. I’ve seen for myself that they’re at your house constantly. I just don’t want you to be upset if they don’t visit or call as much as you’d like.”

“Of course. They will visit though, they’ll find a way.” Rachael couldn’t help but feel offended as he tossed her worries aside. What could be more important than seeing their mother?

“Of course they will, Rachael.” He smiled at her. “And I’ll see you as often as I can. Of course with you being out four days a week for your sessions that will leave little time for visits. Just know that whenever you need anything, you can always contact me. I’ll try and keep you up to date with whatever I’m working on as well.”

“Do you put this much effort into each of your cases?”

“I don’t have any other clients at the moment, so you’re my sole focus. Well, your case is.” He let out a laugh. “But rest assured, when I have multiple cases, I’m just like every other scummy lawyer.”

Rachael smiled. His laugh was nice: warm and deep, sort of welcoming. The lines around his eyes told her of a time when he’d once laughed more than the dignified look he now carried.

“What?” he asked, noticing her staring.

“Nothing.” She smiled. “It’s just that I don’t think I’ve ever seen you laugh.”

“Well, there hasn’t been much call for laughter in our time together. Once we win though, you’ll see me laugh a whole lot more.”

“Do you really think we’ll win?”

He was silent for a second, staring out the windshield. When he spoke, it was with a calmness that slowed Rachael’s breathing. “I think the prosecution’s case is very strong. I also believe that people want to feel sorry for you, after what Caide’s done. With Ms. Steele’s diagnosis I personally can’t believe they’d sentence you.”

Rachael swallowed. “And without her diagnosis? If I don’t pass her tests? Then what?”

He sighed, gripping the steering wheel firmly. “Without her testimony, without her diagnosis, I believe it would be very lucky if we won. I want to believe the good guys always win, Rachael, I’ve seen so much bad throughout my career. I have to believe in the justice system. Judge Crafton is a fair man; I believe he will do what is right. I wish I had something more solid to tell you, I do, but the one thing I’ll tell you that is definite is that I’ll never stop working your case. I won’t give up until you’re free.”

Rachael stared out the window as he spoke, taking in his every word. When he paused, she sighed. “I appreciate you, Argus. I know I was a pain in the beginning and I know how hopeless this case seems, I just want you to know that I do appreciate you. You’ve been so supportive throughout everything.”

He smiled, though he didn’t look at her.

“I’m sorry, by the way, about your wife. I never told you but I’m sorry you went through that. No one deserves to feel this way.”

Hampton nodded, turning up the radio. “This is a good song,” he said simply. They rode the rest of the way in silence, both lost in their own troubled thoughts.

Chapter Thirty-One

Corie

Corie was going to be late for class again. This was beginning to be an everyday thing. Unlike the rest of her classmates, she wasn’t late because she was hungover or wanting to sleep in, rather simply because she couldn’t bear to tell the Abbotts no.

She pulled into the Abbott’s cul-de-sac and saw the all too familiar news vans, packed with hungry reporters ready to sink their teeth into anyone who dared turn down the Abbott’s street. Corie had always believed there to be laws protecting people from the sort of harassment she’d encountered the past few weeks, but if there were they were not being enforced. Reporters hassled neighbors as they tried to unload their groceries, questioned early morning joggers, even probed parents waiting at the school bus stops. The Abbott’s street had become barren quickly. Corie saw the reporters approaching her car before she was even able to pull into the driveway. She edged forward at a snail’s pace and placed her car in park. She pulled her gray hood over her head and pushed her sunglasses up on her nose.
Here goes nothing.

Flashing lights instantly met her, even with the morning sun glaring down.

“What business do you have with the Abbotts?”

“Did you know Rachael Abbott personally?”

“Did you ever suspect Mrs. Abbott of such rash behavior?”

“Did Mrs. Abbott conspire to kill anymore of Mr. Abbott’s mistresses?”

“Are you one of Caide Abbott’s mistresses?”

She was hounded by cameras, questions, and microphones as she approached the door, praying Caide had remembered to leave it unlocked.

“Get back, you vultures,” she yelled as she felt another reporter shove into her. She grasped the cool metal of the door handle and was relieved when it opened and allowed her to shuffle into the house. She was met by imminent silence.

“Hello?” she called into the still house. “Anyone home?”

The patter of tiny feet alerted her that someone was in the kitchen. She passed through the living room that had been littered with toys and empty food containers.

As she got into the kitchen, Corie gasped. Had it been any other morning, under any other circumstance, Corie would have laughed when she saw the children. Instead, her stomach knotted up.

“Brinley?”

The little girl, dressed in a plaid shirt which had been buttoned all wrong and shorts even though it was barely over thirty degrees outside, had her hair pulled up into what was supposed to be a ponytail but because of the food and dirt caked into it had only managed to get a few strands pulled up. Her face was covered in what looked like marker, spaghetti sauce, and smudged bright pink lipstick. When she saw Corie, she stepped back as if she were in trouble. That’s when Corie got a good look at Davis. He was sitting on the floor with his un-casted leg in one pair of bright red pants that it looked like he’d outgrown years ago. His white t-shirt looked vaguely like the one Corie had dressed him in yesterday except that now it was more yellow than white and had substances that made even Corie’s strong stomach squirm. Brinley had two bowls on the floor, both filled with cereal. The empty milk jug lay on the floor, wads of toilet paper floating through the river of milk that encompassed the kitchen.

Suddenly Davis began crying. Corie bent down to pick him up, careful not to kneel in the milk or the waterlogged pieces of cereal that were painting the floor.

“Shhh. Davis, baby, it’s okay. What’s going on, Brin? Where’s your Dad?”

Brinley, realizing she wasn’t in trouble, rushed forward, hugging Corie’s pant leg. Corie was immediately glad she’d chosen her darkest pair of jeans today.

“Daddy’s still asleep,” Brinley whispered. “He said not to wake him but Bubby got too hungry to wait. I tried to get him dressed, but he just kept crying. I got all dressed for school but I spilled a mess on the floor cause the milk was heavy and cereal was all I could reach. I’m not supposed to climb on the counters either to clean it up so I had to use our potty paper. And I couldn’t pick up Davis very high because he’s so heavy so we had to eat on the floor because his leg won’t let him climb in chairs anymore.” She sighed exhaustedly.

“It’s okay, Brin. You aren’t in trouble. You were a very big girl today, okay?” She squatted down until she was eye level with the girl.

Brinley nodded. “Daddy says I have to be a big girl now that my Momma’s gone. He says I’m in charge now and that’s why he let me wear my Momma’s lipstick.”

Corie felt sick to her stomach. Why would he tell them Rachael was gone? And how could he expect Brinley to care for Davis properly? Seeing the usually beautiful children covered in filth made Corie ill. Rachael would’ve had a fit. She glanced at her watch and sighed. She stood no chance of getting Brinley cleaned up and to school before they were both late and there was no way she would leave Davis alone. She grabbed a handful of paper towels, pulling Davis’ leg out of the too small pants. She tapped Brinley’s nose. “You’re lucky I love you so much, kiddo.”

“I love you too, Corie.” Brinley happily took a paper towel from her babysitter and helped to clean up her mess.

***

Caide

Caide Abbott dreamt with liquor filled dreams. First he was in court, surrounded by Mason and Meachum and all of their families. He was trying to win the case but every time he would start to speak a hippie in a see-through dress would play her guitar. When he walked up to confront the hippie, she turned into Blaire’s mom. She stood, crying and wearing a black veil like he pictured her wearing to the funeral. When he turned around he was surrounded by dozens of black-clad grievers who cried tears of blood. He looked down, seeing that he was standing over a coffin where Blaire lay—bloody and disfigured, her blonde hair soaked in red. He stepped back, disgusted by her rotting corpse only to bump into something else. He turned around, facing his wife. She was wearing a yellow sundress and a straw hat, just like the summer they’d gone to the beach after they’d found out about Davis. Caide remembered that as being the happiest year of their marriage. Her blonde hair had been bleached brighter by the sun and her skin radiated a tan that made her pregnancy glow even more beautiful. Caide had fallen in love with her all over again that afternoon. Suddenly he was overcome with a yearning for their life, before all of this. He gathered her in his arms, hugging her tightly and kissing her head. Then a wetness filled his front, like he’d been splashed with warm water. When they pulled apart his wife’s yellow dress had been stained a dark red, thick blood splattered all over her. He stepped back. She reached her arms out to him. “Caide? What’s wrong?”

“Get away from me,” Caide yelled, paralyzed in fear.

“Why? What’s wrong? What are you looking at me like that?” Bloody Rachael asked, walking calmly toward him.

“You’re not my wife. My wife is no murderer. I don’t know you,” he screamed, panic filling his body.

“Please don’t do that, dear, you’re hurting my feelings.”

Caide trembled, like a child, sobs rattling his body as his blood soaked wife inched toward him.

“You can’t hide from me, darling. I’ll always be here. I’ll always find you.”

Caide whimpered, still unable to move. His wife stopped in front of him, her face nearly touching his. She smiled sweetly, her teeth coated in sticky red blood. He reached in his pocket, looking for something to ward her off with. He pulled out a phone, trying to dial a number. Instead, it began ringing.

Then, he was awake and the ringing hadn’t stopped. He rolled over, blinking away the black spots that clouded his vision. He wiped his drool covered chin on the pillow and rubbed his eyes. The empty bottle of bourbon lay on Rachael’s pillow, reminding him of the night before. He glanced at the clock on the night stand. It was nearly eleven.

God, no.
He thought, and even the voice in his head was loud enough to cause him to wince in pain. The bright yellow curtains that Rachael had insisted would brighten up the room were doing that and more. He grabbed an extra blanket off the bed and tossed it toward the window, trying to block out the bright sun that shone through. One corner caught but it did little good. Caide rolled over, face down in his pillow, welcoming the dark in his bloodshot, hungover eyes. Did hangovers hurt this much in his twenties? Surely not, or he’d actually remember those years. Then, the phone began to ring again, a loud, bellowing, earth shattering, mind blowing, nails on a chalkboard, screeching ring and he remembered what woke him in the first place. At first he believed it must be Mason, wondering where he was, but as the sleep coated thoughts wore off he recalled his last conversation with Mason after the trial and knew that couldn’t be it:

He’d arrived to the office an hour late after fighting with the kids and eventually calling Corie to get them ready. Mason met him at the door, asking to see him in his office. Once in the office, Meachum was already seated, and Caide had known what was coming. They had been waiting for him. They smiled at him. “Have a seat, Caide,” Meachum had said, gesturing toward the seat next to him.

“What’s going on, guys?” Caide had known this was sure to be coming but it still felt like a slap in the face.

“We need to talk about what’s best for the company’s immediate future.”

“And let me guess: I’m not a part of that anymore.”

“Now, Caide, this isn’t easy for any of us. You’ve become like a son to us, to both of us.” Meachum spoke up. “Why, we’ve known you since you were knee high and still running around in diapers.”

Caide doubted very much that his mother had ever let him run around in diapers.

“Now, we aren’t talking about anything permanent, of course,” Mason added lightly.

“So what? I’m being let go?”

“Just temporarily, until the trial is over. After that, we’ll make a long term decision. Think of it more as an extended vacation. Take the kids away from here. You all can enjoy some time off, away from all this mess.”

“This mess,” Caide said with disgust, “is my life. I’m handling it. You guys have to know this isn’t going to interfere with my job. I’m committed to this company as much now as I ever have been. You know me. I’ve pulled forty-eight hour shifts just to make sure you guys were ready for court. Before we got this office and the staff we have now, I pulled all the extra work, work that we now have split up between three people. I have put more effort into this company than anything else in my life. You have to know that none of that changes now. This trial changes nothing.”

“It changes everything, son,” Mason said, “I have no doubt your work ethic won’t change. We may be old men but we do realize you are a huge part of what makes this company tick. Believe me when I say that this was not an easy decision nor one we will take lightly. We wish it could be different, Caide. You haven’t been around the past few days to notice but over half of our clients have dropped us since the murder, the other half are just barely hanging on. I’m sorry, Caide, but unfortunately, no matter how much you’ve done for us, no matter how much you mean to us, the fact remains that until your wife’s name is cleared, any affiliation with you or lack of reprimand may well ruin our company.”

“And if her name isn’t cleared? If she’s found guilty?”

Mason looked shocked by the question.

Meachum patted Caide’s shoulder. “We all love Rachael, son. We do, but surely you know we can’t continue to employ the man whose wife murdered another employee. It’s guilt by association. It’s just bad business.”

“Of course, we’ll be glad to give you the option to resign respectfully. Regardless, overall yes, if your wife is convicted, your job here at Mason and Meachum…well, I’m afraid you may have screwed yourself out of it. No pun intended.”

Meachum’s cheeks had grown red from attempting to conceal his laughter. The two hyenas had probably laughed themselves silly over this joke once Caide had left

Caide shook the memory from his brain, focusing on the shrill phone that was ringing for the third time. Caide pushed himself off the bed, slowly so as not to make the room spin. He stumbled across the room, trying desperately to shield his eyes, to where his phone lay charging. He flipped it open to check the caller ID. The number was not one saved to his phone, but instead one he knew by heart. Bile rose in his throat as he recognized it. He pressed the answer button after a brief hesitation. There was no point ignoring her, she’d only call back.

“Hello?” he asked softly, so as not to erupt the hangover fueled volcano in his head.

“Hello, Caide Matthew,” she said, her voice cool and crisp just like he’d remembered.