Behind him he heard the creaking of an old door opening, he wheeled quickly but without sound to see Blanche’s still in place. His breathing stopped as he listened for further indication that someone was up. Footsteps moved down the hallway just outside the door and he moved to see what and who it was. As the muffled noise moved beyond Blanche’s room he pulled the door in just enough to look into the hallway. An older woman dressed in a robe and slippers, her head wrapped with toilet paper, was making her way down the hall. Lester watched her closely as she opened a door, flipped on a light and stepped inside.
“Must be the bathroom,” he thought.
He watched and waited for her to make the return trip, closing the door slightly so he could still listen to her pass. A few minutes later she did and he could hear the toilet flush as she exited the bathroom. Caroline moved down the hall and back to her own room without any concern and was once again safely tucked away behind a locked door. The intruder breathed a sigh of relief but knew it was time to go. As he stood across the room, he once again removed the camera and took a departing picture of the still restful woman, returned the camera and knife to their places and slipped out the door, carefully closing and latching it behind him.
Lester made it back to his van in the early morning hours and climbed behind the wheel for the drive home. The packet he was anticipating should be there and he could make the final plans for his departure the following day. He removed the key from his front pocket and inserted it into the ignition, starting the car with the help of some pressure on the accelerator. He grasped the wheel with both hands, expecting to see both covered with a glove, but only the right was thusly encased. His mind dashed back through the last few minutes and remembered that he had stuck the glove in his front pocket when he had felt Blanche’s breath. He reached down to secure the glove and put it with the other in the van. It was gone! Lester scrambled from the idling van and looked on the ground but it was nowhere in sight. Again he ran his hands through his pockets, front and back, it was definitely gone.
Now sitting safely in his own drive, he continued to berate himself for being so careless, however, he would soon be gone and the glove would provide the authorities with only the smallest of advantages. Exhausted and needing to get to bed, he made the walk back to the distressed mailbox one last time. His steps were plodding, fatigue setting in, but he wanted to see if the parcel was there. He opened the latch as he had done now for the third time in as many weeks and saw the familiar manila envelope inside. He withdrew it but it was heavier than he had expected.
Inside the house, with the kitchen light on, he opened the envelope and inspected the contents. A woman’s picture slid out first, followed by a newly cut key. The woman was attractive, a bit heavy set perhaps but pretty features. He tipped the enclosure higher and a stack of worn twenties landed on the table with a mild thud.
“That’s nice!” he said.
Lastly a stack of documents with a cover letter slid from the envelope, an explanation given just as Jeremy had given it to Iggy. The ‘outing’ must take place tonight at 8:00 p.m., he would have the house to himself for a few hours to tear it apart. The remaining information was similar to that previously provided, address, general information about the owner, the layout of the home and a few odds and ends. Sounded easy enough, the money was a bonus for a job well done.
“At least they appreciate excellence when they see it,” he again said aloud.
Lester Cummings was about to retire and he was tired but exhilarated knowing that the end of one life was in sight and the beginning of another within his reach.
He spoke to the picture of the woman, “Well, Ms. Beverly Davis, looks like you’re my ticket to paradise.”
Thursday morning Sheriff Angelo Lupo sat in his office, facing three of his subordinates, looking for answers. Deputies Guest and Breland sat with their hats in their hands, Ricky Dean held a ream of documents on his lap using them as a platform for his notebook computer, which he had on and opened. The group had been in conference for over an hour, bringing the Sheriff up to date on the progress with The Stalker case. The Sheriff did not look happy.
“I get the feeling people, that once Mr. Wood was taken into custody we let our guard down. Granted there have been no further break-ins since his arrest but my gut tells me we’ve got the wrong guy sitting back there,” he said, motioning to the cell area.
Ricky Dean nodded his head in agreement. He had been the hero last week but lately his department had been under the gun to provide something that would break the case open. That lingering bit of information had yet to be uncovered. For the past hour he had gone over the reasons why it was highly unlikely that Seymour was The Stalker but could not rule him out as the shooter in the Jackson shooting.
“Okay Ricky, let me run this back and you tell me if I’ve got it,” the Sheriff said. “The fibers collected at the Wood residence do not match any of the fiber evidence you’ve collected at any of the crime scenes, and the castings made of Seymour’s foot do not match the Nike’s we’ve processed at the scenes either. Have I got it right so far?”
“Yup, sure ‘nough Sheriff,” Ricky agreed. “His feet are at least two shoe sizes bigger.”
“So what you are saying, and listen up you two,” he said, looking at his deputies. “There’s no way, based on the evidence alone, that Seymour Wood can be The Stalker!” again Ricky expressed his agreement.
“Then tell me you three, how did Seymour wind up with a gun stolen from our third crime scene and used in a shooting of a black man on the other side of town. I’m inclined to believe every word that has come out of Mr. Woods’s mouth. There doesn’t seem to me to be any plausible explanation other than he’s being set-up. I want to know who and why and I want to know it yesterday! You got me,” he said, his voice rising with each syllable. “Where do we stand with our other leads?”
Deputy Breland spoke up first. “I’ve been able to get to 80 % of the witnesses at the diner and they have each ruled out Seymour’s glasses and conclude that it’s one of the two wire frames with the tear drop style lenses. One of the witnesses pegged the Ray Bans right away, said she used to work in an optical store and recognized the style. She was apologetic that she didn’t bring that to our attention before but didn’t think she needed to be that specific. I’ll get to the remaining witnesses this morning. The Delaney woman also ruled out Seymour’s before I let her speak to him.”
“Good Breland, I’m inclined to believe our shooter is wearing the Ray Ban sunglasses. I want you to get a hold of the distributor and find out which shops sell them and if they carry that specific style. You’d also said that Mrs. Wood was able to come up with the bail money, is that right?”
“Yeah, Blanche Delaney told me that last night when she dropped by,” Breland confirmed.
“I can’t help but think that the Delaney woman is involved in this somehow. Have we explored old boyfriends, jilted lovers, anybody that may have a thing for her?”
It was Natalie’s turn to take a run with the ball. “Sheriff, I went over her past pretty carefully with her. She’s only ever been in one serious relationship. He turned out to be gay and she left him in Arizona. I personally don’t think it’s related. Since she’s been here she’s had no flings or one night stands. A pretty conservative woman that does her job and stays to herself. Isn’t into the bar scene, stays at Caroline’s Bed and Breakfast and doesn’t get out much. She randomly met Jasper and has a friendship but nothing sexual, and with Seymour there is a budding romance but they are not involved sexually either. I tried to get her to identify anyone that has struck her as strange but she didn’t come up with anybody, at least when I talked with her last.”