Killer (The Company Book 2)
Killer: Chapter 8

VANESSA

The next day

For days, I feel followed. Wherever I go, someone’s always behind me. Whether it’s a car, a person stalking closely, or suspicious coincidences, everything makes me feel nervous. It’s as if I’m losing my mind. Half of it probably is my imagination and the other part … well, let’s just say that a car with a very peculiar license plate has been showing up on my street every so often. It’s like he’s spying on me, waiting for me to take the bait, but I know I won’t catch him. Not before he catches me.

The only thing I can do is go after him in a way he least expects it. Visit him in a place he wouldn’t think I’d go. He probably thinks I don’t have the guts for it, but I’ll prove him wrong. I will replace the evidence I need and show the police who the real killer is. That way they won’t be able to pin it on me.

Sliding aside the curtains, I look out the window and stare at the license plate. The numbers are etched into my memory; I’ve seen them so many times. I guess it shouldn’t be too hard for my friends at the police station to replace out who it belongs to.

I make a quick call to my father. “Father.”

“Hi, honey. How are you? We haven’t spoken since … well, are you feeling better?”

He wasn’t even at the funeral. He was too busy using a pair of scissors to cut a ribbon around a new opera building that just opened in town. Guess some things are more important than others are. Oh well, I can’t blame him. I would’ve given anything to be anywhere but at that grave.

“Yeah, much better,” I lie. I’m being threatened not to spill the truth to the police while they’re about to replace out it was me who gave the glass containing the poison to Phillip. I’d hardly call that ‘better.’

“Hey, I was wondering … Could you get a license plate number checked for me?” I ask with a sweet voice.

“Honey … We talked about this.”

“I know, Father, but this is important. I promise you, you’ll want to help me on this.”

“I can’t just abuse my connections.”

“Please?” I ask with an even sweeter voice.

He sighs. “Oh, all right.”

“Thank you!” I say. “I’ll send you the number via text.”

“Don’t thank me yet. I don’t know if they will tell me what you want to know, but I can try.”

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll get it done. They always listen to you. You’re such an inspiration for the city!” I really need to stop, before I barf in my mouth.

“I’ll do my best.”

“Thank you. Let me know when you get it.”

“Should be within a couple of days.”

“Okay. Loved talking to you. Bye.” I hang up the phone before he can say anything else. It’s not unusual to get what I want without being very nice. This is just how things go in our family. We use and abuse to our heart’s content.

Oh well, time for my treatment at the spa. I have to do something while I wait for the call anyway … besides, it’s not like I’m followed or anything, and that I have to keep up the charade. Oh, but wait, I do.

Which is why I pretend that I’m not doing anything out of the ordinary, as usual. I’m good at playing the dumbass. It provides a good cover so I can surprise people when I waltz all over them. They never see what’s coming their way until it’s too late.

I need the info my father will supply, so there’s plenty of time to waste.

All good things come to those who wait.

***

One hour later…

When I’m back home, the first thing I do is lounge on the couch with a cold drink. I’m finally able to have a living room to myself without Phillip claiming the television. You know, I never knew how wonderful it would be not to have him around. You know what? I’m glad he died. I’m not going to lie. I hated his guts, and there’s no point in denying it. I almost feel bad for wanting him gone even sooner. Almost.

Taking a deep breath, I look out the window and enjoy the short bursts of sunlight when all of the sudden the doorbell rings.

Pablo, our housekeeper, goes to open it. “Mrs. Starr. It’s the police.”

Frowning, I get up from my seat. “What do they want?”

“Could you come to the door, please, Mrs. Starr,” I hear the police call out.

I tiptoe to the door in my ballet shoes, only to replace a man staring at me with parted lips and a cold look on his face.

“What’s the matter?” I ask. “Found anything new in my husband’s case?”

“Yes, ma’am. As a matter of fact, we found out what poisoned him.” My heart sinks into my shoes. “We have to take you to the station.”

“What?” I say, my breath hitching in my throat.

“I’m sorry, but we have to take you in for questioning.”

Before I can say anything, the police officer has already stepped into my house and grabbed my hand. “I’ll escort you to the car.”

I nod slowly, but my body is going numb. As if I’m in a trance from which I can’t wake up.

“I’ll watch the house for you, Mrs. Starr,” Pablo says.

“Yes …” I murmur, as the officers escort me to the car.

I’ve never sat in a police car. This will be my first time.

And as a criminal, too.

This is all his fault, fucking Phoenix Sullivan. He’s trying to pin it on me, but I won’t let him get away with it. One way or another, I’ll get out of this mess, and when I do, he’ll burn for this.

***

Two hours later…

“I already told you that I’m innocent.”

“Yes, ma’am, you keep saying that, but all evidence points in your direction.”

I sigh out loud. “Yes, I gave that glass to him, but I didn’t know it was filled with poison.”

“It’s a little too much of a coincidence.”

“What is?” I frown.

“Well, considering your husband’s … affairs and the current state of your marriage, it’s not looking good from our perspective.”

“You base your conclusions on the tabloids,” I say, leaning forward. “Shame on you. You should know better than that.”

“Not entirely, Mrs. Starr. Our sources place your husband at a local strip club and multiple other venues where there are walkers on the streets.”

“You mean hookers. Call it for what it is.” I make a face. I’m seriously not impressed with their efforts.

“We understand your frustration, but we have substantial evidence against you.”

“No, you don’t. All you have is some glass, which I supposedly gave him, and my supposed anger toward my husband for cheating. That’s not evidence, that’s circumstantial, at best. You’re just trying to pin it on me, just like the real killer.”

“And who do you suppose this real killer is then?” they ask, as if they don’t know it’s not me.

“Phoenix Sullivan. And he’s still out there on the streets right now, doing his business. He’s probably off killing someone else as we speak.”

The police officer smiles at me. I know he doesn’t believe me, but they can’t keep me here forever, either.

“So, is this conversation finished? Can I go home now?” I ask.

“We still have a few questions …”

“You don’t have anything against me, so you’re holding me against my will. If I’m not under arrest, I’m free to go. So let me out.” I look him in the eyes. “Now.”

He sighs. “All right. If you’re not willing to help us.”

“I am, but you’re not listening.”

He grabs a pen and a notebook. “Tell us where he lives then. I will go and talk to him.”

“Like talking will help,” I say. “He won’t tell you the truth, if that’s what you’re thinking.” I laugh. “Imagine that, a killer telling you that he murdered someone.” Now I can’t stop laughing.

He clears his throat to interrupt me. “We will check it out. For now, you’re free to go. But that doesn’t mean you’re not still a suspect.”

“I know. Don’t worry, I won’t run,” I say as I get up from my seat. “You think I’m a criminal, but you’re wrong, and I will prove it.”

“Please don’t do anything against the law,” he says, also getting up as I walk to the door.

I smile as I pass him, pausing for a second. “I’ll see you soon then.”

Sooner than he thinks.