Macklin Page 7

  There was no place for an intruder to have gone but straight down. She walked to the rear of the master bedroom and realized this window wasn’t latched. She slid it open to see a small roof over the top of the back porch. It would have been easy for him to have climbed out, stepped onto the rear porch roof, gone to the far side of the house, jumped down, and carried on without the next-door-neighbor’s wife seeing him.

  Satisfied that she understood how he left the house, she turned and walked back downstairs and spoke to Lance. “He probably left within minutes of the police sirens.”

  “I never thought to look at the small roof,” he said. “Which direction do you think he would have gone?”

  “The only way he would have left,” she said, “is either through the backyard of either neighbor or around the front of the neighbors in such a way that the husband out in front didn’t see him. So please confirm with him that he stayed out in front on the porch and didn’t leave at all, and then I think we can safely assume the intruder headed in the opposite direction than he arrived.”

  “Do you want us to send out a search?”

  “He’ll be long gone, but we have to canvass the houses in this direction—see if anybody might have seen him leave, and then we need to check the houses on both sides of the street to see if anybody saw him arrive. What we’re looking for, of course, is where he has been and where he’s going.” She turned, looked back inside, and said, “I’ll see if there’s a specific reason why the same guy might have come back. Otherwise, I think we’re looking at somebody taking advantage of an empty house for easy pickings.”

  Lance agreed. “That’s what I was thinking too. Even in this type of housing, with so many families, not everyone knows who is around all the time.”

  Back in the house, she went through each room again, looking to see if something specific would have brought the same intruder back. Yet that theory felt wrong. But, as she hadn’t explored the concept that somebody had to be linked to the four people whose houses had been broken into, she couldn’t let it go yet. The living room was bare of finishing touches. No shelving, no pictures on the walls. There was a TV stand that held electronics, but the TV itself was older. She took a quick glance behind it, behind the cabinet, and then moved into the kitchen.

  Kitchens were always a pain. So many cupboards and items in the way. She didn’t even know what she was looking for. She suspected USB keys or something valuable, like jewelry. But she didn’t dare keep her mind closed to the fact a lot of other items were valuable. Keeping to a systematic approach, she went through each of the kitchen cupboards and drawers.

  At one point, she turned around to find Lance in the doorway. She shrugged. “I can’t let go of the idea he might have come back for a specific reason.”

  She walked over to the broom closet, carefully went through the contents, shifting aside brooms and mops and cleansers on the shelves, rags and packages of dish towels sitting on the side. Again nothing looked suspicious to her.

  With the downstairs fully looked over, she went upstairs, checking the stairs as she went. They were wooden, but she didn’t feel any were hollow along the way. She rapped on the walls as she carried on up the stairs.

  Lance called out from the bottom, “Are you really serious?”

  “Can’t mark it off my list until I’ve checked it out.”

  She knew they all studied her methods and thought she went way too far all the time. But when something niggled at the back of her head, she wouldn’t let it go. She’d been wrong before, but she’d rather waste the time looking and not finding anything than not to look and miss something important. And, being new on her job, she felt like she couldn’t afford to mess up. As if she had to prove herself. Not to herself but to everyone watching her performance.

  She went through the second bedroom first. Not only was it smaller and easier, but it was the avenue he chose as his escape. The dresser in there was empty, and, when she moved it out to look underneath and behind it, she found nothing as well. She did the same treatment to the night table, also empty. The closet was empty, so it really was just a spare bedroom—nobody stayed in here. It was made up, ready in case she did have company though. Knowing she’d hate to have it done to her own bed, but needing to know for sure, Alex quickly stripped the bed, checked between the mattresses and under the frame. Nothing. She stacked up all the bedding on top and walked out.

  At the hall closet she stopped and stared again. “Why would you take all the shelving off your closet walls and stack the shelves on the floor like this?” she asked Lance.

  He stepped up behind her. “No idea.”

  But she also got the feeling he didn’t give a damn either. She took a photo of it and closed the door.

  Stepping into the bathroom, she found a few toiletries, shampoos along the bathtub, but nothing major, nothing hidden, nothing secret. She did lift the toilet tank lid to make sure. Nothing to find there.

  The master bedroom was a different story. It was stuffed. She carefully made her way through the room. She turned to find Lance just standing in the doorway again. “Either help or go do something useful,” she said in exasperation.

  He raised both hands, palms up. “What is it you want me to do? I don’t even know what I’m looking for.”

  “Anything suspicious, anything that somebody would want to hurt somebody over. Look for a safe. Look for envelopes full of dirty photos. Look for blackmail material. Look for signs of a secret lover. I don’t know,” she cried out. “But, if this was the same guy, he had a reason to return here, and it had to be a hell of a reason to come back to a place he knows the police are now watching.”

  “But we aren’t watching it specifically anymore,” Lance argued. “It was broken into. The owner left. Finished. Amen.”

  “So you think it was just another guy casing the joint?”

  “What else could it be? It makes no sense for the burglar to come back.”

  “Unless he came looking for something specific … How many times have we seen the perpetrator return to the scene of the crime?”

  “Fine,” Lance muttered. He walked over to the bed. “Do you want me to strip it?”

  “Yes, I want you to strip it.”

  She finished with the closet and headed to the dresser. She took out one drawer, placed it on the floor, carefully went through everything inside it, went to the next drawer, and the next drawer. When she was done, she found nothing there either. She picked up the first drawer and carefully tried to fit it back in again, but it wouldn’t go. She reached underneath and froze. Putting it on the floor again, she carefully upended it to find an envelope taped to the bottom. “Well, well, well. What do we have here?”

  Lance was at her side immediately. “What do you think that is?”

  “No idea but I suggest we find out.”

  She ripped the envelope off the drawer bottom, opened it, and took out the contents. Inside were photographs. Lots and lots of photographs. The problem was, they were all of the same person. “These are all Marsha,” Alex whispered.

  “Marsha?”

  “The woman who was murdered.” She laid them out on the bed. “The stalker was being stalked.”

  *

  Macklin couldn’t settle down. He rattled around in his small place, hating the feel of not knowing what to do. He understood the person who had lived in one of the targeted houses was also one of the guys who had graduated from BUD/S training with him. He didn’t know if that was important, but at least it was a connection.

  He just didn’t know how and why it mattered. He tossed ideas back and forth as to whether he should contact Alex and let her know. He figured, if it was nothing, she’d knock it off her list damn fast. But she’d been emphatic about him making a list and giving it to her.

  He hated to write anything further down and pondered the concept of giving her a quick call. Finally he snatched his phone, not wanting to look too closely at why he wanted to contact her personally. He could have just a
s easily sent her an email. But he had her card, and he dialed her number. When she answered, he said, “It’s me.”

  “Hi, me,” she said in a dry tone. “My display did say it was you. Macklin, what’s up?”

  “One of my buddies found out one of the houses in the four break-ins … kind of …” He stumbled to a stop, organizing his thoughts. “One of the guys who graduated from BUD/S with me used to live in the first house up until five weeks ago.”

  “So he finished the BUD/S training?” she asked in confusion.

  “Yes. It’s a connection, but I don’t know how tenuous. I know it sounds stupid, but you seemed to want to know everything, so that’s the only thing my team came up with.”

  “Interesting,” she said quietly. “Do you happen to know a Kathleen Matron?”

  “Not off the top of my head. Why?”

  “Hers was the first property broken in to, where your guy once lived,” Alex said. “We had a second incident at the same house tonight.”

  “Is she hurt?” Macklin asked in a sharp tone. He wondered when this nightmare would end.

  “No, she wasn’t there. The property was empty.”

  “So chances are, it was just a bunch of kids then?”

  “I don’t think so. The description matches the first intruder, without the hood over his face.”

  “The only reason not to do that is because he doesn’t expect anyone to see him or to recognize him.”

  “Thanks. I had worked that out for myself,” she said drily.

  “Look. I’m not trying to tell you how to do your job. I just called to let you know there is a connection, however slight, between me and those break-ins.”

  “Noted. I’ll pull the records for every one of these houses.”

  “Okay.” He was about to hang up when she spoke again.

  “Wait. Any idea if Marsha might have known this Kathleen Matron?”

  “No idea. I tried to stay away from Marsha as much as I could.”

  “So, you don’t know any of her friends?”

  “No, I told you that I didn’t.” Macklin frowned. “Why? Did you find a connection between the two of them?”

  “We found pictures of Marsha in that house.”

  Macklin walked to his big easy chair and sat down heavily. “This was the first house of the four break-ins?”

  “Yes.”

  “So that’s also the same house Bill Toronto used to live in.”

  “Yes.”

  “Damn, how does all this fit together?”

  “No idea.” she said, her voice low, determined. “But, if there’s one thing you can be sure of, I will find out.” And she hung up.

  Macklin quickly sent out a text to his buddies, giving them an update on the photos Alex had found. He’d barely sent out the last notice when his phone went off.

  It was Corey. “What the hell is going on, Macklin?”

  “I have no idea. But the only reason for the intruder to go back into the first house was if he’s looking for something.”

  “And the detective found pictures of Marsha in that same house?”

  “Apparently. Alex didn’t say where they were hidden, just that she found photographs.”

  “Any chance the intruder wasn’t there to take anything, but he planted something?”

  “I hadn’t considered that.” Moodily Macklin stood in the middle of his living room. “Nothing makes sense.”

  “But it will. It will. Unfortunately it’ll probably be too late to be of any value to anybody.”

  “Isn’t that the way of things?” Macklin shook his head. “I’m going nuts here. I want to get out, but I got no place to go.”

  “You want to go out for coffee? Go for a run at the beach?”

  “You’re not doing anything?” Macklin asked.

  “No, I’m not. I was watching TV, but it’s not holding my interest. I keep pondering what the hell is going on in your world.”

  “Yeah, me too.” He made a sudden decision and said, “You know what I want to do? I want to go walk the neighborhood. Are you up for it?”

  “Sure. What are we looking for?”

  “I won’t have a clue until I see it,” Macklin said.

  “Good enough. Pick a place to meet, and we’ll walk the area together.”

  They set up a place within two blocks of the first house hit in the Silver Strand complex.

  Within ten minutes Mac pulled off the side of the road, parking behind a small pickup, noting its license plate number and general description to share with Alex later. Mac couldn’t tell if Corey had arrived or not. The light made it hard to see at this time of night. He shut off the engine, hopped out, and stood on the sidewalk, looking around.

  “Macklin?” Corey was on the opposite side of the road, waving at him.

  Mac crossed the street, noting it was quiet, calm, with no sign of traffic anywhere. Together the two men slowly walked the outside perimeter of the crime area, memorizing the blocks, the layout of the properties, and sorting through the viability of the break-ins.

  “They don’t even have to be professional burglars. The way the windows are lined up creates blind spots on the sides for anyone to walk in and out unseen. It was set up that way for privacy, so one house doesn’t look into the windows of the second house.”

  “Exactly,” Macklin said. He motioned at the houses, one after the other. “Once you know the layout of one, chances are you know the layout of at least half of them here.” Macklin laughed. “Makes it much easier on intruders too.”

  Corey snorted. “Absolutely. The thing is, it’s still brazen. And either he knew if anybody was home or he didn’t give a shit. The fact is, he’s met tenants almost every time. So he obviously isn’t bothered by witnesses.”

  Macklin nodded again. “We’re two unknown men, walking down the street together at dusk. Yet we’re not drawing any attention, and no one is peeking at us from behind curtains. Essentially it’s just a small-town road. Nobody cares.”

  “I doubt any traffic here would bring attention either. A loud party might raise some eyebrows, but nobody’s going to be too bothered.”

  “Do you think that’s the standard across America? Nobody wants to get involved? Nobody wants to see anything because then they may have to make a judgment call or do something about it? Or they’re just not interested in their neighbors anymore?”

  “Probably a little bit of all of it,” Corey said quietly. “Think about it. If you see an intruder, you’ll have to phone it in. If you call it in, they want your name, your number, your address. They pretty much want to know everything about you. Nobody wants to give that much information anymore. If there’s an anonymous tip line, that’s a different story.”

  Macklin pointed out a house as they passed. “That was where the woman was beaten and knocked out.”

  “That was the fourth on the list?”

  “Yes. The second house that was hit is up in the next block.”

  They approached that with the same attitude as all the rest, looking for angles, looking for options. If they were an intruder, how would they approach the problem? And, if they were on a security detail, how would they look for threats?

  When they walked past, Corey shook his head. “It’s the same layout, the same look. Once he’s made it into the kitchen of one of them …” He let his voice trail off.

  Macklin didn’t need to say anything. It had all been said before. But it was a good reminder this really wasn’t a hardship for anybody who knew what they were doing.

  After they passed the second targeted house, they walked to the end of the block, took a right, and headed toward the third house. This layout looked to be slightly different. As in, the door was slightly off-center, the living room in the front, still the kitchen in the back.

  Rather than stopping and staring at the house in question, they made their observations as they went past. “No alleyway in this part of the world either, is there?”

  “Not here. Land values and the inc
reasing population don’t give room for something like that,” Macklin said. “In a way that’s nice because it stops the intruders from having that kind of ingress and egress. The thing is, if the guy had approached like we are, it’s a simple thing to slip in between two houses and come around the back.”

  “Exactly. No skill required.”

  Macklin realized how futile this was. He wasn’t sure what he thought this trip would produce, if anything. All it showed him was how easy these break-ins were for anybody to do.

  They continued walking, moving two streets over. As they got to where the first house was, he could see several police vehicles still parked at the curb.

  Corey looked at him. “You sure you want to head that way? Alex’s likely to be there.”

  Macklin shrugged. He hated that, inside, he kind of hoped she was. In any other circumstance, he might have asked her out, but, given he was a suspect in a murder case, it wasn’t a good idea. But that twinge inside told him that she was around.

  Corey gave him a sideways look. “This is the most interest I’ve seen you show in anybody in a long time.”

  Keeping his face straight, Mac said in a laughing voice, “Hey, I’m not showing any interest in her. I just want to ensure my neck is not on the chopping block.”

  Corey chuckled. “Tell yourself whatever you need to, buddy. But, no doubt, some sparks are flying here.”

  “Yeah. It’s the chink of the chains as they close the shackles around my legs,” he said. “I’d do a lot not to go down for a murder I didn’t commit.”

  “No worries there. We will make sure that doesn’t happen.”

  If nothing else, Macklin had good friends; he had a support system. He was also innocent, and he’d like to believe that meant something, but he’d heard enough about cases of innocent men being charged and convicted. “Thanks. Appreciate that,” he said with a head nod toward Corey. “Plus I can give her the details on that truck I’m parked behind. It may be nothing, but …”

  “By the way, Tesla is checking out Marsha’s history and looking to see what she can find.”