Total pages in book: 155
Estimated words: 142938 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 715(@200wpm)___ 572(@250wpm)___ 476(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 142938 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 715(@200wpm)___ 572(@250wpm)___ 476(@300wpm)
“I’ve known Haydon Phillips for ten years and I’ve been terrified of him for most of that time. I believe he’s a serial killer and that if anyone gets in his way, he hurts them. He’s been doing it since he was a boy. I’ve tried to get away from him. When that didn’t work, I tried to pretend to be his family in order to find proof. Neither worked. I know he lives in the attics of houses that belong to perfectly nice families, ones with children, and he watches them day and night. He’s never been caught. He claims no one’s ever suspected him and he’s gone into their bedrooms and held knives to their throats, including the young children. He’s eaten their food and made friends with the family pets. That’s always risky for the animals.”
“In what way?”
“He tortures and kills them and tends to leave them on the doorstep for the family to find.”
“How would you know that?”
“He shows me photographs when I don’t cooperate and pay his gambling debts.”
Now her fingers did dig into his thigh. He kept his body pressed against hers, taking some of her weight. Grace was shaking hard enough that the detectives couldn’t fail to see.
“I understand this must be difficult, Ms. Murphy,” Art said, gentling his voice.
That surprised Vittorio. The detectives were fair men, but hard-driving when they were after answers. Grace did look fragile, her arm in its collar and cuff as well as the bracing and padded bandages around the shoulder itself. She had plates and pins in her shoulder. More than one nurse had said it was a miracle that the surgeon had managed to piece her back together. They were all worried that one wrong move could undo everything he’d done.
“I’m afraid for every single person in this room. He takes delight in taunting me that he can go after the people I care about. I’ve lived a fairly solitary existence in order to placate him. I’m concerned for Katie Branscomb. Once, when I refused to take out a loan to pay his gambling debts, he showed me a picture of her sleeping, with him standing over her.”
Vittorio glanced over at Emme. She was dutifully using her oxygen mask, fading into the corner, staying quiet. Her phone was in her hand and she was busy texting, using lightning speed and one thumb so as not to draw any attention. If Haydon liked to gamble, so much so that he was willing to use his one real connection to pay his debts, he wouldn’t be able to stay away from it long. They could use that to find him.
“He’s a drug user, too, right?” Ricco asked.
She shook her head. “He looks like a drug user when he wants to. People ignore him when he does that. Most people dismiss users and won’t even look at them. He’s got the look down to perfection. He will smoke pot, but not all that often. He doesn’t want the smell on him. He told me that would ruin his living arrangements if someone actually smelled it in their home.”
Vittorio had to admit he was shocked. He’d believed absolutely that Phillips was a meth addict. He shot his sister another quick look. She was already spreading the word to family members. If Phillips wasn’t using, his addiction was gambling. Gambling and killing. He was probably just as obsessed with torturing and killing as he was with gambling.
“He passes himself off as a meth user,” Jason muttered, frowning. “That’s unusual. And smart. He blends in. He can be on the streets or in the shelters and make friends there. Street people don’t often talk freely to law enforcement and he knows it. What about a ride?”
“He mostly walks or uses public transit. He steals cars when he wants to go a distance, but it isn’t his preferred method because there’s always the chance the car has been reported stolen. He usually takes them off a long-term parking lot if he’s going to do it.”
“How did he get you to go out to the car if you knew it was stolen?” Art asked in his deceptively mild voice.
Vinci Sanchez strode into the room. He wore the Ferraro three-piece suit, but his was a slate blue gray without the thin pinstripes. His tie was just a shade darker blue. “I’m sorry I’m late, gentlemen, but I had to find out how Grace, Emme and Mariko were doing. And what they should be doing.” His shrewd dark brown eyes took in the room, resting briefly on Emme and the oxygen mask she was wearing. “Shouldn’t Grace be using oxygen as well? That was my understanding.”
When Grace frowned, clearly wondering who Vinci was and why he needed to know her medical condition, Vittorio squeezed her hand in warning.