Joe Victim: A Thriller

“We’re still piecing it together,” Kent says.

“Okay,” Schroder says, knowing the scriptwriter would be disappointed. “Let’s focus on the timing of it all. Melissa or not, we could be dealing with somebody who’s going to make some kind of a statement. We could be looking at a courthouse bombing, or a police station bombing. We know Melissa likes killing people, but she’s more into the personal touch. I don’t see a mass bombing being her style. Her style is torturing people.”

“But if she tortured these people, we’d immediately know it was her,” Hutton says, “which would give her a good reason not to if she’s trying to hide the fact it’s her. And the only reason she’d hide that is if she has something planned that is much bigger than any of this, and explosives have a way of being used for bigger things.”

Schroder nods. It’s a good point. “What about Walker,” he says. “What’s the coroner say?”

“She says there’s three hours between the two murders,” Hutton says, “with Walker being the second one of the day.”

The three of them go quiet as they all don’t see it adding up together. There are other people walking around the scene—other cops, people looking for clues. Others are out in the street interviewing neighbors who all saw nothing. They can hear the rain on the roof, still hammering down, making a miserable night that much more miserable. Somewhere out there a dog starts barking and doesn’t want to stop.

“Who found the body?” he asks, hoping the answer isn’t going to be the kids.

“His kids,” Kent says. “Normally, he’d pick them up from school. He was late. A teacher gave them a lift home after they couldn’t get hold of him. So the teacher and the kids came by. I’m pretty sure you can figure out the rest.”

Schroder is pretty sure he can too. He’s spoken to other kids at other times who have found other murdered parents, just as other parents at other times have come home to missing or dead children. He imagines one of the children screaming, the other one shaking their father to wake him up, the teacher trying to pull them away from the body while phoning the police. He imagines those kids right now with relatives who can’t find a way to comfort them. He can’t afford to let his imagination continue down that path. It’s something he’s always had to block. Otherwise it would overwhelm him.

“So to sum up,” he says, “we don’t know if we’re dealing with Melissa, or if we’re even dealing with somebody relating to the trial or the case. Tristan Walker was going to be testifying for the prosecution, which maybe is a connection. And Rivers, well, he was in jail for twelve years and Joe is in jail now, so we need to see if there have been any cellmates in common.”

“I’ll look into the jail connection,” Hutton says.

“If it’s related to the case, it’s possible other family members of victims could be targeted too,” Schroder says, continuing to think it through. Kent and Hutton stare at him as this possibility sinks in, and the idea makes him feel sick. He glances at his watch. The day has been slipping away, most of it on the diner set for The Cleaner. He promised them that he’d be back. He has to remind himself that’s his job, not chasing down leads for a police department that fired him and no longer pays him and who will throw him onto his sword if the truth of what he did ever comes out.

“There’s a victim’s support meeting,” he says, then glances at his watch. “It’s going on now. In one room you’re going to have a whole lot of people involved with the case, people affected by Joe, some of them will also be testifying. It might be a good thing to go there. A way of speaking to most of the people involved in one sitting.”

Kent thinks it over. Hutton is doing the same thing, but his attention is probably divided by a chocolate bar he has stashed in his car somewhere.

“Okay, let’s go,” Kent says.

“Let’s?” Schroder asks.

“Yeah, you and me. I’ll even let you drive.”





Chapter Sixteen


“I have a question,” Melissa says.

She’s been here an hour now and all that’s happened is she’s gotten colder and older and bored. The new people to the group didn’t have to talk, they didn’t have to identify themselves or tell the others why they were there, didn’t have to go My name is Jed, it’s been fifteen days since my last sibling was murdered—Hi Jed. Some did, some didn’t. Mostly those who spoke were regular members, regular people, the kind of people you stood behind in a coffee shop and never thought of again. They moaned and complained and Melissa just wondered why in the hell they just don’t get on with life, like she did. Find a hobby, people! Fiona Hayward didn’t talk. She just sat silently clutching her hands, no doubt the same way she did at her husband’s funeral.

Everybody turns toward Melissa.