Evil Like Me Read online

  “Amnesia is complicated,” Petty said. “After our debate on guilt and innocence, I hate to say this. There is a chance you are filling memory gaps with imagination. It is possible Hunter Keller was not there, Tony. He has been on your mind. You need time to remember.”

  “No. I know for a fact he was there,” Wilcox barked. “That skinny guy had one hell of a time dragging me across that field. It took him a while. I remember him tugging and grunting all the way. I remember him sweating. I remember the desperation in his eyes. It happened.”

  “Okay, it happened. We can talk about the ‘why’ later. What is the second thing you wanted to tell us?” Petty asked.

  Wilcox returned to the window and lifted a slat. “Before I tell you the second thing, we need to agree to change the way we do things going forward. I am a primary target, not you. I will be more unpredictable.”

  “We’re all primary targets, Tony. And, you have always been unpredictable.”

  “Not this kind of unpredictable. You don’t understand. While I was in the hospital, they ran tests, lots of tests.”

  “Of course they did. You were unconscious, a head injury.” Then it hit her. “They did an MRI, didn’t they?” Petty whispered.

  Wilcox dropped the slat and turned to them. “I have lesions on my amygdala.”

  Twenty-Five

  “Believe nothing and be on your guard against everything.”

  Proverb

  *

  “You remember the car in your driveway the other night?” Abby asked as she retrieved her latte concoction at the Starbuck’s window, her phone in a dash mount on speaker.

  Wilcox merged onto I-40. “Are you talkin’ about the lights? People get lost on Mud Island all the time. Every condo looks alike. Why?” He glanced over at Petty busy texting. He kept it cryptic and pushed his cell tight to his ear. She did not need to know about his intimate relationship with a private investigator.

  “You went to the bathroom,” Abby said. “I looked out the window. I saw a Yukon SUV. It was silver. I watched it pull away. It had a decal—a Russian flag—on the back window.”

  “You could see that?”

  “It’s what I do, Wilcox—observe. That Yukon’s been following me ever since Memphis. It’s parked here at Starbuck’s now.”

  He changed hands. “Patterson, you need to be careful. We’re on someone’s list. I wish I could tell you more, but it’s complicated and time is important now. Trust me when I say these people are dangerous. We are getting close, because we are being hunted now.”

  Petty looked up. “What’s going on?”

  He held the phone to his chest. “Remember the PI I mentioned? She’s being followed.” He got back on the phone. “Where are you now? I’ll send our people.”

  “Relax Tee. I’m not in Memphis. I’m in Knoxville. Had to get back to my cheatin’ spouse.”

  “Listen to me, in your world people cheat. In my world people die. You can’t fool around with this stuff, Abby. There’s a good chance the people following you know you’ve been digging around secret government research.”

  “Then they know I know about dead remote viewers,” Abby said.

  “And that could make you a problem.”

  “I think the people following me are Russian. You don’t see a Russian flag every day.”

  “Drive to the nearest police station. Tell the cops they’re harassing you. Then go to a beach for a while. I mean it, Abby.”

  “You’re more nervous than usual, Tee. You must have more bad information?” She pulled out of the parking lot. The Yukon slid into traffic three cars back.

  “Dr. Petty met with the Attorney General.”

  “U.S. Attorney General Baldwin?” Abby asked.

  “Yes. They are in the middle of all this. Although we have differing opinions on the matter, I think we can all agree the Stargate Project has its roots in Russia. It makes sense they would be involved in some way.”

  “Sounds like this is not a job for a Memphis homicide detective. Maybe you need to back off. Maybe you need to take your own advice—pass the ball to the FBI or CIA.”

  “I hear you. But I’m gonna keep this ball a little while longer,” Wilcox said.

  “Why?”

  “Petty doesn’t have a good feeling about Baldwin. His hands are all over this stealth death match taking place in several cities. Bodies are dropping on my front steps. I don’t like it.”

  “And if it happens in Memphis, it’s your business?” Abby poked. “Did you ever consider the possibility Baldwin is a good guy chasing the bad guys like you?”

  “I smell a rat. This wouldn’t be the first time people in high places had their own agenda. A lot of narcissistic bastards hold top positions in government. Baldwin is on my list until I know different.”

  “Did you get the names I texted you?”

  “Got it, but have not had a chance to look at it yet.”

  “You need to—nineteen remote viewers. I believe there were twenty-three contracted by the government. Can’t find the missing four names.”

  “Is Blanchard, Green, or Swenson on the list?”

  “I gotta go, Tee. Changing cars. Have one stashed in a parking garage.”

  “Be careful, Abby. Lose them or get to a police station.”

  “I’ll text my new throw-away number. Where you and Petty headed?”

  “Henryetta, Oklahoma. Meeting with the medical examiner that did the Keller autopsies.”

  “The Henryetta M.E. has Stringtown? They cover a lot of geography in Oklahoma.”

  “Actually, Stringtown is not in Proust’s jurisdiction. He was visiting the area when the Kellers were killed. We think the story is thin. We’re going to Henryetta to vet him and to check out a recent multiple homicide case—five killed on Dewar Avenue.”

  “Are you talking about Benjamin Proust?” Abby asked.

  “Yes, Benjamin Proust,” Wilcox said looking at Petty.

  Patterson pulled into the parking garage. As she climbed levels she saw the silver Yukon pull to the side of the road. “Hold on, Tee.” She parked by her stash-car on the third level, slid into the dark sedan, and pulled on a brown wig tucking her blonde hair. She fished for her baseball cap and slipped on her windbreaker.

  “Okay, I’m driving out a brunette,” she said.

  “How do you know Benjamin Proust?” Wilcox asked again. Petty stared.

  “He’s on the list, Tee. Benjamin Proust is a remote viewer.”

  Twenty-Six

  “It is better to meet danger than to wait for it.”

  Charles Caleb Colton

  *

  WELCOME TO OKMULGEE COUNTY. The lightning flashed at the perfect moment, or Wilcox would have missed the ten-foot letters painted on the side of the old barn.

  They flew down I-40 with the wipers slapping the pounding rain. “Henryetta’s five miles. We need to find a place to stay the night.”

  After talking to Cam Baily at Baptist Hospital, Dr. Benjamin Proust became a person of interest—what was he doing in Stringtown five years ago, and why did he falsify documents? After PI Patterson revealed the man was a government remote viewer, Proust became an even more important piece to the puzzle. But the trip to Henryetta would not be all about Benjamin Proust. Further research into the multiple homicides on Dewar Avenue revealed Hunter Keller was at the house on Dewar. Wilcox was determined to find out if Keller left before or after the massacre.

  Wilcox’s reluctance to bring Petty to Henryetta had been neutralized. Director Cottam left strict orders Wilcox was off the case recuperating at home until he had a formal medical release on his desk. Driving to Oklahoma with a head injury would get Wilcox suspended. Driving under the care of a physician (albeit a forensic pathologist) would be arguable. Wilcox would tolerate Petty because she could confuse Cottam with the medical mumbo-jumbo, and she wanted to go to Henryetta as bad as Wilcox.

  The impromptu road trip turned into a traveler’s nightmare, Oktoberfest in Henryetta never crossed
their minds. After an hour looking, the Relax Inn on East Trudgeon was the fourth hotel and last room available for fifty miles according to the plump, Choctaw Indian with the toothy smile. Rather than risk losing the whole night looking, Petty insisted they share the room. She would take the bed and he the sofa. The only good news was the pounding rain slowed to a miserable drizzle and they were a mile from Dewar.

  “We won’t be here long,” Petty said as she set her overnight bag on the bed and plugged in her laptop. “You need to hear this, parts of the Henryetta Daily Herald archives.”

  Wilcox cracked the door, lit a cigarette, and pulled a silver flask from his coat. He took a sip and offered Petty a glass. He gave her an inch of scotch as she scrolled. Because commenting on his drinking and smoking would be useless, Petty didn’t go there except for the irritated look.

  “Headline on August 17,” she said. “Five found dead on Dewar Avenue. The Henryetta PD was called to 2175 Dewar Avenue around 11:00 AM. They found three people dead. Shortly after answering the call they made another gruesome discovery—the neighboring residence at 2165 Dewar—where two more were found dead taking the total count to five.”

  “I know. The neighbors, too,” Wilcox said blowing smoke out the door. He let her read.

  “The medical examiner places time of death between 3:00 to 4:00 AM.” Petty looked up. “You have the list of remote viewers from Patterson, a text message attachment?”

  Wilcox pulled his phone with smoke crawling up his face. “Got it right here.”

  Petty read on. “Elda Middleton was found dead in the living room. Middleton, a longtime resident of Henryetta, is the owner of the boarding house. Two of the three tenants were found dead in their rooms—names withheld. The third tenant, Hunter Keller—” Petty paused. “He was there.”

  Wilcox swallowed another shot of scotch. He would let Petty catch up. Telling her he read all the articles on the Dewar homicides wouldn’t bring her up to speed.

  “Hunter Keller from Stringtown, Oklahoma was not at the Dewar residence at the time of the killings. Sources close to the investigation say Keller checked out earlier in the day. Personal effects were not found at the crime scene. Keller is a person of interest. Anyone knowing of his whereabouts …” She sipped her scotch and scrolled. “Ruby Tantabaum, owner of the neighboring residence …”

  “Wait.” Wilcox opened the attachment on his cell and scrolled. “We found more. Ruby Tantabaum and Elda Middleton are on this list. They are remote viewers. Counting Keller and Proust, we have four of the twenty-three RVs in a town with a population of 5,000.”

  Petty continued reading, “Ruby and Beatrice Tantabaum were found dead on their front porch, details on cause not available. The bodies were taken to the Okmulgee County morgue for autopsy. The medical examiner, Dr. Benjamin Proust, was contacted. County Sheriff T.E. Oglebee said deaths, timing, and proximity are disturbing.”

  “Keller’s my prime suspect,” Wilcox muttered as he flicked his butt into the mist.

  Petty looked in the mirror above the laptop and pulled lipstick from her purse. “He’s not the monster you think, Tony. Dr. Proust was at the Henryetta and Stringtown homicides. We know he’s a remote viewer, and he hid information—why? ‘Prime suspect’ means nothing now.”

  “Proust was not at the Memphis homicides. Keller was at all of them. That matters.”

  “You can’t explain your burning car,” Petty said. “You can’t explain Hunter Keller saving your life. You can’t explain Russians tailing Patterson. And you can’t explain Alfred Baldwin’s involvement or the special interests of the federal government.”

  She puckered her lips in the mirror and put on lipstick. “This time your gut is wrong.” She ran a fingertip over her bottom lip. “Are we going out or staying in tonight?”

  Was Petty suggesting a romantic interlude, or was Wilcox’s rogue imagination off base again. “I’m gonna visit Dewar Avenue before anyone knows I’m in Henryetta. You stay here.”

  “So Dr. Proust and Sheriff Oglebee are not expecting us until tomorrow?”

  “Afternoon,” Wilcox said. We’ll show up in the morning, unannounced. They won’t be ready. They’ll expect us late, the long drive from Memphis. I want a look at all the files, not just the ones they pick.”

  “And I would like to get a look at physical evidence and autopsies.” Petty closed her laptop and stood up. “I’m going to Dewar with you.”

  Wilcox rolled his eyes. He did not want to explain all the things he was going to do at Dewar. “That’s not a good idea.”

  “Why not?” she huffed.

  “It’s dangerous.”

  Petty lifted her skirt revealing her shapely legs, garter holster, and nine-millimeter Glock. “I’m protected.”

  Wilcox stared. She had a way of punching his buttons. He was a simple man attracted to the trifecta—beauty, intelligence, and attitude. He was repelled by the lack of any one. Petty had them all. He pocketed his flask and swung open the door. “Tonight’s police business. You’re a ride-along. Do everything I say. Question nothing I do.”

  “Or what, Detective Wilcox?” She dropped her hem. “You going to shoot me?”

  “Not that drastic. I’ll just lock you in the car until I’m done.”

  What a dinosaur, she mused as she went through the door burning a hole between Wilcox’s eyes. But she was not as exasperated as she played it. She saw more of him than he wanted to show. She analyzed everything in life, including Wilcox. Among other things, she knew he was alone in the world by choice. Somewhere along the way he convinced himself the best way to stop evil was to live in the darkest parts of the world with it. Attachments only weakened him, something she was beginning to understand.

  Twenty-Seven

  “Truth fears nothing but concealment.”

  Proverb

  *

  Henryetta, Oklahoma

  *

  Like a couple rolling to a quiet spot on Lovers Lane, Wilcox turned off the car in the darkest shadow under the only tree in front of Elda Middleton’s house on Dewar Avenue. The car windows were down. The smell of burnt leaves and cut grass laced the damp night air and stirred childhood memories—a time when life was less complicated and the world a safer place.

  The wet stone houses loomed in gray skies like tombstones of giants. The stark structures lined side by side held the secrets of five horrific deaths and the real monster. But would this quiet night on Dewar provide more pieces to the impossible puzzle, or would Wilcox and Petty fall deeper into the rabbit hole?

  The investigation process began when Wilcox turned onto Dewar. He pulled the key from the ignition and they sat in silence. Forcing twisted thoughts, they studied the moonlit landscape and empty houses where people died.

  In the beginning the investigative mind is open to all possibilities. If not, the logic of the crime scene telling its story is lost. There is only one chance for the first impression, and it is often the best way into the nightmare. Windows of thought begin to close as information pours in and unanswered questions mount—it numbs the sharpest of minds. The battle between mind and gut begins. The “humanity march” to justice seeks the most direct route. It is always impulsive, hard to stop, and often wrong.

  Errors allow monsters to get away.

  Did you park here, under this tree, Wilcox thought. Did you watch and wait for the perfect moment, or were you already inside with the trust of your victims? If it is you (Hunter Keller), why kill five? What horror in your world justified that carnage? If you are a psychic killer, you could use your skills from a distance without risk or compromise. Why come here—it makes no sense? Did you kill these remote viewers? Were the others just in the way? Is this revenge or is Dewar telling me it is something else?

  Why save my life? He let the thought in. But how can you be a victim in all this?

  The half-moon washed over the manicured lawns and climbed the wet stone. Fifty years ago the Middletons and Tantabaums were two of the three structures northeast o
f town—the First Pentecostal Church was the third. Now the gothic houses were crowded by Highway 62 and a dozen more stone mansions. Dewar Avenue kept its country charm. The small pocket of affluence was the only neighborhood in Henryetta with houses on five acre lots.

  Ruby and Elda knew they were different in the first grade—they were inseparable. Later they built houses next to each other. Unlike the others they built at their property edge so they were a whisper away. Ruby and Elda always knew when the other had something on their mind.

  “Perfect place for a mass murder,” Wilcox said leaning over the steering wheel.

  “Location is not a factor. Someone came here for a reason,” Petty challenged.

  Trimmed lawns stopped at the Middleton and Tantabaum property lines. The extended vacancy was obvious—gardens overtaken by weeds, shrubs with shooters, and grass flopped over curbs and onto sidewalks. The stone mansions with dark windows had dark porches lined with dead potted plants.

  “If Keller was a boarder for several weeks, I would be less suspicious,” Wilcox said. “We need to check on that tomorrow.” He felt for his gun and opened the car door.

  Petty jumped out and got ahead of him with a flashlight. “Nice garden around this mailbox, once. Notice the tree is the only one by the road for five houses both ways. If someone wanted to be inconspicuous, they’d park where you did.” She looked past the houses. “And we need to check the alley.”

  Wilcox knelt by the garden. “If you parked under the tree and went to Middleton’s front porch, you wouldn’t take the sidewalk. You’d take a shortcut through this garden. Knocks off forty feet.”

  “What’s your point?” Petty asked.

  Wilcox lifted leaves of towering weeds and shined his penlight. “I’ve got one boot print, thanks to this big-ass weed. Damn plant looks carnivorous.”

  “Are you serious? You’re really interested in a boot print now?”

  Wilcox studied the impression. “The toe’s pointing to the porch on a direct line from the tree. I’m thinkin’ a size fourteen.”

  “Tony! Time, weather, animals, police, paramedics, neighbors walking dogs—”