If It Walks Like A Killer (The Carolina Killer Files #1) (26 page)

Chapter Forty-Seven

Pamela Underwood

Out of her entire fifty two years of living, Pam Underwood had very few memories that weren’t blurred by alcohol or drugs. She remembered her first day of fifth grade, how the new pants her mother had gotten her from Goodwill had someone else’s name written on the pocket, and how no matter how hard she tried she couldn’t convince her classmates that Jessica Stewart was a famous designer, not the previous owner. She remembered her seventeenth birthday, her first “real” date and how he’d tried to feel her up before they even got through dinner. She remembered how on the way home he’d told her that she shouldn’t dress like a slut if she wasn’t going to either put out or at least pay for dinner. She remembered the day she went into labor, fourteen hours of excruciating pain, all for a little pink ball of skin who kept her up all night for the next two years. She remembered the first time she’d held her daughter, how the nurses had ooh-ed and ahh-ed over the little bundle of joy. She remembered looking into Blaire’s face and thinking only ‘This is what all the fuss is about?’ To say Pam had been a bad mother was a bit of an exaggeration, mostly because she was never much of a mother at all. She’d worked two jobs most of Blaire’s childhood. She’d never been one for crafts or bake sales and she wasn’t the type of parent that the school asked to chaperone school functions. Though it’d been rough and she’d never really cared much for her daughter, she’d always tried to do the best she could for her with what little they had. Of course, as Blaire grew older and more headstrong, Pam saw Blaire’s actions as less of a good thing and more of an insult to Pam’s simple way of life. She hadn’t spoken to her daughter in over five years and hadn’t seen her in eight, yet somewhere in the back of her mind she’d always figured her daughter would eventually come to realize that the city wasn’t the place to live and she’d come home. She’d always imagined that one day they’d build a relationship.

Of all her memories, even the clear ones, none was clearer than the night Pam got the phone call telling her that her chance for a relationship with her daughter would never come.

She’d been on the couch after a twelve hour shift at Whitlocks’s Pub, when her phone started to ring. She’d picked it up with dread, instantly fearing she’d be called back into work.

“Hello?”

“Is this Mrs. Pamela Underwood?” he asked, his voice nasally.

“Who’s asking?”
Damn bill collector.

“This is Sherriff Al Markowitz with the Farthington County Police Department. I need to speak with Mrs. Underwood immediately please.”

If Pam hadn’t been trying to figure out if she’d recently committed any crimes, she might’ve noticed the sadness in his voice. Instead she said, “I ain’t ever heard of no Farthington County. You got the wrong number, mister.”

“Are you Blaire Underwood’s mother?”

She was silent for a second, wondering whether she should lie. “Yeah, why?”

“Ma’am, I’m so sorry to do this over the phone, I really am. Your daughter, Blaire, was found dead this morning.”

Losing a child, even if you didn’t think you really liked them that much is a pain unlike any other. The icy cold fills up your soul, leaking out your eyes in the form of tears. Pain grips your insides, physical pain that makes you unable to move or talk or do anything that would make it seem real. Pam was unable to hear the officer’s voice, though she was sure he was talking again. She was sure she’d dropped the phone at some point, yet she could still feel the hard plastic there in her hand. She let her brain float away, swimming somewhere far from herself, refusing to believe any of this was anything but a sick, sick dream.

Finally, when words found her, punching her stomach like an air bag, she let out a noise somewhere between a sob and a scream. 

“Where is she?” she meant to say.

“Ma’am?”

“Where is she? Where is my daughter?”

“We’re transporting her body to the morgue now, ma’am. You’re welcome to come say your goodbyes there. Is there anyone else I can call? Someone to bring you here? Someone close to your daughter?” He spoke with the quiet professionalism of someone who’d been doing this job a long, long time. This was just another case to him, another body.

“There’s no one else. Where is she?”

“Ma’am, I know this is a lot to take in, especially over the phone. Whenever you get into town, you just come on over to the station and I’ll take you to the morgue myself. I sure wish you’d get someone to bring you. You really shouldn’t be driving by yourself right now.”

“No, I mean, where is she? What city are you in?”

“Oh, um.” He paused, obviously thrown off by the question. “Well, we’re in La Rue, ma’am.”

“La Rue, right.”

“North Carolina.”

“I knew that,” Pam snapped, wondering if detectives could detect lies over the phone, while she searched for a pen and paper.

“Right. Well, again, I’m so sorry for your loss. If you have anything else we can do for you, you just let me know.”

“Right, okay.” Pam wondered why she could never find a pen when she needed one. Before she realized the conversation was over, she’d heard a sharp click on the other line. She gave up looking for a pen and instead headed for her bedroom to pack, wondering how long she’d be expected to stay after the funeral. She silently cursed her daughter, scolding her even in the grave.

You should’ve listened to me, she thought, I told you not to move to the city.

Chapter Forty-Eight

Caide

Caide heard a knock on his door, interrupting his thoughts about the contents of Rachael’s box. He rushed toward the door, passing his children who were playing quietly. He made no move to acknowledge them. As he got to the door, the sinking feeling in his stomach that he’d become so accustomed to was back.

“Audrey,” he said, walking out and closing the door behind him. “What could you possibly be thinking showing up here?”

“I had to see you. How are you?”

He looked at her in disbelief. “That’s a bit of a stupid question, don’t you think?”

Audrey shook her head. “Probably. I don’t know what to say to you. After everything we’ve done, how do we even move forward? Where do we go from here?”

“I can’t have this conversation. Not now. This is the last thing I need.”

“I waited. I waited for the reporters to all move on, so they wouldn’t catch us. Just like I waited until Davis was older. Just like I waited until Rachael was out or asleep. Just like I waited for her to get over her Dad’s death, for the last nine years, Caide, all I’ve done is wait. I thought now we could finally have our chance. You told me to come back. This was all your idea. So don’t you dare tell me you don’t need this right now. I did everything you asked. I’m here.”

“It’s more complicated now. People are watching my every move. We just have to be careful a little while longer. Once the trial is over it’ll just be the two of us, I promise.”

A serious look came over Audrey’s face. “We have to talk more about Blaire, though, you know that right? I mean, I know I’m the other woman and I have no right to be jealous, especially now, but you have to know that I am.”

“I don’t owe you an explanation for her, Aud. Look, I’m sorry but I don’t. You were gone for two years. Two whole years and we never heard from you. Even when you were here, we were never certain what we were. We never said. You’d just flake out for months at a time. Nothing was ever certain.”

Audrey threw her hands up in exasperation. “Do you even understand that Rachael is my best friend? Do you realize how hard this has been on me? I don’t take what we’re doing lightly, Caide. Nothing is more important than my friendship to that girl. I love you so much but it’s breaking my heart. It breaks my heart every day. She is my best friend. What we’ve done, what we have, that doesn’t change how I feel about her.”

“You think I don’t get that? She’s my wife.”

“Yeah, and we all see how much that means to you.”

“Don’t do that. Don’t you try and make it look like I don’t love her too. She’s the mother of my children.”

“You screwed me on the morning of your wedding, Caide.” Her jaw dropped in disbelief.

“Back then it was different. I’d lost everything: my parents, my money, my future. To me it all seemed like Rachael was to blame. I hated her then and I can’t believe you’d throw that in my face.” He looked around, expecting to see reporters. “Look, I don’t have time to argue. Just give me until the trial’s over, let everything cool down, and then we’ll go from there.”

“Go from there? Are you having second thoughts about us?”

“What? No.” He kissed her quickly on the mouth, surprised that the spark that had always been there was now dim. “I just need time to process. It’s been a long couple of weeks.”

“Okay.” Audrey pouted, all the fight gone from her voice. “You’ll call me, right?”

“Of course.”

She leaned in to kiss him, her mouth tender on his.

He pulled away, probably too quickly. “You should go.”

She nodded, a hurt look filling her face. As she walked away, Caide remembered the paternity test. “Hey, Aud?”

“Yeah?” She called over her shoulder, turning around.

“Did Rachael ever mention having an affair to you?”

“Rachael having an affair?” Her brow furrowed.

“Yes.”

“No, never. Why?” She stared at him intently.

“Just curious.”

“Okay.” She turned to walk away again.

“Would she have?”

She turned again. “Have what?”

“Would she have told you? If she were having an affair?”

Audrey smiled, a small sad smile. “She’s my best friend, Caide. She tells me everything.”

Chapter Forty-Nine

Pam

Pam stumbled into the bar at half past eleven. “Give me a beer,” she yelled to the bartender.

“Sure thing, lady,” the kid with glasses shouted back.

“Hey, lady, ain’t I seen you somewhere?” grunted the other bartender, the porky one with bad acne.

“Nah, I’m just passing through.”

“You look awful familiar. Maybe I’ve passed you somewhere else. I’ve been all over. Where you from?”

“Where you been?” Pam took a swig of her beer.

“Where you from and I’ll tell ya if I’ve been there.”

“Where you been and I’ll tell you if I’m from there.”

He leaned into her, smiling. “I asked you first.”

“Buy me a drink and maybe I’ll tell you.”

“Dude, stop flirting with the customers,” Glasses mumbled in an irritated tone.

“Shut up, Sammy,” Porky mocked. “I’m just being friendly with the lady.”

“The lady is trying to have a drink and you are supposed to be working, remember?”

Porky rolled his eyes, but remained seated. “I ain’t bothering yeh none, am I lady?”

Pam shook her head ferociously. “Oh, no. Not at all.”

“See there.” He smirked at Glasses.

Glasses looked annoyed, frowning impatiently, but said nothing else. After a few minutes of chatting it became increasingly obvious to Pam that she was going to have to work quickly. Her buzz was growing more strong by the second and the sleepiness alcohol gave her would kick in before long. Without thinking, she leaned over in her chair, bumping into a blonde haired, young girl who barely looked old enough to be in a bar, let alone sitting in the lap of some ponytailed biker who was at least twice her age.

“Whoopsie,” she muttered, laughing so hard she spit her beer all over Blondie.

“Ewwww,” the girl screamed, flailing her arms around. “I cannot believe you just did that.”

Pam smiled again, offering up a beer in a drunken salute. “Ahhh, it’ll dry. Here, you want the rest?”

“You are disgusting,” she screamed irately. “Get out of here.” She stormed away to a corner booth. Her boyfriend, looking hazily confused, followed suit.

Pam hastened after her. “You get out.”

“You can’t tell me what to do. Why are you bothering me?”

Pam slid down in the seat beside of her. “I ain’t bothering you. I’m just hanging out.”

“Just leave me the hell alone.” She tried to push Pam away so she could get out of the booth but Pam had thirty years and fifty pounds on the girl. She wasn’t moving.

Suddenly her oblivious biker boyfriend on the opposite side of the booth spoke up. “Look lady, you got a problem or something?”

“No problem here, baby. Just having a chat with your girlfriend.”

Then an idea struck her. She stood up, without giving the man time to process her actions and threw her arms around his neck, her lips meeting his prickly, graying mustache with a bang. She tasted beer and blood as she realized she’d busted her lip on his teeth. He froze, still for a moment, before throwing her off of him. “Someone call the police. This drunk is psycho.” Murmurs of agreement could be heard around the bar.

It was ironic that it was Sheriff Markowitz who walked into the bar a few minutes later, as if he’d been waiting for her, as if he knew what she was up to. His hands in his pockets, he smiled politely at Glasses and asked where the problem was.

Glasses pointed across the bar where Pam still sat, attempting to stop her ever-bleeding lip. Markowitz started his walk toward her. As he neared, his expression softened. “Miss Underwood?”

“What do you want?” she asked, though it sounded more like ‘Whaaddooant?’

“Ma’am, I’m afraid you’ve caused quite a stir here tonight. Let me get you home. I know how hard these past few weeks must’ve been on you, but I’m glad to see you stuck around. You should be glad it’s me who found you tonight. Some of my guys are cuff-happy.” He chuckled, obviously trying to cheer her up.

“Go away,” Pam muttered, scooting further back into her booth.

“No, there’s no need for all of that. I just want to get you home safe. You’ll sleep this off and feel better in the morning.”

“No. You can’t take me home, you old pervert,” Pam shouted, drawing all eyes to them.

The Sheriff’s face grew bright red, even in the dim bar lights. “Ma’am, look, please don’t do this. I just wouldn’t feel right arresting a grieving woman. Now, quit acting crazy. Let’s just get you home. I’ll call you a cab if you’d prefer.”

Pam picked up her glass, still half full of beer and threw it in his face. “I said go away.” She sat her glass back down angrily, a menacing smile on her face.

Markowitz wiped his eyes slowly, blowing foam off his lips. He searched for his cuffs and Pam knew what would come next. “Pamela Underwood, you are under arrest for public intoxication and assault on an officer. You have the right to remain silent…”

Pam didn’t listen to the rest of her rights being read to her, there was only one right she cared about now: the right to justice, and without even knowing it Officer Al Markowitz had just moved her one step closer to getting it.