Wyatt: The Closet Door, #3

By Shari Rood

Henry Peterson, the notorious serial killer is at it again. He just can't help himself but this time he's turned vigilante. He only kills the deserving. After years of staying under the radar he finds himself drawn back to Virginia to help his little brother Wyatt, a police officer. Wyatt is working a difficult cold case and trying to track down his old enemy Rex Roland. He turns to his brother for help but starts to regret it when Henry decides to come to town. Frank Tanbark is a typical Caitland county kid. His Dad went to prison long ago and he's left with a severely depressed mother with a hoarding problem and a bunch of friends who are chomping at the bit to do something illegal and dangerous. When a botched robbery escalates, Frank collides with Henry and Rex and things go from bad to worse.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Wings ePress, Inc.
• Release date: Jul 18, 2023
• ISBN: 9781613092453

Book preview

One

Henry listened for a familiar sound. A slight rattling or even a brazen knock. He felt the relentless drive of whatever it was that drove him, push him forward...and he cringed. He looked at the door and heard nothing. He got up and walked down the hallway, out into the open plan of the large living room.

Nice. He thought that every time he walked into the room, making him wonder if somewhere inside that buggy head of his, he desired a fancy house like this. Fancy, it was a word his mother would have used, but she was gone like everyone else.

He looked into space, past the high ceilings and plantation teak floors and farther past the large deck that overlooked a private pond with a small dock, a little rowboat prettily tied to it. It was all very quaint and moneyed, but he couldn’t really feel comfortable here in this house that wasn’t his. It was like wearing borrowed clothes.

It had been almost a dozen years since Shelby. He let his mind wander to her because he knew she was safe. At least he hadn’t hurt her. It was more than he could say about Melanie, his new girl.

The phrase, she had it coming came to mind. He chuckled, his eyes still focused on the little rowboat. He hated to think he was turning into some kind of vigilante. After all, he really had no interest in helping people. Still, it was nice to know his girlfriend of four months wouldn’t be hurting anyone ever again.

He walked back into the bedroom. He pulled up a chair and faced the closet door. Melanie, I know you can hear me. I’d like to say something.

There was silence. That old familiar blank space. He wondered if he’d killed her. It hearkened back to the Michelle Butler days. The long hours spent waiting for her to speak. Was he crazy? He decided he must be. However, that revelation wasn’t enough to stop him. He’d changed course, however. No more hurting people he loved. He’d made that promise to himself and so far, he’d kept it.

Melanie, why’d you kill them? I mean, you could have just kept the money. They were too addled to give up your secret. Why?

Melanie’s cat walked into the room. You know she’s a piece of work. One time I saw this show about a televangelist named Peter something or other. Anyway, he had this scam going where he convinced poor people to borrow and scrape together every last dime in the name of Jesus and send it to him so he could live in style in Los Angeles and drive a Mercedes. I’ve always thought Melanie had a lot in common with him. I mean, truly, who bleeds old people dry and then kills them?

He gazed at Allistar and back to the door. Allistar was a chatty little thing. Henry missed Misty.

He got up, unlocked the door and peered into the shadowy darkness intrigued by the muffled sound she was making. He hesitated for a moment. Another mmphh sound...he shook his head, remembering the duct tape.

MMPH!

Now stop it. That’s just silly, he said as he ripped the tape off her mouth. She had been crying. He waited for a barrage of cursing, the usual from Melanie, but she was breaking. He knew the signs. So, are you going to answer me?

Go to hell.

Okay, back on with the tape.

No, wait. Just wait... I’ll tell you.

That’s better; you didn’t even ask me if I was going to let you go this time. Does that mean we are learning?

Henry admired her beauty. She was thirtyish and a redhead (very convenient!) and she had stunning blue eyes which at the moment just looked stunned.

Asshole...

He sat back down on his chair and she struggled to move against the ropes that bound her. He noticed she’d rubbed a raw patch on her right wrist and it looked infected. He decided maybe today was the day. Last time...why... did... you... do... it?

She inhaled a wet, snotty breath and Henry got up, took his handkerchief, wiped her nose and sat back down.

Why do you care?

Henry was growing weary of this. It had been interesting but it was time to move on. He felt a pang of remorse at leaving this beautiful house. He’d grown fond of walking the gardens in the afternoon; he even took the little rowboat out for a paddle one particularly lovely evening. He’d always wanted a real home. He understood this wasn’t going to be it. I have this kind of weapon. It’s a sword actually, Japanese. I’ve never actually used anything except my bare hands and of course my trusty gun as my friend Rex would say, but I think you might be a special case.

Oh she definitely is, Allistar said brightly. You know all those medical records you found? It proves it. I don’t know why you want her to confess... it’s all there in black and white. Six wealthy elderly patients died under her care. So, one might think because she was a hospice nurse, that’s normal right? Except it was far from normal. In fact...

Allistar, I can handle this.

He flicked his tail and jumped onto the bed. No need to get snippy, just trying to help.

He looked at Melanie and her eyes widened. You’re going to do it today, aren’t you?

Probably.

Look, I’ll give you everything. I have over five million stashed away on this property. I’ll tell you where to find it. I...

Disappointing. Oh well. Henry got up and reached for his sheathed blade. It felt good in his hands. He wished he could take lessons. Real ones, not just the countless YouTube videos he’d watched on swordsmanship.

"Wait, I did it for the money, obviously. I don’t know what you want me to say. They were old, they were going to die. I saw an opportunity and I took it."

Henry smiled. "You’re not telling me anything I didn’t already know. You make it all sound so simple, so benign. I saw a problem and I fixed it. That kind of thing, but you must be crazy. Can you admit that you’re crazy?"

She was hard to see in the shadowy darkness of the closet so he leaned over and flipped on the switch. She shut her eyes against the bright fluorescent and cursed. Henry waited patiently. He was feeling peckish. Chinese food tonight, I think.

Henry, did you know that she poisoned a retired senator? She was supposed to be taking care of him while his family went on a much needed vacation. He was a nasty man. John, I think his name was. Anyway, they were keen to ditch him so they hired Melanie via the agency she works for, thinking they could leave the cantankerous old coot with her and lo and behold he took a turn for the worse, but not before she managed to get the numbers to three secret bank accounts that his family didn’t know about.

Allistar...

What? I thought you wanted information; I’m providing it.

Henry sighed. Please shut up.

Melanie squinted at him. Who the hell are you talking to? And you think I’m crazy...

He took out his blade and walked toward her.

Wait, listen. I know you’re not unreasonable. If you have to do it, please...I can’t handle being chopped into pieces. A gun to the head. Please?

Henry shrugged and took out his gun and shot her before she could say anything else.

"Bam, said Allistar. You sure showed her, didn’t you? You’re going to take me with you, right?"

Henry closed the closet door. He thought he ought to have some ritual, some calling card. Something. He opened the door again and reached down with a gloved hand and swiped some blood that had pooled by what was left of her head. He drew an x on the outside of the closet door. That’ll have to do. Henry acknowledged that as serial killers go, he was not the most creative.

You gotta take me with you. I’m totally low maintenance despite what people think about the Siamese breed in general. I’m a total tag along. You won’t even notice I’m around. All I need is a couple of meals a day and I’m golden.

Fine, fine...I’ll take you. Just stop talking.

Henry walked out to the deck and watched as the afternoon sun created the perfect photo op. He went inside and ordered delivery. He counted the cash and when the driver arrived, he gave him a ten dollar tip. He ate his meal as the sun ducked behind the grove of trees; a flock of geese flew overhead. He sighed. I’m going to miss all this.

Two

Wyatt sat by the edge of the creek on a large boulder watching the trout. They were just out of reach, their spotty sides shimmering in the afternoon sunlight. He was distracted and a bit disappointed that his work had followed him out here, and on such a beautiful day.

Wyatt was thinking about his name at the moment. He realized that he didn’t hate it the way he used to. A leaf fell into the water and circled around like a little boat caught in a storm. He cast his line and the fish scattered. He chuckled and went back to his thoughts.

His name had been difficult for him to accept because of where it came from. When he was a boy, he’d gone on a search for the truth about his past. It seemed strange to dislike something that was such an integral part of who he was. What’s in a name? he said and looked thoughtfully at the water. If not for his past, he probably wouldn’t have given it a second thought. It defined him, even though most new age gospel would have said you shouldn’t let it. Wyatt figured anyone who ate tofu couldn’t be trusted anyway.

He was working on a new case and it wasn’t going well. He’d had three recent successes and at twenty-three, he had been gearing up for a promotion. Instead he got a transfer. He learned a hard life lesson. Sometimes, if you rise up too quickly, someone will beat you back down. He never saw it coming. He hadn’t meant to be a threat to anyone’s position, but Rob Harrison seemed to feel otherwise. The transfer was hard and the new case was proving to be slow and unrewarding. An unsolved murder that was now classified as a cold case. He watched the spinning leaf, wondering if that would be his career.

He tried to shake it off and he pulled in his line and set down the pole. He took out an energy bar and ate it, although it tasted like sawdust and peanut butter. The sky was completely clear, not a wisp of cloud and Wyatt sighed. It was a shame to waste this beautiful day worrying.

His mind moved to a different topic, but he knew in reality it was the same one, just a different angle. He was thinking about his brother Henry, who was fairly well known. He had a certain kind of celebrity among crime fans, the kind who read about serial killers as a hobby. Wyatt had gone into law enforcement because of his brother. He’d gotten his shield at twenty and had been promised sergeant a year ago. It had never happened. Wyatt wondered if he would have chosen this path if it hadn’t been for Henry. Maybe he would be teaching at some quiet middle school. Maybe he’d be married with a kid. It was strange how Henry had affected so many people’s lives. Still, he’d been proud that he’d risen through the ranks so quickly and now it was all slipping away.

Wyatt looked at the trees, the gold and reds blending with the green of the pines. He breathed in the warm resinous scent of sap and the clean smell of the water. He lay back on the rock and closed his eyes. The sunlight on his eyelids made everything blur into a warm reddish color.

His thoughts returned to Henry. It had been a while since they’d spoken. They had a tenuous relationship. He knew he was probably making excuses for the awful things his brother had done, but it wasn’t quite what the papers made it out to be either.

They said he’d gone on a killing spree, but Wyatt knew it wasn’t the whole story. The news rarely got it right anyway. Yes, there was a lot of violence, but it was far from a spree. It was more like a slow but steady decent into madness. It had started when his girlfriend Michelle refused to marry him. A rational man would have cut his losses and moved on, but not Henry.

Wyatt knew the facts. Henry had an awful childhood and when they finally met in person and talked about it, Wyatt couldn’t hate him for the things he’d done. He was his brother, after all, and more than that, he’d tried to make amends. Sometimes he felt guilty for not tracking Henry down and bringing him to justice. He knew it was his job, and if his bosses ever found out he’d been in contact with him, he was sure he’d be fired and maybe sent to prison.

Wyatt sometimes studied Henry’s picture on the most wanted list. His mug shot was not likely to be filed away anytime soon. He was responsible for the death of Wyatt’s mom. He didn’t think about her much; he really hadn’t known her and what he’d heard about her didn’t make her into any kind of saint.

Henry said he didn’t kill his parents, but Wyatt knew better than to trust him. Still, it did nag him. Sometimes late at night when he’d had a particularly long day at work, he would think about Henry and his crimes. His family was like a black hole that sucked all the light out of everything. It reminded him of an article by Stephen Hawking. He didn’t understand half of what the man was saying, even though Wyatt was no slouch. Still, it interested him, how a black hole isn’t truly dark because the light is always on the edge, trying to escape. Like an endless horizon you keep running from. That was Henry... in some ways it was both of them. Wyatt guessed the only difference was that the darkness sucked Henry in and took him.

Henry used to say it was like wandering dark corridors. Wyatt shuddered to think about it. When the whole thing with Michelle Butler happened, Wyatt was just a boy. Years later, he studied the case at college. Mr. Knight, his old teacher, loved to delve into the case history, often looking pointedly at Wyatt as if daring him to oppose his view. Wyatt never did, not out loud, but he had doubts he kept to himself. Knight was right as far as the description of the crime scene but Wyatt knew his assessment of Henry’s profile was off.

Wyatt never contradicted anyone on the subject, even though he’d been prodded to talk about him many times. He wasn’t interested in swapping theories about his brother. He was pretty sure he’d never kill again and that was enough. There was another man, though. An accomplice of Henry’s, Rex Roland. Wyatt thought of him and scowled. He’d been trying to catch him since he’d gotten his badge. They had a long history and he’d made a vow to bring him to justice, but Rex was slippery.

Wyatt shielded his face and opened his eyes. He heard the sounds of something rustling in the woods. He hoped it was a bear. He leaned up on his elbow and squinted toward the forest. He searched the woods hopefully, but it was only a squirrel. He lay back down and closed his eyes again. The sound of the creek lulled him to sleep.

WYATT FOUND HIMSELF in an old warehouse. One he’d seen from every angle many times before in his prophetic dreams. The brick façade was crumbling; the tangled weeds growing at the edge of the parking lot looked thirsty and listless. It was dusk and the bats were starting to swoop and dive overhead. The air felt warm but he heard the sound of crickets and knew it heralded the coming of fall.

He took a step forward and saw light through the dirt-encrusted window. He sidled up to the glass and pulled away a huge spider web. Rex was inside and so was his brother. He inched along the wall and made his way to the door. He eased himself to the edge of the door and pushed it slightly open. Rex’s loud, coarse voice echoed through the ancient warehouse. Henry’s tone was softer, thoughtful, definitely more refined. He wondered if he dared push the door a little further. They obviously weren’t worried about anyone coming in or they’d have locked it in the first place. He gently moved it open until he could hear them clearly. Rex was talking a mile a minute, as usual. Henry had a lot of restraint when it came to Rex. Listen, Henry I know what you’re saying, but I need this. Don’t I always help you when you need it?

Yes, but there are things to consider.

Wyatt’s heart raced as he watched Rex, the man he had wanted to apprehend for years, standing right in front of him.

What things? C’mon, I thought we were past this kind of stuff. You may not care about money but somehow you don’t seem to live in the real world with the rest of us.

Henry shifted and looked toward the door. Wyatt’s breath caught. He obviously didn’t see him and he looked blankly at the wall. Fine, Rex, just this once. How many times have I said that?

Great buddy, you ain’t going to regret this. I got it all worked out. I just need you to get me inside. I’ll take care of the rest.

I’m sure you will.

Wyatt noted the sarcasm. Rex didn’t have a clue, as usual.

Henry?

What.

You ever feel bad for what you and I done?

Henry suddenly snapped back to focus and Wyatt held his breath. This was what he was waiting for, what he’d wanted to know.

I’m not sure what you’re talking about, Rex.

Yeah, you do.

I’ve changed... I wish I could say the same thing for you but good old Rex never changes, does he?

Rex looked flustered and Wyatt thought he was going to walk away but he said, I ain’t no saint, but life is too damn short to feel guilty. I just wanted to know, that’s all.

Because?

I don’t know. Sometimes I wonder if I should have killed that kid. I regret that. It was stupid and reckless and now I’m on the run, so yeah, maybe I feel bad.

Wyatt gripped the edge of the door to keep from yelling. His hands were shaking in rage. How dare he... how dare he talk about Scott? The desire to take out his pistol and blow a hole through Rex’s skull was almost overwhelming. He calmed himself and took a deep breath.

Rex, you don’t feel bad because you’re sorry for what you did, you feel bad because now you have to hide. Let’s just be honest about that, old buddy, old pal.

"As long as we’re being honest, let me remind you that you killed a whole lot more people than I did, pal. Don’t get all high and mighty with me now."

You brought it up.

And now I’m ending it. Listen, I admire you. You know that. I ain’t had many people I could count on in my life and I know I can be a pain in the ass, but I’ve helped you, more than once.

Wyatt drew back, afraid of being seen.

I know. I told you I’d help one last time and then I’m going back to Florida.

Thanks, buddy. I appreciate it and I won’t forget it.

I know you won’t.

Wyatt strained to hear that last part and noticed that they were getting fuzzy, out of focus. No! He yelled. Tell me where you are! Where is this place?

Wyatt woke with a start. It was almost dark and his back was stiff from lying against the rock. The bubbling creek sounded like a chorus of voices and for a moment he was desolate. He sat up and put his head in his hands. Sometimes it seemed the dreams were never going to stop. He hated them. They had been the reason Scott had gotten killed in the first place. Maybe it was his guilt coming through, some kind of subconscious thing. He knew better though. His dreams were rarely wrong, although in Scott’s case, they had not only been wrong, they had been deadly. He stood up and shook the dust off him. He grabbed his fishing pole and his backpack. Suddenly the allure of the day had gone out like a snuffed candle and he wanted to be at home, doing research on his case. He heard another rustling sound in the woods and strained to see in the semi-darkness. Whatever it was, it remained hidden.

I’m tired of this! he said loudly. The sound bounced off the water and echoed into the woods. He sighed and walked back down the trail. He didn’t need a flashlight; he knew how to find his way in the dark. He mused that it was an interesting thought, making your way through the dark. He knew someone who was an expert at that. He might have to give him a call.

Three

Frank Tanbark had a headache from huffing fumes the night before. He rubbed his eyes and stumbled out of bed. He tripped over the clutter that covered his bedroom floor and cursed. His room was full of the overflow his mother couldn’t fit in the other rooms of their already dangerously overcrowded doublewide trailer. It had been years since anyone had seen the carpet. The walls had narrowed with stacks of papers and junk like a clogged artery.

He walked