Midnight Caller. Diane Burke
“What have we here?”
Tony took out a handkerchief, bent and gingerly lifted a small pile of photographs. He brought them out into the light of the foyer and laid them on the hall table. The grim expression on his face and furious glint in his eyes made a chill race up her spine.
“Tony? What is it?” Erin asked.
Tony turned to one of the police officers. “Call it in. This is a crime scene. We need forensics here stat.”
Erin stepped closer for a look at the photographs splayed across the tabletop. Her stomach twisted in knots and her legs threatened to collapse. They were photographs of her.
At the grocery store. Coming out of work. Sitting on the porch. Playing with Jack in the yard. There were even pictures of her at the Easter picnic fundraiser.
And every picture had a black X over her face.
DIANE BURKE
is the mother of two grown sons and the grandmother of three wonderful growing-like-weeds grandsons. She has two daughters-in-law that have blessed her by their addition to her family. She lives in Florida, nestled somewhere between the Daytona Beach speedway and the St. Augustine fort, with Cocoa, her golden Lab, and Thea, her border collie. Thea and Cocoa don’t know they are dogs, because no one has ever told them. Shhhh.
When she was growing up, her siblings always believed she could “exaggerate” her way through any story and often waited with bated breath to see how events turned out, even though they had been present at most of them. Now she brings those stories to life on the written page.
Her writing has earned her numerous awards, including a Daphne du Maurier Award of Excellence.
She would love to hear from her readers. You can contact her at [email protected].
Midnight Caller
Diane Burke
Even when I walk through the darkest valley, I will not be afraid, for you are close beside me…
—Psalms 23:4
To my siblings, Thomas Donahue, Michael Donahue, Cathy Joki, Brian Donahue, Brendan Donahue and Lori Hoskins—each one in their own unique way helped shape me into the person I am today.
To Dan, Claudia, Jeptha, Jesse, Luke, Dave and Esther—the keepers of my heart.
To Sarah McDaniel and Tina James for their encouragement, patience and wisdom—you made this story the best it could be.
To Sergeant Eric Dietrich and retired detective John Foxjohn—who gave generously of their time and wisdom.
To Connie Neumann, author, mentor, friend—at my side from beginning to end. Thanks so much.
To the KOD lethaladies critique groups—both groups helped me shape and grow this story. Thanks doesn’t seem good enough.
To Bill Burke—you believed this day would happen long before I dared to hope. I wish you had lived long enough to see it. But somehow I believe you already know. I miss you so very much.
And most of all, to my Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ—my shelter, my strength, my joy. All praise and honor is yours.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION
ONE
Friday, 3:30 p.m., Florida
His fingers tapped an angry rhythm against the handle of the scalpel hidden in his pocket. Where was she? He checked his wristwatch for the third time in as many minutes. Her shift had ended thirty minutes ago. She should be standing in that doorway by now.
Alone.
Vulnerable.
A boom of thunder, like cannon fire, shook the ground. A stinging stream of water hit his face, but still he didn’t move from beneath the tree. He simply raised his umbrella and continued to stare at the entrance to the hospital.
Finally!
A petite woman in her early thirties paused in the doorway of Florida Memorial and frowned at the weather.
What kept you, sweetheart? What’s the matter? Afraid a little rain might hurt you? He chuckled at the irony of his thoughts. He shoved his hand back into his pocket, grasping and releasing the weapon. His pulse quickened. His skin quivered in anticipation.
From a distance, he watched as she rummaged through her tote bag and pulled out a magazine. A grin twisted his lips. Like that’s going to protect you. Like anything could protect you now.
Eyeing the storm once more, the woman placed the magazine over her head and dashed to the parking lot.
He shadowed her at a discreet distance, not that it would have mattered. She was so busy trying to save herself from the storm, she was oblivious to her true danger.
She fumbled with her keys and dropped them. Seeming to realize the futility of trying to stay dry, she lowered the magazine, scooped up her keys and unlocked her car door. Her blond hair, wet and matted, hugged her skull.
He took out his own keys and slipped into the truck parked behind her blue minivan. Adjusting the rearview mirror, he watched her back out of her parking space. Her brake lights glowed at the stop sign before she signaled and turned into the late-afternoon traffic.
He turned the key in the ignition.
Hurry, little one, this way and that. None of it will matter because death is right behind you.
“I hate cops!” The kitchen door slammed shut behind Erin O’Malley. Seeing her aunt and son sitting at the table, she grinned sheepishly. “Sorry.” She deposited the groceries in her arms on the counter.
Aunt Tess chuckled. “Sounds like someone got another speeding ticket.”
“Yeah, going forty-five in a thirty-five zone. I’m a genuine NASCAR driver.”
“Mommy, it’s not nice to say you hate cops,” Erin’s five-year-old son, Jack, mumbled through a mouthful of cereal. “Cops are the good guys.”
Good guys? One of those good guys had raised her, teaching her all she needed to know about secrets, pain and loss. And Jack’s dad had been one of those “good guys,” too. But it didn’t stop him from hightailing it out of their lives when Jack was diagnosed with cerebral palsy. No, thank you very much. She’d had enough of those “good guys” to last a lifetime.
“You’ve packed so much cereal in your mouth that the pressure has clogged up your ears, little man.