James Beamer Box Set by Paul Seiple

Author:Paul Seiple [Seiple, Paul]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Dangerhouse Media
Published: 2020-03-20T22:00:00+00:00

Twenty-Three

Cleveland, Ohio

“Sorry for falling asleep on the plane,” Reid said, driving the rental car away from the airport. “Sleep is a luxury for me these days. I never turn it down when it finally decides to show up.”

“No problem,” Jill said. “Mind if I ask you a question?”

“Shoot.”

“Why this case? I mean, I’ve followed your career and you never seem to get personally involved.”

“Why did you choose to be a cop, Tanner?” Reid asked, ignoring her question.

Jill fidgeted, unsure if she had overstepped boundaries with her question. “My father was murdered when I was a kid. Committing to a life of protecting the innocent is my way of honoring him.”

“I’ve spent years digging into Norman Wallace. Many years. Long before you were born. And in less than a day, you find more than I found in twenty years. That’s damn impressive, Tanner. You’ll make one hell of a detective.”

Jill smiled. She felt her cheeks warm. Blushing was embarrassing and damn near impossible to conceal with her pale complexion. “Thanks, but the Harold Frederick connection was the break. Why have I never heard of Wallace? I consider myself to be up on the latest serial killers,” she paused and smiled again. “But I’ve never heard of this guy.”

“To the world, Norman Wallace died thirty years ago. Took his own life in a cowardly act after it was discovered that he murdered several women. Wallace isn’t as flashy as the Zodiac. Isn’t as openly crazy as Manson. Wallace is a different breed of killer. He has mastered the art of becoming a ghost. But more importantly, he's learned to control the urges.You could see him in the grocery store and you would never guess that he was the most dangerous man in the world. The public is under the impression that ghosts cannot harm the living. Wallace is proving them wrong and they don’t even realize it.”

“But he has caught your eye.”

“Wallace has done more than catch my eye. He’s destroyed my life. One of the women he murdered was my mother.”

“I’m so sorry. I had no idea,” Jill said.

Reid turned the car onto Hyacinth. A block and a half away from Sidney Barrett's house, a line of news vans mimicked rush hour traffic. In the distance, flashing red and blue lights ricocheted off of the white vans and onto the asphalt. Reid’s Motorola DynaTAC, one of the first cellular phones with a hefty four-thousand dollar price tag, rang.

“Get that for me,” Reid said.

Jill picked up the phone, flipping it around, trying to figure out how to answer it, as it continued to ring.

“Hit the orange send button,” Reid said.

“Reid Hoffman’s phone,” Jill said, bringing the brick to her ear.

“Who is this? I need to speak to Reid.”

“He’s driving.”

“Give him the phone.”

“He’s driving I said.”

“Yemana, it’s OK, talk to her,” Reid said loud enough for the person on the other end to hear.

“How do you know who it is?” Jill asked. “Is this your bat phone?”

“Tell Reid that there’s been a homicide at the Barrett residence.

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