The American Soldier Collection 3: Amazing Grace (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting) (30 page)

“What about Donald? How is he handling this? How did the questioning go this morning?” she asked Frank.

Frank was silent a few seconds. “Don’t worry about it, baby. I have to go. John is waiting for me downstairs. I love you, baby.”

“I love you, too.” She hung up the phone and handed it to Sandman.

Grace walked toward the window in the office. Her brother was hiding information from her. Something was wrong with Donald. Damn she needed to be home, she thought to herself as Sandman approached.

“Grace, what’s wrong?” he asked her as he wrapped his arms around her waist from behind.

“Frank wasn’t telling me everything. He’s keeping things from me, which only makes me think something’s not right. What happened at the questioning this morning? How’s Donald?”

He released her and leaned against his desk.

“Grace, I told you last night that Donald’s being investigated. There’s nothing new as of right now.”

“Frank sounded like there’s more to it than that. Why are you lying to me, too? This isn’t right,” she told him, and he stopped her from turning away from him by putting his hands on her waist.

“Baby, please listen to me. I know you’re trying your hardest to help solve this case and that’s part of my reason for having you here but the other part remains priority. Your life is in jeopardy. There is someone after you. Someone who has killed so many innocent women and more recently killed your brother’s girlfriend Maggie and nearly killed Jamie.”

“I understand all that, Sandman, which should give me the right to know everything that’s going on in the investigation. They don’t actually think Donald is the killer, do they?” she asked him.

“Let me ask you this, Grace. Try to put aside the fact that Donald has been so close to your family, forget his support during the years, and look at the information we have. Tell me what you would think?”

He moved his laptop and opened the e-mail from Agent Lancaster.

Grace sat down in the chair and read the information.

“Well, first of all he would have been the first on the scene because he was in the search party that day, not too far from the spot where I found Clara. He also would have been the first person to get to Stew Parker’s because of his position and because he wanted to find the killer so badly. He made it his personal mission in life.”

“From your perspective. But from an investigator’s perspective it’s not uncommon for the perpetrator to return to the scene of the crime or participate in the volunteer search parties. Because he is in law enforcement, no one would think twice about him sticking around, helping everywhere he could, and engaging your family. You did say he spent a lot of time with your family even after Clara was found?”

“Yes, he did. He even spent his days off with us. But still that’s not enough evidence.”

“He disappeared the other day on the anniversary of Clara’s death. Right after Sarah arrived at the station to e-mail you. He hasn’t admitted or proved his whereabouts at the time. It was at that same time that Jamie was attacked.”

“She’s his daughter-in-law. Tod’s his son. There’s no way he would hurt her.”

“He didn’t kill her, Jamie. He kept her alive possibly because of his son.”

“Or the real killer’s trying to throw you off. Make you think that Donald is the killer. You said it yourself, this guy is crazy but not stupid. This could be one big setup,” she said as she moved the mouse to the laptop lower. That’s when the words appeared and her heart dropped.

Sandman saw her reaction and knew she was looking at the poem.

“Grace, don’t.” He put his hand over hers and closed the laptop.

“I want to see it. Let me please?” she asked him as she looked down into his eyes. “I have a right to see them, Sandman. If he wrote these poems to me and kept Jamie alive because of me, then I should be aware of what he’s thinking, what he wants from me.”

“No one knows what this psycho is thinking, Grace. There’s no reason for you to put yourself through this. Just keep it closed.”

Just then Sandman’s phone rang, and as he answered it, he closed the e-mail and turned off the computer.

* * * *

“Agent Lancaster,” Sullivan said as he waved the paper in the air.

“Let’s get going, guys.”

The other agents prepared for one of their well-known home invasions.

“Search warrant? For the lieutenant’s house?” Frank asked.

“You’re more than welcome to tag along, Detective. I wouldn’t want anyone trying to say we planted evidence,” Lancaster stated sarcastically, as he brushed past Frank.

Frank of course followed the circus all the way to Donald’s house.

* * * *

When they arrived there fifteen minutes later the agents swarmed the house, each designated to a specific location. They were placing papers and various personal belongings of Donald’s into plastic evidence bags and large cardboard boxes. They gathered hotel pay stubs, used airline tickets, and personal expense files. Anything and everything that could possibly leave a paper trail and put him near the location or vicinity of any of the murders.

An hour later they were still heavily into their work and had begun to search the basement.

Frank joined Agent Lancaster and Sullivan and a few other agents in the basement when someone came across an old cubbyhole door behind a large, old, dusty wooden workbench. It was the only thing in the whole basement that was broken down and junky looking. Donald kept the rest of the basement immaculate with each box or wooden chest in a lined position against the walls. In the center were a workbench and some free hand weights. Even his washer and dryer were downstairs and set atop a plywood platform with every detergent bottle, fabric softener, and Clorox bleach sitting in their own positions on a wooden shelf.

He was very organized and meticulous. That was obvious.

“Let’s take some pictures of the position of this bench first before we move it,” Lancaster said as the photographer who followed them around continuously took pictures of everything in its current position. The photographer began taking pictures and then everything was marked, checked off, and logged.

A few of the agents moved the bench as the loud squealing sound of wood being dragged across the cement floor echoed throughout the basement. Then they opened the door and to their surprise there was enough room for someone to walk in, hunched over, and it looked as though the room continued through the whole house.

“Let’s get this room lit up bright so we can see everything before we enter,” Lancaster ordered as the others gathered around, turning on flashlights and a handheld spotlight.

As the cubbyhole was illuminated Lancaster became excited at their discovery.

“It looks like the Lieutenant has a naughty hobby,” the agent told Frank who looked inside as well as the other agents.

There were centerfold pictures scattered around the walls, all of brunettes, as well as various types of sexual paraphernalia, including whips, paddle boards, handcuffs, and chain restraints.

“Holy shit,” Justin said and even Frank was shocked.

As they carefully took pictures and moved forward into the cubbyhole, the ceiling became lower and lower. They came upon a wooden box with a sheet scattered across it.

The photographer took pictures and they removed the sheet.

“What’s inside the box?” Lancaster asked.

“There’s a few things, sir,” Justin said. Then he took the box and moved it toward the entrance of the room.

Frank, Lancaster, and the other agents looked inside and were once again surprised.

“Well what do we have here? Bingo!” exclaimed Agent Lancaster as he held up Maggie’s police badge along with various plastic bags containing locks of hair, jewelry, and other personal belongings.

“Let’s get this stuff logged and bagged then to the lab immediately,” Lancaster said.

Frank knew there was good reason to worry.

* * * *

By the time the 6:00 p.m. news aired everyone was aware of the search for Lieutenant Donald Friedman as well as the agents’ interest in questioning him.

The reports were already surfacing calling Friedman a suspect in the case.

“I don’t believe this. There is absolutely no possible way that my father is the serial killer,” Tod said as he paced back and forth in the hospital waiting room.

“I didn’t want to believe it either, Tod, but you should have seen what was in his basement. There was a lot of incriminating stuff in there,” said Frank as John sat down in a chair looking just as shocked at the information.

“My dad never used that old cubbyhole. I remember helping him organize that basement and pushing that workbench in front of the door. That’s a two-person job,” said Todd as he thought about everything Frank was telling him.

“I really don’t know what to say except that your father better show up soon or that Agent Lancaster is going to have him tried and sentenced before he knows what hit him,” said Frank as the other man looked at him, unsure of what to do next.

* * * *

“I don’t believe this, Peter. I just don’t believe what I’m hearing. Could it possibly be true? Oh God, what am I saying? There’s no way it could be true.” Sarah rambled on, not knowing what to think or how to react to the news reports. She gripped the telephone tighter.

“Well, Mom, he didn’t show up to work today and he knew that Agent Lancaster was waiting to question him. His house did not show signs of forced entry or that he left in a hurry. However, the agents did find incriminating evidence,” Peter told his mother.

“Well what kind of incriminating evidence did they find?” she asked her son.

“I’m not sure, Mom, I’m not privy to that information yet. Frank saw it for himself and I have to tell you that he was pretty upset,” said Peter.

“What about Tod? Oh God, poor Tod must be going out of his mind,” said Sarah.

“Well Frank and John are with him right now. They’ve decided to do a little investigating on their own, Mom. None of us believe that Donald is the killer.”

They spoke a little longer before hanging up the phone.

“What did Peter say?” Eric asked as he patiently waited in the lounge chair listening to the whole one-sided conversation.

Sarah explained it all to him as she grabbed a tissue and began to cry.

In an instant Eric was at her side consoling her.

“It is going to be all right, Sarah. If Donald is the killer, then the agents or the police will find him. All this worrying will be over and our Grace will come home again,” he told her as he hugged her.

“I just can’t believe Donald would do this. He was so kind to our family. The boys adore him,” she said as she thought about her handsome friend who she had been so attracted to.

“You have always had a special connection with him, Sarah. He helped us through so much when Clara was missing and then after she was found. I have to admit sometimes I was a little jealous,” Eric told her as Sarah wiped her tears and looked at her husband rather surprised.

Sarah gently touched Eric’s cheek and spoke to him softly.

“There was no need for you to be jealous, Eric. You are my husband, I love you so much, and you were there for me, for all of us when Clara was missing.”

He smiled softly as he touched her hair and he tenderly kissed her. “I love the children as if they were my own and I’ve always felt the need to protect my two girls the best that I could. I promised myself to protect both you and Grace as long as I live, Sarah.”

She hugged him. “She’s safe, Eric, very safe with Sandman. As a matter of fact Frank may have been right when he said one positive thing we could get out of this whole situation,” she told him with a huge smile.

“You mean that Special Agent Sandstone who is supposed to be protecting her?” Eric asked, sounding a little concerned.

“Yes, dear, that one. She told me all about it the other day and she seemed pretty happy. There’s more actually. His brothers fell in love with her, too,” Sarah said as she turned off the television set.

“Is she out of her mind? A ménage relationship with three men? This could ruin my election, this entire family,” he stated, concerned.

“Eric, it happens and the communities know these types of relationships exist. She’s in love and she’s happy for once in her life.”

“I’m not as accepting to this. As a matter of fact, I’m surprised that you’re so accepting.” He followed Sarah upstairs.

“I want Grace happy and to feel loved. If Sandman and his two brothers bring her that love and can do that for her, then God bless them.”

* * * *

It was after midnight and Grace couldn’t sleep. She entered Sandman’s office and turned on his laptop computer. She was hoping to take a look at the poems from the killer and had tried unsuccessfully to open the e-mail. After a while longer she sifted through the papers in his desk as her eyes lingered toward the locked drawer. She looked for a key but was unsuccessful as she grabbed the letter opener from the desk drawer. She knew she shouldn’t break into the drawer and that it was a desperate move.