And cleaning up after kids was a joy—part of the job, and he wouldn’t trade what he did for twice the money. Each evening, when he popped back to do a final cleaning after the staff cleared out, he took pride in making the place sparkle, all clean and shiny, ready for the kids on the next school day.
Picking up his cap from the passenger seat, Raymond sat it on his head and worked it into place. He brushed back the hair above his ears, just enough hair that no one would suspect he had an expanding bald spot under the cap. Not that he cared. There was no shame in being bald.
He stepped from the car, each day growing more mindful of the increasing effort it took him to get around. At sixty-eight, he had a lot of good years left, but he felt his age creeping up on him. But never mind—complaining never did any good, and anyway, his job wasn’t all that back-breaking.
Stepping to the rear door, he tugged at the key ring fastened to his belt with a chain, selected a key, and unlocked the door. He heaved on the handle and the door scraped open. The bottom brushed the concrete and held. He would have to get around to fixing that up soon. It was probably the hinges sagging. He could tighten it up with a screwdriver, allowing the door to swing closed properly on its own.
He stepped into the dimly lit hallway and tugged at the door to free it. It almost caught his heels as it scraped behind him and snapped closed. He flicked a light switch on the wall, flooding the hall with cool fluorescent light. One bulb flickered and would soon die. Maybe he would take care of that first. Bulbs didn’t last forever. Except for him, people rarely came into this area of the building, but he needed the bright lighting for his own aging eyes.
Raymond shuffled down the hall, pushed open a metal door, and stepped into the supply room. He lugged an aluminum ladder out, stood it under the dying bulb, and carefully climbed the steps. Reaching up, he slipped the plastic light cover aside and twisted the bulb gently. It had been there awhile. One end was corroded and stubborn, but he tugged, and it finally moved.
The end of the forty-eight-inch tube slipped from his grasp and swung downward. He grabbed for it, missed, and watched in disgust as the bulb did a somersault, hit the hard tile floor, and exploded. He shook his head, annoyed at his own clumsiness, and climbed back down the ladder. He avoided tramping in the shattered glass as he pushed the ladder out of the way. He would sweep up the mess before he installed a new bulb.
He ambled down the corridor to the far end, pushing open a door that led into the main area of the building. To his left and right, lockers lined the hallway, classroom doors at even intervals along the far side. He squinted in the subdued lighting, moved to his left, and opened the storage room where he kept his organized array of cleaning supplies and equipment.
Flicking on the storage room light, he chose a wide push broom from the selection hanging on the wall and went back to the entrance corridor.
He opened the door and frowned. The light had gone out. That was strange because he knew he’d left it on. Anyway, the light switch was by the exit door at the other end of the long hallway and he didn’t remember turning it off. Why would he?
Even more strange, the outside door was open. The roof of his car, parked outside, shone in the bright moonlight.
“Who’s there?” he called, cupping a hand behind his ear, waiting for an answer.
No one did. He called again. “Hello? Is someone there?” He paused to listen, then headed for the exit, pushing the broom ahead of him.
Halfway down the corridor, he stopped short when a silhouette appeared in the doorway. Something wasn’t right. A darkened figure stood straight, legs spread, arms out at the sides.
His dimming eyes could make out something gripped in one fist—something like the shape of a knife, but smaller, and pointed, maybe a screwdriver.
Raymond’s voice came out uneasily as he stood still, cautiously observing the intruder. “Who’re you? What do you want?”
There was no answer. Instead the figure took a slow step, shoulders hunched forward.
Raymond took a careful step backward, dragging the broom with him. Then another step as the figure came closer. He heard feet crunching on broken glass. The intruder stopped a moment, then moved forward again. Slowly.
Raymond took one more step back, dropping the broom in his haste to get away. He was frightened now, determined not to stay there any longer.
He spun around and stumbled in the darkness, falling heavily against the wall. He righted himself and looked over his shoulder. The intruder was still coming. Faster now.
Raymond’s breath labored with the effort, his heart pounding against his ribs, his eyes straining as he staggered toward the door leading into the main area of the school.
He knew of a place he might be able to hide, but first, he would have to get out of this corridor. He would have no chance of escape otherwise, with no chance of outrunning his stalker, and at his age, even less chance of overpowering anyone.
Footsteps quickened behind him, the intruder’s breath almost in his ear.
Raymond panted as he hurried along, but his pace had slowed, and the door seemed so far away.
He would never make it.
Running was futile and he took the only choice he had. He turned around and faced his would-be attacker.
The unwelcome visitor stopped and Raymond’s eyes widened in the darkness. He instinctively raised his hands for protection as the prowler lifted his arm. Raymond’s terrified eyes saw the weapon clearly now. It was a screwdriver. Likely the one he would’ve used to fix the outer door.
His own screwdriver was about to be used as a weapon against him by a sadistic fiend.
Raymond’s tortured mind asked why. Why, why?
The screwdriver descended, forcing its way into his chest. He gasped as the weapon was ripped free. His arms fell and he wavered, then he caught his balance, his eyes darkening.
He felt the deadly tool strike again. Felt it enter his body. Felt himself slip to the floor. He lay still, aware of breathing—not his own—as the killer crouched beside him. Then a hand on his chin, another on his nose, his jaw forced down. Something soft lay on his tongue.
Now fading footsteps, a door opened and closed, and he thought of Eunice, waiting for him at home. Dear, dear Eunice. The love of his life.
His pierced heart broke for her. She needed him, but he would never be there for her again.
Chapter 18
DAY 3 - Wednesday, 8:25 a.m.
ANNIE SAT HER coffee cup down, stood from the kitchen table, and answered a knock on the back door. It was Kyle, come to make his morning rendezvous with Matty before they headed off to school.
Annie pushed the door open and looked down at the grinning face. “Hi, Kyle. Matty’s still upstairs.”
“Thanks, Mrs. Lincoln,” Kyle said, ducking under her arm and running toward the hallway.
Annie sat back down and picked up her cup. The boys would soon be off to school, Jake was in the shower, cooling off from his morning workout, and she had things to do.
The case had been on her mind throughout the night, and she had plans to visit Mabel Shorn later in the day. She knew the Thorburns’ neighbor didn’t work and Annie hoped to catch her at home. Ed Shorn worked evenings, but her main concern was an interview with Virginia Thorburn’s friend, Mabel.
She finished her drink, rinsed out her cup, removed Matty’s lunch bag from the fridge, and leaned back against the counter. The boys laughed and giggled noisily as they clomped down the stairs and into the kitchen.
“Thanks, Mom,” Matty said, grabbing the bag. He put it into his backpack, slung the pack over his shoulder, and kissed his mother as she leaned over, waiting.