fences.
Carina looked at the DMV report she’d run while driving to the University City home. “Regina Burns has two cars registered in her name, a 1996 Camaro and a 1990 Taurus.”
The house was dark and there were no cars in the driveway.
“What about Brandon Burns?”
“I’m waiting for a call back to see if there is another licensed driver at this address,” Carina said. “The registration database is separate from the licensed driver database.”
A sense of deja vu filled Nick. The last time he’d gone up to a house where he hadn’t expected to find anything, he’d been attacked. He glanced at Carina, fearing he was growing paranoid. She looked alert, but calm. The events last year might be clouding his judgment, and he didn’t want to make another mistake. The thought of risking Carina’s life through his missteps was foolish, he knew: she was a trained cop, she knew what she was doing. Still, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was about to go wrong.
They approached the house cautiously. Carina knocked on the door, then took a step back. No movement in the house. No sound whatsoever.
“Let’s talk to the neighbors,” Carina said finally. “Maybe someone knows when Regina Burns is expected home, or something about her kids.”
The house to the right of the Burns residence was brightly lit, the television loud enough to wake the dead. Carina rapped loudly on the door. No answer. She peered through the window, then used the doorbell multiple times.
A full minute later, the television went from ear-shattering to loud, and the door flew open. Instinctively, Nick’s hand rested on his gun. Towering over both of them was a sixty-something bald man with a large beer belly, to match his breath.
“What?”
Carina identified herself and Nick, learned the neighbor was Ray Grimski, then asked, “We’re looking for Regina Burns, your neighbor.”
The man narrowed his eyes, took a step out onto the small porch, shaking his head. “Don’t know where that bitch is. Probably working.”
“When was the last time you saw Mrs. Burns?”
He shrugged. “Whenever. Last week, maybe. I don’t know. She left Friday or Saturday. She works for a cruise line. Don’t know what she does for them and I don’t care. But she’s gone a week or more at a time, which is fine by me.”
“You don’t get along with her?”
“Hell no.”
“How long have you been neighbors?”
“Ever since she moved in six or seven years ago. Old-man Krauss croaked and his kids put the old woman in a nursing home, sold the house, and split the money, the fucking brats. She died there, don’t think those girls ever even visited.”
Carina and Nick glanced at each other. Sometimes, values weren’t evidenced by appearance.
“What about Regina Burns’s sons?”
“Sons? Oh, right, she has an older son. Don’t know his name. He goes to that college on the coast, I think. Works at a restaurant. Temper. Never comes by when she’s around. Sometimes he comes over to pick up the kid, Brandon. Last time I saw him with his mother was over a year ago. Maybe longer. They got in a huge shouting match. Thought he’d strangle her. The kid came out, everything sort of stopped, and the older kid took off.”
“Do you remember what the argument was about?”
Grimski shrugged, scratched his hefty stomach. “That was ages ago. But that woman has a temper, too.”
“Does she abuse her son?”
“Don’t know. Never saw anything like that.”
“You talk a lot to the younger boy? Brandon?”
“I hired him to fix my back fence. He’s pretty handy. I’ve paid him for odd jobs, though he doesn’t seem to have time anymore. He took a regular job working for his brother. Why? He’s not in trouble, is he?”
“Not that we know of,” Carina said carefully.
“Then why all the questions?”
“He worked with a woman who was recently murdered. We’re talking to all of her colleagues.”
Grimski frowned. “Brandon’s a good kid. A little weird, but with that bitch for a mother who wouldn’t be?”
“Weird how?”
“I dunno. When my son was in high school, this place was Grand-fucking-Central. I was glad. It kept him out of trouble if he brought his friends here. But no one visits next door. The bitch probably doesn’t allow it.”
“Have you ever seen Mrs. Burns’s husband?”
“Husband? Someone married her?” He barked out a laugh. “Never seen anyone else around. I can’t blame the guy for leaving that woman. I almost sold the house a year after they moved in, but the market wasn’t hot enough, and where would I go? I’ve been here forty years, since my wife and I bought the place, rest her soul.”
“What happened that prompted you to consider moving?”
Grimski’s face grew hard, though his eyes started to water. “My Peg was a sweetheart. She died two years ago this May, of cancer. But this was when she was still healthy. She was beautiful. Fifty-five years old and still looked terrific in a bikini.” He grew wistful for a moment, then scowled. “My Peg was sun-bathing in our backyard. Our property! In a bikini. That bitch next door yelled at her over the fence. Called her a whore and a slut and a slew of other indecent words. Peg tried to laugh it off, but she never went outside in a bikini again.”
Carina thanked Grimski. She and Nick went back to the car, but didn’t get in.
“What do you think?” she asked Nick.
Nick could too easily picture Mrs. Regina Burns and the sad homelife Kyle and Brandon Burns must have had. And, unfortunately, he could picture either of them as killers. Kyle with his anger problems; Brandon, an antisocial kid living under the overpowering presence of a woman who hated other women.
“I think we need to have another talk with Kyle Burns,” he said. “And Brandon Burns as well. Maybe watch their dynamic together.”
“We have two suspects.”
“They could be working together. A teenager might be susceptible to the influence of an older, forceful brother, especially since his father is out of the picture.”
“Or maybe the father came back, instigated the murders.” But even as Carina said it, it didn’t feel right. Rapists often escalate to murder, but she didn’t think they’d be dormant for eight years. “We need to check unsolved rapes cross-country,” Carina said. She almost laughed. There were likely thousands of such cases. “We were only looking into rape-murders.”
“But if Mitchell Burns was continuing his pattern, he may not have killed.”
“Before now.” She frowned. “Except we have no evidence that Mitchell Burns is in San Diego.”
In the car, Carina called the officers she had tailing Kyle Burns.
“Where’s Burns?”
“He went home with a waitress from the Shack.”
Carina tensed. “Did she look like she was in any distress?”
“No, but we’re sitting outside her apartment now.”
“Stay there. Watch his car. Don’t let him leave. I’m on my way.”
Then she called for backup.
When they arrived, Carina talked to the officers sitting outside the woman’s apartment.
“Where’s the suspect?”
“Still inside.”
“Do we have an ID on the woman?”
He nodded, flipped open his notepad. “Maggie Peterson, twenty-two, senior at the university and has worked for the Sand Shack for the last year.”
“Good stuff.”
“I went to talk to the manager. She lives with her younger sister, Leah Peterson, nineteen.”
