Plumber Prequel Read online

  No answer.

  Knock. Knock. Knock.

  I waited for a minute, then heard a shuffling sound and gentle footsteps approaching the door.

  What was Jennifer doing?

  "Who is it?" Her voice sounded just like her; innocent, fresh, with a well-bred tone to it.

  "Building maintenance." The peephole on the door darkened, and through the door, I could feel her eyes on me, watching.

  "I didn’t call for maintenance," she said. Her voice sounded suspicious.

  Smart cookie.

  "Your neighbor downstairs called to tell us that water is leaking into her apartment through her ceiling. Do you mind if I take a look at your bathroom?"

  Through the door, I could feel her mind working, thinking and deciding if she should let me in.

  Let the right one in, Jennifer.

  She opened the door, wearing a pale pink bathrobe, her hair wet, and feet bare.

  "Come in," her big eyes fixed on me, full of curiosity. "I don’t understand this. I’ve never had a problem with this before."

  "It never hurts to check, doesn’t it?” I smiled at her, hoping my face looked harmless enough until I could get her alone. I was cautious. I needed to make sure she was alone first, before striking.

  My god, she’s beautiful! If she was pretty at the coffee shop, she looked sensational now. The thought that she was completely naked under her bathrobe fueled my fantasy.

  She looked a bit shy and self-conscious, “Okay, please make it quick. I have an afternoon babysitting job. I have to leave soon.”

  “It shouldn’t take long.” I walked into the apartment, a two bedroom unit.

  Lara Gibbs’ condo was also a two-bedroom unit, but the difference was dramatic. While Lara’s unit was filled with bright, natural light, Jennifer’s apartment looked dim and depressing, with a view looking directly into another building. Just two bedrooms, one of them looked like it was converted from a living room. A small kitchen with a narrow path that could barely fit one person at a time and a bathroom that looked the size of Lara’s closet.

  What a difference between a lady and a whore? One lived like a maid, the other like a queen.

  “Cozy,” I said, then pointed to bedroom. “You have a roommate?”

  “Um…” Jennifer seemed nervous, “No, it was just my cousin visiting. I’m the only tenant here. I mean my name is the only one on the lease and everything.”

  “Ah,” I said, taking in the full bed, desk, and books in the room her cousin was supposed to be staying in temporarily.

  Jennifer is a rule breaker. She probably sublet her room out without letting the landlord know. In this off campus area, one had to pay more if a unit was used by two people, instead of one.

  “Don’t worry. Your secret is safe with me.” I smiled at her. My fingers lightly brushed her chin.

  She stepped back, her face blushed all the way down to her neck. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Please make it quick. I need to run soon,” she repeated.

  “Would you show me the bathroom?” I asked, thinking how great it’d be to remove her bathrobe soon.

  “Yes, this way.”

  Chapter 7 Volker

  I passed by her bedroom. The door was open, and I saw the pink Victoria Secret bag sitting on her tidy bed.

  On the computer desk next to her bed, half a dozen books, with the big bold letters “MCAT” piled up.

  I pointed to those books. "Are you studying MCAT to get into medical school?"

  Her eyes brighten up. "How do you know? Most people don't know what MCAT is for?"

  "My sister is a doctor, so I know a lot about getting into medical school." I lied. I said that to form an emotional bonding with my victim. It was always more interesting that way, when they watched someone they trusted turn into a dangerous enemy. My sister never went to medical school. In fact, if she knew where my sister was right now, she would be horrified.

  "That's amazing! I’ve wanted to be a pediatrician since I was six years old."

  "How's the studying coming along?"

  "It's very hard. I’ve been trying to study on my own for the MCAT, but it's difficult to keep going."

  "Don't worry. You'll get there. You look smart." I complimented her. I’d learned that pretty girls liked you more if you complimented them about anything except their beauty. In fact, if you did the opposite and pointed out beautiful women’s physical flaws, they liked you even more.

  Jennifer tried hard to hide a proud smile. She led me into the bathroom. The small space made it impossible to fit two people at the same time. My body was inches away from hers, and I could smell the fruity scent of her recently shampoo washed hair. She turned around, her wet hair brushed against my cheeks. I resisted the temptation to grab it. I had one more thing to check. “Your cousin, when is he coming back?”

  “It is a SHE,” she said quickly. “She is in class… um… I mean she’s out and won’t be back until this evening.”

  Perfect.

  She pointed to the bathtub. “It looked fine to me.” I set down my heavy toolbox.

  She watched me curiously. "You don't really look like a plumber."

  "Why is that?"

  "You look..."

  "I look what?" I asked, watching a cloud of blush climb up her cheeks. Was Jennifer flirting with me?

  "Well, you just don't look like a plumber, that's all I wanted to say." She said, and walked away, leaving me alone in the bathroom. I let her go, knowing full well that the bait had been set and the fish would come back biting soon enough.

  A few minutes later, I was proven right.

  Jennifer circled back, leaning her body into the door frame. “Your sister, where does she work as a doctor?”

  “Cedars-Sinai.” I gave her the name of the famous hospital where celebrities and rich folks from Beverly Hills got medical treatment.

  “I always wanted to shadow a doctor there, to see first-hand how it was working at a top hospital.”

  “Want me to check with my sis?”

  “Really? That’d be amazing! I’d love the opportunity to shadow your sister!”

  “I’ll ask her tonight.”

  “Thank you!”

  “But I want something from you,” I said, slowly standing up. My six foot two frame towered over her. In the dimly-lit bathroom, the wall reflected my dark shadow.

  She suddenly looked scared, as if her senses finally picked up on the impending danger.

  “What... what do you want?” Her body was shaking so violently that the belt of her bathrobe was starting to loosen.

  “I want you to model the lingerie you just bought.”

  “How do you know I just bought them?” Her voice edged to an almost high-pitched scream.

  “What do you think? I followed you from Starbucks to Victoria’s Secret and to the nail salon.” I picked up her freshly manicured fingers and licked them, one by one.

  All the blood drained from her face. I slowly untied her bathrobe, which dropped silently to the floor, revealing her perfect body with small, perky breasts, and a toned, flat stomach.

  I scooped her up in my arms, and carried her to the bedroom. “And you’re right. There’s nothing wrong with your bathroom.”

  Chapter 8 Volker

  Jennifer was struggling, kicking around in my arms, as I carried her into her bedroom. I kicked the door closed.

  “Please don’t hurt me. Take my wallet. Anything you want.” She looked at me with tears in her eyes, and her lips trembling.

  “If I wanted money, I wouldn’t rob a poor student.” I chuckled. “I want something else from you.”

  I threw her onto the bed, and watched as she immediately retreated to the corner, her back pressed against the wall, and her legs curled to her chest.

  I opened the Victoria’s Secret bag. There were various panties in purple, red, blue, and pink.

  "Come here," I ordered.

  "Please don't hurt me."

  "I won't, as long as you c
ooperate,” I took off my hooded sweatshirt, unzipped my pants, and climbed onto the bed.

  ***

  Half an hour later, I heard the apartment door opening and closing, followed by footsteps approaching Jennifer’s bedroom door.

  "Jenn, are you there?" A feminine voice asked.

  Jennifer was lying on her bed, with her hands tied to her metal bedpost.

  I was thrusting inside her, while pointing a knife at her throat.

  I paused my hip movement. "Who is it?"

  "It's my roommate Megan." Jennifer said, her voice husky, her lips swollen and bloody.

  "Do you want to invite her in?" I asked.

  "No, let her go, please." Jennifer begged.

  I smiled. The little Jennifer wanted to sacrifice herself for her roommate.

  "Ok, but I want you to respond more enthusiastically, like you enjoy sex with me. Can you do that?"

  "Anything you want. Just let Megan go." Jennifer said. Tears were rolling down her cheeks.

  "No tears. I want to know you’re turned on by me. I want you to kiss me and moan, like you want me to fuck you."

  Jennifer tried her best, while I continued my hip movement.

  After knocking and no response, Megan felt it was weird that Jennifer was hiding inside and not responding to her.

  "I'll keep my phone on. If you need something, just call me." Megan said through the door and walked away. A short time later we heard the apartment door close. She must’ve left the apartment. As I reached my orgasm inside her, I remembered thinking Gary Michaels was one smart guy, there was really something special about a lunch date with an interesting young lady.

  Chapter 9 Ryan

  Four-year old Tucker was crying his little heart out in my arms, as I paced back and forth in the living room.

  The babysitter, a responsible college student, was never late, but today, she didn’t show up or call me to cancel.

  Strange.

  Since my wife died, I had been relying on the babysitter to take care of the kids. She was responsible, prompt, and most importantly, she loved the kids. Skills could be taught, but love was something organic, natural, and magic. She had that special connection with the kids.

  The living room had cheerios, banana slices, and sticky liquids everywhere. I hoped to clean up the room, as soon as Tucker stopped crying.

  I wondered if Tucker could sense that I was on edge today. After visiting the gruesome scene of Lara and Gary, I’d had trouble to concentrate on anything else. The young woman’s bloody and distorted face haunted me. I called Lara’s parents in Chicago, telling them the unfortunate news. Her mom had picked up the phone and her heartbreaking cries still echoed in my ears: “NO! NOT MY LARA! NO!”

  My Poppy was only two years old, but as a father, I could only imagine the heartbreak Lara’s parents felt. If anything ever happened to Poppy, I’d never get over it.

  Tucker’s cries got louder and louder. Geez, where did this little guy get so much volume?

  I carried Tucker to the desktop computer in the living room, and logged into it. The password was “CaymanIsland,” the place Cassandra and I went to on our honeymoon, ten years ago. The desktop had a white sand beach background, Cassandra’s favorite place to relax. A few folders were on the desktop, one of them labeled “Super dad.”

  I clicked on the folder and watched the video I’d seen hundreds of times already.

  The video showed Cassandra, who looked like an angel, with deep-set blue eyes, and soft brunette hair. She was wearing a blue cardigan from J. Crew and a pearl necklace, a present from me.

  "Honey, here is what I normally do to get the kids ready for bed." Her soft voice narrated from the video.

  Watching her video brought tears to my eyes. Cassandra died from cancer last year. Rather than spending her last few months traveling the world, she’d spent the time at home, making videos to help me take care of our kids.

  Tucker stopped crying, his sky blue eyes watching his mommy's video.

  "Mommy," Tucker said. His little fingers reached out to the screen and touched his mother's face.

  I miss her so much.

  "Daddy, I'm scared." Poppy stood at the entrance of the living room, holding a big stuffed bunny in her hands.

  "Come here." I waved her to come toward me and she walked to the computer desk and climbed on my lap.

  We were watching the video together.

  In the video, Cassandra was showing me the bedtime routine. How she helped the boys and Poppy got ready for bed. She was full of praise when the kids stayed in bed, but was firm when the kids asked for another bedtime story.

  "What are you doing?" Max walked in.

  "Come join us," I said, and pat the seat next to mine.

  These video were therapeutic for all of us. Her soothing voice calmed us, gave us warmth in this otherwise cold, lonely night.

  I held back tears in my eyes and held Poppy closer to my chest. Max was holding Tucker, making sure he didn't fall off the desk. He was already taking the role of the older brother and I was proud of him.

  "Daddy, will mom come back?" Max asked.

  I looked down at my son. My heart ached for them. "She never left us. Her spirit is looking over you. And she will always love you."

  Chapter 10 Ryan

  The next day, I arrived at work early and buried my head in the files about the gas poison case, completely forgetting the time.

  "Hey old man, want to grab lunch." Patrick, a hot shot detective, in his mid-20s, tapped on my shoulder. He was arrogant and cocky as hell, but the ladies seemed to like him.

  Patrick and I had a rivalry going on. He was competitive and fought to take on harder, and more complicated cases. I took his competitiveness all in good humor. When I’d first started, I was eager to break cases, take down criminals, and show off to the old guards.

  He was doing the same. He’d mature in a few years. Seeing death day after day, year after year, did that to a man.

  I pointed to the pile of files. "Thanks, but I think I’ll stay and get these out of the way."

  He eyed the thick files and said, "That partner of yours, Paula, she’s not very helpful, is she?"

  "What do you mean?" I asked, not happy with his condescending tone.

  "She must be a big handful. I don't mean her breasts. Detective work is for men, not for women. You know, you and I should partner up and take down those dirt bags together, we’d make the best team."

  My face tensed. He was more immature than I thought.

  Patrick continued to dig a hole for himself. "I wouldn’t mind dating Paula. Those tits. That butt. But she is a joke as a detective."

  I slammed the file on my desk.

  He stopped talking, looking confused.

  "That’s my partner you’re talking about," I said. "If you ever talk about her that way again, I’ll break your jaw."

  Rage flashed across his eyes, as he stiffened. "Suit yourself old man. Don't say I didn't warn you. That partner of yours will get you killed one day."

  Chapter 11 Ryan

  At 2 pm, that afternoon, Paula and I arrived at the leasing office of the condo building, where Lara and Gary were killed.

  The leasing office looked even more luxurious than their condo unit. Espresso-colored Italian furniture, glass to ceiling doors, and curved TVs on every wall. Its design appealed to a rich clientele, where aesthetic and prestige were more important than functionality and cost.

  Steve Jones, the 40-year old building manager was sitting next to Carlos Martinez, the maintenance manager, responsible for the west tower, where Lara’s unit was.

  Steve started the conversation, “During my years as a building manager, we’d never had a murder or even a theft. I hope the police will respect the privacy of our other residents. Of course, we'll cooperate fully. It's disturbing that the killer is still out there."

  "We'll do our best to keep it discreet," Paula said.

  "Can I have a list of the people who had access to the unit?"
/>
  "Sure," Carlos said. “Lara Gibbs was the only tenant who had the key. The office had another copy of her keys, but based on our record, no one accessed the copy during the last month.”

  “Gary Michaels had been paying for Lara Gibbs’ bill, right?”

  “Correct.”

  “How long had she been living here?”

  “About 18 months.”

  “Was Gary the only person who had been paying her rent?”

  “No, we had a few more names.”

  “We’ll need that list. We have a warrant for the information,” Paula said.

  “If you think of something, please call us,” I handed them our cards.

  On our way out, Paula studied the list of people who’d paid Lara Gibbs’ rent during the past 18 months.

  She whistled, “Lara had at least 6 other lovers, based on the list. Do you think one of them killed her?”

  “It’s possible, but I doubt it,” I said. “Rich married men tend not to be that invested in their mistresses. I’d trouble thinking one of her benefactors could have killed her. Not to mention, they knew there would be a paper trail.”

  “I think we should still check them out,” Paula said.

  “I agree.” I nodded.

  Chapter 12 Paula

  At 7:30 pm, Paula was home hitting a boxing bag in her living room, while a lean cuisine meal was heating up in the microwave. Five minutes ago, she had finished a long conversation with her mom on the phone, who once again, reminded her that she was single and “no longer a spring chicken.”

  She hoped her mom would lay off, because her life was stressful enough as it was.

  As a woman, she had to work longer and harder at the police station to prove herself. Everyone doubted her ability to be a strong partner. The men at work sidelined her. And she had to fight tooth and nail to be taken seriously.

  The only person who was supportive was Ryan, her partner. He’d been patient and helpful, acting both as a mentor and a partner. It’d been a tough year for Ryan when Cassandra passed away. It pained Paula to see how Ryan had changed. He was more aloof and kept mostly to himself, only discussing work with her. She wished she could do more for Ryan, if he’d just open up and let her help.