Killing Fear

SIX

Sherry Glenn Jeffries had lived in El Cajon, a suburb north of San Diego. Technically out of the jurisdiction of SDPD, Police Chief Causey had been called when the arriving officers identified the victim.

Will arrived before Carina. The Jeffries lived in a two-story house in an upper middle class neighborhood where similar two-story homes stood close together. Judging by the size of the trees, the neighborhood was less than five years old.

Sherry and her family had a confidential address. How had Glenn found out where she lived?

“Detective Hooper?” A uniformed cop approached. “I’m Lieutenant Ken Black.”

Will nodded. “Thanks for calling us so quickly.”

They stood on the driveway. The garage doors were open and Will saw the corpse lying on the floor right by the inside door. Glenn had waited for her in the garage. For how long?

“What happened?” Will asked Black.

“When Mrs. Jeffries didn’t pick up her daughter from school, the principal called the house and got no answer. Normally they wouldn’t do that, but Mrs. Jeffries had told the school that Ashley’s uncle was in town and might want to harm the girl. When Mrs. Jeffries didn’t pick up on the house or cell phone, the principal phoned Dr. Jeffries at the hospital.”

Sherry Jeffries’s husband was a surgeon, Will recalled.

The lieutenant continued. “Dr. Jeffries called police to check on the house, then went to pick up his daughter. He has a solid alibi. He was in surgery when the teacher called, had been since ten this morning.”

It was common to immediately rule out the spouse or boyfriend whenever a woman was killed.

“Police arrived on scene and when there was no answer, they walked the perimeter of the home. Looked in through the window of the garage door and saw the body. The officers called for backup, broke in to determine whether the victim was still alive. She wasn’t. When backup arrived, they searched the house and found no one. However, the killer left a message in the kitchen.”

Carina drove up then and joined them. Will filled her in. He wanted to see the message, but said, “Let’s check out the body first.”

Sherry Jeffries had died quickly. Her neck had been broken and she lay crumpled on the smooth concrete floor next to her minivan. Her purse and keys lay next to her body. A dead cat lay on top of her. Will vividly remembered Sherry’s testimony about her brother killing her kitten in front of her. This psychological torment practically screamed Theodore Glenn.

Sherry Jeffries’s wallet had either fallen out of her purse, or was dropped there. “Has the body been photographed?” Will asked.

“Yes.”

Will pulled on gloves and picked up the wallet. Empty. Credit cards gone, no money.

But this wasn’t a robbery. Glenn might have needed the money, but he didn’t kill his sister for it.

He killed her for revenge.

“Let’s see the message.”

They walked through the house. In the kitchen, the crime scene techs were still working, so Will and Carina stood back.

“Shit,” Carina murmured.

Will stared at the message meant only for one person.

On the wall of the breakfast nook, Theodore Glenn had written in black permanent marker:

William, once again I killed right under your nose. I’m surprised they let you keep your badge seven years ago, but I suppose that professional ethics mean little to cops who plant evidence and fuck witnesses.

If you think you can save her, think again.

He was talking about Robin.

“Will, what does he mean?”

Will didn’t say anything. He couldn’t. His entire body filled with a fear he’d never known before, a foreboding that told him Glenn’s sick games had just begun. If Will hadn’t just left Robin-with a marked car outside the Sin-he would have immediately gone to her.

“Will?” Carina asked softly.

He ignored her, gave her a glance that said, not here, not now.

“Save who?” Carina asked, skeptical, still pushing for answers. “Who’s he talking about? The daughter?”

“Robin McKenna.” Will cleared his voice. “Anna Clark’s roommate who testified against him. Or he could mean Julia Chandler or the old woman who saw him leaving Brandi Bell’s house.” But Will was just saying that. Glenn was talking about Robin, no doubt in his mind.

“You talked to them today, right?”

“I talked to Robin and Julia,” Will said. “I sent patrols to talk to the other witnesses who Diaz couldn’t reach on the phone.” And he’d just spoken to Sherry this morning. She of course had heard about the prison break. She’d been scared.

“Connor is going to flip.”

“Lieutenant, would you mind if I asked our criminalists to work with yours?”

“No problem. We contract with the Sheriff’s Department for most crime scene work. Our lab is bare bones.”

“Thanks. I’ll have them send a team immediately.”

Will would never forget when Sherry Jeffries told him and Julia the story about her cat while they prepared her for testimony.

“No one believed me. Theodore was a perfect kid. A straight-A student. Never raised his voice. Kind and polite. But with me he was different. Jekyll and Hyde. And he broke my kitty’s neck, looking at me the whole time. Watching my face, my reaction, my pain.

“I buried Muffin. I cried and buried him. Theodore dug him up that night and put the body in my bed. I woke up in the morning with my dead cat at my feet.”

Sherry hadn’t been a good witness. She’d fallen apart on the stand and she had no firsthand information about the murders. With her history of juvenile delinquency and drug use, it didn’t matter that she’d been clean for more than a decade before the trial. When on the stand, the judge sustained every one of Glenn’s objections. Nothing Sherry said was on the record. Only during the penalty phase did her testimony help.

Now she was dead.

“How did he get her address?” Carina asked the same question Will had been thinking. “I thought she’d moved since the trial.”

Will’s stomach dropped as the only plausible answer sunk in. “Call a patrol immediately and send them over to Carl and Dorothy Glenn’s house.”

The elder Glenns were alive and hadn’t seen their son. Will believed them.

But Will’s instincts told him that the only way Glenn could have found out where Sherry lived so quickly was through their parents. He called Jim Gage, head of their crime lab, who’d just arrived at the Jeffries homicide. While the Glenns hadn’t seen their son, he could easily have walked inside, even with the unmarked unit watching the front of the house.

The Glenns were distraught over the death of their daughter, yet didn’t believe their son had killed her. Will didn’t push it, not wanting to add to their anguish. They’d never believed their son capable of the heinous crimes of which he’d been convicted.

Carina came back from her inspection of the house and motioned for him to follow her out. “There’s a key under the mat at the back door. Want to bet the Glenns have always had a key under their back mat?” Carina had also found an address book on the top of the Glenns’ neat desk. She had bagged it. “Sherry’s current address and phone number are in here.”

Will confirmed the information with the Glenns. They’d lived in the same house for forty-two years, since they married. For all those years, they had a key under the mat.

“We’ve never been robbed,” Mrs. Glenn stated emphatically.

Only robbed of your daughter.

Will gave his condolences and received permission to take the key and address book. He went back to the Jeffries crime scene and handed the evidence off to Jim Gage, who was talking with the El Cajon technician.

“You’ll find Theodore Glenn’s prints on these,” Will said.

“He’d probably wear gloves,” Jim said.

“He doesn’t care. He knows we know it’s him. He’s already on death row. It’s a game with him, don’t forget that for a minute. His parents are both borderline deaf. He could have walked into the house while they sat watching television at ten thousand decibels, found Sherry’s address, and left without them suspecting a thing.”

“How’d he get down here so fast?” Jim asked.

“The Feds are tracking stolen cars. Glenn stole a Dodge Ram truck on Point San Pedro Road, which is on the bay north of San Quentin, dumped it in Fresno and nabbed a Honda. It was nearly out of gas in Frazier Park at the top of the Grapevine and he grabbed another truck, this time a Ford Ranger, but it was hot because the owner saw him, so he dumped it near Disneyland. The Feds aren’t so sure after that. There were six cars stolen within a two-mile radius of where the Ford was found at nine a.m. this morning.”

“So in the five hours after he dumps the truck in Anaheim, he arrives in San Diego, locates his sister, kills her, and is still at large.”

“For the time being, that just about sums it up.”