Dennis Larsen - With Cruel Intent

"No, I'm here Lillian, just doing some calculating."

"Whatever for? Do you think we should go to the judge or not?"

"Not. Listen Mrs. Wood, I've got the $50,000 you need. In fact I think I've got $54,340 to my name and I want to help. How do we pool our money and get Seymour out of there?"

The once discouraged and directionless librarian had never felt so compelled to do something in her whole life. The thought of reaching out to the Wood family, as she had, made her feel light and free. She knew without a shadow of a doubt that the money was not lost and would once again be hers, but the ability to help in their hour of need was liberating. She stopped by the Sheriff's Office to let Seymour know that the money was taken care of, but Officer Breland had seen her come in and he informed her that visiting hours were over, however, he'd let her see him if she'd do him a favor first.

"So what can I do for you deputy?" she said, somewhat puzzled.

"The Sheriff has asked me to speak with each of the witnesses from the diner to see if you can pick out the type of sunglasses the perp was wearing. Would you give it a try?"

"Sure, don't know if I'll be able to, hardly remember and it was such a poor angle."

"Try anyway, if you would. I'll show you five different styles, all you need to do is pick the one that most closely resembles the pair you saw the shooter wearing," he explained.

"K, let me see them."

He handed her five full size sheets of paper, each with a large picture of a pair of sunglasses of various styles and makes. Blanche carefully looked through the sheets, running through them once before making any decisions. The second time through she removed two of the sunglass pictures, explaining to Breland that she was sure it was neither of them. She returned her attention to the others, knowing that any help she could provide could assist Seymour's case. Again, scrutinizing each photo, she compared the color, the material and she was able to eliminate one more from the batch. Two remained. The Ray-Ban and another metal frame but she had already eliminated Seymour's from the queue without knowing it.

"I can't be sure but I know it wasn't any of these," she said, pointing to the three she removed from the stack.

"Thanks, I'll note your selections. You are free to go Miss."

Blanche was allowed a few minutes alone with Seymour, she explained that his mother was able to secure the money for the bail but that it had taken longer than she anticipated. They would be by sometime around noon to finish the matter and see to his release. Seymour had been almost overcome with appreciation and relief. The two hugged, as they were able, separated by one inch reinforced steel bars but the kiss was memorable.

"Thanks for letting me see him, we've arranged his bail for tomorrow morning," Blanche said.

"Good for you, he's a model prisoner but I know he'll be glad to go home, even if he still has to appear in court," Breland said.

"Thanks again and goodnight."

Blanche treated herself to a taxi ride home. Unbeknownst to her a silver van followed the taxi closely, a troubled man at the wheel.

The sun was cresting over the tree line when Lester pulled the van into his driveway, parking it in the usual spot. He sat behind the wheel for a few minutes collecting his thoughts in anticipation of the day ahead of him. The hours he’d spent sitting outside Caroline’s B amp;B waiting to see if Blanche would venture out for an evening walk or run had been a total waste of time. By 2:00 a.m. he was convinced that everyone in the establishment would be in bed, all the lights were out and all appeared quiet. He’d left the van parked in the alleyway between the homes that led to garages and backyards. With his face painted black and wearing his standard issue dark shirt and jeans he had made his way around to the rear door that entered into the kitchen area. Lester thought back, closing his eyes as he sat in the van, reliving the previous hours and events.

Standing on the porch he felt for the hunting knife attached to his belt and slid it from the sheath, the blade gleamed in the dim light of the lone street lamp that sat atop a pole two houses down. The 9mm stuffed into the front of his pants was somewhat uncomfortable; he smoothly moved it to the small of his back, and certain his belt would hold it in place. His gloved left hand grasped the old doorknob and tried the lock. It was secure but he was sure it would not take much pressure just to force the door open without damaging the frame. He’d seen these old style locks too often to have it slow him down. Inserting the blade of the knife between the jam and the door, he twisted his wrist while turning the knob and pushing with his shoulder. The door popped open like using a bottle opener on an old-fashioned coke bottle.

Once inside Lester inspected the frame and lock for damage, it would be difficult for Caroline to see that anything had changed. For a split second he was unsure what he was doing in the home, but the thought of seeing Blanche one more time and the remote possibility that he could spirit her away tonight, rather than waiting, spurred him on. The antique old wood planks that made up the kitchen and dining room floors squeaked as he tiptoed across their surface. He had not bothered to remove his shoes. The Stalker would not be there long. Lester knew exactly which room was Blanche’s after spending an evening a short time ago watching her through the bedroom window. He eased his way up the stairs from the dining area, the knife still in his right hand.

Rooms appeared on either side of the long hallway, a small lamp cast shadows and eerie images along the walls. He counted the doors on his left, assuming each room would have a single window visible from the street. He stood before Blanche’s; his heart beat wildly causing his hands to shake and ears to ring. Patiently he waited for the initial adrenaline rush to subside before he tried the lock with a steady hand. The handle rattled ever so slightly but it did not budge. He dropped to one knee to inspect the lock more closely using only the faint light of the hallway to help him. An obvious skeleton keyhole looked back at him and he could see a diffuse light inside the room. The intruder moved his eye close enough to the keyhole to get a better, less obstructed view of the room’s contents. It was not perfect but he could make out the woman’s form on the bed, moonlight providing the light he could see through the hole.

Lester felt for the gun in the hollow of his back and adjusted it slightly, then removed a lock pick device from his front pocket. With both hands he manipulated the small metallic rod and file, slowing himself when he felt he was making too much noise, even though it was barely audible. Years of doing the same, on more sophisticated locks, made the old skeleton lock open without much of a challenge. He returned the pick set to his pocket and pulled the knife again from the sheath before entering the room. The door opened without a sound, he closed it but did not allow the lock to fully latch. Standing within the very room that he had only taken pictures of the week before, thrilled the assailant. He concentrated on keeping his breathing under control, slowing his heart and perspiration in the process. Lester held the knife in his right hand as he approached the sleeping Blanche. To have her so close, so vulnerable, was mind blowing for the thief. He yearned to slide into bed with her and prove his love for the woman, but he knew better, at least for now. With the knife in his right hand he approached the bed standing inches from the edge and within reach of the woman’s throat.

Lester loomed over the woman, taking in her beauty, hair swept across a portion of her forehead, her face fully exposed to him as she slept on her back. The perp couldn’t pass up the opportunity. The small digital camera was extracted from his rear jean’s pocket and he took a picture of the slumbering damsel. He contemplated the possibility of removing her tonight, half convincing himself that it could be done without disturbing the others, but he had come unprepared, no ether and no plausible way to keep her quiet.