The Lancaster Murderer

Izayah's Childhood Home, 8:00 PM

REVELATION I.

There was no question as to whether Valeria was coming with me or not to race to Ms. Parker's. She saw the text and grabbed my keys before I could. While I don't put my complete faith in her, I understand that Val grew up around Ms. Parker; maybe even saw the woman as her own family. Plus, with nobody answering my texts, I didn't mind having another person with me.

We arrive in a frenzy of screaming tires and streaked pavement. A car is in the driveway – the same one that was there when Izayah and I visited before. It must be the nurse's. Briefly, I think, medical serial killer before pounding my knuckles on the door. Inside, it's dark and quiet until I knock again. "Miss Parker!" I shout, not caring about waking up the neighbors.

With every second that goes by without any signs of life, I visualize Izayah's mother hanging in a similar fashion to Dumois. It takes over an hour to get here. The killer would've have plenty of time to stage their crime. Jocelyn was a wiry woman whose meat on her bones was all hard muscles and strong sinew. Izayah's mother is all skin and bone. The wires suspending her would cut through her flesh far quicker and deeper than they did Dumois.

A light flicks to life in the living room, dim and warm – a lamp. Gasping, I take a step back, barely feeling the blazing pain flaring in my knuckles.

The door swings open, a confrontational nurse with a pinched face growling down at us from inside. "What is the meaning of this? You've woken up Ms. Parker. There is no reason for – "

"She's alright?" Valeria blurts, angling to get inside. "Alive?"

The nurse dutifully blocks the entrance. "Who are you?"

"She knows me," Val snarls, inner tigress breaching the surface.

"She's a childhood friend of Izayah's," I briefly inform. "Is his mother really okay? When was the last time you checked on her?"

"Well, when was the last time you knocked on our door?" the nurse snipes. "She's awake and in the bathroom, thanks to you." Harshly, she scrutinizes me, a brow curving higher than the St. Louis Archway. "In fact, I don't think I feel very comfortable with you visiting someone you barely know. Where is Izayah?"

"Busy," I snippily report.

"Now what?" Val asks under her breath. "Wait till something happens here?"

No. No more waiting and biting our nails like pawns on a board. I've exhausted every lead we've been given except for one, due to the dismissal of Izayah. "Is there a computer here?" I question the nurse.

"There is, but..." She really doesn't want to let us inside.

I don't care anymore. "I'll be quick. You can watch me like a hawk if that's what you're into. I just really need to borrow the computer." I want to look into any run-ins Brian O'Connor might have had with the police, particularly in the setting to gambling and in relation to any Dumois. Not to mention, sticking around a bit just to ensure than Izayah's mother is alright and safe won't hurt.

"Five minutes," the nurse says, voice lathered in barbs.

"Sure," I lie, knowing that I might go over her limit and not move an inch. "Val, keep Izayah updated on what's happening. I don't know if my texts aren't going through, or if I'm simply not getting any. It's better to try your phone."

"On it."

I settle into a dining room chair and power on the older laptop. The second I'm hooked up to the wifi, my fingers are dancing across the keyboard in a furious life-or-death dance. I search for arrest records in Lancaster, inputting the year to be from two years ago to capture the opening day of the local casino. There's an alarming raise of crime since its construction, and there are hundreds of mugshots and names to file through.

I click "view all," then keyboard shortcut control-F. My first search is Dumois.

Which was dumb. Her name is all over the place, as she's the one making most of the arrests, are at least heading the squads. Jack Dumois, I amend. His name draws a blank, though. "So mommy sheriff as been shielding her bastard son all along," I confirm.

Next, I enter Brian O'Connor. The computer flies down the list, highlighting his name for a few counts of assault and battery, as well as attempted cheating and swindling.

But as the computer flicked past unsearched faces, a shock of honey-gold hair caught my attention. Frantically, I scroll back up, searching for the mugshot.

"Five minutes are up," the nurse tells me with a deliberate scowl.

"Oh, crazy!" Valeria sarcastically coos. "Another five were just added." The nurse props her hands on her hips and opens her mouth, undoubtedly to kick us out. "Shut it, Karen. We're not killing anybody."

"Him," I gasp, placing a finger on the screen as though to virtually stab his arrogant face. A rugged, scummy man glowers at the camera with amber eyes. His blond hair is askew, likely recently mussed from his charges that mirror Brian O'Connor's. "They must've gotten into a fight over casino money," I guess.

"He looks alarmingly familiar," Valeria murmurs, hovering over my shoulder, long hair brushing my arm.

"That's Lucas's grandfather," I tell her. I use the mouse to point to his name. "Martin Fraser."

"Does this matter?" she wonders out loud, backing away with a loss of interest. Meanwhile, my heart is thundering in my chest, rattling my ribcage and squeezing my lungs. "What does this have to do with Izayah, or the murders?"

"Possibly...everything," I reveal.

When I finally met the monster, I imagined him as the killer. He's strong enough to stab someone multiple times without getting tired; to decapitate a girl; to string a man up in the theater lines; to strangle an agile man with a garrote; to bash the sheriff's face in and hang her up.

He also has experience in stringing people up: he's a hunter. In fact, it was in his very house that I discovered the majority of Sara's body, drying up in a massive ice vault meant for game kills. Also in that house? Dogs. Viscous dogs bred to aid in hunting, capable of tearing a girl to pieces should their master wish it. Is that what happened to Morgan Palov? The murders really kicked into high gear once he "left for New York." What if he really stayed, conducting his work right behind our backs?

Given his probable frequency in the casino, he definitely could have run into Jack Dumois. Jack's underaged participation could have been the blackmail Martin Fraser needed to wrangle the sheriff into his nefarious plans. He could've also asked her to dispose of Declan's dad, simply out of spite. He's certainly proven he's the type.

And the cheerleaders? He seems to hate and blame Lucas for being the reason his mother killed herself. The only thing he loved – if such a brutality could be considered as love by anyone but Martin – was taken from him. Perhaps he wants to take away everything Lucas loves.

"Tell Izayah I think I know who our killer is," I utter, voice strong but the blood rushing through my ears barely able to register it.

"What?" Valeria asks, aghast and sounding far away.

"Martin Lucas. I think...I think he's our guy."

History of abuse, capability, motive – check, check, check.

Martin Lucas is our Lancaster murderer.