Page 1 of Ghostmaker

PROLOGUE

West

Cambridge, Massachusetts, September, 2011…

West Strickland was exhausted. Forensic accounting was serious business, especially when the results of his findings could seal a man’s fate; sending him to prison for life or giving him back his freedom. West didn’t care which, so long as the numbers added up.

Fridays were always West’s favorite day of the week. It was the one weekday he left on time, or as near to on time as he could get. Numbers fascinated West and he tended to get lost in them. He set an alarm on his iPhone to ring at half past four, so he could begin to wrap up what he’d been working on. Unfortunately, this had been one of those afternoons he’d gotten lost in what he was doing and didn’t leave the office until nearly six.

West had a standing date every Friday night with his mother, Alice. His father had left the family when West was three years old. He had no memory of the man, and, according to Alice, he was better off not knowing him at all. It had always been the two of them against the world. When it had come time to attend college, West had stayed local and got his Bachelor’s degree in accounting from Boston College, which was a mere six miles away from his mother’s house in Cambridge.

When Alice’s father passed fifteen years ago, he’d left his daughter the triple-decker home she’d grown up in. The mortgage had long been paid off and the tenants of the other two units were childless couples in their forties who lived, breathed, and slept their careers. The first floor couple were lawyers at a high end firm downtown, and the second floor tenants were doctors at Brigham and Women’s. The husband worked in the ER, while the wife was a highly respected OB/GYN who specialized in high-risk pregnancies.

During West’s senior year at BC, one of the lawyers had a heart attack at his desk. After his recovery, they’d moved to Florida where the most stressful things in their lives would be their golf handicaps and tan lines. West had wanted to leave the nest for some time, but hadn’t wanted to go too far afield from his mother. His solution was to move into the first floor apartment at a reduced rent until he’d gotten his degree and a job. Not surprisingly, Alice had agreed.

Now, in his late twenties, West had the comfort of knowing his mother was safe, while at the same time, having a swinging bachelor pad to entertain the ladies, of which, currently, there were none. Alice had been pestering her son not to work so much and make friends, go out to bars or clubs and meet new people. West had always been a lone wolf, though not the kind who committed school shootings. He’d always been content with his own company, but there were some itches his left hand couldn’t scratch. West had been a dutiful son and listened to his mother, he’d struck up a friendship with some of the guys at the accounting firm and as a result, he was going out to a local sports bar for drinks and apps with them on Saturday night. Maybe he’d meet Miss Right, but he’d settle for Miss Right Now.

Life was perfect for West. Hopping onto the T’s Red Line, he settled into a seat and texted Alice his apologies for being late and asking if she wanted him to pick up a pizza or Indian food for dinner. Several minutes passed without Alice responding, which wasn’t like his mother at all. Alice worked at the Brigham in their records department and always left the office at three sharp, when her shift ended.

Getting off the subway at Alewife, West pulled out his phone and saw that this mother still hadn’t responded to his text. She was probably upset that he was nearly an hour later than he promised he’d be. West decided to call her instead, bracing himself for his mother’s annoyance, but the phone went straight to voicemail. A frisson of fear shot through his body. Yes, his mother might get peeved with him on occasion, but she never sent his calls to voicemail.

Shoving his phone into his back pocket, West started to run. The first block passed in a blur, but as he rounded the corner onto his street, all he saw were blue and white flashing lights and their accompanying police cars. Fear drove West to run faster. His neighborhood was a quiet one, filled with young families and professional people. There was no crime to speak of, other than neighbors playing their music too loud on a Saturday night. West knew that the number of police cars on his street weren’t there for a simple noise complaint. This was something worse. Much worse.

As he approached the house, the sinking feeling in his stomach became full-blown panic. Yellow crime scene tape cordoned off his mother’s house. An ambulance sat nearby, its lights dark and the medics were standing near the backside of the rig. There was no urgency in their movements and they looked shell-shocked by whatever they’d witnessed.

A large, burly cop stood with his arms crossed at the edge of the tape. West looked around hoping to find his mother or one of the other tenants, but couldn’t find anyone he knew.

“Officer, my name is West Strickland. I live in this building and so does my mother, Alice. What’s going on here?” West’s heart pounded in his chest.

“You’re Alice’s son?” the officer, whose name plate read “Stevens”, asked.

“I am. We have a standing dinner date on Fridays. I’m late and have been trying to call her. Is she okay? Where can I find her?” West studied the man’s face, which had gone from professional to something looking a lot like sympathy.

“I’m sorry to be the one to have to tell you this, Mr. Strickland, but your mother was murdered tonight.”

“Murdered?” West asked, his mouth hanging open. Alice was a true crime aficionado. She was constantly glued to Investigation Discovery, whose bread and butter was gory, true crime shows dealing with all the horrible ways and excuses human beings found to kill each other. “What happened? This is such a quiet neighborhood.”

“Home invasion robbery. Alice called 911 to report that someone was trying to break into her apartment. She’d hidden herself in the spare room closet, begging the dispatcher to send help. Unfortunately, we arrived too late to save her.”

“Show me. I need to see my mother.” West had heard and understood every word Officer Stevens had said, but he wasn’t going to believe what he’d been told until he saw Alice for himself.

“The crime scene unit is here. I can’t allow you to go inside. They need to collect as much evidence as they can to help find and lock up the person who did this to your mother.”

“Officer, this is my mother. You have to let me inside, there might be something I can do to help.”

“Your mother is beyond help now.” The officer paused, raising his arm to signal someone. “You don’t want to see her like this. Trust me. This is office Titus,” Stevens motioned to the equally burly cop who’d joined them. “He’s going to put you in the back of his cruiser.”

“What?” West half-screamed. “You can’t possibly think I had anything to do with this.” West’s brain spun at light speed. Not only was his mother dead—murdered, no less—but Officer Stevens thought he’d been the one to kill her?

“We don’t know anything right now. Go with Officer Titus. He’ll take care of you.”

Titus stepped forward and motioned toward one of the cruisers with blue and white lights illuminating his once peaceful neighborhood. He opened the back door and ushered West inside. He rolled down the window partway and shut the door, before taking up a position beside the car with his backside resting against the driver’s side door.

Dumbstruck, West watched as men and women dressed in Tyvek suits and respirator masks moved into and out of the house. Minutes, or possibly hours later, West had lost all track of time, then the Middlesex County medical examiner’s vehicle arrived. A short woman climbed out of the driver’s seat and spoke briefly with one of the officers before opening the back doors of the van and pulling out a gurney with a folded black bag sitting on top of it. West watched helplessly as it was brought into the house. Minutes later, it was carried out of the house with his mother in the bag.

As the gurney was placed into the coroner’s van, West began to cry. From this moment forward, nothing would ever be the same.

The events of the night begged the question: who would want to kill his mother? More importantly, why?