Charlain Thompson had hung herself.
“
I c-can’t
believe
this happened….
Why??”
Nothing I could say to help. I just needed to be there to hold her close…my wife.
“
I wish I knew,” I told Fiona, gently, pausing to look over at Ed and the others.
They were gathered around the ambulance, the flashing lights from it and the two police cars reflected eerily upon the Thompson’s front windows. Ed was busy interviewing Angie and Tom, who seemed to be the most composed members of our team at the moment. Jackie still in tears, Tony tried his best to comfort her. It’s not his forte, especially dealing with a woman not attracted to men. It shouldn’t matter, in my book, but other folks are free to evolve at their own pace.
Justin looked almost as upset as Jackie, and I’m sure he’d endure at least some psychological trauma after what went down roughly an hour ago. Approaching nine-thirty, we’d be packed up and gone by now if not for the forensic team. They won’t finish for another half hour or so, according to our detective link to how business is handled at the Nashville Coroner’s office.
Charlain was probably already dead by the time she finished plummeting to the floor with a bed-sheet noose around her neck. It must’ve been the high thread count that did her in…probably the finest Egyptian weave money can buy. Her neck snapped immediately, and the terrible scream we heard came from Jackie, who watched our suicidal host balance herself on the banister and dive over the edge.
I would’ve screamed, too…well at least yelled for her to stop.
But in truth, no one could’ve prevented this from happening. I still wonder if something possessed Charlain—especially after Fiona told me that Lizzy Robertson did the exact same thing, one hundred and thirty-seven years ago to the day—July 26th.
That’s so messed up, man. The shit urban legends are born from, only this one could be rooted in much more fact than fiction, depending on whether you believe in spirit possession leading to suicidal tendencies or not.
“
Charlain…she never deserved this!” said Fiona, her delivery a hoarse whisper after crying for much of the past hour. Her heart is a big one, overflowing with compassion and easy to break. “And her children…so young. I’m worried for them.”
True. Christina recently turned nine, and Paul will be seven in December. More stunned than distraught, Ed allowed Fiona and Angie to take them out of the house before they had a chance to see their mother lying dead on the floor, cut down from the banister by Ed and myself. Their dad, Peter Thompson, arrived to pick them up a few minutes ago, but police procedures here require an official release before he can take them with him.
Never in our wildest imaginations would we have expected this tonight. And all those mean things I personally thought, despite their close proximity to the truth about her, are now little daggers tearing at my innards…my soul included.
Some bells you can’t un-ring…definitely not the ones for Charlain.
“
Okay, ya’ll can go on in there and remove your equipment now,” Ed advised, motioning to Tom and Tony before walking over to where Fiona and I sat together, at the base of the stone steps leading up to the mansion’s front door. “I need to have a word with Fiona.”
I thought it might be easier on her if I joined the guys in gathering our stuff.
“
I want Jimmy to stay for this,” she told him, tightening her grip on my arm to keep me from standing up.
I’d be lying if I didn’t confess to some supreme satisfaction in the wounded puppy look on Dick Tracy’s face—though I don’t completely dislike the guy. Hell, if he didn’t have such an obvious attraction for my wife, I might not hold any animosity toward him whatsoever.
He started to say something—probably why no way in hell that’d be possible—but then he stopped himself. Instead, he told everyone else, including the four other police officers and the coroner’s people, that he’d like a word with Fiona
and
me in private.
“
There’s some recent developments that affect ya’ll—definitely Fiona,” he said, after he led us over to a wrought-iron bench beneath a tall willow tree near the driveway, next to where his cruiser was parked.
“
What kind of developments?” she asked.
I’m sure she already knew, or at least had a good idea where this would lead. Often, her tone will tell me whether she’s hearing something for the first time, or instead, she’s preparing to check the facts she already knows against what’s about to come pouring out of a person’s mouth. An excruciating experience if she believes you’re bullshitting her.
Of course, I had absolutely no idea what he’d tell us.
Ed took a deep breath and released it slowly, and then began
“
Okay…the best way for me has always been to lay things out there, and then answer whatever questions anyone might have,” he said, glancing at me as he said the last part.
An immediate head nod from me, and a delayed whispered ‘okay’ from Fiona followed.
“
Two more homicides took place this past weekend, discovered earlier today,” he continued. “A neighbor filed a complaint about a crying dog chained in a backyard since Saturday morning. Animal Services contacted us after discovering congealed blood in a small pool on the back porch this morning. Once officers were dispatched to the address, they found a man and woman dead inside the house. Relatives have been notified, so the media will release the details at ten o’clock tonight, and we already know the crime is related to the other homicides. That’s why I came here tonight.”
“
Two more people related to Candi?” asked Fiona, her somber tone revealed she expected this part. Not sure if she had any inkling about the victims’ identities, though.
“
Yes,” he said, quietly. “They are….Susan Marelli, and her boyfriend, Paul Masterson.”
“
Oh, my God!”
she gasped, bringing her hands up to hide her mouth left gaping open by what she just heard. She had no inkling about who the victims could be…none at all. “How did it happen?”
Did she really want to go there? I’d say not so much…but maybe she needed to hear the details to understand more about the killer’s planned progression since the murders started last week.
“
These killings appear similar to what happened to Dickey,” said Ed, shifting uncomfortably on the bench. “The couple was shot and then tortured to death using the same sharp edged instrument Dickey was killed with.”
“
Susan was Candi’s
best
friend,” whispered Fiona, shaking her head sorrowfully. “They knew each other since childhood…grew up together in Trenton, New Jersey. Susan moved out here with Candi three years ago…she hated her ‘artist’ name. ‘What’s wrong with using Candice Miller?’ she used to say.”
My wife began to weep again, and I moved to pull her closer to me with my arm wrapped around her shoulders. I felt Ed flinch.
“
And, Paul…what a
great
guy. The best…,” she continued, her voice cracking. “You remember hanging out with them last year, don’t you Jimmy? Weren’t they the sweetest couple?”
“
Yeah they were,” I agreed. I hated thinking about people we’d lost and the stream of memories brought to the forefront by tragic news…. I never have been good with that. I had nightmares for nearly three years after my maternal grandfather died when I was a kid. When my Grandma Louise followed a year later, it was even worse. “I spoke with Paul last month, after he found out about my band’s upcoming gig next weekend. He told me Susan had it marked on their calendar, since one of the producers looking at us is a cousin of his.”
That image kind of choked me up too. I hadn’t interacted much with either Paul or Susan, but the times we shared were good ones.
“
Candice Miller…,” said Ed, reflectively. “Have you ever heard of Candice Travini?”
“
No,” said Fiona.
I shook my head, ready to hear what one Candice had to do with the other.
“
Travini is Candi’s married name,” he explained. “She changed it officially after her divorce was finalized a year before her move to Tennessee.”
“
That figures,” said Fiona, shaking her head again, as if she should’ve made this connection long ago. “And, you’re about to tell us that Travini is related to some New Jersey crime family. Right?”
“
Not bad,” he replied, chuckling for a moment. “That’s why we keep you on the payroll, I suppose. Travini
is
a notable Mafia name. From what I understand, you don’t get trash picked up or concrete poured in Trenton without dealing with this family. Candice’s ex-husband has a long history of questionable activity. Everything from money laundering to murder, he’s been sent up twice for second-degree murder. The first was as a kid, when he killed a convenience store clerk. Later, he killed a bouncer at a bar during a brawl. His weapon of choice, and used in both killings? A meat cleaver, which fits the blade striation pattern on Dickey and Candi’s bodies. He made similar attempts to disembowel his victims too.”
“
Why haven’t we heard about this connection before now?” I asked, putting forth my best effort to not sound condescending. “It might’ve saved a few lives, don’t you think?”
Dick Tracy nodded thoughtfully, probably wondering how he could use the very same weapon to dismember me and dispose of my body parts into the Cumberland River behind the Thompson’s house.
“
We didn’t know,” he confessed. “At least not enough to make a solid connection. Since then, we’ve been working tirelessly with the authorities and crime family specialists in New Jersey. We all feel her death and those of her close associates are linked to one killer, and the most likely suspect is Vito Travini”
Ed paused to pull out a photograph. A large mug shot of Mr. Travini. He handed the picture to Fiona.
“
This was taken when he was last incarcerated, five years ago,” he explained. “The testimony that put him away came from Candi herself. Now that he’s been paroled, it makes perfect sense he would seek revenge.”
“
When did they let him out of prison?” I asked, trying to get a good mental picture of the most likely timeline.
“
Three weeks ago,” Ed replied, turning his complete attention to me while Fiona continued to examine Vito’s jail photo. “He disappeared soon after that, when he was scheduled for his first check up with his parole officer. Based on the description of the van pursuing you lately, Jimmy, Travini prefers Buicks, black in color, with plenty of room for ‘guests’.”
“
I see.”
Not completely, but enough to understand how lucky I am that my ass isn’t in a morgue right now.
“
I’m not so sure he’s our guy,” said Fiona, drawing surprised looks from us both. As before, she shook her head, this time wearing a deeper frown.
“
How so?” asked Ed.
I expected him to be pissed off, since obviously he and his police partners in Nashville and Trenton had gone to a lot of trouble to collect this information. But, he wasn’t pissed…just a little perplexed by Fiona’s response. Her track record apparently carries more weight than I previously realized.
“
The killer is a red head with a fair complexion—I’m certain of it,” she told him, nodding toward me before going on. “This Travini guy’s hair is dark and his complexion isn’t so fair. However, his slender build fits…so maybe he dyed his hair to avoid detection as he fled New Jersey.”
“
And, light makeup could soften the complexion…right?” I added.
Any stage performer I’ve known—either in music or drama—has used makeup at some point in their careers. Yeah, that goes for the tough-guy rockers I’ve known too. Everybody’s done it at least once. Some of my peers even use mascara and rouge. It doesn’t make them sissies...at least not necessarily.
“
Exactly,” she confirmed, visibly pleased by my support.
“
I can buy that, since we might find what you say fits the final facts in this investigation,” said Ed, nodding supportively. “But, there is one other thing.”
Fiona and I waited expectantly, nodding as well when he hesitated.
“
We found this other picture at today’s murder scene,” he said, handing a small framed color photograph to her.
Three women stood together, smiling while they wrapped their arms around one another. The beautiful Candi Starr stood on the left, her flowing blond hair lifted by a gentle breeze when the photo was taken. On the right side of the picture, Susan leaned in toward the camera, sticking out her tongue playfully. It was in stark contrast to Candi’s dazzling smile, and a defiant gesture to anyone not included in this tight threesome. That left only one more to identify: the girl in the middle.
“
I remember when this was taken,” said Fiona, pointing to the Percy Priest Lake pier behind the photographed trio. She sniffed again. “I had just finished doing a reading for both of them, and Susan wanted to capture the moment since both readings came out quite positive. Lots of great opportunities were coming for them both….”
Overwhelmed again, she wept.
“
What’s with the lipstick Xs over Susan and Candi in the picture?”
I asked this question, gently, though not realizing the obvious answer. At least not at first. But, the bigger black checkmark over Fiona’s image in the middle made the symbolic message quite easy to discern.