Authors: Jerrie Alexander
“May I take a look?”
“I don’t think—”
“Please don’t try to shelter me. I’m sure Kay saw them.”
“No doubt. She’s better trained at this sort of thing. All of these women were butchered. I was trying to give you options.”
“I’m not a sensationalist. I don’t stop at car wrecks to see the blood. But in this instance, I want to help.” Her gaze hardened, turning her eyes a deeper blue. “I need to help.”
“Then have a seat. I’ll split the stack with you. As we finish, we’ll swap files. Study each case. Look for commonalities or anything that distinguishes one case from another. Take notes. Dalton made a statement that rang true then, and even more so now.”
“What was that?”
“That Chelsea’s murderer wasn’t about to stop at just one. I’ve only glanced through each file, but I’m positive he was right.”
“Don’t tell me anything else. Let’s see if I make the connection.”
Marcus walked to his desk and returned with legal pads and pencils. He sat directly across from her, resting his hand on top of the folder. “I don’t feel good about subjecting you to these pictures.”
She covered his hand with hers. Her touch was warm and gentle, meant to assure but failing. It only made him want to protect her from the ugliness.
“It can’t be any worse than what I witnessed at Chelsea’s house. Nothing could be more horrendous.”
“But it can. If this becomes too much, we stop. Deal?”
“You got it.” She’d enunciated each word with resolve. Marcus knew in his gut that they were about to put that statement to the test.
He pushed the top file to her and opened the second one for himself. The sharp hiss of her inhale cut right into his heart. She paled, blinked a few times, and then picked up her pencil. He couldn’t help but believe she’d missed her calling, because she’d have been a damn good cop.
He bent his head and concentrated on his stack of files, making his own notes as he went. He took an occasional peek at Chris, watching the range of emotions play out on her face.
No two victims had been killed in the same manner, and the women had all come from different towns. They’d been slashed, beaten, stabbed, burned, choked, had their throats cut, or some combination. Bottom line being: They’d all been tortured before death had mercifully ended their nightmare.
He and Chris traded folders and worked through each one. When they’d finished, three things stood out in Marcus’s mind.
“You two want some coffee?” Kay asked from the doorway.
Marcus jotted down his final thoughts before responding. “None for me. Thanks.”
“I’ll pass, too. Thanks.” Chris stood. “But I think I’ll splash some water on my face.”
“Go ahead,” Kay said, leaning over his shoulder. “Graphic pictures. I can’t image what these women went through.”
Marcus looked up at her. “You put these together, which means you studied them. I’d like to get your take,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “Stay and let’s talk this out.”
“Thank you for respecting Chris’s intelligence and my experience enough to ask for our help.” Kay pulled out a seat and joined him.
“I learned the value of teamwork in the Army. On rare occasions, one soldier becomes a hero. Most of the time, it’s a group effort. You hear from Nate?”
“Yeah. As expected, Tomas is pretty shaken up.”
Marcus handed over his credit card. “Will you send flowers in my name?”
“Sure thing. Wayne’s funeral is tomorrow at ten.”
“I’d like to attend,” Marcus said. “But I’m not sure it would be safe having Chris out in the open.”
“I wouldn’t advise it. Even with hundreds of uniforms around, one bullet could—”
Marcus turned in his chair toward Chris. “We ready?”
“You go first.” Chris sat and picked up her pencil.
“A couple of things bothered me. The murders are different, yet alike. The fact they were tortured screams serial killer, which is what Dalton had already decided. I’m betting he’s already turned this over to his boss. Somebody in the FBI is connecting the dots with the police departments of each of these towns.”
“They’ll tell us to back off.” Chris folded her arms across her chest.
“I followed orders in the Army. As a civilian, I’m less cooperative. This is personal.”
The corners of Kay’s mouth twitched. She’d obviously misunderstood what he meant, that Chris’s case was no longer professional. He had to salvage the conversation before Kay started planning a wedding. “The bastard screwed up Chris’s life, killed my friend, and burned my house.”
“You got confirmation?” Chris’s face flushed. “It was deliberate.”
“Yes. I haven’t been sent the report, but the inspector found evidence of arson.”
“Of course, that’s why it’s personal.” Chris’s eyes closed for a second. “What else bothered you?”
“Why’d he pose them?” Marcus continued, grateful she’d moved on. “It’s as if he was showing off, but who’s he trying to impress? Usually, no one sees these pictures except the first responders, the medical examiner, and the detectives who work each case.”
Chris nodded and tapped her pad. “I noted that they all looked posed, too. I also wrote down dates. Looks to me like the killer became more sadistic with each kill.”
Marcus was impressed she’d picked up on the dates. “Yeah. The first two murders were months apart, yet the others were separated by only a few days. That’s not a known pattern for a serial or spree killer. Maybe Dalton can get a profile put together.”
“Spread over different cities and states, I can see why no one connected them,” Kay added.
“Picking small towns or rural areas made it even harder.” Marcus couldn’t sit any longer. He rose and paced. “Half of the women were violently raped. The other half hadn’t been sexually violated, but their legs had been positioned to display their genital area. None of this makes sense.”
Chris had started sorting through the files again. Her eyebrows were pulled together, and her jaw was set tight. Something had drawn her attention. When she looked up at him and Kay, her expression had shifted to fear.
“What is it?” he asked. Damn that he couldn’t remove that panicked look from her eyes.
“Counting my sister, six of these women fit my description. Check it out.” She tapped a file. “They have long blond hair and blue eyes; they’re around five-foot-eight, and between twenty-eight and thirty-two. Has he been killing Chelsea all along? Then I walked in and disturbed him?”
Chapter 11
Chris immediately wanted her words back. Had she just verbally negated the importance of twelve deaths and made it all about her sister? “I’m sorry to be so paranoid. That was a stupid question.”
“Not stupid.” Marcus stopped pacing. “What if he’s been killing you all along? In your situation, paranoia might keep you alive.”
“Marcus is right,” Kay said, pulling the folder in front of her. “It’s not a stupid idea. Let’s take another look.” She quickly set six files to the side and checked the remaining stack.
Marcus moved to stand behind Kay as she sorted and made notes. Chris leaned closer, trying to see what Kay wrote.
“Interesting,” Kay said. Her eyebrows were drawn together. “The six other women were of different races and hair and eye color. It almost seems random.”
Marcus reached around Kay and picked up the note pad. He took red pushpins and placed them next to half of the ones Chris had used. Then he repeated the process with green pins. He backed up and studied the map.
Chris couldn’t stand the silence. “What do you see?”
“I wish to hell I knew. There has to be a pattern here. What am I missing?” Marcus looked through the files again, writing furiously as he went. He dragged his hand through his hair. “We keep adding facts that tell us nothing. Soon, they start adding up. We just have to keep digging.”
“You saw something else?” Chris understood his frustration. All these files, and they were no closer to the killer.
Marcus swept his hand across the map. “The first murdered woman had brown hair and eyes. A couple of months passed before a blonde was killed. A few weeks later, he reversed his pattern and slaughtered both women within days of each other. Yet, they’re scattered all over the map.” Marcus tapped a pin in Arizona and one in Texas. “The blonde women are all killed inside the Texas state line.”
“You’re right,” Chris said, moving away from the map. “Was he keying on them because of Chelsea? Because he couldn’t find her?”
“Doesn’t explain the other women,” Kay said. “The killer moves around a lot.”
“He’s got time on his hands,” Chris added. “Or he travels for business. Like a truck driver or salesman.”
“Could be,” Marcus agreed. “Either profession would have the ability to cover a lot of territory.”
“So what’s next?” Chris blew out a breath.
“I’ll call Dalton. Tell him what we found. Maybe he’s come up with something.” Marcus stood and rolled his shoulders. The muscles in his neck were drawn tight, making her wish she could ease his tension.
“You go ahead.” She resisted the urge to touch him. Instead, she remained seated. “I’ll hang out with Kay.”
“Can you think of anyone in your past who’d like to see you dead?” Kay asked.
“Other than Chelsea’s murderer? No. “ Chris closed the files. “I don’t have any family left. They’re all dead. My friends have long ago stopped wondering where I am.” The weight of her situation and the truth of the statement slammed into her with the force of a tidal wave. She really had no one to help her except the Lost and Found people.
“You’re not alone. We’re going to help you.” Kay stood, and they walked to her desk together. “Let’s call in and order for lunch. There’s a Chinese place a couple of blocks away. They make the best almond chicken. You in?”
“It’s not too hot. Is it?”
“I’ll make sure they keep the spices light.”
“Sounds good.” Chris sat in the visitor’s chair while Kay ordered the food. She pushed her wavy brown hair off her shoulder. Chatting casually with the person on the other end of the line, she agreed a side of eggrolls would be good.
Kay hung up. “While we wait, tell me more about being a Big Sister. How did you get involved?”
“I saw a news report that the Big Sisters program needed volunteers. It was right after Chelsea’s murder and I was struggling. Having missed so much work, I’d resigned and was sort of adrift. It just made sense. I don’t think anyone shakes off the hurt of being abandoned. When a girl tells me I don’t understand, I can honestly tell her that I do.”
“Between the two girls you mentor and the animal shelter, it must take a lot of your time,” Kay said.
“I’m grateful for every minute I’ve spent with the girls. The work is very rewarding. When things settle down, I’ll rejoin the workforce. Maybe even make some new friends, but not until after the killer is in prison. I hate that I’ve cut my visits with the girls back to just phone calls, but I can’t risk their lives. Now, it seems that if you associate with me, you become a target.”
“You’re feeling guilty about Wayne.” Kay’s words were soft and sympathetic. “You’re not responsible for his murder.” Kay sounded exactly like Marcus. “The bastard who shot him is.”
“I spent only a few hours with Wayne. He seemed like a good person, and I loved to listen to him talk.”
Kay’s eyes watered and Chris took her hand. “I’m sorry. You guys were close, weren’t you?”
“He was a great friend and cop,” Kay said. “I enjoyed working alongside Wayne. More than once, I witnessed him use that slow, easy drawl of his to pull information out of a suspect. His good-ol’-boy approach was real, and it worked better than any interrogation tactic.” Kay blinked rapidly. “You’re almost as good as Marcus at deflecting the conversation off yourself. We were talking about you.”
Chris gave her the quick overview of her life. How she and Chelsea had been adopted by the Hollands. “That’s pretty much it. Other than work. I was the marketing director for Patterson Sports until both my parents died. I took a leave of absence and haven’t been back.”
“What do you do for fun? Relaxation?”
“I used to paint. Landscapes mostly, old barns, golden fields of wheat. Nothing fancy. But since Chelsea’s murder, I haven’t been able to muster up any enthusiasm. I started writing her story but decided she wouldn’t want the world to know how she died.”
“When this is over, we’ll take in the art district. My knowledge about the subject is limited, and I’d love to go with someone who can teach me. Have you ever had a show?”
Chris’s heart jumped a beat. “No. I’m not that good.”
“Not that good at what?” Marcus asked as he moved from his work area to the front desk.
“She’s an artist,” Kay announced.
“Yes, she is.” His thousand-watt smile almost knocked Chris out of her chair. “And she was being modest. She’s a hell of a lot better than good.”
“I don’t know about that, but thank you.” Chris wasn’t used to praise. In fact, she hadn’t shared her paintings with many people. “What did Dalton say?”