Authors: Carolyn Arnold
We left with the knowledge Howell was a close friend of Saul Larson. Coincidence? I didn’t think so. The only thing that didn’t line up with that reasoning was why choose Howell when he had, up until recently, been choosing victims from further back? Was it to get us looking at Brent Turner? First, frame Fields, now Turner?
Jack was driving, another cigarette in his mouth—of course—and I made the call to Jenna Simpson. She answered on the third ring.
“Oh, you’re the young agent? Hello. I was wondering if you’d call.”
I pictured Paige glaring at me and lighting me on fire with the intent of her stare. I stayed focused on business.
“I have a question for you.”
“Shoot.”
Jenna’s voice carried a smile.
“Was your husband friends with Saul Larson?”
“Oh, and here I thought you were going to ask me out for drinks.”
“Jenna, maybe another time.”
Jack glanced over at me. I needed his attention back on the road. We were coming up on the rear end of another SUV.
“You want to make a girl beg, Mr. Agent?”
I cleared my throat.
“Saul Larson?”
“What about him?”
“Was your husband friends with him?”
“What’s in it for me?”
I realized all of the women involved with these men weren’t too heartbroken by their absence, but then again, if they abused an innocent dog, they weren’t men worth missing. “You could help us find your husband’s killer.”
“You think Saul did this? You think he killed Darren?” Panic and anger replaced any prior inclination to seduce me into her bed.
“So, he was a friend of your husband’s?”
“Yeah, distant friends. I think he was at the bar on Wednesdays sometimes. Darren mentioned seeing him.”
“At Smitty’s Bar?”
“Yes.” A second’s pause. “Hey, what about our drinks?”
“I’ll be in touch.” I hung up immediately. I didn’t need to give her proposal the trace of a thought or I might surrender to male weakness.
I updated Jack.
“They were friends.”
“This is getting to be more than coincidence. Call Nadia. Have her specifically search for Saul Larson among the bar’s receipts.”
“On it.”
All of us were at Denver PD poring over the evidence from the Bailey case and sharing our discoveries.
“Bailey worked for Larson’s father,” Paige said.
I noticed that Zachery had his face in crime scene photographs and he seemed to be going back and forth between a couple of them.
“We confirmed that Simpson and Howell were friends with Larson. Larson had a dog,” I offered.
“We need more,” Jack said.
“I don’t understand how much more we need.” I should have backed down, as evidenced when Zachery looked up from the photos and glanced from Jack, to me, but I didn’t. “We moved on Bowen and Fields with less.”
“The guy had a pickup truck, access to the victims, Brandon. He was looking solid for the murders. Larson has circumstantial against him right now.”
“Larson knew at least two of the victims. He had knowledge of these animal abuse cases, he shared a background with Fields. They went to the same university, at the same time. He easily could have framed Fields, and then tried to do the same with Turner, only it didn’t work. He acted prematurely.”
“Hmm.”
That one wasn
’t in my favor. He didn’t appreciate my standing up to him, but this was something I felt strongly about. We needed to get Larson now, and give Howell a fighting chance of survival. “Why are we leaving Howell’s life in danger?”
“It’s quite likely he’s already dead, Brandon,” Paige said.
Was I the only one who was not giving up hope? “What happened to your speech, Jack, about no one else dying?”
Jack wouldn’t even grant me eye contact.
“Pending, our unsub has moved up his game. He’s killed three people in a week. He’s not going to slow down now.”
“So that’s it? We assume he’s already dead and just give up on trying to save him?”
“You think Larson’s so damn guilty, Kid, get us something to move on.”
I was so angry, and based on the heat in my earlobes they were a bright red. The hair on the back of my neck stood on end. I reached for some photographs.
“What forensic evidence were they able to pull from Bailey?”
“Not much of anything. Not much from the scene either. What you see is what you get.” Paige gestured across the table to a few pieces of broken glass, a spiked dog choker, and some articles of clothing—all of the items were sealed in bags.
I focused on the picture I had taken from the pile and my eyes fell upon Bailey
’s body. Leave it to me to pick one of the corpse.
“The cause of death resulted from being beaten?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“What are these?” I pointed to what looked like holes all around the victim’s neck. They were spread out at even intervals.
“Puncture wounds. The ME concluded the cause of death was a blow to the head. It wasn’t looked into any further.”
“Wasn’t looked into any further? The guy’s found sealed up in a wall and it’s not pursued from every angle. Who even handled this case?”
There was the clearing of a throat and McClellan stood in the doorway.
“Just thought I’d see if you needed anything.”
“You’re the one who investigated the case when Bailey’s body was found?”
“Yes, I was.”
There was something there
…right on the tip of my mind. I looked across the table. My eyes settled on the choker. I took some photos from Zachery’s hands of the original scene, back twenty-six years ago when Bailey had gone missing, and there it was.
“I think I know what made those puncture wounds. Our killer strangled Bailey with that,” I butted my head toward the choker, “to finish him off.”
“You’re forgetting blunt force trauma to the head.”
“I still think our unsub may have strangled him to finish things off.”
“After all those years, any physical evidence—bruising, for example—would have disappeared so it is possible,” Zachery added. “Also the tiny bones in his neck may have been broken, but this wasn’t noted in the autopsy report.”
“Our killer started back then.” Revelation dawned on Paige’s face.
“Was the spiked choker run for prints?”
The detective pulled out on the knot of his tie. “No…we had no idea the guy was murdered with it. We didn’t even have a body when all this was collected, remember?”
“The evidence was here all this time, you just had to go back twenty-six years.”
McClellan looked like he was going to be sick.
“Detective, we need you to take this to your lab immediately. Run it for prints and compare them against the ones pulled from the hate mail, specifically the ones that were tame and generic,” Jack said. “Also, compare it to the partial pulled from the duct tape and prints from Ellis’s door. Paige, go with him and set things up with Nadia to help get this done.”
“On it.”
They left the room.
Jack got up and paced a few steps.
“We need a personal trigger that would have set Larson off, something to connect Larson to Bailey’s dog.”
“One second, Boss.” Zachery shuffled through a bunch of paper and pulled out a sheet. “German Shepard and its name was Molly. Of course, just as I remembered.”
Jack and I looked at each other. I spoke first.
“Howell’s girlfriend said Molly was the name of Larson’s dog. I know there’s no way it’s the same dog, but is it just a coincidence it’s named the same thing?”
“You’re thinking that Larson killed Bailey and took his dog? Then got a successor—or more than one—and named it the same thing?” Zachery asked.
I shrugged my shoulders. “Why not?”
*****
“I can’t believe I missed something like this.”
McClellan stood with Paige behind their lab tech, frowning like a disciplined child.
“You know we had no reason to even pick this choker up twenty-six years ago.”
Paige didn
’t know what he expected from her. Was he looking for praise for a job well done? She couldn’t extend it. She couldn’t think of anything to say that would soothe his conscience. When Bailey’s body had been discovered, the evidence from twenty-six years ago should have been scoured with microscopic intensity.
As if reading her mind, McClellan defended himself. “My superior at the time was in a rush to close the case. Twenty years had already passed. I don’t know, I don’t have an excuse. I just figured any leads would be dead.”
McClellan seemed to have the compulsion to keep speaking. An inclination Paige recognized as him trying to tamp down the guilt he was feeling over his negligence. The nonstop talk was annoying and counter-productive though. She had to offer him something so that they had quiet to work.
“Sometimes things are not clear until later on when you look from a fresh perspective.”
McClellan nodded, but flushed. He recognized her efforts to pacify him.
The lab technician, who had been on the phone with Nadia, addressed Paige.
“She wants to speak with you.”
“Nadia.”
“We’ve got the killer, Paige.”
“Slow down. One thing at a time.”
“The prints from the choker match the partial from the tape.”
Paige didn’t understand why Nadia was so confident they, in turn, would match to Larson. “I’m still not understanding.”
“That’s because I haven’t told you everything. Saul Larson’s uncle is the one who owns the garage.”
“The one that…” Paige couldn’t finish.
“That’s right. The origin point that Ellis was dragged from.”
“Hogan said that the owners go away in the winter.”
“It doesn’t mean they wouldn’t have given a key to their favorite nephew to check on things while they are away.”
Something wasn’t right here. Had the detectives known all along? If so, why not bring it up when they turned their suspicions to Larson?
“Thank you, Nadia.”
“No problem, but that’s not all. Remember the chrome paint found at Ellis’s crime scene?”
“Of course.”
Everything would turn out better than the Advocate had imagined. The detour had been worth it if only for infusing lifeblood into his work. He had a feeling that the feds would be digging into his past with intense vigor and determination, but he still saw himself coming out the victor.
He had failed at so much in life, but things were changing to his favor. With the execution of justice he had overcome any bars placed in front of him. And if he had ever been questioned about his life
’s direction twenty-six years ago, the standard response would have spewed from his mouth—the programmed one that conformed to manmade guidelines. But he didn’t need them to tell him what he could do, or how he should live his life.
He set his focus on the recent Offender. He was doing this one just for fun. This one wouldn
’t affect him like the last one had.
The prior son of a bitch was responsible for his hand looking and hurting the way it did, but he remained strong, steadied, and focused on what needed to be done. He had bandaged it up and told himself out of sight and out of mind. When a twinge of pain radiated from it, he let it go, dismissing it as he had the man who died.
The cell he was using for this Offender was perfect. He had used it once before, and the excruciating pain it inflicted was death dealing.
The Advocate had made it with his own two hands.
Utilizing a local company and a big chain home improvement store, the glass box was complete with a space heater. He ensured that it was out of his captive’s
reach. To make the man even more uncomfortable, he had heat lamps shining in from four sides. He had mounted a camera in the top corner to watch the man whither to death.
This means of execution was one of the longer tortures he meted out, but it would equal full atonement for the man
’s sins.
The man
’s screams had gone mute. No doubt his throat was parched. His organs would be failing him soon.