The Sunday Slayer

by Donna Lee Peabody

  The Sunday Slayer

  By

  Donna Lee Peabody

  Copyright © 2016 by Donna Lee Peabody

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof

  may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Montana De Oro

  My Jesus, often have I sinned and often, by sin, beaten Thee to the ground beneath the cross. Help me to use the efficacious means of grace that I may never fall again. – from The Stations of the Cross

  Caitlin took in a deep breath. She stared out across the grey sea and gathered her thoughts. She watched the families on the small beach and pulled out her camera. The drive down from San Francisco had been contemplative but tense. All through the morning’s drive she wondered why the murders had begun again after seven years of peace.

  The people on the beach and amongst the rocky bluffs seemed oblivious to the early morning’s activities. The dark cloudy afternoon sky seemed to be the only evidence that a woman’s life had ended on this beach a scant ten hours ago.

  Caitlin had received the call just after 8:00 a.m. at the San Francisco FBI office where she had worked for the last twelve years. Even though she was only 38, Caitlin had seen more than her share of death, first during her four years in the Army and then with the Bureau. Nothing had prepared her for the “Sunday Slayer”.

  Seven years ago, in Marin County, the Slayer had struck. Killing, every Sunday for ten weeks, ending on Easter Sunday, the Slayer had claimed thirteen victims. Caitlin had suspected that there were at least two other victims that had not been found, but her superiors thought she was “overly invested” and “emotional”. They dismissed her theories and the profiler was adamant that she was wrong in her belief that Josh Dugan was the killer.

  Even Caitlin had to admit that Josh had an alibi for the first two killings. Josh’s grandfather and Dugan family patriarch had provided that alibi and his position as a Court Judge lent a credibility that few would dare impeach.

  Between the alibi, the family’s wealth and influence, compounded by Josh’s age – he had been just fourteen; no one would believe her theory. Ariel Dugan, Josh’s mother, had been the third victim. Josh’s father had a complete breakdown and has not spoken since Ariel’s body was found. Now, seven years later, Caitlin’s thoughts were once again drawn to Josh. Where was he now? He’d be almost 21, his grandfather had sent him off to boarding school after the murders, but he may have returned.

  Caitlin shook herself to free the images that came along with thoughts of Josh, and the Slayer’s victims. She realized she had

  been standing, lost in thought. The cool breeze made her shiver and she lifted the camera and snapped a few pictures, just to bring her back to the present.

  It was part of her process, coming to the scene when the area had been cleared and after all the police and techs had left. She would take her camera and walk, snapping pictures and trying to imagine what had been on the killer’s mind. Why this place? Why today? Smelling the scents, drinking in the atmosphere, trying to understand what motivated the killer. She looked up onto the bluff, wondering from what point the victim had been tossed. She saw a young man in a red coat, staring through binoculars toward the cove where the body had been found. She snapped his picture, and then walked toward the cove, pausing now and then to take another picture.

  A dog ran along the beach playing fetch with its owner. Kids dashed along the waves, a college aged group wandered among the rocky outcroppings, families enjoying the cool, Sunday afternoon. Caitlin noted that the tide was drifting out and the daylight was fading.

  A lone seagull flew by. Caitlin briefly wondered if the victim’s soul was borne along on its wings.

  Orcutt Community Park

  My Jesus, Who didst comfort the pious women of Jerusalem who wept to see Thee bruised and torn, comfort my soul with Thy tender pity, for in Thy pity lies my trust. May my heart ever answer Thine. – from The Stations of the Cross

  Caitlin had dreaded this morning’s call. There were three victims, all women in their twenties - the pious women of Jerusalem. It was the Slayer’s pattern. He always left a verse from the Catholic Stations of the Cross and a number carved into the forehead of the victim, or in this case victims. That and the rosary he left in their clasped hands had been kept from the press and the general public.

  It was these clues that had linked the current killings to the one in Marin seven years ago. This week was the eighth station. The difference between here and Marin had been that the victims from the first three stations, that is the first three weeks, had not been found. It was a subtle difference but it troubled Caitlin. The Slayer seemed to want the victims found, and found quickly, they were left in plain sight in well traveled areas, so why were the first victims not found?

  Caitlin parked the car and headed toward the trail. She looked up and saw a helicopter flying low, she hoped it wasn’t the press, but it was unmarked. She took a picture of it anyway. She paused at the start of the trail and looked around her. A green open meadow, a few head of cattle meandering about and a clear blue sky seemed to belie the fact three women had met their end here in this tranquil little oasis.

  Walking up the gentle incline, Caitlin came to the tree line. She could hear the forensics team in the distance. When she reached the crime scene she found a small copse of trees. Several forensic specialists were collecting and photographing possible evidence and the local PD were cordoning off the area from bystanders.

  Special Agent Hank Larossa walked up to Caitlin. “Hell of a morning, huh, Caitie?” He handed her a coffee and as she took a sip, he began filling her in on the details they had so far.

  “Three vics, all college aged girls. We have IDs on the vics, but still haven’t figured out if they were here together or brought here separately. Locals are interviewing the families.”

  Caitlin nodded, “Thanks, Hank,” she said, “MO the same?”

  “Yep, all strangled, all have the number 8 carved in their foreheads, all three have identical rosaries. There was no sign of sexual assault. It’s Marin all over again.”

  Caitlin took a long sip of coffee, looked straight into his eyes and said, “But this time we’re gonna catch him.” Hank nodded. He knew this was personal for Caitlin, he had been the Special Agent in Charge on the Marin Case, it had been her first serial.

  Maybe it was the way he studied her face, but Caitlin knew he was wondering if she still thought Dugan was the unsub. “Wonder where Josh is?” she mused.

  “Still chasing that ghost, Catie?” he said teasingly.

  “He’s still a suspect in my eyes, ghost or not.”

  Hank shook his head, “Same old Caitie,” he said as he walked over to talk with the locals.

  Caitlin scanned the small crowd and in the distance noticed what looked like a young man in a red jacket. There was a slight flash of reflected light from something in his hand. She took a quick photo and set off after him.

  He was walking fast, making good time crossing the field. She cursed the fact she had on slight heels instead of the track shoes she usually wore. He was getting further ahead of her. He stopped and looked back her way at least that was what it looked like. She grabbed another picture and kept on following.

  He went out of the meadow and up a gravel road. She followed until she came to a three-way split. She hesitated trying to figure out which way he went when she caught a glimpse of red off to the left. She headed that way, rounding the corner and ran into a woman with a couple of dogs – and a red coat tied around her waist.

  Caitlin retraced her steps to the three-way intersection - three directions, three vict
ims and no clues.

  Oso Flaco Lake

  My Jesus, by all the bitter woes Thou didst endure when for the third time the heavy cross bowed Thee to the earth, never, I beseech Thee, let me fall again into sin. Ah, my Jesus, rather let me die than ever offend Thee again. -From The Stations of the Cross

  “Oso Flaco,” Caitlin mused, “skinny bear”. She smiled at that, while she didn’t consider herself an expert on bears, the few she had seen while backpacking had been far from ‘skinny’.

  She started down the long, wide pathway. In the distance she saw a group of school-aged children being herded along by a few weary looking adults.

  A cool wind was blowing in from the ocean and made her shiver. The afternoon sun played hide and seek among the gathering storm clouds. Even the usually sunny central coast spring had seemed subdued by all the senseless deaths.

  Earlier that morning, when this was still a crime scene, she had ignored the trees lining the path, focusing on the victim and her own sense of responsibility for not stopping the Slayer in Marin. Now she took the time to walk the path slowly, she noticed that in the midst of the verdant, living wood were scattered fallen trees, gnarled and rotting in the shade. Death was, as always, a part of life.

  After passing the jostling and laughing children, Caitlin came to the junction where the boardwalk across the lake began. She looked across to the opposite side and snapped a picture of the gathering storm reflecting on the placid water.

  The boardwalk seemed to stretch endlessly before her, but she knew time was running out. Easter was a scant two weeks away. If she didn’t stop him soon she may not get the chance again.

  The body of the young coed had been found in the trough between the dunes. She had been strangled and tossed down, the ‘fall’ representing this stage in Jesus’ path to the crucifixion. Just who “Jesus” was in the Slayer’s mind was debated hotly by the psychologists and the agents. Personally, Caitlin thought that the Slayer thought of himself as Jesus, she thought deep down he wanted to be caught. But then she had thought that Josh was the Slayer and these new killings seem to dispute that notion.

  The dunes were generally fenced off to protect the fragile environment and the nesting area of the endangered snow plover. There was a small trail leading off into the dunes, just before the last stretch to the beach. The trail was now covered in footprints having been trampled by what seemed like every police officer and forensic tech on the central coast.

  Just up from there, near where the boardwalk forked, she snapped a picture of the now vacant crime scene. She started to take the right path toward the beach, but was stopped when she saw the back of what appeared to be a man in jeans and a red coat, much like the one she had seen at the two previous crime scenes. Determined that this time

  he would not escape her, she headed purposefully toward the overlook.

  Josh didn’t turn, he just said “Hello, Agent Kearney.”

  Caitlin was momentarily taken aback. “Josh Dugan,” she said quietly. She raised her camera and snapped a picture of him as he turned towards her. She wasn’t sure why she took the picture, maybe it was just so she could confirm he wasn’t an apparition or a figment of her imagination.

  “What are you doing here, Mr. Dugan? Just enjoying the gloomy Sunday afternoon?”

  If Josh noticed her sarcasm, he didn’t let on. “I am attending Cal Poly.” He paused and drew a deep breath as if gathering strength from the ocean breeze. “I knew one of the victims. The first one, Margery Tompkins, was my advisor.”

  Caitlin mused on that for a moment and then said, “That still doesn’t answer the question.”

  “I guess I just wondered if I might find a clue.” He looked into her eyes, “Isn’t that why you’re here?”

  Caitlin was taken aback by his piercing stare. “I am an Agent working this case, why I am here is obvious.” She thought she sounded defensive and she shook herself free of his gaze. “Why didn’t I see your name on the witness list?”

  He smiled and shrugged, “I didn’t witness anything, Agent Kearney. Ms. Tompkins has, well had, a lot of students. I was just one of them.”

  She chewed on that piece of information and then said, “I thought I saw you at one of the other crime scenes too. Why did you avoid me? Why not come forward?”

  He shifted, turning fully around on the railing. “Don’t you mean you saw me at two of the crime scenes?”

  He almost seemed to be toying with her she thought. “Yes, as you say two scenes, two opportunities to speak to me and yet you didn’t until now. Why?”

  “I know what you think of me, Caitlin,” he said. “You’re wrong, of course. I’m completely innocent. ‘Judge not, that you be not judged. For with the judgment you pronounce you will be judged, and the measure you give will be the measure you get.’” He stood and started to walk off.

  A brief bit of sunlight glinted off the crucifix he wore. She noticed it was an antique, quite large and covered with Celtic imagery. She almost stopped him from leaving, but she didn’t have anything else to say to him. She wanted time to process what had transpired. She was determined not to let him have the last word so she said, “I’ll be in touch, Josh.” She saw him shrug, but he didn’t respond.

  She stared out at the sea. The sky was clearing, two children danced in and out of the water and she felt that maybe things were looking up after all.

  Cave Landing – Pirate’s Cove

  My Jesus, stripped of Thy garments and drenched with gall, strip me of love for things of earth, and make me loathe all that savors of the world and sin. - -From The Stations of the Cross

  The day was sunny and bright. Caitlin considered it a promising sign. She found herself once again scoping out a crime scene in the late afternoon. If she could just figure out how to get to the crime scene before it was a crime scene, but, alas she still didn’t have enough evidence to convince anyone that Josh Dugan was the Slayer.

  Hank had been gracious enough to listen to her theory, yet again, but as he pointed out it was still just speculation. She was glad she had the picture of Josh, because when she first told Hank, he had given her his best patronizing look and a gentle hand on her shoulder as he asked her if she was alright. He changed his tune when she showed him the picture.

  She had checked out Josh’s story and found out he was a Political Science major, with a minor in Philosophy. Margery Tompkins had been his advisor. She taught political science, she was advisor to 25 students, including Josh, and, was well liked by students and faculty. The police had started to interview the students, but when the next murder occurred and it became obvious it was the Slayer, they had set that line of inquiry on the back burner.

  First she hiked across from the cave, along the bluff above the beach. She found a bench and sat for a bit.

  Caitlin still wondered about Josh’s statement that he had known ‘the first victim’. Margery had ‘III’ carved on her forehead and, if this was like the Marin County killings she should have been the third victim. This haunted her, because in Marin, Josh had solid alibis only for the first two killings.

  She stopped in her ruminations and looked over at the thread-like path that led to the cave. Sighing, she rose and hiked back along the trail to the parking lot and down the other path.

  She walked to the T intersection and looked across to the strand-like beach that was populated with families on this warm day. The sign before her pointed to the

  beach and the cave. Although the beach looked inviting, she headed to the cave, where the body had been found just hours before.

  The sun was warm and when she reached the cool, shady arch of the cave, she sat on the rock near the entrance and studied the striated rock. There was layer upon layer built up until it had formed a solid base. Just like a case was developed and it was up to her to uncover the many layers that comprised this one. She felt certain that Josh was involved, but she couldn’t prove it.

  She felt the breeze funneling through the arched cave. She walked to
the edge overlooking the sea far below. The waters swirled around the rock outcroppings, creating small whirlpools. The victim had been found on the lower ledge. From that vantage point, one could see Pirate’s Cove off to the side. Caitlin wondered if the Slayer meant for her to see the irony of placing the nude body in sight of the local nudist beach.

  She examined the ledge again. There was litter strewn about, the techs had collected all that had lain around the body. There was graffiti on the walls which Caitlin found a desecration of this otherwise beautiful spot. She looked around the cave and poked at the fire pit but found nothing but ash and bits of broken glass. The roof of the cave was blackened by fire. There was a piece of carpeting on the ground, maybe left by a vagrant. She took out her small flashlight and searched the carpeting. Just under the corner she saw a small piece of chain. She retrieved an evidence bag and put on pair of gloves, gently she turned up the corner of the rug and drew a sharp breath at what she found – a crucifix exactly like the one she had seen on Josh the week before.

  Had he been here? Was this the evidence she needed to prove her hypothesis? She placed the pendant in the bag, sealed, dated and put the bag in her pack. She hurried off to take this latest find to the lab for analysis. Maybe she really had caught a break at last.