Sandman

by Tammy Bird

  Zahra looked also. “They seem completely content to me,” she said. “If the tail wagging is any indication.”

  “I think Frankie calms him,” Katia said. “He’s not tapping at all this morning. Now if I can just figure out how to tell Papi that Frankie is not Paige’s and is here to stay.”

  “Oh, shit.” Zahra tapped the screen on her phone. “That’s my alarm to remind me I told Doc I would meet him at the sheriff’s office to get a rundown of what he needs me to do here. He’s heading back to Greenville this afternoon. We need to focus. I’ve got an hour before duty calls.” She pointed to the transcripts and pictures on the table. “I also managed to get a little background on the three male caregivers who spent time at the center.”

  “What kind of background information?” Paige refocused on their task.

  Zahra reached into her sling bag and pulled out a sheet of paper. “Maybe nothing of any substantial value.” She put the newest paperwork on the table. “Two of the three males are young, about our age, twenty-five and twenty-seven. Neither has any history of violence or problems at home or school or in a relationship. Both have valid and up-to-date credentials and strong referrals.”

  Katia lifted one shoulder and made a face. “So at least we can rule them out as being Sandman.”

  “Looks like.” Zahra indicated the last name on the list. “This one is old enough, forty-nine, but he’s the owner. Rarely there. Never alone with the kids. He’s a businessman, not a caregiver, best I can tell. And he isn’t from here. Started the chain of caregiving centers in Louisiana. I have friends digging deeper, but I don’t think he’s a killer.” Zahra looked directly at Katia. “I don’t know what happened to your brother at that place, but it probably isn’t related.”

  “Fuck.” Katia pushed out a loud breath through her nose. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.”

  Zahra touched Katia’s shoulder. “Let’s focus on the pictures.” Her gaze moved down to the end of the table where Paige sat. “That all of them?”

  “Yeah. I haven’t looked at them yet.”

  Zahra and Paige sat without moving. Katia knew they were waiting for her to open the package. Neither of them wanted to take the lead.

  She reached for the envelopes. She didn’t know what to expect from the second batch of photos, the ones from the camera Marco took to school, and was only minimally aware of what she would find on the first.

  Katia opted to open the second envelope first and began laying out the four-by-six-inch glossy prints in a long row across the wooden table. Twenty-four pictures. Three of which were too blurry or bright to tell what was in the eye of the camera. That left twenty-one. Katia started naming them one by one, though they didn’t need naming. “A Dixie cup half-full of Kool-Aid. A selfie of Marco’s left eye.”

  “And part of his forehead,” Paige added.

  Katia looked closer. He had the same crease his dad wore when he was worried or angry, and his eye pupil was dilated. She moved to the next photo. “Crayons. Three in a row. Nothing extraordinary.”

  Zahra pointed to three separate photos. “These three all look like the same sky. Must have been before a storm. The clouds look angry as fuck.”

  “This looks like another one from school.” Katia held up a picture of curls. “A classmate, no doubt. Looks like he has the same taste as his sister.”

  She looked over at Paige. “What do you have, there?”

  “I think it’s a box. It’s blurry, though. Looks like just a bunch of crap thrown in.”

  Katia took the photo from Paige’s hand and gave it a once-over. She was disappointed they hadn’t found more. She wasn’t sure why. What in the hell was an autistic teen’s camera going to tell them? “Probably a box of toys that holds something he likes.” She looked in where her brother still sat quietly stroking Frankie’s fur and rocking to the beeps of the Road Runner on the television screen. She laid the picture on the table and reached for the next.

  They spent the best part of an hour looking through the other fourteen photos, all taken at the home where Katia and Marco grew up. What they found made no sense, and Katia doubted it would make any sense to Marco today.

  “Let’s take a break from pictures and talk about the transcripts,” Katia said. “You think these are what the person was after when he or she broke in?”

  “I do, actually. Whoever it was took nothing. These are the only things that weren’t in the office.”

  The three talked through possibilities for a few minutes but landed on nothing of value in determining cause or motive beyond the obvious: Someone wanted to know exactly what was uncovered on the beach. That could be a crooked reporter as easily as it could be the media’s Sandman.

  Katia noticed Zahra checking her watch. “Time for a few more pictures?”

  Zahra stood as Katia pulled the other package of photos and put them in a stack on the table. “I would love to stay and go through more of these enthralling photos, guys, but I have a good doctor’s brain to pick and much to investigate.”

  Paige nodded at Zahra. “I know you’re disappointed.” She turned her head slightly to meet Katia’s eyes. “Do you think your neighbor would watch your brother for an hour? I kind of feel like a run.”

  Katia’s hand rubbed the back of her own neck. She moved her head from side to side and in a circular motion. “I could use it, for sure.” She considered the offer. Her dad was upstairs tending to paperwork for his business. The chore consumed him for hours when he did it, so he would be here for a while. She could ask him. He wouldn’t be happy if she left Marco again, but he wouldn’t likely put up a fuss in front of her friends.

  She wanted to go for a run. She wanted to run until the fucking sand ended and no one knew her. She wanted to run until she forgot about Gina’s death and Elizabeth’s disappearance.

  She debated a call to Mrs. Ellington. It would avoid a later argument with Papi. She weighed that against a satisfied brother in front of the television set, a brother who would likely flap and twirl and screech if she tried to coax him away from Yogi and Boo Boo. It just started, and it was his favorite. She wondered how many other families lived their lives by which cartoon was on the screen.

  After several seconds in her own head, she smiled a weary smile and said, “He’ll be fine for thirty minutes. I’ll text my father. We’ll be back or he’ll be down.”

  Katia stood and shook out her arms and legs. “Pity you have to go, Zahra,” she said. “We could have a threesome.”

  “Bitch,” Zahra said and winked. “I’m not into sharing anyway.”

  Paige interjected a sigh and a shake of her head. “You,” she said, pointing to Zahra, “go to work. And you,” she said, turning to Katia, “are you good in that?”

  Katia glanced down at her slightly wrinkled T-shirt and sweatpants, swallowed her grin, and met the eyes of Paige. “Yep. Ready, willing, and able.”

  Zahra pushed her chair under the table and walked into the living area. “Later, Marco Man. Later, Frankie.” The pup’s ears raised at the sound of his name, and his head cocked to one side as if awaiting further instructions. Katia and Paige came in and stood next to Zahra. The three watched for a moment as Yogi Bear tried to avoid being wooed by Cindy and to get to the cake in the picnic basket. “Shit still makes me laugh,” Zahra said.

  Katia agreed and let her hand lightly brush Zahra’s. “Poor Cindy. Always trying to win out over food.”

  Zahra took Katia’s hand in her own and squeezed.

  Katia thought Zahra would always win out over food if she was Yogi.

  “We better take Frankie.” Paige motioned toward the pup when a commercial came on and broke the spell for all of them.

  Katia nodded. “No way I want my father to find him here when I’m not. Come on, Frankie.” Katia slapped her side. “Let’s do this.” To Marco, she said, “We’re going for a run, Marco. Marco? Look at me.” Her brother looked her way. He held Frankie down against his leg. “He has to co
me with me,” Katia said. “We’ll be back when The Flintstones come on.”

  Marco lifted his arm, and the dog stood, shook out his fur, and trotted over to Katia’s side. The three women and their mascot headed for the door.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Zahra pulled into a parking spot at the back of the building that housed the Dare County Sheriff’s Office. She glanced into the mirror and rubbed her index fingers under and around her eyes, trying to coax herself back into the day. Satisfied there was nothing she could do to get through this madness, she decided to get on with it. She reached into the cup-holder and unhooked her phone from the charger. The blue light blinked an alert that a text message was waiting. She swiped the screen and read the message from the doc that indicated another body was found on the beach.

  “Shit.”

  Zahra slid the phone back into the cup-holder and put her car into reverse.

  ****

  “Same M.O.?” Zahra asked. She stood with Dr. Webb on the portion of Buxton Beach that ran parallel to the ferry docks.

  “Female,” Dr. Webb replied. “Dumped, not buried. Throat slashed.”

  Zahra put her hand on her camera and pulled it away from her chest. “I’ll get started.”

  “Zahra?” Dr. Webb touched her arm. His face looked somber, even more than normal.

  “Sir?” Zahra caught his gaze. Something was different. A chill moved through her body.

  “It’s Elizabeth.” His words were low, and Zahra could tell he was doing his best to stay calm.

  She felt her equilibrium shift. The camera fell back against her chest. “Does anyone know?” Zahra really wanted to ask if Katia knew, but the words hurt too much in her mouth. The woman she was falling in love with was going to be destroyed by this, and there was nothing she could do about it. Zahra swallowed slowly, buying time, trying to think.

  “No. Not yet.” Dr. Webb’s voice was soft, knowing. “Do you need someone else to do the pictures?”

  “No. I’m okay. Really.” She let her eyes fully absorb the scene. She stood alone with Dr. Webb and Elizabeth inside the yellow tape that wrapped around stakes pushed into the sandy ground.

  Elizabeth was a small woman, likely no more than five feet two inches, petite in every way. In high school, Zahra envied her tiny pale body, small, pert breasts, her blonde hair and blue eyes that sat perfectly centered on either side of her perfectly shaped nose. She wanted to be her instead of who she was: a well-endowed black teenager with boring brown skin and boring brown eyes and hair to match. She wanted to be where she was, too: with Katia Billings, the class of 2010’s most likely to be queer.

  Zahra focused her camera to capture Elizabeth’s full body. The top of Elizabeth’s head was inches from touching her collarbone. Her small frame was folded in half at the waist, her breasts to her thighs. Zahra twisted the lens on her camera to zoom in on the woman’s outstretched arm. Rainbow bands of vibrant color encircled the small forearm. Zahra moved the lens farther down to the woman’s hand. Her fingers were lost inside a picnic basket. The faded brown of the in-and-out-woven pattern and the big, gold, turn-button latch on the front reminded her of the large basket her family used to pack when all of them went to the water for the day.

  Zahra eased the camera back against her bosom. A picnic basket? What. The. Fuck. She turned back to Dr. Webb. “Doc?”

  Dr. Webb hit Pause on his recording device.

  Zahra motioned toward the out-of-place item. “Was she here with someone?”

  He shook his head. “I suspect she was in it.”

  Zahra looked away. When she felt in control of her insides, she turned back. She studied the way the basket lay flipped on its side. The middle piece of wood that she remembered from her family’s basket was gone from this one. She examined the position of the body. It was partially in and partially out of the large, cavernous space. Blood caked the inside of the thin wood slats, and flakes of the deep, reddish-black color had scattered on the sand where the body spilled out sometime during the night.

  She raised her camera and concentrated on her hand placement. It was imperative she keep the camera steady until she heard the click of the shutter.

  She took photos from all angles as she walked around the murdered woman. When she finished, she knelt beside Elizabeth and focused on the smoothly sliced skin. The cut started and ended in the same section of skin as Gina’s had started and ended. The depth appeared to mimic the prior woman’s as well. She moved her body and the camera to get pictures of Elizabeth’s hand where it lay inside the basket. Through the lens, her eye caught sight of something.

  “Doc,” Zahra said, “there’s something in the basket. Something shiny.”

  Dr. Webb knelt beside her in the sand and pointed his Maglite in the direction Zahra indicated. “A knife.”

  Zahra could feel the exhaustion in his words. Sadness seemed to seep through his pores and mix with her own.

  “Get every angle, Zahra,” he said. “Don’t miss anything.” He rose and made his way to the yellow line.

  ****

  The shrill sound of the alarm startled Andrew. It always did. No matter how many times it sounded, he was always back in the field and surrounded by gunfire.

  Elliot’s voice brought him back to Buxton. “Chest pains. The beach. Let’s go.”

  Andrew set his coffee cup on the counter and fell in step with Elliot.

  When Andrew and Elliot arrived, FBI agents and police officers swarmed the area.

  “What the fuck?” Elliot said. He slowly pulled the ambulance into a space of sand close to the new, yellow, crime scene border.

  Andrew grabbed their gear. “Beats me. Let’s find our heart victim.”

  Within seconds, they were at the side of a police officer who sat in front of a dune inside a new parameter of crime scene tape.

  “I’m fine. Passed out for a sec. Boss says I can’t go back unless you clear me.”

  “Tell us what happened.” Elliot talked to the man while they checked his vitals.

  The man pointed toward a body and a basket tossed against a dune. “We’re all exhausted. I didn’t have lunch. That’s it, really.”

  “Vitals are good. I suggest food before you go back to work so it doesn’t happen again.” Elliot put the equipment away and stood.

  Neither Andrew nor Elliot returned to the ambulance. They watched as Dr. Webb and Zahra moved around the woman.

  Elliot was the first to speak. “Doesn’t look like she was buried. Do you think it’s our serial killer?”

  Andrew’s brain worked through the scene and processed it against what he knew about Brent Grainger. Brent wasn’t the Sandman. Andrew was one hundred percent sure of that, now. Sandman was a zero-day exploit, a man who takes advantage of a vulnerability. He thought Brent was Sandman’s partner. But this was sloppy. So what changed? If Sandman saw Brent as the clean-up crew only, Brent would now be a weakness in the network’s defenses, a vulnerability. Brent screwed up this time. Sandman would soon know.

  Andrew and Elliot weren’t normally partners. Elliot worked with Katia, and he worked with Brent. But Brent called out today. It all started to make sense. Brent couldn’t work anymore. He called off shift because he planned to escape, not from the police, but from Sandman.

  Andrew nudged Elliot. “This has my gut on edge. I won’t make it back without some relief. Give me five.”

  “Sure, man. Take your time.” Elliot continued to watch the new horror unfold.

  Distanced from the others, Andrew dialed Gerald Wells’s number. When the man answered, Andrew filled him in on what he had learned so far.

  Gerald asked, “So. One hundred percent not Brent. I agree. Who?”

  Andrew stood in the background and watched Zahra snap pictures of the scene. Brent told him she and Katia were an item. It was hard for him to imagine Zahra’s soft curves in bed with a woman, but he definitely understood the draw to Katia. He hoped Brent was right. After all
of this, Katia deserved something good to happen in her life. “I don’t know who kills them, but my guess is Brent has a contract with whoever does.”

  “Assuming Brent is our dark web porn-master, how does that connect?”

  Andrew swiveled his head from side to side. “Watching the forensic investigator snap pictures just now got me to thinking about Brent’s pictures on the dark net. Before Zahra took over as the forensic investigator for Hatteras Island, his pictures included a lot of different crime scene photos.”

  Gerald didn’t respond right away. When he did, Andrew could tell he wasn’t connecting the dots. “Right.” It sounded almost like a question. “We questioned how many people were taking them.”

  Dr. Webb’s team was wrapping up. Andrew talked faster. “I found enough proof to assume they came from all over the United States. Like whoever was responsible was able to get people to send them to him somehow. Now they’re more concentrated. The backdrops similar. Like multiple angles of the same few scenes rather than spread out.”

  Gerald followed his line of thinking. “Something changed. What?”

  Andrew continued bouncing ideas off of his boss. “What about the forensic investigator? Not Zahra Knox. The previous one. According to Zahra, she traveled with Dr. Webb to disaster sites a dozen or more times over the years she was in the position. Zahra told us she wishes the good doctor was younger. He doesn’t travel much now.”

  “I’ll see what I can find out about the last investigator. You figure out how a kid from a quiet strip of sand ends up as a porn lord and possible link to a serial killer.”

  “That’s why I’m here, boss.”

  “It is now.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Brent shouldn’t have dumped her body so close to the first crime scene. He knew it was dangerous with the constant flow of agents and reporters and curious onlookers.