A Killer's Daughter

by Jenna Kernan

  “Anything I should know?” Nadine asked her.

  “I saw the remains. This time was different. The male was dead longer. Torrin said the wounds on the female indicate this was not a quick kill. If they were taken together, he kept her alive longer. The multiple lesions seemed designed to inflict pain instead of death.”

  “Same marks on the left hand and on the female?”

  “Yes, missing strip of skin on both, and the slashing marks on her backside. Just the same.” Crean glanced at her phone. “I’ve got to go.”

  “See you later,” Nadine said.

  “No. At least not this afternoon. I’m taking half a personal day.”

  Nadine narrowed her eyes.

  “My husband is at a breeders’ convention this week and we’ve got two litters of pups.”

  That didn’t sit right with Nadine, who made no effort to hide her feelings, letting her expression speak for her.

  Crean pulled a grim face and then lifted a hand in farewell. They watched as Crean pulled away.

  Who took time off at such a time?

  Back at the office, Nadine carefully added the newest body dump to her original map and opened the document of her mother’s trail of carnage. Then she made a hard copy of each. She set the printout of her mother’s captures, kills and body dumps beside her updated map and stared at the two. There was no denying that the sites were remarkably similar in physical features.

  Fukuda visited her office just before five to ask her if she’d taken part in the Sanchez studies.

  “I’m not sure what that is.”

  He kept his expression impassive as he answered, “It’s a research project coauthored by Dr. Margery Crean.”

  Nadine thought she had read all of her supervisor’s research, but this one escaped her.

  “Could you give me more details?”

  He set a copy of a research paper before her.

  “I didn’t work on this project,” she said, scanning the date. “I would have been too young.”

  “I’m not asking if you were a researcher. I’m asking if you were a research subject,” said Fukuda.

  This time, when she lifted the carefully stapled pages, her hand shook.

  “What is this?”

  “A questionnaire used with minors. There is no way for us to identify the subjects. The study is flawed, according to our research team. The subject sample was too narrow and not randomized.”

  “How did I miss this? I’ve read all of Crean’s publications.”

  “Not published in the United States,” said Fukuda, pointing to the page. “Germany.”

  The agent lifted the study from her hands and opened to a page containing a questionnaire.

  “Look familiar?”

  Nadine read the first four questions, and the air left her lungs.

  “I took this in high school, senior year.”

  He collected the pages and thanked her. Nadine was still bracing herself on her desk when he left.

  “What the hell?” She retrieved her phone and called Demko.

  “Hey there. What’s up?”

  “Clint, Fukuda showed me a research article. Do you remember taking a survey after your mother’s conviction?”

  There was a pause. “What kind of survey?”

  “All I know is that they called me to the counselor’s office and told me I was in a random sampling of teens taking part in a national study. They did not advise me on the nature of the study and, turns out, I was not randomly selected. I’d been targeted as a child of a killer. Crean was one of the researchers.”

  “How did Crean get permission for such a study?” asked Demko.

  “I’m not sure. She was working for a federal mental health agency. Might have used that position to gain access. It’s confusing and probably illegal.”

  “What were the questions?”

  Nadine recited the three that she had just read. “Has any member of your family ever committed a violent act? Has a member of your family ever been arrested for a violent act? Has any member of your family been convicted of a felony?”

  “Shit.”

  “Were you aware of your family member’s involvement in a violent act? (A) before the crime, (B) after the crime, (C) after the arrest, (D) after the conviction.”

  “Stop. I remember. We need to have a talk with Dr. Crean.”

  “Sounds good. You bring the handcuffs. Oh, wait, she’s out of the office. Personal day.”

  “Oh, yeah. Taking care of the kennel. Right? I’ve been to her place. Picked up Molly there. She lives out on Route 70. Meet you back here?” Demko asked.

  “I’m coming with you.”

  “No. I don’t want her to know where I learned about the survey. Your presence will tip her off.”

  “You’re going alone?”

  “I’ll ask Torrin if he’s interested.”

  Nadine struggled to find a reason to be included and came up empty.

  “It’s my case, too,” she said.

  “I know.”

  There was a long pause and Nadine was about to ask if he was still there.

  “Listen, Nadine, could you watch Molly tomorrow? My pet sitter is visiting her grandkids and we are still processing.”

  Dogs weren’t allowed at her place. You know what they say about rules.

  “Sure. What time would you like me to pick her up?”

  “I can drop her off. Is seven too early?”

  Of course it was too early! What was she? A distance runner? Saturdays were for sleeping in.

  “Sure,” she said, drawing out the word, not sure.

  “Okay, I’ll see you Saturday. Bye-bye.”

  He’d taken that questionnaire, too. It was unethical to include minors without seeking parental approval. Nadine had been too young to give consent. The entire thing needled her.

  Thirty-One

  Final kills

  I spotted them at the championships over a year ago and just knew there were shenanigans going on. There was nothing subtle about the way they were acting. He’s a newlywed. His bride, the one financing his Olympic run, is home, too pregnant to travel. And the girl… she’s got a live-in boyfriend, who works two jobs to keep her in that skinny rowboat and in the competition. Partners working away so these two can chase their championship dreams and chase tail.

  Despicable.

  They’re now waiting for me in a spot that affords me privacy in an empty building. There’s still just the tiny possibility of discovery. That only adds some spice.

  I began with him. Arleen’s male adulterer lasted four days, but mine is an athlete. Should work in his favor or against it, depending on your point of view. Yesterday, after some bloodletting, I tied and staked him to the ground outside. Nothing draws insects faster, except a corpse.

  He’s well away from where anyone could hear him scream. Besides, he’s given up screaming and begging. Had the nerve to bring up his pregnant wife. Can you believe it?

  Telling him what I will do to his whore might have been my very favorite part. When I left him, he kept on shouting threats he is incapable of carrying out. What do they call doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results? The definition of insanity? I think he is close to insanity now.

  When he’s done, I’ll turn to the girl. This one is more like my usual fare, young, scared… I am giddy with anticipation. She makes me want to tuck her in my trunk and take her back to my place. But it’s getting too crowded there and, with all the other bodies, I can’t squeeze any more people in. The idea of excavating another room is just too daunting. So it’s time to move on.

  I wrote Arleen, told her I’ll be leaving again and relayed my annoyance that our best prodigy is so slow to answer the call. I’m ready to try Demko or Hartfield. Perhaps that mouse of an assistant, Ruz. Any or all seem better options at this point. It makes me cross. I worry about the next generation.

  Today I mount the horns of a dilemma. Do I finish him tonight, or do I see if he can
make the full four days? I really am much more interested in the girl. And continuing with her lover seems a waste of my time. He doesn’t have to be dead before I begin with her. Does he?

  But that is changing the rules again. I should do this properly.

  Nadine is so clever. I would love to ask her how she determined to look in Myakka.

  I need to get home. It’s Saturday night and I have a big day tomorrow.

  Thirty-Two

  Second wind

  Nadine scanned several current news articles. One called her a killer’s daughter hunting a monster mirroring her mother’s crimes. She marveled at Arleen’s ability to ruin her daughter’s life all the way from a maximum-security prison cell.

  Molly rolled to her feet, dancing with joy at the front window, alerting Nadine that Demko had returned. She disabled the alarm and opened the door. Molly rushed out to greet him: The dog gets the first hug. But she gets the kiss.

  He looked rumpled. She stepped into his arms and plucked a tiny bit of vegetative debris from his hair and he pulled her in again.

  This kiss was full of eagerness and promise. The contact set off a wildfire of heat blazing through her. The yearning to step closer and wrap her arms around him was strong. She deepened the contact as her body danced with arousal. Then she felt him sway on his feet and stepped back to give him a critical stare. The man was done in.

  “Hungry?” she asked.

  He had to think about it. “Yeah.”

  She peeled away and into her kitchen as Demko gave Molly a proper greeting.

  He followed her to the kitchen as she retrieved the boxed dinner that she grabbed him from her favorite Caribbean barbecue food truck.

  “Want me to heat it?” she asked, and opened the lid.

  He leaned in to inhale and peer at the Jamaican jerk chicken and rib combo with red beans and rice.

  In answer, he relieved her of the container. She offered a napkin and fork as he started on the ribs. Then she opened him a beer, setting it beside him on the counter. He gnawed through the ribs and turned to the beer bottle while she watched in amazement.

  He spoke between bites of jerk chicken. “We finished processing the Phillippi Creek scenes. Took some searching for where they went into the water. Looks like our guy drove that van right to the boat launch. Afterward, the unsub parked it behind one of the buildings and walked away.”

  “Surveillance cameras?”

  “Only on the main house.” He lifted the beer and took a swallow before setting it back on the counter. Then he finished the chicken and dug into the rice. “Taking them all the way into the city and to that park adds risk. Any idea why he didn’t drop them in Myakka? It’s closer. Safer,” said Demko.

  “I think it has to do with my mother’s body dumps. They were all on the river. These are all on the coast.”

  “Not the last pair.”

  “She never had a chance to dump the final two. I told you my mom separated capture, kill and dump sites as her series progressed.”

  After he finished wolfing his food, she led him out to the small living room and he sagged into the couch with a groan, cradling the remains of his second beer. Molly set her chin on his lap and he stroked his dog’s head.

  “Did you see Crean?” she asked, settling beside him.

  “I did. She admitted to conducting the study and categorized it as an unfortunate decision. I told her there might be charges.”

  He lifted his beer, draining the contents.

  “How’d she take it?”

  “She told me to speak to her lawyer.”

  Nadine snorted. That didn’t surprise her.

  “Anything more on Anthony Dun?”

  “Big fat zero. We have a nationwide manhunt going, but the guy disappeared like last week’s pay. Everyone in the county has reported seeing a white van, despite our already having found it. Feds think he might have left the state.”

  “Hmm.”

  “What?”

  “If Dun is our unsub, he can’t leave. He has to finish the series.” Sandra Shank and Stephen White, the most horrific of all her mother’s known kills.

  Somehow, she had to stop this.

  Demko lifted the empty bottle and attempted to take another swallow, then checked the contents and sighed.

  “Would you like another?” She remembered too late that she had no more.

  “No, I’d better not. I still have to drive home.” His eyes flashed to hers and there was heat there. She sensed his unspoken question. He couldn’t have another beer, unless she invited him to stay.

  Tempting.

  Nadine held his gaze and considered her options. Then she looked at the circles under his red-rimmed eyes. The man needed sleep, and this was a very ill-advised time to become involved with a Homicide detective. Probably the worst period in her life, except the time when her mother was actively murdering people.

  Yet, somehow, she was involved.

  She recalled Crean’s warning to keep her relationship with Demko private. No more sleepovers, she had said.

  Nadine fumed. She was not taking directives from that woman, boss or no boss.

  Demko stared down at the empty beer bottle in his hand.

  “Maybe another water.” He started to rise, and she pressed him back into the cushions and headed for the kitchen with the empty. When she returned with a cold bottle from the refrigerator, both Molly and Demko were snoring.

  “Come on, you two,” she said to Demko, and led him to her bed, flicking back the covers.

  Demko stripped down to his underwear and stood holding his badge, vest and holstered gun.

  “You have a safe?”

  She snorted. “No. If it makes you feel better, I promise not to shoot you while you’re sleeping.”

  “That leaves a good portion of the day open,” he said, smiling wearily before he set his service weapon on the nightstand and sank to the bed.

  “Thanks for taking care of Molly. Thanks for taking care of me.”

  Had she? She supposed feeding him a cold dinner and giving him a place to forget about the horrific day was care. Intimacy, she thought, the connection that she had longed for, and here he was offering. Nadine didn’t know if she was brave enough to let him all the way in.

  She knelt before him and kissed him.

  “My pleasure,” she said, surprised to realize it was true.

  He collapsed into the mattress, still gripping his cell phone, asleep before she even covered him. She used her fob to turn off the security system before letting Molly out, watching from the porch, holding her arms across her chest, as she scanned the yard, which had become a dangerous place.

  Back inside, Nadine armed the system and folded a comforter on the floor for the boxer, right beside her master.

  She slipped into bed, nestling close to him, and felt a sweet mix of longing and contentment. Sometime in the night, she was aware of him using the bathroom, Molly trotting along.

  Nadine heard him moving around and assumed he’d let Molly out again. Then she recalled the armed security system and sat up.

  Where was he?

  And there he was, right beside her, fully dressed.

  “Alarm code?” he asked.

  She roused to grab her phone and switch off the system.

  “Leaving?” she said. “What time is it?”

  “Early. Arm the system when I’m out.”

  Later that Sunday morning, Demko called to relay that the FBI had made a positive identification on both Carla Giffin and Nick Thrasher. The families had been notified.

  Nadine grappled with the crushing disappointment. Even with all signs pointing to their death, she’d held an unreasonable hope that they might find Giffin and Thrasher in time. Now all she could think of was the conversation the surviving parents would eventually have with their children.

  “Daddy died when you were a baby.”

  “Mommy isn’t coming home. Mommy is with the angels.”

  Actually, Mommy was in the morg
ue, or all that was left of her. Nadine’s emotions warped into fury and iron conviction to catch this twisted killer.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  “No. I don’t think so.”

  “Yeah. Me too.”

  “When did you leave?”

  “Around five. I had to type up my notes and check if the ID was made. Listen, I hate to tell you this.”

  Nadine’s heart did a little stutter.

  “Sheriff called me. They have a missing person. Seems unrelated, but I wanted to update you.”

  It had happened already?

  “A teenager?”

  “No. White male, twenty-two years. Name is Elton Delconte. An elite athlete. Came from out of the area for the World Rowing competition.”

  She sagged with relief. “The next were taken together. One a teenage girl and her… pimp.”

  “May be unrelated,” he said.

  Like the recently missing children, she thought. Not every missing person was one of their victims. She recalled an elderly woman who survived spending the night partially submerged in her car in a canal after making a wrong turn. People disappeared for all sorts of reasons, and, based on the number of Silver and Amber Alerts lighting up her cell phone, they went missing in Sarasota a lot. Still…

  “Who reported him missing?”

  “His coach. He didn’t show up for warm-up and was not at his hotel.”

  “Was he alone?”

  “In his room, yes. But he’s traveling with his team.”

  “Married?” she asked.

  “I’ll find out.”

  Her mind buzzed with possibilities. Did this rower match Stephen White, the man who exploited young girls back in Ocala? “Check with the other teams. See if there is a woman or girl also missing, or if he’s been involved with a lot of them.”

  “Coach said he’s a dedicated athlete with ambitions to make the US Olympic team.”

  Nadine shook her head, already eliminating him as a possibility.

  “How long has he been gone?”

  “Last practice was yesterday morning, so twenty-four hours.”

  “Where did he go missing?” she asked.