by Simon King
They ate their breakfast while Tim opened the laptop and checked the database. It turned out that Mumma had sent through the report from the latest grave site. Another body had been found, this one executed in the same manner as Eugene Garcia, a bullet through the forehead.
Victor Mortimer had been a family man, working two jobs to support his pregnant wife and young son. A mechanic by day, he’d taken on a second job as a bartender on weekends. He’d only been at this second job for three weeks before disappearing early one morning, failing to return home to his waiting wife.
Kelly Mortimer reported her husband missing before the sun rose on the morning of his disappearance. The police officers attended and after taking all the details, had begun a thorough search of the area. They found his abandoned car on the edge of town by the afternoon, but with no other clues, found their investigation stalled.
“That’s four bodies, none of whom seem to have any relation to each other in any way,” Tim began as he grabbed a croissant. He pulled off the end and shoved the small piece into his mouth, preferring the pastry cold and plain.
“There has to be something,” Sam said. “Even randoms will always have some sort of similarity.”
“Yah, but right now, all I can see is that two of the dudes were buried already when the SK called them into service. Add to that the fact they’re spread across half the country and you have a puzzle wide enough to need a plane to reach the edges.”
“OK, so what do we do?” Sam sipped her tea as Tim pondered. A voice suddenly crackled to life in her ear and she suddenly remembered the earpiece.
“You start at the beginning,” Mumma added from hundreds of miles away.
“You’re probably right,” Sam answered, Tim looking at her curiously before realizing. He reached for his own earpiece, pushed it in and joined the conversation.
“Start with Doris Johns and work your way up. From what I can see, the police have hit dead ends with every lead. They got nothing.”
“OK. We’ll use the Kansas News of the World angle,” Tim said, Sam unsure of what he meant.
“I’ll make the necessary arrangements,” Mumma replied before falling silent.
“News of the World?” Sam asked.
“It’s a cover we sometimes use when speaking with witnesses. We’re a couple of reporters from the News of the World newspaper.”
“Isn’t that a real newspaper though? Like, wouldn’t anyone be able to call them and find out we’re fake?”
“That’s the beauty of it,” Tim said, smiling a little as he swung the laptop around so she could see what he had on his screen.
The News of the World website was open, the distinctive Earth logo slowly spinning at the top of the page. Tim pointed to a small line of text at the very bottom of the page, sitting beside another logo she instantly recognized.
Owned by Milton Ward to proudly present the news of the day for free.
“We own it?” Tim nodded.
“Sure do. Even runs like a regular newspaper. Only difference is, sometimes the reporters number a few extra during certain investigations.”
“Great cover,” Sam said, nodding.
A delivery turned up at their door less than three hours later and when Tim tore the small satchel open and upended it, Sam watched as two small ID’s fell onto the table. Tim grabbed one and held it out to her. Sam looked at it, her own face staring back at her from the small card.
Tim took it back, inserted it into a plastic sleeve, then attached it to a lanyard which he handed back again. Sam slung it around her neck, feeling slightly bemused by the situation. It occurred to her that no matter what, Milton Ward seemed to be the most perfect front when it came to hunting serial killers. Tim slung his own id around his neck, took a final swallow from his cup, then followed Sam out the door and into the bright warm midday sun.
Doris Johns lived a short drive from the motel and Tim offered to do the honors, holding his hand out for the keys. Sam threw them, Tim catching them left handed.
“So what’s the angle?” she asked once they were mobile.
“Hmmm, I’ve been thinking about that. What if we make it out to be like a feel-good story? You know, an article about a man who got a final roundtrip to a beautiful lake in Maine.” Sam considered then nodded.
“You know, I think that might just work.”
Not only did it work, but by the end of the interview, even the grieving widow was laughing along at the thought of her late husband’s final adventure. Tim did most of the talking, introducing Sam as a trainee reporter. It meant they could focus on a single line of questioning, with the younger trainee able to drop her own questions as needed.
Doris Johns was a wonderful host, providing the reporters with delicious glasses of iced tea, together with a plate of homemade chocolate chip cookies. Sam noted just how charming Tim was as he asked his questions with a bemused smile, one which at first had worried Sam, anxious that the widow might take offense.
But by the time they made their farewells, the atmosphere had been elevated from the initial sadness and grief, to one of happy recollections and fond memories. As Doris was walking the reporters to the front door, they passed where the bulk of the family photographs were displayed. The trio briefly paused to allow the host to highlight a few of the wonderful shots from happier times.
As Doris pointed to one photo after another, giving a brief explanation of the circumstances surrounding each shot, Sam pointed to one of the photos herself.
“Do you think we could borrow that one?” It was photo of Nathaniel Johns, sitting by the banks of some river, a fishing pole in his hands.
“That one?” Doris asked.
“Yes, to use in the article. It would give our readers a nice moment in your husband’s life. To help highlight his happy times.”
“Of course,” Doris agreed, handing the frame to the eager trainee. “She’s got a good eye.” Tim smiled back at the widow.
“She certainly does. And thank you so much for your time during this stressful period. We really appreciate it.”
Doris watched as the reporters hopped back into heir car and slowly reversed out into the street. She gave them a final smile as Sam waved from the passenger side, then paused briefly at the photos on her way back to the kitchen, looking at the man she had loved nearly her entire life.
“One last adventure,” she repeated, kissed her hand and touched his face, before returning to her previous chores, the sadness finally broken by the unexpected visitors.
“Apart from the photo, I don’t see anything that helped us,” Tim said, pushing the earpiece back in. Mumma began talking almost instantly.
“There’s been another one.”
“What?” he said, shocked, gesturing for Sam to insert hers.
“A family in Lincolnton, South Carolina, came home to find a stranger sitting in a sun lounge by their pool. They initially thought it was some vagrant, but it turned out to be a dead woman who’d passed last week. And get this. She was from Odem, Texas.”
“Why do I get the feeling that has some distinct relevance to the case?” Sam asked.
“Glad you asked, child. After the first two, I wasn’t sure whether it was just a random coincidence, but after three, I know it’s something else.”
“What is?” Tim asked.
“All three bodies had been taken exactly 982 miles from their grave. I double checked.”
“Exactly 982 miles?” Sam questioned.
“Within a few hundred yards, but yes, 982 miles.”
“And thus the mystery deepens,” Tim offered, shaking his head a little. “Thanks, Mumma. We’re gonna head to Virginia. See what we can find out at Eugene Garcia’s home.”
“No, John asked if you two could head straight to Odem. He’d prefer you to keep up instead of catching up.”
“Of course,” Tim replied, unsure of whether he agreed with the decision.
The plane was already waiting for them as the pair returned to the airport. F
eeling a little like deja vu, Sam and Tim climbed aboard and took their seats, feeling lost and unsure of what they were chasing. This was a case unlike any other Tim had ever been involved in and for Sam, it felt like trying to finish a jigsaw blindfolded.
Apart from discovering the distance between the graves and eventual dumping spots, nothing else seemed to link together. They were just a bunch of random strangers who had all been recruited into a weird game of cat and mouse.
Tim opened his laptop as the plane reached cruising altitude, while Sam scanned her cell, herself feeling perplexed by the case. It was the first time since joining Pogrom that she felt completely helpless. But she knew that given enough time, she would find some sort of correlation between the victims.
Once the plane landed in nearby Corpus Christie, Tim and Sam drove out to the small town of Odem and headed straight to the cemetery where Elizabeth Norman should have been enjoying her eternal resting place. But by the time they reached the small graveyard, the place was virtually deserted, a single officer left to guard an open grave that had the tell-tale crime scene tape wrapped around it.
Tim decided to try the reporter angle on the officer, who looked to be a few days out of the academy.
“Sorry folks, this end of the cemetery is closed to the public,” the young man said as the two strangers approached. Tim held up his Press card, hoping for it to buy him a little leeway.
“Sorry officer. Just hoping to ask you a couple of questions.”
“I’m not supposed to,” he replied, looking sheepish as Sam smiled at him.
“Oh damn. My boss is gonna be pissed if I mess this up. We were supposed to be here ages ago. But my car broke down and we got held up. Only just managed to get here. You sure I can’t just get a couple of questions in? I promise I won’t mention you.”
“My brother really needs this job,” Sam added, smiling at the officer again. His cheeks lit up as he tried to return the smile.
“I, uh, I really ain’t…”
“Just a couple of easy ones. Please, Officer,” Sam said. Tim looked at her surprised as she almost purred like a kitten, the young cop’s eyes completely smitten.
“Alright, maybe just a couple,” he finally agreed.
“Awesome,” Tim almost cheered triumphantly. “Thank you so much. This grave, I trust they found a body inside the coffin?”
“They sure did. Only it wasn’t poor Mrs. Norman. It was some other lady.” He briefly paused, looked around as if to ensure their privacy, then waved them closer. “From the look of her, I’d say she was…” He paused, looking at Sam reluctantly.
“What?” Tim said, trying to encourage him. The cop swallowed, then continued.
“I’d say she was a lady of the night. You know, one of those street workers they have in the city.”
“You mean a hooker?” Tim offered and the young man nodded enthusiastically.
“Chief Thomas said he’s positive she’ll have a record and wouldn’t be hard to find.”
“I think I agree with your Chief if that’s what she looked like.”
“He said he was heading back to the station to follow her prints up. Asked me to stay here until the forensics technicians from Houston get here. Apparently…” He paused again, this time sure he’d started something he wasn’t supposed to be sharing.
“Go on,” Sam said, trying to motivate him to share.
“I…I’m not sure whether I’m supposed to.”
“Whatever it is, I’m sure it won’t be a secret for long. And this way you’ll know that it was you that warned the people.” Sam was on a roll, swooning the kid with her mesmerizing eyes. Tim could see the kid was powerless against her.
“I heard a rumor that this ain’t the first. Apparently there’s been others. I overheard the chief talking with his brother over at the FBI. Heard him mention at least two others.”
“Sounds like you’ve got yourself a real mystery on your hands, Dougie,” Sam said. The cop just smiled, reminding Tim of a “aw shucks” moment from an old cartoon. Was it Elmer Fudd?
“I think this is going to be the only thing people will be talking about for a long time to come. Imagine, old Mrs. Norman out and about after her death, as if on one final adventure.”
“Is there a Mr. Norman, Dougie?” Sam suddenly asked. He thought for a moment, then shook his head.
“No, not anymore. They divorced a few years back. He moved back to his home state.” He lowered his voice again, as if about to share a dark secret. “Everyone knew he only married Mrs. Norman for her money. Once he knew he wasn’t getting any of it, he went back to his first wife.”
“You wouldn’t happen to know his name, would you?” Douglas chuckled a little, as if acknowledging a joke Tim just told.
“Spent enough time with the man. His name’s George Andrews.”
“Holy shit,” Tim said the moment they were back in their car. Sam fired the engine up and pulled back out onto the main road as Tim slotted in his earpiece.
“Mumma, you there?” he said, the excitement in his tone hard to miss. She was, answering the moment the words left his lips, as if she’d been waiting all along.
“George Andrews, right?” she said, surprising Tim.
“Yah, how did you know?” He handed Sam her own earpiece and she slipped it in as she navigated the car single handedly.
“George Andrews was married to Elizabeth Norman for 5 years, before returning to his former wife. Some say the entire marriage was a setup and that good old George was playing Lizzie for her money.” Tim nodded along.
“Yah, that was pretty much what our cop friend told us.”
“There’s also evidence that old George was returning to his former wife at regular intervals throughout the fake marriage.”
“How often?” Sam asked.
“From the paper trail, probably at least once a month.”
“Any evidence that George knew Victor Mortimer at all?” Tim put in.
“Not that I’ve found. But George was a rep for Goodyear and travelled extensively. His absence from home would have been the perfect cover for visiting his first wife.”
“Do we have her name?” Sam asked, pointing to a sign that read ‘Corpus Christi’. Tim gave her a thumbs up, agreeing to their next destination.
“Gail Andrews. I’ll send you her address. You guys not hanging around for news on the body in Mrs. Norman’s coffin?”
“No. Keep us posted, please Mumma? Think our priority is an actual lead and if this Gail Andrews knows something, we need to find out what it is.”
The drive back to the airport was almost in complete silence, save for the standard back and forth in traffic. Once airborne, Sam relaxed into her seat while Tim opened his laptop and continued trying to look for missing links, links he was positive existed.
There wasn’t a lot of talking, not because of a wall between them, but just because there wasn’t a lot to say. Sam ended up switching the television on and checked the options. When she spotted “Meet me in St. Louis”, she knew she’d be lost. Ten minutes after the opening credits, Tim looked across and saw his partner asleep, her face looking almost serene.
He continued tapping away, using the link through the Pogrom system to access vast numbers of databases, including the FBI and local law enforcement. But that wasn’t all, the keen hunter unwilling to accept whatever lay on the surface. He knew that for them to crack this case, the investigation would need to go deeper, much deeper, to where the dark secrets lay hidden.
By using Mumma as a springboard, Tim gained access to Facebook accounts, Instagram and other social media sites. Private cell phone accounts, cross referencing text messages and vast numbers of telephone calls were all scrutinized.
With the link between George Andrews and Elizabeth Norman so clear, Tim wondered whether there were any missed connections to Nathaniel Johns, the first victim. Maybe all of the victims were somehow connected. The feeling in his gut told him there was much more to find and all he had to do wa
s continue digging. And that’s exactly what he did.
Sam loved sleeping on airplanes more than anywhere else. She once put it down to the endless drone of the engines, mixed with the gentle rocking of a cradle. Even turbulence didn’t affect her too much, only adding to the quality of the sleep, unless of course it was severe.
Once the movie began in earnest, she found herself slowly sliding from the conscious world, the saddlebags attached to her eyelids growing heavier with each passing second. After a final look across at her partner, Sam finally gave in, closing her eyes and sinking herself deeper into the already reclined seat.
It was her father that came into her mind as she fell into the shadows, Samuel Rader appearing in his Navy uniform. He was sitting atop a kind of throne that had been placed in the back of his pickup, Sam running after it along a narrow mountain track. She looked down and saw her bare feet navigating their way around the sharp and jagged rocks jutting out along the path, her feet already bloodied.
“How you gonna save ‘em if you can’t stand a bit of pain?” Samuel shouted from his vantage point. “Don’t you know how much pain it takes to save someone?” She continued running, her bloodied footprints continuing to follow her up the mountain.
“Daddy, I’m trying,” she tried to call, but he wasn’t listening, only pointing back at her.
“Don’t forget how your mumma died. Alone, scared, unable to talk to anyone. Where were you?” He was shouting as he stood. “How can you protect these new ones if you couldn’t save her?” Samuel leaned down and grabbed the tailgate with both hands, his knuckles turning white. “I thought I trained you better.”
“You did, Daddy. You did train me good. I’ll save them. I’ll save them all.”
She tripped over, her toe catching the edge of a rock as it tore her toenail off. The pain was exquisite, but when she looked up, her father was gone, along with his truck. Instead, a man stood where her father had been a moment before. He looked old, almost as old as Jim Lawson himself. The new man smiled warmly at her, walked closer and held his hand out to her.