“They celebrated his sister’s birthday every year. The moment his mother arrived with her boyfriend, it threatened his peaceful life,” Haven said. “I think that could have been Vernon’s trigger for killing the girls. It happened seven months ago. Vernon started kidnapping and killing later that month.”
“After Vernon killed his sister, he may have dealt with the shame and sorrow of it. Perhaps, even the guilt. Later, he might have begun fantasizing about killing again, but never acted on it.”
“I didn’t see any indication of fantasy killing in his room, but I didn’t get a chance to really look inside.” She turned to me. “Do you think we have enough for a search warrant?”
“I can try.”
“This is a sensitive situation. If we’re wrong, then we lose the black community’s participation in the investigation. Pastor Miller’s son has gone through a lot. If we’re wrong, everyone will come for us—including my mother.”
“Then, we don’t do more until we’re right. Stein and Richards are watching Vernon. Agents are parked outside the house, hiding within regular cars.”
“White guys?”
“Yes.”
Haven shook her head. “He’ll know something is up. Shoot, everyone will know. Pastor Miller’s neighborhood is all black and half the people there have lived on that block all their life. We need some black cops in the car watching. White guys in suits won’t do. It’ll spook everyone.”
“Okay. I’ll talk to my father. He should be able to make some calls and get some black agents from Atlanta to come down. It’s only a few hours away. They can arrive by this evening.”
“Good.”
The rest of the ride went quiet.
Stress plagued me.
Could Vernon a teenager from a broken home and now living with the Pastor. . .could he have kidnapped and killed six girls? Would he have been able to clean everything up so well?
I checked with Haven. “How was his room?”
“Organized and neat. Unlike most stereotypical teenaged boys, but Mrs. Miller doesn’t play. She likes her house in order. And being that they knew they were having guests on Sunday she might’ve told him to clean his room.”
I tapped my thumb against the steering wheel. “We need more than paintings of religious holidays. Even though those dates coincide with when the Fullbrooke Six were taken.”
“Do you think his mother showing up was enough to trigger Vernon to kill?”
“Yes. Some serial killers are triggered when they see a woman that reminds them of someone that has abused them, ridiculed them, or even infatuated them.”
“I would think that if his mother is the trigger, then why not kill older woman? Why go to little black girls? Surely, he must’ve felt guilt from suffocating his sister?”
“Or he didn’t.”
“Dear God.”
“We have to consider all possibilities.” I stopped our car at the red light. “The trigger sets the serial killers off when their fantasies have been lying dormant. And it’s always a specific type of victim, behavior, unforeseen opportunity, or trust from an individual. Whatever it is, the desire to maim or take a life away comes. It could be anything that started this.”
“But so far, the sister’s birthday celebration points to the trigger.”
“It does. We’ll have talk to a psychologist about this case.”
I thought back to my training.
Criminal psychologists identified seven phases of a typical serial killer—aura, trolling, wooing, capture, murder, totem, and depression. This data was from an obsessive study of high-profile cases like Jack the Ripper, Jeffrey Dahmer, Zodiac, John Wayne Gacy, etc.
The aura phase was the first step that the potential killer took—his withdrawal from reality and entering into his own private world of perverted fantasy. Friends and family usually never detected this person’s change in personality.
Time slowed down in his mind. Serial killers have reported that colors became vivid and sound more intense. Therefore, he would begin to cut himself off from any normal stimuli. Turn antisocial. Life no longer would have meaning. An insatiable need to fulfill his own purpose and motivations would arise.
I let out a long breath. “We have to find out what Vernon did after his mother showed up. Did his behavior change at school or in church?”
“We can talk to church members and teachers.”
“We’ll ask about other students too and gently slip into the topic of Vernon.”
“We should find his mother also.” Haven shook her head and gazed outside of the window. “Julia may know something.”
The Trolling Phase came next. It was when the killer began to seek out his victim, focusing on those venues he would most likely find the type of person he chose to prey on.
I tapped my finger on the steering wheel. “We need the Sunday School list with all the teacher assistants.”
Haven smiled for the first time that evening. “I actually talked to Mrs. Mabel about that, when you were washing dishes with my mom. Mrs. Mabel asked her niece to email it to me. The list should be in my inbox by the time we get to the inn.”
“Good. Did she ask why?”
“No, but I told her it dealt with all the victims. I was trying to learn more about them.”
I considered more of my training.
There was a Wooing Phase between the serial killer and victim-to-be. Once he identified the prey, he had to win over the person’s confidence. Like a fisherman, the killer lured their catch into the trap.
I gripped the steering wheel hard. “We need to know if Vernon or anybody else helped our victims a lot during that month, especially when it comes to Sunday School.”
“I can call my mother tonight and ask about Ariana.” Haven shook her head. “I can’t believe I didn’t ask before. It was just so much new information.”
“It’s impossible to have all the right questions in the right moment, especially with a chilling case like this.” I turned us onto Main Street. “I was thinking about the trolling phase of a serial killer and how that could relate to Vernon. For some reason, Jack the Ripper came to my mind.”
“He would hunt prostitutes on the lower end of London.” She nodded. “He led them to the women’s chosen secluded place, away from prying eyes. In a way, the women picked where they would die.” She frowned. “You think Vernon let the little girls pick?”
“Maybe not where they would die, but other things.”
“Their dresses, food—”
“Every time Dr. Ross examined the girls, she said that they always ate well as if our Unsub cared for them deeply.”
“Like a big brother?”
“Possibly.”
“Don’t forget about the communion. He gave the girls wine and bread before he suffocated them.”
“Would Vernon have access to the church’s items for communion?”
“Easily. Pastor kids and grandkids play all over that church. They know every secret pocket. They have the keys to locks or can get them fast.”
The Capture Phase was the next step of a serial killer. It was when he set the trap for his victims.
The light turned green.
I drove us forward. “Vernon became their friends during Sunday School classes. Maybe he saw them again during the week. He was their friend.”
Haven’s voice went shaky. “Their big brother.”
“So, on the day it was time to kidnap them—”
“They walked right up to him.” Haven widened her eyes. “He could have stopped Felicia Drake while she headed home from church.”
I pretended to be Vernon. “Hey, Felica. Let me show you something. Or. . .do you want to come with me to see this?”
“Or even, your mother told me to come get you.”
“And she went because it was Vernon. She knew him for a long time. He was one of the good teenagers in her church. There would be no reason to mistrust him.”
Haven shook her head. “My parents and I had a code
. If anyone ever came up to my school—relative or family friend—I wasn’t to leave with them unless they said Apple pie with vanilla ice cream. It was my favorite thing to eat. Even my grandmother had to tell me that one time when she picked me up. Once my uncle forgot to say it. I stayed right in that principal office until he called my father from the principal’s phone, got the code, and told it to me.”
“That was a good plan.” I bobbed my head. “I’ll remember that for my future kids. Every family should have a code. We never know what predator could be lurking as a family member or friend around us.”
“Karen Brookes would have been easy for Vernon to grab. The ballet school is close to the Miller’s house. Not even a ten-minute walk. Standing by the water fountain, he could have whispered for her to come over.”
“Then, she went and maybe he pulled her into the bathroom. There’s a back entrance too.”
“She might’ve walked right out the back door with him just from him telling her, ‘Hey, let me show you something.’”
“Simple and with no need of a weapon or rope. Kids usually trust kids.”
“Ariana went to the bathroom during Sunday School. Vernon possibly helped that class during that month. Might have known which stall she would be in.”
“He could have told her which one to go in.” I pretended to be Vernon again. “Ariana, do you know about the secret compartments? I’ll show you. Go into the second stall. It will be fun.”
“She could’ve walked right through the opening and down into the basement with him. Simply curious of what Vernon had to show her.”
“Emma Tucker’s older sister babysat Emma while her mother was on a date. Vernon and the sister might have gone to high school together. We should talk to the sister and see if she was friends with him.”
“She might’ve been on the phone that day complaining about how she had to stay home and watch her sister. And Vernon seized the opportunity to come over and grab Emma.” Haven put her gaze on me. “Shelly Darby was taken in the movie theater. We have to find out who was the brother’s friends that were with them. Was it Vernon?”
“He could have been.” I nodded. “We have to place him at each of the places. At least three and we can get that warrant.”
“Last, we have Melody at Fanny’s restaurant.”
A prior conversation came to my head. It was on Haven’s first day. We stood in front of Mrs. Mabel, asking if we could look around the church.
“Pastor Miller is gone. He picked up his grandson Vernon and took him on over to Fanny’s.” Mrs. Mabel beamed. “He’s a good boy. He started as a bus boy over there.”
Haven got to that thought too. “Didn’t Mrs. Mabel say that Vernon worked at Fanny’s restaurant?”
“She sure did.”
“We’ll have to check, if he worked there the night Melody went missing.”
“It would be easy. We have all of that information at the office.” I made a note to call in and ask someone to look it up. “If Vernon was there, then we need two more places where he showed up near our victims.”
“Melody was taken from the table as her parents argued.”
“Maybe, Vernon told her not to worry and come with him.”
“Young and scared, she walked off. Perhaps, he had a cookie or something sweet.”
I frowned. “Perhaps.”
This case is going to hurt. I need to take a long vacation after this.
I pushed those thoughts out of my mind and focused on my training.
The fifth phase was the Murder. The actual death and the emotional high for these psychopaths. In these seconds, some killers reported spontaneous orgasms during the death, signifying their moment of triumph.
Did Vernon get sexual relief from the suffocation? Or was it a form of emotional connection that he could not find in reality?
“Those paintings.” I drove us into St. Mary’s Inn. “That could be Vernon’s totem.”
The Totem Phase was the sixth. The serial killer’s feeling of triumph normally fades rapidly once the victim is dead. To prolong the pleasure, he removed and took a souvenir or totem associated with the victim.
“It could be.” Haven stared outside the passenger window. “Mrs. Miller likes a neat place. And she’s nosy. Her daughter Barbara told me when we were teens that she thought her mother read her diary and searched her room. I knew that drugs had been found in Julia’s bedroom a few times during our high school years. I’d overheard Mrs. Miller complaining to Mom about it.”
“So how does a teen like Vernon keep souvenirs of his victims, yet in a way where his grandparents don’t become suspicious?”
“He’s a painter, so he creates.”
“But somewhere on those images or maybe even behind are. . .”
Haven turned around. “You think there’s victim evidence on those paintings? Blood or hair?”
“It could be. Most keep certain body parts. John Christie stored his naked victims in his kitchen cupboard not only as trophies but as sexual partners. Married family man Robert Hansen stole his victim's jewelry. Others collect shoes, clothing, stockings, belts, panties.”
“Jesus. The paintings have to be analyzed.”
I parked the car in front of the Inn. “Vernon is triggered by his mother coming to snatch him away from his happy environment. He begins fantasizing about killing. He starts looking at the girls at Sunday School differently. And then he begins to hunt them.”
“He picks Felicia Drake as his first victim.”
“He probably doesn’t even look at her as a first. He thinks this will be the only one. But he suffocates her, and the last phase of serial killers sets in.”
“The Depression Phase.”
After serial murders kill, a post-homicidal depression kicks in. This was what triggered the cycle of steps to begin all over again. This was why a serial killer murdered more than once. That was why they never stopped until they were caught or dead. It was an emotional let-down. A shadowy world of gloom. Emptiness.
From there, the person entered their own world of perverted fantasy, starting the cycle to begin again and again.
We left the car.
When Haven got close to me, I took her hand.
She gazed up at me. “Some day off.”
“We found out more than if we had been working.”
“Dad always said that you sometimes get your answers when you sit back and stop searching.”
I rubbed my thumb against her palm, hoping I was comforting her. But in the end, touching her soothed me. “These next days won’t be easy.”
“I didn’t sign up to this case for easy work. I came down here to save little girls.”
That response made me want to kiss her. I yearned to pull her into my arms and taste those lips. But now wasn’t the time. There would be other opportunities to seize. Other moments to have her all to myself.
Moonlight bathed her beautiful brown skin. Her eyes glowed. Her long black hair shined under the stars. She was so perfect. Not just on the outside, but deep within. She understood the burning need to protect those that were preyed on. She experienced that same sensation I did moving through my bones.
Kindred spirits? Soul mates?
So many hot feelings boiled in my chest, threatening to rise and burn me away.
Under the stars, we gazed at each other with no words.
Did she feel the same way? Did she sense the attraction merging and spiraling all around us?
She cleared her throat. “We should go.”
I licked my lips. “We should.”
She moved her hand away from mine. “I can get my own room now.”
Not only did I not like her hand being away from me, I hated that she wanted to leave my room. “Why? There’s still a threat.”
“If it’s Vernon, I’ll handle him.”
“And if it isn’t Vernon?”
“I’ll handle him.” She headed away.
“I don’t know if you should leave my room yet.”
“We’ve followed the book.”
“Not when it came to us.”
I grew uneasy, knowing she was right. If it got out that she was in my room, the Defense could figure out some way to use it against us. Anything was possible when a family wanted to save their young one from jail.
Haven cleared her throat. “That note was to try and get me to go home. It wasn’t a threat.”
“It was a promise for more.”
“Was it, Alexander?” She kept her voice low. “Or do you just want me in your suite?”
“Both.”
She stopped walking and turned to me. “If I stay in your room. . .”
I watched her bite her bottom lip. My cock stirred. My body warmed. I moved closer to her, needing to be near.
She blinked. “We need to follow everything by the book. We’re so close. No distractions.”
It was easy for her to say, her cock wasn’t hardening just from the idea of tasting her.
She shrugged. “Maybe, after this case. . .”
“You leave my room tonight and there’s no maybe. It happens.”
Her serious expression shifted to a grin. “Excuse me?”
“I want you, and you want me. Do you agree?”
“Yes.” She bit her lip again.
“Then, it’s not a question of maybe. It’s a question of when and how many times in one night.”
“Alexander—”
“You get your own room, but it’s right next to mine. You hear a creaky sound and you call me.”
“I’m not—”
“That’s the rule, or you’re back in my bed, whether you want to be or not. I want you safe.”
She blinked. “Okay.”
“I want the record to show that I think this idea is stupid.”
She ginned again. “The court has noted this.”
I nodded and walked her to the entrance. “I’ll help you with the reception area on getting your new room next to me.”
Missing Hearts Page 24