“Got it,” he replied, then hung up.
As soon as he opened the attachment, he knew this was the woman. The picture was clear and clean. This was one of the women who had killed Steven Blair.
“Nick,” Sandy Burns said from behind him.
Startled, thinking he was alone in the office, he turned. “You scared me, Sandy. What are you doing here? It’s the middle of the night.”
“We’re getting too close,” she said. “I had to work this. I have three really good leads on the person distributing the videos.” Nick followed Sandy Burns into a conference room where she had all the information laid out.
“I’m pretty sure I know which one it is. Let me tell you about the other two first. David Ferrell lives in Denver which makes a lot of sense logistically. He’s seventy-two, much older than we might expect. He’s spent his life in adult entertainment and seems to always dance close to the fire but never get burned, at least not badly. He’s made a fortune through strip clubs and distribution of pornography. Law enforcement has always suspected him of illegal activities helping with that wealth accumulation, including prostitution, gambling, and illegal drugs. He’s been arrested repeatedly, but has never been convicted of anything. He spends a lot of money on lawyers, and they always get him off. He never pleads to anything. We have a couple of problems with Mr. Ferrell, though. First, we cannot find any evidence he understands technology well, and we’re fairly certain that’s going to be a competency of our killer. Secondly, he has no history of violence. As many times as he has been arrested, none of them have had any hint of violence with them. He could keep that bottled up and take it out on the victims, but there is no sign he has those tendencies. And, finally, as he’s aged, he has pulled back from his business. He has completely ceased distributing pornography as the model has moved online. From some discreet conversations we have had, it appears he may be starting to decline mentally, showing early signs of dementia. He still could be our guy, but I would not look at him first.
“Next up is Vincent Patton. He lives east of Los Angeles. He’s forty-five, about the perfect age for this. The compelling thing about Mr. Patton is his technological savvy. He attended although did not graduate from Princeton. He made his fortune in his twenties selling anything and everything on the earliest version of the dark web. He seems to have a real proclivity for anything violent, including extreme video games, violent pornography depicting everything from rape to murder, and even some rumors he dealt arms to foreign adversaries. Like Mr. Ferrell, he has been arrested numerous times but never convicted. Unlike Mr. Ferrell, charges include assault and battery – evidently earlier in life he liked bar fights, domestic violence, and rape. He has settled numerous civil lawsuits aggregating more than ten million dollars. In his community, Mr. Patton is well-recognized as a benevolent leader, serving on the school board and as the president of his local metro district. There are only two reasons Mr. Patton is not at the top of our list. First, he travels abroad extensively and for extended periods primarily for pleasure; he likes exotic adventures. While we have not been able to compare his travel schedule to the timing of the known crimes, this seems inconsistent with what little we know about the purchaser of our serial killer’s videos. Secondly, the next guy is so compelling as to move Mr. Patton down on this list.”
Nick nodded indicating she should continue.
“This is going to be our guy.” She pointed at a picture. “The guy’s name is Mike Smith. Or, more specifically, his alias is Mike Smith. He lives in Toronto. Until five years ago, he didn’t exist. As you know, in this post-9/11 world, it takes some sophistication to change identities, and clearly he has done so successfully. He’s made a fortune dealing in dark web pornography in Toronto. Like Mr. Patton, he’s an expert technologically. We have been able to buy some of his less expensive products online to better understand transactionally how he goes about business. According to our experts, his approach to identity suppression, encryption, distribution, and money transfer is state-of-the-art. They said to me that no one dealing with products we were buying would have this type of capability, and even if they did, they would only use it if they were doing much sketchier things. He’s been investigated a number of times, but never even arrested. He shows no interest in violence, only in making as much money as possible. There is one specific reason I’m convinced it’s Mr. Smith. Cryptocurrency. Toronto detectives, under court authority during one of their investigations, were able to track cryptocurrency transactions. Don’t ask me how, I didn’t think that was possible. But they found Mr. Smith making million dollar plus transfers multiple times over the last year. And his receipts are far greater than his transfers out. Nothing Mr. Smith does legitimately approximates transactions this size. He does not deal drugs. The logical explanation is that he is acquiring these productions and then selling them to rich, dark-web customers. He’s our guy. I’m sure of it.”
Nick agreed these were the three leads to follow-up, with Mike Smith being first.
“How do you want to handle this?” he asked.
“I’m a small-town girl who’s moved up in the world to live in Grand Junction. I don’t have the first clue how to take this investigation to another country and to a city the size of Toronto. I need help.”
Nick appreciated Sandy Burns. She knew who she was. He appreciated she was far more than her humble, small town schtick suggested. Clearly, she could handle herself as well as any detective he knew.
“We’ll work with Bosworth and Chief Herde and make the appropriate contacts first thing tomorrow. I think it probably makes the most sense for you and Burleson both to head up there. We’ll see what the bosses think, but this is how we’re ultimately going to find this creep.”
Nick continued to work his investigation plan. Once fully updated, he emailed it out to the team.
Subject: Status of The Mayflower Investigations
Team Members-
We are now at the mission critical stage of this investigation. As you will see from the attached updated investigation plan, we are getting close. At the same time, this killer is likely pursuing or torturing his next victims. Time is of the essence. You know the drill. Eat. Sleep. Work. Mainly work.
Let’s get him!
Nick
He then crafted individual emails to each of the leads to detail expectations so they could get to work as soon as they arrived at the office in a few short hours. He left nothing to chance.
And, finally, he sent a note to both Bosworth and Herde updating them on the status. He emailed the bosses and copied the team on the note.
Subject: Status of The Mayflower Investigations
Chiefs-
We are now at a most critical stage of this investigation. Detective Burns has identified three suspects who may be the retailer purchasing the snuff videos. There is one we consider most likely. We will meet with Chief Bosworth first thing in the morning to go over our details.
Our primary suspect resides in Toronto, making coordination with law enforcement more difficult. I have the contact information for the appropriate authorities. Hopefully we can call them from Chief Bosworth’s office and arrange for Detective Burns, and others if deemed appropriate, to head up there. Best case scenario she’s headed up there later in the day after we talk to them.
Attached to this note is a PDF of the updated investigation plan along with a note I sent to the other team members immediately prior to sending this note.
We are getting close.
Detective Nicholas Lynch
Nick rose to leave shortly after 3 a.m. As he headed out, he saw Detective Burns was still working.
“You gotta get some sleep,” he said.
“Look who’s talking,” she replied without looking up.
“See you in the morning.”
Sandy looked up. “Sleep fast.”
Wednesday ⌁ day 17
“Lynch.” Nick answered the cell phone sleepily. He had dozed off around 3:30, shortly after he arriv
ed home. He knew a call at 4:30 in the morning could not be good news.
“Get your tired ass out of bed,” came Bosworth’s gruff voice. “I’m up, you’re up, that’s the way this works.”
“What’s up, boss?” he said.
“You have to head down to Colorado Springs. They found three bodies in a motel room. They’re dressed in old-timey clothes. There are no apparent wounds, and there’s no sign of a struggle. It’s like these folks went into that room, laid down, and died. It sounds like this is our guy’s calling card.
He was out of the house in fifteen minutes, stopping by the local Stop-N-Rob only long enough to stock up on donuts and coffee; he bought two of the twenty-four ounce, out-of-the-machine vanilla lattes. He would not sleep as he drove, nor go hungry. Living in Central Denver not far from police headquarters, it would take him less than an hour to drive to Colorado Springs. He would arrive awake, full of sugar and caffeine.
“Burleson?” he said, less than thirty minutes after Nick had offered the same greeting. Nick gave him the specifics and told him to cruise on down. He did not really need him there, but he thought it would be good for his development.
He also rang Sandy Burns and asked if she wanted to come down to the crime scene in Colorado Springs. She decided she would go ahead and sleep a little more and then meet with Bosworth and Herde as soon as she got in. She wanted to stay on track with heading to Toronto. Nick agreed with her logic.
Nick arrived at the Golden Arms Motel at 5:30 a.m. Located at the northern end of Colorado Springs in a working-class part of town, he saw the facility was well past whatever glory years it might have enjoyed. He surveyed the scene with first responders overwhelming the area and spotted his colleague.
“Detective Rhodes?” Nick asked as he flashed his badge and ID.
“Lynch, I’m glad you’re here,” Derrick Rhodes replied. “We have a mess. If this is tied into your serial killer, the sooner we figure it out the better.”
“Let’s see what you have,” he said.
“They’re still working the scene, so how about if you and I go have a little sit-down. We’ve taken over several of the rooms while we conduct the investigation. I have one to myself over here.” Nick followed Rhodes into the room and shut the door behind him.
Rhodes started. “Dispatch got a call a little after 2:00 a.m. from the motel manager that something suspicious was going on here. Normally he sleeps in the middle of the night with one of those night bells if someone wants to check in. But evidently about 1:45 one of the guests stumbled in drunk from that bar across the street. He couldn’t find his key, so he rang the manager and woke him up—not all that unusual according to the manager, no big deal. He walked the guy over to his room, got him in and situated, and all of that. He came back to the office, shut off all the lights, and was ready to settle back in when one of those small RV’s pulls into the parking lot and shuts its lights off as it goes around back. He gets make and model of vehicles when people register. The parking lot has a dedicated area for RV parking. He has not registered anyone with an RV in some time – it would be unusual this time of year. Plus, the whole lights thing was odd. He’s suspicious, so he quietly goes out the back door and looks around the corner. The guy has backed the RV up to room number thirty-two and has opened the two back doors. The manager watches, making sure the guy doesn’t see him. He sees the guy unloading something big, wrapped up, looks like a body to him. He comes back in and calls us.
“The guy on patrol for this area was on break, getting a cup of coffee, on the far side of town. Bad luck. He got here about 2:30. The RV was gone, so he went and knocked on the door. When there was no answer, he got a key from the manager and went in. He found three bodies. Given the circumstances, including what the manager told him, he was pretty certain these folks were dead. He moved in carefully, trying not to disturb the scene. At the same time, he had to clear the room for his own safety, so he did go into the bathroom area as well. He checked the victims for pulses. They were all cold to the touch, clearly deceased. He backed out and called it in.
“The manager told us it was too dark to get tag numbers or to see any distinguishing marks. He didn’t have his phone with him to take a picture. He did tell us it was a mid-sized class C motorhome. We’ll see what the next couple of hours bring, but that’s about all I have right now.”
Burleson knocked and walked into the room Detective Rhodes had secured for interviews and private conversations. Nick made the appropriate introductions and then proceeded to ask a couple of questions.
“How were the bodies positioned, Detective?” Burleson asked. “Or are they still the way they were found? I glanced in the room quickly before I came over here.”
“The coroner has already been in to examine them. She would have moved them, but I’m pretty sure it’s very close to the way they were found. I can get our photographer to show you the pictures on his digital camera if you like?”
“No, I think we’re good,” Burleson responded. “That positioning plus the fact they’re wearing those Victorian era type clothes certainly makes this his MO. I don’t think there’s enough information in the public sphere for us to have copycats yet.”
“And what about the rest of the room? Did you find any luggage, clothes, toiletries, anything like that?” Nick asked.
“Forensics is in there right now, so I haven’t had a good look yet. But when I did my brief survey, I didn’t see anything, at least nothing that I recall right now.”
They continued to talk for a few minutes, then someone knocked on the door and called Rhodes back into the middle of the investigation.
Nick and Vince remained at the crime scene until almost 9:00 a.m. Vince worked closely with the forensics team, pointing to things for them to consider based on the prior cases. Nick, with Rhodes’ consent, interviewed the motel manager and others at the scene. He discovered nothing Rhodes and his team had not already uncovered. Finally, Nick cornered Rhodes and said, “You have your hands full here, and I think we’ve done all we can. If you don’t need anything else, we’re going to head back to Denver. What we’ve done with the lead investigators in other cities is include them on the Governor’s task force. That’s what I’d like to do with you as well. Why don’t you talk to your boss once you clear out of here and get back to me?” He handed him a business card.
Rhodes said, “Good to meet you two. I’m sure we’ll be working together closely. Thanks for getting down here so quickly, you’ve helped me more than you know.” They shook hands and Derrick Rhodes headed back to the heart of the crime scene.
Nick dialed Sandy Burns as he rolled north toward Denver on I-25. She answered on the first ring.
“How did it go with Chief Bosworth?” Nick asked without preamble.
“Bosworth agreed I should head to Toronto. We checked with Chief Herde, and he’s on board, too. They’re both good with Vince going, too, but I’m guessing that’s off the table now.”
“Great. I didn’t expect push back, but you never know. I do think Vince should stay and work here. This is just getting bigger and bigger by the day.”
“What about Colorado Springs? What did you find? Is it related?”
“Yep, we have another one here. This is particularly gruesome with three victims.” He filled her in on the details and rang off.
Nick always did his best thinking over breakfast food and coffee. As he cruised back into Denver, he decided to stop at Mort’s Deli on First Avenue. Known as the best Jewish delicatessen in Denver, Nick couldn’t eat there often enough, whether for breakfast or lunch.
After ordering, he started looking at news notifications on his phone. The third one caught his eye. Gary Knight had returned home. He called up the story and saw Thomas Wylie’s byline.
Coalition of Values Leader Returns
By Thomas Wylie
Denver Post Investigative Reporter
Coalition of Values leader Gary Knight is returning this morning from California, according to
a source familiar with the organization’s activities. Reported missing more than a week ago, Mr. Knight was first heard from earlier today.
Speaking on the condition of anonymity, the source stated, “Mr. Knight has been tending to pressing personal issues and has been unavailable for public comment.” Repeated calls to the Coalition’s offices and several of the organization’s senior leaders were not returned.
Nick re-read the article. It was probably nothing, but Knight might be able to provide important information. What had he been doing during his absence? Nick smirked, thinking the guy probably shacked up for a week with a hooker, a bunch of booze, and maybe even some designer drugs. He laughed, then continued to scan his preferred news aggregator, making a mental note to call Thomas Wylie when he got back in the car.
His server arrived with eggs, French toast, two orders of hash browns extra crispy, fresh squeezed orange juice, hot maple syrup, ketchup, Tabasco, and additional hot coffee. “Can I get you anything else, hon?” she asked.
Nick surveyed the buffet then looked up. “I think that will get me for now.” She smiled and moved away.
As he sat at breakfast and scrolled through the investigation plan on his tablet, he allowed his mind to wander. It had been many months since Nick last fully engaged as a homicide detective, and he knew his skills were rusty when he first was assigned the Mayflower Case. As he sorted through the various leads in his mind, and the tentacled paths of leading the investigation, he realized his mind was sharpening again. Sad though it was, the rawness of Alisha’s murder was fading, being replaced by a detective’s burning desire to solve that murder. His investigation plan was solid. His mind was sharp. Wild Turkey was losing its grip.
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