An artist’s rendition of John was rendered and passed around to all law enforcement agencies. When Erica and Owens approached Jude to ask for his aid in assisting the creation of a more detailed likeness of his brother. He refused.
“I’m not going to help anyone hunt down my brother. I still think he’s as innocent as I am.”
“DNA doesn’t lie,” Owens told him.
“That might be so, but you admitted that the sample you tested it against was flawed.”
“Yes, but we’ve obtained a new definitive sample, along with fingerprints. While the new test results have yet to come back, your brother’s prints have been found to match those left at the scene of one of Traveler’s murders. Mr. Rowland, your brother is Traveler.”
Jude’s eyes squinted in suspicion. “Where did you obtain this new evidence?”
“We’re not at liberty to say,” Owens told him.
Jude scowled at Owens’ refusal to answer him, then brushed aside his assertion.
“Even if my brother’s prints were found at a murder scene that doesn’t mean Johnny isn’t being framed somehow.”
“True,” Owens said, “but it does make him our top suspect.”
* * *
Although she didn’t tell Jude about it, Erica was looking into the possibility of a set-up. If someone framed Jude for the Wildcard murders, that same someone could be framing his brother too.
The can of spray paint left behind at the scene where a prostitute was murdered was bound to be linked to Wildcard. At the same time, by killing a call girl in a manner similar to the way others had been killed by Traveler, it placed those hunting the serial killer on alert.
If Jude were being framed, and Erica was leaning toward that being the case, the person doing the framing would have to have known that Jude would be investigated thoroughly. Such an investigation would include a look at his brother, that would bring up the murder John was suspected of committing when he was eighteen. Since the murder victim was a prostitute, another tenuous tie to Traveler would be established.
However, few people knew that the FBI had a sample of Traveler’s DNA. Certainly no one outside law enforcement circles had known, not until Jude Rowland was let in on it. That left a smaller pool of suspects who might be behind any attempts at framing John and Joey Revene. When you factored in who would have a motive, Chief Connors stood out like a lighthouse in a storm.
Erica could believe in the chief’s guilt except for one thing, his motive didn’t seem strong enough to have him involved in the murders of innocent people. Erica wasn’t fond of the chief, but Connors had a fine reputation as a law officer. Then again, there was Linda Perkins’ suspicion that the chief had tampered with evidence in a drug case to help his son avoid an assault charge.
Still, if Jude were being framed, it would be by someone who had more to gain than simple vengeance for past slights. Erica had an idea who that person might be. If she was correct, their motivation was greed.
* * *
Jurisdictional disputes were common whenever the FBI investigated crime in a small town. Local law enforcement naturally felt as if they had been pushed aside and even belittled by their federal cousins.
With Chief Connors having a personal connection to their main suspect, Erica and Owens were more inclined toward keeping him out of the loop of the investigation.
The chief’s unilateral decision to search Jude Rowland’s home was his way of telling them that he was still in control. Had it not yielded fruit, the greatest of which was the discovery of two homicide victims, Erica and Owens would have considered taking action against him.
Nonetheless, it was inevitable that tensions would come to a head. They did so the afternoon following the search of Jude’s property.
* * *
Erica and Owens were sitting side-by-side at a wobbly wooden desk in a cramped room at the police station. The “room” was a large supply closet that had been cleared out to give Erica and Owens a place to work. It sat several feet from the station’s rear door, and cold air seeped in from outside.
Along with keeping their coats on, Erica and Owens also had to prop the door open. The room, chilled as it was, would have been even colder if they shut the door, since there were no heat vents in the floorboards.
As they were discussing what their next move should be regarding Jude, the chief filled the doorway. When they looked up from the laptop screen before them, Erica and Owens saw that Chief Connors’ face was flushed.
“Why are you two investigating my son?”
“Who claims we are?” Owens said.
Connors pointed at him. “Don’t even try it. I know what you’re up to, what I don’t know is why? It’s insane to think my son could be a killer.”
“He does have a history of violence against women, Chief,” Erica said.
“That was years ago, and one incident, plus, the charges were dropped.”
“Yes, and since then, the victim was murdered by an unknown assailant.”
That was news the chief hadn’t known. His shoulders sagged as he asked, “Keri Jones is dead?”
“That’s right, and your son knew her.”
“Zach didn’t kill her… wouldn’t kill her.”
“We’re not saying he did, we just want to question him,” Erica said.
“Where are you holding my son?”
“Excuse me?”
“Don’t play dumb, lady. I know you have my boy locked up somewhere.”
“That’s not true, but we would like to speak with him.”
The chief was shaking his head as Erica spoke. “You’re lying. He’s locked up somewhere. I left Zach a message on his phone and he always gets back to me within a few hours. It’s been nearly a day and I haven’t heard from him. That’s not like Zach.”
“I’m not lying. Now, let me ask you a question. Why did you leak details of the investigation to the Techno-Tattler?”
“The what?” the chief said, although he knew what Erica meant.
“You heard me, and I’m certain you’re the one who leaked the story. Why, Chief? Did they pay you? Or maybe you’re determined to make Jude Rowland look guilty, to steer the investigation away from your son, hmm?”
“You must be stupid to think my boy is capable of murder.”
“The evidence says otherwise.”
“What evidence?”
Erica opened a manila folder and took out a photograph. It was a magnified still shot gleaned from a video. The photo showed a man sitting sideways in the cab of a tractor-trailer. Although the quality was less than perfect, the man in the photo was recognizable as the chief’s son, Zach Connors.
“That was taken by a security camera in the parking lot of a diner in Fort Collins, Colorado. The diner is a block away from where the body of Wildcard victim Angela Shaffer was found.”
Connors snatched the photo from her hand and studied it.
“This… it means nothing. If Zach was there it was only a coincidence.”
“Maybe, or maybe he’s our killer.”
Connors stepped up to Erica, then glared down at her as he spoke through gritted teeth.
“Listen to me, you bitch. My son is off-limits. Joey is your Wildcard killer and you know it.”
“Call me all the names you want but we’re moving ahead with our investigation of your son. As for Jude, he’s looking more innocent each day.”
The chief’s lips formed into a smile. “Jude? You’re on a first name basis with him now, hmm? I also know that you’ve spent time alone with that bastard in his house this morning. What happened? Did Joey charm the skirt right off you?”
“You’re out of line, Chief,” Owens bellowed, as he shot to his feet.
Erica held up a hand to indicate to her partner that she didn’t need his help.
“Chief, let’s get something straight here and now. Brad and I are running this investigation, not you. If you get in our way, I will bring you up on charges and slap your fat ass in one of your own
jail cells. Don’t… push… me.”
The chief reddened once again as he tried to stare Erica down. In the end, he was forced to avert his gaze. After sending a foul look at Owens, the chief went back down the corridor and turned left to head to his office. The slamming of his office door reverberated throughout the station.
* * *
At a truck stop in Stockertown, Pennsylvania, John Revene was watching a prostitute named Tilly as she climbed out of the cab of a Peterbilt. Tilly was a hooker, what truckers called a lot lizard. She had just serviced her fifth customer of the day. As he studied her, John imagined how good it would feel to slide a knife between her ribs.
Tilly took his staring for interest and walked over to him. John wasn’t looking for sex or his next victim, he was at the truck stop to hitch a ride to New Hampshire. By now, the Feds had probably figured out that his brother’s blood was a close match to the sample they had tested it against. If so, he must be high on their list of most wanted.
Traveling by truck was a good way to avoid them, but it was time consuming to find someone willing to give a ride to a stranger. After four hours of trying, John had found a guy who agreed to take him as far as Paterson, New Jersey. He was standing outside the man’s rig and waiting for him to return from playing a slot machine.
Tilly looked older up close than she had from a distance. In fact, John placed her age north of forty. That may have saved her life; he mostly killed women who were younger than thirty. Tilly also had a large nose for a woman, and her pupils were dilated.
“Hey, baby, you want a date?”
John smiled at her. “I could actually use a favor.”
“I don’t do favors, unless there’s cash involved.”
John brought out money from a side pocket.
“I’ll pay you forty bucks to do one simple thing.”
Tilly looked him over. “Add ten dollars to that and you can take me for a ride.”
John didn’t have the I.Q. or imagination that Jude possessed. And yet, one trait he shared with his younger brother was the ability to disguise his emotions. That was why he was able to hide the feeling of revulsion that passed through him as he imagined having sex with Tilly.
He looked her over while issuing a phony sigh of regret.
“I wish I had the time, baby, but I’m headed out any minute, but listen, here’s what I’d like you to do…”
* * *
Four hours later, Tilly placed a battery into a cell phone and powered it on. It was a phone she had received from John. He had to explain to her three times how to reinstall the battery. Tilly still managed to lose one of the screws that held the phone’s backing in place. It was the same cell phone that Jude had given John to stay in touch.
As Tilly climbed into the cab of a south-bound tractor-trailer she tucked the phone into the crease of the passenger seat.
After leaving another satisfied customer happier than he’d been before meeting her, Tilly left the truck and sashayed toward the truck stop’s diner. The forty dollars John had given her to dispose of the phone was the easiest money she’d ever made.
* * *
The driver of the tractor-trailer later stopped for gas in Maryland. Due to the motion of the truck and the tenuous connection the battery had with the phone, the device had been connecting and disconnecting throughout the trip. As he was getting out to use the station’s bathroom, the truck driver saw something glinting out of the crack, where the passenger seat and its back were joined. It was a corner of John’s phone, which had reflected the station’s overhead fluorescent lighting.
The man plucked the phone from the seat, as he did so it lit up. He soon realized that it had a password protected screen. He turned it off and tossed it on the seat, dislodging the battery.
Ten minutes later, he was back on the road and headed toward Georgia, blissfully unaware of how close he had come to being detained by the FBI.
Federal agents and state police vehicles had been closing in on the trucker by tracking the phone’s intermittent signal. They were all on the hunt for a serial killer named Traveler, and they were being led on a fruitless chase.
Meanwhile, John Revene was still headed home to Sanguine.
Chapter Thirty-Two
FAIRFAX, VIRGINIA
Susan Thomas pushed along the stroller containing her five-month-old daughter as she enjoyed the unseasonable weather. The temperature was only sixty-nine degrees, but it was sunny and bright. After the frigid temperatures of the last two weeks of cloudy and snowy weather, it felt like a warm spring day.
The baby, Sophia, had been a bear to deal with lately, as she was teething. Because of the weather, Susan had been trapped inside with her. Fortunately, Sophia’s teething troubles seemed to have gone away. Thanks to the warmer weather, mother and daughter could spend a few hours in the nearby park and get a break from being cooped up inside their home.
Susan lived with her husband in a row of townhouses. It was a nice area, with people who were either retired or young professionals. Susan still worked as a freelance website designer. She was able to handle only about a quarter of her usual workload while her husband cared for the baby in the evenings and on Saturdays. As Sophia grew older and entered school, Susan would increase her work obligations.
She loved being a full-time mother but was glad she could keep working at least part-time. Thank God for the internet.
Susan paused the stroller after hearing a cry of distress from Sophia.
“What’s wrong, honey?”
Sophia was still too young to talk; however, she was great at gesturing. When she began pointing at the ground, Susan understood what had happened. The baby’s favorite stuffed toy, Mr. Kitty Cat, had fallen from the carriage. When Susan looked back the way they’d come, she saw the bright orange toy lying on the sidewalk.
“It’s okay, baby. Mommy will get Mr. Kitty Cat.”
Susan made the front wheels of the stroller straight, then locked them in place. After pecking Sophia on the nose with a kiss, she walked back to gather up the dropped toy. As Susan bent down to grab it, she heard a rumbling noise.
The sound had been made by the opening of a garage door. Susan looked to see where the noise had come from and gazed on in horror as a car backed out of a garage. Sophia and the stroller were in the path of the reversing automobile.
Susan dropped the toy she had just retrieved as she screamed for the driver to stop. The elderly man was unaware of her shouts or of the child behind him. Among his frailties was a loss of hearing and the onset of dementia. The man was Albert Owens. He was Brad Owens’ father.
Susan raced over, reached down, and plucked her daughter from the stroller. Before she could get clear the vehicle struck her.
As her mother fell to the ground, baby Sophia left her embrace and tumbled onto grass. Her wailing was as loud as her mother’s cry of agony.
* * *
Erica and Owens were entering the Sanguine Hotel when Owens’ phone rang. Erica had caught movement coming from the back room behind the front desk. The door leading to the room was sitting open a crack and she could see Molly Jackson having an animated discussion with her nephew, Simon DeVeaux.
Molly appeared to be livid over something and looked as if she were issuing orders to Simon. The hotel clerk placed a hand on Molly’s shoulder to calm her down as they moved out of view.
When Owens whispered the words, “Oh no,” Erica turned her attention to him. She watched the color leave Owens’ face as he received bad news from his sister. When the call ended, Owens plopped into one of the lobby’s leather wingchairs.
“There’s been an accident involving my father.”
“Is he all right?”
“He’s shaken up, and has a minor injury… but Erica, he nearly ran his car over a woman and her baby as he was backing out of his garage.”
“Oh God, were they injured?”
Owens swallowed a lump in his throat before he could answer.
“The woman was
struck, and her right leg was broken, but the baby is fine. The thing is, after my dad realized what he’d done, he panicked. Dad stomped on the gas after putting the car in drive and drove back into the garage, where he hit the rear wall. My sister says he has an abrasion on his forehead due to the airbag going off. There was damage to the car’s front end as well.”
“It sounds horrible, but it also seems as if it could have been tragic.”
“Yes, thank God the baby is all right. Listen, I need to head home. I’m sorry to leave you in the middle of an investigation but I have to go see my father.”
“Of course, and I won’t be alone. Troy Carson is here, and Whitford is on his way with a team. Don’t worry about the damn case, Brad, see to your family.”
Owens nodded, and Erica reached out and took his hand, to give it a squeeze.
“Maybe this will make your father realize he needs help.”
“I hope so.”
When his phone emitted a text message sound, Owens’ brow furrowed from worry, as he feared more bad news from his sister. That concern vanished when Erica’s phone made the same familiar sound an instant later. Whenever that happened, it meant a message was coming in to them both that was work-related.
It was a message from Whitford concerning Traveler. The text informed them that it appeared John Revene was headed south, but that they had lost his trail in Baltimore.
Erica made a frustrated sound in her throat. “Damn, Revene must have decided that it was too risky to come back here, even though Jude was waiting to hand him money.”
“The money wouldn’t do him any good in prison,” Owens said. “I guess this shouldn’t surprise us, after all, John Revene has managed to stay off the grid for decades. We should have expected him to have good instincts.”
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