by T. R. Ragan
Jessie frowned. She hadn’t seen anyone but Zee in the pictures. “What guy?”
“The guy taking the picture. Here. Look.”
Jessie examined the photo. The man’s reflection was hard to see at first glance, but it was there. Her heart thumped inside her chest. Olivia was right. It looked like a young man holding the camera. “With the sun shining on him,” Jessie commented, “his reflection is sort of distorted, and his face looks kind of blurry.”
“Yeah, you’re right.”
“What is he wearing?”
“Looks like a pair of jeans,” Olivia said. “And a short-sleeved blue-collared shirt.”
“No, not a short-sleeved shirt, but long sleeves rolled up to his elbows,” Jessie amended, her face pressed close to Olivia’s as they both stared at the picture. “I’d say his hair is light brown and short.”
Olivia agreed. “He could be anybody,” she said. “I mean, there’s nothing about him that stands out. We can’t see his eyes or his nose. It’s almost impossible to tell how tall he is. Talk about looking for a needle in a haystack.”
“It’s a place to start.”
“What do you do now?”
“I’m going to have this image blown up, and then I’m going to show it to people living in the Gatleys’ neighborhood and see if anyone recognizes him. But first I need to show it to Zee’s father.”
“Cool. Why don’t you make two copies? That way we can show twice as many people in the same amount of time.”
“We?”
“I want to go with you. I’ll have plenty of time later to work on my report. Please?”
Jessie thought about leaving Olivia at home, but then she was reminded of the look on Colin’s face the last time she’d seen him. Only a few blocks away, a woman had been taken from her home. Olivia was coming with her.
“Fine,” Jessie said. “I’m going to get ready. Then we’ll take Higgins for a walk around the block before we go.”
“I can take him.”
“No. I want to go with you. We’ll go together.”
TWENTY-FOUR
When Colin walked into the crime lab, Evelyn Klein, longtime friend and forensic pathologist, was waiting for him. They both wore blue, ankle-length, long-sleeve surgical gowns, shoe covers, and latex gloves.
On the steel table in front of Evelyn was Garrett Ramsey, his pale, ashy flesh stretched tautly over bone. His feet were swollen, blackening; his eyes were bulging, marked by severe trauma; and his throat stretched and circled with a reddish-purple welt.
“His expression says it all,” Evelyn said.
Colin nodded as he continued his own examination. The burn marks on Garrett Ramsey’s legs were easy to identify, same with the markings made from a whip or belt across his abdomen. He pointed to the bloody holes in the man’s hands. “Any idea what caused those?”
“Looks like nails.” She picked up a hand to show him that the hole went clear through. “This man was tortured in every way imaginable. These stab wounds,” she said, her gloved finger following the path along the length of his arm, “were made postmortem.” She sighed. “This is what I do every day. I thought I’d seen it all. But this nonsensical mutilation after a body has already begun to decompose is beyond comprehension. Plainly put,” she went on, “we’ve got one sick fuck out there roaming the streets, and I’ll be sleeping with one eye open.”
“What about the twins?”
“One of them was hung by the feet. That would have been a slow, painful death. The other girl looks a lot like this man. Poked and prodded, burned and mutilated with multiple objects. We’ll know more later, but it’s my opinion the twins have been dead over a month. Some of the injuries had time to heal; others were newer, which tells me, based on the dates they were reported missing, they were tortured continuously during their captivity. Once they passed, their bodies were preserved in cold storage before the final staging.”
“How could you tell?”
“The photographs taken at the site of disposal show surface ice crystals and condensation on the skin. By the time the bodies got to me, the bodies had thawed, but some of the organs were still hard. The freezing didn’t hide the mutilation or torture, but it does make it more difficult to calculate time of death.” She gestured toward pictures clipped to a corkboard. “I was using pictures to see if I could make comparisons between the twins and Garrett Ramsey. You can see that the girls’ skin, after thawing, is red, fading to a leathery brown instead of yellow. Nose, ears, and tips of fingers on both girls are blackened.”
He walked that way to examine the pictures. Sure enough, the areas mentioned looked like freezer burn. Feeling nauseated, he went back to his place on the other side of the dead man and decided not to absorb the information until later. To think about what those girls had been put through would not help him move forward. “What about sexual abuse?”
She shook her head. “Hymens are intact—both girls. No signs of sexual abuse on any of the three victims.”
That information was consistent with the Heartless Killer’s MO. He wasn’t a sexual predator. This was about control. He tortured and killed because it made him feel powerful. Some might argue he was simply a psycho who gained pleasure from the acts he committed.
“After CT scans were completed and blood was drawn,” Evelyn said, “my preliminary examination revealed something I knew you would want to see.”
He followed her to the counter that ran along the back wall by the sink. She removed a green surgical towel from atop a metal tray. Underneath was what looked like a small, bloodied organ about the size of his thumb. “What is it?”
“The heart of a chicken,” Evelyn said. “It was found lodged in Garrett Ramsey’s throat.”
Before he could ask, she added, “Same with the girls.” Evelyn then reached for a lone glass slide, the kind you would put under a microscope, and held it up for him to see.
“It looks like a hair.”
She nodded. “Identical hairs were found on both girls.”
“Human or animal?”
“The lab is still processing, but I think you should know I grew up on a horse farm. The hairs found are coarse and have a mosaic pattern, which are consistent with horsehairs. I should note, however, that animal hairs, as a rule, do not possess enough individual microscopic characteristics to be associated with a particular animal to the exclusion of other similar animals.”
He felt lightness in his chest. “So, there’s a good chance the killer could be living on a farm?”
She shrugged. “Could be a ranch, a farm, someone who owns or works with horses. But you didn’t hear that from me,” she said. “It would be wrong of me to suggest one thing or another before the final analysis and diagnosis has been reached.”
“Got it.” Although it was too early to jump to any conclusion—especially one that could easily lead him and his team down the wrong path—he was hopeful. If the final analysis proved that the hairs could be identified as horsehair, it was more than they had at the moment. And it was the first time a hair from a victim of the Heartless Killer had been identified as not belonging to the victim. There were few, if any, cases he could think of where the case was solved as a result of animal-hair findings. But this was different from finding a cat or dog hair. “Anything else I should know?” he asked Evelyn.
“No. I’ll call you if anything else comes up.”
“Thanks.” Colin peeled off his gloves and tossed them in the garbage.
When he got to the door, she said, “Catch that guy, would you? I need to get some sleep.”
TWENTY-FIVE
Jessie parked in front of Arlo’s house, but before she or Olivia could climb out of the car, she saw the front door open.
“Stay here,” she told Olivia as she reached for the picture, “while I talk to Zee’s dad.”
Arlo stepped out of the house and shut the door behind him. “What are you doing here?” he asked, seemingly put out by her visit.
Ignoring his
bluster, she handed him the eight-by-ten photo she’d had blown up and pointed at the man in the reflection of Zee’s sunglasses. “Look at that man,” she said. “He’s holding a Polaroid camera and taking Zee’s picture. Have you ever seen him before?”
He looked at it for a long while, his trembling hands causing the photo to shake. A light sheen of sweat covered his forehead, and for the life of her, she had no idea what was going through his mind. Afraid to ask him if he was okay, since that hadn’t gone well the first time she’d met him, she simply waited for him to talk.
A solid two minutes passed before he looked back at Jessie. His eyes appeared glossy. Was he going to cry? “What is it?” she asked.
He handed her the picture, pushing it into her hands as if he wanted nothing more to do with it. “I’ve never seen him before.”
The shocker was when he turned away and headed back for the front door.
“Arlo,” she said, stopping him in his tracks, “this is our best clue so far. If you want me to find Zee, then you’re going to need to help me.”
He turned to her and said, “What do you want me to do? I’m paying you to do your job, so do it.”
She held her ground. “There has to be someone who might be able to tell me who this man is. You and Zee must have friends or family or someone—anyone at all—who might know who this man is.”
“I filled out your paperwork.”
“And I read every word,” she said.
“Then you know there’s nobody for you to talk to.”
“You don’t have a brother, sister, or parents?”
“I have a brother in Minnesota who I haven’t seen or talked to in twenty years. That’s it.”
“Can you tell me his name?”
He sighed. “Zee has never met him, and I’ve never spoken to her of my brother, but his name is Waylon. There. I hope that helps. I’ve got to go.”
With that said, Arlo walked back into his house and shut the door behind him, leaving Jessie to wonder if all his neighbors were right about the man. And then she thought of Zee and headed back to the car. “Come on,” she said to Olivia when she climbed out. “We’ll leave the car parked here while we go door-to-door.”
“He looked angry. Was he mad at you?”
Jessie lifted her arms in frustration. “I have no idea. But I’ve made the decision not to give up on Zee.”
“Yeah,” Olivia said. “I agree. I just hope she’s okay.”
“Me, too.”
Jessie was worn-out by the time she knocked on the front door of a one-story yellow house with a green roof and white shutters. Directly across the street, she saw Olivia talking to a woman with small kids clinging to her legs. They had been at it for two hours, showing the blown-up blurry image of a man’s reflection to anyone who would take a look. No luck so far, which was understandable, considering the picture they had to work with.
Like the last time she’d been in the neighborhood, many of Arlo’s neighbors were reluctant to talk, especially after they realized she was working for Arlo Gatley. His neighbors were wary of him. Arlo was odd, they would say. He drove too fast. He never waved hello as they drove by, and he was quick to call city officials to complain if they didn’t cut their lawns, and so on, and so on.
Most of the people she’d talked to so far knew Arlo and his daughter. They also knew Zee was missing but were convinced she’d simply run away. Although a few of the neighbors had made a halfhearted attempt to assure Jessie she would show up sooner rather than later, it was obvious by their tone of voice and mannerisms that they didn’t care one way or another.
When no one answered the door, Jessie turned to leave. Before she took more than two steps, she heard a quiet voice. It took her a second to realize someone was talking to her through a partially opened window.
“Are you Jessie Cole, the investigator everyone says is making the rounds?”
Jessie squinted her eyes but still couldn’t make out a shape. The voice definitely sounded female. “That’s me,” Jessie said. “I was hoping you could tell me if you recognize the man in this picture.” She held up the photo.
“Meet me at the gate to the side yard. I’ll be right there.”
Jessie took the long way around so she wouldn’t step on the grass. The gate creaked open, and she joined the woman on the other side. The woman looked to be in her late forties, with auburn hair and a friendly face.
“I’m Gina. Let’s see what you have there.”
Jessie handed her the photo and pointed out the person in the reflection of Zee’s sunglasses.
“My husband and I try to stay out of all the drama that goes on around here,” she said as she examined the photo.
Jessie said nothing.
Gina straightened and handed the picture back. “I don’t recognize him. I’m sorry.”
“What about Zee Gatley?” Jessie asked. “Before she went missing, did you ever see her pass by?”
“I work from home, so, yes, I see her walk by fairly often. I’d be surprised if there was even one person in the neighborhood who hadn’t seen Zee walking along the street at some point or another.”
“Have you ever seen her with anyone?”
Gina considered that for a moment. “No. My windows are usually open, and I do hear her talking to herself on occasion.” She frowned. “What’s wrong with her—do you know?”
“She has schizophrenia, which has caused her to suffer from a faulty perception of reality.”
“How sad. I’ve never talked to her, but I should have at least tried.” She shifted her weight from one side to the other. “I’m sure you’ve heard that Zee isn’t the first young woman to disappear from this area.”
“Nobody has mentioned anything,” Jessie said.
“Four years ago Beth Cordell, a sixteen-year-old girl who lived two doors down, went to get the mail and was never seen again. It was all over the news. There were search parties, all the usual events that happen when a child goes missing, but she was never found, and her parents have since moved away.”
Jessie wondered why Arlo hadn’t mentioned Beth Cordell’s name. “Is there anything else you think might be helpful for me to know?”
“Afraid that’s all I’ve got. I should go now, but I do hope you find her.”
Jessie thanked her before heading out through the gate. She jogged across the street. Olivia was no longer talking to the woman with the young kids, so she continued on down the road.
The names Zee Gatley and Beth Cordell swirled about in her mind as she picked up her pace, keeping an eye out for Olivia as she went along.
Two girls on the same block had gone missing.
Shivers raced up her spine.
A car drove slowly by. An old man in the back seat stared at her. His lips were moving. He was telling the driver to stop and let him out. The car made a left at the corner and disappeared.
She felt as if she were in The Twilight Zone.
A dog barked in the distance. Where was Olivia?
She spotted an open garage. There was a man fiddling around inside. “Excuse me,” Jessie called to him. “Did you happen to see anyone walk by here in the last five to ten minutes?”
“No. Sorry.”
“Are you sure?” Jessie asked, trying not to panic. “She’s fourteen, and she has brown hair.” Jessie touched her own hair. “Darker than mine.”
“I’m sure I didn’t see anyone,” he said with a tinge of annoyance. “But I did go inside for some water, and she could have snuck by without my noticing.”
She thanked him as she walked off, looking both ways, seeing nothing. “Olivia!” she called out as she pulled out her cell phone and dialed her number. Her call went directly to voice mail. “Olivia, where are you? Call me right back.”
Maybe Olivia had headed back for the car, Jessie thought as she turned around, calling her name as she went. All the emotions from the days after Sophie went missing came rushing back.
“Olivia!” she called out once agai
n, louder this time. Before she reached the car, she spotted Olivia up ahead, exiting the same house where Jessie had seen her last.
Olivia looked her way and waved, oblivious to the turmoil Jessie was experiencing.
“Don’t ever do that again,” Jessie said when she approached, trying hard to catch her breath, angry and relieved at the same time.
“Do what?”
“I had no idea where you went.”
“I saw you slip through the side gate across the street,” Olivia said, “so when Mrs. Goodman invited me inside, I figured it would be fine.”
Jessie started walking toward her car parked at the curb. She could hear Olivia’s footsteps directly behind her on the sidewalk.
“Are you mad at me?”
Jessie stopped and turned around. “No.” She took a breath. “I was scared. It turns out that Zee might not be the only young woman who disappeared from this area.” She paused, thought about what she was feeling. “When I couldn’t find you, I panicked. It was my fault. I never should have let you out of my sight.”
“I was right by the front door the entire time. I’m not a little kid.”
“You’re right. I have a lot going on right now. Colin stopped by last night to let me know the Heartless Killer is on the prowl again. My every nerve is shot.”
Jessie opened the car door and climbed in behind the wheel.
Olivia opened the passenger door and said, “Can I drive?”
“No.”
“I’ll be fifteen soon. I need to learn to drive sooner or later.”
“No. Get in.”
Olivia shut the door and buckled her seat belt.
Neither of them said a word for the rest of the drive. Jessie’s adrenaline was still working overtime when they reached Sacramento. For a moment in time, she’d thought she might have lost Olivia. It was something she never wanted to experience again.
TWENTY-SIX
The most important part of Ben’s job as a crime reporter was spending time on the crime beat. He hung around police stations, firehouses, and medical technicians. He’d gone on countless ride-alongs and had been walked through unsolved cases with a number of homicide detectives. He knew the judicial process because of long hours spent in the courthouse. He knew what police officers and detectives dealt with on a daily basis.