February's Regrets (Larry Macklin Mysteries Book 4)

by A. E. Howe

  “I need to go. Ivy’s waiting for me.”

  He nodded and walked me out to my car.

  I texted Pete Saturday morning and we agreed to meet at Winston’s Grill. I drove by Dr. Barnhill’s on the way and was rewarded with the sight of Cara outside walking a sulky-looking English Bulldog. I parked the car and walked over to them.

  “You don’t look very happy,” I told the Bulldog

  Cara gave me a wide smile, then turned her attention back to the dog. “His parents had to go out of town and Gorignak is not a big fan of our resort. Even though he gets all kinds of special attention,” she said, frowning down at the stocky beast.

  “I gotta ask… Gorignak?”

  “The rock monster from Galaxy Quest. His owners are big-time geeks. He goes by Nakie for short. Nakie, which rhymes with snackie.” He looked up at her as soon as he heard the word snackie. “Not for you, chubbo,” she told him.

  “Ouch, tough love. I’m on my way to meet Pete.”

  “There’s a front page article on the Tallahassee Democrat’s website about the body they found. Is there really a serial killer here in Adams County?”

  “He’s been here for more than fifteen years.”

  “That’s what the article said. I guess our afternoon together is off, huh?” I appreciated that she didn’t make it sound like a complaint.

  “I’m sorry.” I apologized anyway.

  “No worries. I wish I could help.”

  “Just stay safe.” We kissed lightly and I bent down to pet Nakie before heading off to meet Pete.

  The parking lot at Winston’s was full. Not surprising. I’m sure that half the folks there wanted to talk about the latest Swamp Hacker killing. Pete was already making inroads into his rancher breakfast, which included three eggs, bacon, hash browns and a short stack of pancakes.

  “Dieting today?” I couldn’t help kidding him, but I worried about him sometimes.

  “Hey, everyone has their vices. Gluttony is mine. The people you have to worry about are the ones who don’t wear their vices out in public.” He pointed his fork at me and arched his eyebrows.

  “Stupidity is mine. And I think everyone is well aware of it,” I informed him. I took out the list Dad had given me and placed it upside down on the table so that prying eyes at other tables wouldn’t get a look at it. Pete put his fork down and picked it up.

  “Dad gave that to me last night. A little over a hundred names that they were looking at last time around.”

  Mary walked up to the table with her pad in hand. I was glad to see a familiar face after my last visit.

  “Not cooking today?” I asked her. Mary’s dad, the owner of the Grill and its namesake, had recently let her move up from waiting tables to cooking.

  “No, Dad felt like coming in and taking over the spatula this morning.” She smiled broadly as she poured my coffee. Mary had been a bit worried about her father lately. Her mother had left them last year and she’d felt that he was letting his depression get the best of him.

  “Glad he’s doing better,” I told her. “I’ll take a short stack. Maple syrup.” She jotted it down and left.

  Pete and I decided that we’d split up the list and try to eliminate as many of the names as we could. We also needed to go through the forensic evidence from sixteen years ago. We’d need to take some of it to Dr. Darzi so that he could compare the cases to the latest victims. Leon County had already given him their records after they made the connection to the first victim. In theory, what they had from the previous cases should have been the same as what we had, but theory ain’t fact.

  Pete looked around the restaurant. “Everyone’s talking about it. Maybe we’ll get lucky and someone will remember something.”

  “Which reminds me. We need to organize a canvass of the neighborhood between the Sweet Spot and Dawn’s house.”

  “That’ll be fun. How many doors can we get slammed in our faces in one day?” Pete asked sarcastically, but then he thought about it for a moment. “Or maybe not. When they learn that this predator is stalking their streets, we might get some cooperation.”

  “A few of our deputies have a good relationship with the community. I’ll get with them. If they’re part of the group, we might stand a chance of reaching folks.”

  “Tomorrow’s Sunday. After church would be good. Everyone will have heard about it by then.”

  “And that’ll give us some time to put it together,” I said, starting in on the pancakes Mary had brought me. I’d sort of come to prefer her cooking to her dad’s, but I was glad he was getting himself back together. I saw him come out front to talk to a couple of customers and he waved to Pete as we were paying.

  Back at the office we carried the files from the first attacks into a conference room where we could spread everything out on the table. Then we split the list in half and started going through the names. Beside each name was a list of the suspect’s vital statistics. All of the suspects were thirty or over at the time.

  “Why not any younger suspects?”

  “They were going by this.” I held up an official profile report that they had received from the FBI. “Standard stuff. White male, between thirty and forty, probably not married, possible record of animal abuse and/or arson, may be disfigured or have a speech impediment, possible anger management issues, probably has a working-class job.” I read the list quickly.

  “Agents get paid for that? These days with computers they can just copy and paste it in response to any request they get.”

  “Hey, they might have to make some changes. There wasn’t any sex involved with these murders, so they couldn’t say anything about… Oh wait, I missed it. Here it is—possible sexual performance issues. You’re right. The job’s not much different than a fortune teller. Make it all vague enough and when they catch the guy you can point out how right you were.”

  “We’d better quit criticizing other people’s work and do our own,” Pete said.

  It was a long process of phone calls and checking public records.

  “I’m down to fifteen still in town and seemingly in good health,” I said.

  “I’ve only got ten left. Ten of mine are in jail for other crimes, some moved, some are dead, five of those from drug overdoses. So twenty-five names. We should go through the files and pull out the names of some of the younger people associated with the crimes. I’m not buying the original assumption about his age.”

  “I agree. That’s going to take a while. We can pull in a few more people to help,” I suggested.

  “How much of this do you think is available digitally?” Pete asked, looking at the piles of case records.

  “If it was just our department, I’d think that a lot of it wouldn’t be. But Leon County was the lead, so I’d say a fair amount.”

  I picked up the phone, called their office and asked to speak with Tolland. There was hesitation until I mentioned which case I was working on. He was on the phone in a couple of minutes. First thing he did was give me his cell phone number.

  “How are you all doing?” He didn’t seem at all surprised that we were working on a Saturday.

  “We’re going through a list of names that Dad gave me. We’ve eliminated most of them. Would you all have been using the same list?”

  “Not originally. But your dad and I corrected that as soon as he became sheriff. It was one of the first things he wanted to do. He and I spent a couple of weekends going over everything and trying to synchronize the two investigations. Sixteen years ago we had a couple of sheriffs who didn’t really get along, so they kept a tight rein on us. Didn’t want to share everything. But your dad and I fixed that. The list he gave you would be the one that he and I put together.”

  “How much of the records has been digitalized?”

  “Most of it. Ted and I had the paper reports from Adams County scanned in when we went over everything.”

  “We’ve scheduled the autopsy for Monday morning. I talked to Darzi, and he didn’t see any need
to rush it. He did pull some samples to begin the lab work,” I said.

  “I’ll be there.”

  I started to tell him the assumptions we were making in putting together a suspect list, but he interrupted me. “I’d rather we go our own ways for now and then get together and compare notes in a few days. That way there’s less chance that we’ll get into… What do they call it? Group think or a feedback loop?”

  I was beginning to understand why Dad had so much respect for Tolland. I told him we’d see him Monday and hung up.

  “Why were you so interested in getting all the files online?” I asked Pete.

  “I thought we might ask one of the IT guys to put them all together and do a word search. I’d be interested in the names that come up most often.”

  “I get it. Killers, particularly publicity-seeking killers, often hover around the investigation.”

  “Exactly. Is there someone whose name pops up repeatedly as a witness or inquiring after one of the victims or volunteering information? That sort of thing.”

  “For now, do you want to start visiting some of the suspects? A few of them are bound to have airtight alibis for Dawn’s murder. That’s another advantage we have over the original investigation. They never had a solid time frame for any of the murders. The closest they came was the double murder, when they were able to narrow it down to a six-hour period.”

  “We can’t be sure when the body was placed in the woods,” Pete said.

  I thought about that. “True, but it’s hard to imagine him keeping the body around any longer than he had to,” I argued. Pete just shrugged. “And it doesn’t matter. We do have the window of time when he assaulted Tonya and Dawn. Any of the remaining suspects who have a solid alibi for that time period can be eliminated.”

  We split the list of suspects. I took the extra one, leaving me with lucky thirteen.

  Chapter Fifteen

  It was a beautiful day, cool and sunny. I would have given anything to be spending the afternoon with Cara, but at least this didn’t feel like a waste of time. Hunting a serial killer is very different from a lot of law enforcement work. It feels urgent, like a clock is ticking and someone’s life depends on your ability to hunt down and stop the predator before he feels the need to kill again.

  Four people on my list weren’t home, and two had moved without changing the address on their driver’s license. I was able to eliminate another man who worked for a cable service company that could verify his whereabouts for the time of the assault. That left me with six names.

  The first lived only a mile from the Sweet Spot, in a middle-class home in a small subdivision. The door was answered by a man wearing jogging shorts and a T-shirt. He looked like he’d been on a week-long bender.

  “What do you want?” he asked, his eyes hooded and cold.

  “I want to speak with Tom West.”

  “You got him. Same question. What do you want?”

  “I’m an investigator with the Adams County Sheriff’s Office.” I’d decided that explaining my reserve status wasn’t worth the time or possible confusion. “I’d like to ask you a few questions.”

  “So ask.”

  “Can I come in?”

  “Not until I find out what this is all about,” he answered.

  I hated being treated like a magazine salesman. “I’m looking into the recent murders of two young women.”

  “The Swamp Hacker murders, part two. Why didn’t you say so? You all wasted your time the first go ’round looking at innocent guys like me, and now you’re going around that bush one more time? Hell, you’re too young to have even been on the original cases. What right do you have coming around here and talking that crap to me?” He stared straight into my eyes, challenging me to question him.

  “This is not the best the way to get yourself off the persons of interest list,” I reasoned.

  “Maybe I like being on it.” His eyes did an odd, crazy roll. “Like it more than talking to some wet-behind-the-ears detective wannabe.”

  Tom’s eyes met mine for a second then went off again on their own trip looking for who knew what. He wasn’t any taller than me, though standing in the door gave him an additional six inches. He weighed a good twenty pounds more, but that was all in the gut. I figured he was all bluff, but with a little touch of crazy.

  “Fine. You don’t have to answer my questions, but that just means I’ll have to go around to all your neighbors and ask them if they remember seeing you last Saturday night.” His eyes darted to mine and actually held steady. Maybe I finally had his attention. “And when I get done doing that, I’ll go around to your place of business and ask your co-workers if they know anything.”

  That got him. His eyes shifted left, right and then down to the ground. “Screw you.”

  “Your choice.”

  “Oh, hell,” he said and walked back into his house, leaving the door open for me.

  The inside of the house was a man-hovel. Andy, Dawn’s roommate, would have felt right at home.

  “I’ve been pissed off for sixteen years about the way they treated me. I should have sued their asses off. Treated me like a suspect when I didn’t know anything about those killings,” he said, waving his arms around dramatically.

  “Why do you think they considered you a suspect?” I’d skimmed over the file and the transcript of the interviews with him. They’d done a pretty good job spelling out the reason he was on that list. He had known almost all of the victims, he had owned a truck that burned mysteriously after he was interviewed the first time and he was known to be a generally odd person.

  “A bunch of bullshit. I got in fights. I told people off. So what?”

  “You knew most of the victims,” I stated.

  “So what? They weren’t much younger than me. More like I knew their families. My dad was a damn good mechanic, and I worked with him. I met a lot of people at the shop. Like I said, I knew some of them because I went to school with their older brothers. I grew up here.”

  “Where were you last Saturday night?”

  “I need another alibi? I don’t know. Here, maybe.” His anger had changed quickly to helplessness. The rapid mood changes didn’t make me feel better about him. But then some people just have issues; it doesn’t mean they’re killers.

  “That’s not very convincing.”

  “I don’t have to prove my innocence. You have to prove my guilt. Isn’t that how it works?”

  “That’s how it works. But it’s a lot easier and saves a lot of time if you have a provable alibi that checks out.”

  “I didn’t know I’d need one,” he said, which was the most convincing statement he’d made.

  “What aren’t you telling me?” I asked.

  “Nothing. I’m done.”

  “Look, if you have a good but embarrassing alibi, just lay it out on the table and we can be done with this.”

  He didn’t say anything and he didn’t move.

  “Even if it’s illegal, if it’s a victimless crime and is unconnected to the murders, I have no interest in pursuing it.”

  Tom considered my offer for a moment. “I visit a… lady every Saturday night. Especially since my wife ran off a couple years ago.”

  “The same lady?” I was professional and nonjudgmental.

  “Usually.”

  “Last Saturday?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What’s her name and do you have a phone number where I can reach her?”

  “You’re going to laugh,” he said, looking down at the carpet and speaking very softly.

  “Try me.”

  “Trixie, she goes by the name Trixie.”

  It was a pretty dumb nickname for a prostitute. A little too much on the nose. But I didn’t laugh as I wrote down the name and number he gave me.

  “I’ll check it out,” I said, then moved on.

  The other guy who interested me was nice. Too nice.

  He lived in an upscale home on five acres. The house was brick and th
e yard immaculate. When I knocked on the door, his wife answered. She was as well trimmed as the house and yard, wearing a bit too much makeup for my taste.

  “Hello!” she greeted me. Her Southern accent was almost as heavy as the makeup. “Come on in,” she said, before I even had a chance to tell her who I was and why I was there.

  I followed her to the living room. Throw pillows were everywhere and the air smelled of one too many scented candles.

  “I need to talk with Tony Stevenson,” I told her.

  “I’m Mrs. Stevenson. Tony’s working on the back patio. I’ll just go get him. Can I get you something to drink?”

  I told her I was fine and watched her sashay out of the room.

  Tony came in wearing colorful checked shorts and a salmon-colored polo shirt. I knew that he was over forty-five, but he looked like he was thirty. Tall and slim, he extended his hand toward me before he was halfway across the room.

  “Tony Stevenson. How can I help you?” His smile was large and appeared genuine.

  I shook his hand, realizing that all the Southern hospitality had effectively disarmed me. I felt myself wearing a smile that I didn’t really want to be there.

  “I’m Larry Macklin, an investigator with the Adams County Sheriff’s Office. I wanted to ask you a few questions.”

  “Sure. Sit down.” His smile was still firmly in place as he waved me toward the sofa. I had to move pillows to find room to sit.

  Tony perched on a chair across from me, leaning forward with his eyes directly on mine as though he couldn’t wait to find out what questions I wanted to ask him and was eager to answer them. But just as I was about to start, he raised a finger.

  “I know what this is about. I had some run-ins with the law when I was a kid. Kind of wild. Gave my parents fits. I remember that the police looked at me when those killings took place years ago. Seems crazy now. But well, I can’t blame them. So go ahead and ask me what you need to.”