Cleansed by Death

by Catherine Finger

  “Maui?” Maybe there was no safe place on the planet.

  Nick filled in as much as he could for me and, even though he held nothing back, the portrait of the killer remained disturbingly elusive. “So, basically, every three years the guy struck again, like clockwork, only on a different island each time. Every murder was unique and had such clear and probable suspects, no one ever made a connection.”

  Nick moved into the wireless express lane and sped under the toll banner.

  “So what happened to connect them? Did something finally pop on ViCAP?”

  “Same thing that always happens: he escalated. The twelfth year hit, and instead of choosing a victim every three years, he chose four in one year.” We blew by the Illinois state line as he drove. We’d talked nonstop since leaving Madison, and an hour had already flown by.

  “There’s not a lot to go on.” Frustration edged my voice.

  “It’s this last victim that has us convinced of the continued connection.” Nick shook his head and stretched as he drove.

  “What am I missing?” I clasped both hands and stretched them out before me, yawning.

  “One murder of a community volunteer with a heart for the nation’s youth is sad. Another murder of a community volunteer who loves working with kids in a different state is alarming, but not enough to connect the dots. A third woman, killed less than four months after the second, known for her work with needy girls in another state? That got our attention.”

  “You mean it got the attention of the FBI’s Violent Criminal Apprehension Program.”

  “Like I said.”

  “So, what’s the evidence that’s firm enough to put ViCAP on alert?”

  “First of all, the age and stage of the victims. Thirties to forties, successful, married, well-known, and much loved in their respective communities. That, in and of itself, is less common than you’d think. Throw in the fact that each of these women volunteered with young girls in some way or another, and each of the kids has been six years old, and you’ve got yourself a pretty solid victimology. And the timing fits. Every three months, like clockwork. So far.”

  “Maybe someone who travels for business.” I sighed. “Can we stop talking about this for a minute? I’m getting a headache. Pull into the next truck stop so I can get some more barbeque corn nuts, will ya?”

  He rolled his eyes and slipped into the right-hand lane, making his way onto the exit ramp. He pulled into a gas station and shut off the car. “All right. But you know the rules. I buy. You fly. And I do mean fly. I want to talk about an exit plan for that violent crime of a marriage you’re trapped in, Jo.”

  His abrupt honesty caught my attention. “I can count the times you’ve called me Jo on one hand. With one finger.”

  “I know.”

  I snapped my head around and looked into his deep-brown eyes. Compassion skimmed the surface as he met my gaze. A tear fell down my cheek, and I glanced away, focusing on opening my door. I looked back at him, offering a small nod, and headed into the convenience store.

  Fifteen minutes and a tall cup of wretched coffee later, we were back on I-90, southbound for a few miles before turning east toward Haversport, Illinois. And Nick was back on track. “Your marriage is another murder scene waiting to happen. That’s why I can’t let this go. It’s killing me, watching you let this—let him—slowly squeeze the life out of you. This stops now. I mean it.”

  “I know.”

  “Which means what, exactly?”

  I sat in stony silence. If only he could read my mind. I didn’t want to hide it from him, but I didn’t want to say the words out loud either. Maybe I could wait him out. I’d done it before.

  “Not going anywhere, Josie. You gotta talk this time. You know, use your words, as you’re so fond of telling Samantha. Del wouldn’t even let you adopt her. Although, why you’d want to subject a child to that sorry excuse for a man is beyond me.”

  “Look, I don’t know what to say without losing the last shred of dignity I have left with you. My marriage is killing me. My husband is killing me. I’ve got to get out. I know that. There’s not a single thing I’ve done that’s made a difference. It only gets worse. Divorce is the only answer. I know I have to take action, but it’s harder than it looks.”

  This was a lot more than I’d planned on saying. I tore into the bag of corn nuts like my life depended on it. When really, my life depended on getting out of my abusive marriage. I busied myself with the corn nuts and stared out the window, crunching them in my teeth.

  “So what action are you planning, exactly?”

  I kept chomping and glaring. “I’m working on it, okay? It’s complicated.”

  “Waking up in some fleabag motel in Wisconsin Dells with a damaged shoulder and a totaled SUV is complicated too. Way more complicated, in fact. You gotta do something. Now.”

  “You know we just bought that lake-front property. It’s his dream property, and it took every penny of my inheritance, but at least it’s keeping him out of my hair. He’s spent most of his waking moments over there since the day we closed, and I’m thinking if I can find a way to have him buy me out, maybe I can get a decent settlement and get out fast and cheap.”

  “Whoa! Are you saying you’ve already talked to a divorce attorney? I like what I’m hearing.”

  “No, I... I’ve just been thinking a lot about it. It seems there might be a light at the end of the tunnel.”

  “You gonna keep the old cabin up north?”

  “Oh, my gosh! He hates that cabin. I’ve actually been thinking about doing exactly that, keeping the cabin and fixing it up. It’s got great bones. And it would make a great place for a girl to hide from reality once I get myself in gear and this divorce goes viral.”

  “Once you get going and leave that pig you married, the press is going to have a field day. One bad cop getting the ax from a police chief? This is going to be the best show in town. I’d book it out of town too, if I were you.”

  “Yeah, shut up. I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”

  “Okay, your show, your curtain call. But you know I’m here for you.”

  I nodded.

  “I’ll shut up and drive now.”

  “Finally.” I grinned at him.

  By the time we turned into my driveway, I’d hatched a plan to call my next-door neighbors and initiate a little weekend getaway at that old cabin in the woods. For them. My own getaway would come. Someday.

  After Nick drove away, I unlocked my cell, but my fingers trembled as I punched in their number. A cloud of wistfulness and guilt hovered over me. When Jim and Donna didn’t answer, I left a message inviting them to take their own little impromptu holiday road trip up to my cabin. Somebody might as well enjoy it. Given the latest complications of both my personal and professional life, I wouldn’t be going up there anytime soon.

  Waking up in my own bed—alone—was like waking up in a foreign land. I stared at the ceiling, wincing as my bruised flesh and torn muscles screamed their own jagged greeting. Images from the crash rolled through my mind. Del’s screams, the rushing blur of a tree smashing into the car’s front end. I closed my eyes, my heartbeat pounding through my skull. I breathed in deeply, visualizing my heart, willing it to slow down, fill up, relax.

  I opened my eyes. Where was Del? What should I do about it? I pulled my phone off my bedside table. Donna and Jim had jumped at the chance to head up to my old cabin on a lark.

  WE’RE PACKED AND READY TO HEAD TO YOUR RUSTIC WONDERLAND ANY TIME.

  Crap. It was almost 8:00 a.m. They’d sent the text two hours ago. I texted back.

  GO FOR IT AMIGOS. YOU REMEMBER HOW TO GET THERE?

  Nick had left two messages. Call me, beautiful. I’m at the field office. Call your attorney. And your insurance agent. There was nothing from Del. I checked my email. Silence. Where was he? What was he up to now?

  I pushed myself out of bed, grabbed a robe, and padded downstairs to make some Jo Java. I like it strong. Real s
trong. I ground the beans and started the coffee, basking in the aroma. My phone buzzed before the coffee was ready to drink.

  HALF HOUR OUT.

  Donna and Jim were making amazing time on their trip to my cabin. Saturday morning traffic was working in their favor. I responded.

  GOOD. YOU STILL HAVE THE KEY?

  I sipped my first cup of the morning, imagining the short jaunt through Baraboo leading to the old lake road. Next, Donna and Jim would descend Snake Hill and hang a sharp left onto the snow-covered dirt path that went around the lake and right to door of my cabin. I sure could use that glorious feeling I always got when I turned onto the dirt path that led to my home away from home. At least someone would enjoy a few days of holiday solitude in a beautiful location. I was going to be up to my eyeballs in work. I closed my eyes. Why hadn’t I heard from Del? Where had he gone? Who was he with? What was he up to? A dull throbbing settled across both temples.

  I poured myself a second cup of coffee. Was Del ever coming home again? His earlier-than-desired resignation from my police department a few years ago had left him embittered and restless. He’d made my life more miserable than usual, blaming me for not fighting harder for him, for not protecting his reputation at work. But how could I? No one knew better than me what that man was capable of. While I had no direct proof that the rumors about missing equipment and inappropriate questioning techniques of witnesses were true, I had no proof that they weren’t true either. I’d found a way to remain as neutral as possible. And the blue line wasn’t moving. Unfortunately, Del had taken my neutrality as condemnation. Word on the street at the time was that others did too. So far, his job search had not ended well.

  I shook my head. Mistake. My temples screamed back at me, a two sledgehammer salute. I texted Nick.

  ANY NEWS? MEET ME AT THE OFFICE AND TELL ME ALL ABOUT IT. 10:00 AM?

  No need to get the folks at the police department riled up about it though.

  SCRATCH THAT. MEET ME AT THE HOUSE.

  Nick was all business, sporting a regulation black trench coat, unbuttoned enough to show off a blue wool suit and red power tie when he rang my doorbell at 10:00 a.m. sharp.

  I ushered him in. “What’s the other guy look like?”

  “He’ll speak again, but not above a whisper. I’ve been at the field office running data since six.” He shrugged out of his coat and slung it over the banister. “This guy is slick, but these kills just have to be connected.”

  “ViCAP pull up anything new?” I led him into the kitchen.

  He grabbed a mug from the cabinet, poured himself a cup of coffee, and sat down at the counter. “Not really. More scenarios, probabilities. It’s still pretty solid, but not conclusive.”

  “Which means what, exactly?” I topped off my coffee and sat down across from him.

  “It’s a long shot, but there are a few criminal profiles that are eerily similar to his.” His hands were wrapped around his cup.

  “Go on.” I frowned. It wasn’t like him to be so cagey. Unless he really didn’t have much to go on. Sometimes Nick’s hunches happened ahead of his evidence. It’s one of the reasons he had a rogue reputation. He couldn’t always explain why he knew what he knew. But I’d been around him enough to trust his gut. Was this one of those times?

  “Look, the killer, if it is the same guy, has taken three women, in three states, over nine months. We don’t know how many other kills he’s had, but if it is our guy, we know there likely were others.” He stared at me, eyes sparkling.

  “Agreed.” I sipped my coffee, tapping a finger against the mug.

  “And if he’s gone from Spokane to Madison, Wisconsin, in the past few months…” He trailed off, eyes simmering down into a sudden sadness.

  “Nick, just because two of the victims are from towns I’ve had some experience in doesn’t mean-”

  “I know you don’t believe it, but if there’s even the slightest possibility that you are somehow connected to this guy’s psyche, it puts you in harm’s way and I’m not going far until I know for a fact you’re in the clear.” He had propped his chin up with his fist, looking like a real hot version of The Thinker. Lucky me.

  “So, what? You’re telling me that this guy offed one poor woman in LA, and another in Spokane, because I have family there? And then another in Madison, because I went to high school with the Governor? Nick, I love me almost as much as you do, and I’m telling you, that’s as farfetched as it gets.” I hope. Nick lived in these worlds, these murky minds of serial killers, but how in the world would anybody put all of those pieces together? I didn’t buy it. Strike that. I didn’t want to buy it.

  But I did buy everything good about this man before me. I smiled at him. And then my smile drained away. A glacier spread over my cheeks. Maybe he was onto something. “Samantha!”

  Nick’s hand grasped mine. “Relax. She’s fine. I called her social worker - William Green, right? - on my way over here. We’ve got a special agent assigned to her. A female. Undercover childcare worker. Out of an abundance of caution, I’ve also assigned a protection team to your mother.”

  “Oh thank you, thank you.” The throbbing in my temples eased to a thrum. I took a deep breath, released it. “So if your idea even is half true, how do we use it to catch this guy?”

  “How indeed?” Nick squeezed my hand, before releasing it. “That’s exactly what we’ve been pouring over all morning. And right now I’ve got more questions than answers.”

  “Well, that’s not exactly terrific news.” I rubbed the base of my neck. “Now what?”

  Nick got up, drained his coffee, and placed the mug in the dishwasher. “You deal with your deadbeat husband on your day off and let me keep following leads back at the ranch.”

  I slid to my feet, grabbed his coat from the banister and held it out to him. He kissed my forehead. He opened his mouth, but I put my hand up to stop him from talking. “Thank you for being here and for being you. Now go catch that son of Satan and trust me to deal with my marriage.”

  He looked at me with soulful eyes and turned and walked away.

  I spent the rest of the day musing over the many possibilities left in the wake of my husband’s absence. By the time I went to bed, I still hadn’t made a decision, let alone any phone calls. Without knowing exactly where Del was, or what he was planning, I wouldn’t make any moves that might force his hand. Yeah, right. I just wasn’t in the mood for attorneys. Or anyone else that might hasten the end of my on-again, off-again, marriage.

  After treating myself to coffee and bagels while reviewing Mentor Sister Serial Killer case notes one more time, I hit the gym. Sunday afternoon was consumed with more ruminating about my marriage, and half-hearted attempts to review online information about the murders Nick had referenced. Beyond a film of depression that had wrapped itself around me after learning things I might never unlearn, I had made no real connections. My phone buzzed and I jumped, but at least it pulled me out of my funk.

  “Dude!” Jim’s voice boomed over the miles. “We’re doing dinner.”

  “We are?”

  “Yes. You’re buying.” Jim’s smile was as loud as his voice.

  “I am?” I was happy to buy, but I wasn’t expecting to meet them for dinner.

  “Yes. Meet us at the Horse. Right around 5.”

  Before I could accept or reject his offer, he’d hung up. Well then. I guess I had a dinner date.

  The Rocking Horse Lounge was a shoe-box-sized dive with a wood frame and a green roof, sitting just north of the border between Illinois and Wisconsin. During daylight, it looked like a Lincoln log house, except for the big white sign propped up by two large telephone poles. The joint served the best burgers in both states and offered an endless supply of chilled beer on tap.

  Jim and I both loved the place but it would mean nothing but agony for Donna, my Fortune 500 CEO friend. With her French-manicured nails and sleek, ivory pashmina, she blended in about as well as a kitten at a committee meeting of the West
minster Kennel Club. Taking pity on her, I tried to hurry Jim through our burgers and beer after filling them in on the smashed car and the latest fight with Del. “C’mon, buddy, drink up. Donna’s getting restless.”

  I picked up my burger and glanced at the sole pool table, where a dirty hulk of a guy leaned over the velvety-green slate. Tattoos ringed his left eye. He looked like a biker I had arrested once. Then the guy had the nerve to wink at me. A small, black snake tattoo undulated on his arm when he crouched down to zero in on the cue ball, all the while staring at me.

  I fished my badge from my purse and flashed it in Snake Eye’s direction so he could get a good glimpse. His expression froze, and then he focused on the cue ball. I snorted and took a big bite out of my burger before turning my attention back to Jim.

  His heavy-duty jacket was still zipped up halfway, probably to keep the cigarette smoke from seeping into the loud, blue, Hawaiian shirt he wore. A movie man by trade, Jim owned an impressive collection of authentic Hawaiian shirts. At an even 6 feet and 180 pounds of lean muscle, he could actually pull it off. The combined impact of his costume choices and special effects could tempt you to underestimate him. And that would be a mistake.

  “Aren’t you through yet, honey?” Donna shifted in her chair.

  “Hey, don’t rush me. A man cannot be hurried through the few visceral pleasures of this brief life.”

  “This is not our final destination, you know. Jo and I want to get home, and we still need to pick up the dogs after we unload tonight, don’t forget.” Donna retrieved a mirror from her designer bag and freshened up her lip color. The sound of her voice must have charmed him, and he devoured the rest of his burger.

  “All right, ladies.” He lifted a French fry, dripping with ketchup. “A toast to the most excellent adventure of the past forty-eight hours at Jo’s most excellent cabin in the woods. And to think, I spent dinner with the two most beautiful blondes north of the border.” Jim stuffed the fry in his mouth, and winked at his wife.