Wind Chill

by Herron, Rita

* * *

  Gia hung up and said a silent prayer that Sari was okay. Then she hurried to search the rest of the house as she waited on Murphy.

  Careful to use gloves, she checked the bookshelf, but the photographs of she and her family seemed to be in place.

  Carly hadn’t changed the den or kitchen, but she’d painted the master bedroom a soft blue and thrown a blue and white quilt in a snowflake pattern over the bed. A darker shade of blue covered the master bath walls, with pictures of lilies over the claw foot tub. The room looked soft and feminine and sweet, just like her sister.

  A sharp pang of fear sliced through her, but she forced herself to breathe through the pain.

  Pulse pounding, she checked the drawers and closet, but nothing seemed out of place. Not that she expected anything to be missing.

  The CK’s MO didn’t include theft or vandalism. He didn’t rape or torture his victims. He simply strangled them and posed them with the Christmas ornaments.

  She examined the bathroom then the second bedroom that used to belong to her and Carly. A queen white iron bed draped in a red and green poinsettia quilt had replaced the twin beds.

  She’d painted the room a muted shade of sage green.

  Gia’s favorite color.

  Tears blinded her. Carly had redone the room for her. And she’d been too selfish to come home and see it.

  She swiped at her eyes.

  Satisfied the bedrooms were intact, she walked down the hall to the living room again. The empty tree and the box of ornaments mocked her from the floor.

  Each year her mother had made ornaments with them, some out of paper or plastic, some wooden that they’d bought at the craft store and painted. They’d used glitter and sequins and shiny stones to add sparkle.

  She and Carly had loved the annual tree decorating parties. Christmas music filled the room while they strung popcorn. When the tree was lit up and glowing, they nibbled on homemade cookies and sipped hot chocolate.

  Emotions threatened to overcome her again. She shook them off. She had to focus.

  Get inside the killer’s head, figure out what made him tick.

  The Twelve Days song echoed in her head.

  Her mother had once told her the story of the song, that each day the mother gave her child a gift, and each day the gifts grew more lavish.

  That song, the story, had to mean something to the killer.

  But what exactly?

  A knock sounded on the door, and she hurried to let Murphy inside. “I called a crime team from the county to come and process the house.”

  “We need to send this to the lab as soon as possible.” She gestured to the scrapbook which she’d already placed in a plastic bag, then told Murphy to text the team with instructions on where to find the house key.

  As soon as he sent the text, she locked up and they hurried outside, then down the steps and into his SUV. Silence stretched between them as Murphy drove, the drone of the windshield wipers, defroster and battering wind adding to the tension.

  “How well do you know Sari?” Gia finally asked.

  Murphy shrugged. “Just through the shop. She’s in her mid-twenties, loves baking, and opened the shop in town to be close by her grandmother. The old lady died last year.”

  Gia bit her bottom lip. “Was Sari dating anyone?”

  “I don’t know much about her personal life. Arlene or one of the teenagers she hired to work for her might know.”

  Gia drummed her fingers on her thigh. Her head was throbbing from lack of sleep, her muscles aching. If they found Sari alive and safe, they wouldn’t need to ask about her private life.

  Murphy turned down Second Street, passed a couple of small bungalows, then stopped at the third driveway. A white Craftsman with bright blue shutters and a red door.

  Gia scanned the property. A white minivan with the logo of Sari’s Sweets emblazoned on the side sat in the drive.

  “Does she own another vehicle?” Gia asked.

  Murphy shook his head, parked and cut the engine. Gia slid her hand over her weapon again, secured her hat and scarf, then climbed out. In spite of her thick winter coat, the wind chill ripped through her, biting all the way to her bones. If there was a sidewalk, it was buried in the snow.

  She reminded herself to breathe as they slogged to the front door. The Christmas wreath bore tiny red birds, but the wind had unraveled the gold bow and it dangled downward against the door-frame.

  Murphy raised his fist and pounded on the door. “Sari, it’s the sheriff. Open up.”

  No answer. No voices or footsteps. Just the shrill wind slicing through the air. Murphy knocked again, and Gia pulled her weapon and started around the side of the house. She checked the windows as she circled to the back, but the curtains were drawn, obscuring her view.

  A back patio held a small round patio table covered in snow, fallen twigs and debris.

  She climbed the one step to the stoop and peered through the window.

  Sari sat at the kitchen worktable with her back to the door. She was so still that a chill of foreboding rippled up Gia’s spine.

  She twisted at the doorknob and the door swung open, the force of the wind practically pushing Gia inside. She paused at the threshold then fought to close the door.

  The scent of death mingled with the sugary scent of cookie dough.

  Gripping her weapon, she crept up by Sari’s side, then walked around to face her. She choked back a cry.

  They were too late.

  TINLEY 7 NEWS

  Meteorologist Bailey Huggins ducked as a tree branch snapped off and sailed downward, nearly catching her in the head. She’d known reporting could be dangerous but hadn’t realized the weather would be the threat.

  “Just look around here, folks,” she said into the camera as she gestured at the foot-high snowdrifts along the streets of Tinley. “Holly, the worst blizzard in our history, is clobbering us right now with wind gusts up to 65 miles per hour and heavy snowfall reaching twelve inches and climbing. Unfortunately, there’s no relief in sight. She shivered against the wind, then continued, “Already businesses, government offices, stores and shops have shut down. Hotels and inns are overflowing with stranded tourists, the airport is filled with holiday travelers forced to hole up inside, and whiteout conditions have made roads impassable. No-travel advisories have been issued for the state, and all flights in and out of Omaha have been cancelled.”

  She paused, hunching deeper inside her down coat as the wind blasted her and whipped her wool scar around her face. “Meteorologists have dubbed this storm as a bomb cyclone because of its rapidly intensifying funnel shape. Downed power lines, roofs collapsing due to heavy snowfall, power outages, traffic accidents and freezing temperatures have already accounted for ten deaths in the state.

  “Typically snow invites children to sled or play in the drifts, but conditions are extremely dangerous now, so please keep them inside. The temperature has already dropped below zero and is rapidly declining, with a wind chill factor expected to reach a record thirty below.” She exhaled, her breath puffing out in a white cloud.

  “Damages to property, cattle and crops are expected to be significant, reaching well over a million dollars. Possible tornados and flooding as the snow begins to melt pose another danger.”

  She forced a smile and felt like it was freezing on her face. “Yes, it sounds like a dismal Christmas this year, but please stay hunkered inside and keep warm. The worst is expected to make a direct hit on Tinley within the next few hours, so stay safe.

  “This is Bailey Huggins, signing off from Channel 7 Tinley News, wishing you a safe and happy holiday.”

  Grateful to end the segment, she hurried to the news van, anxious to feel the heat and her toes again. She just hoped people heeded the warnings and she didn’t have to report any more weather-related casualties.

  Chapter Seventeen

  10:45 a.m., December 19, Tinley

  Footsteps pounded on the wood floor, and wind blasted throug
h the room coming from the front door.

  The moment Murphy saw Sari’s body, he halted. “Dear God.” Although they both knew Sari was dead, he pressed two fingers gently to her wrist to check for a pulse.

  Murphy shook his head, emotions clouding his eyes. “She was a nice girl, dammit. She never did anything to hurt anyone.”

  “They were all so young,” Gia said, her chest so tight she could barely breathe. “They had so much to look forward to.” Just as her sister did.

  “It’s all my fault. I brought this killer here to Tinley. He killed Sari and took Carly to hurt me.” Exhaustion, grief and guilt collapsed on top of Gia, and her legs buckled.

  Murphy’s strong hands gripped her arms, and he pulled her up against him. “Steady now. Take a deep breath.”

  Gia’s body trembled. “It’s true. Sari’s dead now because of me. And Carly…what if he’s already—”

  “Shh, don’t,” Murphy murmured. “He’s toying with you, getting inside your head.” He rubbed slow circles over her back. “Don’t let him in there, Gia. You’re strong.”

  Angry tears clogged her throat. “But it’s my fault Sari is dead,” she cried.

  Murphy tilted her chin up. “Listen to me. She is not dead because of you. She’s dead because a crazed psycho is out there hunting innocent women.”

  “And he’s here in your town because of me.” There was no denying that, so he didn’t bother.

  Instead, he pulled her to him once again, and whispered comforting words. Although nothing he could say could alleviate the guilt weighing on her. They stood there for several long seconds, entrenched in anguish and the shock of finding another young woman’s life snuffed out.

  “Gia, you’re going to get through this, and we will find Carly,” Murphy rasped. “I know it’s difficult, but we have to focus right now.”

  His calm authority renewed her strength. He was right.

  She slowly lifted her head, her vision blurring. Murphy whispered her name, then gently wiped at the tears streaming down her cheek.

  “You’re right, thank you, Murphy.” For a second, their gazes locked. She wanted more. To fall into his arms again, and this time to stay there. To kiss him. To have him make this nightmare go away.

  But she simply nodded and pulled herself together.

  Murphy released her, then glanced around the room. “I’ll search the house.” He didn’t bother to wait for a response. He strode from the room into the hall and disappeared out of sight.

  Guilt and sorrow welled in Gia’s chest, and she gulped back a sob.

  You have to stop this crazy lunatic. Make him pay for what he’s done.

  The only way to do that was to work the crime scene.

  She took a deep, fortifying breath, then removed her phone and began snapping pictures of the way Sari was posed. The pale lines of her face looked stark against the red scarf, her lifeless body a macabre sight with her hand on that damn cookie cutter.

  Footsteps echoed from the hall, then Murphy’s voice as he returned. “Clear.”

  She gave him a quick glance, then captured close-ups of the items on the table, including Sari’s fingers. Was it possible she’d fought back and gotten some DNA beneath those nails?

  They hadn’t found DNA with the other victims, but Sari could have wrestled with him.

  “You’ve seen all of the victims at the crime scenes,” Murphy said, cutting into her thoughts. “Is it the same perp?”

  “The MO is identical, so I’d say it’s him. We never released photos or details about the red scarf and ribbon.”

  Gia removed her winter gloves then pulled on latex ones. She visually swept the room for clues, willing the killer to have lost a button or left a stray hair.

  At first glance, she saw nothing. No blood on the body or anywhere else. Just the red scarf wound around Sari’s neck and the Ten Lords-a-Leaping ornament tied to her wrist.

  Gia eased the scarf slightly down for a closer inspection of Sari’s neck. The strangle marks, red and deep, matched the ones from the other victims. Forensics would have to compare the exact depth and width of the impressions to verify they were made by the same person, but they appeared to be the same. She photographed the wound so she could email the image to her team.

  “I’ll call the ME and ERT, then secure the scene.” He hurried outside to retrieve the crime scene tape and make the call.

  Gia began to examine Sari’s body more closely. Her pulse jumped when she spotted a short dark hair.

  Sari’s hair was red.

  If this one belonged to the killer, the DNA might lead them straight to him.

  * * *

  10:50 a.m., December 19, Tinley

  Murphy phoned the ERT and relayed the situation as he stepped outside.

  “We’ll be out as soon as possible,” the crime tech said. “Right now, we’re waiting on the snowplow. The roads are already iced over, and the bridge from Little Creek Road to town is closed.”

  Murphy thanked him, then called the ME. No answer. He left a message, then grabbed his forensic kit and hurried back into the house. “A team is coming, but I’ll see what I can find.”

  His nerves were on edge as he strode through the rooms of the bungalow. Dammit to hell. He didn’t like the fact that one of his own had been murdered.

  And Carly was still missing.

  Did the number ten ornament tied to Sari’s wrist mean Gia’s sister was still alive? Was this sicko saving her, waiting to pose her body as his grand finale?

  The house had two bedrooms with a Jack and Jill bathroom in between. The first one was set up as an office. Neat and organized with a small desk, file cabinet, bulletin board with fliers Sari had created to advertise the store and specialty items, along with a wall calendar for planning special events for her catering business.

  Everything appeared to be in place, so he moved to the bedroom. A green and blue comforter covered a queen bed, and a tall dresser stood in the corner by a full-length mirror. Jewelry box was closed. When he lifted the lid, it was neat and organized as well. No robbery intent to the crime.

  Which also fit with the CK.

  Even though nothing looked as if it had been touched, he still had to play this by the book. Make sure the crime techs went over every inch of the house. At some point, this guy had to get tired or sloppy and make a mistake.

  He walked back into the bathroom and quickly surveyed the sink and counter. Hair products, toiletries, make up. Nothing indicating a male had been here or that Sari had a boyfriend.

  Satisfied that the house was clear, he strode back to the kitchen. Gia was examining the table and the cookie dough.

  His phone trilled. The medical examiner’s office.

  The fifty-something-year-old doctor sounded slightly winded. “Sheriff, you left a message?”

  “That’s right. I hate to drag you out in this blizzard, but I’m at Sari Benedict’s house.”

  “This can’t be good,” he said grimly.

  “It’s not. She’s dead. The Christmas Killer.”

  A tense second passed, then a pained sigh. “Ahh, God. Poor Sari.”

  “I know. We need you to come to her house. I’ve called a crime team, but it’ll be a while before they can get here.”

  Dr. Nix cleared his throat. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.” Another tense heartbeat passed. “Murphy, did you find Carly?”

  His chest squeezed. “Not yet. We’re still searching.”

  “I’m on my way.”

  They hung up, and Murphy gritted his teeth as he looked back at Sari.

  Gia was bent over examining the woman’s neck more closely, then her hands.

  “ME’s on his way.”

  She gave a little nod, then lifted a baggie. “I found a hair, Murphy. It’s short and dark. Not Sari’s.”

  His pulse jumped. “Then it could be the killer’s.”

  Finally, a lead. He just hoped it wasn’t too late for Gia’s sister.

  * * *

  11:
00 a.m., December 19, Tinley

  Gia hoped to hell the DNA from the hair gave them a name. But time was of the essence. Getting it to the lab with the bad weather hampering travel would take time.

  “I’m going to look around outside,” Murphy said. “See if I find any footprints or tire tracks. The killer had to get in and out of here some way.”

  Gia considered his comment. If there had been footprints or tire tracks, the snow had probably buried them. Still, she appreciated Murphy’s diligence. Some small-town sheriffs she’d worked with hated the FBI encroaching on their territory.

  Others weren’t quite as on-the-ball professionally.

  Murphy was professional, intelligent and observant. He had the mind of a good detective. He could have made it in the Bureau if he’d chosen that route. But seeing him here, connecting to people, treating the town as his family, fit him well. She admired him for his convictions, for …having heart. So may agents and law enforcement officers and detectives became desensitized.

  A cold blast of air engulfed her as Murphy stepped outside, and he shoved at the back door to shut it.

  She turned back to the room and surveyed it again.

  The image of Sari in that red scarf and apron with the ornament tied to her wrist as she pressed the cookie cutter into the dough was imprinted in her brain forever.

  One by one the crime scene photos of the other victims flashed through her head.

  Something had happened around the holidays to trigger this mad man to murder. The loss of a child? A spouse?

  The ornaments were also significant. Had his family decorated lavishly and given nice gifts for the holidays? Or had they shunned Christmas, and the ornaments represented the kind of gift giving he’d dreamed of?

  She punched Brantley’s number, and leaned over to study the table again. Something about the cookie dough was bothering her.

  “Gia?” Her partner’s voice echoed back, although static popped, indicating a bad connection.