by KJ Kalis
Emily slumped down in the chair she sat in the day before. Bradley came and joined her, holding his cane between his knees, staring at the floor. They sat in silence for a couple of minutes. Emily kept glancing back and forth between all the pictures. “Are any of the other victims related?”
“Not that I know of,” Bradley said. “Maybe the killer doesn’t know she’s related?”
“Anything is possible.” The killer might know, or he might not. There was no way of knowing that, not yet. The details were still foggy. She turned and stared at Bradley, “Do you know anything else about what happened this morning?”
“Other than Lexi’s missing?” Bradley shook his head, “Naw, not a thing.”
Emily almost told him she’d driven by the scene on her way to his house, but decided against it, pressing her lips together. The less information the people in town knew about her, the better. The more time she spent with Bradley, the less she saw him as any type of threat, but it paid to never be too careful. She’d been in situations in the past that had turned on a dime. One minute things were going fine, the next minute not so much. It was better to prevent those moments if she could.
Walking past all the information in Bradley’s garage, she tried to absorb as much of it as she could. This was a much more complicated case than usual. For the most part, she dealt with one victim and one family at a time, not a whole town full of them. She needed to think. “I need to head out and handle a couple of things. I’ll be in touch.”
Saying nothing more, Emily walked back out to her truck. As she slid in, she saw the curtain in Bradley’s front window flutter. Carla, Bradley’s wife, must be inside. Why Carla hadn’t come out to introduce herself yet, Emily wasn’t sure, but it sent a shiver down her spine. She couldn’t imagine what it was like for the two of them, the ghosts of the Tifton torso killer lurking in their garage. To some degree, Emily agreed with Carla — having all of the murder data constantly posted where it could be seen was a little bit creepy. Emily chewed her lip as she started the truck, hoping that Lexi Cooper’s information wasn’t added to that board anytime soon.
Pulling out of the driveway, Emily called Mike on the speakerphone as she headed into the center of Tifton. Even though it was pushing toward lunchtime, she needed coffee. “Anything new?” she asked, pulling into a parking lot where there was a small bakery that had its lights on with a neon sign in the window advertising hot coffee.
“Nothing yet. Flynn just got here, so we’ll start seeing what we can find on our end. I’ve got a buddy that can help us with the FBI files.”
How Mike knew someone that had access to classified investigation files on an open case with the FBI, Emily didn’t know. She didn’t want to ask. “Think there’s any way I can get in to talk to Lexi’s family?” As soon as the words came out of her mouth, Emily knew that was impossible. Between the local police and the FBI, Lexi’s parents wouldn’t have a moment of peace until something got resolved.
Flynn’s voice came over the phone, “I don’t think so. The FBI has a pretty big black eye on this case, given how long it’s gone on without them being able to solve it. It’s not a good look if you know what I mean.”
Emily knew exactly what he meant. That’s why police departments and federal agencies had cold case divisions like the one she used to work in. Specialized agents could sometimes find evidence buried in a case that could solve it, even after decades. Emily leaned back in the seat, extending her arm straight, gripping the steering wheel as hard as she could. Nothing about this case is going the way it should, she realized. Instead of working on a cold case, she’d walked into an active investigation. She needed someone who could give her insight into the case and help her figure out who the actual killer was. “Is there anyone else that lives in town who’s a relative of a victim from a while back? Not one of the newer cases, but one of the old cases?”
There was a pause. Emily could hear noise on the other end of the line, like someone was tapping on a keyboard and someone else was flipping through some papers. A second later, Flynn said, “There’s one that might be worth talking to. Her name is Sierra Day. Her brother, Joe, was killed quite a few years ago — in year three. I saw information about him on the unsolved site, too. If I remember correctly there were two kids in the family, Sierra and Joe. Joe disappeared and they found his torso a few days later. Sierra is a pharmacist. Works at the local drugstore.
“You have any other information on her?”
“Based on what I’m seeing here,” Mike said, “It looks like she’s unmarried and has worked at the drugstore since she graduated from college. Looks like she lives on the outskirts of town. That’s the address she pays utilities for.”
“Her mom? Where is she?”
There was more typing at the other end of the line, “Dead. Committed suicide after Joe’s death.” Before Emily had a chance to say anything, she heard some mumbling on the other end of the line, “I’ve got the address for the house she lives in.”
“Send me that,” she said and hung up. Sliding out of the truck, Emily went into the bakery and came out a minute later with a bottle of water, a large coffee, and a ham and egg wrap sandwich. As she started up the truck, it beeped, a new location in her GPS. Sierra’s house. Emily ate as she drove, her mind empty. She hoped that Sierra could give her something significant on the case. Without it, she’d be in the same position as the police and the FBI. She’d have nothing.
The drive to Sierra’s house took a little longer than Emily expected, the GPS guiding her on roads that seem to twist and weave for no reason. Emily wondered why they weren’t straighter, but looking at the dense foliage as she drove, she realized the first people that settled in the area probably built trails that avoided the largest of the trees and the swampiest parts of the land.
Following the road around a curve that skirted a bog, Emily saw knew that living with a loss like the families had suffered in Tifton was a nearly impossible proposition. Knowing that someone you loved could be at home one day and floating in the Little Bayou Pond the next seemed like a harsh reality against the gentle nature of the people she’d met so far. How they were surviving, she wasn’t sure. From what she knew of the case, Sierra’s brother had been a solid member of the community. Emily shifted in the seat of the truck, fighting off a cramp in her leg. From experience, Emily knew families did one of two things after a crime like the ones in Tifton – they banded together, or they broke apart. How Sierra’s family was surviving, Emily would soon find out.
After a few minutes, the woods started to thin a little, the truck starting up a rise. Emily finished the sandwich she bought, balling up the paper and tossing it on the seat next to her. She took a long drink of water and then followed it with a couple of sips of hot coffee. In the heat, it seemed strange to want something hot to drink, but the cool air conditioning pumping out of the vents in the truck made it pleasant. The caffeine wasn’t a bad thing, either.
The road rose up one final hill and then plateaued, a small farmhouse off in the distance. Hearing the GPS beep, Emily turned right onto a driveway. The tires of her truck bumped onto the rough gravel as the big vehicle chugged up the hill. As she got closer, she could see the home, its wide porch spread out in front of her, the siding painted in pale yellow. Unlike some of the other homes she’d seen in the area, this one wasn’t on stilts, but then again, it was at the top of the hill. If there was going to be torrential rain or flooding, the water would run right past the house and down onto the road Emily just drove over. Emily parked the truck in the front and sent a quick text to Mike, “Here,” hoping there was enough cell signal for the text to deliver. At least if something happened, he’d know where to start looking for her.
As Emily slid out of the truck and slammed the door, the thick Louisiana heat covered her like a blanket. It made walking feel more like swimming, the humid air collecting on every surface, from her hair, to her skin, to her clothes. By the time she got to the front door, she was sweating ag
ain.
There was no doorbell on the front door of the farmhouse, so Emily knocked. A minute later, she heard locks clicking in the frame. The door opened. In front of Emily was a petite woman, not too much younger than she was. Sierra Day looked like the kind of person who spent hours running every week. She was fit and wiry, wearing a loose T-shirt and a pair of shorts, her feet bare. Her cropped hair was pulled into a short ponytail behind her neck. She wore no makeup. “Who are you?” Sierra said, staring at Emily.
“My name is Emily. I wanted to talk to you about your brother.” As Emily said the words, she wondered how many times someone had shown up at Sierra’s house saying the same thing. How many times had Sierra told the story of her brother’s death, or what she knew of it?
“Are you with the police?” Sierra narrowed her eyes.
“No, I’m a private investigator. I’m working with the Barker family.” It wasn’t technically true that she’d been hired by the Barker’s, but at least she could say honestly she was trying to help them. That was the best she could do.
“Bradley?”
Emily nodded. Sierra didn’t invite her into the house. Instead, she motioned to a couple of chairs sitting on the front porch. “Okay, I have a couple of minutes. You can sit here. You want something to drink?”
“No, thank you. I won’t be here long.”
Though the South was famous for its hospitality, Sierra seemed uncomfortable, even awkward. Emily began to wonder if losing her brother had caused the sort of shift in her emotions that took away the warmth of so many of the people in the South. Emily pushed the thought away. It wasn’t helpful, at least not at the moment.
“What do you want to know?”
“As I said, I’m here trying to help Bradley Barker get some closure about his brother’s death. From what I understand, there’s been a series of killings and your brother, Joe, was one of them. Is that true?”
Sierra nodded, looking down at her lap, picking at a cuticle. “Yeah, that’s right. Joe was victim three-one. His story isn’t much different from any of the others. He left work one day, went out with some friends, and we never heard from him again. My dad called the local police, and they found his body a few days later — or at least what was left of it.” Sierra looked at Emily, “He’d been chopped apart, like the others.”
Unlike Bradley, Sierra’s pain over losing her brother seemed fresher for some reason. Emily glanced at Sierra before asking her next question. She noticed that Sierra’s fingernails were bitten down as far as they could go, her cuticles red and inflamed. Many victims developed nervous habits to try to cope with the loss. Some of them drank, some of them gambled, some of them bit their nails to the quick. There’d even been one family member Emily met years back who’d managed to pull most of the hair out of one side of her head. Grief was a strange business.
“You heard about Lexi Cooper?”
Sierra’s head snapped up, her eyes wild, “No. Who’s that?”
“A little girl. Five years old. Taken overnight out of her bedroom.”
“Do you think it’s him again?” Sierra said, standing up. She started to pace.
Emily watched her for a second, staying seated. As Sierra turned, Emily glanced at the waistband of her shorts making sure there were no weapons concealed there. Sierra had become agitated pretty quickly, enough to make Emily edgy. “I don’t know. What I do know is there are a bunch of cold cases that local law enforcement and the FBI have ignored for a long time. That’s why I’m here.”
Sierra sat back down on the chair and looked at Emily, “So, you know Cash?”
Emily shook her head no, “Who’s that?”
“He’s with the FBI.” Before Emily could respond, Sierra got up and darted into the house coming back a second later with a business card in her hand. “This guy,” she pointed to the card, “This guy is in charge of the whole investigation. I just talked to him a couple of days ago. I think he’s trying, maybe more than the last agent, but he doesn’t have anything.”
Emily pulled her phone out of her back pocket and took a picture of the business card, sending it off via a text to Mike. “Look into this guy for me?” she typed and then looked back at Sierra, handing the card back to her. “You said you just talked to him a couple of days ago?”
Sierra nodded. “I was worried this would happen. I called him to see if he found out anything else about the case, or if he had any new leads. He didn’t. He seems to be a nice guy,” she sighed, “but he’s no different than any of the other investigators who’ve been on my brother’s case since he died. They all say they’re going to do something, but nothing happens.”
Emily knew it was time to shift the conversation. If they got too far off on talking about the investigators, Emily might never get to the details she needed about the case. “If you don’t mind, could you give me a little bit more information about what’s been going on? Does anyone have any leads about who the killer could be?” Emily knew that asking Sierra if there were any leads in the case was likely a dead end, but she’d discovered early in her career that asking the obvious questions sometimes netted the best results.
Sierra shook her head. “That’s the thing. No one seems to be able to get a handle on this case. We don’t know if it’s somebody who lives here in town or somebody who just passes through every six months — like a trucker. The idea that it’s someone living here among us is just terrifying.” Sierra shivered even though the heat of the day had settled on the front porch where they were sitting.
“What about the rest of your family? Do they have any theories about what happened?”
Sierra looked away for a second. When she glanced back, her eyes were filled with tears, “A couple of years after Joe disappeared, my mom killed herself. Took a bunch of pills. Ironic, given the fact I’m a pharmacist.” Sierra picked at her cuticles again. “My dad, he’s not in good shape since Joe died. Joe was always the favorite if you know what I mean.”
Emily understood that. Although parents were supposed to love their kids equally, they never did, at least not in Emily’s estimation. Emily’s younger sister, Angelica, was always the favorite, no matter how many rules she broke or how many times she disappointed their parents. “I know what you mean. My younger sister is the favorite, too.” Offering little details about her own life, meaningless ones, helped to forge a bond between her and the person she was interviewing.
Sierra nodded, “So you understand.”
“I do.” Emily looked away for a moment, concerned she was offering too much information about herself. The goal was to be anonymous. But the more of these cases she worked, the harder it was to do that. Emily could have lied to Sierra, but if she played her cards right, no one would suspect she was doing anything other than helping Bradley. Mike had been wise to check her into the bed-and-breakfast without her real last name. Sure, someone could track her plates, but Emily suspected the FBI agents working the case were far too worried about Lexi to be concerned about what Emily was doing. That was good news, or at least she hoped it would be. With any luck, she could either resolve the situation on her own or at least send them in the right direction and get out of Tifton before she ended up in anyone’s crosshairs. A shiver ran up her spine. Taking these cases was becoming riskier every single time. Working on cases on her own was the closest thing she had to police work, but it wasn’t the same as when she was in the department. Emily made a mental note to do some thinking about her future when she got back to Chicago, but the time for that wasn’t now. She was here to help the victims and do that to the best of her ability.
From behind her, Emily sensed movement. A cat appeared on the windowsill, orange and white. Sierra nodded, “That’s Charlie. He keeps me company.”
“Do you see your dad very often?”
“I stop over to see him every day or so. As I said, he’s not doing well. I’m sure the news about the little girl won’t help things. Seems like I just get him back on track and then another six months ticks
by and there we go again.”
Unsolved serial cases were some of the hardest on the victims. Every time someone else disappeared, the families were forced to think about the loss of their loved one again. “So, is there anything you can tell me about who you think the killer might be? No one has ever come up with a working theory?”
Sierra fidgeted in her seat, “As I said, the FBI doesn’t seem to have anything. Why I don’t know. You’d think that after all these years, they’d have figured something out, but they haven’t. They’ve left all of us hanging.” Sierra stood up, crossing her arms. The conversation was making her uncomfortable. She looked back at Emily, “Listen, I’ve gotta go in and get ready for work. I’m working close today. The only other thing I would say is that I don’t think it’s somebody who knows much about this town. And the one thing I can’t figure out is why this person kills. There has to be something to the six-month timeframe. It’s like clockwork. I’ve always wondered if something happened to this person and he lives it again twice a year, punishing us all.” Sierra dropped her hands down to her sides, “I don’t know. The more I think about it, the more upsetting it becomes. I gotta go.”
Sierra left Emily sitting on the front porch, the door banging closed behind her. For a second, Emily thought about pounding on the door again, but she didn’t want to push her luck. She didn’t need Sierra calling the local police on her. As Emily got in her truck and pulled away, she looked in their rearview mirror. Charlie was still sitting there, Sierra’s face looming above him. Did Sierra really have to go to work? Maybe she was just done talking about what had happened to her brother.