by Graham Smith
‘Perhaps.’ I point at the car in the drive. ‘If she is, he’s picked her up.’
Doenig’s face registers its first expression. Exasperated impatience.
I’m guessing he wants to be away from Norm and I so he can start making calls to other agents without being overheard. If he doesn’t, he should.
I turn to Norm. ‘Do you have a key or know if she keeps one hidden somewhere?’
‘No, I don’t. Sorry.’
I start looking in the obvious areas. Under the doormat, behind the plant pot. Doenig joins in with a scowl while Norm stands around looking helpless.
Finding nothing we go round to the back of the house and repeat the process with the same result.
‘Nothing doing. She must be at the boyfriend’s. Come on. I’ll have someone run a trace on her cell and track her that way.’
As we’re travelling the mile back to the station I have a thought. It’s not one I want to share in front of Norm so I keep it to myself until we’re at the station.
Entering the reception, I’m about to get Doenig to one side when he’s approached by the colleague he’d left behind.
While they’re talking, I introduce Norm to Darla and give a quick explanation as to why he’s here. She grasps the situation at once and leads him away with the offer of coffee.
With Doenig tied up and the chief away, I find a seat and rethink my latest thought a second and third time.
However I poke and prod at the idea, I keep coming back to the same conclusion. There’s a way I can check, so I pull out my cell and make a call.
It’s late but something tells me nobody at the motel is going to be sleeping.
The detective who answers hands his phone to Olly Vernal. I question him about any possible connection his family has with Yarwood. He denies any but checks with other family members.
I can’t hear what they’re saying, but I can hear the low rumble of voices interspersed with the odd indignant shriek.
Olly comes back on the line and tells me there’s not even the most tenuous link.
It’s what I was expecting, but I still needed to check it out before making any rash statements.
With my facts established, I go in search of Doenig.
I find him still in conversation with the other agent; I hesitate to interrupt them. My involvement is limited despite the fact I’ve been deputised. While there’s no open hostility from Doenig, I’d have to be stupid not to recognise his tolerating of me is only one step above humouring.
His eyes land on me, so he turns away from his colleague. ‘What is it, Detective?’ There’s the lightest trace of a sneer in the way he uses my job title.
‘I don’t think Harriet Vernal was the first person to find Angus Oberton’s body.’
I can tell I have his full attention by the way his eyes widen. ‘Why?’
‘We know the killer is targeting the families of those who find the bodies. Thanks to a newspaper article so does the public. We’ve assumed he’s been finding out who the person is from press releases or by watching the dump sites.’ I lick my lips. ‘With the public aware of his selection method, the first person to find Oberton may have thought they were protecting their family by not reporting it.’
He raises a hand. ‘I’ve got it. What you’re saying fits.’ The tolerance in his eyes is replaced by a fleeting gleam of respect.
Neither of us speaks. The same thought assaulting my brain will be laying siege to his; the only way to verify my theory is to ask Ian Yarwood’s relatives if they found a body.
The questions will be taken as accusations, as instruments of blame by even the most sensible. At a time of grief, of self-recrimination, we may have to get heavy with members of his family to identify the person.
If I am wrong, none of this will play well in the media or coffee shops. When the public hear how the police and FBI harangued grieving family members for something they didn’t do, there will be a closing of doors and a withdrawal of information and cooperation.
FBI man or not, Doenig is a human being. Like me he won’t want to be the one to raise the subject with distraught relatives, even if I am right.
We are given a temporary reprieve by the appearance of Darla. She points at Doenig. ‘Chief Watson is on line three. He wants to speak to you.’
Doenig takes the call while I hover, unsure whether or not I should leave the room.
Darla stays, so I do the same.
It’s a one-sided conversation, filled with ‘I sees’ and ‘okays’.
He hangs up and turns to me. ‘You were right. After hearing the news Yarwood’s wife called her parents. The father told Chief Watson he’d found Oberton but didn’t dare call it in.’
‘Now the link has been confirmed we’d better get Norm’s family rounded up as soon as we can.’
68
I toss my keys onto the counter and brew a strong coffee, intent on washing the taste of failure from my mouth.
The last three hours have been spent chasing after Norm’s cousin. Doenig’s trace revealed her cell hadn’t left home after returning from her work.
He’d contacted her work colleagues, while I had banged on the neighbours’ doors until I got a response.
Neither of us had learned anything useful.
Fearing the worst for her, Doenig had picked the lock on her door and led the way through her house with his gun drawn.
The empty bottle of wine on the counter had given me hope – she may just be asleep and dead to the world. Doenig pushed each door open and shone his penlight into every room with the same result. Or lack of it.
Finding no sign of the woman, we switched the lights on and looked for clues as to her whereabouts.
Her cell was on the armrest of a chair, but when we tried to access it we found its battery dead. A tablet lifted from a table had been accessible. Her Facebook status was last updated at five twenty and complained about a busy day being a terrible way to prepare for a date.
I found a charger and plugged in her cell only to find it locked. Doenig had contemplated taking the cell so a tech expert could access its secrets but until we knew for certain she was missing he decided it was a step too far.
Her purse and cell being left at the house was enough for me, but he’d be bound by a set of unbreakable rules. You don’t become a special agent by being a loose cannon or habitually breaking the rules. The position is awarded to the most diligent and robotic of their ranks. Individual brilliance will help, but the main criteria will be team ethics, sound investigative procedure and an ingrained willingness to follow orders.
He justified not taking the cell by saying he could have someone tap into it and retrieve any information on it.
It was a compromise, but I accepted it as he was the one holding all the cards. One act of serious insubordination from me and I’d be out on my ear. Not something I was prepared to allow. Not only was I pursuing the killer for the families of those he’d killed, I was seeking justice for the victims, for the two friends he’d killed.
After finishing my coffee, I stretch out on my bed and wait for my restless mind to slow. Tomorrow will be another long day and I have a feeling when Norm’s cousin is found, things will get a whole lot worse.
69
The insistent ringing of my cell wakes me. My sister’s name on the display is worrying. Whatever she’s calling for won’t be good. Calls before six are never anything but bad news.
‘Jake, I’m scared. I’ve just found a body on the lane behind my house.’
Her words shake the sleep from me. I don’t bother to think of anything beyond the safety of my family.
‘Don’t bother calling the police. Get Ted and go to the station in person. Whatever happens, stay put until I arrive.’
A minute later I am dressed and calling Mother. She doesn’t answer so I keep trying as I leave the apartment and climb into my car.
She picks up when I’m halfway to her house. I tell her to get dressed and wait for me, then r
ing off before she can start asking questions.
I run three red lights on my way across town, but traffic violations are the least of my concerns. Right now all I care about is making sure my family are safe.
Mother’s door is open when I get there. She’s dressed in dark green velour sweats and has the kind of expression which inspires gargoyle sculptors.
‘I’ve spoken to your sister, young man.’
I’d hoped to be able to break the news myself, but it seems events have conspired against me. The ‘young man’ at the end of her sentence as telling a sign of danger as the hissing clatter of a rattlesnake.
‘Good. Then you’ll know we need to move right away. Where’s Neill?’ Her husband is a good man but lacks any sense of urgency. The only time I’ve known him to show anything approaching hurry was when he’d had diarrhoea a few years back.
‘He’s upstairs getting dressed. He’ll be a minute.’
I know his idea of a minute, so I go to the foot of the stairs and look upwards. There’s no sound of movement. ‘Neill. Get down here at once. This is serious.’
Perhaps my shout will do more good than any of Mother’s nagging. Over the years he’s shown an impressive immunity to her exhortations for rapidity.
Mother has followed me. There’s a fire in her eyes which threatens to become an uncontrollable forest blaze.
‘Do you really think so little of us that you’re happy to risk all of our lives by continuing with this ridiculous charade?’ The heat of her anger is counterbalanced by the arctic intensity of her tone. ‘It’s bad enough you running around playing detective but what about the rest of us?’
I don’t give her an answer. There isn’t one that can explain how important this is to me without further angering her. As this isn’t a good time to inform her of my deputation, I give Neill another hurrying shout.
‘Tell me, Jacob. Do you think it’s any kind of coincidence that the day after you’re lauded in the local paper as the man to identify a serial killer’s pattern, your sister finds a body and puts you and your family into the killer’s sights?’
It was my first thought after realising I had to make sure Mother and Sharon were safe. It’s been my only thought ever since.
The macho part of me welcomes the thought of coming face to face with the killer, but the more realistic side of my nature tells me it’s a fight I will probably lose.
Whoever this person is, he’s organised, resourceful and knows lots of different ways to kill.
Mother interprets my silence as contrition and hammers her point home with a series of demeaning attacks on my sanity, my failings as a son and somehow ends up back on the tired old subject of grandchildren.
Neill’s footsteps as he comes downstairs act as a welcome interruption. His lined face shows puzzlement at the disturbance and raised voices.
‘C’mon. I need to get you to the police station as soon as possible. That way the police can keep you safe.’
Hearing the words come out of my mouth I realise what I’ve just said and the subtext behind it. Mother and Sharon will be kept safe along with their husbands. I won’t be joining them. My place is continuing the investigation.
I get them bundled out of the door and into my car and drive them to the station. Mother complains all the way about the lack of legroom in the back of a Mustang while Neill concentrates on not commenting about the speed of my driving.
A tightwad by nature, he always drives at the optimum speed to get the best mileage possible. To be crossing town in the high sixties will seem nothing short of reckless to him.
Mother has travelled far enough with me to become unconcerned by my driving. Although she will on occasion, cite an inevitable crash as yet another way I’m preventing her from becoming a grandmother.
70
Entering the station, we find Sharon and her husband Ted talking with Doenig’s sidekick.
When she sees Mother she runs across and wraps her up in a big hug. I get a similar one from her. Ted’s politeness makes him shake my hand despite the accusation on his face.
Mother will be glad of an ally in her campaign against me, although Sharon and Ted’s presence will keep her away from the ever-present subject of grandchildren.
Doenig and the chief emerge from his office. The FBI man looks fresh whereas the chief’s face and body show his exhaustion. His movements are clumsy and he’s dragging his feet.
I take the initiative. ‘What’s the next move, Chief?’
‘You and your family go to the motel and stay there.’ Doenig’s tone brooks no argument. ‘This has to end here. No more deaths.’
‘We thought that yesterday with the Vernal family.’ I’m not prepared to be sequestered away. By dragging Sharon and Mother into this mess, the killer has made it way too personal for me to allow myself to be shunted aside.
Besides, the thought of being cloistered away with Mother when she’s got full justification to rail on me isn’t an attractive one. She’ll rattle on for hour after hour, attacking me from every possible angle. As a rule I would be able to mount a defence against her, but on this occasion I’m guilty as charged.
It won’t be long before the others side with her. Even in silence, their faces will show what they think of me. There’s no way I want to be in that position. Not when I can be stopping a killer.
‘I’m not going to the motel. I’m staying on the case.’
‘No you’re not.’ The chief’s voice is as tired as the rest of him. ‘That’s how we lost Angus Oberton.’
‘If you stay on the case you’ll be a target. I’m not having one of my officers at risk.’
I hand the chief my badge. ‘Problem solved. I’m a civilian now.’
‘Which means I can arrest you if I want to.’
‘Enough.’ Doenig keeps his voice low, but there’s a quality to it which cuts through our bickering. He looks at me. ‘If you don’t go to the motel, you’ll become a target. But I’m not sure the killer will take you on. I think he’ll be expecting you to be protected or guarded. And he’ll be right.’
Which means that if the killer doesn’t come after me, his pattern will have to be broken as I only have four direct relatives in the US and they’re all under police guard.
Only, the killer isn’t going to move onto someone else. I don’t for one minute believe he dumped the latest body outside Sharon’s home by chance.
It is a deliberate act, designed to hamper the investigation. With me either distracted or stationed in the motel, I’ll be less effective.
Yet looking at it from his point of view, there is the danger he won’t be able to get to me. I don’t think he is ready to stop, so his involving of my family is the laying down of a challenge.
He’s asking if I’m man enough to face him. He wants to take me on. The realisation of what he wants firms my resolve.
I take a deep breath and make a suggestion which might get me killed. ‘He’s coming after me, so use me to catch him.’
The chief is the first to speak. ‘No way. Forget it, Boulder, there’s no way I’m risking him getting to you.’
‘You’re not the one taking the risk. I’m in charge.’ Doenig looks at me with respect in his eyes. ‘Are you sure about this?’
I swallow. ‘Can you think of any other way we’ll catch him?’
Neither of them reply, which is all the answer any of us needs.
The chief tosses the badge back to me and pulls a gun out of his drawer. ‘Do you know how to use this?’
‘No, but I’ve got one I do know how to use.’ I’m stretching the truth a bit, but I’m trying to reassure him.
‘Where is it?’
‘In the trunk of my car.’
‘Go get it. Keep it with you at all times.’ He cocks his head to one side. ‘Round up a couple of patrolmen and take your folks to the motel. When you’ve done that come back here and make sure you have a patrolman with you at all times.’
I sense he is getting rid of me on purpose
, so I leave him and Doenig to it.
After getting the gun from the trunk of my car and stuffing it into my waistband, I go to join my family.
There are two patrolmen watching over them, so I approach the nearest. ‘Chief says they’re to go to the motel. I’ll take the guys in my car, you take my mother and sister.’
I plan to inform Neill and Ted what I’m doing on the drive over and leave them to break the news. It’s a cop-out but I’ve enough self-critical thoughts of my own, without Mother dripping scornful vitriol in my ear.
71
When I arrive at the motel I see two burly workers and a cop stationed at the entrance. Another civilian and a cop are standing by the fire exit. They look bored but their heads are in constant motion as they sweep the area for possible aggressors.
The patrolmen gain us entry and a couple of rooms are secured for my folks. They look stunned but there’s little I can do to change things. It’s about to get worse for Mother and Sharon when their husbands repeat the news I’ve given them.
As they are escorted down the hall, I pull my cell out and read the message I’ve just got.
It’s a picture of a woman. Her face has a deathly pallor and the dewdrops coating her cheeks look like tears.
A second message comes in, followed by a third.
The second is from the chief asking me to show the picture to Norm Sortwell to see if it’s his cousin.
I check the last message and sigh when I see who it’s from.
YOU ARE AN IDIOT JACOB BOULDER. WORRYING ABOUT YOU WILL PUT ME IN AN EARLY GRAVE. I EXPECT TO HEAR FROM YOU EVERY TWO HOURS.
Stuffing the cell back into my pocket, I go to the receptionist and ask which room Norm is in.
As I make my way along the corridor, I’m rehearsing what to say, the tone to use and guessing what his reaction may be. This is new ground for me and I curse the chief for making me walk it.
How Norm will react depends on the closeness of their relationship. It was tough to gain any insights last night. He’d been questioned to the point of distraction by the feds, then brought out here with his parents.