Among the Dead

by J. R. Backlund

  “Right now, we’re focused on catching whoever killed poor Dean McGrath. But you all know even better than I do that there’s a lot more to it than that. We need to catch the bastard, but we need to do it right. The last thing we want is for some lawyer to stroll into the courthouse and destroy our case because we didn’t cover our butts. We all know what that’s like. Miss Carver is here to make sure that doesn’t happen.” He turned to Rachel. “Anything you want to add to that before we get started?”

  She looked at the detectives. “It’s my job to pick you two apart. To scrutinize every move you’ve made every step of the way. And I’m going to suggest that you do some things from this point forward. Things that will make a lot of extra work for you. Before this meeting is over, you’ll probably want to tie me up and force feed me the case file. But when you’re sitting on the witness stand, you’ll be grateful for every note you wrote, every picture you took, every sketch you made . . . because every aspect of this case, from the way you document what you find at a crime scene, to the canvass, to the handling of physical evidence, to the interrogation of a suspect . . . all of it will be under the microscope. I know you’re experienced detectives, but in a case like this, even a veteran can make a mistake that might cost a conviction. I’ve seen it happen.”

  Fisher fidgeted in his seat, looking agitated. Rachel’s eyes met his as she said, “So we need to be sure we don’t make any more.”

  “Any more?” Fisher asked. “What mistakes have we made?”

  In her peripheral vision, she saw Braddock straighten in his chair. She smiled and said, “Were you there this morning when Carly and the SBI tech started processing the crime scene?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you leave at any point before they finished?”

  “For about an hour or so,” he said. “I met with the deputies who did the canvass, then stopped to get coffee for everyone. But Tina was there.”

  Pratt nodded and said, “That’s right. And I stayed until he got back.”

  “I see,” she said. “And during all that time at the house, did either of you two need to use the restroom?”

  “Yeah,” Fisher said. “I did.”

  “Okay. I didn’t see a portable sanitation unit there. Did you go in the woods?”

  “Uh . . . no, ma’am,” he said, turning a little red. “It wasn’t really something I could do out there.”

  More chuckling.

  “So does that mean you left the house to drive somewhere else?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Then I’m confused. Where did you go to use the restroom?”

  “I used the one in the house.”

  “Before the crime scene process was complete?” she asked.

  He opened his mouth to speak but stopped himself as he realized his mistake. His face turned a shade darker, and he shrank in his seat.

  Rachel said, “We have a lot to talk about.”

  * * *

  Rachel had been lecturing about the proper way to handle a crime scene for nearly twenty minutes when Pratt said, “Okay, obviously there are some things we could’ve done better, but what does this have to do with where we are now?”

  “Two things,” Rachel said. “First, we may still find another crime scene related to this murder. Second, our killer may not be finished yet. If either one of those happens, we need to be ready.”

  The room went quiet, and it struck Rachel that Fisher and Pratt had not been prepared to hear that.

  Melvin Curtis, the patrol captain, spoke for the first time. “Are you saying this could be a serial killer or something?”

  “We don’t know,” Braddock said. “But we can’t rule it out. All we really know is that the killer planned this ahead of time and knew what he was doing.”

  “But I thought McGrath was stabbed with one of his own kitchen knives?”

  “He was.”

  “Doesn’t that contradict what you’re saying? I mean, it seems to me like he came a little unprepared.”

  “I don’t agree,” Rachel said. “Every house has kitchen knives in it. He could have counted on it being there.”

  Curtis had a look of skepticism.

  “Think about what the evidence tells us,” she said. “There was no sign of forced entry, which means he may have been skilled enough to pick the locks on one of the doors. So maybe he goes inside and searches the kitchen. He’s studied the victim’s routine and knows how much time he has. He finds the knife, but he leaves it alone, knowing it’ll be there when he needs it. Then he hides and waits.

  “There was no sign of a struggle. The victim was taken by surprise, hit from behind with something like a pipe or a baseball bat, probably hard enough to knock him out because it caused a small fracture on his skull. Does the killer keep hitting him? No. He knows better than to rupture the scalp and send blood flying everywhere. So he goes for the knife, which can never be traced back to him. With the victim lying unconscious, flat on his back, he stabs him in the chest. But he doesn’t pull it out and try to stab him again. He doesn’t want to risk getting blood on himself. Instead, he moves the knife around inside the wound, causing as much damage as he can.

  “When he’s done, he doesn’t even bother to take it out. He just walks out the door without leaving so much as a bloody footprint. And I’m willing to bet none of the fingerprints found at the scene are his either. If I’m right about all that, then we’re dealing with someone who’s smart and disciplined, and that’s a bad combination for us.”

  “Damn,” Curtis said. “Sounds like you know quite a bit after all.”

  “It’s just a theory,” Braddock said, “but it fits.”

  Pratt asked, “What part of that tells us that this could be a serial killer?”

  “It’s more about what it doesn’t tell us,” Rachel said. “The fact that the killer appears to have been so calculating makes it seem like there wasn’t any emotion directed specifically at the victim. If he had been stabbed a dozen times, or if his face had been beaten to a pulp before he was stabbed, that might suggest that the attack was personal. That there was some hatred or pent-up anger. But this doesn’t look like it was fueled by rage. It was almost . . . surgical. That doesn’t mean it was a serial killer. It just means that we can’t ignore the possibility.”

  Pritchard sighed. “Wouldn’t that just be my luck. A damn mass murderer getting his start on my watch.”

  “We’re assuming he’s getting his start,” Rachel said. “He might have done this before somewhere else.”

  “That’s a good point,” Braddock said. “I’ll put in a call to the SBI when we finish here and tell them what we’re thinking. See if they have anything with a similar MO. They might even decide to run it past the FBI in case our guy is from out of state.”

  “In the meantime,” Rachel said, “we need to focus on the victimology and hope that the motive was something personal. That’ll be our best chance of finding a suspect at this point.”

  Braddock said to the detectives, “Which means you two are gonna get to know Mister McGrath real well. Starting first thing tomorrow morning, go back to the house and go through it from top to bottom. Then talk to his friends, family, coworkers, acquaintances . . . We want to know who he was hanging around with, where he spent his time, what he did when he wasn’t at work . . . We need to get warrants for his financial records, his cell phone records . . . any and everything you can think of.”

  Rachel said, “Your goal is to collect as much information as you can about McGrath and what was happening in his life. And get it from every source you can. When you have no suspects, no witnesses, and no forensic evidence, all you can do is get to know the victim.” She looked at Fisher. “This is your case, and it’s your town. You know the people you’ll be talking to. Don’t be afraid to follow your instincts. Everyone at this table is here to back you up.”

  Fisher nodded, looking a little more enthusiastic. “I’m on it.”

  Curtis said, “I hate to throw a
wrench in these works, especially with something so trivial, but we had a couple of calls come in today. I was planning to pass them along to you, Danny. One was about a stolen ATV, and the other was Sue Bethany saying that someone broke into her shed again. Although she can’t say for sure whether anything’s missing.”

  Pritchard closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose.

  Curtis asked, “You want me to just have a couple of deputies look into it for now?”

  Braddock was about to answer when Fisher said, “I was here when the call came in about the four-wheeler this morning. I can run by during lunch tomorrow and talk to the owner. Shouldn’t take long.”

  “And I live down the road from Sue,” Pratt said. “I’ll call her up when we leave here. Maybe swing by and talk to her on my way home.”

  “All right,” Pritchard said. “But you two don’t go wasting too much of your time. This is everyone’s priority right now. Besides, we all know it was probably just Sue’s boy up there borrowing a damned Weedwacker or something.”

  * * *

  After the meeting, Rachel approached Carly and asked for copies of all the photographs she had taken.

  “There’s a bunch of them,” Carly said. “You have a thumb drive?”

  “Yep.”

  “Awesome. It would take forever to e-mail them all.”

  She followed Carly to her office, which was only slightly larger than a janitor’s closet. A wire-framed shelving unit stood against the far wall. It held heavy-duty plastic cases for camera equipment and unused evidence collection kits. A desk was pushed against the wall to the right, leaving only enough room for a single chair. Carly dropped into it and moved a mouse around until her workstation came to life, then she logged in.

  Rachel dug through the pockets of her briefcase. She found the drive and handed it over. Carly plugged it in, and a new window opened on her desktop. She copied and pasted the file folder, sat back while the progress bar worked its way to the right, and said, “Old server. Might take a minute or two.”

  “No problem.” A few seconds passed in silence. Rachel leaned against the desk and asked, “How long have you been doing CrossFit?”

  Carly looked at a spot on the wall, thinking. “I guess it’s been about three years or so.”

  “You like it?” Rachel almost cringed as the question slipped out. She was terrible at small talk. “I mean, of course you like it or you wouldn’t still be doing it.”

  Carly smiled. “Yeah. It’s fun. Challenging. More interesting than running on a treadmill.”

  “I could see that.”

  “Danny mentioned that you train jiu-jitsu. How long have you been doing that?”

  “About nine years.”

  “What got you into it?”

  “Raleigh PD brought an instructor in once to give a seminar. I loved it. I went to his school and signed up that same week.”

  “Good way to work off the stress?”

  “There’s no better therapy in the world than trying to choke someone out. And it’s more interesting than running on a treadmill.”

  Carly laughed. “That’s awesome. What belt are you?”

  “Brown.”

  “You must be pretty good by now.”

  Rachel shrugged. “I can hold my own, if I’m having a good day.”

  “Well, Danny said you were really good.”

  She laughed. “He did, huh?”

  “Yep.” Carly smiled. She looked on the verge of winking as she said, “He’s had a lot of nice things to say about you.”

  Rachel felt flushed, unsure of how to respond. Luckily the task bar disappeared from the screen, and Carly said, “All done.” She took out the drive and handed it back.

  “Thanks.” Rachel dropped it into her briefcase and started backing toward the door. “I’d better go find Danny.”

  Another smile. “Yeah. You should do that.”

  * * *

  Rachel found Braddock in the hall just outside the conference room talking to Pritchard and a tall, heavyset man in a sport coat and khakis. The man had thick white hair and a red face with spider veins on his cheeks. Braddock waved her over and said, “Rachel, I’d like you to meet Commissioner Lawton Jones.”

  Jones reached out with a puffy hand and shook Rachel’s. “It’s nice to meet you, Miss Carver. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

  “My pleasure, sir. I hope I’m not interrupting.”

  “Not at all,” he said.

  Pritchard said, “Lawton’s here on behalf of the county commission. They want to know how badly we’re screwing things up.”

  Jones laughed. “That sounds a little paranoid, Sheriff.”

  “What is it they say? It’s not paranoia if they’re really out to smear your name and run you out of—”

  “So, Commissioner,” Braddock said quickly, “I wish we had more to tell you, but we’re really just getting started here.”

  “That’s all right, Danny,” Jones said. “I understand. I just wanted to stop in and see if there was any news.” He turned to Rachel. “Tell me, Miss Carver, when you were working for the SBI, did you ever come to a little town like ours and help the locals solve a murder?”

  “More than once,” she said.

  “Well, in that case, I’m glad you’re here. People in this area are pretty scared, as I’m sure you can imagine.”

  “Yes, sir, I can.”

  “This kind of thing is unusual for us, but some folks are saying that we should expect to see more of it. Especially with all the outsiders we get riding through here.”

  “Outsiders?”

  Braddock was fighting back a smile, as if he knew what was coming.

  “The bikers,” Jones said. “Coming in and out of town every weekend. I’m not saying they’re all bad, mind you, but there’s definitely a criminal element there.”

  “I see,” she said.

  “I’ve heard all sorts of stories from people. Drugs, prostitution . . . things I hate to even repeat. And everyone knows they’re the reason we have such a problem with the crystal meth now.”

  “Okay.”

  “That’s something I’d be checking into, if I were you.”

  “Right.” She looked to Braddock for help, but he seemed to be enjoying the exchange. She said, “I’ll make sure Danny and I look into it personally.”

  11

  Rachel and Braddock decided it was best not to be seen enjoying another meal in public, so they picked up chicken sandwiches from McDonald’s and took them back to the Fontana Lodge. They ate at the lopsided Formica table and talked about the case. When they were finished, Rachel took her laptop computer from her briefcase and powered it up so she could load Carly’s crime scene photos. She inserted the thumb drive, opened the folder to a gallery of tiny thumbnail images, and selected a few at random.

  “You were right,” she said. “Carly did a good job with these.”

  Braddock sipped an iced tea and stared at the floor, looking weary. Rachel opened a photo that showed the body lying on the kitchen floor and zoomed in to get a closer look. After examining it for a couple minutes, she closed the screen and fell back in her seat. “I need a break. I’ll take a look at them in a little while.”

  “In a little while?” Braddock asked. “You go right ahead. I’m so tired, I can hardly see straight.”

  She smiled, thought about the meeting and the encounter afterward. “What’s the deal with that commissioner?”

  “Lawton? He’s a real estate developer. Owns a bunch of land all over the western part of the state. He’s pretty wealthy, though you wouldn’t know it to look at him.”

  “Doesn’t seem to care much for bikers.”

  “Been going on about that for years. Says they’re bringing in meth labs and driving down property values.”

  “Any truth to it?”

  “Some. We see a little gang activity every now and then, but nothing like what Lawton would have you believe. They do make and sell meth, but they’re not the only one
s. Either way, the majority of the bikers that come through here are just regular people. Weekend riders. The truth is we’d really miss them if they weren’t around. They bring in a lot of money for the local economy.”

  “You ever see any gang activity at the bar where McGrath worked?”

  Braddock shook his head.

  Rachel thought for a moment and said, “Hmm.”

  “Uh-oh. Don’t tell me you’re starting to take Lawton’s biker thing seriously.”

  “Maybe. Maybe not. Like you said, they’re not the only ones around here dealing meth. And McGrath wouldn’t be the first bartender to sell drugs on the side. We know he was having money problems.”

  “That’s true,” he said. “I guess we can’t rule it out.”

  “That’s the problem,” she said, rubbing her eyes. “We can’t rule anything out yet.”

  “You should get some sleep. We can talk to Shane about the drug angle in the morning.”

  “Had enough for one day?”

  He nodded toward the bed. “If I don’t get outta here soon, you’re going to have to share that bed with me.”

  She thought about her conversation with Carly and laughed. It came out louder than she’d intended.

  “I didn’t mean it like . . .” His face turned red.

  Her face turned red.

  He said, “Okay, I’m gonna leave now.”

  They said good night, and she showed him out. Then she leaned against the door and thought about how good he’d looked walking away.

  * * *

  A few minutes later, Rachel stood in front of the mirror and leaned in to examine her bloodshot green eyes. Fine lines were starting to form beneath them, but the rest of her skin was holding up well for a sleep-deprived thirty-eight-year-old with a poor diet. She even had a little color, despite the fact that she rarely spent time in the sun.

  She turned off the vanity light and climbed into bed. Pulled the computer onto her lap, thinking she might browse the photos. The little clock at the corner of the screen said it was 9:17. Her eyelids felt heavy. She changed her mind, set the computer aside, and switched off the lamp on the nightstand. She was nearly asleep when the phone rang.