The Silent Child Boxset

by Roger Hayden

  A pause came at the other end. “Available units have already been dispatched to the Winter Garden Plaza. I thought you had called them there.”

  Dobson swung around his car to the driver’s side, searching for his hand-held police radio. He hoped he hadn’t left it at home or office. “No, no. That’s okay,” he said loudly into the phone as an overhead helicopter jettisoned past.

  He glanced up and saw that it was a police helicopter, wondering if it was headed to the Erickson neighborhood. “I need them here,” he continued. “All first responders. We’ve got an active homicide.”

  The dispatcher confirmed as Dobson thanked her and hung up. Still no call from Sterling, and Dobson’s initial concern was venturing toward fear. Sirens blared in the distance as Dobson walked the perimeter of the construction site.

  He knew that the killer was gone, and as he circled around the pickup truck and toward the bushes where Cooper’s body lay, he recalled that they were dealing with a trophy killer. Only this time, it didn’t appear that any part of his latest victim was missing to add to his collection.

  Dobson didn’t want to move the body. He didn’t even want to look at it. Two children no longer had a father, and the longer Dobson remained at the murder scene, the more he began to blame himself. Three police cars sped into the parking lot with an ambulance not far behind.

  Dobson rushed forward, toward the open gate and waved the responders in. Their sirens ceased as their emergency lights continued to rapidly flicker. Dobson went back toward the trailer as a cloud of dust kicked up from the arriving entourage nearly engulfed him. The officers on the scene were quick to park and get out of their vehicles as Dobson took a deep breath and approached them.

  “We’ve got a body over there,” he said, pointing to the side of the trailer. “Get Forensics on the radio and get them here immediately.”

  “Is that who I think it is?” Sergeant Jimenez asked, lifting his shades.

  “Yes. It’s Cooper Erickson. He was murdered maybe less than an hour ago,” Dobson said, shaking his head. “Keep a lid on things until we know what’s going on.”

  He suddenly paused and saw a red caked dirt beyond the police car. He walked past the officers and approached the puddle. Redness had seeped into the sand like an oil stain. There was little doubt that Dobson was standing where Cooper had been stabbed.

  “I want the entire area cordoned off,” he announced to the officers. They nodded in response as two more police vehicles raced through the gates. “Tell them to keep their distance!” Dobson shouted.

  He didn’t want the crime scene to become a parking garage. The past few days had been a redundant stream of murder scenes where he was operating as nothing more than the cleanup crew. He was at his wits’ end with the being a step behind the killer.

  He glanced at Cooper’s truck and then thought of Janet’s minivan, which had somehow fallen into the killer’s hands. He then thought of Sterling’s Jeep and things started to come together. That was the missing piece.

  “When did you get here, Detective?” Jimenez asked as a gust of wind blew through the construction site like a sand storm.

  Dobson brushed at his hair with his palm. “Twenty minutes or so. I was checking in on Mr. Erickson—” Suddenly, his cell phone vibrated. Dobson paused and pulled it from his pocket. Much to his relief, it was from Sterling’s number. “Pardon me,” he said, raising an index finger to Jimenez. He moved away from the noise and chatter and answered the phone, eager to find out where she had been the whole time.

  “Sterling. What’s going on?” He waited and heard nothing but crackling static on the other end. “Talk to me, Sterling. We’ve got a situation here.”

  “Oh, I bet you do,” a voice that wasn’t Sterling’s said on the other end.

  Dobson paused and looked around, startled by the response. “Excuse me. Who is this?”

  “Listen up, Detective Nobody. I’m guessing you have your hands full, right?”

  The grating, mechanical-sounding voice an obvious disguise.

  “Who is this?” Dobson asked, though the last thing he expected was a hearty answer.

  “Let me save you some time. About an hour ago, I killed Cooper Erickson. Thirty minutes before that, I killed his lovely wife. Would have killed his kids too, but somebody got in the way.”

  “Listen to me, whoever you are,” Dobson spat into the phone. “It’s only a matter of time before we find you, so drop the charade.”

  “How long did it take you to find the body?” the voice asked. “Couldn’t have been too hard. I took little care in concealing it.” He paused again with a satisfied chuckle. “But my generosity has come to an end.”

  “Where’s Detective Sterling?” Dobson demanded.

  “She’s a detective?” the man’s voice asked, astonished. “You wouldn’t know it from her haphazard pursuit of me.”

  “Listen to me, you son of a bitch—”

  “No, you listen to me! Your partner is alive, but that’s all up to you. Drop this case, and I’ll let her go. I only want to be left alone, and I’ll stop everything.”

  “That’s not how it works,” Dobson said, pacing back and forth over the sand.

  “I’ve completed my mission,” the voice continued. “I won. You lost. Get over it and move on.”

  “This isn’t over,” Dobson said.

  “And don’t bother looking for Janet Erickson either. You’re not going to find her.”

  “I want to speak to my partner.”

  The voice laughed again. “Goodbye, Detective.”

  The call ended before Dobson could say another word. He lowered the phone, stunned, and then immediately called the number back. Predictably, it went to voicemail. He gave up and slipped his cell phone back into his pocket. The realization that Sterling had been captured hadn’t fully sunk in.

  He watched as the police surrounded Cooper Erickson’s body, callously discarded in the bushes. This time, however, there didn’t seem to be anything missing. Perhaps their killer’s collection was complete. Or maybe, Dobson thought, he was beginning to get sloppy after all.

  Investigation

  Dobson stood in Captain Nelson’s office with Detective Jack Harris and Detective Gabrielle Jones, two of the department’s senior detectives. They too had joined Dobson’s stakeout and watched the Ericksons home all night. When they had left the scene that morning, there was little doubt that the family was safe for the time being. No one would have predicted such a devastating turn of events.

  Captain Nelson sat at his desk, hands folded and head down as the three detectives stood in front of him. A wall-mounted television played on mute in the corner of the office. Phones rang nonstop from the various cubicles outside.

  The department was in a frenzy. A serial killer was on the loose, and they could no longer keep the news from the public. Dobson glanced at the television where an ongoing local news report detailed, “Multiple Slayings in Leesburg” in a large text on the bottom of the screen.

  The female reporter gripped a microphone and spoke at a safe distance from the Winter Garden Plaza, where a barrage of police vehicles were on site. The disappearance of one of the department’s probationary detectives was under wraps for the time being, but there was no denying that it had changed the case as they knew it.

  Nelson raised his head, removing his glasses and rubbing his eyes. “I just got off the phone with the Chief Deputy. He’s expected to release a statement within the hour. I think I can say with certainty that things aren’t looking good here.”

  Dobson stepped forward. “Sir, if I could—”

  Nelson held a hand up. “Not yet. Listen.” Silence permeated through the office as Nelson took a deep breath. His normally slicked-back gray hair was dry and wavy. There was even light stubble on his face, normally unseen on their perpetually well-groomed captain. The sleeves to his white button-down dress shirt were rolled up, and his blue tie was slightly loosened at the collar.

  Standing next to
Dobson, Detective Harris and Jones had only just arrived at the station after their long shift from the previous night. They seemed as surprised as anyone that things had gone so wrong in such a short amount of time.

  “When did Sterling go missing?” he asked, eyes locking with Dobson’s.

  Dobson thought to himself and then looked at a nearby wall clock. It was 4:47 p.m. “Approximately two and a half hours ago,” Dobson said. “Right after she called for backup.”

  Nelson flopped his arms down onto the desk, seemingly defeated. “What was she doing there in the first place?”

  “I’m not sure,” Dobson said.

  “Good thing that she was,” Detective Jones announced in her typical outspoken manner. “Saved those kids’ lives.”

  Nelson’s hand went up again as though he was well aware of the situation. “I get it. Now she’s presumably being held by this psychopath, and we have no leads on where they could be.” He paused and looked at each detective. “Is that correct?”

  Dobson nodded. “We talked over Sterling’s phone for maybe one or two minutes. I’m sure we can pull a location from the call.”

  “Supermarket off of Prince Boulevard,” Detective Harris said. “Last known location pinged from her phone.”

  Nelson leaned forward with his fingers interlaced. “We’ve been having a hard time pulling in resources as it is. Maybe this will change things for the better.”

  Dobson stood silent, confused by the captain’s tone as Jones gripped the front of his desk and leaned closer. “There’s surveillance footage in the parking garage, right?” She paused and looked around, stunned to hear no immediate answer. “It’s right next to the courthouse. Janet Erickson had just left there. You mean to tell me that this guy killed or kidnapped her and stole her van in broad daylight without a single witness and without being caught on camera?”

  Harris shook his head. “Not possible. Then again, he did cut off a lady’s head.”

  Jones swung her head around and gave him a stern look. “Come on, Jack. What kind of thing is that to say?”

  Dobson held out his hands. “Enough. Let’s think here. So far, the search team has pulled nothing from the parking garage. Janet Erickson is with the killer, alive or dead. We know he’s not far from here, and we also know that this killing spree is far from over.”

  Harris looked from the television back to Dobson in disbelief. “In this town? Never thought it possible.”

  “We just need to catch the bastard,” Jones said in a fiery tone.

  Captain Nelson pushed his arms forward and yawned. There was little question that he was pulling some of the longest hours of any of them. “I want an answer, Mike,” he said, looking directly at Dobson. “What was said over the phone? I want every word.”

  Dobson cleared his throat. “He spoke with a distorted voice and demanded that we back off. That was his one and only demand. If we did that, he explained, he would release Detective Sterling.”

  “Bullshit,” Harris interjected.

  Dobson gave him a funny look as Harris quickly corrected himself. “Not to your story, Mike. The promise of letting her go.”

  “I agree,” Dobson said. “It’s a total ruse, but what we do know is that our suspect went to great lengths to conceal his voice, which also has me convinced that he uses disguises—different wigs, masks, and makeup to that extent.”

  Dobson paused as though something had come back to him—a visit by a man in all black, with a face of rubber or latex, concealed by the shadow of a ball cap. Dobson recalled the man asking for directions around the station. If he could only remember the month or day. The memory was hazy at best, but he felt a connection.

  “You still with us, Mike?” Nelson asked, leaning back in his chair.

  Dobson looked forward with a nod. “Yeah.”

  “Great,” Nelson continued. “As I was saying, the police chief is ordering a perimeter to be set around all major parts of town. Police are setting up roadblocks and conducting searches within twenty miles of the Erickson home.” He paused and turned to look at the wall-mounted television in the corner where an empty podium was on screen with a news banner underneath that read, “Police Chief to Release Statement on Local Murders.”

  The time for answers was near. Dobson knew that their suspect was quite possibly a local resident himself—a graduate of Summerville High School. The victims were connected by their graduating year and acquaintances. They had all been friends at one point before growing up and moving on with their lives, unaware that the past would come back to haunt them. The only question in Dobson’s mind was about what they had done and to whom. Once he knew the answers, the killer’s identity was certain to follow. Or so he hoped.

  Nelson looked away from the screen and wiped a hand down his face. “I don’t want to think about what’ll happen if we lose one more person to this demented psychopath. We might not even have jobs by the time this day is over.”

  Dobson stepped forward feeling justified in his sudden anger. “Sir, that’s probably not the most important concern right now. Wouldn’t you agree?”

  Nelson shot Dobson an incredulous look, only to see Harris and Jones displaying a similar stance, arms crossed and unamused facial expressions. “I apologize, okay?” he said. “But it’s going to be a lot harder to find Sterling after we’re dismissed. Wouldn’t you agree with that?”

  “No one is going to step in and take this case away from us,” Jones said with conviction in her dark eyes. “Not if I can help it.”

  A brief silence followed throughout the room as Nelson leaned closer to his computer monitor screen while moving his mouse around. Dobson pondered just how much of his theories of high school vengeance from a mysterious student he should present without being laughed out of the room. But most killings had a motive, and revenge was at the top of the list.

  Nelson typed across his keyboard and paused with a deep breath. “Any one of you can correct me if I’m wrong here.” He then began reading a report from the screen. “Two nights ago, a resident by the name of Betsy Wade contacted the Summerville Police Department about a letter she received in the mail, which she believed to be a threat. The next morning, Ms. Wade is found dead in her home. Decapitated.” Nelson paused and looked up at the detectives. “Everything sound right so far?”

  Dobson, Harris, and Jones all nodded as he continued.

  “The day following her murder, the investigation led to another resident, Gordon McDonnel, who also received a chain letter of some sort in the mail. He was found murdered in his car outside the vacant plastics factory. Everyone up to speed?”

  This time, he didn’t wait for a response.

  “That same evening, this department contacted Cooper and Janet Erickson, who also reported receiving the same chain letter. We conducted a stakeout in hopes of catching the suspect or suspects involved in these murders. Hours pass, the night ends, and nothing happens.” Nelson stopped and leaned back in his chair, rubbing at his temple on both sides. “And now, we’re dealing with the aftermath of a double homicide and a missing detective, all in the span of what, three days?” He rocked forward and held his hands out as though the question baffled him. “Just how in the hell did we get here?”

  Dobson noticed both Harris and Jones looking in his direction as he did his best to explain.

  “What we’ve found has proved a convincing pattern. The victims all knew each other from high school. They attended Summerville High and graduated in 1991. I believe that our killer was from the same school and that he has been planning these murders for a long time.”

  “Summerville High?” Nelson asked, scratching his head. “Yes, I’ve read your report.” He paused as though he had theories of his own. Instead of offering such insight, his eyes returned to his monitor screen as he resumed typing. “I’m sure it wouldn’t take more than a few hours to interview every other graduate now, would it?”

  Dobson scratched behind his ear, dreading such a task. “Depends, sir. I think we sho
uld continue examining Betsy Wade’s yearbook and make sense of the missing page among the class pictures. Help narrow down the search at least.”

  Nelson held his chin, eyes looking upward in thought. “You haven’t done this already?”

  Dobson looked around to notice all eyes on him. “I’m not the only detective on the force. I--”

  Nelson immediately cut him off. “Yes, but this is your case. Or at least I thought it was.”

  There was nothing left for Dobson to do but leave the room. Instead, he stayed with the guilt of Sterling’s abduction weighing on him by the minute. Finding the killer was beginning to be less about solving the case than it was about finding the person who had made the last three days of his life a living hell and making him pay for it.

  Harris’s head suddenly shot up just as Police Chief Daniel Meeks appeared at the podium with his trim dark hair, thick neck, and youthful, clean-shaven face. He looked to be in his late thirties, part of the new blood taking over the department just as many of its veterans were retiring. He cleared his throat with one balled fist while holding several index cards in his other hand.

  “What is it?” Dobson asked Harris who stared at his screen.

  “You know, the chief went to Summerville High, too,” Harris said.

  “Yeah, so?” Jones said, losing patience.

  “He must have graduated later,” Harris continued.

  “What are you getting at, Detective?” Nelson asked.

  Harris shook his head. “No. It’s just… there’s a high school reunion being held at the end of the week.” He paused and looked around surprised to see everyone looking at him. “Yeah. This Friday. Hell, that’s tomorrow.”

  “What graduating class?” Dobson asked.

  Harris looked up, thinking to himself. “Twenty-five-year class, I think. My wife’s friend, Isabelle, was talking about it the other day. They’ve rented out the conference room of the Renaissance Hotel downtown. Pretty impressive.”

  Jones quickly counted to herself and then turned to Dobson with near dread in her eyes. “That’s the class of 1991.”