by C. M. Sutter
The curtain fluttered when the door opened. J.T. was back. He nodded at me, and I knew Spelling had come through with a local sketch artist for us.
“What have we got, J.T.?”
“Spelling located the sketch artist that works with the Iroquois County Sheriff’s Department. She’ll be here in a half hour.”
“Do you need to rest, Jane, or can you tell us more?”
“I can talk.”
I squeezed her hand and was careful to avoid the stitched areas, which were everywhere. “You’re very brave, and we certainly appreciate your help. Can you start when you first had contact with him?”
She nodded and took a deep breath. “I worked in the gift shop yesterday. He strolled in kind of cocky, like he wanted to be noticed. Of course, I asked if he needed help. It’s my job. He wanted a new hat.”
“A new hat?” J.T. gave me a quick glance as he wrote.
“Yes, something a dark color, he said.”
I knew why, and by the look on J.T.’s face, he did too.
“Did he buy a hat?”
“Yes, a plain black one. He said he didn’t want any writing on it.”
That comment told me we were dealing with someone smart. He knew we had him on surveillance tape, wearing the yellow hat from Millstead Trucking. He didn’t want to give us any more clues.
“Anything else?”
Jane reached for the water. I helped her.
“Yes, he wanted stationery. All we carry at the gift shop is writing paper and envelopes, not actual matching stationery. I joked about it, and he said he wanted to write a letter because he was sentimental and had a lot of time on his hands. I guess that made me think he was a nice guy.” Jane tried to laugh but coughed instead.
Her comment made me think of the pad of paper he went back to the truck for. Something important had to have been written on it.
“Then what happened?” J.T. asked.
“He bought the hat, paper, envelopes, and a book of stamps. Then he asked me to come out to his truck for lunch. I told him it was frowned upon by management, but it was almost like he dared me.” She looked down and went quiet as she fumbled with the edge of the bedsheet.
“Jane?”
She brushed away the tears with the back of her hand. “I’m so naive. I fell for his charm hook, line, and sinker and nearly died because of it.”
“Don’t blame yourself. You’re young and impressionable, and that’s what he preys on.”
She took a careful, deep breath. “Anyway, like an idiot, I was flattered that an older man paid attention to me. I even had the cook make us grilled cheese sandwiches. I can’t believe I did that and paid for them too.”
“It’s okay. You said he was older. Older by how much?” I asked.
She shook her head. “I don’t know, early forties, maybe. His face wasn’t perfectly clear because of the hat and beard.”
“What color was his beard?” J.T. asked.
“Gray and brown, but mostly gray.”
“That’s good, Jane. That tells us his hair is probably the same. Did you see his hair?”
“Only when he tried on hats for a minute at most. It was stringy and tucked behind his ears, but it did look the same as his beard, grayish.”
“Okay, now we’re getting somewhere. So he hasn’t dyed his hair, and he isn’t bald. What about his eyes?”
“They were dark and empty.”
I winced and rubbed my side.
J.T. noticed. “What’s wrong, Jade?”
“I have that pain in my stomach again, but it’ll pass.”
“Do you get it often?” Dr. Adams asked.
“We aren’t doing this. I know it’ll pass. We need to focus on Jane.”
A frown furrowed J.T.’s forehead. “Okay, if you’re sure.”
I held my breath for a minute. The pain was intense. “Take over. I’ll be right back.” I stood as upright as I could and left the room. I followed the sign to the visitors’ lounge and pushed the door open. Inside, I dropped down on the sofa and squirmed while I rubbed my stomach and my left side. I was thankful nobody else was in the room. After I took a few deep breaths, the pain subsided. I stood, sucked in, and blew the air out slowly. I went to the ladies’ room, dabbed cold water on my face, and felt normal again. I returned to Jane’s room, where Dr. Adams stood against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest.
“Are you sure you’re okay, Agent Monroe?” he asked when I passed through the door. “We can take a few tests.”
“I feel fine now. It was probably just indigestion. Please, let’s continue.” I took my place in the chair I had been sitting on. “Where did you leave off?”
“We waited for you to come back. Jane had just described his eyes.”
“Why don’t we save his description for the sketch artist? I don’t want to wear Jane out. What happened when you joined him in the truck?”
“The first thing I noticed was the smell.”
“The smell? Can you describe it?”
“It was pungent and thick, like something had rotted. When I commented on it, he said he had hit a deer the night before, and the odor came through the vents.”
I already knew what the smell was from. He had been driving around with two corpses in the truck. The sleeper was likely stained with blood too.
“Anyway, he apologized for the smell and changed the subject. He thanked me for lunch and said grilled cheese was his favorite. Then he asked me my name and age. He said he had a fondness for the name Jane because it was his mom’s name, but she had died years earlier.”
I held my breath again and tried not to show it. The pain was back.
“Go on,” J.T. said.
I was thankful he took over without even realizing it.
Jane continued. “I told him I had never been in a semi before, then he asked me if I liked games. I said yes. He said after we were finished eating, he’d show me an awesome game.”
“Then what?”
“Then I tossed the sandwich wrappers into the paper bag, and he said to check out the sleeper area. I climbed in and asked whose pink jacket was lying there. I looked over my shoulder expecting an answer, and that’s all I remember until I woke up. I was bound and gagged in the sleeper, and he was slicing my arms and chest with a box cutter.” Jane burst out crying.
Dr. Adams stood. The monitor was beeping again. “Agents.”
J.T. nodded. “That’s enough questions for tonight. The sketch artist should be here any minute, and you need a break. Can we get you anything, Jane?”
I handed her the box of tissues while I took another deep breath. The pain was fading again. Jane composed herself, drank some water, and looked at the doctor. “Can I eat something? I haven’t eaten since that grilled cheese sandwich yesterday. My teeth aren’t broken, are they?”
“No, dear, your teeth are fine, but let’s start with something smooth and easy to digest. Do you like mashed potatoes and gravy?”
She nodded.
“Okay, I’ll let the nurses know.”
Chapter 34
I called the number Jane had given me for her father. After my fifteen-minute explanation of who I was and why Jane was in the hospital, Mr. Weeks said he and his wife would catch the next flight back to Champaign. They would be at the hospital first thing tomorrow. I clicked off the call and sat in the visitors’ lounge with J.T. while Jane ate her meal alone. She needed some downtime before she got hit again with the sketch artist’s questions. J.T. yawned and checked the time.
“The sketch artist should be here any minute. Let’s wait by the nurses’ station. We need to explain the situation to her before she starts working with Jane.”
We took the hallway back to the row of chairs and sat. “What’s her name?”
J.T. checked his notes. “Lynn McFarland.”
We sat for several minutes, then I heard the ding of the elevator door opening at the end of the hall. I knew somebody would appear around the corner any second. J.T. and I both sta
red to our right. A middle-aged woman with a briefcase in her right hand walked toward us. We both stood and extended our hands. A smile crossed her face.
“You must be Agents Harper and Monroe?”
“Yes, we are. It’s nice to meet you, Ms. McFarland.”
“Please, just call me Lynn. May I?” She pointed at a chair in the row of eight.
I looked at the nurses’ station only feet away.
“I have a better place where we can talk. Please, come with us.” We found a quiet corner in the visitors’ lounge. Several families had come in since I walked out earlier. We sat at a small table with four chairs. “I don’t know what SSA Spelling discussed with you or if he actually spoke with you directly, but we have an attack victim in ICU.”
“I did speak with him, and he explained a little about a cross-country killer. He didn’t have a lot of details for me, which I don’t need, anyway, but it sounds like the young lady in ICU is the only survivor that you know of.”
J.T. took over. “That’s correct. She’s coherent and seems to remember how the killer looks. She did say he wore a hat most of the time and he has a beard, but she is the only witness we have that has seen him for an extended period of time and in the daylight hours.”
“Good, that will definitely help. Shall we?”
“Yes,” I said as we stood. “We’ll have to be cleared at the nurses’ station to enter ICU. Before we enter Jane’s room, I want you to know, visually, she looks a mess. That psycho did a number on her. Her face is badly swollen, and she’s covered with gauze from all the cuts he inflicted on her. She’s brave but also still in a very emotional state.”
“Understood, and I’ll tread lightly.”
Alice led us to Jane’s room just before her shift ended. J.T. knocked then slid the glass door to the left.
“Jane, may we enter?” he asked.
“Yes, it’s okay.”
I slid the curtain to the side and allowed Lynn to pass through. J.T. and I followed, and I closed the curtain at my back. I pulled a third chair closer to the bed.
“Jane, this is Lynn McFarland, the sketch artist. J.T. and I are going to stay, but we’ll hang back so you two can focus on the sketch. Is there anything you need right now so you aren’t interrupted later?”
“Maybe more water.”
“You got it.” I took her cup and filled it at the water fountain outside her room then brought it back and placed it on the roller table.
Lynn unfolded a thick cardboard tabletop and placed it on Jane’s lap. “Is the position comfortable for you?”
“Yes, it’s fine,” Jane said.
“Okay, first I’ll ask generic questions about his appearance and sketch them out. After that, we’ll use my templates to try to put a picture together that looks like the man in question. All set?”
Jane took a deep breath then looked at me. I gave her a nod for confidence. “Yes, I’m ready.”
“Wonderful. Let’s start with the first things that come to mind, as in eye and hair color and facial features. Then we’ll move on to facial shape, body type, and age. Okay, whenever you’re ready.”
“He had salt-and-pepper hair but the pepper was dark brown, not black. His hair looked thin and stringy, but I only saw his entire head for a few seconds.” She glanced at me. “That’s when he tried on the new hat.”
I nodded.
Lynn began with her colored pencils. “Very good, Jane. What else about the hair?”
“His beard matched his hair, and it was medium length.”
“Was it a full beard or goatee?”
“Full, and I couldn’t see his skin through it. He had a mustache too.”
I pictured the man in my mind. A thick beard would take several weeks to grow. Since he was constantly on the move, it made sense that he hadn’t shaved since Doc Wilson gave us his own description of the killer. Plus wearing a beard was a good way to camouflage his face.
“His eyes?”
“They were dark and hollow and sort of widespread.”
“Was his nose large and protruding or normal looking?”
“Normal.”
“Okay, how about a break for a few minutes while I work on this?” Lynn said.
“Jane, would you like your water?”
“Sure, thanks.”
I saw her hand tremble when she reached for the cup. With my chair scooted a little closer, I patted her shoulder and hoped it would give her some comfort.
“Okay, here’s what we’ve got so far.” Lynn handed the sketch to Jane, who looked it over closely.
She shook her head. “It doesn’t feel right. Can you put a plain black baseball cap on his head and make him look meaner? I only saw him for a few seconds with the cap off.”
“Sure, just one minute.”
J.T. and I watched as Lynn’s hand was a flurry of motion. Jane leaned back with her eyes closed. I knew she was fading.
“How’s this?”
Jane looked at the revised drawing. “His hair was a little shorter. It barely touched the top of his shoulders.”
Lynn nodded. “Was there anything about his ears that stood out? Did they protrude?”
“No, I didn’t notice them, so I guess they were normal.”
“And with the beard, you couldn’t tell his facial shape, whether he had a strong chin or dimples?”
“No.”
“Okay, how’s this?”
“That’s closer to what I remember. His forehead was always covered, though, by the cap.” Jane’s eyes began to water.
I tried to encourage her. “You’re doing a great job, honey.”
“Okay, the face is almost done. Lastly, was his skin tone red and ruddy, white and pale, normal, or tan?”
“Only seeing his nose and a few areas around his beard, I’d say red and ruddy.”
“Excellent. We’ll put the templates together and see what looks the closest. Before that, can you give me a rough idea of his body type?”
“He was tall and burly but not fat. He looked solid and strong.”
“Would you say he was over six feet tall?”
“Yes, he was huge, like six four, maybe.”
“Jane, did you see any outstanding features like scars or tattoos?”
“No, he wore long sleeves.”
“Okay, that’s it for the face. Now let’s assemble the templates to match the drawing.”
I stared at Lynn’s rendition of the killer. It resembled Doc Wilson’s memory of the man that rode in the back of his truck, which was a good thing. At least we were dealing with the same person. The nagging pain in my side returned. I held my breath and kept quiet.
Lynn worked with Jane for thirty minutes using puzzle-like pieces taken from actual photographs of facial features. The template looked like the same set Connie Hiller had used with Doc Wilson.
“Okay, I think we’ve put together the pieces that best fit the sketch I drew. What do you think, Jane?”
Jane covered the top section of the man’s head with her palm since there wasn’t a forehead template of someone wearing a cap.
“That’s him, that’s the man that tried to kill me. Agent Monroe, do you think he knows I’m alive? Is he going to come back and finish me off?”
I stood and carefully wrapped my arms around Jane. “He’ll never hurt you again, I promise.”
J.T. tipped his head toward the door as a message to Lynn. The session was over.
“Thank you, Jane, for letting me help you. You’re a very brave young lady.” She gathered her tools after J.T. photographed the completed template and sketch.
J.T. walked Lynn McFarland out of the room. I took my seat again and waited for him to return. We’d say good night to Jane together and wrap it up for the evening. She needed her rest, and I needed a hot shower and a good night’s sleep.
J.T. slipped back into the room a few minutes later. “Well, partner, ready to call it a night?”
“Definitely.” I looked at Jane. “I bet you’re exhauste
d, but the good news is your mom and dad will be here in the morning. You’re going to get better, honey, but it will take some time.”
“Thank you, both. I appreciate everything you’re doing to catch this monster.”
I nodded. “Get some sleep, and we’ll see you in the morning.”
J.T. and I said good night to the nurses and took the elevator down to the first floor. We exited the building and crossed the parking lot to the car.
“Do you have any idea where the closest hotel is?” I asked.
“Nope, haven’t even thought of it.” J.T. pulled out the keys and double clicked the fob.
“That’s okay. I’ll check.” I climbed in on the passenger side and pulled out my phone. I typed Watseka hotels into the search bar. “Awesome.”
“What?”
“There’s a Hampton Inn two blocks north of here, and they have a wine bar. I could use a relaxing drink before bed.”
Chapter 35
He finished the letter he had started several days earlier and folded it in thirds. He placed it in an envelope, sealed it, and attached a stamp. He penciled in the address it was going to. He knew it by heart. In the top left corner, he wrote only two letters—J.P. There wasn’t a return address. The circular red post office seal would tell where the letter was mailed from. That gave more than enough information. He walked out, locked the door behind him, and took the letter to the blue mail-drop box a half block away.
Ten minutes later, he was back in the room. John looked at the girl tied to the chair. He turned the TV volume up. It was time to start the party.
“How ya doing, pretty lady?”
He pulled out the chair next to hers. The legs dragged across the tile and made a grating sound on the floor. He sat and leaned in, inches from her face, then ran his finger down her bare leg. She flinched at his touch and pulled back.
“What’s the matter? Don’t you like me?” He laughed and licked her cheek.
Tears streamed down her face, and her eyes, wild with fear, watched his every move. He loved the control he had, as he had with so many others before her.