Finally hanging up the phone, Ethan took a big swallow of his coffee. “So,” he said. “I hear you reckon we have ourselves a serial killer livin’ right here in Alvin.”
“Well,” she said, “what we have are two victims with the same MO with similar nail scrapings matching the soil in parts north of Alvin along with a high concentration of cedar shavings on our victim. The first victim showed up in Graysville, just outside of Birmingham, but she had scrapings they couldn’t pin down. I reckon they’re goin’ to end up bein’ the same as our victim’s. I am meeting with their detective later today. The soil samples they found match nothing up there. As you know, the second vic washed up here on Willet Lake.”
She looked at him for a reaction but saw none. “Don’t worry,” he said. “I’m following you. So far, this isn’t rocket science.”
“Well,” she said. “My guess is that after the first murder, our suspect got scared and tried to cover himself by gettin’ the body as far away from Alvin as he could. But when he didn’t get caught, he started gettin’ cocky.”
“So now he’s just leavin’ ’em in his backyard?”
“Our backyard. And it’s just a theory.”
“Why do you say our backyard?”
“Because in both cases there was writing on the chest of each victim that I believe was put there to taunt law enforcement.”
“What did they say?” Ethan asked, suddenly a little more interested.
The body we found, as you likely already saw in the report, had ‘Justice Is Blind in the Eyes of the Lord’ written across her chest. The body they found in Graysville said, ‘A Thorn Among the Lilies,’ which is a sort of mixed-up version of the Song of Solomon 2:2, which actually reads, ‘As the lily among thorns, so is my love among the daughters.’”
“Creepy. So you’re thinkin’ whoever did this just got out of the joint and missed his mother’s funeral? Actually, the last quote points to a sister. Maybe there’s a woman still in prison who’s about to miss her mother’s funeral and the brother’s a little pissed ’bout it.”
“Hadn’t thought of that, thanks.” Leah copied down what he’d said and put it in her book.
“And what else do we have to go on, I mean, besides the eyes?”
Ah, so Ethan had seen everything so far. Leah hadn’t been sure how much of the loop he’d actually been in. Judging by his questions, it was really hard to tell. “Well, I’ve told Detective Dan Truitt, the homicide detective from Birmingham, that I’d work with him on this case. We’re gonna trade evidence this afternoon. But so far, we’ve got the stitched eyes, the nail scrapings, some shoe castings, tire castings, and the phrases written across the chest of both bodies.”
“That’s it? Nothing else?”
“No, there’s more,” Leah said.
“There always is.”
Outside a dog started barking. Leah turned to look at a man walking his bull terrier, which didn’t look like he wanted to be walked anywhere at all. He seemed to be fighting it every inch of the way. When she turned back to Ethan, Ethan’s eyes were up on the television, as though he wished there was something playing on it. Anything but this conversation they were having.
Leah wasn’t about to let him get away too easily. She still had lots to say.
“Both victims were found with roughly chiseled wooden crosses in their pockets,” she continued. “They also had ligature marks on their wrists and ankles. Their final deaths came from a .22 caliber shot to the right temple. I haven’t got the report from Detective Truitt yet, but it looks like our round came from a Beretta Model 950 Jetfire.”
Ethan sat back and his chair complained. “Sounds like you’ve made this your personal project. Find the Serial Killer.”
“I’m doin’ my duty.”
“The crosses might just be a signature.”
“What do you mean?”
“The killer might just leave them there as his marking, so you know it was him. He’d know the cross would be something that wouldn’t be leaked to the press. It’s his calling card.”
“Or he could be a religious wing nut. We’ve had our share of those throughout the years,” Leah said.
Ethan took a big breath, picked up some papers on his desk that seemed completely unrelated, flipped through a few, then glanced back to Leah. “You do realize you’re a significant pain in the ass.”
“I’ve heard that before.”
“Well, it’s fine and dandy that you’re investigatin’ these murders, ’cept for one little problem.”
“What’s that?”
“I know your habits. Don’t start goin’ out and questionin’ everyone who’s ever used a sewin’ machine or driven a truck.”
“Well, what other options do I have? I mean, obviously I’m not questionin’ everyone who sews, but I have to question anyone who fits.” Leah took a sip from her coffee mug.
“All right. Whatever you do, though, try desperately not to get the Feds involved. That’s rule one. They’ll just take over, and the last thing this town needs is that. What you want to do is pretend you’re a Fed and profile the subject like they would do. Don’t aspire to be an FBI agent, just become one. Number one rule: You’re no longer looking for a suspect. You’re looking for an unknown subject, or unsub as they say at Quantico.” He chuckled to himself.
The ceiling fan in Ethan’s office continued to turn slowly above their heads. For once, the television hanging in the corner was turned off.
“How do I ‘profile’ someone? I thought that was spooky FBI stuff you had to go to Quantico for years to learn,” Leah said.
Ethan picked up the paper from his desk again, pretending to read it. “Nah,” he said, “you can do it. It all just comes out of those feelings you carry around in your gut. And you more than anyone have those gut feelings. So you really already know how to do it.”
“No, Ethan, I don’t know nothin’. Why don’t you explain it to me?”
He paused, drumming his fingers on the top of his desk. Leah suspected he was trying to decide how much time he wanted to spend with her this morning. “Well,” he finally said, “tell me about your victims. First, why do you think they were both killed by the same person?”
“There’s just too many things in common with their deaths for them not to have been.”
“Like?” Another loud chair squeak as Ethan sat back again.
“Like what I’ve already told you. Everything. The sewing of the eyes, the message across the chest, the chiseled wooden cross in the pocket. Oh, and they were both kept alive for up to a week before the suspect—sorry, unsub—killed them.”
“How were they killed, again?”
“.22 caliber round to the side of the head.”
“Which side?”
“Both on their right temple.”
“What if there were two?”
“Two what?”
“Unsubs. You’re making too many leaps of faith. What if it’s a woman? What if it’s a man and a woman? Or two men or two women workin’ together. One down here, the other in Birmingham? Or what if it’s a copycat?”
“There wasn’t enough info in either our press release or Birmingham’s to have such a detailed copycat.”
“What if it’s a cop?”
Leah paused and her breath caught. She never would have suspected a cop serial killer. “You mean a cop doin’ both killings, or a cop coming to Alvin to copycat the first killin’ knowing exactly what went down?”
Ethan shrugged. “Either. My point is, don’t jump to conclusions until you have the evidence to back it up. Right now you have nail shavings possibly putting both victims at the same place and that place could be in the forests of northern Alvin. There’s not much up there. Can’t imagine spending seven days alone or with a hostage all bound up with her mouth duct-taped shut.”
Suddenly Leah felt nauseated. She had a sudden urge to vomit. There were just too many potential suspects. “This is a big case,” she said. “Bigger than I thought.”
So, Ethan knew a lot more about this situation than he was really letting on. Leah found that very interesting. “Right. I am meeting with Detective Truitt this afternoon and we will find out exactly when the victim was discovered.”
“Pretty much two and a half months apart. That means if we are dealing with a serial killer, you probably have three weeks to a month to figure out who it is before he gets to number three.”
“Now how did you figure that out?”
“Because I’ve read about serial cases. Killing is about power and about thrill, and the more the suspect kills the more power and thrill he feels. He can’t help himself. He’s like a drug addict. He will kill more and more often to keep the feeling goin’.”
“Our girl had a lot of booze in her and had been drugged with roofies. Folks that knew her referred to her as a ‘loner.’ Maybe this guy targets girls in bars who are by themselves. Drinkers. Heavy drinkers. Easy prey. Especially if he can drug them before taking them.”
“Okay, you’re usin’ your detective gut. Good. Keep going.”
Leah took a big breath. “They were both killed the same way. With their wrists bound and tied lying somewhere in sawdust. It could be a barn, a farmhouse, anythin’ like that.”
“What makes you think they were lyin’ down?”
“I don’t know, I just . . . there’s no indication of them bein’ tied to anythin’. I suppose they could’ve been propped up, or tied to a chair. Then the killer unties them before bringing their dead bodies out to be dumped. Having them seated would make it easier to stitch the eyes.”
“I think they were tied to chairs,” Ethan said. “Otherwise, they would wiggle like fish during the sewing, making it almost impossible. That is, unless they were unconscious, but I think our killer is the kind of guy who would want them conscious through the process.”
“They’d be screaming, but we found residue of glue around Mercy Jo’s mouth that matches the glue used on duct tape. So that took care of any sound she made. It’s interesting that he took the duct tape off before dumping the body.” Leah finished her coffee. Above her, the wooden fan continued to slowly turn.
“Yes, I saw the duct tape in the report. Hence my earlier comment.” Ethan came forward, his big arms landing on his desktop. “So your guess is he drives them to the dump site after killing them.”
“If I had to guess, then yes. That’s what I think.”
“Why stitch their eyes closed?” Ethan asked.
“No idea. ‘Justice Is Blind,’ it said on the chest of our vic. I believe that alludes to him blinding her. But in the first killing there’s no reference to blinding. To be perfectly honest, I don’t know, Ethan. I’ve thought that one over and nothin’ ’bout it makes any sense.”
“Think ’bout it some more right now.”
She gave him an answer right away, the one she’d been playing with for some time. “I think they are blinded so they won’t see the rest of it.”
“The rest of what?” Ethan asked.
“Their deaths bein’ played out.”
Ethan nodded. “That might make sense. Why would the killer not want them to see the rest of it, though?”
Again, Leah had this one pegged. It was the only thing she’d come up with since trying to solve these murders. “To save them havin’ to go through the trauma of witnessin’ what he was ’bout to do. So they don’t see the shot comin’.”
Ethan leaned even farther across his desk, as though trying to get as close to Leah as possible. “So you’re sayin’ this person who stitches their eyes shut, then after keeping them alive in agony for six or seven days before shootin’ them in the head, is full of compassion?”
Leah sighed. “I told you I wasn’t good at this.” She went for another sip of coffee, then remembered she’d finished it.
Something came to Leah then. “Um, what if the killer was a war veteran with PTSD. He had been somewhere like Iraq where he’d come across a wounded enemy soldier and decided to spare him his life, so he left him there alive. Only, the vet didn’t know the enemy had a gun, and when the right moment came, the Iraqi managed to shoot the vet’s buddy in the head, killin’ him?” She paused for a second. “These murders might be him relivin’ that feelin’ of helplessness. Maybe him gettin’ payback.”
“Wow. That was good. You’re a natural. Yes, it could very well be somethin’ like that. In fact, I’d definitely say this comes from some trauma the killer went through in the past.”
Above them, the fan turned slowly around and around.
“I think that’s ’bout all we have to go on for now. Let’s continue this discussion once you’ve got a chance to go over the evidence this Detective Truitt is bringin’ you this afternoon.”
“So you don’t mind me bringin’ him into the case?”
“I mind the fact that you didn’t come to me and ask first, but it’s a little late for that. But no, my only concern is gettin’ this guy off the streets.”
“Thanks, Ethan.” Leah got out of her chair and started for the door.
“Oh, and, Leah?”
She turned. “What?”
Two things. “First, we keep referring to the suspect as ‘him’ because most serial killers are men, but don’t trap yourself into thinking it can’t possibly be a woman. And second, the suspect you’re looking for is left-handed.”
Leah paused, scrunching up her face in bewilderment. “Now how the hell do you know that?”
“If he had the victim tied to a chair and shot her in the right temple, odds are he wanted to see her die. He wouldn’t do it from behind. If he was right-handed, he’d have shot her in the left temple, but he didn’t. He shot her in the right. So more than likely, you’re looking for a lefty.”
CHAPTER 20
Detective Truitt beat Leah to the restaurant. As soon as she entered Vera’s she knew which one was him. One look at the long brown trench coat, mussed-up near-on white hair, and button-down shirt and tan trousers and there could be no doubt: He was a detective. She was willin’ to bet dollars to donuts he had a shoulder holster on under that coat. He just looked like the kind of guy who’d use a shoulder holster. Probably had a second gun in an ankle holster, too.
He stood from the table as she approached. She was carrying a file folder containing copies of all the evidence found so far on the Mercy Jo Carpenter case.
“Detective Teal?” he asked, holding out his hand. “I’m Dan Truitt.”
They shook hands. “Nice to meet you, Detective Truitt,” Leah said. Dan Truitt had a nice chin and chiseled good looks. A little like Harrison Ford, with that halfway grin, in some ways.
“Please call me Dan or Danny or even Danny Boy. Anythin’ but Detective Truitt.”
“Um, okay . . . Dan.”
He smiled a big, white, toothy grin. “See? Isn’t that a lot better.”
“Then you may as well call me Leah.”
“Look at that,” Dan said. “We’re already on a first-name basis. Pretty soon you’ll be pregnant.”
Leah blinked. What the hell did he—
“Relax,” he said. “That was a joke, Leah. I’m a funny guy. Get used to laughin’ instead of lookin’ like someone just sideswiped you on the interstate. Laughing’s good for you.”
If only he knew ’bout Billy, Leah thought. Wonder if he’d still have said that bit ’bout bein’ sideswiped then? Someone like him, he just mighta.
A waitress came up to their table. She spoke with a bubblegum voice and looked about sixteen. “Hi. My name is Candy and I’ll be your server today. Would you like to start with some drinks?”
“This place licensed?” Dan asked.
“Yep!”
“Then we’ll have two cranberry apple martinis, please. No olives.”
Leah leaned forward, and whispered to Dan, “I can’t drink. I’ve go
tta drive home.”
He batted her words away. “So do I. How big’s this town, anyway? You can’t possibly live more than a twenty-minute walk from anywhere. Besides, I’ll give you a ride. And it’s not like you’re gonna get smashed. Hey, I even have to drive another three hours to get home. Two if I keep the siren goin’.”
There was no way Leah was ever getting into a car with this man. “I’m surprised you haven’t been fired years ago.”
Dan grew serious. “Hey.” He pointed at her. “I’ll have you know, I’m good at my job. Very good, in fact. I bet I beat out your lead detective just like that.” He snapped his fingers.
“I’m our lead detective.”
“Oh, sorry.”
“I’m our only detective. Our town’s only got fifty-three hundred people in it. Not a lot of detectin’ goin’ on.”
Dan leaned back and put his arms up on either side of his seat of the booth they were in. “So . . . you wanted to know somethin’ about my Jane Doe.”
“Yes.” She picked up the file from the booth seat beside her and set it on the table. “I’ve brought you a copy of all of the evidence we’ve gathered so far on our Mercy Jo Carpenter case.”
Dan reached down beside him and brought up a thicker file folder and a videotape in a white case.
“What’s on the video?” Leah asked.
“It’s a shot of the crime scene, taken by one of the gawkers standing around. It’s not great, but it’s something. It was taken fairly early, before anything was disturbed. Thought it might be of use.”
“Okay, thanks.”
The waitress brought back the martinis and set them before Leah and Dan. They were red on the bottom and clear on the top. Leah had never had a martini before in her life. “Are you ready to order?” the waitress asked.
“I’m sorry,” Leah said, “but we haven’t had a chance to even check—”
“How’s your New York steak?” Dan asked, interrupting Leah.
“Very good. Hot off the barbecue, any way you like it.”
“And your ribs?”
“The best in town.”
“Okay, we’ll both have a T-bone and ribs. Leah, how do you like your steak?”
A Thorn Among the Lilies Page 10