[Jake Boulder 01.0] Watching the Bodies

by Graham Smith

  Wait until the coroner got her on the slab, cut her open. Then they’d see the power of what they were dealing with.

  Getting the addresses for potential targets and reconnoitring via Google Street View, he learns as much as he can from the internet.

  Satisfied he can do no more without carrying out some physical reconnaissance, he turns his attention to the kills themselves.

  He writes down a new method on a scrap of paper, scrunches it into a ball and tosses it into the glass bowl with the others.

  After mixing them up with a finger, he picks one out, unfolds it and reads the contents. He smiles; the method is a good one. He’s been looking forward to it being selected.

  Next he has to work out where to leave their bodies. Unsure whether he should go for two separate dump sites or put them together, he weighs up the pros and cons until an idea strikes him.

  He examines the idea from a few angles but finds nothing wrong or dangerous about it. In fact, the more he thinks about it, the better it seems. If set up in the right way, their final resting place will throw police suspicion away from himself. It might only buy him a few days, but any advantage gained can only be a good thing.

  Every day wasted by his pursuers will mean another victim to add to his tally.

  He only has two concerns now.

  The tally.

  The pattern.

  Chapter 34

  I arrive at Alfonse’s house dressed in clothes loaned from Claude. By a stroke of luck, before I was knocked into the pool I’d passed my cell to someone who wanted to check it out before their next upgrade.

  Alfonse and I take our usual seats at his table ready to compare notes. I gesture for him to start and lean back in my chair, hoping he’s learned more than I have.

  ‘I take it you met George Chalmers and his fiancée?’

  I nod. ‘Yeah. I think it’s safe to remove him from our enquiries. He was never a likely suspect. Besides, he’s now engaged and about to become a father. You’d have to be a certified whack-job to get into that position while still obsessed by an ex.’

  ‘Agreed. I spoke to a few people about Pete Lester. Megan Hutchison told me he’s been seeing her sister for the last six months. Apparently they got together while he was still dating someone else. Megan couldn’t remember the other girl’s name but said her sister had been yelled at by her one night when she was at the Tree with Pete.’

  I cast my mind back to try and recall some details but nothing comes back to me. It isn’t unusual for two girls to get into a slanging match at the Tree. Ninety-nine times out of a hundred the situation is calmed down by friends or the man whose attention they are competing for.

  It is the other occasions when things get out of hand. When men fight they tend to punch or kick at each other. Women, on the other hand, claw, scratch and pull hair, which makes it much harder to separate them. Plus, of course, I can’t retaliate when they start attacking me.

  ‘So, with Upson out of town at the time she was murdered and the other two in stable relationships, it’s not looking as if it’s any of those three. Agreed?’

  He nods. ‘So that puts us back to the wives and girlfriends.’

  ‘Unless it’s nothing to do with her clients and is something else altogether.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘A family member doing it to stop her hooking. Or…’ I fall silent, trying to pick the right words.

  ‘Or what?’

  ‘Or it’s someone killing people at random. Three people have been found murdered within four days.’

  ‘You don’t really think there’s a serial killer out there, do you?’

  ‘I’m not sure, but it’s a big coincidence if there isn’t.’

  ‘Are there similarities with the victims? The murders? Are the victims connected?’

  Alfonse’s questions are good ones. All three answers are negative. Other than the fact all three bodies were found in a public place, there is no apparent link between the victims. There may be when Chief Watson identifies the lady found at the reservoir; until then, there’s nothing to link the three victims.

  ‘There aren’t any connections or similarities that we know of. But what’s worse – a serial killer targeting the residents of Casperton or three separate killers?’

  He doesn’t answer so I explain my theory to him.

  ‘If it is a serial killer, maybe by helping the police we can use their resources to help us find the person who murdered Kira.’

  ‘I see your point.’ His lips purse as he gives a pointed look at the clock above the sink. ‘So, what’s our next move gonna be?’

  ‘You look into the wives and girlfriends angle tomorrow. I’ll read over the police reports and get a handle on where they’re up to. I’ll see you about nine.’

  I take his sigh as confirmation. I can manage on less than six hours’ sleep, but he likes a solid eight every night.

  Sleep isn’t in my plans when I get home. There are far too many questions assaulting my brain for it to allow itself to be shut down.

  Chapter 35

  I dump my keys on the counter and flick on the stereo. It’s not that I’m lonely, it’s just sometimes I need a background noise to keep me sane. Living alone suits me, but whenever I read I like to have other voices around me. I select a playlist comprising soft rock ballads and recline my chair.

  I start with the police reports about Paul Johnson.

  Like Kira, he lacks any known enemies. It isn’t that he was well liked, more that he was inoffensive. Reading about his life via the statements taken from co-workers and family members, it seems like he was insignificant to a lot of people.

  He kept his business private, did what was expected of him and then went home to his apartment.

  According to his sister, Johnson’s ex-wife had put him out one day, only to move a boyfriend in the next.

  He’d gone without a quibble. It was the sister who’d put a roof over his head and spent long nights talking him through the break-up. When he was ready, she helped him find a rental apartment.

  The police report detailing his finances doesn’t show any obvious reasons for him to be killed for money. His alimony payments were made on time and there were regular deposits into his daughter’s bank account. A footnote indicates his daughter is studying sociology at the Community College in Salt Lake City.

  A search of Johnson’s apartment has found a life insurance policy naming his daughter as the main benefactor. The payout isn’t enough to put the daughter in the frame. Compared to what he was already giving her, the payout would cover no more than three years in college.

  Following the same logic, I look down the columns until my eyes land on the one detailing his balance.

  Imbalance may be a better term. He’s five hundred bucks overdrawn.

  The next page I read shows his credit card statement. While not maxed-out it is near its limit. A look back at the bank statements and I find what I expect to.

  His salary is due to be paid in a few days. Johnson is living in a boom and bust cycle with most of his income going to his ex-wife and daughter. Left with just enough to get by on, he’ll have been ever fearful of unexpected bills. I spend more per week on groceries than he’s got left to pay for food, gas and other incidentals.

  It is stories like this that keep me single. A decent man has been discarded by an unfaithful wife and left to live the life of a pauper. With no money to spare on luxuries, he’d struggle in the dating pool. All he had to look forward to were lonely nights and the day when he’d be free of his responsibilities.

  The feelings of bitterness would be overwhelming. Like a cancer of the mind, the resentment would devour happiness as his self-confidence plummeted.

  These are my fears. After Mother was abandoned by my father, I saw first hand how corrosive rejection can be. I’ve felt it once, and it isn’t an experience I want to repeat. Despite Mother’s reassurances that it was her my father left, Sharon and I had talked long and often about the
fact he’d rejected us too.

  My realisation of the irony in the situation brings a wry smile to my lips as I turn to the next page. I’m investigating the murder of a woman besotted with me and a man I am terrified of becoming. What Kira wanted from me would leave me as vulnerable as Johnson had become.

  The next pages I read tell me little about Johnson’s life, but give me great detail on his death.

  In clinical terms, Emily Green’s neat handwriting tells of the blunt trauma from a wheel wrench found with his body. Hedging her bets, she estimates there are between ten and fifteen separate blows to his head.

  The terminology is unfamiliar to me, but I don’t need to be a doctor to understand he died from having his brain bashed in.

  The accompanying pictures from the crime scene and autopsy don’t make for easy viewing, but I examine them for clues regardless of my distaste.

  When I’ve finished with the pictures, I lie back in the recliner and close my eyes. A slide show of Kira, Johnson and the as yet unnamed woman plays as I consider the different methods of their deaths.

  Kira died from a precise stab after suffering a frenzied attack and was dumped under a bush.

  Johnson’s head was staved in and his corpse bundled into the trunk of his car.

  The old woman had her throat cut in a very exact way. Then she’d been cleaned up and deposited in a public place where she was sure to be found.

  Considering the attacks as a whole, I look for commonalities. Two of the attacks have shown frenzy at some level. To counterbalance this, there are also elements of precision and forward planning.

  There had been no blood on the old woman’s clothes and very little where Kira was found. This speaks of them being killed elsewhere and deposited at the places they were found.

  The precise cut on the old woman and the single penetrating stab to Kira’s heart tell of an attacker who knows the human body and how best to attack it.

  Johnson’s death speaks of opportunism, the wheel wrench to hand when the killer happened upon Johnson changing a flat.

  My next thought is Kira and the woman are connected while Johnson is a random victim, killed as much by chance as by his murderer.

  Chapter 36

  The Watcher raises the takeout coffee to his lips as he walks down Third. The early morning light glints off the dewdrops as he savours the Java. It’s a rare treat and is for cover more than anything else.

  A dozen or so yards ahead of him is a potential target. The pock, pock, pock of her heels on the sidewalk is at odds with the tree-lined avenue and the hour. It’s the sound of the city, of business. It’s measured and regular, not the arrhythmic clack of a drunk girl staggering home.

  Her Facebook status told him she was an HR manager for one of the oil companies. It also told him she had a colleague from head office joining her for the day, which hotel the colleague was staying at and the hour she was supposed to collect him.

  Facebook holds a lot of other information about her. Like how much of a dog lover she is; how terrible she feels for her niece who’d discovered a body. Best of all there was even a post detailing the time she’d be dropping off her colleague at the airport.

  The three-mile drive from the airport to town would be deserted so late in the day and Facebook had armed him with the perfect ruse to get her to stop.

  He watches as she enters the hotel right on time. The business suit and brisk manner speak of a life spent adhering to the clock and a series of deadlines.

  A smile crosses his lips. He’s identified a target and the car she drives. If he can get the other in place he can execute the plan just the way he imagines it.

  The HR manager’s adherence to the clock will make her an easy target. Predictable in her movements, she’ll be in the right place at the right time. At least as far as he is concerned it will be the right place. For her it will be something else altogether.

  He crosses the road and rounds a corner in case she comes out and spots him. He stops at the pharmacy and buys something he hasn’t bought for years, before returning to his car to begin the next phase of his reconnaissance.

  Next on this morning’s to-do list is a drive past the homes of two of the boy’s relatives.

  It is a toss-up between the boy’s older brother and his uncle as to which one will be the easiest to capture.

  Acquiring and taking down two targets in the space of a day will be tough, but the payoff is worth the risk.

  Every day will see another kill.

  Every kill will add to the tally.

  Every kill MUST adhere to the pattern.

  Chapter 37

  I reach Alfonse’s house at five to nine. It’s late by my standards, but I’ve spent an extra ten minutes in the shower trying to massage the cricks from my neck.

  Falling asleep in the chair had seemed like a good idea at the time, but it hasn’t worked out so well. When I woke, my neck felt like a gorilla had spent the night attempting to twist my head off my shoulders; there was also an unfamiliar taste in my mouth. Of salt and more than a little fear.

  The less said about my dreams the better. The few scant hours of sleep I managed were plagued with nightmares of drowning. Of being sucked into murky depths where all I could see were the bodies of Kira, Johnson and the old woman. The mental aberrations of my mind were intense, with a clarity of sound, taste and vision giving a sensory validity to my nightmares. I couldn’t tell where the water was, but I remember sharks and whales swimming in the distance.

  I am surprised to find Alfonse sitting at his table spooning cereal into his mouth, while his free hand works the screen of his iPad.

  ‘I take it you read those reports last night?’

  I nod. He knows me too well.

  ‘So what did you come up with?’

  ‘Nothing yet. But I was trying to final a connection based on what’s in these reports. If we can find out who the latest victim is, maybe it’ll help us find a pattern.’

  ‘You’re asking a lot.’

  I know what he means. He’s more experienced in these matters than I am, but I’m aware there are times in an investigation when new revelations offer confusion rather than clarity.

  ‘Have you heard anything from the chief this morning?’

  I shake my head as he turns his iPad round and pushes it towards me.

  Picking it up, I look down at the email he’s selected for me.

  It’s from his best client on the oilfields. The guy is suspicious of a company delivering supplies into one particular area and wants Alfonse to look into it.

  He offers double the usual rate for Alfonse to drop whatever he’s working on and start right away.

  I wince for Alfonse. This guy gives him at least five months’ work a year. He’s tried to entice him into joining the company full time a minimum of four times to my knowledge.

  ‘What you gonna do?’

  He shrugs. ‘What can I do? I can’t leave a murder investigation just because he clicks his fingers. I’ve explained what I’m working on and that I’ll make him my next priority.’

  I give him a silent thumbs up to show my approval.

  He is taking a gamble on his future by refusing to be bought. The guys running the oilfields expect local businesses to jump when they speak and there is every chance Alfonse has just burned a very lucrative bridge.

  On the other hand, murder trumps theft every time. It all boils down to the amount the guy suspects is being stolen or embezzled and how much stress he is under. The offer of double pay, plus the request for an immediate start indicates both are high.

  I reach into my pocket and pull out my cell. Chief Watson’s name is on the screen as the second ring sounds.

  ‘Yes, Chief?’

  I listen to his rapid words for a minute, then agree to join him.

  I hang up the call and look at Alfonse. ‘Your girlfriend did the autopsy on the old woman last night. Chief wants us there when she gives him her report.’

  He shakes his head. ‘
No point two of us doing the same thing. You go. I’ll stay here, start looking into Paul Johnson’s life a little deeper than the police have.’

  What he says makes sense. Farrage and co have performed their search in a professional manner, which smells of the chief’s influence, but their reports lack the details Alfonse would have uncovered. There were no insights, revelations or theories raised. Just flat answers to basic questions.

  Chapter 38

  Fifteen minutes later I’m sitting with Chief Watson in Emily Green’s office. His face looks the way my neck felt earlier. I’ve had three hours’ sleep and it looks as if he’s had less.

  ‘Let’s have it then. What did you find?’ The chief’s brusque manner highlights the stress he’s under.

  Emily ignores his rudeness and hands each of us a sheaf of papers.

  ‘That’s my full report on the autopsy so far. Blood results and toxicology will take a few more days to come through.’ She looks at Chief Watson. ‘If you agree the budget, I can get the lab in Salt Lake to push them up their priority list.’

  ‘Consider it agreed. I want every scrap of information as soon as humanly possible.’

  I speak for the first time. ‘What did you find during the autopsy?’

  ‘The Jane Doe was riddled with cancer. I doubt she’d have lived more than a year at best. She had a hip replacement.’ A raised hand forestalled the chief. ‘Yes, I’ve taken the serial number from it and phoned the hospital. They’re coming back to me as soon as their records office opens.’

  From the corner of my eye, I see the chief looking at his watch and bet myself he’ll be on the phone to them before leaving the building.

  ‘What else did you find?’

  ‘It’s more what I didn’t find.’ A carefully plucked eyebrow arches upwards. ‘There wasn’t a drop of blood on her body. Whoever killed her washed the body and dressed her before placing her at the dump site.’