The kid knew he had been shot but never realized how useless the professor’s right side had become. He grabs the man’s tie—pulling it taut. The choking gurgle doesn’t slow the pounding on Jesse’s back. He jerks harder, bluing the old man’s face. Without releasing the tie, he wraps it around his fist and wrenches the noose tighter.
No fight stays with Professor Arnett once his windpipe closes.
Arnett put everything into his first punch, leaving nothing for the rest of the struggle.
Jesse keeps the tie tight afraid the professor was faking unconsciousness in an escape attempt.
No, he was dead.
Lifeless.
Jesse clears the room of any evidence he remained to speak to Arnett after class. He’ll leave the body to traumatize some freshman coed.
I
RESEMBLING A CHUBBY faced Brad Pitt, Al sports a business suit, minus his tie. The jacket droops off his shoulders and the button up shirt hangs in wrinkled clumps, no longer holding back a wall of flesh. He marches through the woods, reaching a hand to hitch up his pants, his gut between belt notches.
He flips open his ID wallet.
The uniformed officer’s response—lift the yellow caution tape for the plainclothes agent. Al places his boot carefully on a stone so he leaves no tracks in the mud. Never ruin a crime scene and never fuck up someone else’s.
“Did you eat breakfast, special agent?” The man in a light tan trench coat asks as he steps from the dilapidated trailer door. He flips his left latex glove into the right and catches it like a baggie.
“That bad, Officer Chambers?”
“Detective, now.” He ignores the barb at his rank, lashing out with one of his own, “You’re having a wardrobe malfunction.”
“Weight loss. Not buying a new suit yet.”
“Good you didn’t eat, you wouldn’t hold it down. This one likes to cut on teen girls. I’ll have to get fingerprints, but I think she’s the Carmen girl missing from two parishes over. They both have the same Treble Clef tat on the middle thumb knuckle.”
“Then this isn’t an FBI matter. Why did you call me?” Al asks.
“You’re the expert on dead girls. I don’t think she is this one’s first.”
“Not what I want to hear.” He puts weight on the bottom step with one foot, bouncing it enough to detect the rot in the wood.
“You have gloves?” Chambers asks.
“Never touch a corpse without them.” Al slips a latex ball from his pocket. Fitting the gloves to his fingers he eases up each stair to the entrance.
A police photographer snaps pictures in some sort of twisted carnage photoshoot with a dead prom queen posed forever in her own twisted tableau.
Al kneels half a dozen feet from the body, “Beautiful…was the other victim this pretty?”
“She has the same long, wavy, corn colored hair,” Chambers says. “And was a teenager. Late teens like her.”
Cuts decorate her frame as if someone were slicing onions. First, he notes the lack of blood around her and, “No punctures?” And no pubes. Does Cosmo still tell girls her age to shave it bare? “How long has she been missing?”
“Two, maybe three days. She was supposed to be at a friend’s house and didn’t go. We are determining approximal time when she went missing.”
Al rubs his chin. Stubble pokes sharp against his finger. “He shaved her. She has no body hair, but it’s been two days, so she should have growth. He expended time on her before cutting on her. Check her for sexual assault but you won’t find any DNA.” With a backward step, he spins to the side, allowing a full view of the body.
“No stab wounds I have found—all slashes. A distinct lack of blood here means he performed this twisted surgery elsewhere,” Chambers adds.
“This guy’s new, but I agree, she is not his first. This might fall into the FBI’s jurisdiction, but it might not land on my desk and I won’t step on the toes of the locals,” Al says.
“You said you were passing this way. This is your forte, and the Sheriff gave his blessing for me to have you give an opinion. There has been no murder here in twenty-three years. He has no idea what to do and doesn’t want his men to know it. None of them have ever seen this. The town is one step above Mayberry. I’ll get him to officially invite you.”
Al snaps off the latex glove before rubbing the meaty part of his thumb against the bristling whiskers protruding under his right nostril as if to jump start a thought process. “Unofficially, I’d pull everyone back and get a full-on State forensic team out here. No matter how careful this guy was, he moved her here. He left something behind. I’m convinced she wasn’t his first and if we miss a clue there will be more—a lot more.”
“You ever encounter this MO before?”
“Not this guy, he’s new to me. And I know many serial killers,” Al grins.
II
A DARK MAN with a hooked nose sips his coffee in the back booth. A chambray button up shirt hangs open to reveal his tight Under Armor tank, showing off his muscular frame.
When the waitress, blonde hair in a bun stabbed with a pencil, brings a steaming pot to refresh his cup, he asks, “How old are you?” He notes the golden name tag with black block letters designating her as Mila.
“I’m seventeen,” she beams having not been on her feet every day for years to embitter her.
“So you’re married?” A logical explanation as to why she’s at work on a school day.
“I don’t know why anyone would want to do something they know would end in divorce,” she smiles.
“Shouldn’t you be in high school?”
“I had to drop out. I need to work to earn money.”
Money—magic word.
She has not waitressed long enough to include a sob story to improve her tips.
Now he must lay his cards on the table with care. He needs a reason to open his wallet. He only eats eggs, no pork, but people tend to recall special orders. He wants no one to remember him. “The home plate breakfast will be fine.”
“I’ll get that in for you.” She tops off his coffee.
After he finishes the eggs she returns to fill his cup. He opens the wallet. Fanning out seven Benjamins, his attention focuses on how wide her eyes grow. He speaks so only she understands him clearly, “Would you like to earn some money on the side?”
She salivates a yes.
“Traveling for business get lonely.” Even an inexperienced girl would recognize his conjugal smile.
“You asking me on a date, or just for company, mister?”
“Private company,” he smiles.
“Is it worth all seven of those hundreds to you?”
He slides out one of the hundreds. “The other six will be waiting for you at the Moose Lodge, room 207. But no one can know. I mean, I do have a wife.”
She snatches the hundred, stuffing it into her shirt, securing it in her bra strap. “I’ll be secretive for six more of these.” Her empty hand slides across her stomach, pausing for a second.
• • • • •
As soon as he locks the door to the hotel room she asks, “Got those six hundreds?”
He nods and points to the top of the TV cabinet. She snatches them up. He checks the curtains for any gaps allowing a peeping tom to witness his infidelities. The setting sun bathes the cloth in orange.
“What do you want me to do? I’m for anything except in the ass,” she says.
He tosses a packet of thigh high hose on the bed. “Put those on.”
“You want to watch or what? You’re paying for it, I figure I’ll do whatever you desire.”
“Change on the bed.”
She pulls her tee-shirt over her head. Immediately he understands the hand-pass over her belly. He wouldn’t need a condom. She has the mound of a girl in the earliest stages of pregnancy.
Once she has aligned the thigh high seams she stands before him, the rest of her exposed.
“You haven’t shaved,” he says.
; “Sorry. I came here straight from work.”
“No matter. You wouldn’t have done it correctly.”
“This what you want? I’ve never done it for money, I just screwed the wrong boy and he won’t pay for the baby.”
“I don’t care,” he deadpans.
“You don’t have to be an ass.”
“Lay down on your stomach,” he orders.
“You know, I’m not sure I want to do this. You can have your money back,” she reaches for her pants.
“I said lay down!” he growls.
“Okay. I’m just nervous. I’ve never…”
Straddling her midsection, pinning her to the bed, he reaches under the pillow, drawing out a leather restraint. He clamps it over her left wrist before she protests.
“What the fuck? I’m not into this.”
He hooks her right wrist into a second restraint. She kicks and flails her legs. He mashes her face into the blankets. Despite her struggle to breathe she finds herself smashed against a hard-plastic cover under the sheet. When he lifts her head, she opens her mouth to scream. He jams a Jennings Dental Mouth Gag between her teeth, although it doesn’t muffle her sounds completely. She’s unable to clamp down or release an alarming scream. After tightening the leather strap to secure the gag he slides backward, keeping his weight on her legs.
Blood dribbles from her gums as she chomps on the metal. He banged a tooth as he shoved in the mouth gag. Reaching to his left he slips a leg shackle around her ankle.
Once he has her secure on the bed he undresses. From a fine leather case, he draws a straight razor. He waves the gleaming blade an inch before her eye. “I’m going to shave you. If you move I might cut you. Hold perfectly still,” he warns.
III
“FOR A GUY who has Brad Pitt’s face you sure don’t date.” Chambers tosses a wadded-up paper ball across the desk.
“No time. I must constantly solve crimes you country cops can’t seem to.” His cell chirps. He accepts the call, “Special Agent speaking.” He waits for the confirmation and then the usual question. “No, not officially. Maybe not at all, but you know they love to consult an expert.” He glances at Chambers. “But just not listen.”
After a few seconds, “I agree…she’s maybe fourteen, fifteen at the max, beautiful, killed elsewhere, but sliced—not stabbed.”
A few seconds more, “Blonde…call me back.”
“The sheriff needs to make my presence here official. I don’t want anything I uncover to be inadmissible. They’ll gladly loan me out, just have him make the call.”
“You still pissing off the administration?” Chambers asks.
“They’ve never liked my profiles, not after the billionaire.”
“The one who liked little girls?”
“Boys as well. He was a known contributor to the last President’s campaign. Deep down I think they would just let him go on and do what he did because he was such a humanitarian. What did it matter how he ruined the life of a dozen children if he saved a hundred-thousand?”
“How much prison time did he get?” Chambers asks.
“The last case was a mistrial. After a second trial it no longer makes the news. His lawyers will keep the case tied up and he’ll only be a millionaire when it’s all over,” Al says.
Chambers jumps to his feet when his office door swings open. Al rises, hand on his belt to keep his pants in place.
The tall, uninformed man holds out the hand of a former wrestler.
“Sheriff Mallard, this is FBI Special Agent Al. He’s just visiting at the moment,” the detective clarifies.
Emotion overwhelms his face as if tears will drop. “We’ve never dealt…with this before. I’ve never seen…”
“Sheriff, I’ve encountered worse. I assure it never gets any easier to deal with. When it does I need a new job. You need to contain the scene and bring in the State Troopers or the FBI. This won’t be it for this guy, not the way he cut on her. He enjoyed it. He’ll need to do it again.”
“I’ll make the calls. Get them down here.”
“Do you know this girl?” Al asks.
“She’s a freshman at Cedar Hill. Good kid. Already talk of her getting a volleyball scholarship.”
“I hate to do this to the family, but get someone over there to interview them. Find out where she’s been and how long she’s been gone. You might get lucky. She’s not old enough to drive so someone drove her to her last known location.” He holds out a business card. “After you get the state forensic team on the way, you call this number and ask for Supervising Director Slincard. Tell him you want me as a consult, make it all official. I uncover some piece of evidence and you can’t use it, this guy will escape the needle,” Al says.
IV
“HOW DID SHE know this guy?” Al glances through compact binoculars at the small saltbox house.
“He graduated high school last year. Point guard. Lasted one semester in community college.” Chambers smirks at community college.
Al keeps his attention peering out the passenger window of Chambers’ car, “I started at community college. Beats keeping track of high school sports when you don’t have kids of your own,” he jabs at his friend. “Why did he drop out?”
“Grades.”
“Still passing the high school sports stars in small towns. How did they hook up?” Al interrupts to answer himself, “He fails in a bigger pond, returns to the safety of home, where he still shines and impresses the younger kids. The senior girls understand what a loser he is, but not the freshmen. Classic story told repeatedly in every small, midwestern American town. Your town just happen to not have a store where I could purchase smaller pants.”
“You read people pretty good, but stereotypes don’t work every time,” Chambers says.
“If I don’t, someone else dies. And who do you pull over, the El Camino with the pot bumper sticker or the soccer mom Prius?”
“Soccer mom, she might be single,” Chambers laughs. “We do tend to favor the paraphernalia. But you deserve to get pulled over if you advertise.”
Al steps from the car, “How do you want to play this?”
“I’ll follow your lead.”
“It’s your town. I’m here as an observer,” Al says.
“You wanted to rule out the love interest first.”
“It is best to start with the boyfriend, but with a pending near identical case in another county I doubt he is our suspect,” Al says.
They march to the door. Chambers knocks.
Al tilts his body to hide his hand on his service weapon.
Chambers flashes his badge when shirtless Craig answers.
“When was the last time you saw Shelby?” Chambers inquires.
“No hi or a warrant?” Craig asks.
“Don’t get smart, Craig. You lost any currency you had with the Sheriff when you dropped out of college. Now when did you last speak with Shelby?” Chambers demands.
“She dumped me. I sent her a few texts, but she stopped answering a month ago.”
“Did she dump you for someone else?” Al asks.
“You know the legal age thing was an issue, but she was a little too churchy for me.”
“A small town like this, I thought everyone attended church,” Al says.
“We got out of practice early on Wednesdays so we could attend,” Craig says.
“How was that too churchy for you? She staying chaste?” Al asks.
“She wanted to spend too much time with her pastor. I mean, I go to church, but this guy hung on her like a creepy uncle.”
“Your mom home, Craig?” Chambers asks.
“Yeah.”
“Why don’t you let us in and go get her?”
“What’s going on?” Sweat beads form along Craig’s close-cropped hair line.
“When was the last time you saw Shelby?” Al asks.
Craig has yet to lose his athletic physique as he towers over the two. “I go to the high school games sometimes. You know th
ere is nothing else to do in this town but park at the quarry or go to Friday night games. I see her there.”
“So you did hang out?” Craig asks.
“There’s been some parties, but she’s jailbait.” Growing sweat beads draw together.
“And the church would frown upon you,” Al pokes.
“Not so much the church. I mean...she was all into the pastor. She hung on his words and…”
Al notes the change of story in the young man.
“They like boys as pretty as you in prison.” Chambers steps away to answer his vibrating phone.
“I never touched that girl,” Craig protests. Gravity now pulls on the sweat droplets. They roll down the side of his face. “She was underage. We…were just…at some of the same parties.”
“And?” Al demands.
“What and?” He wipes away the trails of sweat from his cheek.
“Just tell me, Craig. Let me help you.”
“We made out a few times. And she’d stop it. Saying the pastor would punish her for such sinful behavior.” For a second his nervousness abates to anger.
Chambers blocks them out focusing on the call. “Are you sure? Thanks. Send me a copy,” he flicks off the phone, marching back to the porch. “Do you want to question him at the station?”
“Question me about what?”
“Down at the station. He’ll view all the photos of her body.”
Craig’s stomach burbles loud enough for them to all hear it. “Body! You mean she’s…oh my God…No. I mean…” His cheeks chipmunk out as he clamps his hands over his mouth to hold in his bile-filled vomit.
Chambers pats Craig on the shoulder, “Let’s find your mom.”
Al inspects the family photos hanging in the foyer as Chambers returns. He closes the door behind him as they step out. “You want anything from the kid? He was working at a choke-and-puke off the interstate the same time she turned up missing. The call confirmed it.”
Al shakes his head, “Not now. I think you should keep him on your suspect list until he returns to college and finds a girl his own age,” Al says. “I want to speak to this pastor.”
SKA: Serial Killers Anonymous Page 9