by D. K. Hood
A scarf was stuffed into his mouth. The woolen material pressed down on his tongue, making it hard to breathe. His tormentor walked away, leaving him petrified and alone. Some moments later, he heard shuffling and the person returned in coveralls, latex gloves, and a face mask with a Perspex shield. Without saying a word, they bent over him with a hunting knife to cut away his clothes, slicing through them like butter. No coldness penetrated Riggs’s bare flesh. His head was raised onto a pile of snow so he could watch as the author tied cord around his thighs and the top of each arm using a stick from a fallen branch to tighten the binding into tourniquets.
“Now we wait.” His assailant smiled. “With the windchill factor and the fact it’s about twenty degrees Fahrenheit right now, I figure what I’m planning will work better if your limbs are frozen. I don’t want my saw to get clogged or kick back and cut me. I’ve read about the Ice Man, and he sliced up his victims after he froze them.”
Riggs screamed through the scarf in his mouth but it was like a whisper on the wind. It was like a terrible nightmare. His vision blurred and he closed his eyes. The slap across his face brought back the terrible reality.
“Now, don’t pass out on me.” The crazy person slapped him again and then moved around him prodding his blue flesh. “You’ll miss all the fun.”
Satisfied, the acquaintance lifted a chainsaw from behind a tree and brushed away the snow before turning back to him. Trapped and helpless Riggs could only follow the person’s moments by swiveling his eyes.
Panic had him by the throat when a dark unemotional gaze settled on him, and the ice-cold blade of the chainsaw ran down the side of his cheek in almost a caress. Riggs wanted to scream, fight back—do something—but he couldn’t move. All he could do was stare into unforgiving blank eyes. It was like peering through the gates of hell.
“Do you still figure I lack imagination?” His abductor started up the chainsaw and smiled. “Let me change your mind.”
Thirty-Eight
Bored with waiting for Rio to round up the suspects, Kane scanned the files, trying to find a connection between the kills. It was all very well finding items the killer had left behind, but that proved nothing. Sure, the killer could have been involved in the Tate murder and the deaths of the men in the local forest all those years ago, but unless the serial killer was ten years old then, it couldn’t have been any of their suspects. It wasn’t easy to kill and from what he could find about the brutality of the series of murders, a kid would find it difficult to hide his involvement. The blood spatter in each case would have been significant and the kid had turned up to school each day and carried on as normal. In an adult psychopath he’d expect it, but not a ten-year-old. The idea seemed too remote to consider. He reached for his phone and called Jo. “Hey, Jo, can I bend your ear again?”
“Sure, what’s up?” Jo sounded interested.
Kane leaned back and stared at the ceiling, his best position to center his thoughts. “Have you ever heard of a serial killer sharing his trophies?”
“Hmm… not that I recall. I’d doubt they’d share something so precious to them.”
“That’s what I figured.” Kane thought for a beat. “How would our current killer have trophies from a historical kill in his possession if he wasn’t the killer?”
“Unless he met the historical killer in jail, and he told him about his kills.” Jo tapped her fingernails on the desk. “They do talk about their kills. Maybe the historical killer was dying and disclosed where he’d hidden his trophies, allowing the younger guy to live through the stories.” She sighed. “I can’t think of another reason… ah… unless the killer is the kid and he witnessed the original murders. These men’s mutilations are signals of being guilty of a sex crime. Perhaps they were pedophiles?”
Kane straightened. “And the mother was allowing it to happen?” He stared at the wall thinking. “Perhaps the kid told someone he was being abused and they did something about it, maybe someone who was abused as a kid himself? Maybe the kid took the trophies?”
“Oh yeah, that makes sense.” Jo chuckled. “You think like me—out of the box. Now all you need to do is find the link between the Tate murder and your suspects. I’ll ask Kalo to hunt down where little Paul Tate is nowadays. He went into the system, so it might take a while.”
Kane smiled. “Thanks. I’ll look forward to hearing from you. Bye for now.” He disconnected.
The door opened and Jenna walked in with Emily. He’d do his job as if nothing had happened between them and hope like hell everything would go back to normal.
“We found Kitty Pandora’s ring.” Emily waved an evidence bag.
“It was just under the foot of Julie’s bed, dropped and kicked under.” Jenna smiled. “Now we know for sure, whoever killed Kitty was in Julie’s room.”
The hairs on the back of Kane’s neck stood up. This was bad news, but from the smiling faces before him, neither of them had considered the ramifications. “I called Jo before and ran through a few ideas. I wanted her take on how the trophies from a historical case ended up here.” He gave them the details of the call to Jo. “So, if we consider ten-year-old Paul Tate witnessed the kills and took the earrings from a mother who’d allowed him to be abused, it would be enough to turn a susceptible kid into a killer. Now we have Julie, who has triggered the memory of his mother.”
“The kid wasn’t there. Paul Tate discovered his mother’s body after school the following day.” Jenna dropped into a chair. “And why Julie and not Emily? They are almost identical, apart from age.”
Kane pulled up the image of Diane Tate and looked at the cigarette held between fingers with long red nails. “The blonde hair maybe but look at the fingernails. The combination of hair and red fingernails might have been enough to trigger him or at least make him desire to get closer. His full recollection of his mother would be diminished by time.”
“And Julie does have a habit of holding a pen like a cigarette and twirling it in her fingers.” Jenna nodded in agreement. “It could be enough, but it doesn’t account for how the kid got the earrings.”
“He could’ve taken the earrings from the body when he found her.” Emily scanned her files. “It says he told the cops he checked to see if she was alive, so if he had blood on him, they would have discounted it.” She looked slowly up at Kane. “Just how much danger is my sister in right now? Maybe we should call Dad to come get her?”
“If she remains in a crowd and we make sure she’s never alone, it’s safer than trying to negotiate the mountain road.” Jenna glanced out the window. “The snow has been relentless and there’s another blizzard due to arrive later today. When that blows through, the weather forecast said we’d have freezing temperatures and blue skies for a week or so.” She sighed. “As soon as they clear and salt the mountain road, she is out of here. You should leave as well, just in case.”
“Then you’d have no forensics team here.” Emily gave her a determined stare. “I’m staying. You need me.”
Kane’s phone buzzed. It was Rio using the landline. “You’ve been gone over two hours. Couldn’t you find our suspects?”
“Not yet. They’re all in different places and move around. It’s organized chaos down here, but I figure I’ve located August Bradford, and Bexley Grayson. The girl on the desk said she saw two people heading for the elevator fitting their descriptions not long ago, so I’m guessing they went back to their rooms. Finnian and Rain are in different conference rooms as far as I know. The person on the door doesn’t know everyone by sight and people are coming and going all the time to change rooms, use the bathroom, or go outside to smoke.” He sighed. “Do you want me to wait until the current session is finished to grab Finnian and Rain or head up to the rooms, for Grayson and Bradford?”
Alarm bells went off in Kane’s head. “What do you mean by them “going outside to smoke”? Is there a separate balcony area or what?”
“Nope, the manager disabled the alarm on one of the fire doors on
the ground floor so they could step outside. There’s no smoking inside the lodge.”
Kane shook his head in disbelief. “You’re saying, we have an unmonitored exit for our killer to move around as he pleases?”
“Seems so.” Rio cleared his throat. “If I go and tell him to reinstate the alarm, and to inform the guests they must go out the front door to smoke, can you clear it with the boss?”
Annoyed the manager made a significant security change without informing them, Kane sucked in a breath. “Yeah, do it now. He can announce it over the speaker system. Then go and collect Grayson or Bradford. They’ll break for lunch soon, and we’ll grab the others before the next session. Have you seen Julie?”
“Yeah, I escorted her to one of the halls. She’ll be tied up there until lunch.”
“Great. Thanks.” He replaced the receiver and brought Jenna up to date.
“So, the killer hasn’t been using the staff door as we thought. He’s just been walking in and out of an unmonitored door. You’d have thought Mr. Brightway would’ve mentioned it—the idiot.” Jenna rolled her eyes. “Going back to Julie being a possible trigger, I figure we have Emily here during the interviews, in sight at least.” She collected documents scattered around the desk and sorted them into neat piles. She looked at Emily. “Sit just out of the direct line of their sight and we’ll see if you attract any interest.”
“You want to use me as bait?” Emily smiled. “Cool.” She looked at Kane. “Do I get my own stun gun now?”
“Here.” Jenna pulled one out of her jacket pocket. “Take mine. Do you know how to use it?”
“Oh yeah.” Emily turned the weapon over on her palms. “I was there when Dave made sure we both knew how to use it, but I hope whoever is killing people doesn’t come close enough for me to zap them. What setting is this on?” She peered at the controls. “High looks good to me.”
“Be careful. High can kill.” Jenna frowned.
“It’s kill or be killed if he comes for me.” Emily gave her a long unblinking stare. “My dad says if someone attacks me, to show no mercy, for as sure as the sun rises in the morning, they won’t be giving me any.”
The door opened and Rio walked in with Bexley Grayson. Jenna stood and looked at Kane.
“I’ll speak to Mr. Grayson.” She waved Grayson toward a desk across the room.
Kane stood and followed her. He had some questions of his own he wanted to ask and sat down. He placed his notebook on the table and pulled out his pen and turned his attention to Jenna. “I’ll take notes.”
“Thank you for dropping by, Mr. Grayson. Sorry to drag you up here again, but we’re speaking to everyone concerning the death of Dakota Storm.” Jenna leaned back in her chair. “Have you ever pitched a manuscript to her?”
“You called me away from the conference to ask me if I’d pitched to Miss Storm?” Grayson raised both eyebrows. “If you’d bothered to read my statement, I already told Deputy Rio she rejected me. She wasn’t a very nice person, but I didn’t kill her.”
“Ah yes, so I see.” Jenna scanned her files. “But we needed to speak to you again as you were the last person to see Jedidiah Longfellow, alive. Two of your acquaintances, dead within a week. Don’t you think that’s a little strange?”
“Ha, I can’t believe this is your idea of an investigation, or a relevant way to select suspects, Sheriff.” Grayson shook his head. “This is a crime writers’ convention. Ask anyone of us how to hunt down clues, if you need help. Honestly, Sheriff, there must be at least fifty authors here who have pitched to Miss Storm and just as many knew Jed. He is a bestselling author and has been signing books since he arrived. He suggested I join his critique group. That’s a group of authors who help each other by critiquing each other’s work. He was a friend and opened doors for me. Why would I kill him?” He leaned back and raised both eyebrows. “I can’t think of a single reason anyone would kill him.” He looked at his hands and picked at his nails. “Miss Storm maybe, but Jed never.”
“Do you know Kitty Pandora?” Jenna’s gaze never left his face. “She’s an author.”
“And was in my critique group, but she left when Miss Storm signed her.” Grayson frowned. “I went to her book reading and spoke to her afterward. I offered my congratulations, although she is such a self-centered woman, she looks down her nose at everyone.”
“Maybe, but she drowned in her bathtub.” Jenna’s expression remained neutral. “We have you on CCTV footage heading toward your room when the lights went out. You couldn’t have gotten inside your room, so where did you go, Mr. Grayson?”
“I used my phone light and went down the fire escape to the lobby and waited there until the lights went back on.” Grayson cleared his throat. “Can I tell you who was there? No, not exactly. It was dark and most people congregated around the fires to keep warm. The heating went off as well, you know.”
“So, you knew everyone who was murdered?” Jenna folded her hands on the table. “That’s a little more complicated than just a coincidence.”
“Like I said, there would be at least thirty people at the conference who knew them all as well.” Grayson looked amused. “Why pick me? I’m a small fry in a big pond. There are so many other people here with an ax to grind with most of these people… maybe not Jed. Everyone just loved Jed.”
Kane lifted his head from his notes. “Does the name Paul Tate, sound familiar?”
“Tate… Paul Tate… No, I can’t recall an author by that name.” Grayson shrugged. “Is he dead too?”
“Not that I’m aware.” Jenna glanced at her notes. “Do you own a laser pointer?”
“No.” Grayson narrowed his gaze. “I’ve seen them used during the conference. Has one been stolen?”
“I can’t say at this time.” Jenna glanced at Kane and raised one eyebrow.
After observing Grayson’s body language throughout the interview, Kane closed his notebook and looked at Jenna. “I don’t have any more questions.”
“Okay, sorry to keep you, Mr. Grayson.” Jenna stood and offered her hand. “Deputy Rio will see you out.”
Kane waited until Grayson had left the room. “He didn’t once look over at Em. His overall body language told me he was bored. We annoyed him, that’s for sure, but what he said is true. There’d be a ton of people here who have been involved with the victims at one time or another.”
“Yet he hasn’t got anyone to verify his whereabouts, same as the other three.” Jenna stood and went to the coffee maker. “Out of all the people here, those four seem to move around like ghosts.” She wrinkled her nose. “Grayson is over the top—heavy fake tan, too white teeth, enough cologne to drown in, and from his face I’d say he has so much Botox pumped into him his expression is frozen. He has no emotion in his eyes at all. Like he didn’t care any of those people were victims of horrible crimes.”
Nodding, Kane stood and went to her side, pulling clean cups from a tray on the bench. “We didn’t faze him. He sure didn’t act guilty, but I’ve seen psychopaths who could convince a cop they were innocent as they were stabbing their next victim. I figure he’s still on our watch list.” He leaned on the counter as Jenna popped coffee pods into the machine.
“He didn’t as much as look at me.” Emily opened a box of cookies and looked around with one held in her fingers. “Where’s Duke?”
Kane chuckled. “The walk outside in the cold was too much for him. He’s in front of the fire in my room.” He smiled at her. “Don’t worry, he sleeps most of the day. He’ll be fine. I’ll go and drag him outside again before we have lunch.”
“Why don’t you take your break now?” Jenna sipped her coffee. “I can handle the interviews.”
As they hadn’t missed a meal when working together for as long as he could remember, Kane shrugged. If Jenna wanted to play hardball, well he could too. “I’d rather be here so I can observe the body language of the suspects. We’re not filming the interviews and this will be a onetime deal.” He added cream and suga
r to his coffee and snagged a few cookies. “If that’s okay with you, ma’am?”
“Okay.” Jenna gave him a sideways glance. “I am capable of reading body language, but I know the FBI have one agent watching and one asking questions. I’m guessing we’re throwing away gut instinct and doing it by the book now?”
Kane looked up as Rio walked in with August Bradford. The man gave them all a disinterested stare and sat down at the interview table. He turned to Jenna. “He’s all yours.”
Thirty-Nine
Jenna took her coffee to the interview table and sat down. “Can I get you a hot beverage, Mr. Bradford?”
“No, just get this over with.” August Bradford drummed his fingers on the table. “In case you don’t know, we purchase tickets to various events here. I was just heading down to listen to a panel discussing forensics in crime novels. It’s an opportunity I didn’t want to miss.”
Taking her time to open her notebook and find a page, Jenna nodded. “Yes, and I’m aware we have someone in the lodge murdering people.” She gave him a hard stare. “I figure my investigation takes priority. You mentioned in your interview that you disliked Dakota Storm. Is that because she rejected your novel?”
“That’s Miss Storm.” Bradford’s lip curled at the corner. “Nobody gets to call her Dakota. She is above all us slush pile people, don’t you know?”
Bemused, Jenna glanced at Kane. “Slush pile people?” She leaned back. “What does that imply? Is that a derogatory word for the rejected?”
“The unsolicited manuscripts go into what they call a ‘slush pile,’ and sometimes, authors who’ve been in the pile actually get a contract, but usually by that time they’ve gotten themselves an agent or they’ve given up completely.” Bradford steepled his fingers. “Such is the life of an author. We’re only as good as the sales of the last book.”
“Where were you when the lights went out?” Kane hadn’t taken his eyes off Bradford.