“Good,” she said with a sharp downward thrust of her chin. “Now, tell me everything. Don’t leave out details the way you do for the press. I’m a big girl. I can handle the disgusting.”
“If you insist. It’s not pretty.” I’m already so knee-deep in shit, I don’t guess telling her can hurt. He cleared his throat. “I’ll start at the beginning with all the things they had in common and then, I’ll be specific to each victim. Is that all right?”
“Sure.”
Ray looked for a place to sit.
Larkin smirked. “Floor or bed?”
Ray sat at the foot of the bed and began. “Each victim had her throat cut with a sharp blade and most of her blood was drained from her body. Each was dressed posthumously in a white wedding dress. It had to have been post mortem because there was very little blood on the dresses. Either that or the killer is extremely exacting and meticulous. I can’t imagine they didn’t struggle. The only evidence of any abuse was bruising around one wrist. The victims were carried to the cemetery and arranged as if lying in a coffin. This is the part we didn’t release to the press.” He looked up at the ceiling as if he needed help to go on with this grisly tale. After his unuttered prayer he delved in. “All of them had their pubic area shaved, but none were sexually assaulted. However, we did divulge that each one had a different drawing painstakingly painted on them. We just left out that they were painted across their pubic area.”
Larkin involuntarily rubbed her bruised wrist.
“I’m so sorry,” whispered Raif.
“Oh, no.” She shook her wavy auburn hair negatively. “I’ve already forgiven you. I was just thinking I really am lucky thirteen. I won’t die and neither will you. Please, go on, Ray.”
Raif folded himself onto the floor to listen. Chris grimaced as she looked at the packed dirt floor. “Hold up,” said Raif. He got his blanket and partially unfolded it for Chris to sit on. She smiled at his chivalry and sat down as he offered her his hand. He sank down beside her. He whispered, “What’s wrong?” to the grimace on her face.
“It stinks to high heaven in here.”
“I guess we’re used to it. Would you like some water? There’s some in the fridge.”
“Sure. Thanks.”
Raif got a sealed bottle for each person and sat back down.
Ray began, “I’ve gone over this so many times, it’s seared into my memory. The first victim was LaQuesha Brown, a nineteen-year-old African American cashier at Wal-Mart.” He scowled. “You know, it might be easier if you read my notes.” He pulled a notepad from his back pocket. His scowl deepened. “You might have a hard time with my writing.”
Larkin held out her hand. “I’m a teacher,” she reminded. “Your handwriting can’t be any worse than some I have to read on a daily basis.”
As she opened the notepad, Ray’s folded and frayed chart fell out. She scanned it and found his corresponding notes in the notepad. He interrupted her reading. I won’t mention blonde for a female should have an E at the end. “Um, my notes about the male victims are toward the back. I copied information from Baker’s files.”
“Thanks,” she said. “Who’s Baker?”
“Another detective. He’s been investigating the deaths of the men. He brought his investigation to my attention when he noticed the matching dates.”
“Ah.” Larkin read for a moment. “Hmmm.”
“What?” Ray asked eagerly.
“I have a hunch, but let me finish reading. Raif, come sit by me. Read with me.”
Larkin sat cross-legged on the bed. Raif sat beside her, his legs stretched straight and crossed at the ankles, and looked over her shoulder. He laughed lightly. “Well, I see one difference in us, my brother.”
“What’s that?” asked Ray.
“I have meticulous handwriting. Some of my teachers used to say I wrote like a girl.”
“I just write fast when taking notes,” Ray grumped.
“Hush.” Larkin snickered. “Let me look at this.” She read quietly for a time, pointing occasionally to an item for Raif to consider. She asked, “Ray, have you connected any dots?”
“Only that they were all killed on some form of holiday. Other than the obvious ones, some are Wiccan sabbats.”
“Yes, I see that. The drawings have to do with moon phases and seasons for some of the dates. The men”—She looked at Raif and patted his leg—“The men were all someone with a need. Raif, even you had the need for your medication. Latrice lied to you to get you to help her. I know now, having gotten to know the real you, that under normal circumstances you wouldn’t have listened to her at all.”
“I apologize again.”
“No need.” She smiled at Raif and turned her attention to Ray. “Tell me about this little note about the reporter. You seem to think you’re somehow responsible for her murder.”
“What?” Chris said, her voice higher than normal.
Ray rubbed his head as he felt a creeping migraine. “I met the woman when she was stalked by a fan, a construction worker who was put under a restraining order. I might’ve also been one of the last people to see her on the day she disappeared.”
“How does that make you responsible?” Chris asked. “She was bitchy. I met her, too, remember?”
With some exasperation, Ray said, “Chief Gerard held a press conference in the afternoon and insisted that I attend. McCall asked very pointed questions the chief tried to sidestep. She cornered me as I tried to leave through the back door. I’m afraid I was very rude to her. She returned to the station and prepared her story for the five o’clock news. She was last seen after the broadcast.”
“Yes,” Larkin interrupted the argument. “I usually listen to my TV rather than actually watch, except for Lost. I watch that religiously, but I remember your comment. You said that instead of accusing the local police of not doing their job, maybe she should look into why the feds had only seen fit to send one agent.”
“That’s exactly what I said, and threatening to go to the press finally got three more agents. I should’ve pushed it then, but I didn’t,” Ray said. “And she was killed June 21st and had a sun with a face painted on her. McCall lived alone with her Rottweiler.”
“That’s because only a dog could love her,” Chris grunted.
The two law officials exchanged stabbing glares.
“Ray,” Larkin interrupted again, “McCall’s death was not your fault.”
He cocked his head to the side. “I didn’t say it was.”
“No, but you think you should’ve been able to do more. You’ve done your job well. Don’t blame yourself for this psychopath’s work.”
Ray nodded. “Until now, I have felt useless and frustrated. But now, I have something to go on.” Annoyance tinged his voice.
“I hope I can give you more. You mentioned knowing about the solstices and equinoxes. The sun’s face represents the summer solstice. I have another question. Your notes say you think Molly Jensen’s employer was in love with her, but he wasn’t a suspect. Why?”
“He was so torn up over the girl’s death I’m certain he was in love with her even though he was twenty years older and recently divorced.”
“Was there any evidence they were sleeping together?”
“No. From what I could gather, his divorce was ugly, and his ex-wife was looking for something to drag him back to court.”
“Okay,” Larkin said under her breath and read on. “Here.” She pointed. “You note you think Rochelle Waters was lesbian. What evidence do you have?”
“She lived with a roommate who may or may not have been her girlfriend. The evidence supports that she was probably lesbian. The girl relocated here with Rochelle and worked as a telemarketer.”
Chris interjected from her place on the floor, “According to Rochelle’s coworkers, they were affectionate during the company picnic on the last day Rochelle was seen.”
“Explain affectionate. I hug my female friends often,” said Larkin. “That does
n’t make me gay, just affectionate.”
Chris said, “More intimately affectionate than hugs. They kissed in public. Then, I asked. The girlfriend confirmed.”
Ray looked shocked. “You asked?”
“How else do you get the truth?” Chris rolled her eyes.
Larkin looked back and forth between the two officers. “Okay,” she said. “My intuition grows stronger. And all these women were found in the same place?”
“Yes,” said Ray. “We’ve been staking out the cemetery since the third victim and haven’t seen a thing. Of course, it’s a big place with several entrances, and I only have four officers to help me.
“Finally, the FBI has sent someone besides Chris, though she’s awesome.” He nodded toward her. “The FBI profiler says the killer has probably had some kind of medical or scientific training, is very religious, probably raised Catholic, and patriotic, perhaps even former military. Journey, the profiler, also believes it could be a woman who needs an accomplice and then gets rid of the man. Assuming Latrice is the woman, and Baker’s victims were her accomplices, the men have been someone who could be easily manipulated as you’ve already pointed out. Sorry, Raif, but even you were manipulated when you were confused.”
“That’s the past.” Raif nodded. “But no more.”
“No, no more,” assured Ray. “Well, Larkin, you know everything I know. What do you think?”
“One question.” She held a finger aloft. “Had any of the women ever been married?”
“No, why?”
“The seven deadly virtues,” she replied softly.
“Excuse me,” said Ray. “I’ve heard of the seven deadly sins, but not the seven deadly virtues.”
“I have,” Chris said. “In the musical, Camelot, Mordred sings about them.”
“Yes!” said Larkin excitedly. “The seven deadly virtues: courage, purity, humility, honesty, diligence, charity, and fidelity. I think my theory is right. We’re looking at the deadly virtue of purity.” She shifted to sit on her knees.
“Ray, you said that none of the women were sexually assaulted. They were sacrifices. They had to be pure. They were wearing wedding dresses. Were they all virgins?”
“What?”
Slowly and with precise articulation, Larkin repeated, “Were…they…all…virgins, Ray?”
Before he could respond, Chris was already on her cell phone. “Dantzler, look through the M.E. reports quickly. Were all the victims virgins?” She stood and paced.
Everyone waited in silence. “Thanks,” Chris said after several minutes. She disconnected and looked at those with her. “Ten reports of ‘intact hymen.’”
“Which two weren’t?” asked the detective.
“Waters and Winters.” Chris shrugged. “Broken hymen doesn’t mean they weren’t virgins. Winters was an equestrian. Horseback riding is notorious for breaking the hymen, even in small children. Waters?”
“She was gay,” said Ray.
“And?” argued Chris. “She might not have ever been with a man. This loon might equate virginity with heterosexual sex only.”
Ray turned to Larkin. “How did you think of that? Are you?” He shook his head and hand at the same time. “That’s none of my business.”
Larkin laughed. “Why is that so hard to believe, Ray? Because I’m twenty-seven? I must not be normal. Maybe not in our society, but it’s my choice to wait until marriage.”
Ray’s mouth gaped. Larkin laughed again, even harder than the first time, but she could feel a burn in her cheeks. “You should see your face. All of you should see your faces.”
“That’s why Latrice asked if I’d touched you,” Raif commented.
“I’m sorry,” mumbled Ray, “but how did that fact escape me?”
“You didn’t expect it. Just like you assumed I was sexually active.”
“I’m sorry,” Ray said, feeling his own flushed face. “I wasn’t being judgmental. I find it admirable, but, forgive me, you’re very pretty. How can you not have ever had a lover?”
She rolled her eyes and turned half her mouth down. “Trust me, I’ve had opportunities. It’s my choice.” She put her hair behind her ear. “I’ve also scared a few men away with that choice.” She shrugged. “So be it. The man who loves me will accept me.”
Chris muttered, “Yeah. We met Brad. He’s a prick.”
“You did?” Larkin asked.
The FBI agent nodded. “We questioned him briefly after Dr. Fairchild reported you missing.”
Larkin beamed. “I knew she’d be looking for me.” She’ll make sure Cyclops is okay too. Thank you, God.
“Again,” said Ray, “admirable, but back to business. How did you figure that out about the others?”
“This is how I drew my conclusion.” Talking as much with her hands as her voice, she explained. “I know I’m a virgin.” She touched her chest. “Raif said several times Latrice wanted me to be pure and unblemished. Obviously, from the things in your notes unblemished couldn’t mean without scars or markings. Even I have piercings and a tattoo.”
“You have a tattoo?” asked Ray.
“Yes,” she replied.
“What is it?” he asked, his stomach suddenly doing loops.
“A Celtic guardian.”
His mind wandered for a moment. “Where?” he asked as the other three looked at him.
“My left shoulder blade. Why?”
“I just didn’t expect you to have a tattoo.” Especially not the same one I have. He subconsciously touched his own left shoulder blade where a Celtic guardian dragon tattoo was located. His thoughts fell to the day he got it.
Mardi Gras with several fraternity brothers during my senior year in college. My roommate and I were lit. We stopped at a tattoo parlor on a side street off Bourbon Street. Half a dozen other brothers wandered on. Rob chose a bizarre two-headed serpent. He unconsciously shivered. I felt a connection to the Celtic guardian, thought it might actually offer protection. It must have because when the brothers rejoined us, they bragged about beating up some guy that looked like me. Said the guy locked his girlfriend in the car when they went for her. I thought it just a drunken tall tale, but still felt I might’ve been spared something by my Celtic guardian. He glanced toward his twin. Now, I’ve met my twin who was mugged in New Orleans during the same Mardi Gras. Why would Larkin have the same tattoo? Does she feel the need to protect herself? Will it actually protect her? Oh, I hope so.
“Hello, Ray,” Larkin said. “Are you listening?”
The detective shook himself. “I’m sorry. Please, enlighten me.”
“As I was saying, it couldn’t be without physical blemish. It had to be something else—moral purity, at least sexual purity.” She counted off each victim with her fingers as she spoke. “LaQuesha’s car accident might’ve kept her pure. Her scars from all the repair work might’ve kept men away. Sister Mary Michael was a nun, the Virgin Mary, the Christmas or Yule sacrifice. Betty Kim came from a fairly traditional Chinese family. If they’re old school, they’d expect her to remain a virgin until marriage. Chinese culture places a high value on female virginity. Lucia Torres’s limited English was a barrier to her dating. I know how much she struggled with English because she served me several times at the Mexican Cantina, and she seemed very shy. Mira Samir was a devout Muslim. She definitely would’ve been a virgin. Isabeau’s fiancé is in Iraq according to your notes. I guessed on her. Molly Jensen’s diabetes most likely made her very cautious even if she was in love with Dr. Epps. She might’ve been extra afraid of getting pregnant. Diabetics often have serious complications. You note how conservative the Winters girl was, and she was away at an all-girls’ boarding school. She didn’t sound like the type to sneak out and disappoint her father. Your reporter was too much of a ‘B’ word to be involved with anyone but herself from what I’ve read in your notes. The Waters girl was lesbian, but that was still an assumption on my part. The Native American”—She shrugged—“I know the reservation she lived o
n in Mississippi offers free abstinence courses. Maybe she was waiting; again, a guess. Bianca was a baby who was planning to have sex from what you wrote down, which means she had not had sex. The wedding dresses, the sacrificial element.” She struck a pose as if to say, Ta-da! “Voila! Virgins.”
Ray nodded thoughtfully. “All right. I see your logic, but how would the killer have known all these women were virgins?”
19
Investigation
The four people in the old wine cellar of the deserted monastery exchanged glances. After a short time, Chris offered a conjecture. “Their gynecologist.”
Ray countered, “I don’t think Bianca had a gynecologist.”
“No, but she went to the health department where I met Latrice. Latrice might’ve started working there before Bianca’s visit,” Raif offered.
“Good thinking,” concurred Ray. “All we have right this minute though is theory and the fact that this woman manipulated my brother in his weakened state into snatching Larkin. We need a lot more in order to bring her down.”
He addressed Larkin. “First, we need to get you somewhere safe.”
“This is the safest place I can be right now,” argued Larkin.
“Fooyay!” Ray snapped and jumped to his feet. “Don’t you wanna get out of here?”
“Of course I do, but Latrice expects Raif to keep me here. If we give her no reason to suspect complications to her plot, both Raif and I will be safe. In addition, it’ll give you time to build your case. I just have one request. Make sure my cat is okay.”
“Already taken care of,” Chris said with a grin.
Ray rubbed his temples. Not now. No headache allowed. “I’ve got reservations, serious reservations, but I’m gonna pull the stakeout on the cemetery and put a watch on this place.”
“All right,” agreed Larkin and Raif in unison.
Ray whipped out his cell phone and made the call before he addressed his brother again.
“Raif, what do you know about the rest of this place?” The detective looked around the cellar. “This room is obviously not where the murders took place, but I smell decay.”
Lucky Thirteen (The Raiford Chronicles Book 1) Page 12