Tony finally turned my way and commiserated, “I don’t imagine he offered any suggestions.” His voice sharpened as he pulled himself out of his reverie. “I haven’t been able to find anything in the videos. I don’t think our killer drove into Princeton. I think he lives somewhere between St. Paul and St. Cloud on Interstate 94.”
I feigned confidence. “Well I’m going to solve this. You may want to get healthy because I might lose my job in the process, so they’ll be looking for an investigator to replace me.”
I wheeled back and forth as I continued, and had a fleeting thought of gratitude, knowing I could stand up and walk away from this chair any time I wanted. “Thing is, Maurice is wrong. The DNA from Leah Hartman’s murder matches the DNA from Ava’s assault. Leah wasn’t hunted down by an angry ex. It’s this same Culhwch prick we’ve been chasing. And I’ve got the DNA profile back from Ancestry-dot-com.”
Tony retorted, “As far as a replacement investigator for you goes, you obviously don’t understand how helpless I am. I get open sores from doing nothing, and then I’m stuck in bed until they heal. Then I get to roll around in that thing,” he nodded toward his wheelchair, “Which, I might add, I can do a lot better than you.” He grimaced at my gracelessness in maneuvering his chair. “Do you have a name?”
I smiled, “We’re in business, Tony! Our killer has a half-sister named Colleen McGrath.”
“Well, enough olagonin’!” Tony perked up. “I’ll go on Facebook and look for family members.” With this, Tony flung back his bedcovers, and said, “Now, get outta my ride. I’ve got work to do.”
37
CULHWCH
10:00 P.M., SATURDAY, JULY 15,
MINNEAPOLIS
TWENTY-EIGHT-YEAR-OLD SLY GRAHAM uses traditional brown rope to bind his pretty woman friend, Harper. Harper Cook is of mixed race (black and white) with straight, black hair. She is a thin and attractive eighteen-year-old who graduated from Robbinsdale Cooper last year. Sly was born in Milwaukee, Wisconsin, and took Interstate 94 to Minneapolis to escape consequences for two battery (assault) charges against his former lover, Brooke.
Battery is a misdemeanor in Wisconsin and doesn’t warrant extradition. Sly has a tawny skin color, as a result of having one black and three white grandparents. He will be a challenge, even though he is only about 165 pounds, because he’s a wired character. The advantage I have is that he tethers Harper after their Friday nights out at the Azul Nightclub. (Harper gets in because Sly knows a bouncer.) Sly has his own special way of tethering, which involves a combination of futumomo and a box tie. It requires over thirty feet of rope. While Harper is lying on her back, Sly starts by bending each knee until her heels are touching her rump, then her enfolded leg is bound tightly. With a series of ties, her legs are secured in a folding position called the futumomo. He then ties her arms behind her back, wrists to elbows, followed by extra rope wrapped twice around her torso above her breasts, and twice around her torso below her breasts. This is what’s called a “Shibari box tie,” in the BDSM world. Harper is completely at her master’s mercy. I’ve seen their pictures online. You can’t blame me for looking, when people invite me into their guilty pleasures by saving their pictures in online files. I may actually be saving Harper’s life.
I’m in their house now. I search through the home—no guns to take. Sly’s laptop is sitting on the kitchen table, plugged in and open. His security code is written on a post-it, stuck to the keyboard. People are so stupid. I had planned on delivering the next cypher, but I think I’ll taunt the detectives by emailing it directly to Maddy Moore. Harper’s fate will be dependent on how quickly Maddy accesses her email. I type the cypher in and send it.
Boy, Sly couldn’t offend his dear departed namesyke more. Graham barely cracker. Y does a man have a need 2 violate very woman whom once loved, too enjoy sex. Wy risk 9 lives they get 4 it. / Culhwch
I will never be caught because I’m not foolish enough to purchase anything I use in crime. Bo Gere’s home was a treasure chest, as I walked away with a Browning hunting rifle with a thermal night vision scope, ammo, a nine-millimeter handgun with a build-in suppressor, a Taser bolt with replaceable cartridges, a hockey goalie, Jason-like mask (which I’m currently wearing), duct tape, and cuffs. So, when the investigators are out looking for where these items were purchased, it’ll only come back to my previous victim. I keep a clothing change in my locker at the Heritage Facility so I never return home in my murder clothes. Now I just have to sit in Sly’s house and wait …
I finally hear Sly and Harper approaching the house. Sly is slurring his words in his efforts to come on to her.
Harper jiggles the door handle. “Someone broke into your house. The door handle’s been jimmied.”
Sly gets brave and tells her, “I’ll blow his fucking brains out!” I hear Sly stumble in and shout, “Come and get me!” He laughs.
People are such idiots when they’re drunk. I wonder momentarily if he is carrying a gun. I step into the extra bedroom and, through the partially opened door, watch Sly stumble into the living room. He’s got his back to me, and I’m relieved to see he isn’t carrying. If he was, I’d just have to make sure I shot him first.
Sly yells to Harper, “The gaming system is still here. Laptop’s still here. Maybe we chased them away.”
Harper calls back, “Did you check the back bedroom?”
Sly runs his hand down his face in a drunken gesture of frustration, then lies, “Yes!”
Harper directs him, “Check our bedroom.”
Sly laughs. “All right.”
Soon I can hear Harper giggling. “No. I told you not to have that last drink”
Sly mumbles something inaudible, and Harper concedes, “Okay, but go lock the door.” Sly stumbles down the hall, locks the front door and returns to the bedroom.
After several minutes of passionate groaning, Harper complains, “You always tie me too tight when you’ve had too much to drink. Get a knife and cut this.”
Sly teases, “What’s the magic word?”
“Cut it, or you’re never touching me again,” she warns.
Sly laughs. “That’s magic enough for me.”
It is time for me to intervene. I sure don’t want Sly holding a knife.
When I step into the doorway, Sly and Harper both stop and stare, obviously disturbed by the Jason mask as much as my sudden appearance in their bedroom. Harper is bound on the bed, while Sly is facing me from the other side of the bed.
Harper screams, and Sly uses the distraction to pull a Colt 45 out from between the mattresses. Before I can turn and fire, Sly pulls the trigger. “Click. Click. Click.” He looks at Harper in disbelief as he realizes she had unloaded his gun.
“Phhht.” My silencer puts a bullet in his Sly’s shoulder. I was aiming for his chest, but this could work better, since he can still walk himself to the car.
Sly screams, “We’re dead!” He turns and yells at Harper, “You stupid bitch!” He hurls his gun at me and hunches over.
I easily dodge the flying forty-five, step around the bed, tase him, and watch him seizure to the floor.
Harper rolls off the bed, but because of her tethers, she’s unable to stand up. I watch her frantically rub the rope against the metal frame of her bed.
I pocket the Taser and slip the gun into the back of my jeans. I quickly soak the ether rag and hold it over Harper’s nose and mouth. In my hurry to shut her up, I may have used a little too much. She yells, “No!” Her next few gasps of air are ether-infused, effectively silencing her. Now I can take the Jason mask off.
Confused, Sly groans, “Why?”
I reply, “Well, I can’t think when she’s yelling, can I?” I need her to shut up and stop moving. When they’re still, I can focus on what I want. When they move, I have to consider what they’re thinking. She gave up the ability to protect her body when she agreed to be tied up. Who cares what she’s thinking?
I help Sly to his feet and tell him, “You bound her like a hog-tie
d pig. No respect. Look at her—rope up and down her legs, across her stomach, above her chest—you’re basically screwin’ rope. What the hell is wrong with you?”
Sly pleads, “She was the one who wanted to try this Japanese bondage shit. She’d get rope drunk! I’m sorry! I’ll never do it again!”
“Damn straight.” To ensure his compliance, I say, “I need to get you to a hospital.” I help him to his feet and tell him, “If you try to run, I’ll tase you again.”
With my guidance, but holding his shoulder in deep pain, Sly ambles along.
I grab the blanket, which was barely hanging on the bed, and walk Sly to his car.
He groans as he asks, “What do you need the blanket for?”
“We’re taking your ride, and you don’t want to get blood all over the seat, do you?”
It’s dark outside, and no one’s around to observe our awkward journey to his vehicle. Once at the car, I open the back door and help him in. I take the ether rag back out and shove it over his mouth. Sly attempts to struggle, but with his traumatized body, he is unable to resist my force. Once he’s out, I push him over and cover him with the blanket. Being he apologized, I decided to make his demise less painful. I then fire the kill shot. Society just got better. Now comes the fun part …
38
JON FREDERICK
9:30 P.M., SATURDAY, JULY 15,
PIERZ
SERENA CALLED AND SAID we needed to talk—that it was important. I agreed, but told her I was close to breaking this case open, so I needed to spend the night in Minneapolis. Serena felt this was best because, although Nora was spending the night with my parents, Victor and Sonia were getting together at my house in Pierz to watch a movie. We weren’t initially certain Sonia’s sister, Leah, had been sexually assaulted when she was murdered, but now that we had the full coroner’s report and the data from the lab, our suspicions were confirmed, and the family was notified. Sonia was struggling with periods of anger and bitterness, and I couldn’t blame her. I didn’t want to make Victor and Sonia reschedule their date. Victor apparently soothes her.
I picked Serena up in Pierz, and we headed south. About a half hour into our trip, Maddy called me from home and told me she had just received an email from Culhwch. I asked her to forward it to me. I pulled over and asked Serena to drive so I could work on the cypher.
Serena asked, “How do you solve a cypher?”
“If it’s symbols, you can substitute. ‘E’ is the most common letter in the English language. Sometimes two letters often occur next to each other, like ‘th.’ But, here, I’m counting off letters.”
I could tell Serena was frustrated. She wanted to talk, but now I needed to work. I thanked her as she silently drove while I focused completely on the cypher. When I focus, I don’t think of, or hear, anything else around me. It’s not a blessing for a relationship.
Ten minutes later, I looked up and said, “I got it.”
Serena smiled, then reached over and put her hand on my leg. “Can you tell me?”
“It says, ‘Body by Avon 94.’ The significant letters are, once again, thirteen apart. As soon as I noticed the ‘9’ and ‘4’ were thirteen letters apart, I assumed the code was the same.”
Boy, sly couldn’t offend his dear departed namesyke more. Graham barely cracker. Y does a man have a need 2 violate very woman whom once loved, too enjoy sex. Wy risk 9 lives they get 4 it. / Culhwch
When I called my supervisor, he told me Paula Fineday was on her way back from North Dakota and was close to the Avon area on I-94. Since I was now closer to Minneapolis, I was instructed to stop at our St. Paul office and pick up some equipment before I headed north.
I called the Stearns County Sheriff ’s Department and requested their assistance. They agreed to get on I-94 by Avon, and search all the exits for bodies or abandoned cars.
AFTER SERENA HAD HELPED ME load the equipment in my car at the BCA, I took over the driving, and we cruised I-94 through Minneapolis, heading toward Avon. I took Serena’s hand and squeezed it. “I’m sorry. Looks like I have to work tonight.” Serena wore a simple spring-green cotton top with the copper feather necklace I had given to her in better times. There was a pretty glow about her tonight.
Serena remarked, “You needed a driver.”
“I’m sorry. I should have told you I was too busy.” I blew out a frustrated breath.
Serena pulled my hand to her mouth and kissed my palm. “It’s okay. I shouldn’t have said anything. I’m glad we got some time together.”
She was looking at the message I had jotted down with every thirteenth letter circled. She asked, “What do you think the original letter meant?”
“I honestly don’t know, but I have a feeling it will become evident when we find this body.”
“He loves his words,” Serena mused, setting the cypher between us on the seat. “This is someone who is very adept at manipulating them. Maybe it’s an interpreter, or a writer of some sort.”
My phone buzzed, and I immediately responded.
Paula sounded terse. “I don’t know if it’s worth your trip to Avon. We can’t find a body.”
I remembered playing amateur baseball in Avon when I was seventeen. “They have a ballfield right off of 94. Have them check the dugouts.”
“They have,” she said, exasperated. “We’ll keep looking, but sit tight. I’ll call if we find anything.”
When I hung up, I noticed Serena was frantically scrolling through the internet on her phone, so I asked, “What are you looking for?”
She continued to study the screen as she answered, “When you first told me the cypher, I wasn’t thinking of the city of Avon. My mom used to buy Avon. According to the internet, there’s an Avon store just off of 94 in Brooklyn Center. I think the store’s closed now, but there’s a beauty center still open in Brooklyn Park.
I considered this. “Which came up first in your search?”
“The Brooklyn Center one that’s closed. It’s right off of the 51 exit.”
“Let’s go there, first. I believe Culhwch gets his information from internet searches, rather than research.”
As we approached the 51 exit off of 94, we spotted a metallic-blue Chevy Cruze pulled over on the shoulder of I-94. After I pulled behind it, I grabbed a pair of latex gloves out of the glove compartment and asked Serena to wait in the car. The front seat of the Chevy was empty, but I saw a gray blanket draped over something in the backseat. I could see what looked like a large bloodstain in the middle of the blanket.
Serena was now standing beside me with gloves on, so in spite of her consternation and distress, I told her to call nine-one-one, and request law enforcement and an ambulance.
When I lifted the blanket, I found a young man of mixed race bleeding from his shoulder but still alive. A second shot had grazed his forehead with minimal damage. In a weakened, barely audible voice, he whispered, “Help Harper. She’s still tied up.” Having delivered his message, he lost consciousness. Our killer left the car this time, so he wouldn’t have to double back to his victim’s home.
Her phone still to her ear, Serena told me, “There’s a state trooper less than a mile away.”
Although you never want to interrupt a crime scene, I carefully patted the man’s pockets but found no wallet on his person. I quickly popped the glove compartment and, after rummaging through paperwork, found the title to his vehicle. I scanned quickly for his name and address. His car was relatively new, so I hoped the address was current.
Serena said, “We need to apply pressure to his wound.”
“Could I get you to stay with him? The trooper will need to block off the scene and I have another victim to get to.”
Feigning confidence, she replied, “Of course.”
She quickly made her way around the car, opened the passenger side door, and used the blanket to apply pressure. I left my emergency kit with her and headed to Sly Graham’s home on Fourth Street North in Minneapolis. It was only a little over a
mile away, so I was likely the closest officer. On the way, I called Sean Reynolds and brought him up to speed on our crisis situation.
Once I arrived at the house, I pulled on fresh latex gloves before I entered, to avoid any cross contamination. Sly’s door was open, same as Alan Volt’s had been, back when this first started. I identified myself, to no response.
After a cursory search of the ground floor of the home, I located a young woman in one of the bedrooms, balled up on the floor. She had a bright red burn on her lips, and the tight brown rope had dug into her naked body. She had almost worn the rope through, but enough strands remained to squeeze her body in an unrelenting grasp. I quickly cut the remaining strands and freed her from her hemp prison. Her breathing was incredibly slow, and I feared it would soon stop. I immediately called for an ambulance. In addition to the chemical burn around her mouth, hives had formed on her chest, typical of an allergic reaction.
As the young woman was being loaded into the ambulance, Serena was dropped off by a state trooper. Her hair was windblown, and her spring-green top was now blood-stained. She was scrubbing her arms with antibacterial wipes. I could see the adrenaline was still racing through her system. She opened the passenger door of my car and sat inside, her legs hanging out the open door. Squad cars with flashing lights were now parked all around us. Serena appeared to be considering all the stimulation, as she commented, “No wonder you can’t sleep at night.”
I squatted in front of her and looked up at her, “Serena, you were amazing today. You saved a young man’s life.” I glanced toward the house, “I should stay and work—it could take hours.”
Just then, Jada Anderson and El Epicene stepped out of the first news van on the scene. Jada registered Serena and me, and undeterred, went right to work, setting up as close as she could to where the police tape blocked out the public.
I asked Serena, “Do you want to take my car?” She was watching Jada and El in action, her expression unreadable. When she didn’t respond, I asked, “I could see if Clay is headed back to Pierz to work on my house. Maybe you could catch a ride.”
The I-94 Murders Page 21