by Jet MacLeod
“What’s up, Cap?” Gracie asked sitting down in a chair in front of Danica’s desk.
“I thought that you would like to know the results of the lab work that they did on what you and Frenchy collected earlier. It was very interesting what they said y’all sent to them. I must admit. I am not sure I understand the need to sample and process the lake mud, but I am sure that you have a good explanation as to why our department paid for you to know the results of lake mud. I thought you only had to process the inside of the house, not the lake, too.”
“It was hunch I was trying,” Gracie said.
“Well, I hope your hunch paid for its self. Grace, I know that you had pretty much unlimited resources to solve cases in Atlanta, but here we don’t. The lab budget can’t be anywhere near what you had there,” Danica said, handing Gracie the results, while still chastising her for the seemingly unnecessary tests.
“It did.”
“It did, what?”
“The results paid for my hunch.”
“And, what was that?” Danica asked.
“The lake mud on the grass, matched the lake mud in the house, but not the lake mud on the bottom of the vic’s shoes. That means that killer came from the water. There was also blood in it that wasn’t the victims. It could be the killer’s. The sample was tainted so they couldn’t type it. Damn it. I was hoping for more than that. I was hoping for a blood sample to run in CODEUS. That means, that hopefully our vic got a piece of this guy.”
“I hope that you are right. I want to get this guy and bad. Did the ME tell you how many stab wounds there were?” Danica asked.
“No, I was going to see her in a few minutes. Why? What’s up?” Gracie asked.
“Over forty, fifteen to the heart, this was personal. She knew this guy. That is where we should start, you know, with guys she knew,” Danica stated.
“Frenchy is already on that. He texted me and said that he has gotten with most of the exes and they all have solid alibis, and they’re women.”
“Women, huh?”
“Well, that puts a spin on the motive for you. I don’t think that a woman could do that to another woman, no matter how much she was spurned,” Grace stated.
“You would be surprised to what a woman could do when she puts her mind to it.”
“I know, but the over kill, it is too much for a woman. It was a heated passion kill. It was thought out just in case she spurned this guy one more time. He wants to prove to her that he is the only one that she’ll ever need. More than likely, she has spurned him before in the past. He was away and thought that would help him out in the long run. It didn’t and he flipped.”
“Trying to become a profiler?”
“No, Danica, too much psychology and too much homicide. You learned a lot about a killer in a city like Atlanta. You learn what will turn them on and off to kill someone, especially if it is premeditated. This was all too carefully planned.”
“What do you mean, Grace?” Danica asked.
“Come on. This guy comes in from the water, quietly, no motor. He doesn’t want to disturb the neighbors no matter how far away they are. He knows the lay out of the house and the yard. He may have worked for her or been to the house before. He knew that she was possibly a lesbian and that was his turn on. He wanted to prove to this one how much of a man he could be for her and he would be the only one that she would ever need. She shoots him down, but it bruises his ego and nobody bruises his ego. She has to bow to him and succumb to his will or die. He is mildly smart. He probably works with his hands and has a decent build, very muscular. He is more than likely Caucasian and has had a girlfriend leave him in the past for another woman. He likes knives because it’s personal and concealable. He is probably in his late twenties to late thirties, average height. He doesn’t stand out in a crowd. He can blend in and watch her without her knowing. He hides in front of her, in plain sight. He is waiting for her.”
“Damn, you got all that from some mud?”
“That and the crime scene. This guy has raped before. But, now, he is escalating. He is a murderer. He is ashamed of what had happened to his love but he believes that it is her fault. He is angrier with her because she got a piece of him while she was fighting for her life. He may be in the system from some earlier rapes but without DNA, I can’t be sure. His MO matches too many unsolved cases in the last ten years. He is probably a spree rapist. He got caught and probably not for rape, did some time, and now is trying to catch up where he was with the women he thought were his. He isn’t going to stop until we catch him. He thinks that he is too smart for us to catch him. He makes sure not to leave much evidence at the scene, but eventually he is going to screw up and then I am going to get him. I will nail him to the wall for the DA.”
“I like your conviction but you know that it will be a jury of his peers that will nail him to the wall,” Danica said, re-enforcing the understood “don’t go out and kill the guy” undertone.
“I know. I plan on making sure that they do. I just want to catch this guy and soon. I don’t want to start some wide spread panic on the lake or in Lexington. That is all we need with this case. I just want to help protect the other potential women out there he may be targeting.”
“I know. I do, too. But, for right now, go and do what you can with what you have.”
Grace nodded and mocked a salute before she left Danica’s office. When she returned to her desk there was a stack of messages for her: two from French, one from her mother, and one from Reagan. Grace sorted through them trying to decide whom she would call back first. She kept coming back Reagan and she finally bit the bullet and called her.
“Knight Tech, how may I direct your call?” the receptionist asked answering the phone.
“Ms. Reagan Knightley, please,” Gracie said.
“Just a moment,” the receptionist answered and then some music took over the line. Grace was humming along with the tune when the receptionist came back on the line to ask, “May I ask who is calling?”
“Detective Lieutenant Grace O’Shea, I am returning her call,” Gracie, said trying to sound all formal and important.
“Yes, ma’am, just a moment,” the receptionist replied again, and the line went back to music.
Grace thought that the line went dead because the music stopped. She waited for a moment and then was about to hang up and call back. It was then that she heard Reagan.
“Hello?”
“Reagan?”
“Yes, what is it that you need?”
“I am returning your call,” Grace said.
“I called you at noon. It is almost five. I am about to go home. I was going to see if you wanted to go to lunch, but I assumed since you didn’t call me back, that you were busy with a case. Don’t worry about it,” Reagan said.
Grace could hear the disappointment in her voice. She knew that Reagan was hoping that she would have gone out to lunch with her. Once again, Grace felt her heart breaking for a woman that she didn’t want to fall in love with and knew that she was so desperately falling for.
“I am sorry. I have been swamped with work all day. I haven’t really had time to breathe. If you want to go to dinner, I can come by and pick you up, say around seven.”
It was a peace offering. Grace was hoping that Reagan would take the bait and bite on it. She was floored when Reagan answered.
“I am sorry. I can’t. I have a dinner date tonight, with Catherine.”
Gracie was suddenly overcome with jealousy. She wanted to scream into the phone. She breathed deeply and sighed before answering.
“Alright then, maybe another time, then. Listen, sorry but I got to go, I may have found a break in the case I’m working on. I’ll call you later.”
“Fine, talk to you later,” Reagan said and hung up.
Reagan stared at the phone sitting in its cradle on her desk as if it was the most offensive thing she had ever seen. She couldn’t believe the tone in Grace’s voice. But, then she thought about what
she had just said to Gracie. She had a date with Catherine. Anyone who knew Reagan knew who Catherine was but Grace had yet to have the pleasure. Reagan shook her head and knew that she needed to make some time for Catherine and Grace to meet. Reagan had to know what Grace would do when she found out that Reagan had a daughter.
Reagan called her Grandmother’s house.
“Hey, G-ma, how was Catie today?”
“She was good. She ate all her food. She took her nap without a fuss and is ready for her momma to come play with her.”
“Thanks. For everything. I don’t know what I would do without you,” Reagan started.
“Don’t worry about it. I love having her. I am just sorry that your mom and dad weren’t here to see their precious grandbaby.”
“G-ma, she is four. Not much of a baby any more. I should be by after a while to pick her up. I am just glad that I have you to help me with this.”
“I am nearly seventy-five, Reagan. I won’t be here much longer. I think that you should take her back. She needs to know her mother for more than a weekend at a time.”
“I know that G-ma, but…it is work. I am at work all day and it isn’t fair for me to put her in a day care if you’ll watch her. You’re family. I trust you more. I am getting to the point now that I will soon be able to relax and work from home. I need to take care of a few more clients and then I will have all the time that she will need.”
“You keep saying that, kiddo, but I think that there is more to it than that.”
“There may be, G-ma, but for now, this is just how it will have to be.”
Grace continued to pour her thoughts into the binder that she was housing all of her notes in for the case. She reviewed all the unsolved rapes to see if she could find something. She poured over all the cases and papers on her desk but nothing could make the feeling in the pit of her stomach to go away. She was jealous and she had to admit it to herself. It was something that she didn’t want to do, but she knew that she had to do and move on. She didn’t know what she was going to move on to, but she knew that she couldn’t have been so wrong about Reagan.
Grace took a swig out the Mountain Dew can that sat on her desk. She tipped her head in realization. She had to admit to herself that she had been wrong when it came to women before. How else could she explain Camille? Or, Josie? Or, … okay, it was time to stop that line of thinking, she thought to herself. Grace took another sip from her soda and set in back on her desk as she sat back in her chair. She laughed at herself and her jealousy.
It wasn’t like Grace to get that upset about someone. She knew that she was just worried about Reagan and nothing more. She couldn’t help it and shake the feeling that there was something that Reagan wasn’t telling her about Catherine. Grace knew that she had to let it go and move on to the case. She couldn’t let Reagan distract her any more than she already did.
Grace picked up the photos of the crime scene and began to scan them again for the thousandth time. She was hoping that something would pop out at her and she would see something that she might have missed before. She saw nothing but blood and torn cloth. She stared at the photos willing something to come out at her and then the phone rang.
“O’Shea, Special Victims,” she answered it.
“O’Shea, it is Stanley. I found something on your vic you might want to see.”
“What?”
“Well, you were right about it being a man,” the ME told her.
“Why do you say that?”
“The angle of attack and the wounds, this guy would have to be like six feet tall.”
“Marissa, I am six feet.”
“Yeah, but could you over power a well-built hundred and fifty pound woman?”
“If I had to,” Gracie said.
“Yeah, but the stabbing for him was not just offensive but defensive. That is why there are so many wounds. Those wounds to the heart, most of them were post-mortem. He was mad at her for making him kill her. She put up one hell of a fight with him,” Marissa said.
“How do you know that?”
“The girl doesn’t have a single finger nail left, must have all broken off while she was struggling, plus she has defensive wounds on her hands. The one that made me happy was the offensive would on her left hand. She was a lefty, I am assuming, but you might what to check on that one,” ME Stanley told her.
“Huh? What do you mean by offensive wound? What is it?”
“Gracie, she has a deep gash in the palm of her left hand that is consistent with a stabbing motion with a knife. She took one when she got the knife into him. She had to have plunged it deep, but it didn’t kill him. I am guessing a leg or arm. It was just enough to piss him off and it was a last ditch effort on her part,” Marissa said.
“Why do you say that?”
“It is the last wound that pooled with blood. The rest of the wounds look more or less like post-mortem. It looks like our girl stabbed her attacker and then died. He got pissed and took it out on her. Most of the chest wounds are post-mortem. Our girl bled out. She wouldn’t have stood a chance if she got help. There would have been nothing anyone could have done. She must have known and tried to take him with her. She probably didn’t have enough strength to get any higher than a leg though.”
“Did you try typing the blood in the wounds? I mean, if she used the knife that he did, then maybe there was some transference. Isn’t that true?”
“Yeah, it is true, but there is no way, I could tell you that. I mean I could type each wound and not get a hit. Plus, we wash the body before we do the autopsy. Any trace of his blood probably went down the drain, sorry,” Marissa said.
“Damn it! That might have been our break right there. Damn it. She put up a fight and tried to take him out, too. I have to give it to her for trying. Hopefully we can catch this guy for her so that she’ll get some justice, more so than some leg injury,” Gracie stated.
“I hope so. I’ll call you if anything comes from the wound samples. I’ll give it a try. What can it hurt?”
“Thanks, Marissa, I owe you one.”
Chapter Twelve
Grace drove home down the back roads. She was taking the scenic route as she called it as she tried to forget the events of the day. She was tired and disgusted. She just wanted to go home and relax. She planned on having a beer sitting on her dock and watching the sun go down. She had been staring at the case files and reports again all day and she was amazed that she didn’t go cross-eyed from it.
She was also proud of herself. She managed to go all day without thinking of Reagan, until her drive home. She was happy to notice that edge of jealousy that was rearing its ugly head the night before had subsided and now she could look at everything objectively.
She pulled into her drive in reverse like usual. It was habit from the military and as a cop. She was always researching for the angle of a quick exit if need be. She did it in all her aspects of life. Her bed faced her bedroom door, her couch the back door. Her desk at work faced the squad room door. She made French move his to accomplish this. She was always watching the exits everywhere she went. It was habit.
She exited her truck and started towards her house when she saw Reagan sitting on her front porch. Grace wasn’t sure if she should be happy or not. She couldn’t tell yet if this was a social call or a business call.
“Reagan,” Grace stated, with a slight agitation in her voice, as she mounted the stairs.
“Grace,” Reagan replied.
Grace looked at her. She didn’t know what to say. She cocked an eyebrow at Reagan, who was just sitting on her porch with two beers in Reagan’s hands.
Reagan stared up at Gracie from the top of the stoop. She glanced down at her feet and then back at Gracie before she offered Grace the beer. She never once said a word to why she was there or why she was offering the beer. She just patted the bricks beside her after Gracie took the beer and gestured for Gracie to join her there on Grace’s own porch.
They sat there togethe
r, no saying a word, staring at the sunset as it appeared on the horizon. They were each lost in thought at the beautiful site before them and neither of them seemed to want to spoil the sight with words. They were content to sit there, staring at the orange ball of fire as it sank beneath the trees, with a drink in their hands and each other’s company without any words to make the moments pass by. Later, Grace would think back on this and wonder why she was so enrapt with the sunset and Reagan on her front porch that day.
“Can I ask you a question?” Gracie asked.
“You just did,” Reagan stated.
“You know what I mean,” Grace responded.
“Then, go ahead and ask it already.”
“Why are you on my porch?”
“I was watching the sunset,” Reagan replied.
“From my porch? What is wrong with your house?”
“Nothing.”
“So, I ask, again, what are you doing here?” Gracie demanded.
“I told you, I was watching the sunset. I can see it better from here than I can from my house. All I see from my porch is trees. I can’t see the magnificence of Helios from there, only Flora and Fauna,” Reagan said.
“Helios? Flora? Fauna? What do they have to do with anything?”
“They have everything to go with anything to me. That is all you need to know at the moment. As it is, it seems I have over stayed my welcome. I’ll be going, now. Until tomorrow, then, Gracie Lynn O’Shea, and another sunset,” Reagan answered, standing and walking back towards her house.
Grace sat there in awe. She had to admit that Reagan intrigued her in a way that no one ever had before. Before she knew it, Grace was to her feet and walking beside Reagan.
“Did I do something to you or something that I don’t know about?” Grace asked.
“How about that phone call yesterday?” Regan suggested.
“What about it?”
“Never mind. Listen, thanks for sharing the sunset with me, but I need to go. I have things that I need to get done at home before I go to work in the morning. I have a big meeting with some really wealthy clients and I don’t want to screw this up. Good-day,” Reagan said.