13
When they got back to the office, Mickey sat in a little room that’d been set up for him and looked through the twenty-four pages of autopsy reports that the sheriff kept from him. They were detailed and about as good as any he’d seen. The deputy ME knew what he was doing.
The focus of the report was the trauma to the anus and vaginal cavity. Cause of death had been blood loss, though she would have died from shock or sepsis eventually. The anus was torn so severely the ME postulated that an object the size of a softball had penetrated it.
Normally—if such a word could be used for sex killings—the perpetrator inflicted all the injuries to impose maximum pain.
Sex killing.
The deputy ME had told him no semen was found. He ignored it for now and pushed it into the back of his mind.
He reviewed the photographs next. The scene was messy and disorganized, done in a frenzy. Blood was everywhere. From the 2,000 crime scenes he’d attended, Mickey knew it was impossible to perform such a violent dissection without blood covering the perpetrator himself. If he was smart, he kept a change of clothes somewhere, not far away. Boots if he was even smarter. Most killers refused to part with boots or shoes because of cost, unknowingly giving investigators a fantastic piece of evidence at the inevitable home search.
“How’s it looking?”
The sheriff stood in the doorway, two bottled waters in her hand.
“He’s really disorganized. I think these may be his first victims.”
She sat down across from him and slid a bottle across the desk. “How’s he disorganized?”
“He didn’t attempt to hide anything. I’m willing to bet somewhere in these woods are the clothes he was wearing, and probably the knife, too. If this was his first, he probably panicked afterward and got rid of everything.”
“We searched the woods and didn’t find anything.”
“He might’ve taken them home. Maybe dumped them in the trash.”
“Anything else?”
“He knows her.”
“Why do you say that?”
“The words written across her forehead were unnecessary. They were something he had to do at the risk of giving more to us. It’s symbolic. Maybe she knew him but ignored him, and this was his way of getting her attention. I think they knew each other somehow, though.”
“Everyone in this town knows everyone else, so that doesn’t exactly narrow the list.”
Mickey opened the bottle and took a drink. “He’s left-handed. The blows came from left to right at a downward angle. The ME said he’s probably got some broken and missing teeth, too.”
Mickey also believed he was possibly law enforcement. The vast majority of psychopathic sadists attempted to enter law enforcement as a career. Most were screened out during the application phase, but some passed even the most sophisticated polygraph or psychological tests. Business, law, medicine, and politics naturally attracted psychopaths, but they all paled compared to the sheer volume that attempted or did enter law enforcement.
He kept that one to himself.
“Her grandparents called me again. They’re wondering if they can set the funerals for this Tuesday. They want to do them all at once.”
“I think that’s fine. The autopsy reports are very detailed. I would like to see the location, though.”
“Sure. You wanna go now?”
“I need to eat first.”
“I know a place. Come on.”
Mickey and the sheriff sat at a table by the windows at Spin Café. He ordered a French dip, and she got a salad.
“So, what made you want to join the FBI?”
“I was a lawyer, actually. I really disliked it and was looking for something else. A neighbor of mine was in the FBI and said I should apply. That I had the personality for it. At the time I thought it was a compliment, but I think he was insulting me.”
She chuckled. “No offense, but looking at dead bodies all day doesn’t seem like a career path little kids dream about.”
“No, they certainly don’t. You get used to it, I guess.”
She absentmindedly ran her hands over her arms as if trying to get warm. “Lord, I hope I never get used to seeing what I saw. I had to go down once they found them. I didn’t think I would ever have to see something like that.”
His watch beeped. He waited until the food came out and took a few bites before pulling out a pill case and taking his three pills with water.
“You sick?” she said.
“Yeah.”
“If you need to take some time until you’re better, I’m sure—”
“No, it’s fine. It’s not that type of sickness. It’s the type that’s not going to get better no matter how much I rest.”
“Oh. One of those.”
“Yeah.” He took another bite of the sandwich. “So, what made you want to become a cop?”
“My dad was a cop, and my granddad was a cop. I have two brothers, and they’re both cops, too. Runs in my blood, I guess. Wasn’t what I studied for, though.”
He took another bite and wiped his lips with a napkin. “What’d you study?”
“It’s embarrassing.”
“I majored in 19th-century American poetry. It couldn’t possibly be more embarrassing than that.”
She grinned. “I have a bachelor’s degree in dance.”
“Really? You wanted to be a dancer?”
“Briefly. But it was never really in the cards. I danced for a while, and my dad said I should get POST certified and have a job to pay my way through school. A couple years turned into a couple more and before I knew it, they made me sheriff.”
“You seem like you enjoy it.”
“Except for this, yeah. I do.”
He dipped a fry in a pink sauce and tasted it.
“How do you like it?” she said. “It’s a special fry sauce that I’ve only seen here. Barbeque sauce, ketchup, and mayonnaise with a secret ingredient.”
“It’s great.” He chewed for a moment. “You got offended when I was asking about Janessa before.”
“It was just hard to hear, is all. Sorry.”
He ate another fry. “If you get emotional or attached to the victim, it clouds your thinking. You’ll get a suspect, and you’ll want it to be them so badly that you’ll start seeing evidence where there isn’t any.”
“I know. It won’t happen again.”
He finished half his sandwich and gulped down the rest of the water. “I’d like to meet the man you thought was a suspect, if you have the time.”
“That’ll be easy. He violated his parole. When we searched his trailer we found some things. He’s being held at the county jail.”
“Then I want to stop somewhere first.”
14
The jail stank like all jails did: sweat, urine, and the cleaning products trying to cover it. Mickey followed Suzan in and waited until she was done chatting with one of the guards. She led him to a small room.
“I’ll get him.”
A few minutes later, a guard and Suzan walked back in with a man in an orange jumpsuit. The man’s face was pockmarked, and he smelled strongly of mouthwash.
“Casper,” Suzan said, “this is Mickey Parsons. He’s with the FBI. He’s here to help us figure out what happened with Janessa.”
“Told you everythin’ I knew, Sheriff.”
“I know. But he just wanted to ask a few questions.”
Mickey sat quietly, looking at the guard and Suzan. She got the hint and said, “We’ll wait outside.”
As the door shut, Mickey leaned back in the seat. He pulled out the package of cigarettes he’d bought at a convenience store on the way to the jail and procured the matches from his pocket.
“You want one?” he said.
“They don’t let you smoke in here.”
“No one needs to know.”
Caspar grinned and seemed to relax. “If you’re having one…”
Mickey lit two of them and handed one to Caspar, whose wris
ts were cuffed. He inhaled and held it a while before letting it out through his nose.
“Four years,” Mickey said. “Seems kinda stiff for a parole violation.”
“Me and this judge don’t get along. This judge here was the warden of the prison, and he just throws everybody in.”
“Why doesn’t he like you?”
He guffawed. “I been dealin’ with him since I was kid. He used to cut me breaks, but not no more.”
Mickey inhaled a puff of smoke. He blew it out his nose and then put the cigarette out on the desk. “You holding up okay?”
“Just bored. Ain’t much to do in here.” He blew out smoke toward the desk. “So what’chyu wanna know?”
“The sheriff told me you were in your trailer the night Janessa and her family were killed.”
“Yeah, so? Just ’cause I’m on the registry, every little bitch that gets killed gots to be by me?”
Mickey grinned rather than indicating his disgust. “We’re just covering our bases, is all. Sheriff Clay said you live less than a mile from the Hennleys’ home.”
“Yeah, so?”
“So did you know them at all?”
“Nah, man, they was respectable folk. What the fuck would they talk to me for?”
“So you never met any of them?”
“I ain’t saying that.”
“Who did you meet?”
He looked away and didn’t say anything.
“It was Janessa, wasn’t it?”
“Look man, I just seen her walkin’ to school sometimes is all, and I’d say somethin’ and she’d stop and chat and that was it, man. Ain’t nothin’ else to it.”
“Did she ever come inside your trailer?”
“Nah, man.”
“Did you ever have sex with her?”
“Nah, man, nah. I’m workin’ really hard, man. I ain’t like that no more.”
Mickey watched him in silence. As Casper smoked, the gray fog drifted between them. “Do you know of anyone else that could have done this? Anyone interested in Janessa?”
He shook his head.
Mickey, picking up the cigarette butt and, holding it in his palm, waited a beat. “What was your parole violation, Casper?”
“Child porn, man. They found it on my cell phone. They said if I admitted to the violation, they won’t file new charges and just give me ninety days. Judge hit me with four years.”
He slid the package of cigarettes to him. Casper looked to the door to make sure no one was watching through the viewing window. He tucked the cigarettes into his shirt pocket.
“If you think of anything else, I’ll be back with another package of cigarettes. Or whatever else you need.”
“Cool, man. Thanks.”
Mickey rose and pounded on the door. The guard came in to help Casper up and out. Suzan waited until Casper was walking down the hall back to his cell before entering.
“You get anything?”
“Not really.”
She sighed. “Well what next?”
“We need to go to the scene.”
She sat down across from him and put her feet up on the desk. “Why?”
He threw the cigarette butt into a trash bin by the door. “I think the knife might still be there.”
15
Fairbanks Forest flourished right behind the Hennleys’ home. In fact, it was the only home within a twenty-minute drive. When they arrived, Suzan pulled the Tahoe off to the side of the road. They stepped out and found a trail leading up a small hill. As they walked down the opposite side, Mickey felt like he had been dropped off in the middle of the Alaskan wilderness. He couldn’t hear any cars. If not for the occasional plane humming overhead, he wouldn’t have thought he was near civilization at all.
Layers of shoeprints marked the trail. “Why would so many people be up here?” Mickey asked.
“There’s some hot springs nearby. They call ’em the hot pots. It’s like a natural hot tub. Kids are always there smoking pot. Ben would always complain about ’em, and we were up here all the time.”
As they hiked into a thicket of trees, Mickey ducked to avoid the branches that blocked the path. Sharp edges scraped his exposed skin; his shirt snagged on one and tore.
The walk was slow, and Suzan, noticing his escalating exhaustion, said, “If you need to rest, just let me know.”
“I’m okay.”
His legs burned as they climbed another hill, his gaze on the surrounding bushes. Whoever killed the Hennleys could have escaped that way. It was certainly the most secluded path. Mickey hoped they tossed the knife somewhere along the trail.
He heard something he hadn’t heard in a long time: the clear chirps of birds, unhampered by the sounds of humanity. No cars, buses, shouting arguments, or blaring televisions.
They trekked a good distance, but the terrain was so uneven it was difficult to judge how far. Mickey guessed maybe a quarter mile but knew he was off. Eventually, when his sweaty shirt clung to him and his cheeks were hot and red, the trees cleared and they emerged into a field. A dirt road cut through the field.
“Well,” Suzan said, “after this is pure wilderness, and there’s only two ways out. The mountains, which, unless they were fully geared mountaineers, they weren’t going to make. The other is down this road that loops back into town.”
They followed the road into the dense trees. Leaves and twigs covered the damp forest floor. They crunched under Mickey’s feet, and he wished he’d worn hiking boots.
A stream flowed before them down a hill. Suzan showed him a way to get across without going into the water by stepping from stone to stone. On the other side, they arrived at a clear dirt path that led down to a paved road. He turned from the road and scanned the trees.
One tree stuck out to him, far larger than the others. Mickey walked around it. The dark gray bark of the wounded, deeply scarred tree was carved with words, names, and hearts.
On the far side, facing the road, were the words, “I see you.”
Mickey walked around the tree several times, scanning up and down. “Did you see this?” he said.
The sheriff came over and froze in her tracks when she saw the words. “No,” she said quietly.
“He must have headed down the road back into town.”
After a short hike, they reached the other road, this one paved and heading down toward Kodiak Basin and the Interstate.
“I didn’t… I just didn’t think to look this far out here. We canvased all around the house.”
“Did the Hennleys have any pets?”
She ran her hand over her brow, wiping the sweat away. “No, not that I know of.”
Mickey turned toward the town. Suzan strolled beside him but didn’t say anything. He kept his eyes to the trees, and she did the same on the other side.
“He might’ve come back and picked it up already,” she said.
“Maybe. But maybe he’ll put as much space between here and himself as possible. He won’t want to risk coming again and being spotted—if he’s smart. They caught the Green River Killer because he kept going back to the scenes of his crimes. But given what I’ve seen, I’m not sure he’s thinking clearly. He may not care if he leaves evidence behind.”
The sun reached its peak above them, and heat emanated off the ground, first into his feet, then his legs and torso. He took off his suit coat and slung it over his shoulder.
“Was a bear attack not too far from here,” she said.
“You guys have bears?”
She laughed. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to laugh. It’s just you should’ve seen your face. I take it you haven’t been around bears much.”
“I’ve seen them at a zoo when I was a kid. That’s as close as I’d like to get.”
Another ten minutes passed before he stopped and glanced around. “I think he might’ve gone farther in, away from the road. Let’s step past the tree line.”
He took one side of the road, and she took the other as they proceeded down the mountain. H
e had a panoramic view of the valley and debated whether it would be appropriate to stop and snap a photo. He was going to text it to his daughter. Changing his mind, he kept walking.
“Mickey!”
The sheriff stood across the way behind some trees. Mickey ran over, his heart hammering. He didn’t know whether it was from the adrenaline or the exertion of running.
The handle of a knife stuck out from a patch of tall crab grass. The blade was barely visible. Suzan took out a plastic baggie and some latex gloves from her pocket. She put them on, carefully lifted the knife, and held it in front of them.
“The knife’s old,” Mickey said. “Look at the nicks in the handle. This was his knife, not something he bought just for this.”
She placed it in the bag. “You think there’s anything else around here?”
“I don’t know. I’ll take the other side again.”
Mickey called it a day when the orange sun began to set behind white and blue mountains. They’d searched for hours without food, water, or rest. He’d found an old tire, and she’d spotted a switchblade, but the edge was too dull to cut bread, much less flesh. It probably wasn’t related to this case. Something teenagers left behind. But just in case, they put it in another baggie and brought it along.
They walked back to her Tahoe, and Mickey collapsed into the passenger seat. He’d missed his meds and on top of it felt like he might pass out at any moment. In a cold sweat, he checked his pulse; his heart was beating at nearly 160 per minute.
“You wanna look at the Hennleys’ house?” she said.
“I’ll do that later, if that’s okay.”
As they drove, Suzan glanced to him and back to the road. She was silent a long while before speaking. “You know, my aunt died of breast cancer. I’ve seen it before. The brave face. You don’t have to be that way with me.”
“It’s not cancer.”
“What is it?”
“I’m HIV positive.”
“Oh, wow. Hey, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry.” She cleared her throat, and a lengthy silence ensued. “So, what do you think?”
“When are they burying the family again?”
The Murder of Janessa Hennley Page 5