“We were called out. Could you let us in, please?”
A minute later, Thane, Brandon, and the guy from forensics waited as the building manager knocked on Mattie’s condo. The manager stepped back in surprise when Mattie opened the door.
She clutched her chest. “Oh thank goodness you’re here, Admiral. Something is wrong with Kayla.”
He pushed his way in, pulse banging in his chest. He looked around, saw two coffee cups on the dining table. An oven mitt lay on the counter. Nothing looked out of place. As he rushed into the living room, he glimpsed Brandon opening the fridge as if he knew what he was looking for and nodded at the forensics guy.
Turning the corner into the living room, he found Kayla standing in the middle of the room staring at the window.
“Sweetheart?”
Words written in blood-streaked letters were painted on the patio window. He wrapped his arms around his wife, turning her.
“Look at me,” he said sternly. “Kayla, look at me.” Her eyes focused on him. “I love you. You know where you are. Tell me where you are.”
Her body shook in his arms. Brandon and Mattie watched from the dining area, but didn’t approach. His wife hadn’t had a bad episode in a year and a half. Every one he’d witnessed, he prayed it would be the last, but her PTSD was considered a severe case. Stress could ignite a flashback. Worrying about her pregnancy. Dealing with Greg’s attraction to Mattie which translated into a full severing of their relationship and being in the same city as a serial killer, could trip her switch.
“Kayla!” He barked her name and lowered his face to hers. “Where are you?”
“Here,” she said and blinked.
“Where’s here?”
“I’m okay, Thane. Just…one second.”
He watched her like a hawk. “Talk it through. You know you have to talk it through.”
She blinked again and turned her head. “All good. I’m good.” She exhaled and looked up at him. “When did you get here?”
“How about answering your phone when I call.”
“We were talking.”
“Don’t care.”
She bowed her head. “Sorry.”
He pulled his wife toward the leather couch. “Sit down for a second.”
“Thane,” she drawled. “I don’t need to sit. Go look in the fridge.”
The forensics guy stooped in front of the fridge, snapping pictures. Thane repositioned for a closer look. On the top shelf next to an avocado, a chunk of raw organ sat in a puddle of blood. Fucking fantastic!
Brandon stepped up beside him. “Mattie called and told me she found that chilling in the ice box.”
Fucking serial killers. If they all became butchers as an occupation after graduating high school, maybe they wouldn’t feel the need to carve out organs from women.
He proceeded to the window and cranked a look to either side of the balcony. The remainder of the body was somewhere else. “Mattie, the message in the fridge…”
She crossed her arms and wandered toward him. “Same as what Stuart said the other night, but this,”—she looked at the patio doors—“I don’t understand this.”
“You will obey,” Brandon said, joining them and reading the note out loud.
“Dominance,” Kayla muttered from the couch. Evidently, she’d decided to sit down after all. Everyone turned to look at her. “He’s telling Mattie he is dominant. I picked you. You will obey. Both those statements sound like a master to a slave.”
“Kayla, can I get you some water?” Mattie asked.
“No, but I’ll finish my coffee.”
She quickly retrieved Kayla’s coffee and handed it to her. “You’re okay, right?”
Kayla nodded. Brandon took notes as the forensics guy extracted the organ from the fridge.
Thane sat on the coffee table in front of his wife, took the mug from her hands and set it aside, then gripped both her hands. “Did it happen when you looked in the fridge?”
She shook her head. “Didn’t expect that on the window. Bit of a flashback. That’s all.”
Mattie’s phone bleeped with a text.
“If it’s Stuart, tell him the date is cancelled,” Thane ordered.
“Nope, it’s Greg. Wants to know what’s going on.” She called him and wandered out of the living room.
Kayla covered his mouth with her hand. “I know what you’re going to say, so please don’t. This is momentary. I can help. I will help Mattie figure this out. Let’s take her back to Greg’s place. She has some good data, but I want to piece it together without interruptions.”
His thumb caressed her cheek. “You become obsessed with the chase. I understand that.” He gazed into his wife’s eyes. “Mattie seems the same way. Don’t follow her down the rabbit hole. You’ve been there already. Taken too many chances. You can confer, suggest, but this time I’m putting my foot down. Do you hear what I’m saying, wife?”
A grin slipped onto her lips, and she leaned forward and kissed him. “I will obey.”
He snorted. “That’ll be the day.”
“Mattie!” Brandon waved her over. “You can stay at my place. I’ve got lots of room, and I think Mary would feel better if you did.”
“Thanks, Brandon.”
“She’s staying with Greg,” Thane said in a voice that left zero room for argument. “Pack a bigger bag. You’re coming home with us.”
Mattie didn’t argue.
* * * *
Mattie sat on Greg’s couch with Sloane standing on her thighs while she held her tiny hands. “This is all so surreal.”
Adam sat next to her, a picture book in his hands, and kept showing her his favorite pages. Greg picked Adam up and sat next to her, plopping him back in his lap. She liked the way he acted with the kids. He wasn’t afraid of children like a lot of guys were. Both the children loved him. The fact the kids were here with them broke up the severity of the situation.
“Glad you came back,” Greg said, settling his intense gaze on her.
“I can work from here or at the office. I’m not going to let whoever is trying to scare me, push me into hiding.”
Brandon followed the Admiral into the living room and they both sat down.
“Mattie, we’ve identified the man who is driving the black Charger.”
“Let me guess. Sergeant Raine Montgomery,” she said.
“Raine Montgomery is in charge of the Victoria Ripper task force,” Greg explained to Kayla.
“So, it’s possible the fox is in charge of the hen house.” Kayla rose from the couch to stand behind her husband and gripped his shoulder.
Brandon shuffled some papers around and laid out a picture of each of the slain women, before they were murdered. “I have my doubts that Raine could be part of this. He has been on the force for twenty years. He’s received numerous awards. No complaints.”
Kayla’s brow wrinkled. “Many serial killers are upstanding professionals before something switches the toggle and they turn into killing machines.”
“Brandon, this is Kayla Austen, the Admiral’s wife,” Mattie said, finally getting around to introductions.
“Mrs. Austen, I understand you’ve had a close encounter with a serial killer,” Brandon said shaking her hand.
“Unfortunately, yes.”
“But not the result of your ex-husband’s attempt on your life,” he added.
Without a twitch of expression, she said, “No, Daniel was seriously affected by PTSD from his work in the Forces.”
Brandon offered one of those looks cops get when they aren’t convinced, and Mattie stepped in. “If Montgomery and Stuart are partners in this, the only way we can prove it is to catch them in the act. Nothing but a smoking gun—or knife in this case—in their hands will do.”
Sloane lay in Mattie’s arms, her lids drooping closed. She loved the feel of the baby cradled against her body. She hadn’t really given much thought to having her own children.
“You can’t have RCMP trai
ling these guys,” Greg said.
“But we can,” Thane added.
“And not be seen?” Brandon looked unconvinced.
Kayla grinned. “Corporal, you’re talking to two of the most elite men in their disciplines. Reconnaissance is just one of their primary skills.”
“And we have help,” the Admiral said. “I contacted LaPierre’s team. They’re all willing to help with recon. Eight men. Eight different faces.”
Brandon nodded. “All right, I’ll consider it. We’ve also considered inserting an undercover officer into the dating site.”
“Won’t work,” Mattie said, cutting him off. “They’ll double check these women. You’ve done your homework, I’m sure. These women can easily be confirmed as to their occupation. As cops, it’s easy. They have access to any agency, but the Department of Motor Vehicles is the easiest. They can trail them. It would take too much time to set someone up.”
“Not if they were new in town.” Brandon tossed a final image on top of the others. Blonde with blue eyes and pretty features. “She’s from Nova Scotia. Put in for a transfer to Vancouver Island. My OIC contacted her and asked if she would be willing to be part of this case. Sandra Simpson is flying in tomorrow and when she arrives, she will be a divorced mother with one son starting a new business as a tax accountant. She works from a home office.”
“Might work.” Mattie picked up her picture. “I’d think the killers will have already sifted through the current ads and now they only check the new additions. Definitely makes catching them easier, but they will also be more vigilant. They’re smart.”
“It’s not Montgomery or Stuart.” Kayla had all eyes on her.
“Explain?” Brandon said, accepting a cup of coffee from her.
The Admiral drew Sloane into his arms when she started to fuss and rub her eyes. Without fanfare, he swooped Adam under his other muscled arm. “I’ll put these two down for their afternoon nap.”
Though the voids suggested more than one killer, Kayla kept referring to the Ripper as one man. They’d printed off Mattie’s data sheets earlier. She retrieved the file folder from the kitchen table and set it on the coffee table.
“I think Mattie should lay it out for us.” She nodded. “Just as you described it to me.”
The Admiral returned and took a seat next to his wife.
Greg and Brandon leaned in for a closer look. Kayla pulled the photo of victim number one.
Mattie swirled the picture to face her in the center of the table. “Thirty-three-year-old Aimee Wallace was the Ripper’s first victim. She had a Master’s Degree in Marine Biology and worked as a professor at UVIC. She was found mutilated near the base of the Johnson Street Bridge. Apparently, she was very vocal about women’s issues. She was also very straight laced and a hard-core advocate of protecting the environment.”
Kayla placed the next picture at twelve o’clock, and Mattie continued. “Suzanne Bertram was victim number two, found in Helmcken Alley four days after she had been reported missing. Her throat was cut and she had been disembowelled.”
Mattie took the next picture from Kayla and placed it at the one o’clock position. “Mona Williams, victim number three, was twenty-four-years-old. A professional model. Degree in media relations. She was found at Craigdarroch Castle. Same injuries as the first two victims.
“Next was Elizabeth Stevens, victim number four.” Mattie placed her picture in the two o’clock position. “Elizabeth was thirty years old. Professional X-ray technician at Royal Jubilee Hospital. Tourists found her body at the Mount Douglas viewing area.”
Kayla slid the next photo across the hardwood finish of the table. Mattie placed it at the three o’clock position. “Sheila Stokes was victim number five. A twenty-five-year-old real estate agent. Her body was mutilated and left at the cenotaph in front of the legislature building.”
Laying down another photo at the four o’clock position, Mattie breathed out a sigh. “Victim number six, Kelly Yonders owned a successful lingerie shop. She was found in the corn maze in North Saanich close to Halloween. Up until this point the Ripper had taken a reprieve, but he returned to take Kelly’s life by slashing her throat and taking her heart.”
Mattie and Kayla shared a look, probably wondering the same thing. Was it Kelly’s heart in her fridge this morning?
Mattie paused and glanced at Greg. He nodded for her to go on as she laid a picture of Diana on the table in the six o’clock position. “Diana Lecross, victim number seven, a thirty-four-year-old nurse found murdered in Market Square. And of course as we know, Greg’s former girlfriend. Last, at least I hope the last, is Bethany Grover, victim number eight. A high school teacher in Broadmead. Found in Butchart Gardens.” Mattie laid her black and white photo next to Diana’s.
Brandon nodded while Kayla, Greg, and the Admiral remained silent.
Mattie shook her head. “I have stared for hours at these women, like I’m sure others have.” She sniffed. “These women,”—she swept her hand over the table—“they don’t look alike. Some are blonde, some are brunette. Some are Caucasian, but not all. Their names are different. Their birthdays are different. Their wounds are different. All gruesome and violent, but slightly different.”
The Admiral looked to his wife, who was concentrating on the pictures.
“I asked myself what are their commonalities?” Kayla mused. “Professional. All on the dating site. All disappeared for four days prior to being found. The Coroner told Mattie they had been restrained. Ankles, thighs, and wrists showed chafing. Bruising.” She squinted in thought. “Yet, their injuries are slightly different.”
“That says more than one murderer, doesn’t it?” Thane suggested.
Kayla reached for a picture. “Aimee was found naked, her pantyhose wrapped around her neck, and her heart, liver and vagina cut out and placed by her head.” She itched her neck. “Aimee is ground zero. What do we know about her, other than when she was found and when she disappeared?”
Mattie shrugged. “Outspoken. Smart. Her family lives here in Victoria. I think she has a sister and three brothers. Her parents are professionals as well. Pillars of the community. Mother and father are both lawyers. I couldn’t find any dark secrets.”
The Admiral shook his head. “Everyone has a dark secret.”
Kayla continued to stare at Aimee’s photo. “These murders are passionate. Crimes of lust. You mentioned her pantyhose were wrapped around her neck, and she was found at the base of Johnstone Street Bridge. I can’t imagine a lot of tourists go there.”
She shook her head. “They don’t.”
Brandon shifted in his seat and tilted his head. “She’s not the first woman to be found murdered there.” All heads turned toward him. “I spent last night going over the kill sites. In 1899, Agnes Bings left the bakery she owned with her brother on Store Street. It was late September, and she’d missed the trolley that would take her across the gorge to where she lived with her husband and son on the west side of Victoria. Instead, they think she walked the train trestle. After a search, the police found her at the base of the bridge. She’d been disemboweled. Her stockings wrapped around her neck.”
“Who was convicted?” Mattie asked.
Brandon’s brows rose. “No one. There were suspects, but investigators believed they had identified the killer, a seventy-three-year-old Scot named David McDonald Gordon. A drifter most of his life, he’d been recruited to work as an auxiliary constable to help with Bings’ case. And he revealed a little too much knowledge. But he died in prison shortly after the murder, jailed for stealing a watch. He was never charged with Bings’ murder.”
“What does a murder from 1899 have to do with the Ripper?” Greg asked.
“It looks like there’s two killers.” the Admiral said to himself. “It has to be. Different injuries. Almost as if one is in training.”
The room went deathly silent.
“No.” Kayla broke the pall of silence.
“Jesus,” the Admiral hi
ssed, shaking his head. Then a rush of air like a disgusted snort came from his nose. “Three killers?”
Mattie was missing something that Kayla considered. Did the Admiral see it too?
Mattie clutched her hands together. The odd man out, she wasn’t a detective or an analyst by trade. She investigated and wrote articles. The answer lay on the table in visual form. Gruesome, angry killings. “How could it be possible for three men to be brutal killers? None of them with a conscious.”
Kayla shook her head. “It’s not.”
Mattie kept circling the images and the evidence in her mind. “What the hell were they missing?”
Kayla sat back and crossed her arms. “Is it possible there’s only one killer, but more than one abuser?”
“What?” the Admiral asked, perplexed.
“The killer keeps them somewhere for some reason. Most likely it’s sexual in nature, then something changes,” she said slowly. “He sees something wrong in them.”
“But aren’t the bodies always found on the 1st or the 16th of the month except for the first murder?” Greg queried.
“Those dates have to be important to the Ripper,” Kayla agreed.
Mattie pointed at the pile of pictures. “If this is Montgomery, and Stuart somehow got involved, his words to me that night would make sense. ‘I’m in too deep.’” She looked at Kayla. “‘I don’t want to do this.’ That’s what he said to me. Is it possible he knows Montgomery is the Ripper and he put himself into a deadly game of catching him?”
Brandon spoke up. “We’ve got a court order to search the database of the dating site. I doubt we’ll find our suspects using their real identities, so it will take time to weed through and confirm who contacted these women and if they are who they say they are.”
“There’s something else to note,” Kayla said, pulling Aimee Wallace’s image from the wheel of victims on the table. “The rest of his murders were left in historic or high tourist spots. Aimee doesn’t compute. Although the Johnson Street Bridge is old and has a history of its own, it’s not a place tourists go, like the others.”
“So why there?” Greg asked.
“Yet to be determined,” Kayla said. “Agnes Bings’ death might hold some answers, even if it’s over a hundred years old.”
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