Silent Graves (Brandon Fisher FBI Series)

by Carolyn Arnold

  Harper didn’t miss the interaction as evidenced by the slightly narrowed eyes. “He won’t stop until someone stops him, and that’s what we intend to do.”

  “Should we be arranging for a press release on this? Warn the women in the area? I think something was on the radio after the Rogers woman went missing,” the chief said.

  “There’s no need for an official release at this point. We cannot tell women what to be on the lookout for until we have more evidence and facts to support a profile. We also don’t want to cause undue panic. It seems these women are targeted and specifically chosen.”

  “Right. They have wealthy, successful husbands.”

  “Only in the two recent cases. This dates back decades.”

  “Decades?” Stenson knew his eyes widened. He only knew about the women from the last six years.

  “Any other questions, or can we see the body now?”

  Chapter 12

  Zachery read the autopsy report in its entirety on the way to the morgue. I knew because I walked beside him while Jack and Paige were in front with the Steele, Hanes, and the Dumfries officer.

  “You have this thing solved yet?” I smiled at Zachery.

  “Pending, wouldn’t you love me to do your job for you.”

  “I do my job quite well, thank you. I’m making small talk.”

  “Why?”

  Why. Good question. Maybe it stemmed back to the conference room and the way the officer kept making eyes at Paige. It shouldn’t bother me. She didn’t belong to me, but watching his attention on her, imagining what he was thinking…

  Jack stood to the side of the morgue door, letting the rest of us go in ahead of him.

  “So, you be the FBI.” A graying man of about six-foot-five held out a large hand, first toward Zachery. “I’m Hans Rideout, Medical Examiner.”

  As he made his way around to all of us and the introductions were made, it didn’t appear the ME had the same stigma toward us as did the police chief. I got the impression that, to him, we were outsiders, here to take the credit for a case they should have been left to solve.

  Only a few seconds passed in silence as Rideout pulled the appropriately marked slab from the wall and its frozen cocoon. “The family’s been called. I hate cases like this, when they demand to see the body.”

  As the ME lifted the sheet, I understood why he said that. My coffee swirled into sour bile and threatened to burn a hole through my stomach lining.

  “It’s adipocere.” Rideout must have noticed my facial expression or picked up on my energy. He leaned over the cadaver to level his face with mine. “It happens under unique circumstances—moist soil, for example, and it takes months to form.”

  “The report says she was found in a field.” Zachery held onto the folder, his one index finger pressed between its manila covers. The group turned to him, and the ME’s mouth twitched like he was going to say something but refrained. Zachery continued. “She was buried, swept into the river when the water was high, exposing her grave. Her burial would have started the process before the river claimed her.”

  “Yes, very good. We found trace of soil on her. It’s being tested, along with an insect we found on the body.”

  Zachery held his expression during the doctor’s condescending praise, and I was impressed by his ability to keep it cool. His intelligence could rival that of the ME’s.

  Zachery held up the folder. “Now the report shows no evidence of lividity, and that makes sense based on the age of the remains. It also notes that you believe she died from being hung upside down.”

  “Correct. Look at her wrists and ankles.” Rideout pointed to bruising in those areas.

  “I’d say she was bound with chain, as you can make out that impression, but have you taken photographs under ultraviolet lights? It would enhance the visual. Maybe we could confirm exactly what the unsub used and track it down to a supplier,” Zachery said. “It might take more time than we have right now though.”

  I took in those in the room. The officer’s face disclosed more fascination over the body than disgust. The chief stood back from the group of us, his hands tucked under his arm pits. The detective’s body language wasn’t communicating much.

  “Anything else you pick up on?” Rideout asked Zachery.

  Zachery leaned in closer to the body.

  My sinuses were singed enough from the smell of death standing a couple feet back. The acid in my stomach rolled again.

  “With her wrists being bound the way they were—” Zachery moved around the gurney and the rest of us stepped out of his way, “she was laid out, connected to a sort of pulley system.”

  “Excuse me?”

  Zachery laid his one palm, flat out, pointed to the heel of his hand. “She was bound at her wrists.” He pressed a fingertip to the pad of his index finger. “Bound at her ankles.” His eyes were on his hand and the vision he was conjuring in his mind. “He kept her hostage for a while, and she was unable to fight her constraints at all times.”

  “Unable to fight her—”

  “Yes, we believe that the unsub uses some sort of drug to subdue his victims, but these markings show that he didn’t keep her under. He gave her hope she’d escape.”

  “One sick bastard,” the chief said from the side of the room.

  Zachery continued. “That’s why there are some deeper impressions—the struggle. Going back to the victim being laid out.” His attention went back to his palm. “The pulley system would connect the chains in a systematic manner. As the unsub cranked the ratchet, the body would move along the table until it ran out of surface.” He demonstrated the thought with his hand by lifting his palm upward.

  “She died upside down,” I mumbled.

  The members of PWPD watched Zachery. The officer’s eyes kept going to the body.

  Rideout took a step closer to the slab. “I concluded that she died upside down, but what you propose, well, the entire method seems quite plausible.”

  Jack tapped his shirt pocket, no doubt a cigarette calling out, tempting him to light up. It had been about an hour. I was surprised he wasn’t shaking.

  “Brilliant.” Rideout’s eyes went to the body, an odd smile on his face.

  “We have to think about chains, hanging bodies…” I introduced the audible brainstorming session. “Could be our unsub is in the meat packing industry.”

  Detective Hanes, who had been quiet up until this point, stepped forward. “Initially we were thinking the same thing, but there’s no indication that they were hung by hooks.”

  “Unless the chain was just fastened to them? It’s seems coincidental. Who else uses chain and hangs bodies upside down?”

  Paige let out a deep breath. “It could explain the old cases too. We mentioned the possibility of a short-run truck driver who frequented I-95.”

  Chief Steele stepped forward. “Old cases? What are we talking about, exactly, here?”

  “Yeah, you had mentioned it dates back decades,” the officer said.

  Jack provided a quick overview of the old cases.

  The officer’s eyes scanned over each of us. “You think a meat hauler from the nineteen seventies is still abducting and killing women?”

  “It’s possible.”

  I noticed Jack didn’t share that the third victim was raped. Like he always said, only share what you have to, so they think you’re giving as much as you take.

  “One more question, was there evidence of rape?” I asked.

  Rideout looked up from the body. “My guess is repeated assaults.”

  The four of us loaded into the SUV and followed Hanes and the Dumfries officer in their department-issued sedan. Jack had the hands-free system connect us to Nadia.

  “I need you to look into meat packers and distributors who would have had trucks running along I-95 between Greenwood, Maryland and a little west of Dumfries, Virginia. Narrow it down to the years nineteen seventy to two thousand. That would at least cover the first three victims.”
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  “That’s narrow?”

  Jack disregarded her. “The driver likely would have been in his mid-thirties at the time, but only use that parameter if there are too many hits.”

  “Anything else?”

  “For now, that should be it. It’s likely the guy had a bad attendance record or other marks against him.”

  “This driver would be—what?—in his seventies now?”

  “Yes, but it should get us closer.”

  “You believe a seventy-year-old man is luring these women?”

  I wished I could read the expression on Paige and Zachery’s faces. Not many questioned Jack’s decisions.

  “Maybe he entices them with candy.” Nadia laughed and so did everyone else, except Jack.

  Jack continued. “It also goes back to the highway murders. The last one was raped. We could also be after a younger counterpart who helped him years ago.”

  “You’re not leaning toward a child?” Nadia asked.

  “Not necessarily. It could be someone younger than he is but considered a peer.”

  “Maybe the old guy brings in the women. We know how you attract the ladies boss.” Nadia’s smile infused her voice.

  Color touched Jack’s cheeks.

  “What can I say? When you got it, you got it. Now get to work.”

  Jack disconnected the call.

  I turned to him. “Going back to our first thoughts on this, if we go to the victim from two thousand and factor in a younger counterpart, possibly a child, working with the original unsub, he would have had to at least be in his teens at the time. Maybe the old guy died or retired, and something triggered the younger man to start up again. Although, it’s possible he never stopped, remained active, but no bodies were found. Either way, guessing him to be about fifteen then, that would put him in his mid-twenties today.”

  She pulled against the chains secured around her wrists and ankles. The metal links slapped against the bed frame.

  Where the hell am I?

  She should be able to remember, but her mind was so foggy. Thoughts were impossible to form in any logical progression.

  She remembered champagne, but nothing else was coming to her.

  Frustrated, she thrashed against the restraints, but there was no give. She stopped moving when she heard the front door.

  Oh, God, he was back.

  Her heart paused beating, and she held her breath.

  Please go away. Leave me alone!

  She heard his steps coming closer.

  “Hello, beautiful I’m home.” He spoke from the other side of the door.

  His voice, the one that used to tempt her to stay in bed all afternoon, now riddled her body with chilled tremors that fired through her being. With them, came the clarity that she was still naked.

  “Hope you didn’t miss—”

  His speech was clipped. Had it always been that way?

  Images flashed in her mind, rapid-fire, like the shutter on a paparazzi’s camera. He had been her lover. She had risked her marriage on this man, and now she faced the possibility of losing so much more than that to him. He had always had such a delicate touch, the way his hands would trace over her body, admiring every inch.

  The vision crashed with the recollection of the intensity that boiled beneath his skin, making his body feel as if it quivered with nervous energy. The signs had been there all along. There was a buried hunger that singed through his fingertips and seemed to propel him to ravage her, as a starving man would a plate of food. This used to make her crave him.

  “I’m here. No more waiting.” He pushed the door open with a foot. He was lifting his shirt over his head as he came into the room.

  No! No!

  The words wouldn’t give birth audibly but instead ricocheted in her head, a relentless nightmare. He was going to defile her again, further exceed her physical tolerance. The stickiness between her legs was more than sexual fluids. Blood smeared her thighs.

  “Don’t.” She struggled so hard to even get that one word to form. Tears stung her eyes. A headache pounded in the back of her skull.

  He kept advancing toward her, his eyes not on her face but on her naked body. He tapped his thighs and then worked at unbuckling his belt. “I have a surprise for you, but first—”

  She screamed in silence.

  Chapter 13

  The cruiser pulled down a gravel road and kicked dust up in its wake. Jack followed closely, and the dirt cloud coated the black hood a charcoal gray while stones pelted the underside of the SUV.

  “It’s always in the middle of nowhere,” I said, thinking back to the horrifying case in Salt Lick, Kentucky, of eleven graves and ten bodies. With that, came the remembrance of the tight underground passageways, although, those were never far from mind.

  No one commented on my observation, instead, we traveled in silence. I believe each of us was contemplating what awaited us. With the thought, I was thankful Jack couldn’t read minds. He chose, then, to glance over at me, making me question my assumption. Maybe he could.

  The cruiser pulled into the driveway of an old farmhouse. It had a dilapidated front porch which didn’t appear sound enough for a toddler to walk across, let alone support the weight of an adult. The roof bowed in the middle, sagging, as if burdened by the passage of time. The barn was painted a bright red, a gold star mounted where its front peak formed a triangle. It was in better shape than the house.

  The cruiser pulled to a stop. Detective Hanes and the officer met up with us halfway between the two vehicles.

  “We’ve got to go the rest of the way on foot.” Hanes gestured with a pointed finger to a place beyond the barn.

  There was a wooded patch to the far left, but most of it was open field.

  “It’s not too far, closer to the river. I’m going to let the homeowner know we’re here.”

  We waited for Hanes who returned in a couple of minutes. The officer spent the time studying us. His eyes squinted in the sunlight, causing his forehead to wrinkle.

  “Are there any other houses nearby?” Jack asked Hanes.

  It was an interesting question. I couldn’t remember passing one for miles.

  “Well, there are a lot of houses along the river, and it runs for miles. It wouldn’t be practical to knock on all the houses along the river if you had that in mind. Rideout’s not even certain on TOD at this point, and we can’t pinpoint where the body entered the river.” Hanes took a few steps in the direction he had pointed to earlier.

  We followed along behind him. The walk took about fifteen minutes from the house.

  “What was the homeowner doing out here?” I asked, figuring it was a viable question.

  The officer turned around and walked backward as he spoke. “She said that she walks her property regularly. Something about clearing her mind.”

  “She happened upon it?” I heard the skepticism in my own voice. The officer didn’t miss it.

  “Mrs. Phillips is a sixty-one-year-old woman. Do you figure she’s involved with this?”

  I noticed the sideward glance from the rest of the team.

  Zachery’s eyes read, oh, you’ve gone and done it now.

  “I never said she was, but it needs to be explained.”

  The officer stopped walking. “It needs to be explained why an individual would go for a walk on their own property?” He shot a look at Jack.

  “Again, I never said that.”

  If this guy wanted to get into a dick-measuring contest, I was game. I went through the academy, through the training. I had the badge of a special agent of the FBI. I gave his uniform a once-over.

  “You think because you’re the FBI you can question anything and everything?”

  “I thought you wanted us here.” I raised my eyebrows. “I thought it was you who pushed for us to come and help find these women.”

  “A little too late for this one.”

  The hairs rose on the back of my neck. “Surely you can’t hold the FBI responsible when offic
ers didn’t do their job and report the case of the missing women years ago.” I wasn’t even referring to the victims found along I-95.

  His cheeks flamed a bright red, and he ground his teeth.

  “Next time you feel the need to question everything we do, think about it.” I brushed past him to Hanes. “We almost there?”

  “Right here actually.” Hanes drew an imaginary circle with his finger to take in a portion of the field. “She was lying on her back here.” He pulled a photograph from a folder he carried and extended it to me. “We have everything at PD. We can go over it later.”

  In the photograph, the remains of Nina Harris appeared like a page from horror fiction. Despite the gravity that death carried, her bloated features and coloring had her resembling something alien, not human. It was tragic how in death our dignity was stripped and laid bare. We became nothing more than a travel case for a soul.

  Before photos had shown Nina Harris as a beautiful woman, fit, with a seductive glint in her eye that fed the camera. In this picture, as she had been in the morgue, Nina’s appeal had been stolen.

  Knowing that we stood where she had come to rest, the area had a tangible quality to it. I was a relatively new FBI agent, but, being around the burial sites in Salt Lick and at crime scenes elsewhere, I was beginning to realize there was a common feel to the places where people had lost their lives. While it was true Nina Harris didn’t have her life taken here, there was that feel in the air.

  Zachery walked around the area where the body had been found. His eyes took in everything, including, I figured, each blade of grass.

  “Her wedding ring was on her finger before the landowner took it off, along with part of the finger,” Hanes said.

  My stomach tightened but didn’t toss. Blame that on Salt Lick as well. It had toughened me up from the start.

  “The killer likes isolation.” Zachery spoke, his eyes not focused on any of us. “He’s ashamed by what he does and that’s why he buried her. She wasn’t supposed to be found, but he might be happy to be stopped.”

  “You can tell all that from staring at the ground?” Detective Hanes shifted his weight to the left.