The Sex Club

by L. J. Sellers

  Jackson gently rolled the body onto its side. Nicole’s dark brown eyes stared up at him. He tried to remember what she had looked like that day in the school office, before death distorted her pretty face. Nicole had been grieving for Jessie and nervous about talking to him.

  Now she’d been dead long enough for blood to pool in her face, giving her skin a purplish tint. A spider had chewed its way across her left cheek, leaving a series of nasty red bumps. And maggots were feeding in her ears. Jackson pressed a gloved finger against her face. When he pulled away, the color didn’t change. The lividity told him three things: Nicole had been killed out here at least six hours ago, and had been left lying on her face soon after her death.

  After a moment, he said, “She looks like Jessie did, naked but with no obvious abrasions or trauma.”

  “It’s odd, isn’t it?” Evans mused.

  He knew what she meant. The girls’ unmarred bodies didn’t seem to be the handiwork of a sexual predator, but what else would explain their deaths? The fact that the two girls were friends indicated that the killer identified his victims through the school or church and probably knew both girls, at least superficially.

  Jackson thanked God that Katie no longer hung out with that group. But that did not mean she was safe. She would not be safe until this sicko was in permanent custody. Jackson could feel a stress headache coming on. Was he completely wrong about the mayor? Had Fieldstone screwed Jessie but not killed her? None of it fit together.

  He heard voices coming, so he gently lowered Nicole back to her face down position and moved up the embankment to the trail. Evans stayed with the body.

  Sergeant Brian Riggs came down the path leading a German shepard. Jackson had worked with Riggs before, sometimes cooperatively, sometimes not. They shook hands.

  “This is Daisy,” Riggs said, scratching the dog’s head. “So what’s the situation here?”

  “We have a dead girl, most likely a homicide victim. I need you to search the area for her clothes or anything that may have been left by her killer.” The dog whined with impatience.

  About then, a young female evidence tech, dressed in dark blue coveralls, came up the path followed by the county ME. Gunderson, who had processed Jessie’s body at the scene, asked Jackson, “Do we have a serial killer?”

  “Maybe.”

  Gunderson glanced at Jackson’s gloved hands. “Did you touch the body?”

  “I rolled her up on her side to see if I recognized her.”

  Gunderson gave him a look. “And?”

  “I believe it’s Nicole Clarke, our missing person. I need the time of death ASAP. I need to know if she was killed before or after I arrested Fieldstone.”

  “I’ll do what I can.”

  Gunderson and Riggs moved down to where the girl lay. The evidence tech introduced herself as Jasmine Parker, then began to make casts of the shoe prints on the path.

  Jackson thought about Nicole’s parents, anxious and upset and waiting to hear something—anything. Jackson believed it was his responsibility to tell them, but he didn’t want to leave the scene or make them wait until he returned. He called Zapata and asked him to break the news to her parents. Ultimately, the Clarkes would have to look at the body and confirm that it was Nicole. He could not imagine how horrific that moment would be. Jackson hoped God would spare him from ever having to go through that. Then he felt guilty for the thought. He didn’t deserve any special treatment.

  After a minute, Riggs came back up with Daisy, who was straining on her leash, anxious to follow a scent. Then the two were off toward the rock outcropping. Jackson moved down the slope, so he could listen to Gunderson as he examined the body.

  “She’s still in full rigor mortis,” the ME was saying as he lifted her limbs. “So she’s been dead at least twelve hours, but less than thirty.” He looked up at Jackson. “So that means sometime between 9:30 yesterday morning and 3:30 this morning.”

  “Her parents saw her at six o’clock last night,” Jackson said.

  “So that narrows it down even further.” Gunderson shoved a long thermometer into the girl’s rectum. After a moment, he said. “Body temp is sixty-one, only five degrees warmer than the air, so she’s had about twenty-one hours to cool, give or take an hour on either side.”

  Jackson calculated the time in his head.

  “Between 7:30 and 9:30 last night.” Gunderson said it out loud a moment before Jackson reached the same conclusion.

  Jackson groaned. “I arrested Fieldstone at 8:36. And this park is only a ten-minute drive from his house on Blanton Heights. So he could have done it and been home by the time I showed up to arrest him.”

  “Don’t get worked up yet,” Gunderson said. “I’m not done. Some of these bugs crawling out of her nose might narrow the time down even further.”

  “Was she raped?”

  “I don’t see any bruising or tearing or signs of semen.”

  That seemed consistent with Jessie’s death, but inconsistent for a serial killer. But not unheard of. Some psychopaths were impotent, which was part of the insecurity that drove them to kill. Now that Jackson knew Nicole could have died before Fieldstone was in custody, his theory ping-ponged back to the mayor. Fieldstone could have been screwing Nicole too. If she had seen him on the evening news and questioned him about Jessie’s death, the mayor may have killed her to keep her quiet.

  Jackson would ask the state lab to compare Nicole’s DNA with the secretions on the orange panties found in the mayor’s love nest. But in the meantime, he and his team would look at serial killer profiles and widen their investigation of sexual predators. The investigation was suddenly an open field again.

  “This is interesting.” Gunderson said suddenly.

  Jackson stepped closer, as Evans said, “What?”

  “A tiny piece of thin white plastic is caught in her earring. And there’s a light crease in the skin on her throat.” Gunderson looked up. “She may have been suffocated with a plastic bag that was held tightly around her neck.”

  “A second suffocation,” Jackson said.

  “Same method, but different material,” Evans noted. “So he uses whatever is handy.”

  Gunderson grunted in response, then they were all quiet for a moment. The ME took several close-up photos of Nicole’s neck and ear, then bagged some of the insects crawling out of the girl’s ears.

  Jackson turned away from the sight. For the first time, he thought about leaving this line of work. He could get a job as an investigator with the DA’s office. He would never again have to look at the lifeless body of a young person—while his own daughter fended for herself. If he had been forced to choose at that moment—here with the dead girl or home with his daughter—he would have taken off his shield and walked away.

  A wave of anxiety rolled through him. Was Katie in danger? Should he hire a bodyguard for her?

  As they processed the scene, the bright afternoon gave way to a dark sky, and the wind whipped their jackets. In the distance, Jackson could hear the dog’s excited barking.

  A few minutes later, Riggs and Daisy came down the trail from Party Rock. Riggs carried a bulging white plastic bag—similar to the ones offered in grocery and retail stores.

  “We found her clothes,” Riggs called out.

  Gunderson and his assistant were in the process of getting Nicole into a body bag to carry her out. They both looked up.

  Jackson yelled, “Careful with that plastic bag, it may be the murder weapon.”

  Riggs was wearing latex gloves and had a good grip on one corner. He shrugged and said, “Okay.”

  Jackson pulled out a large brown paper sack from his shoulder bag and took possession of the evidence, putting the plastic bag full of clothes into the larger paper bag. “Anything of the killer’s?”

  “Not yet.”

  “What all is in there?”

  “Jeans, T-shirt, panties, rubber sandals.”

  “Any personal stuff? Cell phone or purse?”
<
br />   “Nope.”

  “Let’s keep looking then.”

  As Gunderson and the technician carried the body up the embankment, Jim Trang, an assistant DA, showed up, and Riggs went back to his search. Jackson brought the ADA up to speed on the new homicide.

  If Nicole had died before the mayor was taken into custody, they could file a murder charge and get his bail revoked. But if she died while Fieldstone was in jail, a good defense attorney would use the second murder to claim there was a viable, alternative suspect for the first.

  And probably win him an acquittal.

  Chapter 30

  Monday, October 25, 6:43 p.m.

  Ruth and Rachel were in the kitchen cleaning up after a pork roast dinner when the phone rang. “It’s either solicitors or someone from the church,” Ruth said before picking it up. “No one else uses our land-line anymore.” She greeted the caller cheerfully. “Hello. This is the Greiners.”

  “Ruth, it’s Eva. I have some very bad news.”

  Ruth felt her blood pressure surge. “What is it?”

  “Nicole Clarke is dead. They found her body this afternoon. Joanne and Steve are completely distraught, of course, so a group of us are going over to pray with them.”

  “Oh dear Lord.”

  Rachel was suddenly at her elbow asking, “What’s going on?”

  Ruth waved her daughter away and focused on getting information from Eva. “How did she die?”

  “I’m not sure. They found her in Edgewood Park.” Eva paused and Ruth heard her fighting back sobs. “She’s been missing since last night. But, of course, you knew that. They called everyone they could think of when she didn’t come home.”

  Ruth had not known Nicole was missing. Had Joanne called here last night? Ruth had taken a second Ativan in the middle of the CCA meeting, and things were a little blurry after that. She must have slept on the way home.

  “I’ll be over in a little while. Joanne must be out of her mind.”

  When Ruth hung up the phone, her daughter grabbed her arm. “Tell me what’s happening.”

  “Sweetie, let’s sit down.”

  Rachel’s hand tightened on her arm. “Just tell me.”

  Ruth led her to a seat at the dining room table. After a deep breath she said, “Nicole is dead. They found her in the park.”

  “What?” Her daughter looked confused, as if the information didn’t make sense. Ruth could sympathize.

  “I don’t have any more detail than that. Except that she’s been missing since last night.” Ruth put her hand on Rachel’s shoulder even though Rachel didn’t like to be touched. “Did Joanne call here last night looking for her?”

  Rachel nodded. “You were asleep. She wanted to know if I had seen Nicole, but I hadn’t.” Rachel started to cry. “I didn’t think anything was really wrong. I can’t believe she’s dead.”

  Ruth hugged her daughter, but after a moment, Rachel pushed her away. “First Jessie, now Nicole. What’s going on, Mom? Is it a serial killer? Am I next?”

  “Don’t say that, honey. God will keep you safe. Let’s go over to the Clarkes and pray with them. They need all the support they can get.”

  “Where’s Dad?”

  “He’s teaching a Bible class. But go get Caleb. I don’t want to leave him home alone.”

  On the drive over, Ruth’s thoughts turned to Kera Kollmorgan. She had seen the abortionist-whore talking to Nicole at school last Thursday. And earlier last week, Ruth thought she’d seen Jessie at the Planned Parenthood clinic, where Kollmorgan worked. Coincidence? Ruth didn’t think so. But was Kollmorgan a killer?

  Of course she was! She murdered babies for a living. But why would she kill young girls? Was she a psycho? A lesbian rapist serial killer? Or was she working with some sick guy? Ruth had read about couples who kidnapped, raped, and tortured young girls. Maybe Kollmorgan was part of a demented team.

  “Mom!”

  Ruth looked up to see a car stopped directly in front of her. She slammed on the brakes.

  “Jesus! Pay attention,” Rachel snapped at her from the passenger’s seat.

  Ruth backhanded her daughter hard. But Rachel had seen it coming and pulled away. The blow glanced off. “Don’t ever take the Lord’s name in vain or speak to me in that tone. We will deal with this when we get home.”

  Rachel scrunched herself against the door and faced out the window. Caleb had the good sense to keep his head in his Game Boy. Ruth was so fed up with her daughter’s attitude. Kids today had no idea how easy their life was with their computers and cell phones and no younger siblings to care for. So little was expected of them, and they were so ungrateful. The discipline she and Sam administered to their kids was nothing compared to the beatings Ruth had received from her mother for the smallest offenses.

  Ruth pulled into the small shopping center on 30th Avenue and parked in front of the Sweet Deal bakery. The kids waited in the car while she picked out a coffee cake for the prayer group. An offering of food would excuse her for leaving early. After an hour, she would take the kids home, drop them off, then do some reconnaissance for where she would plant the bomb that would stop Kera Kollmorgan once and for all.

  Monday, October 25, 6:01 p.m.

  Still tired from her poisoning ordeal, Kera stretched down on the couch after dinner to watch the news. National news was more of the same: the war in Iraq, government corruption, the mid-term elections. But the local news caught her attention. KRSL’s Trina Waterman led off with “And now we bring you the latest in Eugene’s crime wave.”

  First Waterman recapped the clinic bombing, including an update that Rebecca Dunn had died as a result of her injuries, then reported that the FBI was working the case. The anchorwoman followed up with a second story:

  And in yet another bizarre incident, a Planned Parenthood staff member was poisoned with deadly ricin through her personal mail. She was rushed to the emergency room where she almost died. The victim is still recovering and has not returned to work at the clinic. Other Planned Parenthood staff members also received threatening letters signed “God’s Messenger.”

  A source at Planned Parenthood says they receive religious letters quite frequently, but the poisoning incident is the first of its kind. The clinic has added a security guard and says the FBI will screen all its mail for a while.

  And in another case, this morning Mayor Miles Fieldstone was arraigned on charges of statutory rape and murder in connection with the death of fourteen-year-old Jessie Davenport. Jessie, who had recently been a client at Planned Parenthood, was found in a dumpster last Tuesday with the cause of death reported as suffocation. Mayor Fieldstone was not available for comment.

  Kera didn’t hear the rest of the report. She was too upset that someone had told the media about Jessie’s visit to the clinic. Who would do that? And why? And what would that breech of confidence do to the trust Planned Parenthood had built up with the community’s young people?

  And the ricin incident. Someone at the hospital must have talked to a reporter. Kera didn’t care much that her personal drama had been made public, but these stories would hurt the clinic’s business. Their clients were already scared. If enough people stayed away, the parent foundation would have to close the clinic.

  Kera went to the kitchen and poured a glass of wine, then took it to her computer desk. She could not even look at news sites. Her thoughts kept swirling around her own small reality—the bomb, the poison, the deaths of Jessie and Rebecca. Right now, her whole existence seemed to be about survival. The fact that she was still alive while others around her were dying left her with a fair amount of guilt. Her life was no more valuable than others. And yet she would fight for it with everything she had.

  Instinctively, Kera ended up on the girlsjustwanttohavefun.com site. She hadn’t planned to go back there; she didn’t want that much detail about these girls’ sex lives. But she couldn’t shake the idea that somewhere in all that detail was a clue to who had killed Jessie.

  Afte
r landing on the wild-colored main page, Kera clicked open Sex Talk, found nothing new, then opened the Dirty Gossip link. She scrolled down through some talk between socccerstar and tigertoo about a girl named Dana who had supposedly, while high on meth, had sex with her stepbrother, then was sent away to a reform camp somewhere in the woods of California. If it was true, Kera felt sorry for Dana. Those correction camps could be brutal.

  After a discussion about a life-skills homework assignment, the page ended. Kera clicked through two more subpages—Disgusting Guys and Hot Guys—without finding any postings from the sex club members: racyG, perfectass, freakjob37, or lipservice. Annoyed by the content and frustrated by her lack of progress, Kera almost gave up. Then it occurred to her that each of the chat rooms had its own list of users who could access it. She decided to check the Parties page.

  A chat was in progress about a party that was happening after the dance that Friday night. The discussion was about who they could get to buy beer. A chatter named jellybean said her brother might. Then a new posting popped up:

  lipservice: You are not going to believe this but Nicole Clarke is dead. My mom just got a call from her prayer group asking her to pray for the Clarkes because of what happened to Nicole. This is so freaky.

  The news hit Kera like a punch in the gut. As she sat there, stunned, follow-up postings appeared on screen.

  jahnboy: So what happened to her?

  lipservice: I don’t know. They found her at Party Rock. My mom thinks it must be a serial killer.