Daddy's Little Killer

by LS Sygnet

  Crime Scene Division shared space with the Bay County Coroner's office. Maya had the upper two levels of the building and Forsythe's domain was a ground level basement and an additional sub-level.

  I met Forsythe almost immediately after I stepped off the elevator. Unlike entry to the morgue, all I needed to do for CSD was show my badge.

  "Hey, I thought Maya said you were home resting."

  "I woke up. I need a favor, Forsythe."

  "We're kinda swamped right now, Eriksson. I'll do my best, but unless this is another crime scene, it probably isn't a great time to shift gears again."

  "The Blevins thing?"

  "That and Rodney Martin's place. We were over there processing when the call came in on the other."

  "I see. Well, what I need won't require much. I'd like to check out a piece of evidence from the Foster case."

  "Oh?"

  I nodded. "I need those keys for a couple of hours, Forsythe."

  His eyes widened. "Wow. Are you getting that close to a suspect that you think you'll find the safe?"

  "Maybe. Do you mind?"

  "No. I'll take you down to evidence storage right now." Forsythe kept talking while we took the stairs to the sub-level. "So you already heard about Martin?"

  "Bits and pieces. I'm not sure what's true," I said. "You know how central is."

  "I expect that if we ever recover his body, it'll be another homicide. There was more than blood in his house."

  "Oh?"

  "Gray matter. Interestingly enough, we found two separate blood types, so the assumption is that we've got a wounded assailant and a dead police captain. The opposite doesn't seem likely since Martin surely would've called for help if he was attacked."

  "That's too bad. I knew Rodney a long time ago. We hadn't had a chance to reconnect before he disappeared. I spoke to him briefly the morning after the Foster crime scene. What was that, Wednesday? It feels like weeks ago instead of days."

  "Tell me about it. This has been one for the record books. I don't remember the last time that CSD was this busy with major cases. Two dismemberments and a missing and presumed dead police captain all in one week. It sort of reminds me of that Christmas back when we lost an ADA, the chief of detectives and the guy who killed the ADA in a matter of a couple of weeks. Craziness."

  I gripped Forsythe's arm. "You think Chief McNamara's death was related to that somehow?"

  "No, as I recall he died of natural causes, but you know what they say about people dying in threes. Hopefully we've had our three for awhile again."

  The murder rate in Darkwater Bay didn't support Forsythe's theory. I recognized he referred to high profile crimes, not the typical stuff CSD saw.

  "Hey, Mary. Dr. Eriksson needs to sign out some evidence from the Foster case. You mind if I take her back?"

  "Be my guest." She offered a toothy smile.

  Forsythe entered a large cage with a key on his ring and weaved through long rows of shelves housing evidence that had not yet made its way into a courtroom. It seemed like a bit much.

  "Ken, why is there so much evidence down here?"

  "Huh?"

  "Do you store this indefinitely?"

  He shook his head. "Only until cases are called up for prosecution." His eyes roved over the massive space. "Guess this does look bad, doesn't it? Not for lack of effort from CSD. Have you met our ADA yet?"

  "No. Is he part of the problem around here too?"

  "Zack Carpenter does the best he can with the cases handed to him. The evidence down here mostly represents open cases or those Zack can't even present to a grand jury because the investigations weren't up to modern standards."

  "And this is all from Central Division?"

  "Mostly. There are a few from other areas, but I'd say less than two percent."

  "Nice."

  "Here we go," Forsythe said. He slid the portable staircase to the shelving and locked the wheels. "Foster is on the top shelf. That's how the system out here has evolved over the years. Oldest stuff is at the bottom, and we've sort of worked our way up. I've been meaning to reorganize the system for a couple of years but haven't found time to get around to it."

  He came back down with a box marked Foster, G., and the date of the crime. "It should be in here. Shall we?"

  I pulled the lid off and started shuffling through the contents of the box. "Is there another box up there, Ken? I can't find the keys in here."

  Forsythe was frowning. "I can see that. Mary?" he yelled. "Has anybody been in here today besides CSD?"

  "Uh … last night, yeah. The chief came over with a couple of detectives to check in some papers they collected from Captain Martin's house."

  Forsythe stared at me. "You don't suppose."

  "Flynn Myre knew about the keys."

  "Yeah, but he didn't know what we can accomplish with a photograph."

  "What do you mean?"

  "I can reproduce those keys if you really need them, Helen. We've got digital photographs of both of them. A simple key like those won't be hard to cut. Hell, regular house keys have been reproduced from a good digital photograph before."

  "How long will it take you to make them?"

  "We'll do it right now."

  Chapter 35

  Before Forsythe put the box of evidence back on the shelf, I slipped Gwen Foster's access card to Datello's office building into my palm. He didn't notice. Since dawn was too light for an unnoticed visit to Datello's office, I told Ken that I'd be back later to pick up the keys and went shopping at a 24-hour Walmart.

  My wardrobe was still a problem. Even though I now had all of my clothes back in my possession, a rainbow of pastels is hardly appropriate for a stealth visit to essentially break into a building without a warrant. Besides, I missed black and gray. A discount store was good enough for the basics.

  Darkwater proper offered a variety of cheap motels along the main drag through the city. Rather than go to my house where no doubt Charlie and others would look for me, I checked into a place that offered me hourly or weekly rates. Lovely.

  The shag carpeting was frayed and worn, and probably once a vibrant shade of late 1960s orange. Now it was muted by decades of filth and stain. The table and chair were the necessary items in the room, and wi-fi.

  I started going over the records I uncovered, remembering my theory that my perp's psychopathy and its steadfast adherence to one ritual indicated that he might be reliving his first kill. Carrie's assault was only seven years ago. The tale she told didn't include any distinguishing features that pointed to my suspect being completely elderly. He couldn't have been very old at the time of his first kill.

  Considering the initial age range I gave Hardy and Weber on Wednesday, I did a mental calculation. It was conceivable that the perp had been within the typical age range for serial crimes when the first was committed. I needed to figure out who that first victim could've been.

  My list of missing girls was extensive, and stretched back thirty years. "Fifty now would make him twenty at the time of the first missing girl."

  I started sifting through the list of names carefully this time. I divided it into cases where photos of the missing girls had been included in the files and those without. The older cases were problematic. Many were missing the pictures. I made marks on the pages with twenty-five to thirty year dates to color code those with photos and those without.

  On the bottom of page two, I found several marked "resolved". Further digging revealed that either the girls returned home or the families had awaited the allotted time required by law to have their children declared legally dead. A new color for my sorting system entered the scheme.

  By the time I reached the last page of the oldest missing person's cases on record, my vision was starting to blur. I glanced at the digital clock on the nightstand by the bed. Five twenty. I'd been at this for far too long. My stomach rumbled.

  "Patience. I'll grab a bite before I stake out Datello's office."

  I had made a co
uple of trips to the outdoor vending machines throughout the day for caffeine – namely Coke Zero. Even though my room had a small coffee maker, the disposable cups weren't wrapped in plastic. God only knew how many times they'd been reused.

  The last can of soda had half a swallow of tepid, flat syrup in it. I downed it and rubbed my eyes. A name half way down the last page of my list jumped out when I refocused on the screen.

  Gwen Bennett.

  "What the hell?" I checked the date. Thirty two years ago. Had Gwen Foster been abducted as a todler too? It didn't fit the … date of birth leapt off the screen. "Oh my God. Case resolved."

  I started searching the Social Security Death Index. There she was. Gwen Bennett, declared dead seven years after disappearing. I pulled up the case.

  Gwen Bennett had ridden the school bus home to her family's farm one Friday afternoon like she always did. Between the bus stop and her home, she disappeared without a trace. There was no ransom call. She simply vanished.

  My eyes scanned the report. Parents, Frank Senior and Daisy Bennett. Siblings, Frank Junior and Dennis. Where was the mysterious Eugene, the brother who allegedly fathered Vinnie Bennett? Had they been so bold to fabricate a brother to keep the secret of what happened to the second Gwen Bennett? And was it a coincidence that three Bennett girls were victims of nefarious deeds at the same age?

  "My ass," I muttered. "This guy hit the Bennett family four times. That's personal. But why?" I needed to talk to the reluctant Harlan Hartley again, but it was getting late. I didn't want to miss my window of opportunity at Datello's office. Even if the keys I still needed to retrieve from Forsythe opened nothing in Danny's office, I knew that he too shared many secrets with the Bennett clan. I could find something important. Or, I could find incriminating evidence that would expose Rick's relationship to the Datello family tree. Sometimes it's hard to put personal agendas aside when they converge into a convenient opportunity to kill two birds with one stone.

  I tucked the computer into a case and slid it behind junk left in the closet of the room. First stop CSD. I needed those keys. Then I'd find a good vantage point to observe the activity at Datello's corporate office and wait for my moment to get inside. It was a great plan.

  Forsythe cautioned me about the keys. "The photographs can be used as evidence if you find the safe, Eriksson, but we'll need the original keys back in evidence."

  "I'm aware. Thanks for doing this for me, Forsythe. When we catch the perp, I have no doubt we'll find the keys."

  The scenario my mind formulated chilled me to the bone. Whoever took those keys had unfettered access to CSD's evidence room. Mary, the keeper of the cage, identified police officers being the only other people to enter evidence storage before Forsythe and I found the keys were missing. I considered Myre's interest in the case, particularly those keys, and his access to the Brighton Bennett evidence. Could he be the perp? He certainly didn't strike me as a criminal mastermind. Then again, it could've been the performance of a lifetime. Bumbling cop by day, serial predator by night. Was Myre somehow responsible for my lost time Thursday afternoon? I wished I could remember …

  The thoughts plagued me as I made my way from Downey to Darkwater proper where Datello's office building was located.

  The physical presence of Datello Enterprises didn't disappoint. Nestled into a rundown neighborhood of empty warehouses and long since abandoned businesses was a glistening spire of the dark glass and metal high rise. Saturday night looked quiet enough on the surface. I found my perfect vantage point for surveillance from a low branch in a tree that bordered the alley behind the building. Several yards away, my rental was hidden behind an overgrown hedge.

  It was creeping up on nine. Fog had rolled through the neighborhood, a sentient specter to warn the good people that it was time to get cozy inside shelter. Despite the fact that summer was only a couple of weeks away officially, the temperature at night dipped low enough, combined with the humidity, to make me uncomfortable. I missed the sweltering heat of the east coast, the balmy summer days and pleasant nights where anything more than shorts and tank tops was overdressed.

  Datello's guards lazily assessed the perimeter from the back of the building. It amounted to opening a door, shining a beam of light around the landscaped back lot and heading off for parts unknown inside the building. Regular as clockwork, that door swung at the top of the hour. It would happen again at nine. Ten minutes later, I'd make my break for the entrance. Hopefully, no one had thought to deactivate Gwen's security card.

  At the appointed moment, I shimmied down the tree trunk, but before I could step foot near the building, someone yanked me backward. A fleshy prison clapped over my mouth, and a second later, a rock flew over my head and onto Datello's property.

  Lights immediately flooded the area.

  Two arms trapped me after the rock sailed.

  "Do you honestly think Danny Datello is stupid enough to neglect installing a state of the art security system at his office building?" Words hissed into my ear.

  Orion. Dammit!

  He released my mouth and half dragged, half carried me quickly behind the same hedge that hid my car.

  "I need to get in there!"

  "Then get a warrant, Doc. What the hell are you thinking? As much as I hate Danny Datello, I know he doesn't have a damn thing to do with what happened to Gwen."

  I shoved both hands into his chest. Orion didn't budge this time. "Don't make me hurt you," I warned.

  "Good luck with the jujitsu this time, Doc. I'm ready." He let go after letting me know it was his choice and not my threat that convinced him to do so.

  "How did you find me?"

  "It wasn't difficult. Charlie Haverston is probably off having a stroke somewhere instead of realizing that while you can't be tracked by the cell phones you have conveniently dumped in the past two days, you made the mistake of taking your rental car. Tsk, Doc. Do you really think that Enterprise doesn't keep tabs on their vehicles in the event that someone decides to break their rental contract?"

  "You son of a bitch."

  "Don't insult my mother."

  I snorted. "Screw you. I'm getting out of here. If you know what's good for you, don't follow me again, Orion."

  "All this because I know your ex-husband laundered money for Marcos?"

  I froze. How much did he know about that?

  "I didn't realize it was a closely guarded secret, Doc. If that's the case, someone should've issued a gag order for the Washington Post."

  My spine wilted. "I don't want to discuss this."

  "Tough. Why did you freak out when I mentioned it last night at Central Division? Or was it because I mentioned his boss at the same time?"

  I needed a good convincing lie. My mind drew blank.

  "Helen," his fingers curled over my shoulder gently. "It's okay to grieve for the man, even if you were divorced when he died. I understand that this is complicated. Your ex wasn't a very nice guy. That doesn't mean you had to hate him. It doesn't erase the good memory you have of your marriage."

  "Shut up," I rasped.

  "I didn't bring it up to freak you out. I wanted you to understand how far this perp was willing to go to get you engaged in his game."

  "I get it just fine, thank you very much. I'm not an idiot."

  Orion's fingers wandered, cupped my chin, tilted my face upward. "I don't think you're an idiot. Grief does weird shit to people."

  "It didn't do anything to me. I'm not …" I reined in the impulsive comment on the tip of my tongue. Orion handed me a gift-wrapped excuse. "I'll be fine. Not dwelling on it is the best remedy."

  "Would you have invited me to stay with you Monday night?"

  "What?" Where the hell had that come from? Orion's timing baffled me.

  "You told me I missed my chance, Doc. I was thinking about what you meant. It was grief Monday night, wasn't it? You couldn't possibly be ready to move on yet."

  Move on – there was the hated phrase again. Still, Orion wasn
't done handing me convenient excuses. "Probably not. About Monday, I mean. And about being ready to move on."

  "I wasn't lying you know." His thumb brushed my lower lip. "I still want you."

  Unbelievable. I jerked away from the light touch. "You're not a patient man, Orion. You'll lose interest long before I'm ready for that nonsense." Thank God the fluttering in my belly was invisible or he'd have seen the lie.

  "I'm a very patient man. I hate it that you haven't figured that out yet. Maybe you will in time."

  "Good luck." I turned on my heel and stalked off in the direction of my rental car. The door was open and I was about to climb in when Orion grabbed me from behind again.

  "Charlie will eventually figure out how to track you. Wouldn't you rather be in a vehicle that isn't linked to a satellite somewhere?"

  "I can find one on my own, Orion."

  "I've got one half a block away."

  "What part of my communication with you has been unclear?"

  "None of it. But if you're planning on ditching Charlie Haverston so you can continue this investigation under the radar before Rogers and Daltry fuck it up completely, you need to ditch that car now. Once Lowe's guys figure out that you're AWOL, how long do you think it'll take them to figure out what you're doing?"

  I rolled my eyes. "The case is still mine, Orion. Nobody took it from me. I played you last night, like a freakin' Stradivarius. Don't think I won't hold you to that agreement for full disclosure when all of this is done."

  "That's good information to know, Doc."

  "Why is that?" I wiggled free of his grasp and made for the front seat a second time.

  "Because now I won't feel guilty for doing this."

  He had me over his shoulder in one fell swoop. My gut hit his shoulder with enough force to knock the wind out of me, and when Orion started jogging down the alley, catching my breath became next to impossible. Around the corner of the alley, his car came into view. Upside down from my vantage point.

  Orion opened the passenger door and shoved me inside. He cuffed my wrist to the door handle in the twenty year old sedan and slammed it shut.