Killing Season

by Faye Kellerman

  He hopped on his bike and pedaled away. One day they’d get together: not to hunt bodies, not to look at murder files, not to go to funerals or police stations or even for tutoring or hiking. One day they’d get together just because.

  Chapter 24

  Shanks had set up in an interview room instead of using his office. It turned out to be a good idea because with the table, Ben could spread out his files. The kid was dressed in a bomber jacket, gray T-shirt and jeans, and high-tops. There were bags under his eyes. He looked way too tired for his years.

  “It’ll be just the two of us,” Shanks said.

  “Where’s Detective Ortiz?”

  “Between the Demon and the Doogan cases, he’s swamped. He’s waiting to see what you have. If anyone could use help right now, it’s him.”

  “I’m off the suspect list for Katie Doogan?”

  “You were never seriously on.” Shanks raised his eyebrows. “Show me what you got. Then get some coffee.”

  “Last time that happened, I wound up making a pot for the entire office.” Ben took several rubber bands off the case folders and began to spread them out. “If I’m gonna do a service, I should get paid.”

  “You’re paid in caffeine.” Shanks shoved two mugs into his hands. “Go.”

  Kicking him out allowed Shanks to look at what the kid had amassed. It was organized, it was neat, and it was thorough. It took Ben ten minutes to return, and by that time Shanks had already started reading the Katie Doogan file. He was so absorbed in the material that he didn’t look up when Ben came in, just grabbed the handle of his mug, sipped, and kept reading. After he gave the file a first pass, he flipped back and forth between the pages. Finally, he put it down.

  “Pretty accurate in your predictions.”

  “I was just using Ellen’s case as my reference point.”

  “The spots where you chose to search were close to where you found the grave.” Shanks looked in the kid’s eyes. “The Sandias encompass a lot of area. Why’d you search where you did?”

  “It all goes back to my theories.”

  “What are your theories?”

  “What they’ve always been. I must have told you a zillion times.”

  “Well, I’m paying attention now. Talk to me.”

  Ben sipped coffee for a minute, organizing his thoughts.

  “This isn’t someone local. Instead it’s someone who’s familiar with New Mexico, someone who’s been here, maybe even stayed here for a few months, but doesn’t make his home in the state. He’s confident enough to stalk girls, he’s confident enough to snatch them off the street, he’s confident enough to rape and murder them, and he’s confident enough to bury them in a deep grave that he no doubt dug even before he committed the crime. This was premeditated.

  “But he’s not confident enough to go deep into the national forest and get himself back out without help. You know how thick and dense the forest can be in summertime. That’s when Ellen was abducted. Katie was abducted in the spring, but it was warmer down in Albuquerque than it was in River Remez. In the forest, everything looks the same. It’s all trees and brush, all greens and browns. And it’s dense, with filtered sunlight at best. Without a compass, you get mixed up because the trees throw off lots of shadows. Sometimes it’s even hard to tell east from west. Unless you’re a very experienced hiker who can read a compass and unless you know the area very well, you’re going to get lost. Especially at night. In the dark, there are other things to worry about. Bears are out there, mountain lions are out there, maybe even jaguars. And there are always coyotes. You’re not going to chance going deep into the interior. My sister was strangled. She wasn’t shot. My take on this dude is he’s not all that familiar with firearms. He gets his kicks out of killing up close and personal.

  “Sam, this is a guy who needs to be near roads. But he has to go into the forest to get rid of the body. So, once he’s in the forest, he needs to orient himself. He needs to be near some kind of natural landmark. It’s not going to be a tree or a boulder. It’s going to be something that he can rely on. It can’t be small rias or creeks because in the spring, with all the winds, they dry up and usually don’t become wet again until the monsoons start up in late July and August. That means he’s going to need something larger, like a big creek or a stream, something that’s always running. The banks of the waterway also provide a natural guide. The water itself provides sound for orientation and for privacy. The soil is different. It gives underneath your feet. It’s softer, easier to dig a grave in. The smell along riverbanks is different. Mustier, filled with decomposed material that’s moldy because of the constant moisture. A riverbank provides just enough of a difference from the rest of the forest to give him a little direction, so he knows where he’s going.

  “Last, he needs relatively easy access from the road to the burial spot and back. He has to be out of the way to do his dirty work. But the pathway has to be easy enough for him to climb down lugging a dead body and then it’s got to be easy enough to climb back up. Both Katie and Ellen were buried directly into the ground. It’s a lot easier to lug something in a suitcase or garbage bag. But he prefers to carry dead bodies. He probably gets some kind of kick out of it. I don’t know what his motivation is by burying them as he did, and I don’t care. I’m just interested in frying the guy.”

  Ben sat back and folded his arms across his chest. Then he sat up and took a sip of coffee. “This is lukewarm. Can I get myself a refill?”

  “Go ahead.”

  “How about for you?”

  Wordlessly, Shanks handed him the mug. As soon as the kid was gone, the detective started skimming through his other files. Katie Doogan’s was the only file that Ben had connected to Ellen Vicksburg’s murder. He knew there had to be more files that Ben didn’t bring.

  The kid just wouldn’t let go.

  That was the nature of police work. It bred obsessive personality disorder. When the teen came back, Shanks said, “You want to explain your system of filing? The colored dots? These orange-dotted folders look like Demon victims.”

  “They are.”

  “When did you put all these cases together?”

  “A year or two ago.”

  “You linked together these women with Billy Ray Barnes way before he was arrested.”

  Ben nodded.

  “Okay. I’m impressed.” Shanks sorted through the six orange-dotted files. “You got two women who haven’t been positively identified as victims of the Demon. This one—Christine Hernandez—I know that APD is waiting on DNA for her. However, this one from Teasdale, Oklahoma . . . Bristol Carrington.” Shanks held up the file. “She’s not on the radar. How’d you find her?”

  “Teasdale PD homicide reward. Then once I saw the place, I worked backward. Teasdale is a small town; the closest bigger town is Norman, Oklahoma. If you look at a map, Norman is a straight shot through Amarillo to Albuquerque. And Bristol’s profile seemed to fit with the rest of the Demon victims.”

  “Okay.” Shanks stood up. “I’m calling up Ortiz right now. I’m going to borrow this file. It’s going to take a while.” And it did. By the time Shanks had related all the information and faxed the papers, forty minutes had gone by. When he returned, Ben had fallen asleep. The detective gently shook the boy’s shoulders.

  Ben lifted his head and rubbed his eyes. “I think I need more coffee.”

  “How about we go get some dinner? No shoptalk for at least a half hour.”

  “I won’t object.” He stood up and started to pile the folders atop one another.

  Shanks said, “You know you’re going to have to leave these with me.”

  “They’re yours. I already made copies.” He handed the pile to the detective.

  “I have this sneaking suspicion that these aren’t all of your files, right?” When Ben didn’t answer, Shanks repeated, “Right?”

  “I have a few more at home.”

  “Ben, I’m losing patience.” Shanks pointed to the chair an
d the teen sat back down. “What are you holding back? Wait. Don’t tell me. Let me guess. Because I can be a detective too. You have files that are related to Ellen’s murder. But for some reason only known to you, you left those at home.” When the kid looked at the ceiling, Shanks said, “Why are you keeping those from me? Is it because you don’t trust me or is it because you think I’m incompetent?”

  “No and no.” Ben looked down. “I didn’t want to get you involved until I knew more.”

  “I’m already involved, Ben.”

  “You’re involved but I’m committed—”

  “Stop that, Ben.”

  “Sam, it’s like that joke about eggs and bacon. The chicken is involved; the pig is committed.”

  “Ben, what other cases do you have that are similar to Ellen’s? And no bullshit. I’m tired.”

  “Jeez, Sam, don’t get so angry.”

  Shanks took in a deep breath and let it out. “I’m not angry.” Of course he was. He forced himself to smile, kept his pen poised on his notebook. “How about if we start with names, Ben.”

  “Julia Rehnquist and Jamey Moore.”

  “Spell them.” When Ben did, Shanks said, “Tell me about the first one—Julia Rehnquist.”

  “Happened a year and a half after Ellen, December nineteenth. She was sixteen, abducted from Berkeley, and found in Mount Diablo State Park in California.”

  “How long have you known about her?”

  “The body was discovered this past summer . . . like right before school started. That’s when I found out.”

  “So, tell me what you know about it.”

  Ben sipped his coffee. “Just what I can pull up from the computer. I tried to see if there was any physical evidence like a print or a DNA profile, but the newspapers were sketchy. I checked on the homicide bulletins . . . nothing much came up. But I do know where she was found. I just wanted to find out a little more before I told you about it. I didn’t want to look like an idiot or a crazy person.”

  “Idiot no, crazy person a little more likely.” A pause. “Tell me about the second girl, Jamey Moore.”

  “I just found out about her two weeks ago. That’s when I knew I had to come in to talk to you.”

  “So why didn’t you do it then?”

  “I wanted to give Katie Doogan one more shot before I concentrated on anyone else.”

  “Well, you succeeded. Tell me about Jamey Moore.”

  “She was from Knoxville. She disappeared on September twenty-first. Her body was found in the Smoky Mountains two weeks ago, near Cosby, Tennessee.”

  “So, you’ve known about it for two weeks.”

  “Yes. She’s a little different, Sam. She wasn’t an innocent. She had a history of being a runaway. I’m interested in her because the date of her abduction is close to the autumnal equinox. She may be part of the pattern.”

  “You have pictures of them? The girls?”

  “In my files. Just what I printed from the local papers.”

  Shanks looked at his watch. “It’s getting dark. Did you bike here?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Okay. This is what you’re going to do. Are you listening, Ben?”

  “I’m right here.”

  “You are going to call up your mother and tell her that I’m taking you out to dinner. After we eat, I’ll stow your bike in my van, I’ll take you home, and I’ll pick up the files, and then you’re finished doing snoop work. Do you have any problem with any of that?”

  “No.”

  “Good.” Shanks focused on the boy’s eyes. “I suppose you have a host of reasons why those cases are similar to Ellen’s case.”

  “The age, the physical appearance, the circumstances, where they were buried, and now the date of the abductions.” Ben fidgeted. “Since I told you about the files, could you call up the primary detective on the Rehnquist case and get some details?”

  “Blimey, young lad, I never thought about that.” The kid looked abashed. Shanks shook his head. “I’ll call as soon as I look up the case so I know what I’m talking about.”

  “When are you going to do that?”

  “I’m planning on doing it right now unless you want to eat at four fifteen.”

  “So . . . like what do I do while you look up the cases?”

  “You can call your mother and tell her that I’m taking you out to dinner.”

  “Can I come with you to look at the cases? I promise I won’t read over your shoulder.”

  Without answering, Shanks got up and Ben followed. After Shanks shut the door to his office, he said, “Sit down and be quiet. If I have any questions, I’ll ask you.”

  “Can I call my mother?”

  “Yeah, go ahead.” Shanks entered “Julia Rehnquist” into the search program on the computer. The information was basic: sixteen-year-old girl found buried in a rectangular grave in Mount Diablo in Contra Costa, California, near Danville. She was last seen out for a jog on December nineteenth of last year. She appeared to have been abducted in broad daylight. Anyone with information should call the Berkeley PD at the following number and ask for Derek Whitecliffe or the Danville PD. Shanks wrote down the digits and the name of the primary. There was also a picture of the girl. Shanks did notice physical similarities to Ellen and Katie—not sisters, but maybe they could have been cousins.

  Next was Jamey Moore. She was seventeen, a runaway, and went missing on September 21 of this year. The body was found buried in a rectangular three-foot-by-four-foot-by-four-foot grave. Anyone with information, etc. He took down the number and the name of the primary detective—Jack Bonet. He also printed out the picture. She appeared a little older and a little harder, but she was definitely from the same mold.

  Shanks turned off the computer. Ben said, “Any luck?”

  “Got the names of the primary detectives.”

  “Derek Whitecliffe in Berkeley. I don’t know about the other one.”

  “Jack Bonet in Knoxville.”

  “Are you going to call them?”

  “Yes. I do think you’re onto something.” Ben’s grin was immediate. Shanks said, “I shouldn’t be telling you this, but I will anyway. Albuquerque retrieved some biological evidence from Katie Doogan. It will take a while to process. It might be smart to wait until we have something concrete like a DNA match between Katie Doogan and Ellen. Once we get a connection, we can start thinking about a serial killer. And once we have a serial killer, we can start linking up the dates. The more information we have, the easier it will be to get other police agencies to cooperate and be excited.”

  “So, you’re not going to call them?”

  “Of course I’m going to call them. But first, let me do my homework, Vicks.”

  “I hear you, Sam. But what if there’s already DNA from Julia Rehnquist? Since you have DNA from Ellen, can’t we just see if there’s a match? Like what about CODIS?”

  “That’s for matching DNA to known perps.”

  “Surely there is some file where you can match DNA to DNA.”

  “Of course you can match DNA to DNA. But there is no way I can push the New Mexico state lab to make a match between someone in Berkeley and someone in River Remez. Right now, the lab is tied up with the Demon and now with Katie Doogan.”

  Ben took out his computer. A few keystrokes later he said, “There are crime labs in Berkeley, Oakland, Contra Costa County—”

  “Okay, you’re right. Maybe they’ll want to do some DNA matching. Great. But I repeat. Let me do my homework first.” Shanks started doing math. “Okay. Here we go. From Ellen’s murder to Katie’s murder was nine months. From Katie to Julia was nine months, and from Julia to Jamey was nine months.”

  “Three years, four girls, four seasons. Ro and I—” Ben stopped himself.

  “What? Don’t go mute on me now.”

  “We were thinking that the guy completed the cycle—all four seasons. Maybe that’s what he had in mind to do. Four murders, and because he completed a cycle, maybe he’d just
stop.”

  “If it’s a true serial killer, he isn’t going to stop,” Shanks said. “But four murders in three years that are almost to the day nine months apart: that’s pretty meticulous. He also buries his victims in neat, rectangular graves. He inters them deep beneath the ground. He’s very, very organized.”

  “Exactly. That’s why I think he’s going to repeat the cycle, this time being precise with the dates.”

  “If you are correct, then we should add nine months to Jamey and that would put us at the summer solstice of next year.”

  “Right where he started with Ellen.”

  “Of course, he could accelerate the process. Winter solstice is around the corner.”

  “I thought about that,” Ben told him. “But like you said, this guy is meticulous. Maybe he needs a full nine months to plan things out.”

  “Do you have any idea why he picked these cities?” Shanks opened his computer again. “After all, you’ve been sitting on this longer than I have.”

  “I don’t know why he chose the places he did.” Shanks didn’t respond and was busy clicking on his keyboard. Ben said, “Can I see what you’re doing?”

  “Just sit tight and keep your own computer open. I might have a few questions for you to look up.” Then Shanks noticed the grin on the kid’s face. He said, “I’m feeding your addiction. I am an enabler.”

  Ben laughed. “What are you looking up?”

  “Transcontinental highways,” Shanks said. “Three major ones: Interstate 90 and Interstate 80 go north of here. Interstate 40 goes through Albuquerque.” A few more clicks. “Here we are. Forty also goes through Nashville, Knoxville, and Memphis, Tennessee. Albuquerque and Knoxville are linked by the highway. River Remez is a straight shot north on the 25, only a little over an hour away. What about Berkeley? Where does Interstate 40 start in California?”

  “Barstow,” Ben said.

  “How far is Barstow from Berkeley?”

  “There are two Barstows in California. One is in San Bernardino, the other is in Fresno. The one in San Bernardino is three hundred and forty-eight miles from Berkeley as the crow flies. The one in Fresno is only one hundred and forty-seven miles.”