by Kylie Brant
A slight breeze whispered through the leaves, hushed gossip among the silent sentries about the events that had transpired here hours earlier. She stood quietly immersing herself in the setting. Seeing it as the offender had seen it. Trying to get a feel for the man who had selected the place to enact his stomach-churning fetish.
Mason Vance had set up house in his grandfather’s vacant home nearly forty minutes away in the tiny town of Alleman, east of Ankeny. According to her GPS they were close to Van Meter right now, whose population was slightly larger than Alleman at a thousand plus. Each of the six victims found so far had been buried atop burial vaults in rural cemeteries ringing the Des Moines metropolis area.
She was trained to look for patterns in offender behavior and this pattern couldn’t be any clearer than if the UNSUB marked his territory with a dot-to-dot drawing.
The wooded area they’d walked through would seem dark and sinister at night, but right now sun slanted through the dense canopy above, painting the ground with fingers of light. Six feet below was a grassy area that faced the river. Only the lazy drone of insects and the sound of the water lapping gently at the foot of the bank broke the silence. Under other circumstances it would seem idyllic.
Sophia was willing to bet that it was the seclusion that had called to the UNSUB. Her gaze tracked Cam’s path as he and one of the Tyvek-garbed criminalists walked a short distance to an opening in the embankment. Squatted down to peer inside the dark entrance.
Remembering the isolated barn where Vance had kept his victims to practice his atrocities had a chill tracing down her spine. Where he’d kept her. The offender they were seeking might have a different MO, but he’d have reasons for choosing this site. Reasons that had everything to do with his ability to enact his crimes in secret.
She made her way carefully down the slope, aware of the occasional curious glance thrown her way. When she reached Cam’s side she bent down next to him.
“What are we looking at?” She recognized the criminalist at Cam’s side, although she couldn’t recall a name. With a flash of amusement, she realized from his expression that either he didn’t remember her or didn’t recognize her. Under the circumstances, she hoped it was the latter.
“I was just showing Agent Prescott,” the man replied. He held an LED light aimed inside the entrance. “I’d be willing to bet this enclosure has been here for centuries. You can tell by the rough stony pattern on the walls here,” he painted the area in question with his light, “they’re natural. Rocks in the area are mostly clay-based. Likely glaciers carved these bluffs when they moved through. Along with a slight opening here.”
Following his meaning she said, “This is more than a slight indentation now.”
“Seth thinks the natural part of this cave was only a couple feet deep,” Cam put in. He had his own Maglite out and was pointing it deeper into the cave.
Memory flickered. Seth. Sophia remembered the criminalist now. Seth Dietz. She’d met him when she’d worked the rest stop rapist case for the agency last winter. An absurd sense of satisfaction flickered. Her disguise was apparently good enough to fool people she’d only met once, months ago. It was something, anyway.
“I’ve been inside. Shot pictures. The marker is still in place where we found the bone toward the back. Once you go deeper the walls smooth out. There are rocks here and there but the earth around them is much more uniform.”
“You think the offender found this place and enlarged it to suit his needs.”
The criminalist nodded as he moved aside to allow Cam room to belly crawl into the enclosure. “The cave ends on a slope about forty inches from the water. That entrance was covered with stones, too, but its mouth looks completely man made. Nature didn’t get that far.”
“Maybe he wanted access to the river, too,” Sophia said slowly. The first element of forensic profiling was to remember every choice the offender made was relevant to his wants and needs. He’d seen the secluded spot and thought of the privacy it would afford for his nighttime assaults. The cave had been tailored to better meet his needs. But the manmade back entrance might be the most telling of all.
“He’d have needed a place to put the dirt,” the criminalist agreed. “But it’s still supposition at this point, Ms…”
“Kilby.” She shot him a quick smile. “Dr. Mona Kilby. I’m the forensic psychologist consulting on the case.”
The man looked at her in surprise. “Oh. I figured…” Obviously thinking better of whatever he was about to say, he swallowed the rest of the statement. “Nice to meet you, Dr.”
Sophia stepped aside to allow Cam to wiggle out of the enclosure. As he stood and brushed off his clothes, she decided that in this instance she was perfectly willing to look at the photos Dietz had shot of the interior of the cave rather than getting an up close and personal look at it herself.
“I’m surprised it took Lucy so long to determine the bone was human.” Cam had told her on the way over here that his earlier text had been from the ME, verifying the source of the remains found.
“They weren’t found until after she’d left the scene.” Dietz squatted and pointed inside the cave. “We discovered it just inside the back entrance. We got a better look at things when the sun came up.” Looking at Cam, he asked, “From what I saw last night, it didn’t look likely that the bone could have come from last night’s victim.”
“I didn’t,” Cam agreed grimly. “The body found last night is intact. Lucy would only say from the size of the one found that it likely belonged to a small-boned adult.”
“With its proximity to the river, the cave would be prone to flooding,” Sophie noted.
“It would if we had a year like five years ago. Rivers were up record levels. And with the spring rains the Raccoon was definitely out of its banks. But not high enough to make it up that slope and into the cave.”
“The Ziegler box wouldn’t be waterproof,” Seth informed her. “But if river water has gotten inside it, we’ll be able to tell at the lab.”
Sophia took a step back and looked at the site with new eyes. Dense woods above the bluff flanked the grassy clearing on two sides. On another it was bordered by a rocky hill that hid the tunnel. Scattered trees and underbrush on the shoreline blocked the clearing from view of the river. The seclusion it offered would have been perfect for the UNSUB’s activities.
He’d perfected it even more to meet his needs.
“How much time would it take him to dig out that tunnel?” she wondered aloud. It wouldn’t be unusual for an offender to invest copious amounts of time looking for exactly the right spot to enact his atrocities. Some killers spent years fitting a cellar with cells and torture equipment, acting out their fantasies in the meantime with a mate or prostitutes. Others found spots that required little repurposing for their needs, like the abandoned livestock barn Vance had used. “I imagine this river is heavily fished. Although he’d be shielded from view, he still ran the risk of being seen, unless he only came here at night.”
“People fish at night too,” Cam informed her. He’d put on his suit jacket before exiting the car and his hands were in the pockets, his expression enigmatic. “And he wouldn’t have had to dig it by hand. If he used a power shovel he could have done it in one or two nights. Probably two, because he would have needed to haul the dirt out and dump it. It would still have been a risk. But he’s already proved he’d not risk-averse.”
Sophia silently agreed. The second offender had been seen stalking Vance’s last victim. He’d waited outside a bank while his victim went outside and made a large withdrawal, under his orders. But it hadn’t been until he’d been captured on a security camera outside a gas station enroute to Iowa that they’d matched him to the eyewitness sketch from Edina. “That would be a lot of work to go through for one victim.”
“It sure as hell would be.” Cam was already taking his cell from his pocket. Dialing in a number. “I’ll call Story County Emergency Services and the HRD liaison. Get a
STAR 1 team out here.”
The words left her shaken, although they echoed her own thoughts. The Story County emergency services would dispatch a civilian human remains detection canine team trained to alert to clandestine graves, or to determine the location of bodies in the water. The discovery of that finger bone meant the UNSUB had likely brought other victims to this site.
The trill of a songbird sounded. An inquisitive squirrel paused at the bottom of a tree on the ridgeline, as if puzzled by the human interruption of its normal tranquil routine.
Staring out over the peaceful scene, she wondered bleakly what sort of macabre secrets its serene facade might mask.
Chapter 5
The excitement of being this close to Lucy Benally’s home almost made him giddy.
Carefully he opened the door and eased out of the borrowed car, pausing for his bag of tools before turning to squint at the nearby house. The picture on the web was obviously outdated. It hadn’t done justice to the place. The home glistened with a new coat of green paint. The windows were neatly trimmed in a purplish color that provided nice contrast. The lawn looked freshly trimmed, and there were pots of flowers on the front and back decks.
A call to the IOSME had told him what he needed to know—Lucy was on duty. But that didn’t necessarily mean her house was empty. He walked the few remaining yards to the detached garage and peered in the side window. No cars.
He crossed the yard and climbed the two steps to the back deck. Pulling out a chair, he cautiously sat down at the outdoor patio set there and looked around. He was seated where she sat. Looking out over the scene she saw everyday.
The area was peaceful. Secluded. A windbreak of fat pines surrounded the property on three sides. The nearest neighbor was a quarter mile away. Lucy Benally obviously valued her privacy. Just like him.
The knowledge made him feel closer to her. As close as he’d felt last night when he watched her tend Janice. In a way she’d come to his yard then. To his private area away from prying eyes and a demanding world with its never-ending static.
The pills had reduced the pain in Sonny’s leg to a dull throb. It was bearable, even when walking short distances. And the slight mind haze that came with the medication was not altogether unpleasant.
Davis had said it was a flesh wound. The man was only a vet, and not a very successful one from the looks of his business. But Sonny was hoping he was right.
He’d gone to the drugstore for first aid supplies and picked up hair dye and clear-lens glasses. The box had promised ash blonde but had delivered an unappealing red. Probably better, since his facial hair would be dark as it grew out. Sonny was resigning himself to the fact that he might have to shave his head eventually. But that would be a last resort.
The car had presented a problem. He knew how to disguise a vehicle. He’d tinted the van to navy before returning it to its natural white a while back. But he didn’t have supplies on hand to do the car. And physically he probably wasn’t up to the task right now. It hadn’t taken him long to devise an alternate plan. On the way home from the drugstore he’d stopped at a bakery.
Old lady Moxley next door was eighty if she was a day. And the old sow would do anything for a willing ear and a handful of cookies. He’d taken a dozen to her house, sat through an excruciating fifteen-minute rundown on the storylines from all her soaps and then when she’d finally run out of breath, presented his sob story about a broken down car. As expected the old bat had offered the use of hers. Sonny just hoped she didn’t forget she’d loaned it out and report it stolen later.
He got up, pulled gloves from his pocket and drew them on. Then he examined the back door. The outer screen was open, but the newer-looking interior was secured. A shiny deadbolt was mounted above the knob. He took out his bump key and slipped it first into the door lock. Applied just the right pressure and felt it turn in his hand. Then he withdrew the key to perform the same action in the deadbolt. He felt a jolt of satisfaction when the he felt the lock give. Lock picking was an art, one that had taken time and patience to perfect.
Easing the door open, he walked inside and started searching the area nearest the door for a security panel that would signal the presence of an alarm. Finding nothing in the kitchen he strode quickly to the front door and performed a similar search. It took less than a minute to determine that the extent of Lucy’s security started and ended with new doors and deadbolts.
Sonny gave a mental tsk at her carelessness. He’d have to teach her to be more security conscious. There were few alarm systems that would have kept him out. Years of experience had taught him how to disable most of the ones on the market. But a common burglar wouldn’t have that knowledge. He didn’t like the thought of Lucy leaving herself vulnerable.
He moved into her living room, sat down on the comfy-looking overstuffed couch. There were things on the wall, pictures on the shelves and a bookcase overflowing with books. Her TV was on the small side but the overall effect was cozy comfort. It was a nice area. Homey.
With some effort he got up and resumed his exploration. The downstairs yielded a bath and another room that was used as an office. Upstairs he found three bedrooms, but only two were furnished. There was no men’s clothing in any of the closets. No male items in the bathrooms. He smiled to himself when he found a loaded pistol hidden among her panties and bras.
Maybe Lucy Benally wasn’t so vulnerable after all.
He emptied the weapon, slipping the cartridge into his pocket. Then he devoted a few more minutes to searching for the rest of the ammunition he was certain she’d have. Found it on the top shelf of the hallway closet. Sonny took that, too.
Opening the door next to it, he found a narrow stairwell. Out of curiosity he ascended it, found himself in a surprisingly well-lit attic. Three sets of dormer windows let the early afternoon sun in. It reminded him of his bedroom at the second foster home he’d been placed in. Or maybe it had been the third. The home had been a story and a half and the entire upstairs had been remodeled into a large bedroom and bath he’d shared with three other boys. It had almost—almost seemed like a family.
Until the foster parents discovered how he’d ended up a ward of the state. Then he’d continued the foster home shuffle. Like most of the other places he’d stayed he’d never been given a chance to show that he wasn’t bad or scary. He was just an ordinary nine-year-old boy.
Mommy’s good boy. The voice blew through his mind on a chill wind. Come help Mommy.
He shuddered, although it was hot in the attic. Stuffy in a way his other room all those years ago hadn’t been.
Get your ass over here, you fucking little prick. Untie me. Now!
His heart was jackhammering in his chest. His breathing came fast and hard. Whirling, his gaze searched the barren space frantically, half-expecting to see Mommy standing there. Yelling from across the space, the mean in her eyes dark and violent.
But it was empty save for some neatly stacked boxes and dust motes dancing in the sunlight.
Mommy wasn’t here.
He was safe.
Safe in Lucy Benally’s house.
* * * *
Sophia followed Cam back to his car. “Aren’t you planning to wait for the search team?”
“Oh, I’m waiting.” He consciously slowed his long strides so that she could catch up, then helped her over a downed tree. “The idea is to multi-task.”
Of course. He was directing the investigation responding to the regular updates coming in from all his agents. In the short time they’d been here, he’d spent more than half of it reading emails or texts on his phone, or sending his own.
They walked out of the stand of trees and toward his car. “I fed the facial photo of the corpse we found last night into various missing persons databases last night. Went through the photos on the Iowa and FBI sites but found nothing. I’ve got the State Radio Center submitting the picture to NCIC. But I still need to look through other online missing persons sites.” He slanted a glance at h
er. “Figured you could use the time to work on the new profile.”
“I have some thoughts,” she admitted. She’d been completely unaware of the temperatures when she’d been at the water’s edge. She’d been too immersed in learning everything she could about the man who had chosen that spot. But the sun was warm after the relative coolness of the woods. The warmth made her scalp under the wig itch.
Reaching the car, he walked around to open her door, the old-fashioned gallantry in the gesture oddly charming. Continuing on to the driver’s side, he slid into the vehicle, but left his door open. Sophia did the same to allow the slight breeze to channel through the vehicle.
Noting the fact gave her an idea. “Maybe the back entrance of the cave was to access the water. Or he might have built it to allow the cave to air out. The smell of decomposition has to get pretty overpowering in an enclosed space like that.”
Cam held out his sleeved arm. “If you want proof, smell my clothes.”
The invitation had her ducking away. A faint stench of decay would hang over the area at any time. But it had been far worse with the mouth of the cave open.
“You might be right. Even if he didn’t remove the stones at the back entrance, the cracks between them would allow in some fresh air to provide ventilation. In any case, this place is in keeping with the pattern so far.” Cam shrugged out of his suit jacket. “It’s rural. Near the Des Moines metropolis, but he hasn’t chosen an urban setting yet for a body dump.”
“That pattern only fits the MO,” she pointed out. “It doesn’t tell us anything about this offender’s signature. But one point I made in Vance’s profile remains true. There will be an anchor that ties his accomplice to central Iowa. Vance’s anchor turned out to be his grandfather’s home, and the fact that he spent summers with the man. We need to figure out what this second UNSUB’s bond is. And why he broke pattern on this site.”