by Mary Burton
‘I was there last Friday. I’ve heard it said there are no stupid questions, but sometimes I wonder,’ she said, smiling, then opened her file. ‘Everyone under twenty-two thinks it takes the press of a button to get DNA results. The CSI craze is killing me.’
Again everyone laughed.
‘What have you found?’ Zack said. He didn’t mean to sound so abrupt.
Sara straightened. She was all business. ‘From the crime scene, I didn’t learn that much. So let me start with the body. I spoke to the ME this morning. Harold was killed with a .45-caliber shot to the heart. We’ve got the slug but so far no matches to anything in the ballistic databases. I can tell you that Harold was dead before he hit the ground. The bullet shattered his heart. He had no defensive wounds or any other signs of trauma on his body. His hand was removed postmortem with the use of a very sharp object.’
‘Any theories on the instrument that was used to cut his hand off?’ Warwick said.
‘Machete or an ax. The ME and I are leaning toward a machete. The cut was narrow and did minimal tissue damage at the wrist. Bone was severed cleanly.’ She flipped a page over. ‘We won’t have the toxicology screen on him for a couple of weeks, but there were track marks on both arms and behind both knees. This guy was a full-blown drug addict. Just the promise of drugs would be enough to get him to go almost anywhere.’
‘Which explains why he’d have gotten into a car with his killer,’ Warwick said.
‘Exactly.’
‘And the crime scene?’ Zack said.
‘The killer was very careful and very methodical. He left no fingerprints, shell casings, or hair or fabric fibers; however, there was a footprint. I was able to get a very good footprint impression by the back gate. The ground had been softened by a leaking garden hose, so the soft soil created the perfect medium to make a mold.’ She glanced at her notes. ‘Men’s size twelve running shoe. And I can tell you that his foot turned inward. My guess is that he has an excessively high arch, which can shorten a foot up to an inch. If the print belongs to the killer he has a slight limp. Also, there was an unidentified white powder on the heel. It’s definitely not drugs and I’m having it analyzed.’
‘That’s it?’ Ayden said. He looked frustrated.
Sara nodded. ‘As I said, the killer was careful and, unfortunately, I only had a couple of hours to collect data before the rains came and literally obliterated the evidence. We returned after the rain, but the backyard was a mess.’
‘What about the hand sent to Lindsay O’Neil?’ Zack said.
Sara nodded. ‘It’s definitely Harold’s. His prints match ones we had on file. I also checked the hand’s nails, hoping for a partial print from the killer, but nothing. The flowers are fresh irises. They can be bought in fifty different places in the metro area.’
‘What about the flower box?’ Ayden said.
Sara frowned. ‘The only prints on the outside and inside of the box were Lindsay’s and her assistant’s.’
C.C. nodded. ‘I worked with a couple of robbery detectives last night and we called all the florists in the city. None had an order for the shelter address yesterday.’
‘Did anyone notice who delivered the box?’ Ayden said.
Zack shook his head. ‘The cop parked in the driveway was on the phone with his kid’s day care. He’d received a call that his child had been badly injured. Turned out to be bogus. And Ruby Dillon had three calls come in at once to the shelter. She was too distracted to notice the guy.’
‘You and Sara refer to the Guardian as a male, but do we know for sure that the Guardian is a man?’ Ayden said.
Zack frowned. ‘Not for sure.’
‘What about the TV news crews?’ Ayden said. ‘Think a camera might have picked up something? Shaw at Channel Ten had her cameras running all morning.’
‘I’ll talk to Shaw,’ Warwick said.
‘Do you think the killer delivered the flowers personally?’ Zack said.
Warwick shrugged. ‘Who knows?’
No one spoke for a moment as the weight of what he’d said sank in. Did the killer return to the shelter to deliver the hand?
‘And the note that was attached to the flower box?’ Zack said. ‘What do you know about that?’
Sara glanced at her notes. Lindsay, you are not alone anymore, The Guardian. ‘I’ve sent it to a handwriting expert. At first glance, he says the Guardian likes control, as exhibited by the note’s neat block lettering and the deep indention of the letters. He’s going to look at it more and see what he comes up with.’
‘And the paper?’ Zack said.
‘The paper is extremely common and can be found in dozens of card stores.’
Zack kept his voice neutral, trying not to hint at the fear he felt for Lindsay. ‘Lindsay’s never heard of the Guardian and doesn’t know why he’s fixated on her.’
‘What’s her connection to Turner?’ Ayden said.
Zack recapped the facts as Lindsay had told him.
C.C. looked skeptical. ‘I saw Lindsay once in court. It was the trial of a woman accused of shooting her husband. Lindsay testified for the defense about battered victim syndrome. She said that a perfectly sane woman who has been badly battered can snap. On cross the Commonwealth attorney tried to get Lindsay to waver but she didn’t. Lindsay is one intense woman.’
‘Lindsay is intense.’ Zack hesitated, dreading what he needed to say next.
‘There’s something we all should know about Lindsay, isn’t there,’ Warwick said. ‘You hinted in the car yesterday that there was domestic abuse in her home when she was growing up.’
Warwick was right. Everyone did need to know about Lindsay’s past.
Zack folded his fingers together. ‘Lindsay had a complicated childhood.’ All gazes zeroed in on him. He felt disloyal even though the Department of Social Services had done a background check on her and knew her history. ‘She’s from Ashland, about twenty miles north.’
‘I thought she came from California,’ C.C. said. ‘I remember talking to her about USC at some department Christmas party. She led me to believe she was from California.’
Zack nodded. ‘She did go to school out there but she’s from here.’
‘So why lead everyone to believe she’s from the West?’ Ayden said.
He drew in a deep breath. ‘Her mother was abused by her father for years, but it’s worse than that. Her mother was murdered by her father. It was twelve years ago. Lindsay was seventeen. And her last name was Hines then.’ A hush fell over the room.
C.C. and Vega glanced at each other and Warwick sat back in his chair, his shock evident.
Ayden leaned forward. ‘Shit. I remember that case. The Hanover sheriff was a friend of mine. We talked about it a lot, because the murder scene was so bloody. It really shook him up.’
‘Lindsay’s father beat her mother to death with a hammer,’ Zack said. ‘Lindsay found her mother.’
No one spoke for several seconds.
‘When did Lindsay change her name?’ Warwick finally asked.
‘When she turned eighteen,’ Zack said. ‘O’Neil is her mother’s maiden name.’
‘For those of us who didn’t live here then, what else can you tell us about the case?’ Vega said.
Zack longed for a cigarette. ‘I don’t know much more than that. I only know what Lindsay told me. I’d like to send a teletype to the Hanover sheriff’s office and request the murder file. I don’t know if the details are relevant but they could be.’
Ayden nodded. ‘Do it.’
‘What happened to her after her parents died?’ Warwick asked.
‘She told me she moved to California. For a while she lived in shelters and in her car. Eventually, a social worker got involved with her and encouraged her to get her high school diploma. This woman also helped her earn a scholarship to the University of California.’
Vega frowned. ‘No disrespect, Zack, but the more I hear about this the more I worry about how impartial you can be.
Lindsay is your wife. Are you the guy who should be looking into this murder?’
Ayden tented his fingers. ‘Vega, we’ve already taken care of that. Warwick is taking the lead and Kier is backing him up. But I want everyone working this case.’
Zack hid his satisfaction.
Warwick didn’t miss a beat. ‘I’d like for C.C. to start going through the phone records. Look for any patterns, connections to the shelter, any unusual calls Mrs Turner might have made.’
C.C. nodded. ‘Will do.’
‘Vega, talk to Ruby Dillon, the woman who stayed at the shelter the night of the murder. Kier talked to her but she made it clear she doesn’t like him. She might remember something if you ask the questions.’
‘Sure,’ Vega said.
Zack wasn’t about to take a backseat to Warwick. ‘Also, C.C., once you’ve gone through the phone records, find out who sells machetes or anything sharp enough to cut bone.’
She glanced at Warwick, and when he didn’t protest she nodded. ‘Sure.’
Warwick glanced at his watch. ‘I’ll send the teletype to Hanover now and then Zack and I will head up there.’
Chapter Thirteen
Tuesday, July 8, 9:15 A.M.
‘We’re with Henrico County Police,’ Warwick said to the clerk at the Hanover sheriff’s office. ‘I’m Detective Jacob Warwick.’
Zack showed his badge. ‘I’m Detective Zackary Kier. We sent a teletype an hour ago about the Hines murders.’
The clerk was a short, round woman in her midfifties. She wore her graying hair in a tight perm that drew attention to a strawberry birthmark on her left cheek. ‘The sheriff and most of his deputies are in a staff meeting this morning, but the deputy who worked the case stuck around so he could talk to you personally. Let me buzz him.’
She picked up the phone and told the person on the other end they’d arrived. ‘Deputy Graves will be right out.’
‘Thanks,’ Warwick said.
Zack knew the personnel turnover in this office had to be low. ‘You been here long?’
The woman nodded with pride. ‘Thirty years.’
‘You remember the Hines case?’
Her weathered face twisted into a deep frown. ‘I sure do. It was one of the saddest cases I’d ever seen. Just about everyone in Hanover knew someone who knew the Hines family. And when their little girl ran away, it just about broke my heart. We said prayers for her at Sunday service for months.’
Zack rattled the change in his pocket and tried not to pace. He thought about Lindsay at seventeen: young, alone, frightened.
The urge to protect her was so strong.
They didn’t have to wait long for Graves. He pushed through a side door. He was a tall, stocky man with full, ruddy cheeks and thinning red hair. His protruding belly stretched the fabric of his brown uniform.
He offered his hand to Zack. ‘Deputy Marty Graves.’
Zack shook his hand and discovered the deputy’s grip was strong.
‘You’ve come about the Hines murder?’ Graves said.
‘Yes,’ Zack said.
‘I’ve got the file on my desk. Come on back.’
They followed him through a pair of heavy security doors and down a narrow corridor to his cramped office. Both took a seat in front of his desk.
‘Can I get you men coffee?’
Both declined.
Graves sat and put on his reading glasses. ‘I remember this case. Fact, I knew Frank Hines from Rotary. Nicest guy you’d ever want to meet. And Deb was in my wife’s circle group at church. Both would give you the shirts off their backs.’ He cleared his throat. ‘We were all shocked at first when Frank did what he did. But then later, as folks started to compare notes, we started to piece together a few things. Life in the Hines house had to have been bad for years.’
‘What about the daughter? What can you tell me about her?’ Zack said.
‘Lindsay.’ A sad smile played at the corners of Graves’s mouth. ‘She was a lifeguard at my grandkids’ pool. She saved a child from drowning that summer. The youngest Thompson kid, a four-year-old, had gotten out of the baby pool and fallen into the deep end of the main pool. The Herald-Progress did a story on her. Both her folks seemed proud. And all the boys wanted to date her, but she kept them at arm’s distance. My grandson, Joel, worked with her as a lifeguard at the pool. He always figured she was playing hard to get. Of course, none of us really knew what was going on at home. Her mother never reported any abuse and Lindsay never said a word.’
Zack wondered what kind of hell Lindsay had witnessed in her home.
Warwick tented his fingers. ‘What happened to Frank Hines?’
Zack knew the short answer to that question but wanted to hear the deputy’s version. He realized now how much Lindsay had downplayed the problems in her past.
‘After he killed his wife, he fled the scene. Went to a local motel, downed a bottle of Jack Daniels, and then killed himself.’ Graves flipped through the file. ‘He left a suicide note for Lindsay. I never showed it to her.’ He found the note in the file and handed it to Zack.
Zack read it. Typical MO for a wife beater. ‘Shit.’
Graves nodded. ‘There was no sense dumping that kind of crap on a kid. She had enough to deal with.’
Zack handed the note to Warwick. ‘He blames his wife and Lindsay for his problems. Said if they’d been a better wife and child he’d have been fine.’
‘What a piece of work,’ Warwick muttered.
‘You think you know a guy,’ Graves said.
Zack thought about the hell he’d put Lindsay through when his drinking had gotten so heavy. No wonder she’d tossed him out.
Graves dropped his gaze to the file. ‘We did receive a 911 call from the Hines’ house about three months before Frank and Deb died. Before the caller could speak the line went dead. According to the report, the dispatcher called the house back. Frank answered. He said it was a mistake.’
‘Only the one call?’ Zack asked.
‘Yes.’
‘Anything unusual happen recently to remind you of this case?’ Zack said.
‘Nope. Of course, I saw that article a couple of months ago about Lindsay. I recognized her the very instant I saw her. She’s the spitting image of her mama. It did my heart good to see she’s done so well for herself.’
‘That article didn’t prompt any talk about the murders in town?’ Warwick asked.
‘Well, of course it did. We all remembered it. I talked about it with Joel at Sunday supper after the article came out. But nothing out of the ordinary came up. Why all these questions about a twelve-year-old murder?’
‘Just following up on a lead,’ Zack said. ‘Lindsay have any relatives?’
‘No one came forward after her parents’ deaths.’ Graves shook his head. ‘There was no one to take custody of her, so the state stepped in. She was sent to a foster home.’
‘But she ran away,’ Zack muttered.
‘Right,’ said Graves. ‘This got something to do with the murder at Sanctuary yesterday?’ When they hesitated, he smiled. ‘I wasn’t born yesterday, boys. You think that murder’s tied to Lindsay’s past?’
‘We don’t know,’ Zack said honestly. ‘Can you tell us where the Hines house was?’
‘I can draw you a map to the lot. The house burned to the ground not one month after the murders. Fire department said it was arson, but we never did figure out who set it.’
‘Was Lindsay a suspect?’ Zack said.
‘No. She’d run off by then.’
‘We’ll take a look at the lot then.’
‘Sure.’ The deputy drew a map, clipped it to a copy of the file, and slid it across the desk.
Five minutes later, Zack and Warwick left the building armed with the hand-drawn map and the Hines file.
Zack tossed his keys to Warwick. ‘Mind driving? I’d like to look at the file.’
‘Sure.’
They got in the car.
Zack opened the file
and studied the color photos of the murder scene. The victim lay on her back, her face discolored and swollen from the brutal beating. Her wide-eyed death stare reflected the panic she had to have felt those last few seconds of her life.
‘My God,’ Zack said.
Warwick glanced at the map. ‘Never gets easy.’
‘No, it doesn’t.’ His problems with alcohol abuse this past year had been a bitch, but through it all he’d had a solid family behind him. Lindsay had been alone when she’d lived her nightmare.
‘The less personal you make this,’ Warwick said, ‘the easier it will be.’
His partner’s sudden empathy surprised Zack. ‘Autopsy reports on Lindsay’s mother show that she’d suffered multiple factures over the years – nose, right arm, left hand.’ He flipped over a page and discovered a medical report on Lindsay. ‘Lindsay’s doc reported that she was in a state of shock. He also stated that she’d suffered a spiral fracture of her right wrist.’
‘Someone twisted her hand so hard her wrist broke.’
Zack tamped down his anger. ‘Yeah. Doctors reported that her and her mother’s breaks occurred a couple of years before the murder/suicide.’
‘What does the report say about Frank Hines?’
‘Died of a single gunshot wound to the chest. A forty-five.’
‘Like Turner,’ Warwick said.
Turner and Hines shared similar fatal wounds made by the same caliber gun. Another coincidence. Things weren’t looking good for Lindsay. ‘Yeah. Autopsy reports show advanced liver disease, a by-product of excessive drinking.’
Warwick shook his head. ‘Lindsay ever tell you this stuff?’
His wife had hidden her darkest secrets even from him. ‘Only the barest details. I tried to talk to her about it, but she always changed the subject. She said she’d put her past behind her and didn’t want to discuss it.’
Warwick tightened his hands on the wheel. ‘This is the kind of stuff that can really fuck with someone’s head.’
Zack flipped to a picture taken of Lindsay when she was a junior in high school. Challenge radiated from her eyes. ‘That doesn’t mean she killed Turner.’
‘Turner smacked around his wife. Lindsay knew it. Maybe she’d had enough of bullies.’