She’d learned to monitor the water, but how long could she go without food?
She huddled against the wall.
They would find her. Someone would find her. Aunt Nancy would raise the alarm; Meg would never accept that she had just disappeared.
Every hour she wondered if and when the killer was coming back for her.
Would she die by a knife, through strangulation, a bullet?
Or would she just starve here in the pitch-black darkness…
Fade away until…she was among the dead?
CHAPTER 6
“It isn’t Lara,” Matt said, glancing over at her. “At least we know it isn’t your friend.”
He was doing the driving. He’d made that clear from the start. They were in a company car but it wasn’t a sedan. It was actually a nice little compact SUV.
The color was still black.
Meg nodded. Dreadful as the situation was, she couldn’t help feeling some relief that the body wasn’t Lara Mayhew’s. The young woman had been quickly identified. A neighbor had called about a howling dog; when police had gone in, the dog had been ravenous and near death from dehydration. Seeing the picture of a blonde woman with two people who appeared to be her parents on the mantel, the Richmond police—aware of the body recently discovered on the banks of the Potomac—had immediately forwarded the image to DC. Subsequent investigation had revealed that she was Genie Gonzales of New Iberia, Louisiana. She’d only recently moved to Richmond and taken a job at a coffee shop. That much Meg and Matt had known before they left the Krewe offices.
They were about ninety miles from Richmond. They’d arrived late, but the detective who’d been called to the site where the body was found would meet them at the morgue, along with the ME on the case.
“I don’t understand how this serial killer’s working,” Meg heard herself say as they headed south down I-95. “Maybe this case isn’t connected. Maybe we’re grasping at straws. I can see how a serial killer might move on to an area close by, but…DC and Richmond? The traffic between the two is horrendous. Plus, there are only a few days between the murders.”
“It’s quite possible there is no connection. It’s the human need for a comprehensible narrative. We want a plot, connection, something that reeks of conspiracy. There’s one theory that Jack the Ripper was in line for the crown of England. The most recent theory has it that he was a German hairdresser. He could’ve been a deranged butcher of some kind, someone who could hide in plain sight in Victorian England because there were so many slaughterhouses in the area and many people walked around covered in entrails and blood. What’s scarier, of course, is the Ted Bundy kind of killer—charming, hiding behind an appearance of such normalcy that he was instantly trusted,” Matt said.
“Like a congressman,” Meg put in.
Matt laughed. “Really? Who trusts Congress these days?”
She smiled at that. “Well, we don’t trust them with our taxes anymore, but that’s a far cry from murder. And murder like…this?”
“Hopefully, this young woman will be the last,” Matt said. “And hopefully, we’ll find your friend alive and well.”
Meg didn’t reply.
“It’s possible,” he said.
“I know you doubt me about seeing her. But I did.”
He was quiet for a minute. “I don’t doubt you. If you’re in the Krewe, you understand that there’s another plane between life as we know it and what comes next. Our more scientific members believe that it’s a matter of energy. Energy can’t be destroyed, it can only find new forms. I’m not that scientific. But maybe this is about science. Maybe seeing that energy is what we do. But I believe that if energy can project itself after death, it could also happen in extreme, life-threatening circumstances. In other words, it’s possible that you saw her because she desperately needs your help.”
Meg glanced at him, surprised. He’d mentioned the possibility before; now she saw that he really believed it.
He shrugged, then reached forward, flicking a dial on the SUV’s sound system.
He cast her a quick look before returning his focus to the road. A slight smile curved his mouth. She suddenly heard Kermit the Frog and Fozzie Bear break into song with “Movin’ Right Along.”
Meg laughed.
“Well, it is a road trip, isn’t it?”
“I just never imagined you as a Muppets fan.”
“I love the Muppets, grew up on them. I think Jim Henson was brilliant and he left an impressive legacy,” he said.
“The Dark Crystal?”
“Love it. Fantasy—and sci-fi.”
“And did you enjoy Sharknado?” she asked. “You saw it?”
“Every campy minute.”
“Well?” she asked.
“I especially liked the part where he broke out of the great white’s belly with a chain saw—and rescued the previously consumed young woman,” Matt said.
Meg eased back in her seat. Maybe he wasn’t going to be quite so bad.
The Muppets were followed by Led Zeppelin and the Animals and a mix that just about incorporated everything out there.
They got to Richmond in no time, and decided to head into the office of the OCME first thing.
“You can move through traffic, Bosworth,” Meg said. “I’ll give you that. And your choice in music isn’t bad, either.”
She realized she’d actually relaxed in the car. She knew it because she felt her muscles and stomach knotting again.
“We do this for a living. Of course, this is never just a job. But if we take the monsters out there with us every second, we’d go a little crazy and quit being useful. Glad you liked the mixes!” he told her.
Standing by the passenger’s side door, she nodded grimly. “Yeah. Thanks.”
“We know this victim’s not your friend,” he reminded her.
She nodded and turned toward the building. There was hope.
Because if Lara was dead, why hadn’t she washed up on a riverbank yet? The way this new victim had appeared on the banks of the James?
* * *
Maybe Meg Murray isn’t such an incompetent new agent, Matt thought.
She could stand stoically by a corpse without falling apart—and yet there was an empathy in her eyes that meant she did feel the pain. It was necessary to feel, especially for Krewe members.
She’d fallen to pieces the other day, but…
How well had he done the first time he’d seen a loved one on a gurney?
Dr. Aubrey Latham, the ME on the case, had a droning voice that might have resulted from years on the job. He went through a rundown of the injuries inflicted on the body, stating that the cause of death had been the slash to the throat, the severing of the carotid artery. All the other injuries had been postmortem. Pieces of her organs were missing—probably loose in the waters of the James or consumed by river life. She’d been blonde, young, pretty, twenty-seven years of age. There was chloroform in her system, along with propofol.
“Of course, the tongue is missing, too,” Dr. Aubrey told them. “Pretty similar to the other two women discovered in Maryland and DC.”
Matt nodded. He moved forward, making a pretense of studying the woman’s face as he set his hand on her cold body. Nothing. He looked into the young woman’s face. She hadn’t been in the water as long; she wasn’t as damaged or bloated as the others. He could envision her the way she’d been in life.
“Was this chopping done with any kind of medical skill?” Matt asked.
“In my opinion, no,” Aubrey said. He demonstrated. “The tongue was cut out first. I’d say the guy has some strength. It’s harder to cut up a human being than you’d imagine.”
“And the slash down the torso—a brutal slash, too?” Meg asked.
“Yes,
and sloppy. Stupid, too. He stuffs the body with rocks but doesn’t create a decent cavity,” Aubrey said. “I don’t really understand how you guys classify these things, but he’s leaving no DNA that we can gather. And, of course, he’s using the river to help him with that, too. He has to be covered in…blood and guts when he’s done, but no one’s seen anything, that I know of.”
“No,” Meg said. “Not that anyone’s reported.”
“I guess it’s easier to kill undetected than one would think,” Aubrey said. “He must knock the women out and transport them before he does his killing. There’s no lack of wooded areas during the summer in Virginia. So, he takes them somewhere—kills them, rips them apart and throws them in the river. I read up on the other cases. He may be getting sloppier. This one popped up within hours.”
“Maybe he was tired or in a hurry,” Meg murmured. “Time of death?”
“Between 2:00 and 4:00 a.m.,” Dr. Aubrey told them. “What do you think about the tongues?”
“My theory?” Matt asked. “He means to silence them. Silence them about the murders? About something in his life? Or something he perceives they know? I’m not sure. It could also be that he just wants a signature—and that’s his signature.”
Detective Wharton, who’d been called to the site where the body had been discovered on the James River, cleared his throat. “We were lucky to get a quick ID,” he said. “City cops were called in by Ms. Gonzales’s neighbors when her dog barked and cried endlessly. They saw her picture and everything fell into place. Her next of kin in Louisiana has been called, but that was a ninety-year-old grandmother in a nursing home.”
“There was no disturbance at her house?”
“Nothing other than that the dog tried to eat shoes and the poor thing had been scratching at the toilet bowl.”
“She was working at a coffee shop in Richmond?” Meg asked. “That’s been confirmed?”
“Yeah. She’d hardly been there a month. She was a newcomer to the area,” Wharton said. He was a man in his early forties, polite enough, but somewhat stiff. He’d greeted them with professional courtesy; in autopsy, he’d let the doctor do the talking. “I was told the feds would be taking the lead on this case and that a few agents would be down in the morning. Then I got another call saying you’d be here tonight. So, are you going to be the lead?”
In Matt’s experience, law enforcement agencies generally worked well together. Every once in a while, though, someone felt a jurisdictional urge. He liked to be as deferential as possible—unless someone acted like a dog peeing on a tree to mark his territory. But he didn’t feel Wharton was a jerk—just a man concerned about how it was all going to work.
“This is a task force with everyone needed,” Matt said. “Two agents from my office will be down here to work the Richmond angle, but they’ll be consulting with you. We’re following a couple of other leads and won’t be in the city that long. We have DC and Maryland police working it as well, and plan to have a communication system in place so we can all keep in touch. No one knows a given area like the police who work it. But this killer is crossing state and district lines, so we have to be mobile to keep an eye on him.”
“We’re grateful for how quickly and efficiently you’ve handled this,” Meg told Wharton. “And for your willingness to see us now.”
The detective warmed visibly, but Matt suspected that his words, no matter how careful, hadn’t been what had changed Wharton’s opinion. Meg’s sincere appeal seemed to do the trick.
“Of course.” Wharton nodded. “What else can I do?”
Matt requested Wharton’s report from the scene and assured him he’d be included in the task force meeting the next morning.
Meg told the ME again how much they appreciated his time and help.
Outside the Richmond OCME, Wharton hesitated. “You need help with anything in the city?” he asked.
Matt smiled at him. “I was actually born here.”
“And I’m from Harpers Ferry, but I went to college here,” Meg said.
Wharton laughed. “Hell, I might ask you for help getting around the city. I didn’t move here until I was about twenty-five. Okay, have a good night. I’ll see you in the morning.”
Before he could leave, they heard a loud bark. Matt spun around just in time to see some kind of little terrier mutt running toward them.
“Hey!” Meg said, crouching down to pet the little dog. “What are you doing here, all by yourself in the middle of the city? Did you hop out of a car?”
“I’ll be damned!” Wharton swore. “That’s the dog—that’s Genie Gonzales’s dog! They brought it from the house to animal rescue. I don’t know how it wound up here.”
“You sure that’s the same dog?” Matt asked him.
“Positive. We had him at the lab first. We combed him out, looking for trace evidence. We didn’t think the killer had been in her apartment, but we try to get backup on everything. I know he was taken to animal rescue. I talked to them afterward. We were still investigating her past, trying to see if there was someone who’d take him,” Wharton said.
Meg scooped up the little creature. It was trembling in her arms. Matt couldn’t tell what kind of mix it was. The face was terrier. A poof of fur over the eyes suggested Cairn, Skye or even a Yorkie. The legs were too long for any of those breeds. The dog appeared to be a mix of many breeds that shouldn’t have been mixing.
“Poor thing,” Meg murmured.
“I’ll take him. You all don’t need to worry,” Wharton said.
Meg’s arms seemed to tighten around the creature.
“I don’t know how the hell he got here,” Wharton said again. He shrugged. “I like dogs and I just…well, I’d hoped they were going to give him some more time before putting him down.” He shrugged. “Genie got him from the shelter. Poor guy.”
“Put him down? Why?” Meg demanded. “He didn’t hurt anybody! He’s remarkable! He followed his mistress here!”
Wharton’s expression was awkward—and wistful. “He must’ve gotten out of an animal control cage somehow. Bright little guy. And found his way here! And I just meant that, you know, if dogs aren’t adopted in a certain period of time, well…there’s no choice.”
“Meg,” Matt said, “sad to say, animals sometimes have to be put down.”
“Yeah, but half the time it’s the jackasses who fight them or raise them to kill who should be put down. This guy didn’t hurt or kill anyone!” Meg said indignantly.
“Well, no,” Wharton agreed. “But here, hand him over. I’ll take him back to the shelter.”
“I’ll hang on to him,” Meg said.
“He can’t go on a road trip, Meg,” Matt said, staring at her incredulously.
Just when he was beginning to think this was going to be okay.
“No, he can’t. But I’m seeing a friend in the morning. If the police are done with him and the FBI doesn’t have an interest, which I don’t think we do, I’ll see that he has a home,” she said determinedly.
“What if he is needed again?” Matt asked. He liked dogs, but they were on an investigation! And never mind that this one happened to be ugly as sin.
“Then I’ll know exactly where he is and go get him again.”
“All right, well… I don’t see anything wrong with the idea,” Wharton said. “We pick up more strays in the city—if you want more dogs.”
“I think we’re good for now,” Matt remarked drily.
“’Night, then,” Wharton said. “See you tomorrow.”
“Wait, do you know his name?” Meg asked.
Wharton smiled ironically. “Killer. That’s the name on the tag he had.”
“Killer. Great,” Matt couldn’t help muttering.
Wharton left them, and for a moment, Matt stared at Meg again, still incredulous,
and she stared back at him defiantly.
“What? There’s a rule about a dog in a company car? If there is, I know how to call a taxi.”
“There’s no rule against dogs in the car,” he said. “As to the hotel or a restaurant, I’m not sure.”
“Many hotels are dog-friendly these days,” she assured him. “If ours isn’t, I can use my own money and check in somewhere that is. Or I’ll call Nancy Cooper—that’s Lara’s aunt—and see if I can bunk with her for the night.”
Matt lowered his head. The medium-priced hotels his units used on the road did take animals. He’d seen them with their owners in the lobby. “Let’s go,” he said, trying not to sound irritated.
He failed.
She ignored him and headed for the car.
His phone rang when he got in. It was Jackson, calling to let him know that Will Chan and Kat Sokolov would be down in the morning for the task force meeting in Richmond. The dog, curled on Meg’s lap, looked up and gave a little bark.
“What’s that?” Jackson asked him.
“That’s just Killer,” he said.
“What?”
“The victim’s dog. Meg’s decided to get him a new home. Or maybe give him a home.”
“Ah. Nice,” Jackson said.
That was because Jackson wasn’t sitting in the car with the yappy mutt.
“Anything else on your end?” Matt asked Jackson.
“Not yet, but it’s hard to pound as much pavement as we’re trying to right now—following various trails, looking into makeup places and so on. But I know that something will break soon. It always does.”
“Soon,” Matt echoed. “Let’s hope it’s soon enough.”
“Stay in the loop, and make sure we have your schedule on a daily basis.”
“Will do,” Matt promised, and ended the call. “What are you—a dog hater?” Meg asked him.
“No. I don’t hate dogs.”
“Just this one?”
“I don’t hate him at all. But he doesn’t belong in the middle of an investigation.”
Krewe of Hunters Series, Volume 5 Page 11