by Becky Durfee
The man studied the picture. “Yeah, I remember her.” Without emotion he added, “She got killed?”
“Yes,” Jenny said quickly, “and she may have been taken from this very truck stop.”
The man remained quiet, looking as if he were challenging the trio to say more.
“Don’t let it happen again,” Ingunn repeated, pointing her finger at the man. “Tell your girls to avoid this man.”
A slight smile graced the pimp’s lips. “Yes ma’am.” He looked at Ingunn with a blend of curiosity and respect.
“I don’t suppose you’d be willing to call the police if you see him?” Jenny asked.
The pimp studied her with disbelief. “What do you think?”
Jenny smiled. “I think that was a stupid question. But if I give you my number, would you be willing to call me if you see him? Maybe you can try to get a plate number or something?” The man didn’t react, prompting Jenny to continue. “He’s taking your girls, which means he’s taking your money, and he needs to be stopped.”
After some thought, the man coolly gestured his head in Jenny’s direction. “Give me the number.”
Reaching into her purse, Jenny scribbled her number down on the back of a receipt. She handed it over to the man, and with a quick goodbye Zack and Jenny guided Ingunn back to the car.
“What on earth possessed you to go over to him?” Jenny demanded of her grandmother as soon as they were out of earshot.
“He needed to know.”
Jenny was still upset. “Don’t you think you should have waited for Zack before you approached him? He could have been dangerous.”
“He wouldn’t have hurt me,” Ingunn countered. “He’s too street-smart for that.”
“He’s a pimp,” Jenny declared. “He hurts women on a daily basis.”
“Not women my age.” They all opened their respective car doors. Once inside, Ingunn continued. “He would never have hurt an old lady in broad daylight. The worst he would have done would be to ignore me—which he didn’t, once I told him someone was stealing from him.”
“You know,” Jenny conceded, “as much as I hate to look at it that way, I have to admit that was a good tactic.”
“He’s a selfish man,” Ingunn explained. “He doesn’t care about the girls’ well-being. But he does care about his money, and every time one of the girls from this stop goes missing it’s less money in his pocket.” She clicked her seatbelt into place. “I figured that would be the only way to get him to talk.”
“Well done,” Zack chimed in from the back. “It looks like he’s not the only one who’s street-smart.”
“I still don’t get it,” Jenny posed as she drove the car back toward the Heritage Inn. “Why would the man offer them food instead of just propositioning them? It seems so unnecessary. Considering their career, you’d think they’d be willing to get in his car if he just showed them some cash.”
“Maybe he wanted to come off as kind,” Zack proposed. “You know, get the girls to let their guard down. I would imagine that the girls would have some sort of defense mechanism in place whenever they get into a guy’s car. These men are strangers, after all. Maybe this tactic of his made him appear different.”
“The girls weren’t afraid of him,” Ingunn noted. “I didn’t feel any fear at all at the truck stop—either truck stop.”
“And I didn’t feel any fear at the dump site either,” Jenny added. “Whatever’s happening to these girls is happening somewhere else.” She strummed her fingers on the steering wheel. “If only we knew where that was.”
“Jenny, do you remember Lashonda Williams?” Zack asked, referring to a victim in a previous case.
“Of course I do.”
“Okay, when Lashonda first got into Orlowski’s car at the dollar store parking lot, she didn’t feel afraid…she thought she was just waiting for her roommate to come get her. But then when Orlowski started driving, Lashonda suddenly became frightened. Isn’t that right?”
“Yes, that’s right.” Jenny was unsure where Zack was going with this.
“But you say at the truck stops you didn’t feel fear. No fear at all.”
“There was no fear,” Ingunn stated flatly.
“So even when the killer started to drive off with the girls in the car, there was no fear?”
Jenny hadn’t considered that before. “No,” she replied, “I guess not.”
“The girls were apparently willing to leave with him,” Zack declared. “Do you think he offered them a nice place to sleep, too, in addition to the meal?”
Jenny shrugged. “It’s possible.” After more consideration she added, “Although, if that’s the case, then why aren’t the girls telling us that? Both victims have made it known that the man offered them food; they’ve never said anything about being offered a place to stay. If that was the man’s ploy to lure them someplace unsafe, I think they would have mentioned it specifically.”
“He could have drugged them,” Ingunn declared.
Something inside Jenny’s brain flicked like a switch. “Oh my God,” she said. “That’s it! That’s got to be it. He must be putting something in their food.”
Ingunn spoke calmly, “Or their drink.”
Zack seemed to be formulating thoughts as he spoke. “Maybe the girls know that. Maybe their food—or drink—tasted funny, or they got loopy immediately after eating it, and they knew something was up. But once it started to take effect, there was nothing they could do about it. They were at his mercy. But that’s why they’re making a point of mentioning the food now...they’re trying to let you know it was tainted.”
Jenny waved her finger in the air. “I remember what my Pop told me. He said when he channeled their spirits, one of the victims showed a blip in time—a period where there was nothing. He said he’d never seen anything like it. Maybe that missing piece of time was when she was drugged.”
Silence took over as they considered this newest theory.
Ingunn’s voice shattered the silence. “Have they determined the cause of death yet?”
Jenny shook her head. “I don’t know. Maybe Officer Howell can tell us.”
After more quiet, Ingunn added, “If he did drug them, did he kill them while they were still passed out? Or did he wait for them to wake up first?”
A sickening rock formed in the pit of Jenny’s stomach. Her voice lowered to a near whisper. “I remember something else Pop told me.” She swallowed before continuing. “He said the victim had experienced a prolonged period of suffering at the end. At the time I thought he meant her life as a prostitute, but…” Jenny couldn’t bring herself to complete the sentence.
“We’ve got to find out where this guy brings his victims. I bet there’s evidence there,” Zack announced. “Do you think it’s near the dump site?”
“I would assume so,” Jenny replied. “Although, I guess it’s possible he lives somewhere else and just drives through Virginia for work or whatever.”
“He must do a fair amount of driving,” Ingunn concluded. “Now we know he’s abducted women from both Dale’s and now this place in North Carolina, and those are only two that we know of.”
“And the dump site is pretty close to the highway,” Jenny remarked. “It could be a matter of easy-off, easy-on—quick and dirty body dumping with no witnesses.”
“I guess the murder site really could be anywhere,” Zack concluded with defeat in his voice.
“The boy is right, though,” Ingunn said, gesturing to Zack in the back seat with her thumb. “We do need to find this location, and we need to find it quickly.” She glanced over at Jenny. “Something tells me there’s a young woman with a fair complexion whose life depends on it.”
“That’s right,” Jenny said over the phone as she paced the lobby of the Heritage Inn. “Zack modified the pictures of Shelby Ryerson, making her face thinner and her hair shorter, and the waitresses identified her as a prostitute named Colleen.”
“Colleen,” Officer H
owell replied slowly, as if he were writing the name down. “That’s good information.”
“Why would she change her name?” Jenny asked.
“A lot of the girls do it,” Howell explained. “I think it’s a defense mechanism. They pretend like they’re living someone else’s life when they turn tricks. It wasn’t Shelby, middle-class girl from Florida, sleeping with strangers for drug money; Shelby wouldn’t do such a thing. Colleen, however, was a different story.”
Jenny closed her eyes. “Well, Shelby also made it clear to me that a man offered her a meal. We’re thinking he might put something in the food to knock them out because we didn’t feel any fear at either abduction site. It appears he was able to leave the truck stop with each of the girls without invoking any emotion.”
“That doesn’t mean they were drugged,” Howell countered. “At least not by him. They might have been heavily drugged by their own doing. Or they might have just decided to leave with him and hit another truck stop for a while. Those girls are often quite mobile, remember.”
“We didn’t feel any fear at the dump site either,” Jenny added, ignoring Howell’s last comment. “I think they were already dead when they were left there, which would mean the murders happened somewhere else.”
Howell sounded unimpressed. “It’s possible.”
“And if that’s the case, that other victim my grandmother spoke of might still be alive. My father had specifically mentioned that the spirits were highly upset, indicating that the killer was still very much a danger. Perhaps he has someone in his custody right now...somebody that can be saved if we work quickly enough.”
“Do you have any evidence of this?” Howell asked. “Any tangible evidence?”
Jenny hung her head. “No.”
“Do you have any idea where this guy might be bringing his victims?”
“No.”
“Were you given any indication of who this guy is? Or what he looks like?”
Jenny’s voice reflected her defeat. “No.”
Howell’s tone softened as if he recognized Jenny’s mood shift. “Listen, I know you’re working very hard on this case, and I really appreciate it. That legwork you did today was extremely helpful, and it was excellent thinking to modify Shelby’s picture like that.”
“Zack did it,” Jenny replied in a near whisper.
“Well, Zack did great, then. And I assure you, here at the force we are already working on this case as if every second counts. Even if he doesn’t have a woman in custody right now, he might be planning his next attack. Shit, he might be executing his next attack as we speak. The information you provide us is helpful, and we’ll definitely consider it, but unfortunately we need cold hard facts to drive this investigation. Right now the only fact we know for sure is that thirteen women are dead—fourteen, if that North Carolina victim turns out to be related.”
Jenny nodded with understanding. “Okay. I’ll work on getting you some facts.”
“That’d be great,” Howell said. “If any of your leads turn into evidence, I’d love to hear about it.”
“You’ll be the first to know.” Jenny concluded her call and turned to Zack and Ingunn. “He seemed less impressed with this information than we were.”
“Well, his goal is to catch the guy,” Zack said, walking over to Jenny and putting his arm around her. “And while our news was telling, it didn’t get him any closer to his goal.”
Jenny leaned into Zack, comforted by his touch. “I just hope we’re wrong about the woman with the fair complexion.”
“There’s definitely a woman,” Ingunn replied. “She’s fair and she’s a victim. If she isn’t alive with him right now, then she’s dead.”
Jenny wondered which was better.
Wiping her eyes to get that thought out of her head, Jenny said, “Okay, Officer Howell asked us for facts. How can we get him those facts?”
After a long silence and an exchange of glances, Zack noted, “Maybe our North Carolina pimp friend will come through.”
Jenny faked a smile. “Let’s hope.”
Chapter 11
“I found a website here,” Zack said as he reclined on the bed. “You won’t believe it.”
Jenny walked out of the bathroom and stepped over Zack’s clothes, which still remained on the floor. Taking a seat on the edge of the bed she posed, “What is it?”
“It’s a site that allows you to type in a name, a state, and an approximate year for birth and death, and it tells you where the person’s grave is.”
“For real?”
“Yeah, it’s crazy.” Zack spun the computer around to face Jenny. “Look, it even has pictures.”
Jenny squinted as she examined the screen, noting the image of Andrew Davies’ grave in the upper corner of the webpage. “Holy shit,” she remarked. “That’s amazing. That cemetery is so small. Someone actually took the time to photograph those headstones and post them on this website?”
“Apparently so,” Zack remarked, turning the computer around to face him again. “I guess it has to do with the whole genealogy craze that people have gotten into. When you find out who your ancestors are, it would only make sense that you might want to go visit them.”
“So what does it say about Samuel?”
“That’s just it,” Zack replied. “It doesn’t say anything.”
“It doesn’t say anything?”
“Nope. There’s no record of him being buried anywhere.”
“Are you sure you have the birth and death years right?”
“I’ve tried a bunch of different combinations,” Zack explained. “I determined he must have been born around 1836, but I’ve gone a few years in each direction. I started with death dates in 1843, and I allowed him to live to be a hundred and ten. No matter what I punch in, he’s nowhere to be found.”
“What about different states?” Jenny posed. “Is it possible he had to move to a different part of the country when his family died? Maybe he went to live with an aunt or something.”
“I can check that out.” Zack began typing. “But it might take a while.”
“We’ve got time,” Jenny replied. “What we don’t have are answers. Maybe figuring out where he’s buried will give us some insight into what his life looked like after the illness.” She let out a vigorous yawn. “Good grief,” she added. “I cannot shake the sleepies.”
“Take a nap,” Zack said, patting the bed beside him.
“You know, I think I might,” Jenny replied. “I can’t keep my eyes open.” She slipped out of her jeans, folding them and putting them on the chair near the bed. Next she pulled her arms out of her sleeves, one at a time, and removed her bra from under her shirt. She pushed her arms back through her sleeves and placed her bra neatly on top of her jeans.
“That’s quite impressive,” Zack noted.
“What is?”
“The ability to take off your bra without taking off your shirt.”
“It’s not impressive,” Jenny informed him. “I think every woman in America has the same talent.”
“I still think it’s awesome. I mean, I can’t take off my underwear without removing my pants.”
Jenny giggled. “It’s different mechanics.” She pulled back the covers and climbed into bed, instantly feeling the comfort of the sheets surrounding her. Contentment surged through her body. “I am so incredibly happy right now; I can’t even begin to tell you about it.”
Zack smiled and patted her arm. “Well, good. Get some sleep. You’ve got to conserve your energy so you can make our son’s super-big penis.”
“You know, I feel so good right now I’m not even going to let that comment disturb me.” She rolled onto her side and sighed deeply. For a few minutes she could hear Zack’s fingers tap the keyboard, but before long she was sound asleep.
Jenny stretched out her muscles and blinked her eyes open, instinctively reaching for the crackers she kept on the nightstand.
“You’re awake,” Zack said. “Can I
just tell you how incredibly freaky that was?”
Jenny took a bite of cracker as she pushed herself up to a nearly seated position. “How freaky what was?”
“The wind,” he replied. “I assume you were dreaming about Samuel?”
“Yeah.” Jenny furrowed her brow as she recalled her dream. “How did you know that?”
“There was a slight breeze, but only around you. It wasn’t like the other times when a giant gust blew through the entire room. This time is was just enough to make your hair move a tiny bit, almost like someone was blowing on it.” Zack shook his head. “It lasted a long time. It was creepy.”
“Well, he definitely communicated with me; that’s for sure.”
“What did you dream about?”
“I was lying in a bed in this room,” Jenny recalled, pointing to the opposite wall. “But the bed was over there, and the room was decorated in colonial-style furnishings. I didn’t feel well, but somehow it wasn’t as bad as the first time. It was almost like I was detached or delirious or something.” Jenny took another bite of her cracker and turned to Zack. “But there was a woman…”
“A woman? Was it Samuel’s mother?”
She shook her head. “No. She must have been a slave woman, based on the color of her skin. She sat next to the bed. She was singing.”
“Singing?”
“Yes,” Jenny replied with awe. “She had the most beautiful voice, and even though I was too sick to express it, the sound provided me with a lot of comfort—by that I mean she provided Samuel with a lot of comfort. I tell you, that woman had the voice of an angel.” She held up her arm, displaying her goose bumps. “I still have the chills thinking about how beautiful she sounded.”
“What was she singing?”
“I don’t know. It was a song I’d never heard before. It went Poor mourner’s got a home at last, and then something about no harm and go tell Elijah. I’d sing it, but there’s no way I’d do it any justice. I couldn’t even come close to singing it like she did.”