All His Pretty Girls

by Charly Cox

  Maybe because he drew the short straw or perhaps because he was the one who’d garnered the information, Hal was the one to break it to her. ‘Minnesota license plates belong to an elderly couple, Herman and Faith Gilbertsen, who were here visiting their new great-grandchild who happens to live next door to one Mr. Vance Normandie.’

  Like a balloon on a hot day, she deflated. So much for that branch leading to another, she thought. She took a deep breath. It was her job to lead this team, and she couldn’t let negativity cloud the issues. ‘Then we keep digging. Each dead end is bound to bring us closer to the right road.’ She tilted her head toward the wall. ‘What’ve you got so far?’

  Cord snagged a chair with his foot and rolled it over. ‘Just started, so you didn’t miss a thing. Liz, Joe, and Tony commandeered another conference room, and they’re running a fine-tooth comb over the other missing women’s cases to see if there’s any connection to Hunter Jenkins.’

  ‘Okay, that’s good.’ She ignored the offered chair, choosing to stand. Disappointment and drive were battling for first place in her head, so she closed the door and leaned against it as Cord hit play. Suddenly, her back stiffened. ‘Pause it!’ she ordered, moving over to the wall.

  ‘How far?’ Cord asked.

  ‘Fifteen seconds should do it. Okay, play and watch.’ Just before the video got to the same place, she said, ‘Get ready. There.’

  ‘He’s walking to the desk. We’ve already seen that,’ Cord said, confused.

  But Hal got it. ‘Yes, but look how straight he’s standing – not at all hunched over like he was when he first arrived.’

  Alyssa smiled. ‘Hal, if I wasn’t happily married…’ Her finger tapped the image. ‘That, too, but, look at what he’s doing here.’

  They’d missed it before, but Hunter Jenkins leaned across the counter as he peered casually over the desk. He said something to the receptionist who threw her head back and laughed, and a few seconds later, he hobbled back to his seat, once again hunched over. He said something to Mr. Wallace before he pulled out his phone.

  ‘We didn’t see it before,’ Alyssa said, ‘because Hunter Jenkins, at first glance, appears to be a man on the last leg of his journey on Earth. Maybe he acts feeble so he’s less intimidating, making it easier to lure in his victims, and he just forgot for a second? Didn’t Ted Bundy do something similar?’ she asked. She studied the man on the screen, and then said, ‘Can you zoom in for a closer look at what’s on Aubrey’s desk?’ Her nerves tingled the way they did when she was onto something. She didn’t know what this meant yet, but her gut told her they were branching out onto the correct limb now.

  Hal’s fingers flew across the keyboard and Cord joined her at the wall, as if by being closer, they could reach out and nab Hunter Jenkins from the screen. ‘Tell me when to stop.’

  ‘Right there. What do you see?’ she asked. Though the magnified image was blurry, it was still identifiable.

  Cord whistled. ‘Callie McCormick’s invoice.’

  ‘Callie McCormick’s invoice,’ Alyssa repeated. ‘Hal, go ahead and hit play.’

  ‘What the hell?’ This time it was Hal who hit rewind.

  When she saw what he had, she inhaled so fast, she choked. As Hunter Jenkins returned to his seat, for a split second, his lips turned down, and when he looked up, his gaze sweeping over Callie McCormick, anger flashed briefly across his face before he turned his attention back to Mervin Wallace.

  It was there and gone so fast that if they hadn’t been watching so intently, they would’ve missed it – again.

  ‘Despite what’s in front of me, I’m having a difficult time wrapping my head around the idea that Hunter Jenkins not only may have kidnapped and killed Callie McCormick, but that he may also be a serial killer,’ Cord mused.

  ‘The mind’s good at seeing what it wants and ignoring the rest,’ Alyssa said. ‘But my gut tells me once we locate Mr. Jenkins, we’ll also find that string we need to pull to unravel this case. So, let’s get busy.’

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Tuesday, April 2

  In the kitchen sobbing, face turning blue, snot dripping from his nose, stood the new Boy. That’s what all the new ones were called – Boy.

  Evan remembered being scared his first time, too, so he put his arm around Boy and whispered, ‘Don’t cry. It’ll make him mad.’ But that just made Boy cry harder and louder. ‘Please,’ he begged… But it was too late. Carl stormed into the room. Familiar with his adopted father’s rage, Evan grabbed Boy’s hand and backed up until they hit the door leading to the basement, sliding down as Carl advanced.

  ‘Shut him up, or you’ll both end up down there!’ he roared at the same time he leaned in and slapped Boy across the face.

  His arm around the little boy’s shoulder, Evan’s head bobbed frantically, his stomach crawling up his throat. He hated the basement. He waited until Carl returned to the living room and turned the volume up on the television before he risked standing and urging Boy up. ‘You have to be quiet before he makes us go to the basement.’

  ‘Wh – what’s in the basement?’ Boy stuttered.

  Evan shook his head. He didn’t like to think of it. Besides, Boy would surely find out soon enough. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be here. He pulled on Boy’s arm and leaned his head. ‘This way,’ he whispered as they tiptoed past the living room. In his room, he lowered his voice even more, ‘Why did you get sent here?’

  Boy wiped his sleeve across his nose, his voice quivering with every word. ‘My mommy didn’t want me anymore. Little boys are too hard, so she just wants my sister.’

  Evan nodded. ‘That’s what happened to me, too.’

  This time, Boy’s sobs came so fast and hard, Evan was afraid he’d die from not breathing. And Boy hadn’t even been to the basement yet. He would really not be able to breathe down there.

  ‘How old are you?’ He didn’t know why he asked, but he did.

  ‘I’m four.’

  Maybe because Boy was younger than him, Evan decided right then he’d help him, so he scooted over and patted his shoulder, watching his open door to make sure Carl wasn’t standing there listening. ‘It’ll be okay. We’ll go talk to your mommy together, all right? And then she’ll see you won’t be too hard at all.’

  Boy hiccupped. ‘For really?’

  Evan nodded, his little mind made up. ‘For really! Carl – Dad – falls asleep,’ he pointed to the clock, ‘when the small hand is on the two and the big hand is on the six. He doesn’t wake up until both hands are on the three.’ And then they had to go to the basement, but he didn’t tell Boy that. ‘But we have to be very quiet until then,’ he added.

  When the time came, Evan tiptoed into the living room to check that Carl was really asleep, and then motioned for Boy to follow, putting his finger to his lips. In the kitchen, he grabbed some bologna and two warm bottles of pop. He didn’t know how long it would take to get to Boy’s home, and he wanted to make sure they had something to eat. Boy wanted to take some chips, but Evan was afraid to open the squeaky cupboard, so he shook his head. He couldn’t reach the bread, so they’d have to leave it.

  ‘Ready?’ he whispered.

  But when they turned to go, Carl was standing there, his left eye ticcing furiously. Neither of them had heard him get off the couch.

  Evan recognized that tic, and he was even more scared than he had been on his first day.

  Especially when Carl grabbed the knife off the butcher block and dragged it across Boy’s throat, making a hideous smile where there shouldn’t be one, ordering Evan to stand still as the blood sprayed his face. And when Evan closed his eyes, Carl cuffed his ears, making them ring. ‘This is your fault, so you watch!’

  Bathed in sweat, pulse thundering, heart galloping, Evan jolted upright, jerking his head around as he tried to remember where he was. Slowly, as his surroundings became clear, he realized he was in his own home, not back in Bar Harbor, Michigan.

  He wiped his mouth and grabbed
the bottle of water off the coffee table, guzzling it down in one fast chug, then lowered his head between his knees, fighting off dizziness. The flashes he’d been having – two little boys huddled together in front of the basement door. How old had he been at the time, five, six? Older? It was hard to say. The years all seemed to meld together.

  On the other hand, he clearly remembered having to eat his dinner as he stared at the gaping gash of Boy’s throat. Carl left the body in the middle of the kitchen as a reminder, and only when it started to stink and attract flies did he get rid of it, ordering Evan to have the mess cleaned before he returned. Or else the basement. If Evan closed his eyes, he could still smell and taste the coppery, briny flavor of the blood, and he gagged thinking about it now.

  The more he watched and obsessed over the detective, the more detailed his nightmares became as the memories were becoming clearer. Suddenly he was glad Callie McCormick was alive when she was found because if she hadn’t been, he might not have been watching the news, and he would’ve missed seeing the detective. Everything was falling into place the way it should.

  He stood and went into the kitchen where another flash stopped him in his tracks. ‘You don’t want me to kill you, too, do you?’ Carl asked. ‘I don’t want to slit your throat like I did to Boy there, but I’ll do it if you ever do something like that again.’

  Evan heard the words as if Carl was sitting beside him right now. And as he had then, he dug his nails deep into his forearms to stop himself from shaking. He’d understood all right. And never again did he make the same mistake. Not even when their screams echoed from the basement. In fact, he learned if he hid in a closet and covered his head with a pillow, he could pretend they weren’t there. But the truth was as long as they screamed, Carl left him alone, didn’t make him descend those dark steps where he’d be forced to do those things he didn’t like. Those things that hurt and made Carl make strange, scary noises.

  As he got older, Carl, a harsh teacher who lashed out at every mistake, taught him to read, write, and do math since he wasn’t allowed to go to school, which was just as well since they were constantly moving. So, he learned. And not just about academics.

  When he turned ten, Carl used him to lure the new Boys. It was distasteful, but he’d come to understand he was too old for his dad’s particular tastes now, which freed him up to do what he pleased, as long as he didn’t leave the property. Or at least as long as he didn’t get caught leaving.

  Until eight or nine years later, when Carl got sick, cancer eating away at him, rendering him useless, unable even to go to the grocery store. One day, Evan, who had taught himself to drive a year earlier, was cruising around the water when an idea sparked, and he sped the rest of the way home, not even caring if he got a ticket. Impatiently, he waited until dark, then dragged his weak, bedraggled father down to the old fishing boat, and rowed out before he dumped the old man into Lake Michigan. Carl tried to fight the inevitable, but he was feeble, so Evan sat back, detached, and watched as he listened to his dad’s pathetic whimpers, begging Evan to save him. When Carl finally disappeared beneath the water for the last time, Evan rowed back to shore.

  At the house, he located the key for the safe tucked into the back corner of Carl’s closet and opened it. Stacks of money filled the chamber. He counted it. $63, 413. The old man had hated banks, didn’t trust them, so every time he got paid for whatever job he held at the moment, usually being a trucker or handyman, he stashed the money in this safe.

  Evan divided the money into three suitcases and lugged it all out to the truck. He took nothing else. Not a toothbrush, clothes, or food. He was ready for a change, and though sixty grand wasn’t enough to last a lifetime, it would go a long ways in getting him out of the Midwest.

  As he remembered that day, Evan smiled. All that had led him here to Alyssa. And as he raised the scarf he’d stolen from her house and inhaled deeply of her scent, his eyes ran across the photo album. Curious, he grabbed it off the table and opened it.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Tuesday, April 2, 9:00p.m.

  Alyssa grabbed a towel to wrap around her body as she stepped from the tub replaying the day’s events in her mind. After watching the way Hunter Jenkins had reacted to Callie McCormick, they’d called in the rest of the team, and then she’d called Brock and begged off from dinner at his mom’s house. ‘We still have too much to do. Do you mind if I skip out this time?’ she’d asked, not mentioning the words serial killer. And though she was telling the truth about work, they both knew, truth be told, she could’ve said she had to pluck her eyebrows, and that would’ve been just as effective at getting her out of seeing Mabel.

  She and Cord had spent all morning and most of the afternoon trying to locate the people interviewed in Evelyn Martin’s disappearance while Joe, Tony, Liz, and Hal divided the workload of the other missing women’s cases. To her surprise, three of the individuals they were looking for were still employed at the Old Country Feed Store, and with their assistance, they were able to get contact information on two others. The only person they’d been unable to locate was Evan Bishop.

  ‘He doesn’t work here anymore. Hasn’t for about eight, maybe ten years,’ said Miles Garcia, the new owner of the store.

  ‘Do you know how we can get ahold of him?’ Alyssa asked.

  ‘Nope. He was a bit of a recluse even when he worked here. He’d come in, do his job, and then leave. He never went out with any of the others, never came to the holiday parties or gatherings. Don’t get me wrong. He was real friendly, and the customers liked him. He just kept to himself is all. None of us even knew where he lived, I don’t think, but you can go ahead and talk to the others, in case I’m wrong. Honestly, if I didn’t run into him at the market every once in a blue moon, I’d think he moved away.’

  Then later that afternoon when the team reconvened to discuss and share information, Alyssa’s phone had chimed an urgent email alert, so she’d taken a break to see what it was. The background checks on Larry Wilkins, Mearl Leroy, and Hunter Jenkins had come back. She skimmed the pages and then shared it with her team. ‘Larry Wilkins is exactly what he claimed to be. His record is clean, not even a speeding or parking ticket to mar things up. Mearl Leroy is retired military with a few minor run-ins with the law in his early twenties. Aside from that, there’s nothing that stands out as a red flag. And as for Hunter Jenkins, they didn’t have much to go on, but they did verify his name came up as deceased.’

  Something had been bugging her all day, and she’d looked over to Cord. ‘I’m going to see what our techs can dredge up on Evan Bishop since he’s the only person related to the Evelyn Martin case that we haven’t been able to locate.’

  ‘Good idea,’ he’d said.

  She shot off an email to the techs, and then the team went back to work, poring over the cases, trying to connect dots where there were none, and bouncing ideas and theories off one another. The entire time, Alyssa’s mind was trying to figure out if Hunter Jenkins was a serial killer who could be responsible for more than Callie McCormick’s murder, or if they were following a false trail.

  By eight o’clock that evening, after hitting yet another metaphorical brick wall, she was frustrated, sore, and plain pissy, especially after Cord cut off her caffeine supply because she hadn’t eaten when the others had ordered pizza. The entire team moved back, allowing plenty of room for when Alyssa lost her mind. ‘I have eaten recently,’ she growled as she made to move around him, literally baring her teeth at him when he blocked her path and crossed his arms across his muscular chest, eyebrows raised in a dare as he refused to budge. Did he think she wouldn’t use her Taser on him? Because her hand was already inching that way. How had she ever thought he was courteous, the jerk.

  ‘Crackers,’ he said snarkily, ‘do not count as eating. You either eat – there’s still a slice of veggie pie over there – or we call it quits for the night and start fresh tomorrow morning.’

  Alyssa glared at everyone’s ex
hausted faces and then relented. ‘Fine,’ she said, grabbing a few things, ‘but when I get home, I’m drinking coffee.’ And then she’d walked out.

  Now, as she stood in front of her mirror, still foggy from her steamy bath, she used her blow dryer to clear a small circle and thought about the connection her teammates, specifically Liz, had made, that several of the victims looked like a much younger her. She grabbed her favorite brush and dragged it through the tangles in her hair. Objectively, she could see why Liz thought that, but personally, she wasn’t convinced.

  You remind me of her.

  Terrie Mitchell’s words rang in her mind, and she shook her head. Like she had told the others, there were lots of young, blonde women in New Mexico, and besides, she was unnaturally auburn. As she worked the knots out, she replayed her conversation with the medical examiner who’d come by after speaking to Captain Hammond regarding another case.

  ‘I know Cord already relayed this information to you, but I wanted to speak to you myself. Now, I don’t want to get your hopes up,’ she said, ‘but, in addition to the dirt embedded in Callie McCormick’s nails when she tunneled her hand through her shallow grave, we’ve also got skin cells. That, in addition to several foreign hairs tangled in with her own, could give us enough for a DNA profile. I’ve already sent the samples off to the lab.’

  Callie, we’re getting close, she whispered. We’re going to find Hunter Jenkins or whoever did this to you and make him pay. I promise. She repeated the vow as she twisted her hair up and grabbed for her favorite clip to hold it in place. ‘Dang it, Holly. You have your own clips; why do you insist on stealing mine?’ she said to her absent daughter. Irritated, she reminded herself she was grateful for the kind of relationship with Holly that allowed her to borrow her mother’s things. She’d missed out on that aspect of growing up because Timmy’s murder had drowned her mother’s most basic ability to care about anything, including Alyssa. When she and Brock married, she had vowed if she ever had a daughter of her own, she would keep the lines of communication open, no matter what. Still, she wanted that hair clip.