by Mary Burton
“That’s twenty miles from Church Hill.”
“The vet had no other information. He did say his client is keeping the cat unless someone claims it. I have her name and number if you want to talk to her.”
“Okay.”
“I also received several more security videos of Erika’s house. I’ve been watching them for the last couple of hours. Brad Crowley last appeared on tape five days ago.”
“Five days. Erika vanished on Saturday. Did any of the neighbors make a comment about seeing him?”
“A few did. He came and went from the home several times a day, even during a normal workweek. Apparently, he liked to have lunch at home.”
“And Erika?”
“She doesn’t leave the house much. Just as her husband said, she travels to her yoga studio two mornings a week and that’s about it. Groceries and most clothing are delivered. She tells everyone she’s an artist and is working in her home studio.”
“So either she’s agoraphobic or she was a virtual prisoner in her home.”
The sun had set when he looked through the cab window to the tarp wrapped around Erika’s body in the bed of his truck. It was hidden under random debris so it wasn’t visible, though soon it would smell. He’d killed her in a spontaneous moment that he now regretted. He should have left her in her cell to rot.
He could have buried Erika. There were plenty of places he could put her where she’d never be found. But he didn’t want her death to be a waste. He wanted her found. Displayed. Erika would help send a message to Kaitlin. You’re next.
He started the engine and drove toward the city. The truck bed rattled, but Erika’s body was nice and snug.
As he drove toward the heart of Richmond on the expressway, police lights flashed in his rearview mirror and he tensed, gripping the wheel until his knuckles whitened. He was driving the speed limit. He’d used a turn signal when crossing lanes. What the hell?
The cop car hit his siren, a sure sign he had to pull over. Tension crept up his spine. His breathing grew shallow as he glanced in the mirror again and then back at the road.
He could stomp on the gas and make a run for it. But that wouldn’t end well. Better to stay calm and play along. He could fool anybody.
“I can do this,” he said to himself. “I can do this.” He repeated the words like a mantra until the stress eased.
He turned on his blinker and pulled off on the shoulder of the road. He reached for his driver’s license and registration. He rolled down his window and placed his hands on the steering wheel.
The cop got out of his car and moved toward the truck. He touched the tailgate to leave fingerprints, proof he had made contact if it all went sour, and then he walked up slowly along the truck.
“Good evening,” the officer said.
“Yes, sir. Good evening. Was I speeding?”
“No, sir, but your back taillight is out.”
“Really? I had no idea.” He handed the officer his driver’s license and registration. “Figured you need these.”
“I’ll be right back.”
He glanced in the rearview mirror and watched the cop return to his vehicle and type his plates into his computer. The cop would search his record for warrants and other traffic violations, and he’d find only a fourteen-year-old speeding ticket. He was the good boy. Just play it cool.
For a brief moment he imagined the plastic tarp moved in the breeze. He blinked and watched closely in the rearview mirror, his heart beating faster, as he waited for the wind to calm.
The cop came back to the car. “Looks like you have a pretty clean driving record.”
He smiled. “I do try.”
“I’m going to have to give you a ticket. But if you get pulled over again in the next forty-eight hours, show them this. You need to get the light fixed for your own safety.”
“I was working on the damn thing last week. There must be a short in the wires. I’ll take it to a garage first thing.”
The officer stared at him an extra beat and then handed him the ticket. He signed it and handed it back.
The officer ripped off his portion of the ticket. “Have a nice evening.”
“Will do. Thank you, Officer.”
He sat still, not moving for a moment. Jesus, that cop was less than a foot from the body. He’d come so close to capture.
But he hadn’t been caught. He was getting better at this, and if he were real careful, he’d never be caught.
Drawing in a breath, he waited for the all clear and pulled into traffic. Time to dump the body.
He drove to the Shockoe Bottom section of Richmond and located the alley he had already searched for surveillance cameras. It was one block from Kaitlin’s apartment.
Moving quickly, he backed into the alley and cut the lights. Tugging a ball cap over his eyes, he opened the back tailgate, reached under the tarp, and grabbed Erika’s ankles. Her skin was cold to the touch, but the rigor mortis had left her limbs, and she was again pliable.
He pulled her forward and carried her limp body to the end of the alley. Quickly he leaned her against the dumpster. He brushed the hair back from her eyes and smoothed it over her shoulders. He spread her legs and placed each hand on an inner thigh.
Pulling a red marker from his pocket, he drew a heart on her chest. “This is for you, Gina,” he whispered.
It was after visitor’s hours when there was a knock on Kaitlin’s door. She was surfing the television channels to pass the time. “Time for another lab sample?” She resigned herself to another procedure.
Instead of the young nurse with glasses and brown hair, Adler appeared. His tie was loose, and the stubble on his jaw was thick. “Sorry, no nurse.”
“Too bad.” Stupid, but she was glad to see him. “It’s always a treat to have a nurse jab a needle in my arm. What are you doing here?”
He held up a bag.
“Sorbet, again?” Beware of cops bearing gifts.
“Doughnuts. Cops know where to get the best ones in the city.”
“Is it true?” She grinned.
“It is.” The half smile was charming, and if Adler wasn’t a cop, she might have been charmed.
“As it so happens, I’m now on some solid foods.”
“Then you’re in luck.”
He pulled up his chair and handed her a napkin. He glanced in the bag. “Chocolate glazed or plain?”
“Plain. Let’s keep it simple.”
With a napkin he plucked out a plain one and handed it to her. Its aroma made her mouth water. She bit into it. Adler was batting two for two with her so far.
She took another bite before she asked, “So what’re you really here for? Feeding me isn’t a priority. You look like a man with questions.”
He tossed her a sideways glance meant to disarm. “Am I that obvious?”
She chuckled and felt charmed nonetheless. “You use that look with suspects?”
“I do.” He bit into the doughnut with no air of repentance or worry about calories. “I met with a forensic investigator who is analyzing several notes Jennifer received.”
She pulled off a piece. “And?”
“Without getting into too much detail, I can tell you he signed each one with a heart. Does that mean anything to you?”
Kaitlin set her doughnut down as a memory rushed out from the past. If the killer had left a heart, he’d definitely been involved in the search for Gina. She reached for a pad and pen on her nightstand and drew a particular heart she’d seen many times. “When Gina was first missing, the volunteer groups developed a kind of logo. It was Gina’s name with a heart drawn over top of it.”
“Who came up with the logo?”
She handed him the paper. “It was my idea to add it to the flyer, because she loved hearts. She had several necklaces that were heart shaped.”
“It was your idea?”
“Yeah.”
“The heart symbol was well known?”
“Yes. All the volunteer post
ers and flyers had it, and several news organizations came up with graphics that incorporated it. It would have been hard to miss.”
“A colleague of mine is reading the file, but our focus has been on the abduction and not the search. How many volunteers were on the search teams?”
“Hundreds. There was an organized system, and in that group there were teams of ten. Volunteers stood side by side and walked open fields and brush for hours searching for clues. There were also people who weren’t sanctioned as official searchers, and they ventured out on their own.”
“Have you spoken to any of those volunteers?”
“George Dunkin. He’s on a canine tracking team who volunteered over a hundred hours on the search.”
“You gave me Jennifer’s tape, but I need all of them, Kaitlin.”
“Sure. I’ll send them all.”
“Can you do it now?”
“Hand me my laptop.”
He dusted off his crumbs, tossing the half-eaten doughnut in the trash. He retrieved the laptop from the side table and gently set it on her lap. She opened it, pushed a few buttons, and hit “Send.”
“On their way.”
“Thank you.”
“I’m not sure how my interviews will help.”
“Jennifer’s stalking, her murder, Erika’s disappearance, and your stabbing all started when you began your research.” He wasn’t smiling now, and his tone had sharpened just a little.
There was a time she’d have felt backed into a corner by his harsh tone. But she was coming to recognize this was how he sounded when he was working a case. She drew in a breath. She needed and wanted to believe he wasn’t going to throw her under the bus if the case got too hot to handle.
He held her gaze. “Are you sharing everything with me?”
“You know all that I know now, Detective.”
“And you will keep me in the loop if you learn anything new?”
“Yes. Will you do the same?”
“I can’t promise that right now. I wish that I could, but I can’t. The case has to come first.”
She didn’t like hearing that, but she sensed he was being honest.
“How did you choose your interview subjects?” If Adler realized he’d upset her, he didn’t seem to care.
“I went through all the media reports I could find and made a list of everyone mentioned and went from there. I interviewed whoever would talk to me.”
“Any idea who killed Jennifer?”
She ran a trembling hand through her hair. She felt like a raw nerve. “I want to help and to remember. I’ve been through hypnotherapy before, but I could do it again.”
Adler arched a brow. “If it comes to that, we’ll talk about it. What does your gut say about this killer?”
She drew in a breath, dialing down her anger. “I’m trying to set up an appointment with Steven Marcus, the reporter who covered Gina’s disappearance extensively and who knows the case better than anyone. I’m hoping he has more ideas.”
“I haven’t talked to Marcus.”
“Excluding North, he’s your best expert on Gina’s case.”
Adler wrote down the name. “Do you have a number?”
She reached for her phone and rattled it off. “He’s on deadline and won’t be available until Saturday.”
“Maybe you can include me in your meeting.”
“Sure. I’ll let you know when we make contact.”
His phone buzzed, and he looked down. A heavy sigh hissed over clenched teeth. “Erika Crowley has been found.”
“Is she all right?”
“I’ll catch up with you tomorrow.”
She tried to swing her legs over the side of the bed, forgetting for a split second why she was here. A shot of white-hot pain reminded her. “So you’re just going to leave me hanging like this? You aren’t going to tell me what’s going on?”
“For now, no.”
INTERVIEW FILE #19
THE SEARCH AND RESCUE TEAM
Saturday, March 3, 2018; 2:00 p.m.
The three barking bloodhounds move around me with a playful energy, but they sniff my outstretched hands with a keen intensity. Larry, Moe, and Curley range in age from one to six years old, and they belong to search and rescue expert George Dunkin. They are his pride and joy. Dunkin is the brainchild behind K-9 Find, a nonprofit group that has logged thousands of search hours and recovered over a dozen missing people.
“Basically, a dog’s brain can evaluate smells forty times better than a human’s. We walk into a room and smell the beef stew cooking. They smell all the beef, potatoes, carrots, peas, garlic, onions, and whatever other ingredients are in that stew.”
George and his K-9 Lucy spent hundreds of hours in the woods searching for Gina. With Lucy at his side, Dunkin was interviewed four times on the evening news as well as the morning shows.
“Why did you and Lucy spend so many hours on this particular search?”
His brown eyes grow wistful at the mention of Lucy’s name. He sorely misses that dog. “She was the best dog I’ve ever had. The best.” Absently he rubs Moe’s head. “We were at home watching the news when Gina Mason’s face appeared on the screen. There was something about her smile that touched my heart. I couldn’t sit by and do nothing, so Lucy and I got to work.” He’s silent for a moment. “I still have one of Gina’s T-shirts that we used to search for her.”
“You saved her shirt?”
“I couldn’t let it go.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Tuesday, March 20, 2018; 10:00 p.m.
Erika Crowley’s body was found in a cobblestone alley near Eighteenth Street in the Shockoe Bottom district of the city. The anonymous call had come in at nine p.m., and the caller sounded drunk on the 911 tape when he reported he’d gone behind the dumpster to urinate and spotted the body. He’d called from an untraceable cell phone.
The police cruisers were nosed in the alley’s entrance, and their lights flashed bright blue onto a fading cigarette ad painted a half century ago on a brick warehouse.
Adler pulled on latex gloves as Quinn came around the side of her car to meet him. “Anyone spoken to Brad Crowley?”
“No. We’ve kept a tight lid on this,” Quinn said.
They crossed the cobblestone street to the alley’s entrance. Each nodded to the uniformed officer and then ducked under the crime scene tape. The camera lights of a forensic technician flashed behind the dumpster.
The tech, Dana Tipton, rose up, and spotting Adler and Quinn, she backed up several steps so they could see the body.
Erika’s body lay propped against the dumpster. Her thick blond hair swooped around her neck and draped over her chest, but she was posed as Jennifer had been. Her clothes were intact, but her legs were spread and each hand rested on the inner thigh. Though Jennifer hadn’t been sexually assaulted, he couldn’t yet rule it out in this case. Some attackers made their victims redress, or they did it themselves postmortem. Again, the medical examiner would have to make the call.
Her manicured hands were scraped, torn, and bruised. Her yoga clothes were soaked in sweat and urine, and her white V-neck pullover was coated in grime, dirt, and blood. Her left slip-on shoe was missing.
Painted on her chest in red marker was a heart that resembled the one found in Jennifer’s shower.
Adler squatted, and using the tip of a pen, pushed back the top fold of Erika’s pullover. One deep knife cut slashed across her jugular.
“Wound is consistent with Jennifer Ralston’s,” Quinn said.
“But there’s no blood around her. Her clothes are soaked, but no blood. And the urine smell and the trauma to her hands suggest she was held somewhere before she was killed. If it’s the same guy, he’s changed tactics.”
“Why hold her for several days, kill her, and bring her here?” Quinn asked.
“I don’t know.” Adler studied the victim’s pale-blue lips. “And unless Kaitlin healed magically and escaped the hospital, she couldn’t have done thi
s.”
“No, she couldn’t,” Quinn conceded.
“You sound disappointed,” Adler said.
“John, I don’t trust her.”
Erika’s engagement ring was still on her finger. “Our anonymous caller didn’t take her rings,” Adler said.
“Maybe he was spooked,” Quinn said.
“Very possible. But down here, a ring like that doesn’t last long. When did the 911 call come in?” Adler asked.
“At 9:02 p.m. A uniform was on scene by 9:07 p.m.”
“Did the officer see anyone loitering around?”
“No.” She studied the large diamond catching the forensic technician’s light. “You think the killer called it in?”
“Whoever killed her wasn’t motivated by her diamonds.”
Her wrists were red and dotted with a sticky substance, suggesting she had been restrained with tape of some kind. The same material dotted her pale and drawn lips. “Where the hell has she been the last few days?” he said, more to himself.
“She wasn’t killed here,” Dana said. “The lack of blood, as well as the lividity on her backside, proves that.” Dana tilted the body forward and lifted the shirt to reveal the black-and-blue markings. When the heart stopped pumping, the blood settled at the lowest point. “In her case, it was her entire back and buttocks, suggesting after she died she was laid on her back. As you can see she’s been propped up here.”
Adler stared around the dark alley. It was a half block off Eighteenth Street, wedged between two buildings, and neither wall facing the alley had windows or a camera. They were less than five blocks from Jennifer’s house and less than a block from Kaitlin’s apartment. It occurred to him it would have been easy enough for the killer to pose her body and leave in a matter of minutes.
“How long do you think she’s been dead?” Adler asked.
“Rough guess?” Dana asked. “Twenty-four hours give or take. Rigor mortis has come and gone.”
“Did cold weather conditions prolong it?” Adler asked.
“I don’t think so. I’m assuming the body was kept in a warm place,” Dana said.
“That puts time of death around two or three p.m. yesterday,” Adler said.