by Hadena James
“Nope, cartels like to make statements and this is too far north for a border war. Everything I have seen says serial killer. If my boss didn’t agree, I would not have been on a private flight this morning on my way to Texas.” I stared out the window and watched the city of Austin disappear.
The tires hummed on the road, still wearing out the newness of the treads. Ranger LaComb’s radio was on low, creating a constant murmur, reminding me of Charlie Brown’s teacher. The air conditioner was too high, causing goosebumps, despite the long sleeves that covered my arms. The landscape rolled by without holding my interest. The Skull of Doom still filled my primary thoughts. Unfortunately, if it was a fake, there was a good chance all the others were too. That was mildly depressing in the grand scheme of things. A hand carved, ancient crystal skull would have been a feat of human engineering. As a historian, it felt like a blow to the early accomplishments of mankind.
Of course, our early roots had built amazing pyramids and practiced human sacrifice. It didn’t seem like we had progressed much in the millennia since then. We were still practicing human sacrifice and building giant buildings. Technology had changed, styles of construction had changed, but humans really hadn’t.
Six
The morgue smelled of decomposition and astringent. This was standard for morgues. Xavier’s smile was not. He was happy to have me back in my usual place, sitting in the morgue, offering him ideas.
Two of the victims were male, three were female, and none were adults. Other than that, they hadn’t come up with any useful information. One victim was identifiable, Nathan Jones, a local high school student who preferred skateboarding to classrooms. He’d gone missing in October. He was a suspected runaway, based on his home life. The report called it “unhappy.”
I thought that was an understatement. Before becoming a skateboarding school skipper, he had been a punching bag for his father. He’d run away several times in the past, always ending up at his aunt’s house. His aunt had filed several reports of abuse against her brother, but Nick’s mother always told a different story.
Obviously, the teen hadn’t caught a break and escaped to live in better places. I wanted to talk to the father, but I doubted he was the serial killer. It was unusual for serial killers to behave that way towards their own families. They liked to kill and they couldn’t do that if they were in jail for beating the shit out of their wives and children. Accidentally killing their own offspring was a good way to get caught.
There was another child in the house. What I really wanted to do was inspire the father to leave that one alone. I had plenty of weapons to help if I couldn’t do it with a stern talking.
“You are sneering.” Xavier interrupted my reading.
“Have we talked to the father?”
“No, Gabriel was waiting for you.”
“He rocks. I’ll have to buy him a thank you gift.”
“Well, not only are none of them adults, all are roughly the same age. I’d put them at fifteen to seventeen.”
“So, not just a serial killer, but one that preys on teenagers. At least they aren’t preying on children.”
“I can’t determine how long they have been in the well. The lye and water accelerated decomp. We’ll have to do comparisons to dental x-rays and if that doesn’t work, facial reconstructions.”
“One is definitely a local,” I told him. “The others probably are too. Especially considering they were found locally. You’d think they would have been searching for a body dump earlier.”
“Do you have any idea how many people go missing every year?” Xavier asked.
“Roughly a million people a year, about seventy percent are under the age of eighteen, and ninety percent will either not be found or will be found dead.”
“So in a town of fifty thousand people, five missing teenagers in the space of an unknown number of years, doesn’t really point to a serial killer.” Xavier reminded me. “They probably average twenty missing children a year plus a handful of adults. It really isn’t their fault they didn’t notice a low-volume serial killer.”
“If this victim was high risk, the others probably were too. It just seems like someone should be responsible.”
“Other than the killer?”
“Yes,” I answered.
“Who should we hold accountable?”
“The parents,” I answered. “If they had done their jobs, their children wouldn’t have been high risk.”
“It’s nice to have you back. That simplistic logic that comes across as harsh to anyone that doesn’t know you.”
“I think that’s supposed to be a compliment.”
“It is,” Xavier looked at the bodies still on the table. “Want to take a look and see if I missed anything?”
“I could, but I’m sure you didn’t miss anything.” I got off the counter where I had been seated and began walking around the bodies. Two of them were mostly skeletons, two others were heavily decomposed, and the final was almost perfect, like it had been preserved somehow. The eyes had clouded over, removing most of their color. The skin had become waxy looking. It didn’t look like it was about to sit up, but it was very obviously a human being.
As a general rule, I do not touch dead bodies. That’s Xavier’s job. I didn’t have any instinct to touch this one either. I didn’t even want to look at it. Something in the lifeless face or sightless eyes bothered me. Maybe I wasn’t as healed as I thought.
The others didn’t raise my hackles. They were just bodies like I had seen dozens of times before. Some connective tissues and flesh remained, but their facial features were gone. Exposed skull, stained an orangish color, was visible through some patches of matted hair.
“Well?” Xavier asked, as I stopped to look at the exposed skull of one of the victims.
“Not very impressive,” I answered.
“Lucas said it’s about the act of killing and the transition of life to death and not about the need to create violence.”
“Mercy killings, maybe,” I sighed. I had already had that thought and vocalized it, but it was different vocalizing it to Xavier. The very words sounded different.
“It would explain the lack of violence. The stab wound is very precise, entering between the ribs at the back and penetrating the heart. There are no hesitation marks. It would take a very adept knowledge of anatomy to be able to slide it through the ribs like it is.”
“Doctor? Nurse? That fits with a mercy killer.”
“Yes, but I have something I want to show you,” he rolled the body of Nathan Jones over. There was a bruise where the hilt had hit the skin at the time of death. Next to the hilt bruise was another mark. It was almost perfectly round. In the center of the circle was another shape, but less defined. “Strange, right?”
“I’d guess it’s a ring, but it would be in the wrong position if someone was stabbing someone else,” I told him.
“Those were my thoughts. So, I looked a little closer,” he pulled up a photo on a computer. The circle magnified, became identifiable, it was a button. Our killer wore gloves.
“And Lucas’s take?”
“He says it is just another reminder that the killer is mature,” he said.
“You disagree?”
“I’m not sure,” Xavier said.
“Why would you think they were young?” I pressed.
“A gut feeling. The knife wound. Victim four was preserved, and the others were not, because the killer didn’t throw down the lye. Laziness doesn’t mix with using gloves.” Xavier moved to one of the other bodies. Judging by the size of the ribcage and skull, it was a male. “Then there’s this.” There was a small nick in the bone just above the ankle.
“A defensive wound or offensive wound meant to disable,” I recognized the nick. Someone had sliced through the Achilles’ tendon. It was a great place for a petite female to attack. It was incredibly painful and made walking difficult. I knew because I had used it a few times to slow down psychopaths.
&nbs
p; “This is the largest body. I think they cut the tendon in an offensive move. Once the tendon was completely sliced across, the victim would have been more manageable. It is also the only body to show that the blade went in and hit bone,” Xavier frowned, “it’s conflicting.”
“You think the attacker is either young or a woman based on the bodies.”
“Yes, and it makes me question the idea that it is a doctor or nurse. Our ribcage shifts slightly when we are lying down. If the other victims were standing up, the ribs are easy to see, even in the back, but lying down makes it more difficult, they hit the rib on their way into the chest cavity.”
“Size could be a factor as well.”
“I know,” Xavier said. “I still think it’s a woman.”
“Female psychopaths are rare,” I reminded him.
“Maybe she isn’t a psychopath.”
“It sucks to bury a knife up to the hilt if you feel it.” I frowned at the statement. It hurt worse to be on the receiving end of said knife wound, but it left a hell of a bruise. “So, we are looking for a petite woman who had a massive bruise on her hand around the time that our victim was killed. If we factor in young and medical knowledge, we still have a huge suspect pool, because unfortunately, we have to include Austin. Young women with medical knowledge would be prolific on the University of Texas campus, not to mention the other colleges in town.”
“A med student would fit,” Xavier’s face was grim.
“Have you eaten lately? You look pale and your face looks a little skeletal.”
“I do need lunch and someone to back me up that we are looking for a female, probably petite. There’s an upward angle to Nathan Jones’ wound, not enough to hit bone, but enough to be noteworthy.”
Xavier and I joined Fiona, Gabriel, and Lucas at a diner across from the police station. It was down-home style cooking, which in Texas seemed to mean gravy or barbecue sauce on everything. I couldn’t eat barbecue sauce and I didn’t eat gravy, so I ordered a grilled cheese sandwich and onion rings. Technically, I wasn’t supposed to eat many fried foods either, but that was hard to do when you travelled as much as we did.
My grilled cheese had a thick slice of ham on it. I pulled it off my sandwich and scraped as much of the cheese back onto my bread as possible. They had also provided me with a cup of gravy to dip my onion rings into. I pushed it to the side. Xavier grabbed it and dumped it on his fried chicken, or whatever it was.
By the end of lunch, I had convinced Lucas we were looking for a woman. Of course, I had to use myself as an example on several occasions, but he finally agreed. Gabriel was less skeptical, but not willing to rule out that it was just a small male, and Fiona didn’t care one way or the other, she just wanted us to stop talking about wound tracks at the diner. People were starting to stare at us and she didn’t like the scrutiny. The rest of us were used to it. Xavier and I still smelled like the morgue. A handful of people had asked to be moved away from our table and that was before the conversation had started.
Gabriel paid for lunch using a newly issued government credit card. We had all gotten them after returning from Detroit. Malachi’s team had received identical cards. I wasn’t sure why they had issued them.
“Cain, you’re with me,” Gabriel announced as we left the diner. I climbed into the SUV. Everyone else climbed into a different SUV.
“I still smell like the morgue.”
“I’m okay with that, I can’t even smell it anymore.”
“What’s up?”
“Are you, you again?”
“Yes,” I answered. “I had a moment in the morgue with the body of Nathan Jones. I found his body creepy. I didn’t have problems with any of the others though.”
“We all had problems with it,” Gabriel answered. “It was the preservation compared to the others according to Lucas. We all got the heebie-jeebies, but I appreciate you being honest about it. Think you are capable of a little intimidation?”
“Oh yeah,” I answered, realizing we were about to go meet the Jones family.
Seven
Emily Jones was a shell of a person. Whatever spirit she had once possessed was completely gone. She shuffled her feet, kept her head down, and talked in a weak voice. Her husband, Victor Jones, wasn’t home, but Gabriel and I had decided to wait for him. I was doing my best to contain the violence that I wanted to unleash. I was angry at Emily Jones for not protecting her son and even angrier when her daughter, a gangly twelve year old that had the look of the lost, entered the home and immediately set about doing her homework as quietly as possible.
The daughter, Lauren Jones, was already starting to look like her mother. She avoided all eye contact with Gabriel and me. Her shoulders were hunched forward, as if expecting a blow to land on her at any moment. Her face was pale with black circles under her eyes. She wasn’t broken yet, but the process was in progress.
Emily kept offering us something to drink, but refused to talk about her son without her husband present. It grated on my nerves. It made my head hurt. It set my teeth on edge. I bit back on the contemptuous things I wanted to tell her. I kept having to remind myself that she was a victim too. My anger needed to be focused on Victor Jones and not Emily. It would certainly do damage to Lauren if I went off on her mother. I’d be no better than her father. Besides, it might do both of them some good to see a small woman like me put Victor Jones in his place. Secretly, I hoped he swung at me, so I would have a reason to sate my blood lust.
Victor Jones was not an imposing man. He was short for a guy, only about 5 feet and eight inches tall. He was thin with a little muscle buried beneath sallow skin. His teeth were bad. His eyes tinged yellow. He was either a meth user or a very hard drinker, or both.
“US Marshal Gabriel Henders,” Gabriel stood up as the man entered the house, I did not, afraid I would leap across the space between us and begin throttling him just for existing. “We are here because we found your son, Nathan.”
“Good, I hope the little bastard is in jail.” Victor did not shake Gabriel’s extended hand and Gabriel dropped it after a moment. The calm descended like a fog, a welcome fog, one that I had actually missed during my time with a brain tumor. It was a familiar lack of nothingness. The anger I had been feeling earlier was gone, replaced by a dark void of humanity. Even rage wouldn’t penetrate the darkness, because it was an emotion and here, I had none of those. Only the primal urge, a need too dark to have a name, remained within me.
My heartbeat slowed. My blood pressure dropped. My gaze locked onto Victor Jones, refusing to break contact with my prey. Time itself slowed, allowing me to see the world in ways that other people never would.
Victor’s heartbeat picked up. It pulsed in the veins of his neck. Tiny beads of sweat, almost too small to be noticed, began to form. His pupils dilated and his mouth opened. Whatever he was going to say didn’t come out. Instead, he made a strangled chirping sound and his mouth flapped like a fish’s for a few moments. Then he regained some of his composure and looked away from me.
“Your son was murdered, Mr. Jones. His body was found inside a well yesterday, just outside of town. Can either of you think of anyone that would want your son dead?” Gabriel sat back down.
“No,” Emily Jones started to speak, but stopped.
“No.” Victor gave her a glare.
“Did you do it, Mr. Jones?” I asked. “Did you kill your son and dump him in an abandoned well, hoping no one would find him? Did you kill the others found in the well?”
“I want you to leave, now,” Mr. Jones stood up.
“Sit down,” I told him. “You will answer our questions here or you will answer them at the police station.”
“Get out!” He shouted at me. I remained seated and turned my attention to Emily. She visibly wilted under my gaze. Her hands began to tremble.
“Do you know if your husband killed your son? Have you entertained the possibility?” I asked her. The tremble moved throughout her entire body. She had considered it
. “Do you care that he was murdered?”
“Of course,” she squeaked out. Victor gave her another menacing glance.
“I said to get out!” Victor shouted again, trying to prove he was bigger than I was. His anger was directed solely at me and not just because of the accusations, but because I was smaller than him and he had felt intimidated by me. For a moment, he had lost his composure, let his terrified family see him afraid and now he had to regain it. It would be a mistake. I shot a quick glance into the kitchen. Lauren sat motionless at the table, her eyes staring at her homework, hoping to go unnoticed.
“We will be back, Mr. Jones,” Gabriel stood up. I followed his lead. We both walked outside and got into the SUV. Gabriel didn’t start the engine, but he turned the key and rolled down the windows. He lit a cigarette and handed it to me. “How long?”
“Five minutes, maybe ten, if he looks out the window.” I took a drag of the cigarette. “Drive down the block, park at the end of the street, we’ll walk back, smoking our cigarettes. It should be in progress by then.”
“And if she doesn’t scream?” Gabriel asked.
“Lauren will. Victor will be shouting down the walls.”
“It’s good to have you back, the real you back.”
“That’s twice I’ve heard that today,” I said as Gabriel started the SUV and pulled up the street. He hid the SUV on the wrong side of the street, behind a large truck. There seemed to be several of those. We both got out, closing our doors quietly.
As we moved down the street, we didn’t talk. The only sounds were our feet against the pavement, a quiet thumping noise. Gabriel had drawn his gun. I had not. I wanted to feel the blood seep through my fingers. We stopped near a large tree. Gabriel leaned against it as he finished his cigarette. I kept my ears tuned for the sounds of distress.
The tinkling of breaking glass drifted to me. I tilted my head and tossed my cigarette. Gabriel pushed off the tree. We began moving again, getting closer to the house. In front of the neighbor’s, we heard a muffled scream. I broke into a jog, Gabriel followed, not daring to step in front of me. The calm had not lifted and Victor Jones was about to meet his own personal demon, up close. Another cry, this one louder than the scream, reached me as I jumped onto the porch, skipping the steps entirely.