“Okay, once we are inside, your instructors will teach you how to travel, a working knowledge of mortal connections, ‘mind reading’ as you would call it, and protocol requirements of your status. Once you pass through that door I won’t see you again until you are ready for your first assignment. Any questions?” Betty was fluffing the ruffles on her shoulders and patting her hair.
I’m hungry.
Betty looked at me. Yup, she read my mind again. I am getting used to this. “Vicki is hungry. Just decide what you are hungry for, sniff your wrist where you used to wear perfume, and enjoy!”
We all sniffed our wrists and smiled. I burped.
“Are we ready now?” We all nodded, and Betty pointed to the door. “Go in.”
There was no handle on the door. Trick. Maybe it slides. Nope. I looked at Betty, and she said, “That door is a visual obstacle only. No mass can stop you. Just walk in.” And we did.
* * *
CHAPTER 3
* * *
Upon graduation from our basic training, we were told to go to the park area and wait for Betty. I think our instructors were as glad to see us go as we were to leave. I certainly never thought about having to go to college in heaven. It just never crossed my mind. I thought that angels just naturally knew how to fly. That was a rough class. Obviously, somewhere over the years I was given some bad information.
We summoned our own benches and waited. Those darn mayflies were still everywhere. I hope we don’t end up like that. Getting our first assignment was exciting. We were discussing some of Mary’s ideas for ‘Helping Mortals Do Good’ when Betty appeared. “Those all sound lovely, but we already have the first assignment for your little group.” Was it my imagination, or did Betty look pretty serious?
“There is a man at the South Bend, Indiana Police Department right now,” she was looking at the coolest watch on her wrist, “who needs our help. His name is Roger Dance. He is a Supervisory Special Agent of the FBI who has been working with a joint task force to catch a serial killer.” She looked at each one of us for a moment and continued, “This is a tough one. You have learned that we are actually fairly limited when it comes to mortal interventions. Sometimes, if a situation is deemed important ‘higher up’ (she pointed up…. we all nodded our understanding), we are asked to assist if we can. We have great hopes for your group. You are the first angels to still be able to think like mortals. This is quite an advantage.”
They think my mortal mind is an advantage? Betty glanced at me, “Work with me here.”
“When we arrive, the mortals will not be able to see or hear us. I want you all to pay close attention, and then we will assess the situation.”
There was certainly a new mood, even for me. The thought that we might be able to serve a very important role was sobering. Betty instructed us to set the new watches that appeared on our wrists to the number one, check our coordinates with each other, and meet her in South Bend, Indiana. She no sooner made the statement, and we found ourselves in a brightly lit office overlooking the city. There was a middle aged, good looking man standing at the window sipping a cup of coffee.
“Over here” Betty said, and we saw she had summoned a chair and was floating near the ceiling in the far corner. We joined her.
Agent Dance had a nice head of hair, medium brown with streaks of gray. He looked to be about 6’2 and maybe 190 pounds. He had a slight stoop to his shoulders and his jacket was slung over the door handle of the office. His cheeks had faint pock marks, probably from childhood acne, but it made him look rugged in a pleasing way. There was an electric razor in a plastic bag on the credenza. It looked like he had already used it. He had a tie on, but it was hanging loosely against his light blue shirt He had puppy eyes….cocker spaniel, sad eyes. He was wearing a shoulder harness for his gun, and he looked very capable of doing some damage with it. The early morning sunlight coming through the window made him squint. We all heard him say, “I’m missing something…..what? What?” We were hearing his thoughts. In class they told us sometimes we will hear the thoughts of mortals when we really weren’t trying. This was our first exposure, and it startled us. I almost tipped off my chair.
A tall, nice looking man in a suit knocked on the open door as he walked in. He too had a coffee cup in his hand. “Roger.” He sat in the chair across from Roger’s desk and studied him. “Were you here all night?”
Roger slowly rolled his head and straightened his shoulders back, “No, I went for a drive. Get the cobwebs out.” Roger turned and sat in his chair.
“Did it work?” the man asked as he took a sip of coffee.
Roger was shuffling a stack of index cards on his desk and just dropped them in a pile. Waving his hand over the pile he asked, “Do we have two do-ers on this? Half the victims have not even been touched. The rest are raped.” Supervisory Special Agent Paul Casey had nearly as many years with the agency as Roger. He had been through the ranks and in the Special Homicide task unit for over ten years. Roger expected that Paul would take his job as Chief Behavioral Specialist when he retired. Retire. He was supposed to have done that at the end of this year. Early retirement from law enforcement was almost a necessity. Hopefully, to start a second career that didn’t totally consume your soul. Then all of this shit in South Bend.
Paul set his cup down deliberately on the desk, pushed his chin forward in thought, and leaned the chair back as he stretched. “Two do-ers has crossed my mind too. They were all strangled. Only the pretty ones raped. Why bother with the others?” Paul sort of reminded me of a young Robert Redford. Hmmmm.
Roger leaned forward, “That’s just it! You don’t risk getting caught, break into someone’s home, kill them, and leave. No robbery. Nothing, and yet.” He was shaking his head and twirling a pen.
“Yeah, I know, for some reason my gut says same guy too.”
An attractive brunette lady, thirty- something, badge at her waist, knocked on the open door and announced, “They are ready for you in the conference room.” Very pretty, and projected a “strictly business” air. As she turned, you could hear her heels clicking on the polished floor and disappear around the corner.
“Wish I had some profound insight,” Roger stated as he picked up the files that were on his desk and stood. He straightened his tie and headed toward the door.
Paul rose, grabbed his coffee cup and exclaimed, “I wish you did too.”
The two men left the office, and Betty motioned for us to follow which we did. It was interesting to be around mortals again, but the noises were deafening and the smells… coffee, old shoes, body odor, perfume, cleaning supplies. Betty whispered for us to adjust our sensor watches. Whew, much better. Mary had her hands over her ears but saw what we were doing and fixed her watch. Linda was trying to dodge people, and she looked like the Frogger game zigzagging down the hall. I think she forgot that mass doesn’t matter to us. She was probably trying to be polite. Teresa had managed to be the first in the conference room and was already floating near the ceiling.
One wall of the room was a bank of windows that reminded me of elementary school. On the other walls were large white boards filled with taped pictures and colored writing. There were calendars and maps and those awful pictures of dead people, six of them. In the center of the room were four long tables with men and women, some in uniform, all sitting, facing the front of the room. Paul took a chair and sat by the door. Roger walked to the front of the room, placed his files on the top of a small desk in the corner, turned to face the group and began to speak.
“Good morning, any thoughts since last night?” Roger looked around the room at the tired faces. This was a good team of detectives, but the last two months had really drained their resources. Things just kept getting worse. “Our discovery of victim number six late yesterday means the pressure on this team has ratcheted up, again”. Every person in the room looked defeated. “We’re going to have to deal with this in the press. Sharon from our unit will release a statement but I am sure
that each of you will be asked questions in private. I cannot stress enough how important it is to stay on text with what we release this morning. Your copy of the release is in a stack by the door.” Paul half waived at everyone as they turned to look by the door.
Roger started again, “Since yesterday’s four p.m. discovery of victim number six, Ginger Hall, thirty- two years old, an RN at Memorial Hospital, we have been able to confirm the following information: Single, workaholic, charitable volunteer, no children.” He gave them a minute to finish writing and then continued, “Her supervisor stated that she had requested some holiday time off and in fact had been using PTO time since December 12. With today being the twenty third, that means our first priority will be finding out the last time she was seen alive. Sharon has scheduled a press release for this morning, and hopefully we will get something useful from the tip line. The FBI Crime Scene Unit should clear the scene later this morning and I will be at that site as soon as it is available. After that I should be back here. Of course you can call me for anything. We are here to help you and get this done.”
I saw Linda and Teresa sniffing their wrists. I tuned into them …POPCORN! REALLY?
Roger continued, “Stan, I would like Agent Williams to accompany you on the personal interviews today.”
“No problem,” answered a man at the center table.
Roger directed his next comments to a woman at the far end of the room, “Sal, how are the interviews coming on number five, Valerie McDonald?”
The woman called Sal, Detective Sally Miller, stood and addressed the group as she flipped through a notebook. “We have only had the scene for a day and a half, but we have established that Ms. McDonald was a resident of Boston, and has not been seen by neighbors since before Thanksgiving. One neighbor said he thought Valerie was going to Indiana for the holiday, that maybe she had family. He wasn’t sure. Also, we have subpoenaed bank records, financials, and should have preliminary forensic results from the lab later today, maybe tomorrow. Agent Dance, I would like to go to Boston and see what else may be there, visit her home.”
“Good, talk to Chief Doyle about taking one of his people with you. We have a small jet here at the airport. Use that, you’ll save time. Chief Doyle, you have a question?”
The Chief of Police, Edgar Doyle, had raised his hand, and when acknowledged he stood to speak. He had a kind face that showed far too many years of police work on it, a belly that suggested he spent most of his day at his desk, and a baritone voice that you didn’t want to hear in anger.
“I know I can speak for the entire department that the help of the FBI in this is crucial, and appreciated. We have no experience with anything like this!” Many of the people in the room were nodding their heads in agreement. “But, I have to tell ya, I am really worried about what the press is going to do with this since we really don’t have anything to tell them. This is a college town. Notre Dame! They are going to expect answers and action yesterday. We are in the same place we were two months ago, actually worse. And the bodies keep comin’.”
The Chief sat down with a wave of his arms, and Roger spoke again, “The press release is worded in such a way as to sound as if we have more, we just can’t comment. This may shake our perpetrator into making a mistake, but I doubt it. We have to address the public, we need their help. Agent Paul Casey will now update you.”
Paul walked to the front of the room and lifted the pointer from the white- board tray. “We have not ruled out that these murders may be from two separate killers.” As the people in the room moaned, he continued, “In any event, our killer, at least on the rape victims, is a middle aged man, judging from the ages of the victims, and in good health. He can drag body’s fair distances. Probably self- employed. Certainly has the ability to manipulate his time. He may be married. He is smart, careful and arrogant. No DNA, no evidence, from any of the dump sites. Each of the rape victims has been found in extremely public areas.
He is getting bolder and the space between killings is getting shorter. He is probably nearing a frenzy stage where he may start making mistakes. The victims of the rapes are not prostitutes or “throw away people” as some perpetrators call them. These are very attractive, working, professional women. He is able to engage these women, causing them to trust him, and get too close. They are not mutilated, simply raped and strangled. This suggests that they are useful more as playthings to him. He may have an adversity to gore. We only have the dump sites for this group. We do not know where the murders actually took place.
“In the non-raped group we know where the murders took place. Still no DNA or evidence, and there are no dump sites. They have been found in their homes.” He shook his head as he continued and looked at the faces around the room, “We still have not found any connection of these victims to each other. There is a reason these women died. He risked getting caught to kill them.” He was tapping his pointer next to the pictures of the non-raped women. “These are the types of murders that scare the community to its core. Women living alone are killed in their own homes.” Paul took a sip of water and then pushed his chin out in his nervous tick as he looked at the group. He knew they were exhausted, but he had to keep them focused.
“Your Chief called for us on December 6 when the body of Darla Phillips was found south of town, here just off US31. We are calling her victim number three.” He was pointing to a picture of a beautiful woman with long dark hair and perfect features. “This was after finding the bodies of number one, Nettie Wilson, on Nov. sixth, and number two, Karen Smith, on the twenty third of November.” Nettie’s picture on the board said she was 80, and Karen was 42, young, but homely. “Since then we have number four, Burna George,74– and two days ago number five, Valerie McDonald– and yesterday Number six, Ginger Hall.” He had been pointing to each of their pictures as he spoke.
“We have three women killed in their homes, strangled, no apparent robberies, and three women raped, strangled and dumped in a seven week period. Special Agent Dance and I feel the break we need, will come from these three.” He pointed to the two old ladies and the homely one. “There was a reason they were killed. Just keep that thought as we retrace everything, from the beginning. Interview friends and family. Again. I can’t tell you what you are looking for, but you will know it. It may be what is missing you will notice, not what is there. Oh, and Merry Christmas tomorrow.”
Roger and Paul watched as the room cleared out. A couple of detectives stopped by the picture board for a look at the pictures of Ginger Hall, the new one. Roger rubbed the side of his neck as he spoke to Paul, “One of us needs to be with Sharon for the press conference which starts in, oh shit, ten minutes. Can you do that? I want to talk to the neighbors and friends of Nettie Wilson myself. Who knows?”
Paul said he would stay with Sharon and the Chief for a while. He also wanted to check with the lab to see if there was anything found by the CSI guys at Ginger Hall’s dump site yesterday. “Why don’t I check out this Hall scene with you later this morning?” Paul asked Roger.
“Fine, I’ll call you when I’m done at Nettie’s.”
Paul cringed at the crowd of reporters waiting on the other side of the glass door for the press conference to start. This was his least favorite part of the job. With the technology today, the often inappropriate release of information by the press posed very real risks to open cases. He tried to disguise his resentment with a big fake smile. Paul held the door open for Sharon, and she winked at him. “Thanks handsome,” she whispered as she walked through. Normally Paul enjoyed the flirting of a beautiful woman, but the ominous dread engulfing this case had him fearing anything that would disrupt his focus. He was also worried about Roger. The pressure was starting to show.
Paul forced a smile and said, “Go do your magic.”
When Paul and Roger had both left the conference room, we all looked at Betty. She motioned us to circle around her, and then she asked, “What do you think?” Silence.
Okay, I’ll say
it, “I think Roger and Paul can arrest me any day! They are hot!” Betty shook her finger at me.
Teresa frowned at me and said to Betty, “As angels couldn’t we, well probably you, just talk to the dead people and find out what happened?” That sounded perfect and easy!
Betty answered, “Talking to dead people is only in the movies gals. Remember, part of Orientation is reducing mortal memories to just pleasant ones? The dead people wouldn’t be able to help. Now remember, our assignment is to help Agent Dance in any way we can. Let’s continue to just observe for a while and see what comes to mind. We better move to the news conference now.” And she was gone.
I told Linda to stop moving like ‘Frogger’ that mass didn’t matter. She started to laugh, “Oh yeah, I keep forgetting that.” She still made a couple of Frogger moves, but I think they were for the benefit of Mary and me. Teresa beat us again! Show off! Betty announced that she was going to Nettie Wilson’s house to observe Roger and for us to meet her there after the press release. She gave us our watch coordinates and vanished. This is so much fun!
* * *
The sign out front said Attorney James Devon. Closer inspection of the lettering would show it had been poorly touched up with a black marker and the sign post was rotting at the ground. Who cares, he thought, as he pushed a pile of files into his bottom drawer and sprayed air freshener around his desk. Damn dog anyway …stinks…….have to have him though. Neighborhood’s going to hell!
He saw his part time secretary pull up and park in front of the house where his office was. She was the fifth temp this year. Bitch. Said he was inappropriate. Right. She demanded he either let her work out of the living room on the other side of the house, or she was quitting. There may have been some implied threat of going to the Bar Association. Whatever.
Alcohol Was Not Involved : A Shallow End Gals Trilogy Page 2