“The old silver mines.” He pressed a thick, yellow fingernail onto the top of the desk. “This place, this town right here, used to be one of the biggest money-makers in America. You familiar with the history at all?”
“Not really.”
“How much do you want to know?”
“Everything,” I said.
“You ever taken a tour of this place? I’d be glad to show you around.”
“I’d love to, but not today. Right now I need to know about the movie. If you help me out, I promise I’ll return when I can and take you up on your offer.”
He angled a crooked finger toward a chair. “You’re after the dark history then. Best sit down. You might be here awhile.”
I sat, wondering how dark such an exuberant place could be.
“Tragic story, really,” he began. “It all started in the fifties when two boys wandered off their grandfather’s farm. The boys’ father, Harvey, had brought the family out as a kind of vacation while he negotiated the sale of his father’s place.”
“Where was Harvey’s father?”
“He’d passed away. Cancer, as I recall. Anyhow, the oldest boy, Willie, was a teenager at the time. Curious, just like any other kid his age, I expect. Just looking for a little adventure. Decided to take his younger brother, Leonard, along for a walk around the place. It was a bad idea, which Willie didn’t realize at the time. The land surrounding the family farm was littered with mines, which was exactly why their mother had warned them not to go beyond the gate surrounding the property.”
“What threat did the mines pose to the children?” I asked. “They were no longer in use, right? Weren’t they abandoned by that time?”
He raised a brow. “So you do know a little history?”
“Some.”
I felt like the star student in class.
“The mines may have been deserted, but giant holes still remained in the ground.”
“Why weren’t they sealed?” I asked.
“It wasn’t a priority. After the stock market crashed in 1929, the mines never fully recovered. Don’t get me wrong, several attempts were made to get things running again. They spent years trying to revitalize what once had been a booming, lucrative industry, but eventually the town’s population dwindled to around a thousand or so, and the mines shut down for good.”
“You spoke of a tragedy. Did something happen to the boys?”
He cleared his throat. Not a good sign.
“Willie and Leonard discovered an open mine shaft, and, from Willie’s account of things, all Willie wanted to do was look at it. A toy Leonard was carrying fell into the opening, and, being as young and innocent as he was, he must have thought he could reach in and get it.”
I clasped a hand over my chest. “What do you mean—reach in?”
My stomach churned.
“Some of the mines were deep,” he said, “almost one thousand feet beneath the surface. Poor Leonard fell to his death.”
I clasped a hand over my mouth. The accidental death of an adult was painful enough. The demise of an innocent child stirred an entirely different kind of emotion. “Was his body ever recovered?”
“It was a huge undertaking, but Harvey was adamant. He wasn’t about to leave his boy down there. He wanted Leonard to have a proper burial alongside his own father.”
“It must have been devastating to lose a child in such a way,” I said.
“Willie suffered the most. I saw him once in town about a month after it happened. The two of us were about the same age at the time. He was with his parents. I knew it was him because he was the only one in town I hadn’t seen before, and the rumor about what happened had gone around.”
“I’m sure he blamed himself for what happened.”
“They all did, seemed like. Willie’s parents walked around like a couple of living corpses, like they’d lost the will to live. It was too hard for them to stay here. They took the property off the market and left town.”
“Is there anyone in the family still alive?” I asked.
“I’m not sure. I never saw Willie again. Leonard was their only other child. There’s little chance the parents would still be alive today.”
Was the story of a young boy falling down a mine shaft compelling?
Yes.
A tear-jerker?
Yes.
A full-length movie?
I didn’t see it unless Melody embellished some of the details.
“I can see why Melody Sinclair was intrigued with the story,” I said, “but in my opinion, it would be a stretch to turn it into a full-length feature.”
“Based on the boy alone, you’re right. The death of Leonard is only the beginning.”
“I don’t follow.”
His chair creaked as he leaned forward, staring into my eyes. “Bed of Bones isn’t about the death of the young boy, you see. Not really.”
I was more confused than ever. “What is it about?”
“Leonard’s body wasn’t all rescuers found when they reached the bottom of the mine. They found something else, a sight so grisly, so disturbing, even now it’s hard to believe it happened here.”
“What else was down there?” I asked.
“Dead bodies. Lots of them.”
CHAPTER 26
“More dead bodies?” My throat felt scratchy, dry, like it had been raked over with a fork. “How many?”
“Seven,” Butch replied.
“Miners?”
“Women, all buried next to each other in a circular pattern, legs straight, arms crossed in front of their chests.”
“Like a ritual of some kind?”
“Looked like it.”
I thought of the scripture verses, thought maybe this could have been ritualistic in nature. “If the mines were no longer being used, how long had the bodies been down there?”
“That particular shaft hadn’t been active for several years. When the bodies were discovered, all they found was skeletal remains. The ligaments and tendons had decayed, leaving several piles of bones buried in the mine bed. This suggested they’d been down there long enough for the bones to rot.”
“How do you know so much?” I asked.
He winked. “It’s my job to know the history of this town, Miss Monroe. Both the good and the bad. It’s a rarity to come across something I don’t know.”
He said this with pride.
“What can you tell me about the way they died?” I asked.
“It was assumed the women were alive when they entered the mine shaft.”
“How do you know? Were they able to determine cause of death?”
“All of them had a single bullet wound to the head, shot at close range with a Colt SAA .45.”
“Couldn’t they have been shot above ground?”
“Five out of seven shell casings were found in close proximity to the bodies.”
“Are you saying the killer lined them up next to each other and shot them, firing-squad style?” I asked.
“A few of the women were matched through dental records. This enabled investigators to create a timeline on how the murders evolved based on the dates the identified women went missing. Some disappeared months apart from each other. Detective Hurtwick, a man in his early thirties, was the lead investigator at the time. It was his first big case. He believed the killer shot and killed his victims within a few days of their abductions. The forensic examiner concurred with this logic. To suggest otherwise meant the killer would have had to keep them alive for months at a time while he perfected his group of seven.”
“The women…did they have anything in common—age, hair color, profession?” I asked. “Did they know one another?”
“No. They were as different and varied as a group of women could be. That’s what made it so confusing.”
“You said bones were found.”
“Like they were on display, yes. Although, in my opinion the killer didn’t seem to think the remains would ever be unearthed. I b
elieve he returned to the scene of the crime, time and time again, treating the place like his own private cemetery, maybe even thinking he’d created a holy sanctuary of some kind.”
“Why would anyone think it was a holy sanctuary?” I asked.
“Behind each victim was a post, a cross made out of pieces of wood.”
“Grave markers? Was anything written on them?”
“They all had words carved into the wood.”
“Words like the women’s names?”
He shook his head. “Sins.”
Sins.
“Did they happen to be scriptural references?”
I couldn’t imagine anyone, no matter how crazy, taking the time to carve out an entire passage. He shifted in his chair. I had touched on something.
“Most of them were one to three words long: proud, lying tongue, shedder of blood, wicked, mischievous, false witness, soweth discord.”
“Seven sins for seven ladies,” I said. “Why seven? Why stop there?”
I said this knowing once the vast majority of serial killers had the taste of death in their mouths, it was almost impossible to get it out. Most increased their kills, both in number and frequency; they didn’t lessen them. To stop all together took a discipline few possessed.
He turned, extended a hand to a shelf and grabbed a worn, brown, faded copy of the Bible. He opened it to chapter six of Proverbs and handed it to me. “Read verses sixteen through nineteen aloud please.”
My heart raced. With a great deal of reluctance, I accepted the book, reading its contents aloud. “These six things doth the Lord hate: yea, seven are an abomination unto to him: A proud look, a lying tongue, and hands that shed innocent blood. An heart that deviseth wicked imaginations, feet that be swift in running to mischief, a false witness that speaketh lies, and he that soweth discord among brethren.”
Somewhere in the middle of reading, my hands began to perspire. I thought of the scripture the killer sent to Melody. It fit perfectly with a false witness speaking lies. I thought of Brynn. Hands that shed innocent blood. And as for the actress, Victoria Broderick, she could have easily been any of the rest. What had they done to deserve the sentence they were about to receive? Now I had something far greater than a multitude of abductions to fear. I feared the women’s imminent deaths.
The sacred book slipped from my hands, thumping on the ground like I’d dropped a sack of flour. I leaned down, picked it up. “I’m sorry…I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to—”
He smiled. “It’s all right. Tell me, what has you so frightened?”
“I…it’s nothing. I’m grateful to you. You’ve helped in ways you don’t even realize, but I need to go.”
He caught my arm with his leathery hand as I rose. “The verses you just read. They mean something to you don’t they?”
They meant I had to tell Carlo there was a good chance Melody was already dead.
“Please,” he continued, “let me help.”
I paused, sat back down. I’d give him two more minutes. Two minutes and I was gone. “I think what happened to the women all those years ago—the murders—they’re happening again. Maybe even in the same way they happened before.”
“Why do you think this?”
Butch was a wealth of information, a man who, it seemed, was passionate enough about what he did for a living to have spent a great deal of his life studying it, keeping it safe, protecting its secrets. Could I trust him?
While I pondered the question, my hands fidgeted, unable to keep still, no matter how tightly I clasped them together. I wondered if he sensed my apprehension.
He said, “Would it help if I told you I understand why this is happening again and explained why I feel this way?”
I nodded, hardly believing he was capable of such a thing.
He continued. “And would it help if I provided you with the name of the killer?”
His name? Was he joking?
I squeezed my eyes shut, nodded, and braced for impact.
CHAPTER 27
“Chester Compton.”
The name didn’t ring a single bell.
“Who is Chester Compton?” I asked.
He paused, building up to the final reveal. “Willie and Leonard’s grandfather.”
I absorbed his words.
Let them sink in.
“You said Chester Compton was already dead. The family was in town to sell his property. So how did they know he committed the murders?”
“After the women were found, investigators initially focused on the other mines, thinking they might find additional bodies in them too. Every mother, father, aunt, uncle, and brother who’d lost a female of any kind over the past several years came forward.”
“It gave them hope,” I said. “They thought if the other women turned up, their relatives would too.”
“Exactly.”
“And?”
“After several weeks of searching, no other bodies were found. In hopes of finding the killer, a statement was released citing the gun cops believed was used in the murders. And Detective Hurtwick received an interesting phone call.”
I’d leaned so far forward on the seat, I almost fell off. “From whom?”
“Harvey Compton.”
“Willie’s father?”
He nodded. “He said while they were packing up his dad’s place, preparing for the sale, they found the gun stashed in between the mattress. Hurtwick talked to several gun shops in Salt Lake City and verified Chester Compton purchased the gun some ten years earlier. They got a search warrant and scrubbed the place from top to bottom.”
“Did they find anything else?”
“Several typed pages kept in a notebook, a journal of sorts. Read like a personal belief system. It was filled with random thoughts about the women he stalked. He took his time. He knew where they worked, where they lived, their daily routines. The journal spoke of punishing them for their wickedness. The way he talked about them—he didn’t see them as humans, he saw them as sinners.”
I’d read about this type of person before. Chester Compton was what was known as a missionary type of killer, just not in the biblical sense, although he’d probably convinced himself some higher power led him to do what he did. Missionaries were compelled to kill, on a mission to rid the world of a certain type of person. They saw their victims as worthy of death in one way or another based on the victim’s odious actions in life. To the killer these people were undesirable, unworthy to continue on with their lives. Orchestrating their deaths was a favor to the rest of humankind. Death was often impersonal and quick. To the killer, the victim was hated. The Axeman of New Orleans and Carol Edward Cole both came to mind.
“Did they find anything other than the gun and these pages?” I asked.
“Fabric from the last victim’s dress. It had torn off on a nail in Chester’s shed. They found the manufacturer, matched it up. The parents confirmed their daughter was wearing the dress the day she went missing.”
A message popped up on my phone from Carlo? WHERE ARE YOU? I SAID TWENTY MINUTES, NOT SIXTY.
I was too engrossed in the conversation with Butch to respond.
“Aside from the murders, what type of person was Chester Compton?” I asked.
“He was a prominent member of the community. He threw elaborate parties at his home when the silver mines were booming. He was well liked. My grandparents attended his home on multiple occasions. Neither of them ever suspected a thing.”
“Did he live alone?”
“Had a wife. Pearl. She went a little nutty after he died. Didn’t want to leave the house for anything. Talked aloud to Chester like he was still there. Even said he talked back to her on occasion. People were concerned, started talking, and her son put her in a home. She died there a few years later.”
Chester Compton was dead, and yet, three women had gone missing over the last three days. Someone had renewed his cause again. If anyone could help me, Butch could.
“Three wom
en have gone missing in the last few days,” I said. “All three were part of the movie in some way—one a director, one an actress, one an assistant. Two of the three were sent scripture references that tie in to the chapter you just showed me, and I suspect the third received one too—police just haven’t found it yet.”
“What scripture references were sent to the women?”
I told him.
“Mm.”
“What are you thinking?” I asked.
“Those verses are an exact match to the ones sent to two of the seven women discovered in the mine shaft. Vera Robinson and Anne Farmer. Their families found the verses on typed slips of paper. Vera’s was found in her car, and Anne’s was inside a locker she’d rented at the town pool.” He rested his hands on the desk. “Remember before, when I said I could tell you why this is happening again?”
I nodded.
“I put a display together with a few items pertaining to the murders. It wasn’t anything large or significant in any way, just a simple glass enclosure about the size of a coffee table. It had newspaper clippings and various other things inside.”
“Was there anything of significance?” I asked.
“I’d managed to procure a few of the typed pages some years ago. I made it the centerpiece of the display. I wanted the gun, but they wouldn’t release it from evidence.”
“Can I see the pages?”
He shook his head.
“Why not?” I asked.
“About eighteen months ago, before we moved into the new building, the display was stolen. I arrived one morning to find the glass case had been shattered with a rock which the thief left behind. Everything in the case was gone. And the strange thing is, far more valuable items in the museum were left untouched.”
“Someone came in with the specific goal of stealing the contents relating to the murders,” I said.
“I never could prove it, but I was suspicious of a female employee who’d locked up the night before. Always thought she had something to do with it.”
“What made you consider her?”
“Aside from the rock, there was nothing to suggest someone physically broke into the place, not through a door or a window.”
Bed of Bones (A Sloane Monroe Novel, Book Five) Page 10