by Mary Stone
At the mention of The Preacher, the taste in Winter’s mouth soured. Beside her, Noah leaned an inch closer, and she was comforted by his subtle show of support. She took a sip of her mocha, refusing to let her hands shake, as Aiden continued.
“Detective Leavens and his partner, Detective Meyer, have a total of five unsolved murders starting in June of this year. There were three incidents, two of which were double homicides.”
Aiden clicked a button on the remote to bring the projector to life. His blue eyes flitted over the quiet gathering before he reached out to tap an index finger beside the photograph of a smiling, middle-aged couple.
“Oliver and Sandy Ulbrich were killed last night on a hiking trail not too far outside of Danville. They were both stabbed in the heart.” He pressed the button to skip to the next image—a photo of a younger couple and their German Shepherd. “This is Adrian and Kelsey Esperson. They were killed in their home about three months ago. Their security alarm was disabled, their dog was tranquilized, and then both their throats were slit.”
Winter leaned forward. “Aside from how they were killed, that sounds like a professional hit.”
Aiden’s expression was still grim as he nodded. “It does. Whoever killed them knew exactly how to get around all their security measures. Nothing was stolen, and according to friends and family, the Espersons didn’t have any enemies. Adrian Esperson’s ex-wife was questioned, but all accounts indicate that she and Adrian ended their marriage amicably, and they were still friends. Plus, she has a rock-solid alibi. She works the graveyard shift, and she was at work the night of the murders.”
As she blew out a quiet breath, Winter folded her hands. “What about the fifth victim?”
The image projected on the whiteboard flicked over to a graduation photo of a young woman with long braids and a wide smile.
Aiden set the remote on the podium and glanced to the young woman’s picture. “Willa Brown, nineteen-year-old African American economics student at Virginia Tech. She was killed while she was in Danville visiting with friends and family over summer break. She was shot in the back of the head with a nine-millimeter. According to the medical examiner, she was sexually assaulted before she was killed. She was watching after her sister’s pets while her sister went to a graduate school interview in Boulder. At first, the police thought that her sister might have been the target.”
“What happened to her sister?” Bree’s voice was as grave as the look on Aiden’s face.
The SSA’s pale eyes shifted to Bree. “She moved out of the apartment when she was accepted to graduate school in Colorado. Her parents moved with her. None of them wanted to live in the same city where Willa had been murdered.”
An image of the dilapidated house where Winter’s parents had been killed flashed through her mind.
She knew that feeling. She knew it well. Even almost fourteen years after The Preacher had murdered her parents, Winter could hardly imagine living in Harrisonburg.
To Winter’s side, Noah tapped his knuckles on the table. “Willa was sexually assaulted. Were any of the other victims assaulted?”
Aiden shook his head. “No.”
“And we’re sure these murders are all connected?” There was no accusatory tinge to Noah’s words, only genuine curiosity.
Despite the lack of hostility, Aiden’s eyes darkened. “All five of the victims were present at the Riverside Mall when Haldane and Strickland killed fifteen people.”
From behind Winter and Noah, Bobby took in a sharp breath. “I thought their names sounded familiar. You think someone’s targeting the people who were at the mall that night?”
Aiden’s expression didn’t change as he nodded. “Yes. And to answer the question of why all of you are here for this briefing, this is a high priority case. There are more than twenty other people who were taken hostage by Tyler Haldane and Kent Strickland that night. That’s twenty more people this killer or killers may be planning to target.”
Sweeping his gaze over the room, Max stepped up beside the podium. “We need to find the person or people who did this, and we need to do it yesterday. We can’t keep this from the public for long, and as soon as word gets out, we’ll have a circus at our doorstep again. Just like we did with Augusto Lopez.”
There was one key difference between Augusto Lopez—the vigilante who had targeted murderers and rapists—and the person after whom they now sought. Lopez hadn’t harmed innocent civilians. In fact, if Augusto was still free, there was a distinct possibility he’d take out the newest serial killer before the bureau even got a chance to read them their rights.
Max’s gravelly voice cut through her brief contemplation. “Dalton, Stafford, you’re going to head down to Danville to meet with Detective Leavens and his partner, Detective Meyer. I want the rest of you to look through the case files for Willa Brown, the Ulbrichs, and the Espersons, as well as get a handle on the other Danville hostages from that night. Once Stafford and Dalton are back, we’ll meet up in here again to figure out where we go from there. Otherwise, as soon as SSA Parrish or I hear anything, you’ll hear it too.”
Before Max finished, Winter had already scooped up her mocha and pushed to her feet.
Flicking off the projector, Max nodded to the room. “Let’s get ahead of this thing. We’ve got a limited amount of time before we’ll have to fight through the media at every turn, so let’s make it count. Dismissed.”
Just like that, the relative peace of the last two and a half months was shattered.
12
As Noah glanced from one gruesome photograph to the next, the corner of his mouth turned down in a scowl. To Noah’s side was Bree Stafford, and across the table were their Danville PD counterparts—Detectives Grace Meyer and Doug Leavens. There were so many crime photographs splayed across the table that the four of them had to stand to get a good view of the entire collection.
A slat of daylight that filtered in through the pane of glass in the door was the only reminder that they weren’t in a cave. Though the police station was provided with plentiful natural light, the conference room was a drab, windowless space in the heart of the second floor.
Gesturing to the photos splayed atop the laminate table, Noah flashed a curious look to Detective Grace Meyer. “You’ve suspected that these murders were linked for a while now, haven’t you, Detective?”
Grace brushed a piece of honey-brown hair from her face as she nodded. “Since Adrian and Kelsey Esperson were killed.”
Before Noah could open his mouth, Bree’s dark eyes flicked up from the pictures to Detective Leavens. “What about you, Detective? Clearly, your partner was on to something. What exactly was it that made the Danville PD so reluctant to look into Detective Meyer’s theory?”
With one hand, Doug reached up to rub his eyes. “It was a mistake. Some of our more tenured homicide detectives dismissed it, called it a conspiracy theory. Those guys have been around for a long time, so I guess the rest of us just followed suit.”
Detective Meyer’s scowl matched Noah’s. “I’ve been keeping an eye on the cases myself, almost like a side project.”
For a split-second, Doug’s eyes went wide. “You have? When?”
Grace crossed her arms and shot her partner a dark look. “Off the clock. I was trying to find something else that would tie the murders together so the rest of the department would take it seriously.”
As Noah pulled out a chair, he gestured to the chairs on the other side of the table. “Well, have a seat then, Detectives. You two were on the scene of each of these crimes, weren’t you?”
Doug Leavens nodded as he dropped to sit. “We were. A couple of detectives in homicide retired at the beginning of the year, and the department hasn’t seen fit to replace them, so Grace and I wind up with a lot of extra hours.”
Funding was one of the many reasons Noah was grateful for his decision to transition from the Dallas PD to the FBI. Working against the clock to put away violent criminals was a difficult job
, and the stress was only compounded in cities like Danville where the police didn’t always get the funding they badly needed.
Bree took her seat and tapped the glossy photograph of Willa Brown in her graduation cap and gown. “Willa was the first victim, right? She was killed at the beginning of the summer.”
There was a distant look in Grace’s eyes as she nodded. “Yeah, she was the first. I double and triple checked to make sure we didn’t overlook anyone before her. She was one of Haldane and Strickland’s hostages at the mall that night.”
Detective Leavens inclined his chin in Grace’s direction. “Meyer was still working the beat then. She was at the mall while I was meeting with you guys at that church outside McCook. I was out of town for a concert that night, so I was closer to McCook than Danville when I got the call about Douglas Kilroy. That’s why I was at the church. Otherwise, I would’ve been at the mall as well.”
Noah nodded. “A couple of our people were there too. Could you and Detective Meyer walk us through the scene where Willa was killed?”
Scooting her chair closer to the table, Grace looked over the splay of photos before she pulled out a picture of the entrance of an apartment. “Willa was watching over the place while Mary Brown was out of town. The apartment building had controlled entry, and each apartment had the option to pay an extra fee each month for a security system.”
Noah and Bree exchanged glances. “Did Mary pay extra for the alarm system?” he asked.
The detective’s eyes flicked up to meet his as she nodded. “Yes, she did. The alarm didn’t go off, which suggests that the perp knew a way around it. We looked through the security company’s logs, and sure enough, it was disarmed.” Grace paused to shake her head. “It wasn’t disarmed around the time she was killed, though. It was earlier in the night.”
The overhead fluorescence caught the face of Doug’s watch as he reached for an up-close photo of the doorknob. “No signs of forced entry. Willa was killed a little after one in the morning, but none of the neighbors heard anything. No screams, no loud noises, nothing. We think the killer was waiting for her when she got back from visiting with her parents. We thought it might have been a stalker or an ex, something like that, but…” He left the sentiment unfinished.
Bree tapped a picture of the alarm system. “Your run of the mill ex doesn’t know how to disarm one of these things. Plus, it’s not like an ex would have known the code. Willa was at her sister’s place, and stalkers tend to stick to an area near where they live. If a stalker was going to kill the person they were stalking, they would have done it on their home turf.”
A slight flush crept into Detective Leavens’s unshaven cheeks. “You’re right.”
Though Noah thought Doug should feel some level of shame for his department’s misstep, he couldn’t help a twinge of sympathy at the man’s dejected tone.
That same empathy flickered to life in Grace’s eyes as she glanced over to her partner. “Well, someone was stalking her. It just wasn’t your average Peeping Tom.”
A hint of determination was back on Doug’s face as he met Grace’s gaze. “We questioned Willa’s ex-boyfriend, but he was out to dinner and drinks with some of his friends that night until about three. Honestly, he seemed pretty broken up about it too. He said they only broke up because she moved away for college, and they were still friends.”
Noah pointed to a printout of a mugshot of another man when it caught his eye. The man’s blond hair was shaved on both sides of his head, and a handful of black and white tattoos were printed on his forearms. His dark eyes were clouded with anger as he glared at the camera.
Staring at the photograph, Noah tried to place the man before glancing to Detective Meyer. “Who is he? A suspect?”
Her scowl deepened as she picked up the photo. “Yeah. Shawn Teller. Some neo-Nazi punk who’d been seen around Mary Brown’s apartment complex a few times. He claimed he had a friend who lived there, but he wouldn’t tell us who it was.”
Bree drummed her fingers against the table. “That fits. We haven’t made any of the contents public, but we came across Haldane and Strickland’s manifesto about two and a half months ago. There were a fair amount of racist musings in it. I can see how their agenda would have appealed to someone like Teller.”
“When was this taken?” Noah tapped the picture.
“About a year ago,” Doug said. “He was arrested for aggravated assault, but the charges were dropped later on down the road.”
“Aggravated assault?” Noah echoed. “What happened?”
“He beat the hell out of a protestor at some political rally. And, well.” Doug paused to run a hand through his dark hair. “Teller is, or was a white supremacist, and he didn’t try to hide it. Willa was an educated, well-liked young black woman. He was suspect number one.”
“Was?”
Another nod. “We’ve been on the lookout for him for the last six months, but we haven’t so much as caught a glimpse of him. He just dropped off the face of the planet.” With a hapless shrug, Doug spread his hands. “Trust me, we’ve tried to find him to bring him in. We’ve gotten ahold of friends and family, and none of them have seen him either. We asked why they haven’t filed a missing person report, and they all said they just assumed he’d taken off to live in Alabama to be with some woman he’d started talking to online.”
Bree beat Noah to the next question. “Adrian and Kelsey were killed three months after Willa. Do you know where Teller was around that time?”
Shadows moved along Doug’s face as he clenched and unclenched his jaw. “No. He was long gone by then, at least according to the people who knew him.”
“Shit,” Noah muttered under his breath. “The ME said that Willa was sexually assaulted. Was there any DNA evidence left behind?”
With a quiet sigh, Grace propped her chin in one hand. “There was, but we weren’t able to get a sample from Teller before he disappeared. Even though he’d been arrested, his DNA wasn’t in the database. There’d been no reason to take it at the time of his arrest, and he lawyered up right away.”
“What about his family?” Noah glanced back and forth between the two detectives. “Did you try to get a sample from any of his family? That’d narrow down the suspect pool.”
Grace was shaking her head before Noah finished. “No. As far as Teller goes, the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. His family are all just as racist as he is, and to say they don’t trust the government would be a grave understatement.”
“We didn’t have enough for a court order, either,” Doug said. “When you get right down to it, all we had was a guy who happened to be around the same area who also happened to have a prejudice that gave him a vague motive. Otherwise, he and Willa had never even met. None of the Brown family recognized him, either.”
Crossing both arms over his chest, Noah leaned back in his chair. “Okay. Let’s look at the next murder, then. That’d be Kelsey and Adrian Esperson.”
Doug nodded and pulled out a familiar photo of the young couple. “We threw out a wide net with them too. Honestly, when we walked through the scene, my first thought was that it looked like a professional hit. We don’t see a lot of those here in Danville, but they aren’t unheard of.”
This time, it was Bree’s turn to shake her head. “I’ve worked organized crime, and I can tell you that the mob doesn’t slit people’s throats. That’s messy, and it runs the risk of getting blood on your clothes. One bullet to the back of the head. That’s how they carry out their hits.”
For their lengthy drive to the southern Virginia city, Bree and Noah had discussed the probability that the Espersons had been murdered by a contract killer. The conversation had consisted primarily of Bree laying out a whole host of reasons that contradicted the theory of a hired assassin. At first blush, the precision of the crime seemed consistent with a professional hit. However, the theory didn’t stand up to scrutiny.
Bree gestured to the photo of Kelsey’s ashen face. The gaping
wound along her throat was so deep that the white of bone could be seen in the autopsy pictures. “Slitting someone’s throat is up close and personal, and when the mob agrees to carry out a hit, it’s all business.”
Scratching his chin, Doug Leavens nodded. “That’s true. But still, Shawn Teller wasn’t anywhere to be found when Kelsey and Adrian were killed, and as far as we can tell, he still isn’t anywhere to be found. We recovered the bullet that killed Willa, but so far we haven’t been able to match it to any of the weapons in the ATF’s database.”
Noah swallowed a string of four-letter words. Shawn Teller had been a promising lead at first, but the likelihood that he’d killed Kelsey and Adrian dropped lower with each passing minute. The odds that each of the three crimes—all of which were still unsolved—was unrelated were slim. All the coincidence in the world couldn’t explain how five victims of the same mass shooting had been brutally murdered in the span of six months.
Most murders were the result of a personal or financial motivator. Crimes of passion, robberies, abusive spouses. More often than not, a violent murder was explained by one of the three elements. Most victims knew their perpetrator, but so far, all signs indicated that none of the five survivors of the Riverside Mall shooting had known their attackers.
As a silence settled in over the small group, the only sound was the drone of the station outside the door.
Noah glanced from photo to photo in a vain effort to connect the three crimes. When a sharp knock sounded out, he barely managed to keep himself from leaping to his feet. It wasn’t like him to be jumpy, and he didn’t like it.
With a light creak, the wooden door swung inward to reveal a gray-haired man of average height. The man’s white dress shirt was neatly pressed, and the gold bars on each shoulder of his jacket distinguished him as the precinct captain.
Nodding to Bree and Noah, he eased the door closed. “Sorry I’m late. I had a meeting with the commissioner that ran over. You must be the agents sent here by the bureau.” He stepped forward and stuck out a hand. “I’m Captain Polivick.”