by A Wallace
Murphy rubbed his chin. “Uhm… Robin, she was first.”
“I disagree. The suspect doesn’t live near any of them. He travels.”
“Trick question,” Murphy said with a slight smile. “He lives away from the crime scene area?”
“He takes them away from the crime radius.”
“Why?”
“He doesn’t want us to decipher his pattern.” Charley referenced the murder map. “It has to look as though the abductions are random, otherwise he’d reveal who he is.”
“The key to his actions is where he takes them.”
“Yes.”
“Where he works, depends on where the abductions take place.”
“Correct.”
“What about Natalie? Her abduction happened on a Saturday. He may work on Saturdays.”
“Where he works or something involved in his work connects the girls.”
“What time was Annabelle abducted?”
Charley consulted her notes. “Four fifteen in the afternoon. Children are home from school and outside, blowing off energy after being in school all day.”
Murphy reclined in the chair, locking his fingers behind his head. “The perfect distraction.”
Chapter 32
Some Things Don’t Need Repeating
Lorton, VA – Faraday Farms
Wednesday, 22 June – 7:45 AM
Wednesday arrived.
Annabelle Grant had been missing for eight days with no additional leads.
Interviewers questioned Lucas Williams’ employees for six days. Several of them acquainted with the missing or dead girls crumbled during their interviews. Through their anguish, they provided solid alibis to authorities.
Vigilant and dedicated to his community, Lucas contracted to have four-point cameras installed on the ice cream trucks.
Charley conceded the only good thing to come out of this promising lead— the Williams’ Ice Cream Company employees declared they would notify authorities if they spotted the truck.
Forensics examined the mask for residual chemicals. After extensive testing, results determined a starter fluid concoction of mineral spirits, better known as homemade ether.
A further inquiry of all students and school staff of Bennett Elementary resulted in a dead end. Investigators deduced Annabelle gave the nickname, Star, to the person who eventually abducted her. As they dug deeper, they pulled the employee rolls in the public school system. They found no one holding the name of Star.
Charley propped her head with her hand, rubbing her forehead with her fingertips. Facts stacked in her mind, she sorted through them, trying to decipher the killer’s rationale. The girls were well cared for while held captive, except for Natalie who fought hard. It made little sense. Where was the harbored emotional violence, the outrage? Was the anger buried so deep it must be unleashed? What was his trigger? What provoked him to commit these crimes? Could it be a flawed man attempting to find redemption in the most heinous way?
Beep, beep, beep.
Charley covered her ears to the familiar menacing warning. “No.” She slumped over, falling hard onto the desk, hitting her forehead. Annabelle Grant’s dead body awaited. She sent a text to Murphy informing him she would meet him at the crime scene.
Today, she did not want time alone with him. She needed to sort some of the misfiled data slots in her mind. Her affection increasing, her concern wasn’t if she trusted him, but could she trust herself.
Burke, VA – Dunbar Avenue – Quincy’s Piano and Music
9:43 AM
Two miles from the small grove of trees at Rensselaer Park, the site of Annabelle Grant’s abduction, Denise Quincy, owner of Quincy’s Piano and Music, discovered her body.
Charley parked her Volkswagen in the parking lot of the music store. Murphy waited for her on the sidewalk. His hands in his pockets, a strained smile on his face, he watched as she exited the vehicle. Charley nudged him in the side with her elbow. “Hey, partner.”
Doobie approached them. “Here we go again.”
“Inevitable,” Charley said.
“That’s cold,” Murphy said.
“What else is there to say? We knew what would happen unless we caught him. It’s reality.” Charley said as the three of them strode to the crime scene. “It won’t stop until he’s apprehended.”
“Where’s Carmichael?”
“He’s on his way,” Doobie said.
The three of them approached the little girl and stood by her side.
Positioned underneath an awning on a concrete picnic table in the break area, the body laid on a green flannel blanket. Annabelle Grant held four orange lilies in her hands. The yellow empire dress had a pleated skirt. A white Peter Pan collar complimented the bodice. On her feet, pale yellow socks with white sneakers tied with yellow ribbon. Same as the other three victims clamped above her right ear a yellow velvet bow.
Nine white candles in small wooden holders surrounded her body.
“It’s Wednesday morning, this is a busy business district this time of day.” Charley removed a pair of gloves from her pants pocket. “She’s two miles from the abduction point.”
“She’s not lying on the ground like the others,” Murphy said.
“There’s an abrasion on her knee. It’s fresh.” Charley slipped the vinyl gloves over her hands.
“We’ve had a lot of rain in the last few days.” Charley wafted the candles with her hand. “He didn’t want her to be wet and dirty. The candles are the same. These didn’t burn as long. He didn’t spend as much time with her. Less than hour.”
“Quantity over quality.” Murphy donned a pair of exam gloves and leaned closer to the victim. “Her cheeks are too pink.”
“I noticed that, too.” Charley snapped the cuff of the gloves.
“Sunburn.” Murphy pointed at Annabelle’s face. “One side is redder than the other.” His hands near his cheeks, he shifted his head side to side. “The left cheek is redder than the right, this happened late afternoon. She was outside yesterday.”
Charley scrutinized the victim’s face. “You’re right.” She ran the edge of the blanket between her fingers. “The blanket is the same, most likely purchased at the same time as the others. How many did he buy? When he runs out, will he choose a different type or color? What does it mean? His favorite color? Emulating grass? What?”
Commotion came from their left. Grumpy and sluggish, Carmichael approached them. He sighed heavy with anger. “Well now, isn’t this a fine fucking morning? This is getting way outta hand.”
“Bad mood, Ansel?” Charley said.
“The moment I received the call.” Carmichael prepared the body for examination. After removing the bouquet from her hands, he determined the body core temperature. “She died about seven hours ago. That would be around two this morning.” The thermometer cleaned and put away, he examined her. “Char, the flowers, what kind are they?”
“Orange lilies. A contradictory blossom, they symbolize hatred or passion. Lilies are bulbs. Plant them in the fall for spring blooms. The oil from them has healing properties, excellent for sensitive skin. It’s a decent moisturizer.”
“Every time I see you, Char, I learn something new.” Carmichael examined the leg and hip of the victim. “Concrete fragments are embedded into the knee.”
“Driveway? Sidewalk?” Doobie said.
“It’s too fresh to have happened the day she was abducted. She fell and slid,” Charley said.
Murphy leaned closer to the body. “She rode a bicycle.”
“He let her ride a bike while she was captive?” Doobie said.
Murphy tapped his cheek. “Explains her sunburn. Let’s see, in the last week she has been missing, it rained every day except two, Saturday and yesterday. She rode a bicycle yesterday.”
“He wanted Annabelle to have fun before she died,” Charley said. “One last chance at happiness.”
“Why Annabelle and not the others? Why was she different?”
Doobie pulled his shoulders back. “Possible.”
Murphy’s finger tapped his lips. “Makes sense. If I were trying to maintain control of someone on a bike, I would tie a rope to the bike, not the person. Annabelle attempted to run. All he had to do is pull the rope. Down she goes.”
Carmichael focused on the body. “Excellent points.” He rolled the body onto its side. “There are scrapes on her hip and left arm. Classic bicycle injuries. My grandchildren have at least two of these every day during summer.”
“I did,” Charley said. “I was a daredevil on a bike so it wasn’t unusual for me.”
“A consummate pianist and a firebrand.” Doobie grinned. “Remind you of anyone, Charley?”
Charley gave him a dismissive wave. “Rebellion.”
“I don’t understand,” Murphy said.
“Annabelle’s a prodigy pianist. Her fingers are essential. Kids need to have fun too. I studied concert piano. My mom would become upset when I would injure my hands. I was a hellion. Climbed trees, dug in dirt. I broke my index finger. I performed with my finger in a cast.”
“I remember that.” Doobie chuckled. “You were around ten, I guess.”
“Yep.”
“‘Moonlight Sonata’ right?”
“Sure did.”
“I’ve never heard you play,” Murphy said.
“I play alone. It’s something I do for myself. My days of performing in public are over.”
Murphy jabbed at his chest with his thumb. “I will annoy you until you play for me.”
“I’ll consider it. Could we move along here?”
“Her fingernails are painted same as the others,” Carmichael said, observing the child’s hands.
“I’ll venture to guess the cause of death is helium. No discernible marks to indicate violence,” Charley said.
“I’ll have more after the examination.”
“Charley and I will drop by late tomorrow afternoon.”
Carmichael nodded. “See ya then.”
Charley placed her hand on child’s arm. “Grace danced in her fingers, strength within her soul. In every gesture she was a lovely little girl.” Charley stood with her fists pressed against her cheeks. “I never want children, too painful.”
Murphy planted his hands into his pockets. A slow endearing smile crawled across his face as his eyes captured the sky. “A daughter. I want a daughter.”
“I thought guys wanted sons?”
“Not me. I want to experience love in the eyes of my daughter.”
She teetered her head. “My mom would say my dad’s toughness melted away when he looked into my eyes. She told me the first time he laid eyes on me she had never seen that expression. Daddy always had that same expression for me and no one else.”
Murphy presented an animated finger. “That’s the one.”
“So true.” Carmichael grinned. “I don’t care how old my daughter is, she’ll always be daddy’s little girl.”
Tears welled in Charley’s eyes. She turned away. “I’ll see you guys later.”
Murphy extended his hand for her. Doobie pulled Murphy back and shook his head. “Let her be. It happens sometimes. She misses her parents.”
Chapter 33
The Bicycle Did It
Manassas, VA – Medical Examiner’s Office
Thursday, 23 June – 2:30 PM
Covered with a green surgical sheet, Annabelle Grant’s pale skin glowed under the examination light. Murphy and Charley donned in protective gear approached Dr. Carmichael with many questions.
Carmichael’s tone, rough and graveled, he said, “Annabelle is number four. She tested positive for helium suffocation.”
“Stomach contents?” Murphy said.
“The victim ate pizza and soda around eight in the evening. Sprite.”
“All the girls had dinner at around the same time, between eight-thirty and nine in the evening.” Murphy tilted his head. “Humph, why did Annabelle not have as healthy a meal as the others?”
“Good question.” Charley focused on Carmichael. “Anything unique about the clothing?”
“Nothing remarkable, vintage, same as the others.” Carmichael raised Annabelle’s hand. “Same nail polish, manicure, pedicure, it’s all here.”
“Annabelle was a sexual abuse victim as a toddler. If the killer knew he wouldn’t have painted her nails.”
“Char, you’ve stated the children know the killer. I disagree.” Murphy chewed his lower lip waiting for her counter. “It’s possible he didn’t know them before he abducted them. As you say, he wouldn’t have painted Annabelle’s fingernails. He did, therefore he isn’t aware of their history.”
Carmichael’s brows scrunched. “Explain that, Char?”
Charley’s eyes switched between the two men. “He doesn’t equate cosmetics with sex but with beauty. He’s protesting the act of molestation by refusing to dishonor or disrespect them.”
“Well, my dear, it’s a good thing he didn’t.”
“Do you have a secret?” Murphy said.
Carmichael spanned his arms. “Big one.”
“You’re killing me, Ansel,” she said.
“Annabelle had herpes,” Carmichael said, with two fingers spread. “Herpes Simplex II.”
“No way.” Murphy turned in circles with his hands clasped to his head. “How in the hell does an eleven-year-old girl have herpes?”
“Her physician told me she contracted the virus from her molester,” Carmichael said. “The birth mother’s boyfriend.”
Murphy’s hands streaked his face. “Sick bastard. Hope he’s dead.”
“Oh, he is. Sentenced to thirty years for pedophilia against twelve victims and shanked doing time. Poetic.”
“I hope he suffered.”
“Not as much as the victims.” Charley rubbed her mouth. “Add another medical condition to the list.”
“This keeps getting better and better.” Murphy sighed. “Another thing, has anyone noticed the number of flowers left with each child is the same as the victim number?”
Charley’s eyes widened. “Robin had one marigold, Olivia two anemones, Natalie three carnations, now Annabelle with four lilies. He’s counting, but why?”
“Nine victims, the candles. He’s telling us how many victims there will be.”
“There’s more to it. The number nine means something.” Charley lowered her head, massaging her temples. “What caused the scrapes on her body?”
“The injuries are consistent with bicycle mishaps. There were bits of concrete embedded in the tissue.”
Still focused on the previous information, Murphy said, “You’re sure she wasn’t sexually assaulted?”
“Yes, Murph, I’m sure. The order of the injuries are traceable. The killer used antibacterial ointment on the wounds. I found a stray bandage inside the dress.”
“Not yet. The tests are still in progress.”
“Good,” Murphy said. “What about distilled water?”
“Yes. An ounce in the stomach.”
“This guy is such a contradiction,” Charley said. “I’m not sure where to go from here.”
Chapter 34
How to Peel a Tangerine
Lorton, VA – Faraday Farms
Wednesday, 29 June – 8:03 AM
Primed to hit the ground running, Charley entered the home office. The computer system booted and updated, she gulped her coffee and placed the mug to the side. She plopped her feet onto the desk, crossed her ankles, lifted the keyboard from the desk and dropped it onto her lap. Charley closed her eyes and relaxed as images whirled around her brain.
Four little girls abducted and murdered within three months. She shuddered. March seemed a lifetime ago.
The Fourth of July was days away.
/> Clusters of partiers at area parks.
Cookouts in backyards.
Multitudes, stuffing their mouths with potato salad and barbecue ribs.
Over consumption of alcohol.
Fireworks lighting the sky across Northern Virginia.
Homages paid to lives lost at the War Memorials at the National Mall in the District.
The imagined roasted marshmallows made her smack her lips.
Beep, beep, beep.
It meant one thing, another missing little girl.
Charley snapped to her feet, eyes fixed, reading the data on the overhead monitor, her throat tightened, her stomach buckled, and she smiled. Evil had returned to her. Cell phone in hand, she tapped a message to Murphy to come to the office, a surprise awaited him. She lifted her arms in triumph. “Yes.”
∞ ∞ ∞
Murphy parked in the driveway, sliding through a list in his head of what Charley had to tell him. He ruled out a missing child since he hadn’t received a notification. His other assignments remained open, dividing his time in between them and the dead girls. He flung open the door and entered the house. Maybe this would be his lucky day.
Murphy stepped into the office with his arms extended out to his sides. “I’m here. Tell me what I want to hear.” His shining blue eyes matched his glowing smile.
Her face flushed, Charley rose to her feet and grinned. She raised her hand gradually and pointed at the overhead screen. “Who is that?”
Murphy glanced at the monitor then fixed on her. “No way. Is that…”
“He’s back.”
Murphy rubbed his chin. “Unbelievable.”
“Tangerine.” Her fists sprung over her head. “Yes.”
“Now you’re scaring me. It’s as if you’re glad Tangerine killed the woman.”
“Geez, Sean, I’m not that cold,” she said indignant. “He’s here. I will own him.” She turned in circles with her arms extended.
Two hours earlier, at Singleton Forest Refuge, southwest of Bailey’s Crossroads, Virginia, two children playing in the area, found the body of a woman lying on her back in the tall grass.
The detectives used historical databases and found a connection between the woman discovered at the refuge and the others from a previous case still active with the FBI. The detectives sent out immediate notifications.