Jordan seemed too enthralled in his conversation to notice. "I'm heading back now." He shut off his phone and jumped up from the table.
"What is it?" she asked with her mouth full.
"I think we've found our guy—grew up in a town of twelve thousand outside Marion, Indiana. Was a suspect in the killings of his mother and sister. They were tied up and cut into pieces with a saw and pruning shears back in '94. I've got to go. I'll call you as soon as I know anything. I'll need your help comparing this '94 murder with what we've got now."
"While you're at the station, will you run a check on Kevin Wrigley?"
Jordan halted and raised an eyebrow. "Why? You find something out?"
She shook her head, feeling a bit of relief just to have asked. "I just want to be sure. I'm wrong, but I need to be sure."
"I'll do it as soon as I get back." He turned and ran from the cafeteria before she could say thanks.
Casey closed her eyes and apologized to Billy for doubting his friend. "I just have to be sure," she whispered. Looking back at the french fry covered in ketchup stuck to the end of her fork, she paused a moment and then put the fork in her mouth. It had taken too much effort getting the fry onto her fork to waste it, especially knowing what they were going to be up against.
Chapter 26
By noon the next day, Jordan had already run a full background check on Kevin Wrigley and come up with nothing. He had grown up outside Minneapolis, then Arizona, went to school at Arizona State, and moved to California eight years before. He'd had a half-dozen parking tickets, but that was the extent of his dangerous past. He had heard the relief in Casey's voice as he told her. Jordan just wished he had some better leads.
At least Renee had been able to locate a sheriff in Indiana who was familiar with the '94 murders.
"Sheriff Douglas?" Jordan Gray said when Renee handed him the line.
"This is Wayne Douglas."
Jordan introduced himself and explained why he was calling.
"I'll be goddamned," the sheriff said. "Haven't thought about that case in a long time. Was a strange one, though, especially in these parts. Awfully quiet neighborhood most the time."
"What can you tell me about the case?"
"The sheriff at the time, Charlie Rickel, is in Kansas now—working in Lawrence not too far from Kansas City."
Jordan was scribbling notes, but he was also recording the conversation so that Casey could listen and help him with the details. "Do you know how we might reach him?"
"I don't."
"No problem. Do you remember anything about the case?"
"Oh yeah. Be hard to forget that one. I was on the scene—just a deputy back then." The man paused, and Jordan could sense he hadn't had that much exposure to violent deaths. Maybe Indiana was the place for Jordan.
"I remember we got a call from the grade school. Jeanette Allister—that was the mother, was head librarian there. She hadn't come to work three days in a row, and they were worried. Charlie sent me out to take a look. I didn't get past the front porch, and I knew something was wrong. Truth be told, was the smell that tipped me off.
"Course, I was trying to make an impression back then, so I didn't call in right away. I rang the bell, and when no one answered, I tried the door. It was unlocked. I let it open and called out. But I never did go inside—wasn't any need. On the floor at the base of the stairs was Karen Allister's head." The sheriff gave a nervous laugh. "I don't think I'd run that fast since my father chased me out of the house waving his belt."
"Just the head was there?"
The sheriff cleared his throat. "Just the head."
"Who ran the investigation?"
"Now we've got three deputies, me, and a coroner here in town. Back then, we weren't equipped for anything like that. So a couple detectives and a coroner came down from Marion to handle the initial investigation.
"We took over once the crime scene had been searched and the bodies taken care of. The mortician in town took some of the photos, and Charlie and I handled all the inquiries. There wasn't much to handle—no witnesses, no signs of forced entry or robbery. Just a lot of scared folks in town and a lot of speculation. Case is still open."
"What's your theory?" Jordan asked.
"Don't know that I ever settled on just one. Lots of folks think it was just some nut. The Allisters lived off the main highway from town. Would've been a logical place to stop if you were a crazy looking for a couple of unarmed folks to chop up."
"Did you check local authorities for similar crimes?"
"We surely did. Nothing at all like that. In fact, we sent some pictures up to Washington, to the FBI, too. They've got a big database up there now, but I think they were just starting things back then. They couldn't help much, either."
"What about the son?"
"Some folks think the son was involved. Charlie didn't think so. Personally, I sort of favored that theory. They say eighty percent of homicides are someone the victim knew."
Jordan had heard the statistics. He wished they worked on his case.
"But we checked the son out," Douglas continued. "He was at college then and had been real sick. His roommate and a couple others confirmed he hadn't left school during the time the women were killed."
"What else can you tell me about the son?"
"Name's George Allister. Hard to think of him as a killer, to be honest. His older sister Karen was in my class—real smart kid, valedictorian, on the girl's soccer team, a cheerleader, and all that. Got a full ride to Indiana, then on to Ohio State for med school. I think she was practicing in Indianapolis."
"What about George?"
"Don't know much about George. He was quieter than Karen, not as smart, not an athlete at all. He was a year older than my sister, and she always said he got picked on a lot. Kind of scrawny-looking from what I remember. But not the type you'd expect to go chopping people up." He laughed. "I expect people always say that, don't they?"
Jordan nodded. "You'd be surprised."
"Reckon that's true. I don't know how people in cities deal with all the crime. Mostly we get drunks and speeders, some drugs. Mostly kid stuff."
Jordan waited while the sheriff came back around to George.
"George wasn't dumb, though. He went to college on scholarship. I think he wanted to be a doctor like his sister."
Jordan made notes. "Do you know which college?"
"Wooster as I recall."
Jordan had never heard of it.
"It's not too far from here—in the town of Wooster, Ohio."
"Did he graduate?"
"Don't think so. A few months after the incident, we tried to contact George again. We had some more questions for him. But he'd left school. We never could find him. Finished up two years of college and then disappeared."
"What about George's father?"
The sheriff laughed. "There wasn't a father."
"Excuse me?"
"From what I remember, Jeanette Allister was a bit of a man hater. Whoever the father was, he was gone shortly after George was born."
"Any ideas why?"
"None. She wasn't an easy woman. Kids weren't supposed to ask a lot of questions back then, and I don't think I ever knew who he was or when he left. Charlie's a good bit older—he might know more."
"What made you think it was George who killed them?"
"What I saw in that house. I thought it looked like it was done by someone with real strong emotion about those people. There were rumors that Jeanette blamed the husband's leaving on George, which would explain how he might've been affected. He was an angry kid—bitter you might say. My guess is it was mostly because Karen was so successful. Typical second-child stuff. Like I said, you'd never have pinned him for a killer, though."
"But no one followed up on George as the killer after he disappeared?" Jordan asked.
"Charlie was in charge back then, and he didn't think it was possible that it could've been George. Plus, we checked out his alibi, like
I told you. That's about where it got left."
"You said the case file was still open. Would it be possible to fax a copy to me?"
"I don't see any harm in it."
Jordan gave Sheriff Douglas his fax number and thanked him for his help.
Renee was standing by Jordan's side, waiting as he hung up the phone. "Good stuff?"
"Great." He told her about the fax she should be expecting. "Call Kansas City Police, and see if you can't locate Charlie Rickel. He was the sheriff at the time. And call Wooster College in Wooster, Ohio, and find out if George Allister graduated or when he stopped enrolling. Also, get any pictures they have of him."
Renee made notes. "Anything else?"
He shook his head. "Not yet."
"One more thing, Jordan. I got a call from Betty in Quantico." Renee glanced over her shoulder for listeners and then moved closer to Jordan's desk. "She heard the Bureau is sending someone out here."
Jordan stared at her and then looked around. "On this case?"
She nodded.
"They going to let me know about it?"
Renee shrugged. "Betty's working on finding out. She wasn't supposed to tell me. The whole thing's very hush hush."
Jordan digested the news. "Keep on it, would you? And if anyone asks anything about this case, I want them coming to me."
Renee nodded and left.
Jordan wondered what the hell that was about. He'd certainly take any help the FBI wanted to offer, but damn if they were going to start watching over his shoulder without telling him about it first. He wished Casey was there, but he'd call her as soon as he'd digested it all and get her opinion.
Despite a rocky first meeting, Casey had become his unofficial partner on this case. They'd taken to talking at the end of each day to discuss any new leads and for Jordan to get her feedback. People had asked about her presence at the vigil, so he was keeping her out of the station as much as possible. He didn't want Tapp thinking he'd brought the FBI in on his own. He wondered if she knew anything about the FBI's possible involvement.
Walter Jones knocked on the door. "Got his Indiana license."
Jordan waved him in.
Jones dropped a full-page fax on Jordan's desk and pointed to the picture. "Look like any of the composites?"
Rearranging the clutter on his desk, Jordan spread the police drawings and looked at each of them compared to the picture.
"They look nothing alike," Jones said.
Jordan clenched his jaw. He was right. "When was the license last renewed?"
"Not since '92."
Jordan stared at the information on the one-page application. "Run the same social in every state. Start with the ones close to Ohio, then work your way out."
Jones took the application and left.
Jordan swiveled his chair and stared at the wall. If George Allister had killed his own family, would he have renewed his driver's license after the Indiana one expired? Clearly not in Indiana. Jordan had been hoping for some easy answers. Didn't look like that was going to happen.
"Fax is coming through," Renee called from the hall.
Jordan stood and stretched, and then headed to the media room where three fax machines handled the load of three hundred officers, inspectors, and staff.
"Looks like the good stuff first." Renee handed Jordan a bundle of pages.
Jordan took them and looked at poorly copied crime scene photos. At least the lighting was clear enough to make out the objects. And what he saw was enough to churn any stomach. A woman was sitting upright in bed, her legs jutted out before her. A long Y-cut down her sternum suggested some crude form of autopsy performed by the killer. Her head sat between her legs, facing inward.
Her arms had been cut off at the shoulders, and her fingers were balanced individually along her thigh like bloody sausages. Her feet had been severed and switched, the left on the right leg, the right on the left leg. And her fingerless arms were stretched out separately on the bed. "Damn," he finally said.
Renee refused even to look. Instead, she passed him another page.
Karen Allister's fate had been only slightly less grotesque than her mother's. Her body, also cut into pieces, created a path from her mother's bedroom to the front door. Her feet sat upright by her door as though she'd been walking in when her body was severed from them. Her legs to the knee were balanced on a high stair. Lower, were her thighs. Her body was a legless stump balanced only several stairs up from the foyer where her head had been found. Jordan studied a fuzzy close-up of Karen's face from when she was alive. Her light brown hair and light eyes reminded him of Casey. Jordan turned to Renee. "Call Indiana back and see if you can get more pictures of the mother and daughter before the murders."
Renee nodded.
Jordan took the pictures and walked back toward his desk. He didn't even want to think about the fact that a guy capable of this might be in San Francisco now.
Renee returned with the rest of the fax. "I'm going to get on those calls."
"Thanks, Renee."
Jordan turned past the pictures and started to read the report on the crime. There was no mention of an unusual mark on the victims' thighs. Perhaps Leonardo hadn't started with his signature until later.
"Got something," Jones said as he rushed into Jordan's office.
Jordan looked up.
"George Allister has a Kentucky driver's license last renewed in 1997 under the name Roy McAllister. I called the bureau of motor vehicles there and found out he was in a bad wreck in July of 1998. Totaled the car and nearly went through the windshield. I found the hospital where he was admitted. He was there for more than a month, needed major surgery."
"Surgery?"
Jones grinned, excited. "Facial reconstruction."
Jordan nodded, wishing Allister hadn't survived that crash. The accident was just a few months before the murders started in Cincinnati. "What else?"
"That's all I've got so far."
Jordan handed him a ballpoint and motioned for him to write. "Get the name of the doctor who performed it, how it was paid for, the records. I'm hoping they'll have pictures. Got it?"
"Got it." Jones turned and left.
Jordan could feel the rookie's excitement, and it was contagious. He scooped up the phone and dialed Alta Bates Hospital.
"William Glass's room, please," he said when someone answered.
"Hello," Casey answered, sounding both curious and annoyed at the intrusion.
"How's the patient?"
"He's coming home tomorrow."
"Who's that?" Jordan could hear Billy ask in the background.
"Just the inspector."
Jordan laughed. "Thanks."
"What's going on?" Casey asked.
"It's been an exciting day."
"You going to tell me about it now, or you want to call back when you're in the mood to talk?"
Jordan told Casey about the Allisters and the way Jeanette and Karen had died.
"Fits the profile—very personalized anger. He was already experimenting with dissection, but it was crude. His anger got in the way of doing anything more skilled. Those were probably his first murders. Was the mother's face covered?" she asked.
Jordan shook his head. "What?"
"When she was killed, was the mother's face covered?"
Something niggled at his brain. "No, I told you they found it pressed between her legs."
"That's staging," Casey said. "What about when she was killed. Do you have the file?"
"It's right in front of me."
"Read the part about how they think she was killed and then call me back." With that, she hung up.
Jordan set the phone down with a light curse. At least she could have asked nicely. Focusing on the file, Jordan read the findings. About two and a half pages into it, he found what he was looking for. "How the hell?" he sputtered. Picking up the phone, he dialed Casey back.
"Find it?"
"How did you know?"
"What'd he
use?" she asked.
Jordan could tell she was smiling.
"A pillowcase."
"That's how you know it was most likely the son. It would've been hard even for him to kill his own mother. He depersonalizes her by covering her face. Then, she's not his mother. She's just a body."
"So you think it was George? And you think George is Leonardo?"
"I'd bet on it."
"Damn, Casey, you're good."
She laughed. "Don't sound so shocked. Why don't you pick me up at the hospital early tomorrow, and I'll come in and see what you've got. I'd come now if it weren't for Billy."
She was back in profiler mode. Jordan felt a tiny measure of relief. "What about Billy?"
"He's spending the morning with Kevin. You can help me take him home later. See you out front about eight?"
"You're pushy, you know that."
"Yeah, yeah. First great, then pushy. I get no appreciation in this job."
"Do you keep up with anyone at the Bureau?" Jordan asked.
"Not a soul," she said. "See you in the morning."
He nodded, hanging up the phone. She wouldn't know about the FBI's supposed involvement then. He decided to wait to tell her until he knew more. He was looking forward to seeing her the following morning. He could use her insight, and he was starting to like her company. If that wasn't the strangest thing.
Jordan could see the sky darkening and knew they were in for more weather. He was getting sick of the rain.
There was a knock, and he swung back to Jones's unsmiling face.
"What's up?"
"Doctor's name was Joseph Ballari."
"Was?"
"He's dead. Killed in a fire in his office building on September 24, three months after Allister's accident."
Jordan wrote "doctor dead" on his notepad. "No records, either, then?"
"None."
Leonardo was doing a good job covering his tracks. "What about nurses who worked with him at the time?"
"Two were killed in the fire. The last one, a Nina Rodriguez, lived. Quit her job three days before the fire."
"Did you find her?"
Savage Art (A Chilling Suspense Novel) Page 20