Natalie continued flipping through her phone. It was more of a ploy to appear occupied rather than sit looking stupid with nothing to add to the cruise conversation between Lynn and Aneetra.
“Has Marcus come home?” Lynn inquired.
“Not yet. He’s supposed to be back late tonight.”
“Oh, well, tell him I said hi. He’s been gone for quite a while.”
“I know, girl, I miss him.”
“I bet. You girls having fun?”
Ashley yes; Lauren no. Aneetra rolled her eyes. “With that attitude she may not live to go on the cruise next month. She’s been working my nerves.”
“I’m sure it goes both ways.” Lynn winked at Lauren who smiled; both pretending not to see Aneetra’s curt look. “Lauren, you want to come with me?”
She looked at her mom. “Can I?”
“I don’t care as long as you bring her home before it gets too late.”
“Yes!” Lauren transformed into a totally different child. “Did you drive your blue car or the red one?”
“Blue.” She smiled as Lauren’s face lit up. She liked riding in Lynn’s convertible. “You want to come, Ash?”
“No, thank you.”
“Brent has a blue car, too,” Nate chimed in.
Who’s Brent? Natalie thought, but didn’t speak up. Lynn and Lauren left soon after, making the movie selection a lot easier.
CHAPTER 7: BLAST FROM THE PAST
Troy was physically exhausted, but his mind could not rest. Though he tried, he couldn’t fall asleep. Images of all the victims’ bodies and expressions of heartbroken family members stirred in his head. He called Knight. “Hey, Jon, you asleep?”
“Naw, man. I was sitting here going through this case.”
“Same here. You want to come over and go at it together?”
“Are you sure? We were at it all last night. The coroner won’t be in ’til Monday so I’m not sure what else we can do. You go ahead and spend time with your family, I’m cool. I’ll give you a call if I find something.”
Troy appreciated how Knight tried to look out for his marriage. A recent divorcee, Knight now lived with his elderly mother in a small two-bedroom home. He’d been divorced for less than a year and his ex-wife had already remarried and moved their teenage son to Michigan with her new husband. Knight didn’t really talk much about his feelings, but Troy knew he had a hard time coping with the sudden change. Knight admitted that he believed his job played a part in the demise of his marriage. Long hours, heavy caseloads, and emotional withdrawal were some of the things that Knight cited for sending his wife into the arms of her current spouse. “Do not repeat my mistakes,” he often told Troy when he felt Troy might be focusing too much on a case. The two had been friends and partners for many years, except for the time when Troy was temporarily reassigned.
“Don’t worry, man, I’m not neglecting anyone around here. Natalie’s gone. She took Nate with her over her best friend’s house so it’s just me for the next few hours. I can’t sleep because this case is nagging me.”
“Alright, let me get my stuff together. I’ll be a minute because I need to pick up a prescription for Mom. Give me about an hour.”
Troy got out of bed and slipped on a plain white T-shirt and a pair of sweats over his boxers before going downstairs to put a pot of coffee on. No energy drinks around, he needed the caffeine. The case files still lay on the island where Natalie left them. While the coffee brewed, he flipped through pictures of the victims and the crime scenes.
Most serial killers had a common type of victim, but these ladies were so different from each other:
Victim #1—Lolita Gordon—a thirty-four-year-old Hispanic wife and mother; Victim #2—Myesha Turner—an African-American local college student from Oklahoma; Victim # 3—Amy Howard—a redhead divorced soccer mom; Victim # 4—Michelle Rossi—an Italian physical therapy assistant; Victim #5—Sarah Matthews—a young, blonde Caucasian female in law school. Each report had the same note: Victim was lying on her back with arms spread out wide. Body did not appear to have been disturbed before CSI arrived.
Death became their common denominator. All had been shot in the head with a .38-caliber handgun, all their bodies spread out in the form of a cross, all had a copy of the Bible placed on their chests, and all their locations were revealed by a “message” Eric Freeman claimed to have gotten from God. Troy got his coffee and case files and went downstairs.
Though this was not a federal case, the CPD had called in the FBI Behavioral Analysis Unit to put together a profile right after the third victim was killed. Troy had not worked so closely with the FBI before so the only thing he knew was what he’d seen on television about how the local PD and Bureau bumped heads because of territorial issues. His experience wasn’t anything like that. He’d expected to see an older white guy dressed in a black suit and dark sunglasses, but got the surprise of his life when a blast from the past, Agent Cheryl Hunter, walked in.
The two had dated for about a year when they were in their early twenties. He’d known her as Cheryl Bivens back then. Standing barely above five-three, she was still very attractive decades later although her hair was now cut boyishly short. Dressed casually in jeans and a fancy T-shirt, she had the cutest dimple in the middle of her chin. If Troy had wanted to take a trip down memory lane, which he didn’t, Miss Lady made sure he would go alone. She pretended not to know him and got right down to business.
“There are several major types of killers,” Cheryl said. “A visionary killer is the type who claims to hear voices. They’re usually psychotic. The lust killer is driven by sexual motivation, but since none of the victims were sexually assaulted, I would rule that out. The thrill killer simply enjoys the experience, and the power seeker gets a kick about having total control over the victims. Based on the evidence, I think the guy you’re looking for is what we call a missionary killer.”
“Why wouldn’t he be a visionary one?” Troy asked. If Eric claimed to get written messages from God, hearing voices wasn’t too far off.
“I get the sense that this individual feels like he is doing something for the good of society—hence the name, missionary killer.”
That felt personal.
“Considering the note left behind, it’s clear that these individuals are being punished for something, be it a real crime or a perceived one in the mind of the killer. Since none of the victims have criminal records, I’d say it’s something more personal. Also, the lack of true evidence left behind suggests this killer is extremely organized. You are only finding what he wants you to discover. I bet he’d watched these women for months, maybe even years, before abducting them. Like I said, visionary killers are often psychotic. These categories are not exclusive, so it is possible that the perp is a combination of both, but I would expect more disorganization if he were strictly psychotic.” Cheryl sounded very matter-of-fact, but Troy picked up on the underlying offense in her tone. Or was he being paranoid? They didn’t have what would be considered an amicable split. “I would put your perpetrator as a Caucasian male anywhere between thirty and forty years old. Chances are, he had a troubled childhood or a traumatic event later in life. Either way, something has triggered this string of killings.”
“But these women don’t have anything in common?”
“To the killer they do.”
Cheryl had given him her contact information and said to call anytime if she could be of any further assistance. Since then, they’d spoken briefly several times as she’d called or texted to inquire about how the case was going. In the meantime, two more women had been killed and Troy was as clueless now as he’d been then. The only one who had any answers at all had been Freeman and if the profile was correct, he’d be eliminated because of his race. Could Freeman be the guy? Maybe he had an accomplice or maybe Troy was simply barking up the wrong tree. The whole supernatural thing was too far-fetched. He had to have some kind of connection. Troy continued searching though the files, look
ing for clues, anything that could shed light on this case. He hadn’t realized how much time had passed until he looked at the clock. He’d called Jon nearly two hours ago. What was taking him so long?
CHAPTER 8: THE SIGNATURE HOOK
The Avenger sat on the park bench and watched as Mindy Lee walked by with her dog. “Good evening.”
“Hello, how are you?” Mindy politely replied right before her greyhound jumped into the Avenger’s lap. “Sparkie, get down!” She pulled her long, dark hair to the side and knelt down to scold him. “Bad! I’m so sorry about that. I hope he didn’t get any dirt on you.”
“Oh, I’m fine. He must’ve smelled these treats in my pocket. Do you mind if I give him one?”
“He doesn’t deserve it.”
“Even dogs deserve a little mercy from time-to-time, don’t they?”
She laughed. “I guess you’re right.”
The Avenger pulled out a treat.
“Where’s your dog?”
“Me? I don’t have one.”
“So…why do you have dog treats in your pocket at a dog park?” Mindy slowly began to back away, suspiciously. She glanced nervously to see if anyone else was around. There were several passersby. She looked a little more at ease.
“Some idiot hit my dog and then ran off.” That was a lie. “These treats were still at the house. I didn’t want to throw them away and since she and I used to walk this same trail, I started coming here and giving them to other dogs. I know it sounds crazy, but for me, it’s sort of like therapy. I had Lula for seven years. I didn’t think I would mourn the loss of an animal like this, but I miss her. She was all I had left after my spouse died from cancer. Somehow she’d gotten out the back gate and when I came home, she was lying dead in the middle of the street! If the person had half the heart and called it in, they tell me that Lo—um, Lula would have still been alive.”
Mindy’s countenance relaxed and she moved closer to the Avenger. Her mutt jumped up again, but she quickly yanked him away. “I’m sorry to hear about your dog. I know I’d be upset if something happened to Sparkie.”
The Avenger pulled out more treats. “Here, why don’t you take the rest of these?”
“Wow! Thank you.” Sparkie started going crazy. “I better move on. Thanks again! I pray you heal soon.”
The Avenger fought hard to keep from laughing when she used the word pray. Mindy Lee was a hypocrite and soon, she’d be forced to pray that God have mercy on her soul. Having those treats tonight was no accident. The Avenger had watched Mindy for quite some time and knew this was a park she frequented. She’d appeared to be a good person, but the Avenger knew better. Mindy Lee would pay for her sins.
• • •
Knight finally arrived about seven without any explanation. He and Troy had gone over the case files until both of them had bloodshot eyes. “I don’t get it, Jon, what are we missing?”
“I don’t know. We need to go back and interview the families. There has to be a commonality somewhere.”
“You think doing another search of Freeman’s home will help?”
“I doubt it. The shell casings are useless without a gun to match it to and he doesn’t have one registered. It would be a waste of time unless you’re dying for him to show you where God revealed the message again.”
“Oh yeah, looking at a blank wall did us a lot of good. I can’t believe that nut job passed a polygraph.”
“He’s convinced himself that he’s telling the truth. Under those circumstances any psycho would pass.”
“There’s something we’re overlooking with him. He spends a lot time between here and Sandusky. Maybe our clues are up there. He said he has a church there, but I did some digging and turns out the only two members are him and his mama.”
“Well, Jesus does say ‘…[W]here two or three are gathered together in my name, there am I in the midst of them,’ so technically he could be telling the truth.”
“Nice try, Jon, but he’s still a few eggs short of a dozen.”
Knight laughed. “I know, man. He’s definitely an interesting character. Do you know anything about Abundant in Christ church? It says here that he was a member there before starting his own church.”
Troy’s veins tensed. He was very familiar with the shady dealings of that church. “Are you sure?”
“It’s right here in his case file.”
“Let me see that.” Knight handed him the paper. Sure enough, there was a later statement in which Freeman had mentioned his former affiliation with Abundant in Christ. “Man, how’d I miss that?”
“You’re working too hard. Maybe you need to take a day or two off.”
“I’m cool. Besides, I’ll be off all next weekend for Nate’s party. I know we have to be careful about interviewing associates of Freeman’s since he’s only a person of interest, but I know someone who used to belong to this church. I’m thinking I can do an unofficial interview that will hopefully help us eliminate or confirm his guilt.”
“Great! Go for it, brotha. The sooner we have answers about this cat, the better.”
If Troy didn’t know any better, he’d swear Jon was as black as him. The guy used words like “cat” and “brotha” on a regular basis, claiming his “urbanization” came from growing up in an area called Seven Hills in Cincinnati. Jon also made no secret about his love for sistahs. Not only was his ex-wife black, but he flirted with almost anyone with an Ebony hue.
Troy watched Jon’s face light up when Natalie yelled, “Hey, babe, I’m home,” and came down the stairs. It seemed like all the guys in the department thought his wife was “hot,” but Jon was the only one bold enough to make his crush on her public. Troy wasn’t the least bit concerned. Since his divorce, Jon was flirtatious with a lot of women—a coping mechanism, perhaps—because when he was married, it was clear that Jon only had eyes for his wife. Jon could flirt with Natalie all he wanted; Natalie wasn’t into short or fat guys.
“Hey, Jon.” She smiled when she saw him and he stood up to give her a hug. “I didn’t know you were here. I didn’t see your truck outside.”
“I parked across the street. Good to see you. When you gon’ drop that zero and get with this hero.”
“Man, that line is about as old as them Hammer pants you’re wearing.” Troy cut in as Natalie laughed, coming over to give him a hug and quick kiss.
“I’m sorry, Jon, but Troy will forever have my heart even after ‘death do us part.’ ”
Not even close to being a singer, Knight belted, “And I-i-ee-I will always love you,” the hook from Dolly Parton’s song that was once remade by the now late Whitney Houston for the Bodyguard soundtrack.
“Wowwww! You left me speechless with that one.”
“A brotha knows how to take a woman’s breath away,” Jon said to her.
“Um, Jon, you’re not a brotha, dude.”
“Man, I need to get a new partner because you always messing up my game with the race card.”
“You couldn’t leave me if you wanted to. You know they say once you go black, you never go back.”
Jon laughed. “Yeah, well, going white makes ev’ry thang all right!”
“Y’all are just too much for me,” said Natalie. “I’m going back upstairs; I just came to say hi.”
“Where’s Nate?” Jon asked.
“Knocked out. Aneetra and I took the kids to Polaris, the movies, and to the park.”
“If nothing else wore him out, I’m sure the mall did since his mama is one step away from being a shopaholic. Did you break the bank?” asked Troy.
“Whatever and no, I didn’t go crazy. I bought a few things we needed for the house and some other stuff that I’ll show you later.”
Troy and Natalie had different ideas when it came to what their home “needed.” “I’ll try not to be too long because I know you wanted to, um, talk to me about something. Remember the conversation we started earlier in the kitchen when Corrine was here?”
She giggled. �
��Sure thing; I’ll be waiting. Good to see you, Jon. Tell your mom I said hi.”
“Will do. Good to see you, too, lovely lady.”
When Natalie shut the door, Jon turned to Troy. “I guess you’re ready to call it a night.”
“Yeah. I wish we would’ve closed this case tonight, but that’s too much like right. I’m going to follow up on the lead about his former church affiliation. Right now, I need to get some rest though. I haven’t been asleep all day.”
“All right.” He gathered the stuff he’d brought over and the two of them talked for about fifteen more minutes before they walked upstairs.
“Let’s touch base tomorrow.”
“Okay. I hope you and the missus have a nice talk.” As much as Troy tried to be discreet, he should have known that Jon had been around them long enough to pick up on their sexual innuendos.
“Get out!” Troy gently nudged him as Jon laughed all the way to his truck. Troy shook his head and made sure to lock the door before turning on the alarm. Jon Knight was a character, but he was also one of the most dedicated, caring, and genuine detectives that Troy knew. What Troy did appreciate was how he looked out for his marriage, despite all the jokes.
Before going into his bedroom, Troy peeked in on Nate. His little guy was snoring away. Troy couldn’t believe how much he enjoyed fatherhood. He’d once been uncertain about whether or not he would be a good father because he didn’t have a good role model. Though he still had his insecurities, Troy knew he was giving Nate his absolute best. His son didn’t deserve to grow up in a world where serial killers prowled the earth. “I’m going to catch you, jerk!” He pledged aloud as though the killer could actually hear him.
Eager to get to his wife, Troy gave Nate one last glance before leaving. Tired couldn’t even adequately sum up how Troy was feeling, but he would conjure up enough energy for Natalie. He walked into his bedroom, hoping to find his wife in her birthday suit or with a sexy outfit on, but instead she was still fully dressed and sprawled out on top of their satin comforter. She’d fallen asleep with her iPhone in hand. The bags of “necessities” she’d gotten lay untouched on their ottoman. He shook her lightly. “Hey, babe, do you want to change out of your clothes?”
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