In this instance, there was no time to hurry up and wait.
“Sheila, can’t you just let me in? The chief is expecting me,” Julia asked the receptionist behind the glass. Sheila was in her midsixties, with a poof of blond hair and a sweep of light blue eye shadow over her lids. Sheila shot a look back inside the open door to the precinct and shook her head.
“Sorry, Julia, but since Washington took over as chief, she’s been real tight about things, you press guys included. We kind of think of you as our own reporter around here, but I don’t want to get in trouble. I can tell you one thing, though,” Sheila said, and leaned in close to the cutout circle. “Washington’s going to be meeting with an agent from the FBI pretty soon.”
“So the Detroit PD is asking for help on a profile of the killer,” Julia said.
“Maybe. That’s above my pay grade.”
“Incoming,” Julia said, and gave a subtle nod of her head as Chief Washington walked past the open door behind Sheila on her way to the lobby.
Julia pivoted away from the glass partition, so as not to arouse the chief’s suspicion meter, and pretended to look at something on her phone when the buzzer sounded and the door to the inner sanctum opened.
“Five minutes, Julia. I’m about to go into a meeting,” Washington said. She held the door open for Julia, who hustled through it and kept pace behind the chief.
“I know. You’ve brought in a profiler from the FBI.”
Julia watched as the back of Washington’s head shook back and forth. “We should just have a direct hotline to call you with everything that happens in my department. You’ve got four minutes now. Come on in.”
Washington led Julia into her office, a place Julia had been to many times before, including when it belonged to the former chief, John Linderman, who was currently an inmate at Carson City Correctional. When Washington was appointed to the position, Julia had noticed the chief didn’t display any personal family photos of her sons. Even in the highest-ranking position in the department, Julia figured, Washington still felt like she had something to prove as a woman and single mother, which she likely thought could be leveraged as a vulnerability to try and drag her down even by members of her own team.
Washington took her jacket off and leaned up against the front of her desk with her arms folded across her chest and her weapon holstered at her hip.
“What do you want, Julia?”
“To be embedded in the investigation. The killer calls me directly, gives me clues, and then sends me on a scavenger hunt across the city. He’s reaching out to me directly, Beth. I have an inside line on him.”
“I can’t do that.”
“Yes, you can, and you should, if you’re smart like I know you are. I’ll make a deal with you.”
“I don’t deal,” Washington said.
“Come on. You need me as much as I need you. I found Roseline on my own and that led us to the envelope the killer left for me. I got nothing in the past hour trying to chase down the Raven’s Poe lead. You let me be part of this investigation, on the sidelines, and I’ll give you my word on something I’ve never agreed to before. One stipulation I won’t break on though, you don’t get to see my stories ahead of time, but I’ll run what I plan to write by you and Navarro before the articles go live. That way, you can be sure the timeline on when you want information released works for you and doesn’t jeopardize the case. Look at me as a witness in real time and I’ll give you everything I’ve got.”
Washington’s eyes ticked to the clock on the wall and her likely countdown to her meeting. “That’s not the way my department works.”
“You and I have known each other a long time. We may not have always agreed on everything, but at least from my end, I can say I always respected you. And, I hope, the one thing you could say about me is the same. I realize you may feel like you have more to prove as a woman in your role, but nobody in the entire department deserved getting promoted to chief more than you.”
Washington went back to her desk and opened a drawer, pulled out a picture, and turned it around for Julia to see.
“That was me, my first week on patrol fifteen years ago. I volunteered for the night shifts so I could spend time with my sons. You want to act like we’re sisters because we both can play the woman card? But I’m one thing you’re not. I’m a woman, and I’m black. Don’t pretend like you know what it’s like to be me. You don’t have a clue. A lot of my own people think I got promoted to chief because I’m a female and a minority and I ticked off the right boxes for the progressive mayor, but this is not necessarily a progressive department. Detroit has one of the highest violent crime and homicide rates in the country, and I made a commitment when I took this job to reduce violence in the city. And now, just three months in, I’ve got a serial killer plucking females from jogging trails, slitting their throats, and dumping their bodies in abandoned churches after he plays Barbie dress-up with them. You have no idea what kind of pressure I’m under.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you, and you’re right. I don’t know what it’s like to be you. But I remember when I first started on the cop beat, I had to work like hell to prove myself. Every single day, I had to show that I was smarter and tougher than the guys in the newsroom and the old guard who was still in charge of the paper. I’m good at what I do, and I’m proud of it. Let me help you catch the killer. I’m not going to stop asking.”
Washington tucked the photo back into her desk’s top drawer and looked back at the clock.
“You run everything by us first, and I’ll let you be embedded in the investigation, but I get to tell you when you walk away. This isn’t about me being a bitch. It’s about me doing my job.”
Julia felt the smile come and she jumped up from her chair and shook Washington’s hand.
“Thank you, Chief. You won’t regret it. What did you get on the Raven’s Poe lead?”
“And so it starts. Navarro and Russell may have something. They got a tip about an English professor named Raven at Wayne State. They’re going to interview her.”
“I want to tag along.”
“Not interviewing witnesses. The press has a way of intimidating people.”
“So do cops.”
“That’s my rule. I have to go into a meeting now.”
Washington reached the door of her office and turned around.
“Are you coming or what?”
“Absolutely. You won’t regret this.”
Julia followed Washington to the squad room where Navarro, Russell, Prejean, and Corporal Smith were standing in a semicircle around a man Julia had never seen before. Behind the group were three large white poster boards. One on the far left had a picture of Heather Burns pinned to it, with pertinent information known about her written in black marker underneath. The board on the far right had the same setup, but with a picture of April Young at the top. The center board had just a name at the top: MMK.
Navarro looked up from the huddle and raised an eyebrow of surprise when he saw Julia.
“Gentlemen, I’m guessing that everyone who’s already here has been properly introduced,” Washington said. “As you know, the Magic Man Killer, or MMK, as we’re now calling him, has been making direct contact to Julia Gooden. We generally wouldn’t let a reporter anywhere near an investigation, but since Julia is at the center of it and appears to be the focus of the killer’s attention, I’ve given her a modified pass card into the case. Let me repeat, a modified pass card, with the understanding that Julia will be running anything and everything she plans to write by us first. Is this correct, Ms. Gooden?”
“Absolutely. You have my word.”
“Then let me make the only other necessary introduction. Agent Jake Britton, this is Julia Gooden. Agent Britton is part of the FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit, and I’ve had the pleasure of working with him on numerous occasions through the years.”
Britton, who looked to be in his late forties, had a thick mane of salt-and-pepp
er hair. He was as tall as Navarro, but thin. He had a patchwork of scars down the right side of his face from his left temple to his jawline that Julia thought might have been caused by some kind of burn. He locked eyes with Julia and then looked back to Washington.
“Your call on the reporter. But this conversation is not on deep background. Whatever I discuss in this room is completely off the record, and I better not ever see it in print.”
“Understood,” Julia said.
“You can trust Julia,” Navarro said. “Our department has worked with her for a long time, and she’s respected around here by everyone.”
“Thank you, Detective, but I’m not looking for an endorsement. Okay, let’s get down to it,” Britton said. He went over to the center of the three boards, picked up a black marker, and wrote down organized under the killer’s moniker.
“A killer’s behavior is a mirror to their personality,” Britton continued. “In this case, MMK selected his victims carefully and struck at an exact time and location when he knew the female runners would be at the parks where he abducted them. Without forensic evidence, we need to rely on behavioral clues.”
“The killer is a planner,” Washington said.
“Exactly. He’s patient and methodical,” Britton said. “He likely spent weeks studying these women, picking them out ahead of time, studying their patterns and schedules, not to mention the abandoned churches he scouted out and the ritualistic methodology he used in the murders. MMK, I believe, displayed control at his crime scenes, but what he left behind was almost theater in his staging, the wigs, the dress, the hand-drawn pictures. And the location of the churches where he killed the women. These were not opportunistic crimes. Your killer is restrained and highly disciplined. But he likes the ornateness of the ritual. And I’m betting these aren’t his first kills. Neither of the victims was sexually assaulted?”
“That’s right,” Navarro answered.
“Then I’m guessing the motivation is a thrill crime. But based on the voodoo and occult symbols left at the scene and the same images on the notes that were found, the killer is also motivated by religion. He could believe he is hearing voices or communication from gods or other beings who demand he commit murder.”
“Like the Son of Sam,” Julia said.
“Down where I’m from, we know a little bit about black magic,” Prejean said. “Our killer here, he’s into a hybrid voodoo, Satanism, and some off-shoot Wiccan practices. And he’s got some ties to mainstream religion based on the fact that he killed both women in churches. The heart symbol, Erzulie, is the voodoo goddess of love and sexuality. He dressed up those women to look like Julia, I’m betting, as a sacrifice for Erzulie. Her Catholic counterpart is the Virgin Mary.”
“To different halves of how he sees the perfect woman, the virgin mother, and a passionate, sensual lover,” Britton said.
“The victims weren’t sexually assaulted,” Navarro said. “We don’t think the two killings were motivated by that.”
“I don’t think it’s sexual desire he has for the victims, or for Julia,” Britton said. “But he wants your attention, Julia. That’s why he reached out to you. You’re the object of his fantasy. If we look at his postoffensive behavior, we see he’s trying to inject himself into the investigation by calling you and leaving behind clues with your name on them. You give him power by writing stories about MMK and his work. He wants the attention because he feels powerless in his own life. His normal every day is probably mundane, and he may have an overbearing spouse. But I think his fixation on you is more than the fact that you can give him fame. He feels attached to you somehow. He thinks the two of you have some commonality.”
“Why is he leaving behind clues? April Young had the game piece of a house in her hand, which was obviously a nod to the fact Heather Burns was a Realtor. And now he tried to tip me off about the next victim with the Raven’s Poe reference,” Julia said. “Is it a game to him?”
“A game where he’s the one in control,” Britton said. “But he likes the thrill of the chance of getting caught. He snatched the two joggers from public places. It was early in the morning when he took them, but someone could’ve easily seen him. He wants the excitement because he’s bored and unhappy in his normal life. That’s probably why he called you with the hints about his next victim.”
“Just killing isn’t enough to get his rocks off,” Russell said.
“How do you think he knew the women?” Julia asked.
“I’ll let you take that one, Beth,” Britton said.
“We’ve tried to pinpoint any connections between April Young and Heather Burns,” Washington said. “They didn’t mingle in the same social circles, and their kids went to different schools. We’re going through their computers, but we’re pretty sure they got on the killer’s radar when they were out for a run. That’s where we figure he first saw them. He’s probably watched you run, too, Julia.”
Julia felt a bloom of anger grow and twine itself inside her as she pictured her private moments in the cemetery where she stopped during her early-morning runs to visit her brother’s grave.
“The suspect Navarro and I interviewed referred to the man he met as the Voodoo King. He thought he might be a cop or ex-military,” Russell said. “The blue dress that the victims were found in, Julia wore a similar one to the police awards banquet.”
“You’re thinking a Detroit cop is the killer?” Julia asked.
“Here’s what I think. Your killer is male, in his thirties to midforties, college educated,” Britton said. “He likely used a ruse to trick his victims into trusting him. They might have known him, but only as a casual acquaintance, and if so, a person in a position they would’ve let their guard down if they saw him. He likely leads a normal life and is married. You represent something to him, Julia, in the truest form of womanhood or the power he feels, based on what he thinks your connection is. In his deepest thoughts, and when he allows himself, he knows that he’s strange. But as the woman who he respects and idolizes, you, Julia, give him reassurance that’s okay. He’s going to keep killing to please you, to get to you. The only thing that will extinguish this is his final conquest.”
“What’s that?” Julia asked.
“To kill you. That’s the last, final, glorious end. My suggestion? Get a twenty-four-hour police tail around you and your family, if you haven’t already.”
CHAPTER 14
The Magic Man Killer eased his Buick to its familiar spot behind Hidden Hills Cemetery in Rochester Hills and parked on the other side of the woods where he had watched Julia so many times before. He found his man-made path of beaten-down grass and leaves, his habitual trail that led him to his previous hiding place, a huge maple where he had claimed a lookout on a high, sturdy branch. There he was camouflaged and hidden by the patchwork of leaves that had turned from vivid green to spikes of orange, rust, and yellow, having changed colors during the months that had slipped past while they kept his cover.
From his past perch, he had been able to see Julia first as a tiny speck running down the road until she was so close, standing over her dead brother’s grave, he could see the rhythm of her chest, a rapid up-and-down, her body adjusting from the grueling full-tilt suicide runs she did every morning to immediate restive pose.
Julia pushed herself so hard, almost like a punishment, a retribution for a life gone wrong, he thought. Her guilt over being different, just like him.
He liked that. So very much.
There were times during his stakeouts when he had to wait for Julia or his other victims for hours. But that was no big deal. He had learned the philosophy and discipline of hunting through a stint in the military to help pay for college, but more so from his uncles. They taught him the odd juxtaposition of the macho yin and nature yang of being one with the woods, silent and still for hours until it was time to kill.
But he didn’t care much about the carcass, the meat, or the conquest of the dead animal.
He preferred
the pursuit, no matter how long it took. The slow hunt, studying his prey before the kill, was what he took the greatest pleasure in, more than the actual deed. He thought about this sometimes as he lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling, wishing to God his wife would go to sleep or using the memories to help make him hard if she was asking for some.
The Magic Man Killer moved past his usual lookout tree and continued on for the first time to the open space of the cemetery. He got close enough, seeing the back of Ben Gooden’s gravestone now, and remembered a time when he was thirteen and had spotted a massive twelve-point buck, proud and majestic, locked in front of his doe and fawns.
The alpha male protector.
His younger self had studied the glorious animal from his rifle’s scope, but he didn’t take the shot. Had he told his uncles, they’d have called him crazy for not bagging such a magnificent prize. For five straight days, he came back to the same place, hidden behind the stump of a dead tree, and watched and waited, feeling the seductive tickle of his finger on the trigger of his .30-30 Winchester lever-action rifle with a side mount, when the buck came into sight. On the sixth day, MMK had heard his cue: the gentle swing of tree branches and the broken snap of leaves, nature parting a way for the massive animal. MMK didn’t breathe when the buck entered the clearing in front of him. He was sure he could hear the buck’s heart beating, his prey’s muscular organ pumping its lifeblood through its body, until it was silenced by the thunder crack from his rifle’s shot.
It was early evening now, and the graveyard was empty of visitors. MMK rested his hand on the Ben boy’s grave and wondered why Julia stopped there every time after her dawn runs. She had shown no emotion about the little dead boy during the TV interview he had watched, so her ritual intrigued yet confused him. Maybe she felt guilty for not loving her brother, the boy she told the TV anchor had always protected her until his final breath.
You Fit the Pattern Page 14