“Really?” She barely heard him, she was so lost in thought about this newest development.
How the hell? The Stickman and the Strangler: the same guy. “But—it doesn’t make sense,” she said.
“What’s that?” Dan asked, leaning back in his chair.
“That the Strangler and the Stickman are the same person.”
“Well, unless the Strangler happened to drop by your crime scene a few weeks ago.”
“The MOs—” She looked back at Dan. “They’re nothing alike.”
Dan shrugged. “Maybe that’s how they’re alike. By not at all.”
Leah’s forehead furrowed. “What? I don’t understand.”
“Maybe that’s the similarity, the fact that they’re so incongruent.”
“Does that even make sense to you?”
“Half of what I say doesn’t make sense to me. I don’t really filter any of my thoughts.”
“That explains a lot.” Leah’s eyes went back to her timeline as she looked at the big empty space in time from Tommy moving to a house just outside of Birmingham in August of 1978 to January of 1989, when he moved back to Alvin. “Did all the Strangler murders take place while Tommy lived up north?”
“All the ones we know ’bout,” Dan said. “Want me to make some additions to your timeline?”
“Please. I’ll let you use my computer. I have the document saved. So—this pretty much seals the case, doesn’t it? Don’t we pretty much have to go with Tommy Stork being the Stickman?” She caught herself and added: “And the GD Strangler?” She was still having problems believing they were the same guy. And to think, Dan’s first impression was to say maybe there were two Stickman killers—a possibility Leah had been flirting with throughout trying to solve this case. Now it turned out one killer did the work of two. Sort of a flip-flop of Dan’s earlier idea.
“Well, it’s circumstantial, but, yeah, I have a pretty strong feelin’ in my gut that we both know Tommy’s our boy. I suppose our next step is to bring him in and question him. Problem is, I don’t know that we’ve got enough to arrest him with. So far, we only have him happening to have been living around the area where we found most of the Strangler victims. It could be just a big coincidence. Despite how much you hate ’em.”
Leah thought this over. “Let’s wait until Terrance down in Mobile gets back to me tomorrow with the blood test.”
“That’ll still be circumstantial.”
“Yeah, but it’s one more buckle on the belt.”
“Most belts I’ve ever seen only need one buckle.”
“You know what I mean, Dan. If it’s a match with Harry, it’s just one more of my beloved coincidences.”
* * *
Dan spent the rest of the evening working on Leah’s timeline. By the time Leah was getting ready to go home, it was already growing dark outside the window.
She waited while Dan hung up a newly printed timeline with all of the Cahaba River Strangler information in the right place:
Aug 31, 1978—TOMMY STORK MOVES TO BIRMINGHAM SUBURB
• Noah Stork claims T.S. spent much of his time in Birmingham before move. Unable to offer clue as to why.
Feb 18, 1978—Cahaba River Strangler (CRS): Victim 1
May 20, 1978—CRS: Victim 2
Sept 13, 1978—CRS: Victim 3
Oct 5, 1978—CRS: Victim 4
Nov 27, 1978—CRS: Victim 5
Jan 3, 1979—CRS: Victim 6
May 15, 1979—CRS: Victim 7
Jul 11, 1979—CRS: Victim 8
Dec 27, 1979—CRS: Victim 9 (?)
Mar 3, 1980—CRS: Victim 10
Aug 27, 1980—CRS: Victim 11
Oct 5, 1980—CRS: Victim 12
Nov 30, 1981—CRS: Victim 13
Apr 30, 1982—CRS: Victim 14 (?)
Sept 8, 1982—CRS: Victim 15
Oct 17, 1982—CRS: Victim gets away
Dec 25, 1982—CRS: Victim screams for help, gets away
Feb 6, 1986—CRS: Victim 16
Oct 29, 1986—CRS: Victim gets away
June 4, 1987—CRS: Victim 17
Jan 5, 1988—CRS: Victim 18 (?)
Aug 14, 1988—CRS: Victim gets away
Nov 6, 1988—CRS: Victim gets away
Dec 1, 1988—CRS: Victim 19
Jan 1, 1989—Tommy Stork Moves Back to Alvin
“What are the question marks?” Leah asked.
“Bodies that we didn’t find. We only assume they were Strangler victims on account of they were reported missing persons from the area and matched the women the Strangler was fond of.”
Then, at the bottom of the timeline, Dan added a quick profile of the killers’ “personalities.” Reading it over made Leah wonder if that might be the problem—maybe Tommy Stork didn’t have schizophrenia. Maybe he had multiple personality disorder.
STICKMAN MO
• Victims black/white and male/female between ages 25–42
• Keeps victim for hours or days before killing and staking
• Backward hog-ties victims (where? primary scene?)
• Kill method: .38 to the back of the skull (1973/74) or 9 mm (1989)
• Spikes dead body, naked from waist up, with picture of stickman
• Took a fifteen-year hiatus from June 16, 1974–June 13, 1989
• Organized. Batting average: 1.000
STRANGLER MO
• Victims only white females between ages 19–38
• Finds victims and takes to murder site immediately
• Strangles victims with rope
• Took a four-year hiatus from Dec 24, 1982–Feb 6, 1986
• Fairly disorganized. Batting average: .769
“You’re right about one thing,” Dan said. “When the Stickman became the Strangler, he virtually reinvented himself. There’s nothing similar between the MOs.”
“I know. I don’t like it. It’s not sitting well with me. Strange that they both took time off.”
“Yeah, well, in the Strangler case, I’m pretty sure he got scared. The victim of December 1982 managed to scream loud enough to bring a Good Samaritan running to her rescue with a tire iron. Smashed up the Strangler’s hands. That was the beginning of his little four-year ‘vacation.’ But, also, if you look near the end, that’s when all the victims started getting away. It was as though with practice, the Strangler was getting worse at his job.”
“With the Stickman, nobody ever got away.” Leah frowned. Staring at the list, she tried to find more patterns. Dan stood beside her, apparently doing the same.
“This really isn’t sitting very well with me,” Leah finally said. “They don’t ‘feel’ like the same person. I wish there were more similarities between the MOs.”
Dan’s lips formed a thin line as he slowly shook his head. “Problem is, there’s nothin’ we can do about that. Evidence is evidence. Unless one of our guys is an invited guest to the crime scenes of the other.” He laughed.
Leah didn’t laugh. “What if that’s exactly it?” she asked.
“What?”
“What if they aren’t the same person, but somehow work together? Maybe it’s exactly what you said. They come out to admire the other’s work.”
“I think you’re makin’ it way too complicated,” Dan said. “Look, when you have evidence, use it in its simplest context. Almost always, simpler is better. If there’s two ways something can turn out and one is crazy-complicated with a bunch of ‘what ifs’ attached to it and the other is just straightforward simple, go with simple.” He raised an eyebrow. “Unless, of course, you find new evidence leading you to think it is crazy-complicated after all.”
CHAPTER 50
The sun had just dropped below the horizon by the time Carry and Jonathon walked out of the movie and found their way back to Jonathon’s car. Above them a pumpkin pie stretched wide overhead. Off in the west, a string of stratocumulus clouds pulled apart in the firmament looking like gauze.
Jonathon hadn’t stopped talking
since the movie let out, almost as though he didn’t realize she’d just seen the same film he had, although she hadn’t focused on it enough to memorize every line the way he apparently had. More and more he was starting to sound like Abe and Dewey mixed together into some crazy robot version of the two of them that undoubtedly would’ve been an invention in Dewey’s stupid book. Maybe Jonathon has ADHD, Carry wondered.
“Maybe I haven’t been with you long enough,” Carry said, blurting out her words in a rare space of silence, “but do you always get this excited over stupid things?”
“Stupid things?” Jonathon asked.
Carry brought her hand to her mouth and smiled at him in mock surprise. “Oops, did I say that out loud? Sorry.”
“How can you call Indiana Jones a ‘stupid thing’? Harrison Ford was in it. He was Han freakin’ Solo.”
With a nod, Carry said, “Right. I actually do remember some things. And, yes, I did see Star Trek in the theater. I thought he was okay in it.”
“Star Trek? Did you sniff glue today? Han Solo is from Star Wars. You know, the saga? Star Wars? The good science fiction movies? Star Trek’s a flick based around actors older than my grandpa, most of them wearing girdles beneath their uniforms.”
Jonathon checked his rearview mirror before backing out of his parking spot and heading up the small road toward Main Street. “Star Trek,” he said quietly with a chuckle to himself. “You really have no idea, do you?”
“About stupid space movies? No, I don’t.”
“Star Wars reflected the human condition. The first one was a movie full of hope, demonstrating what you can do once you’ve gone through the proper rite of passage. And yet, what skill ultimately saves the entire rebellion and their not-so-hidden base on Yavin Four?”
Carry blinked, unable to form the concept of this discussion in her mind. “You’re really goin’ to do this?” she asked.
“Do what?”
“Geek out in front of me. You know how much I hate listenin’ to my brother and his dweeby friend.”
“This is different.”
“No, it’s the same. Next thing you know, you’ll be telling me why Legos will one day save the environment by replacing wood and saving all the trees from being chopped down.”
“Let me just finish what I was telling you about Star Wars mythology. Think about it—”
“Wait,” Carry said, interrupting. “Did you just say ‘Star Wars mythology’?”
“Yeah.”
“You’re comparing Star Wars to, like, the Greek and Roman gods.”
“Yes. If you let me continue, I’ll show—”
“No.”
“No, what?”
“You can’t continue. We’d have to break up, and I really don’t want to. Please don’t disappoint me on this?”
He spoke really fast. “Luke separated from the mother figure— Aunt Beru—when she was killed by the Empire—the Dark Force—and propelled on a journey of mystical training—the Force—to finally—”
“I’m warning you, I’m serious.”
Jonathon pulled his eyes off the road and studied her for a moment. He must’ve read how serious she actually was, because he stopped talking about Star Wars mythology. “Okay,” he said. “I’m done. I’m sorry.”
“Let me think about your apology awhile. Not sure if it’s acceptable.”
His eyes narrowed while he tried to decipher whether this had been a joke or not. She knew he couldn’t tell.
“Okay,” he said finally, and not another word issued from his mouth until they arrived back at Carry’s house.
* * *
While Jonathon pulled to the roadside to park, Carry rummaged through her purse, feeling more and more like a deranged rodent. “Shit,” she said.
“What?”
“My mother’s not home yet and the lights are all off, which means my retarded brother isn’t home. I heard him say somethin’ to Mom this morning about crashing at Dewey’s.”
“Okay, don’t you have a key?”
She paused in her purse-digging to look up at him, once again completely confused by something he’d said. “What do you think I’m looking for right now? Fingernail polish?”
Jonathon shrugged. “I . . . um . . . I didn’t . . .” He let out a big breath. “Never mind.”
Carry closed her purse and brought her palms down upon it. “Okay, we gotta go to Dewey’s and get Abe’s key.” She looked up the dark street. “I’m not even one hundred percent sure what house he lives in. Shit. Shit shittyity shit.”
Jonathon didn’t reply. He just looked at her with a smile.
“What?” she asked.
“We don’t need to go to Dewey’s.”
“And . . . why not?”
Jonathon reached across and clicked open his glove box. “How soon things leave your mind. Don’t you remember my hobby you asked about?” He pulled out the case that had been on the seat between them on their way to the Greek restaurant. The case containing Jonathon’s lock-pick set.
“You’re not really goin’ to break in to my mother’s house?” Carry asked.
“She’ll never know.” Pulling the key from the ignition, he opened his car door and started to get out. “Come on,” he said. “It’s my turn to show you something amazing.”
He was so excited by this prospect he actually didn’t come around and open Carry’s door. She wasn’t so much surprised by this, but by how disappointed it made her feel. With a sigh, she opened her own door and followed him up to the porch.
Jonathon popped the container open and Carry saw the nine silver tools inside. All narrow and thin, looking a lot like the stuff dentists used to make sure they hurt you as much as they could. Each tool had different ends. Some hooked, some went off at sharp angles, some ended at points. Two looked like slender Allen keys.
Putting his hand on the doorknob, Jonathon tried to turn it. It turned, but the door didn’t open.
“Always try the door first,” he explained. “When I was first learning how to pick locks, I came home early from school and my mother was out. It took me over twenty minutes to pick the dead bolt.”
“I don’t understand.”
“It hadn’t been locked when I got there. All I did was actually lock it. My ma accidentally left the door unlocked. Took me another fifteen minutes to open the thing again.”
Carry laughed. “That’s kind of funny.”
“Yeah, not so much when you’re sweating in four-hundred-degree heat. Anyway, so now I always check the door before starting on the locks. In fact, it’s a good thing I did, because your knob isn’t locked, just your dead bolt.”
Carry had no idea you could lock the knob. She wondered if her mother did.
“Do you mind holding this?” Jonathon asked, referring to the container with his picks in it.
Carry held out her hands and he set the open box on top. After looking at the dead bolt for a few seconds, he removed two thin tools from the kit, one with a slightly angled top, the other with a hook.
He gave Carry one last look. “You ready for this?”
“Sure,” she said, just very happy to have moved past Star Wars.
Gently, he slid one of the tools into the bottom of the dead bolt and slightly turned it.
“What are you doin’?” Carry asked.
“Opening your door. The thing I just stuck in here is called a tension wrench.” He jammed the outside end into the ball of the thumb of his left hand to keep it from turning back.
“What does that do?” Carry asked.
“Provides torque.”
“I see.” She didn’t.
“Your dead bolt is a Schlage. So is your knob. They’re probably keyed the same. Just sayin’.”
“Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why are you telling me that?”
He shrugged. “In case you ever want to lock both of them.”
“What’s the point?”
“What do you mean?” Jonathon aske
d.
“If folk can just go buy one of these kits and unlock them anyway, what’s the point in ever locking our doors?”
“It takes practice. Not just anybody can do it.” With his right hand, Jonathon inserted the hook tool into the top of the keyhole and began working the two up and down and back and forth. He turned his head sideways and brought his ear in close.
“What’re you listenin’ for?”
“Shh,” he shushed.
Carry actually felt put out. She hated being shushed. “Tell me what you’re listenin’ for.”
Jonathon let out a frustrated breath. “Okay, fine. You really wanna know? Your lock is a pin tumbler, which means there’s a bunch of key pins held in place by driver pins in a chamber above them. A spring forces down the driver pins. The whole thing’s called a pin stack. Your lock is a common Schlage, that I happen to know has five pin stacks. But just to be sure, I just now counted them. That’s what I was listenin’ to. Once I ‘set’ all five of them, your dead bolt will unlock.”
He went back to work, his ear still close to the lock.
“Why are you still listenin’?” Carry asked.
“As I set each pin, I adjust the tension on the plug with the wrench. That makes the pin holes in the plug mismatch with the pin holes in the casing. So the driver pins won’t push right through, locking the key pins. What I’m listening for is the quiet little ping sound the driver pins make when they hit the outside of the casin’. Once I hear five pings, I’m done.”
“And you learned all this . . . why? It must’ve taken up most of your childhood.”
“I thought it was cool. And no, I was pretty good about six months after I started practicin’.”
A thought had been worrying Carry ever since he started for the door. “Have you . . . did you . . . I mean, we all do stupid things as kids, did you—”
“Are you asking me if I’ve ever used this to break in to someone’s house?”
“Yeah, I s’pose I am. Is that bad?”
“No, just predictable. I’ve broken into some places, but never to steal stuff. Mostly as pranks. Hang on, let me finish up. I’ve already set three.”
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