No Ordinary Killer

by Rita Karnopp

  Arnott stood. “I’ll be da—darned. He was expecting the kids and not you. He had to change his plan on the spot. Cool and collected you said?”

  “It seems to me this guy has some training. Maybe military or maybe police. He’s been taught to stay calm and think on his feet.” Pete opened the refrigerator and pulled out the milk. “You mind, Mrs. Winslow?”

  “Pete, you little jerk. That is not how you ask for something. Try again.” Cooper blinked as the cleanup on his head smarted.

  “Oh, may I have some milk, Mrs. Winslow?”

  “You sure may. The glasses are—“

  Pete had the glass down before she could finish her sentence. Cooper shook his head and considered giving up. Manners should be his father’s department. ”Do you and Jamie have some place you two could spend a couple of days? At least until the dust settles on this situation?”

  “I have a sister in California. We’ve been trying to go visit her for the past two years. But, I’ll be honest … we really can’t afford to go.”

  “I’ll strike a bargain with you. You take Jamie and Pete to California and we’ll see about having the department spring the costs. We can’t take the chance this guy might come back and I don’t think we can protect you.”

  “Whoo hoo! California … right on!”

  “You settle down right now, Pete. You’ll stay around your friends every minute of the day tomorrow. You’ll not stay in the locker room or showers alone. You’ll quarterback the game tomorrow night and then you’ll leave with Jamie, like any other Friday night. The only difference will be is that you’ll meet up with her at the airport and you’ll fly out on the eleven-fifteen flight. You’ll not let on that you’re excited … other than for playing the game. You will not tell a single friend you are going to California with your girlfriend. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Perfectly, Uncle Cooper. I do recognize the seriousness of this situation. I kinda lost my head there for a second. You can count on me to protect Mrs. Winslow and Jamie. Honest, you can.”

  Cooper stood and slapped Pete on the shoulder. “I know I can count on you. I saw how you handled yourself today. I’m going to rely on you and trust you can handle this like a man. You’re almost a college guy now and that means it’s time to buck up and take things a bit more serious. We on the same page, Pete?”

  “Sure are. I won’t let you down. We should probably get some pre-paid cell phones. They can’t be traced. If this guy is as smart as I think, then we need to consider all angles.”

  “That’s good thinking, Pete,” Arnott said. “Along that line, we need to get a couple of IDs made up with names that won’t lead the killer to California. I’ll get right on that when we get back to the station.”

  “Pete, I’m going to share one more thing with you. This is classified information and it’s imperative you believe this. It’s our belief that someone … a detective … possibly even a friend … well—“

  “Come on, Uncle Cooper. Spit it out. Either you trust me with this information—or you don’t.”

  “You’re right. And I do, but it’s really hard to say it. Dallas and I believe this serial killer we’re after is a member of our police department. He has access to our database and forensic results. He knows where we are, what we are working on, and—“

  “And everything he needs to set your Uncle Cooper up as the killer. No matter what you hear or happens, remember he’s being framed. We are doing what we can to discover his identity. We just haven’t been able to figure out his motive or catch him in any mistakes. But it’s just a matter of time.”

  “Is that why Dallas was shot and you were clobbered?”

  “You could say that,” Cooper pulled his fingers through his hair and stopped before reaching the newly created bald spot.

  “So the killer comes here to kidnap Jamie and me because he wants to blackmail my dad. You can have the kids in exchange for the location of where Cooper and Dallas are hiding. Or, send out an APB on Cooper Reynolds for the suspected kidnapping and possible murder of Agent Dallas Fortune. If he believes you’re dead, he’s still trying to discredit you and all you stand for. Maybe he knows you’re alive and just wants you to think you have the upper hand.”

  “You’ve got a point there, Pete.”

  “Who could hate you this much? You need to check back to your birth and compare everything forward. This guy is paying you back for something you’ve done to him. Are you and Aunt Candy adopted like Uncle Paul?”

  “I think we’re getting a bit off-track here?” Arnott said, sitting back down.

  “I don’t,” Dallas said, moving slowly to the table.

  “Hey, what you doing up. I wanted you to sleep,” Cooper quickly grabbed a chair and slid it next to his, then helped her sit.

  “I would most likely be sound asleep but my empty stomach won’t let me. I think someone ate my hotdog.”

  “Oh, yeah, about that,” Cooper swallowed and grinned.

  “It’s okay,” she looked around the room and settled on Betty. “You must be Jamie’s mom. Glad to see you’re okay. Cooper will have to fill me in later. Could I—”

  “I’m Betty and how would you like me to fix you a nice ham and Swiss cheese on rye with some chicken soup?”

  “Oh, you are an angel. I would love that.”

  “Cooper, Josh, and okay, Pete, you guys, too?”

  The resounding hell yes caused a unison laugh. Cooper leaned toward Dallas and said, “Your shoulder looks great. Betty cleaned and bandaged it back up for you. She fixed my wound and now we’re both shipshape.”

  “Not exactly shipshape, but definitely better than you were before coming here,” Betty said.

  “Thank you.” Dallas rubbed her arm. “Let’s get back to the case. Pete, what you were saying is exactly the direction I’ve been going. Facts are what we’re missing. The killer knows something you don’t know, Cooper. In most cases a serial killer has an issue with his father or his mother.”

  “Maybe the killer was adopted and feels deserted by his parents. Or maybe his adoptive parents were mean or abusive,” Pete offered.

  “Paul was adopted,” Cooper said, glancing at Dallas.

  “That didn’t show up in my report. You told me about his … um … you know this is a discussion we can’t have here. Its classified information and best kept that way. Pete, you ever consider directing your future to profiling? It’s my observation you’d be perfect for it.”

  “I’m leaning toward forensics school.”

  “I’d look into profiling, too. You’re a natural.”

  “Won’t hurt to check it out. Maybe I’ll do a double-major. There isn’t such a thing as knowing too much. Both majors would complement the other.”

  “I like the way you think, Pete. If you need some guidance just give me a call or if you need a referral, just give them my name.”

  “Thanks, that’s really cool, Miss Dallas.”

  Cooper stood, then sat back down. He almost suggested they leave when he caught a whiff of chicken soup. “That smells so good my stomach is grumbling.” He glanced at Arnott and didn’t miss the dark warning it contained.

  “Josh, you should know the killer believes the two of us are dead. We contacted Gulchinski and he suggested we stay at his house.”

  “What about Molly? Won’t you be putting her in danger?”

  “She’s in Wisconsin for about a week. Gulchinski was going to get a message to you and Maxwell on the low-low to meet us at his house. It won’t seem strange since you often get together there. We really need to go over the cases and see if we can make some sense out of it all. It wasn’t my intent to keep you out of the loop. I just couldn’t take the chance of calling you. I’m sure your brooding helped convince the killer we haven’t shown up yet. Where were you when Pete called?”

  “Fortunately I was driving back from the Missouri River crime scene. Hell, if I had been in the office I would have given you away before you had a chance to tell me not to. Okay, I ge
t it.”

  Cooper turned his chair around and waited for Arnott to help Dallas. She was all business and protocol.

  “Either you or Maxwell need to take a couple of snapshots of the crime scene board for Cooper and me to concentrate on. We won’t be able to leave Gulchinski’s house, so that leaves us plenty of time to concentrate on the facts.”

  “What about the evidence bags you were taking to Missoula?” Arnott took a bite of his sandwich. “This is so good.”

  “Shit … shit … shit … shit. The pen. Cooper, that bastard cleaned our pockets out. He took back the one piece of evidence that could have proved your innocence.”

  “What pen? What are you two talking about,” Arnott asked, leaning back in his chair.

  “I’m in deep shit, that’s what she’s talking about.” Cooper dropped his sandwich and spoon. “If we don’t find some evidence that will shed a shadow of doubt soon, I’ll be arrested for sure.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Megan pulled her nails through her hair and scratched her scalp. She took a deep breath and typed.

  He pressed his fingers into her and she writhed and moaned.

  “More, lover, more,” Michelle pleaded from her aroused state.

  He grabbed the water bottle and shoved it into her. He covered her mouth roughly with his to stifle her cries. She fought him and it excited him more than he ever imagined. He removed the bottle and entered her.

  “Stop it,” she cried. “You’re hurting me.”

  “Whore, I’m going to do a whole lot more than that to you. I’m going to kill you.”

  The full knowledge of what was going to happen showed in her expression. “Please don’t hurt my baby.”

  “Baby? Christ, you’re pregnant?”

  She nodded, and said, “Four months. I’m afraid to tell my mother. It’s … it’s Neil’s baby but he doesn’t want to get married. He wants me to get an abortion. I can’t kill—“

  “Shut the hell up, whore.” Her fear and helplessness gave him a shot of adrenaline. Bundy often spoke about the power of dehumanizing the victim. “As the saying goes, you made your bed.”

  “I didn’t make my bed. If you want to know the truth. I am a whore. My father made me his whore. I found out I was pregnant and I started having sex with Neil. I didn’t want anyone to know the truth. I wanted him to want me and love me … and take me away from my father.”

  “You made a choice and chose trickery and lies. Why didn’t you go to the school counselors or even your priest? You should have fried his ass. Instead you chose to be a whore. Who is going to believe you now? And Neil will also pay.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He’ll be charged and found guilty for killing you. Now that you told me about your father, I’ll see that he gets what is coming to him, too.” He tossed a towel off a row of prepared items he needed. Like a surgeon, everything was ready.

  “Please don’t do this. It’s not Neil’s fault. Pin my murder on my father. It’s the only way to protect my little sister.”

  “That’s really noble of you. I see a bit of the Michelle I once knew in that comment. Did you ever consider confiding in me?”

  “He said if I told anyone he’d visit my sister’s room. She’s only ten. I couldn’t let him do that to her.”

  “Why doesn’t your mother see what’s going on? She must suspect something is wrong. You’ve changed so much. You used to be something special. Now you’re no different than any of them. You wiggle your ass around advertising what you are willing to give away. You show off your tits like they’re trophies. You disgust me.”

  “It wasn’t my choice or my fault. I told my mom, but she said I misunderstood and exaggerated his love. She told me never to speak of it again to her or to anyone else. She accused me of trying to destroy our family. I never said another word after that.”

  “That was your mistake. Doing nothing is making a choice. You could have exposed the whole disgusting ordeal. Instead you allowed your daddy to come to you and … I don’t even want to think about it. It disgusts me. You disgust me.”

  He reached over and picked up the rope and slid it around her neck and tightened it before mounting her again. He stared into her blue, teary eyes. She moaned and choked against him, it surprisingly heightened his response. Finally, she lay limp beneath him. Her features returned to the innocent, sweet girl he once cared about. She lay unconscious and he couldn’t keep from smiling.

  In true Bundy style, he had more work to do. Snapping on a pair of latex gloves, he reached down and plucked free several attached strands of pubic hair and placed them in a small baggie. He then flipped open his lighter and burned away the rest of her smelly bush. It was the root of her evil and there was no chance of finding any of his hair entwined in hers. Of course he’d conveniently leave a couple strands of hair from both her and her killer beneath her buttocks when the scene was setup. The stench caused involuntary gagging. He swallowed it down, making sure he didn’t leave a single trace of DNA on her body.

  He polished her nails bright green. Taking his time, he slipped fishnet stockings up over her shapely legs, fastening them with garters. He would not give the whore panties. He guided her arms through the straps of a nearly cupless underwire bra and brushed her hair into a tight ponytail.

  When he had finished, her makeup reflected the whore she was. Dark eyeliner, glittery purple eye shadow from lid to eyebrow and bright red lipstick. She was ready for transport. Like Bundy, he’d selected the burial site beforehand. Different from Bundy, he performed most of his sadistic fantasy at a killing sight. There was a lesser chance of finding DNA if a victim was killed at one sight and dumped at a second.

  “I have more in-store for you, Michelle love,” he whispered near her ear.

  He arrived at the fire warden’s cabin just before dark. In early fall there were limited visitors at Garnet’s Ghost Town. Kids were back in school and vacationers were few and far between. This was the perfect place for Michelle. The main reason was Neil gave an English report on the ghost town when they were freshmen.

  He’d considered leaving her in the old saloon, but he didn’t want wolves moving her body from its intended position. This year was unseasonably warm, still in the eighties during the day. It wasn’t unusual for temps to drop in the thirties at night. The mountains were unpredictable.

  Having placed Michelle’s body on a clean blanket, before tying it secure with ropes for transport, he now lowered her to the old wood floor of the cabin. There was a startling chill to the air that made him shiver. He wanted her again, but refrained for fear of leaving trace evidence. He untied the ropes and stared at her. He could almost envision her innocent smile and shy response. A deceiver is what she was. Coy, alluring, cunning, and above all false-hearted. She would get what she deserved.

  What would Bundy do? He’d follow his plan to punish the offender. It was said Bundy had an uncanny ability to disassociate himself from the actual crimes he committed. That meant he could do the deed without thinking about the gruesomeness of the task.

  Withdrawing an eight inch Bowie hunting knife from a bag, he drew in a deep breath. His plan was to remove both her breasts and take them with him, even possibly eat them. He became fascinated with cannibalism after reading about Dahmer’s exploits. He associated most with Ted Bundy though.

  While lost in thought, he’d snapped each of her fingers back from the joint. He smiled, then sliced the middle finger free and shoved into her vagina. In one quick motion he cut-off her ponytail and tossed it into the old, cold fireplace.

  Clenching his teeth, he pressed the knife into Michelle’s abdomen and left. That final act screamed at motive.

  Without expecting anything different, Neil Sands was tried as an adult for the repugnant first degree murder of Michelle Rice and found guilty. He was sentenced to life in prison without the possibility of parole.

  Michelle was his first murder, and he’d gotten away with it. Had Bundy felt this way after his fir
st kill? Thus began his thirst for homicide investigations. He focused on forensic evidence from real crime shows and books, adjusting his activities to avoid apprehension. He’d entered the police academy with more knowledge about criminal personality profiling and forensic evidence than the average graduate possessed.

  He worked hard to find worthy prey. Bundy had said a similar thing in an interview with Supervisory Special Agent Bill Hagmaier, in the years following his conviction in 1989. Hagmaier stated, “Bundy thought of himself as a predator. He liked the hunt as much as the kill and he selected what he called ‘worthy-prey’. It was the thrill of the hunt and the challenge. It was competitive for him in a heinous way.”

  He memorized those words and considered them the mantra for his direction in life.

  Exhausted, Megan hit the send button and leaned back in her chair. She’d finished the book in three days of near non-stop writing. She hadn’t seen or heard from Dennis, and it worried her. Finding another man to take his place would be easy. Even the hunt for a lover would be fun and entertaining. But she would miss Dennis. He stimulated her mind as well as her body.

  She needed a break. Megan grabbed the house phone and dialed zero.

  “What can we do for you, Miss Reynolds?”

  “I’d like a tray of mixed cheeses, sausages, and crackers. A nice chilled bottle of chardonnay and a bowl of strawberries. I’m going to soak in the tub, so just have someone leave them in the parlor for me.”

  “Certainly, Miss Reynolds. We’ll take care of it right away. Would there be anything else?”

  “No … um, yes. Have you noticed a guy in a dark hoody standing across the street staring up at my suite?” Megan immediately regretted asking.

  “Obviously we have not. We would have called the police had we noticed. Is he out there right now? Which window was he watching?”

  “Never mind. It was probably my imagination. I get jumpy when I write about serial killers. I’ll leave my door locked. I’m sure you have a key that will allow you to leave the tray.”

  “Most certainly. If it would make you feel better, I’d be happy to call the police and have them keep an eye on the place.”