Two Graves (A Kesle City Homicide Novel)

by Graystone, D. A.

  Poor guy. Haynes recognized the type from when he was in High School. Overweight, sloppy, he was the geek always trying so hard to please. He likely had all the crap jobs, always the one setting up the AV equipment rather than doing the presentation, the prop guy instead of the star, picked to put away the sports equipment while the others celebrated the big game. Even now, he was running the errands. He wouldn’t be on the stage at the big celebration. He’d be over by the punch bowl with the rest of the losers.

  Haynes could understand. Stuttering all his life, he was always in the background. That’s where his love of computers came from. And he had no regrets, not with Anne at his side. He smiled over at his wife. Sensing him, she looked over and smiled back.

  “Th...th...this is an especially good one,” Haynes said, pointing to the picture in his customer’s hand.

  The man looked up, obviously startled. He looked at the picture Haynes was pointing at of the petite little face, long red hair, gorgeous lips and sparkling eyes. Haynes saw the man’s face turn red and guessed, incorrectly, that he was embarrassed. Out of sight behind the counter, Haynes couldn’t see the man’s right hand clench so hard it turned his knuckles white. Sweat broke out on the man’s forehead and Haynes took pity and changed the subject.

  “I’m s...s...sorry but I have to hurry off. Anne will make up the bill. I hope everything works out all right.”

  “It will,” the Preston replied. “You have helped me a great deal.”

  Chapter 15

  Mann took a look at the two murder boards that Tetrault and Kydd had set up behind their cubicles.

  In the center top of one board was a head and shoulder shot of Luis Gabel on the coroner’s table. Clustered off to the left were the names and aliases of the Intimidators. Mann shook his head again when he read the aliases. Beside each Intimidator was the notation “AC” for Alibi Cleared. A copy of Gabel’s rap sheet was stuck to the board with a magnet. It was pretty short and filled with minor crimes – minor for any serious banger, anyway. Just enough to get Gabel a curfew. There was also a picture of a Blackie Collins Thin Red Line switchblade. There was a magic marker circle around a chip on the blade with a note stating members of the Intimidators identified it.

  A short time line, mostly blank, attempted to narrow down the time of death. Kydd and Tetrault had narrowed down the time of death to be between 11:30 PM, when Gabel had left his fellow gang members, and 3:30 AM. A large question mark was at midnight with the notation, “Curfew never missed”. The right side listed next of kin with a similar ‘AC’ notation. Under the heading of Enemies, the space was blank.

  On the next board, there was a head and shoulder shot of Christine Yeck when she was very much alive. Apparently, her next of kin were more forthcoming with a photograph of the lovely young woman.

  This murder board had similar notations to Gabel’s with some additional information. No rape was prominent as was a description of the indignities that the killer had visited on her body. Strangulation, severed tongue, mutilated throat and the sign carved in her back, all with autopsy photos. Attached dead center of the board was a blowup of the sign. Beside the picture, Kydd had printed “Occult” and “Gang” with large question marks. Scanning the list of next of kin, Mann saw that all had been cleared.

  He was still staring at the boards, sipping a Pepsi, when Tetrault and Kydd came back into the squad room.

  “Anything new?” Mann asked.

  Both detectives shook their heads. “Not a thing, Lou,” Kydd added.

  “Is there anything that isn't on the board?”

  Tetrault flipped open his notebook. “Fiancée is clear. He wasn’t even in town and that has been double checked.”

  “That’s the truth,” Kydd agreed. She picked up a paper on her desk and unfolded it. After scanning it, she waved the paper toward Mann. “And officially nothing on the DNA for the blood on the newspaper strap. The gang angle has nothing. Nobody is taking credit and it’s just wrong for a gang. Garnham says he’s heard nothing. Nobody has even taken any notice of her death. Nothing on the web, except for the usual chatter from her friends on Facebook and Twitter.”

  “Anything on motive?” Mann asked.

  “I wish. Her purse was intact with lots of credit cards and about $300 in cash. There is nothing from her work, either. Everybody loves her and thinks she deserved the promotion. She handles the annual drive for Children’s Hospital. Finances are good, other than some major credit card debt but that was for her wedding in Jamaica.”

  “Any ex-boyfriends out there that didn’t want her getting married?”

  “She’s been with her fiancée for six years and before that, nothing serious, according to her mother. Certainly nobody that she thought was capable of this. Her mother said that she’s the only one of her daughters that didn’t go through the bad boy phase.”

  “Anything with this?” Mann asked, pointing at the sign.

  “Nothing. Nobody in Gangs recognizes it. Some occult hits, having to do with a goat’s head. The goat is a standard symbol for the Devil but nothing there so far. Greer is looking into it. Do you want us to go to the media with it?”

  Mann considered it for a moment. “Do you think we are going to see more from this guy?”

  Kydd looked at Tetrault who just shrugged playing it safe as usual. Looking back at Mann, she nodded.

  “Then, keep it under wraps for now. Do another canvas of the neighborhood. Recheck everything. Give it another few days, maybe you’ll shake something loose.”

  Chapter 16

  Nicholas Thorman let the ice clink against his teeth as the last drops of Scotch dribbled into his mouth. He held the glass there until his teeth began to ache. Finally, he set the glass back on the table.

  Thorman struggled to his feet wincing at the pain in his head. He left the living room and walked down the hall to his den. He quietly eased the door shut and sat down at his desk.

  Implements of his trade littered the mahogany surface. An HP laptop, pencils, binders, printouts, and the rest of the things he had used in his pursuit of the careful control and recording of numbers. Since his teens, when he first fell in love with numbers, he had been practicing what he considered the art of accounting.

  It was only recently that he had perverted that art or rather it had been perverted for him. He had trusted his benefactor when his schooling had been paid. Thorman thought Angelino recognized his skill as an accurate and careful accountant. He had been so naïve to not realize what the Italian gangster had really been looking for. But Thorman’s revenge was so close.

  Taking a key from his pocket, he unlocked the centre drawer of his desk and slid it open. Pulling it out as far as it would go, he retrieved a length of stiff wire fashioned with a small hook at the end. He got up and went to the closet and unlocked that door. As though at an altar, he knelt on the floor.

  With an ease that revealed much practice, he pulled out the old file boxes on the floor of the closet and piled them behind him, careful not to scratch the floor. Using the piece of wire, he pried up the floorboards. He had to force the cover at one point when it jammed against the side of the closet wall. Whether it was the lack of sleep or the Scotch, he didn’t notice the small splinter of wood that peeled off the paneling.

  Under the flooring, a large suitcase took up most of the space. He pulled it out and set it level on the floor. He removed yet another key and unlocked the suitcase. He took a deep, calming breath before he opened the lid.

  The suitcase contained stacks of Bearer Bonds. Gently, Thorman ran his hands over the top of the stacks, feeling the slightly raised inks. He only wished it was actual cash, although they would spend almost as easily and were infinitely more transportable.

  There was more money in front of him than he had made in the last ten years in his dirty job. More money than his father had ever made. Ten times as much money as his father had ever made. And it was all untraceable. He loved bonds.

  And, this was just his walking ar
ound money!

  Thorman lowered a flap on the suitcase and a sheaf of computer papers fell out –the listing of his stock holdings. Several bogus companies that he had set up owned them. The total of these securities alone was a hundred times what was contained in the suitcase.

  On the last page he had written several dollar amounts. He had crossed out all but the last. This figure represented the total worth of his offshore accounts spread all over the world – a fortune in funds stolen from a despicable thief.

  The last object in the case was his insurance policy – a DVD crammed full, of names, dates, amounts along with audio and video files. Amazing how people who are normally so paranoid about listening devices never thought about a laptop being a recorder. One quick touch and a hotkey combination starts recording every word. If it was pointed the right way, you get video, too. The discs contained the sum total of his boss’s illegal activities over the past two years. Everything preserved in case he ever needed it.

  He prayed every night that he never would.

  Chapter 17

  Preston pulled up several sheets of paper on the clipboard to uncover the glossy eight by ten photograph. He watched her balance her tray across the cafeteria. He had been sitting in the cafeteria for hours, reading a book and waiting. None of the security guards gave him a second glance. Long waits in the hospital were just too common. He was just another poor soul waiting. And now he had her.

  He watched her sit down with her friends. One of them took out some knitting and started to knit but quickly made a sound of disgust. She was right there reassuring her.

  “Let me show you,” her words floated across the cafeteria.

  “No,” he said quietly to himself, “let me show you!” He tried to peek under the sweater at her uniform but couldn’t get a good angle. Not to worry, the world would soon know the truth.

  *

  Finally finished at the hospital, Jeanne McIntosh walked through the small market and chose her vegetables. The meat for her special dinner was already in the cart. Choosing a head of Romaine lettuce, she inventoried the basket against her list. Satisfied that she had everything, she lined up at the register.

  Glancing at her watch, she calculated how much time she had left. Dr. “call me Peter” Michels was due to arrive at her apartment at seven for dinner. She had more than enough time.

  She couldn’t believe he had asked her out and then for her to invite him to her place for dinner? It was so totally unlike her. She had felt so shy and awkward, stumbling over her words, hardly able to look him in his eyes. And at the same time, unable to tear herself away from those amazing eyes. When he had touched her arm, she thought electricity had suddenly jolted through his hand. My god, how was she going to spend the evening with him and not come across like a love-struck teenager?

  On the street, the day smelled of spring. She didn’t even need a jacket. She had changed into her street clothes before leaving the hospital and enjoyed the feel of the light clothing. Her skirt ruffled in the breeze and she could not help but have a bounce in her step. Tonight was to be a special night.

  *

  He watched her come out of the grocery store. Once again, his eyes flicked to the picture. My god, Haynes was a genius. These pictures would make his mission so much easier. He knew he had been right when he saw her in the hospital but now he was certain. He had found her! All his planning hadn’t been wasted.

  She was not wearing her coat. She was bouncing along the street, purposefully making her walk seductive. She walked so that her tits bounced and jumped under the thin top. She was trying to make herself wanted. She needed him to want her. She was showing herself off for him.

  As though he wouldn’t remember. As though he’d fall for it again!

  Jane Degenfeld. Jane. Baby Jane. Easy Jane. Yes, it was her. He had realized that days ago, from the first time he had followed her home.

  It would have been so easy to take her – so easy to kill her. But he was learning, growing in his abilities.

  The boy was an accident. Sandra had been too fast. The pleasure was gone in an instant. He wanted the pleasure to last this time. He wanted memories he could relive.

  This time he had a plan. He knew her routine and he knew her building. He could have taken her in her apartment but the risk was too high.

  You are still chicken-shit scared!

  He wasn't scared; he was smart. But he was still going to enjoy seeing her die. Die in pain and humiliation like she deserved.

  He had seen her with that doctor. She had been so blatant. She might as well have just taken off her clothes and done him right there. She was the same girl she had been in school – a Slut.

  Everyone knew she was the easiest girl in the school. All the rumors said she lifted her skirt for any boy. All the boys talked about how they had screwed her. At first, he had thought they had exaggerated, but he came to understand that they were telling the truth. Easy Jane.

  EJ would always give you a BJ.

  Yes, she always put out. She never refused any boy. So when he had asked her out, she had accepted as he knew she would. She had not even thought about it, she had just said yes. He could still remember that date. He remembered it so well.

  He sped up as Jane entered the Towers complex.

  He even held the door for her as she entered the building. Together, they walked to the elevator and got in. He didn't need to pick up garbage this time. He was prepared.

  He already had the rope out.

  Chapter 18

  Mann was staring at the large calendar on one of the evidence boards when Greer walked up beside him. “Hey, Lou. You got something?”

  “I wish. I’m looking at the timing. Trying to find anything that might give me an idea when he’s going to strike again.”

  A large red circle marked the fourth and another marked the eighth. “Only four days between the first and the second killing. Now it has been nine days and nothing. Is he finished? Just getting started? Why so quick to start and now a long gap?”

  “There’s usually a cooling off period between kills but it gets shorter, not longer,” Greer observed. “While I was working the cheerleader case, I did a lot of reading on ritualized killing. Let’s assume Gabel was his first kill.”

  “But he didn’t kill him,” Mann pointed out.

  “No but he sure made certain he was dead,” Greer pointed out.

  Mann nodded and motioned Greer to continue. “OK, so Gabel is the first kill. Usually, there is a stressor, something that pushes the guy over the edge.”

  “Your talking like this guy is a serial killer.”

  “Technically, the FBI doesn’t count it as serial until there are three kills but ya, I think this guy is just getting ramped up. Anyway, instead of a stressor, our guy accidentally kills Gabel and likes it. He liked it but it didn’t satisfy him. Yeck was more of a ritual. Maybe it wasn't planned but with the beginnings of some ritual. Maybe Gabel didn’t turn his crank and he needed something better. In the back of his mind, he knows it was an accident. Yeck gave him what he needed. Now, he can relive the kill and that gets him through the nights.”

  “For how long?”

  “Who the hell knows? Truth? Without more kills we won’t see the pattern, if we ever do. Maybe he just doesn’t have anyone he wants to kill at the moment. He might be looking for a victim, right now. There is no way of knowing. It might be months before he kills again, maybe even years.”

  Mann turned away from the calendar and led Greer back to the small kitchen. Grabbing another Pepsi, he sat down at the small table.

  “Tell me about the sign.”

  “Sorry, Lou. About all I can tell you is what it isn’t.”

  “Which is?” Mann said, deflated.

  “I have spent a lot of time on the computer. This is not a gang mark that shows up in any of the databases.”

  “Ya, Kydd already gave me that. What about a religious angle?”

  “You know we have never had a satanic cult kill
ing, right? That’s all movie stuff. There have been individuals like Ramiez and Sean Sellers that say it was for the devil but these are rare. That said, the sign could have some satanic overtones. It could be a goat, common symbol for the Devil. Normally, the horns would have more of a curve at the end but the guy wasn’t using a magic marker to draw the thing.”

  Mann just nodded and stared at the calendar.

  Chapter 19

  As she reached for the button, he slipped the rope around her neck and jerked her backwards. The groceries spilled on the floor as the doors slid shut. He released her long enough to push the button for the lower basement. She almost struggled away from him while he was distracted.

  She was stronger than he remembered but it didn’t matter. By the time the elevator doors opened, she was unconscious. She wasn’t dead, yet. He couldn’t let her be dead, yet. Just in case someone saw them, he wanted to be able to say that Jane passed out. Besides, he wanted her to see his eyes while she died. She needed to remember.

  His heart slammed against his chest as the elevator lurched to a stop. The doors slowly slid open. Crouched beside the bag of groceries, he looked out at the hallway, willing it to be empty. As it had been each day this week, it was deserted.

  Shoving the toppled lettuce back in the bag, he slipped one of her arms around his neck. Hefting her up, groceries dangling from the other hand, he struggled to stand. God, she was heavy. He staggered out of the elevator, the door hitting his shoulder and sliding open again.