by Gary Starta
Davies peered behind her with her eyes only. She could not make out the woman’s face, but she could see her body. She did not detect a weapon about her stalker. She suddenly summoned some courage.
“I’ll yell. I can scream. I once did horror movies.”
“That won’t be necessary Ms. Davies. I’m not here to harm you―only to impress upon you the need to preserve Boston’s open spaces. I don’t care that you’re sleeping with him. That’s why I hope you’ll choose to be my ally. Stop the Mayor from making a terrible mistake.”
“Why do you have such an interest?”
Eva no longer felt a presence behind her. When she turned around, the cloaked stalker was gone. Eva pounced into her Jag and fled the scene. For minutes, she only heard her heart pounding. She kept an eye in her rearview mirror, racing wildly to her Beacon Hill mansion. She eventually summoned the courage to replay the voice of the stalker in her head, but could not place a face with the woman’s voice. The actress sipped chamomile tea for the remainder of the evening wondering if someone else was competing for the Mayor’s bed. If so, she wouldn’t run away like a frightened child. And even if the blackmail did revolve around land preservation, Eva Davies was determined to keep her fuck buddy politician all to herself―with the exception of Mrs. Schroeder of course.
Chapter Six
“If you want to clear yourself of eight murders, I strongly suggest you allow us to take a DNA sample, Mr. Chambers.” Carter had his suspect cornered in the interrogation room. Watching behind the glass were investigators, Tony Gelder and Jill Seacrest.
“I can’t believe we were left out of the loop on this one,” Jill complained to her colleague.
“I won’t bitch if it’s him in there,” Tony responded. “I trust the lieutenant learned from past experience, Jill. He probably didn’t want to risk spooking our perp out of the state, or worse, the country by a careless slip of the tongue.”
“I would hope that Stanford trusts us. I would be the last person to spill a name to the press.”
“Sometimes we make mistakes in the heat of the moment, guys.”
Gelder and Seacrest suddenly found the medical examiner standing behind them.
Jill turned to face Shock with a look of annoyance. “Speaking of spooking...”
“I’m sorry. My ex-wife used to hate it when I sneaked up behind her as well.”
The medical examiner turned to exit the room, but stopped. “I just wanted to get a peak at what a monster looks like.”
Jill immediately experienced a tingling sensation running up and down her spine. For a split second she would have sworn on a witness stand that Shock had shown empathy for the suspect.
Chapter Seven
She knocked the alarm clock off the nightstand. Her legs kicked her comforter into a ball, as Jill Seacrest struggled to escape a dream based upon fact.
The athletically built CSI had lost track of how many times this dream had invaded her sleep. It almost always began the same way, just as it had in real life some twenty years ago. The sound of heavy footsteps would awake Jill from her sleep. For a moment, she would hope it was just the tail end of a dream. But then she would hear a loud thud. Her parents were being forcefully removed from their beds. Her mother lets out a shriek. At this moment, intruders are tying, blinding and gagging her parents with the aid of rope and cloth. Jill, who is alone in her bedroom, can only imagine the worst. The five-year-old child weighs her options. She can bolt for her bedroom door and lock it from the inside; or she can crawl underneath her bed and hide. These two simple tasks don’t seem terribly trying for a young child who has boundless energy. But this is Jill’s first bout with real fear. This type of fright pales in comparison to Uncle Ned’s campfire ghost stories. As her heart pounds wildly in her chest, she realizes she must take action. She uses all her will to break a paralysis of fear, but her legs refuse to move. She slides out of her bed on her back and then crawls underneath it. Twenty minutes later the intruders open the door to Jill’s bedroom but they don’t have the luxury of time to find her. One of the men whispers to his accomplice that they’ve ‘got to bolt.’ Thirty seconds later a police siren is wailing. The robbers flee from the house to enjoy two weeks of freedom before detectives catch them. The court consequently sentences the two apprehended teenagers to a juvenile detention center. The hoodlums, who had been responsible for several robberies in the neighborhood, are only going to get a slap on the wrist by the justice system. The defense attorney argues no one was physically harmed―that is if you don’t count being bound and gagged at knifepoint being physically harmed.
Some of the victims rightly accuse the judge of being swayed to leniency, by the fact that one of the boy’s parents worked at the municipal building. In any event, the court fails to take into account the psychological terror the Seacrest family has suffered. No assault charges are ever filed against the teens. Jill’s parents naturally became overprotective of their only child in the following years. This in turn produces resentment in Jill. It takes her almost a decade to come to grips with the ordeal. She eventually realizes she hates the random act of chance that allowed her family to become victims, more than her parent’s staunch devotion to protect her. The incident sparks Seacrest’s interest in law enforcement. But no one outside the family is privy to her motivation.
Jill once again awakes from the dream. She is as disheveled as her covers. She jumps out of her bed and ties her long brown hair into a ponytail. She is off to the gym for another healing session.
Chapter Eight
The decibel level of the background music at Topper’s, made it hard for the two men to hear each other. Topper’s was a Boston restaurant, which promised: ‘hot wings served by hot babes.’ Medical examiner Andrew Shock had coaxed Stanford Carter to meet him here to celebrate the capture of Boston’s most wanted felon.
“This was just another punk pretending to be a prophet.” Shock complained to Carter . Only the taste of Shock’s lite beer could compete with the bitterness in his tone.
“I don’t know if I want to give Chambers even that much credit, Andy.” Stanford played with a French fry on his plate. He dipped it into a pool of ketchup several times as though it would give him strength to compete with the loudness of the sound system.
Blasting over the speakers was a Guns N’ Roses’ song. Axl Rose sang: “I used to love her but I had to kill her.” Carter raised his voice to compete.
“Chambers was all too happy to take credit for the killings once I asked him for a DNA sample. I can’t even fathom what his real motive was―other than lunacy. None of the female vic’s experienced sexual assault. He said I could find out the real reason why he did it when he publishes his book.”
“Maybe that’s the only reason he did it―for fame.” Shock countered sourly. His disposition suddenly sweetened a little as his gaze fell upon the backside of a Topper’s waitress.
Carter took the opportunity to intervene during this uncomfortable moment. “Andy, why don’t you try to get back with your wife? You had a solid marriage for nearly a decade.”
“Well, one reason―other than divorce―is that she is now living in France. She went there to live with her sister. My wife believes the fairy tale that the crime rate over there is infinitesimally small. I find that hard to believe with all that amorous passion going on over there―if you know what I mean.” Carter gave Shock a small wave of the hand to discourage further elaboration.
“Anyway, she says she couldn’t bear to hear one more of my autopsy stories. In a way, I can’t either. But what the hell am I supposed to talk about all night―the weather?”
“The weather can be very a very interesting topic in the northeast,” Carter stated dryly.
Shock continued without acknowledging Carter’s remark. “It’s too late in the game for this tiger to change his stripes.” He then washed down a mouthful of hamburger with
his beer. Underneath his drunken breath, Carter swore he heard Shock mumble: “But maybe it’s not too late to make a point.”
When Carter prodded him to explain his remark, Shock retorted by changing the subject. “Hey, speaking of women. Don’t you have some feelings for our hot little CSI, Jill?”
“I really don’t think that’s an appropriate question, Andy. Let’s ask for the check. I think you’ve partaken enough drink for one evening.”
“I guess you’re right, Stanford.”
Carter nodded in agreement. But the criminalist knew he had failed to disguise the disgust he felt. He didn’t need any off color remarks coming from his medical examiner, after dealing with ‘The Plunger’ for the last eight months.
Andy remained silent for the remainder of the night to Stanford’s relief. He would not let Carter hear the next sarcastic thought forming in his mind: “Right again, Carter. You’re always right.”
Chapter Nine
You’ve got to be kidding me!” Carter Stanford slammed down the receiver to terminate the call. His mind fought to comprehend the incomprehensible information he had just received from the homicide division.
Sgt. Frank Culpepper had just informed Stanford, that a copycat serial had picked up where Chambers had left off. A female lawyer was found slumped over the table of her roadside vegetables stand in Mansfield. She had suffered a stab wound to her chest. The vic also was missing the ring finger on her left hand. In addition, Chambers’ calling card was found at the scene―a tarot card depicting the Three of Swords.
Stanford ordered CSI’s Seacrest and Gelder to process the scene. He would catch up with them later. There was a pressing matter he had to intend to. Jill and Tony didn’t have to wrack their brains to figure out what that was.
“Tell me who your partner is?” Stanford demanded. Chambers stared at the floor in the holding cell for a few seconds. When he looked up, Chambers found his face was only inches away from Carter’s.
“I swear I didn’t need...have...a partner.” Chambers maintained locking his eyes with the Lieutenant Detective.
Because John had initially used the word need―Carter retreated a few inches from the killer’s stubble-filled face to think. The word need implies that one of Chambers’ motives was glory. Maybe he’s telling the truth.
Chambers viewed Carter’s moment of silence as an opportunity. He would use it to convince Stanford that he acted alone in the murders.
“I’ve been forthcoming with you on everything else, Detective. Why would I lie about something like that? Honestly, I never thought to enlist a partner; it would have stolen my thunder.”
Carter did not believe a copycat killer was involved. He had explicitly instructed the department to keep one detail away from the press. No one besides the arresting officers and the CSI’s knew the killer had left behind tarot cards. So how would a copycat killer know? Stanford called upon his gut instincts. It told him the new killer had been an acquaintance of Chambers, if not a partner. Either way, the underlying current of Carter’s tone told Chambers loudly and clearly that he would stop at nothing to make his conviction stick.
“Chambers listen closely. Even if you give up a partner, I will not make any deals regarding sentencing. In other words, choose your cell carefully. Make sure it has plenty of light for you to see when you write your tell all book. You’re going to have a life time to write it.”
“I tell you the truth; yet you still look at me with disdain. What’s the matter? I didn’t handle rejection with the grace society demands of us? Or was it that I didn’t swallow enough mood enhancing prescription pills to quell my inner rage?”
“I can’t answer those questions right now, my friend. All you need to know is that I will be on that witness stand testifying against you. And when I do, you will most certainly realize that I will be representing every single one of those eight people you murdered.”
Carter cast an icy stare towards Chambers before exiting the cell. The chime on Stanford’s cell phone broke the staring contest. The Lieutenant Detective waited to exit the cell before answering. When he did, Tony Gelder informed him that the details of the murder were indeed similar to the previous eight. The one major difference was that the killer had amputated a finger instead of carving a tattoo on the vic’s stomach. Gelder also informed Carter that the killer most likely took his victim by surprise.
“Our killer may have popped out of a corn field and sneaked up on the vic from behind by the looks of the boot prints I’ve cast.”
“Please get everything you’ve processed back to the lab ASAP as well as the body. I want Shock to run a preliminary exam on the db to determine what type of knife was used. Tell Jill I’ll be joining her on the scene.”
Carter terminated the call before Gelder could ask about his interview with Chambers. Carter did not want to theorize just yet, on how the murder of a female divorce attorney fit into the latest puzzle.
* * *
Eight hours later, Andrew Shock presented the preliminary findings of the autopsy to the crime lab boss. “Carolyn Barris died from the stab wound inflicted upon her heart. In a way, you could say she died from a broken heart.”
Carter was not going to oblige his medical examiner with a smile regarding his bad pun. “Please continue doctor. I am quite anxious to learn what kind of weapon was used in the attack.”
“I believe the killer used a scalpel. The wound was very clean which indicates to me that our perp knows how to wield a blade. Shock paused to receive a commendation for his assessment from his superior. After pausing nearly ten seconds, the medical examiner dejectedly realized a compliment was not forthcoming.
“The major difference in Carolyn’s death is that she is missing a finger. I believe the digitis quartus―or what is commonly known as the ring finger―was severed with the same scalpel blade postmortem.”
Carter found it odd that Shock referred to the victim by her first name. But he did not have time to dwell on this matter. Right now, he needed to get back to the crime scene. The investigators were still missing a murder weapon and a left finger. And most importantly, they were missing a suspect.
Chapter Ten
Stanford Carter watched Jill Seacrest meticulously dust the vegetable stand for prints. So far, the corpse revealed no sign of DNA transfer. The CSI’s were desperate to find any genetic semblance of the killer.
“So here we are. Stuck between a corn field and a hard place.” Jill joked to alleviate Carter’s stress. It was Jill’s job to process and evaluate evidence; therefore, she could not ignore the biggest piece of evidence staring her in the face―the pained look upon her supervisor’s face. This clue told Seacrest that Carter believed the investigators would be mired in another long and exhausting manhunt.
“Can I take a minute to ask why you’re keeping us out of the loop regarding Chambers?” Jill asked point blank. Jill’s candidness surprised Carter; but did not anger him.
“We can’t have the press reporting every detail of our investigation, Jill. It’s sad, but true. Give the job a few more years and you’ll understand. Our latest vic probably died because some psycho was following this case in the papers. He probably has all the news clippings tacked up on some wall in his apartment. I believe the more detail we give the press and/or the killer, will only result in more danger for the public. It’s not that I don’t trust you, it’s just that I don’t want to increase the media’s chance to capitalize on a slip up.”
“Okay, I’ll accept your reasoning for now. But I won’t in another five years.” Jill grinned, pinning her hazel eyes into Carter’s for what seemed like a minute. Carter wondered if his young CSI was flirting with him.
The chime of a pager broke Carter’s train of thought. The number on the caller ID indicated the call was coming from the Mayor’s office. “I’ve got to take this.” Carter paced a few yards away from Jill before answering.
The Mayor informed Carter that the FBI was offering assistance in the investigation. A former FBI special agent named Gerard Winters was scheduled to meet with Stanford in one hour.
The next hour passed quicker than Carter wanted it to. Winters at sixty years old appeared to look a decade older. A paid consultant for the bureau, Winters was once deemed to be the best of the best. But Carter would have preferred assistance from active agents. He dared not rock the boat with Mayor Schroeder though; at least he was still the lead investigator. Carter took silent satisfaction in this fact. He knew the Mayor was just itching to replace him with bureau agents. He promised himself that he would not let the consultant dictate the terms of his investigation. As promised, Winters arrived promptly―exactly 60 minutes later. Winters’ attire was impeccable which made Stanford feel sheepish. The white hair and deep embedded lines on Gerard’s face told Stanford the ex-agent had experienced the worst of humanity. The two took seats in the crime lab’s glass-encased interrogation room.
Winters began the conversation to alleviate the worried look he saw in Carter’s eyes. The Oregon native often found local investigators to be less than cooperative, because they feared bureau agents would take all the credit for their hard work. In fact, this was often the case.
“You’re quite justified to feel threatened by my presence Lt. Carter. But I assure you I am only here to lend a hand―or more precisely―a mind.”
“I appreciate that Mr. Winters; but I don’t feel threatened. In fact, it’s an advantage. I intend to draw upon your expertise in the field of behavioral science. In your experience, can you tell me if it’s prudent to treat the new murder as an extension of the past killings?”