by Mary Burton
Melina held up her badge. “My name is Agent Melina Shepard. I’m with the Tennessee Bureau of Investigation. There was a car accident nearby, and I was hoping you’d let me ask you a few questions.”
“I’m Caroline White. I spoke to the Nashville police this morning. I didn’t have much to say.”
“Did the officer ask you about the accident?”
“He did. I saw the police sirens and lights. Sounded like it was quite a big fuss. We have cars get fooled by Cox Road all the time. Both sides were supposed to be connected, but the folks on either end protested, myself included, because we didn’t want it to turn into a speedway, which is exactly what it would be. Anyway, there are maps that show it connects.”
“Ms. White, were you home this morning?”
Ms. White pushed open the screened door. “I was. But why don’t you come in so I can pour you a glass of water or tea? It’s blazing hot out here, and you look like you’re about to burn up.”
“Thank you, ma’am.” She stepped inside, cool air chilling her skin as she scanned the small living room. It was decorated in a kind of country charm decor that included overstuffed furniture, lots of ruffled pillows, and more pictures of children and grandchildren than she could count. All these kids had plump faces and wide grins. The images stood in stark contrast to Elena’s drawn features.
She looked toward a kitchen as she also noted there was a hallway to her right. “Do you live alone?”
“I do,” she said as she waved Melina toward the kitchen. “I’ve been in this house for thirty-six years. My Silas and I raised our four children here.”
The air-conditioning was still cooling her skin as Melina walked into the kitchen. A pot rack hung over a small island made of the same brown wood as the cabinets. Most of the beige countertops were covered with rows of cookbooks, an Elvis cookie jar, and an assortment of appliances.
Ms. White offered Melina water or tea, and Melina opted for the former. When she accepted the glass and drank, she was amazed how good it tasted. “Thanks. That hit the spot.”
“Good. Got to take care of our police.”
“Did you hear the accident?”
“I might have. I had the news on, but I didn’t have my hearing aids in yet. The television was turned up. Used to drive my husband nuts but he’s gone, so I turn it up as loud as I want now. Anyway, I thought I heard a thump around 11:00 a.m. I should have gone to look, but they were doing a story on the Prince and Princess of Wales and I do love that British royalty.”
“You didn’t see anyone run past?”
“No, I didn’t, but I can tell you that Jordie Tanner across the street has one of those security cameras.”
“On his doorbell?”
“No, Jordie has a camera in his trees. He points it right at the cul-de-sac. We’ve had kids park down there, and they can create quite a fuss.”
Melina set her empty glass on the island, pulled her notebook from her back pocket, and jotted down the man’s name. “Do you know if the officer spoke to Jordie?”
“I’m sure he knocked on his door, but Jordie is a long-haul trucker and he won’t be back in town for a couple of days. I didn’t think about the camera in his tree until just now. I should have told the officer, but it completely slipped my mind.”
“Do you have Jordie’s phone number?”
“Sure.” She walked to a wall-mounted phone. Taped to the wall beside it was a list of numbers. “Ready?”
“Shoot.” As Ms. White recited the number, Melina scribbled it down. “Great. I’ll give him a call today.”
She tucked her notebook back in her back pocket. “Thank you for the water. I want to get across the street and have a look at the camera. Anyone else on the street who might have seen the accident?”
“That, I don’t know. I’m the only one on the block who’s retired. Most of these folks work jobs that get them up and out the door before the sun. Many take overtime or work a second shift.”
“Thank you again,” Melina said.
“Of course, honey. Stop by anytime.”
When Melina stepped out into the heat, it felt twice as hot and thick as it had moments ago. Amazing what your body could become accustomed to in such a short amount of time.
She jogged across the street into Jordie Tanner’s yard and looked up into the trees until she spotted the camera. It was painted green and brown and reminded her of the cameras used by hunters to monitor game. She took a few pictures with her phone and then, with her line of sight, followed the angle of the lens. If BB had come running through this area, that camera had caught her.
As she walked back to her car, she dialed Jordie’s number. The call went to voicemail. She left her information and asked him to return her call as soon as possible.
She knocked on four more doors, but as Ms. White had suggested, no one was at home. An hour after, the sky had fully darkened as she headed back to the other side of Cox Road. Then she knocked on more doors but noted the local officer had left his card wedged in several of them.
By the time she was behind the wheel, her skin was broiling. The car’s AC first blew out only hot air as it cranked up, so she kept her car door open until it slowly cooled off the interior and her. She sat and reached for her phone. Curious about Agent Jerrod Ramsey, she typed his name into the search engine. She had been intrigued by the guy since she had seen him waiting for her in the TBI’s lobby. Tall, dark, and imposing.
Ramsey had left few digital footprints. Not surprising. She was careful about that as well. Piecing together the bits of information, she learned he had been with the FBI for almost fifteen years and now headed up a team that worked a variety of violent crime cases across the country. Most recent included a series of cold cases near Austin, Texas; in the Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia; and in his own backyard of Alexandria, Virginia.
She found only two images of him, and both were official FBI portraits. He looked like he had ten years ago, only his face had filled out a little and there was now some gray hair.
There was nothing about the man or his personal life. Made perfect sense. A guy like that did not want nor did he need the attention.
Habit again had her glancing toward the watch that was not there. She dialed the hospital and spoke to the charge nurse, who reported that Elena had had no visitors. She thanked the nurse, turned the car around, and pressed the accelerator.
“BB, you didn’t just vanish, girlfriend. Someone saw your ass running from that accident, and it’s a matter of time before I catch you.”
As she approached the stop sign, her phone rang. She saw Ramsey’s name on her phone. “Yes, sir.”
“Please, no sir.” Normally, his voice was rough like sandpaper rubbing against wood. Nothing like the polished suit, tie, and shoes that cost more than she had spent on rent last month. This time, he sounded almost chagrined by the title.
“Sorry. Force of habit. I just canvassed the homes on Cox. Located a security camera and have put a call in to the owner but for now, nothing.”
“We’ll definitely want that camera footage.”
“I’m on it.”
“I’m at the medical examiner’s office. Can you stop by?”
The state medical examiner and the Tennessee Bureau of Investigation offices were on the same campus and were less than a few blocks apart.
“I’m about fifteen minutes out. Have you pulled prints?”
“We have been able to get readable prints on two of the fingers so far, and they have been submitted to AFIS. Hope to have an identification when you arrive.”
A jolt of excitement zipped through her like it always did when a piece of the puzzle fell into place. Having the name of a victim would likely tell them something about the killer and maybe lead them to BB. “I’m on my way.”
CHAPTER TEN
Monday, August 24, 9:00 p.m.
Ramsey did not need to see Agent Melina Shepard to know she was approaching the autopsy suite. Her defined footsteps, like her voice
and mannerisms, were clear and direct. Even the slight southern accent that wove through her husky tones was not willowy or soft but strong and sharp like barbed wire.
Her face and body were angled and honed but with enough curves to turn heads. She might not have noticed the men at the crime scene stealing glances at her, but he had. If she had caught them, her direct stare, which had a way of dissecting layer by layer, would have challenged them until they had the good sense to look away.
The one time her expression had softened had been when she had spoken to Elena. Then, genuine concern and empathy had warmed her voice. Most cops, especially those with children, could not escape the emotions of an injured child. Whether she had a kid, or she had been hurt as a child, she’d had a real connection to Elena.
Shepard rounded the corner. She still wore the dark jacket over a fitted blouse, long black slacks, booted heels, and her badge clipped to her belt. Her olive skin had a faint glow of sun likely picked up while canvassing the neighborhood.
“Agent Ramsey,” she said. “Secured an identification yet?”
No small talk. Which in all honesty, he did appreciate. Talking about the weather, music, or whatever bullshit people filled the airways with at times like this never sat well with him. Shepard did not play politics. She simply did not care whose feelings got hurt. That was noble but shortsighted if she had any ambitions to rise through the ranks.
He understood strategy and looked upon office politics like a necessary evil. He was good at it. And for that, he was able to get whatever his team needed.
“We now have two identified,” he said. “The doctor has given us the use of his conference room. I can brief you, and then we can meet with him.”
“Perfect.” She moved away from him and opened the conference room door in her habitually expedient way. She flipped on the lights and crossed to a small refrigerator and plucked out two bottled waters. As he entered the room, she held one up for him, but when he declined with a shake of his head, she replaced it. She twisted off the top and was drinking greedily as she sat.
He took a seat and pulled the tablet from his briefcase. “I’ve been in contact with my agents at Quantico, who fast-tracked the identification of the prints.”
She removed a notebook and a pen from the backpack slung over her shoulder. “I suppose we’re lucky this killer opted to save fingers and not ears. And why ring fingers?”
“Other than the obvious symbolism of love and romance?” Ramsey asked.
“Left ring finger is supposed to be a direct line to the heart.”
“It’s not a random choice, Agent Shepard.”
“He’s arrogant or a fool. Otherwise why save such telling evidence?”
“He preserved mementos precisely because they can be easily identified.”
“Taunting the law?”
“I think so.”
“Jesus.” She shook her head, then finished off the bottle. “What do you have?”
He pulled up emails from Agent Andrea “Andy” Jamison, who worked on the ViCAP database. “These are from Andy Jamison at the bureau. She tracks monsters with her computer.”
“That’s efficient.”
“Andy is good at her job. When I told her that we have six severed fingers, she dug into her database and found one hit immediately.” The ViCAP system relied on local law enforcement to input the data from their local violent crimes.
“Does she have any cases involving missing ring fingers?”
“No cases submitted with that particular detail. If this killer moved from jurisdiction to jurisdiction, a cop might not find it odd enough to bother with a ViCAP application.”
Shepard frowned. “I get it. Especially if it’s a small locality with minimal staff.”
“Andy identified Cindy Patterson, age thirty-eight, as one of the victims who has an arrest record. Patterson was murdered December 2007. She vanished after a concert at the arena in Kansas City, Missouri. According to statements, her friends saw her leaving the venue about 11:00 p.m., and she was walking toward a parking garage. She insisted she was meeting her date and would be fine.”
“Did they ever ID the date?”
“No. None of her friends reported ever meeting the guy. He apparently was from out of town, and Cindy hooked up with him in a bar. Bottom line, she never made it to her car, which was found by police in the parking garage after she had been reported missing.”
Shepard tapped the side of the empty plastic bottle. “Was her body found?”
“Two days after Patterson vanished, the area was hit by a wicked ice storm that dropped two inches on the area. Over a quarter of a million homes and businesses were without power with downed trees everywhere.”
“Meaning the search didn’t really get off the ground.”
Ramsey heard the frustration in Shepard’s voice. “Delayed at best. Nothing really thawed out until the following spring, when her body was found thirty miles outside of the town. Remains were badly decomposed, but the medical examiner did get DNA from the teeth that eventually identified Patterson.”
“Were the police able to determine if the ring finger was missing? Out in the open, animal activity does a number on a body.”
“The remains were badly compromised. We might not have connected Cindy to this if not for her arrest record.”
“What was she arrested for?” Shepard asked.
He pulled up the mug shot. Cindy had been blond, with blue eyes and a long narrow face. Full lips turned down in a frown. “Drug dealing and fraud.”
“She wasn’t a Girl Scout, which meant she also wasn’t on anyone’s priority list.”
“Medical examiner was able to find the hyoid bone in the neck and determined it was broken.”
“Although strangulation isn’t quick or easy, it’s personal and doesn’t leave ballistics traces.”
“Cindy’s sister, Robin, stayed in contact with police and tried to keep the case active,” Ramsey said.
“But it’s impossible to compete with the growing caseloads and budget constraints.”
“Exactly.”
“We get to tell Robin Patterson her sister was murdered by a serial killer.” She rose and grabbed another water from the refrigerator. One quick twist and the bottle top opened. “Anyone else in Cindy’s life other than that mystery date who might have been a suspect?”
“She ran with a rough crowd according to her file.” And as Shepard sat down, he said, “There’s a second identification. Her name is Nina Hall, age thirty-nine.”
“Maybe we’ll get lucky and see a connection between the two women.”
“That might be difficult. The victim was last seen in Portland, Oregon, in November 2009 leaving a popular nightspot called Sugar.”
“Our boy has a thing for musicians?”
“Maybe.” He pulled up her picture, revealing a blond woman with a round face, bright smile, and sparkling eyes.
“He likes blondes?” she queried.
“Perhaps. Two is enough to hint at a pattern, but not enough to confirm it. Nina Hall was the same age, height, and build as Cindy. And like Cindy, she vanished from a gathering of friends after midnight.”
“Was she found in a field?”
“No, in her own bathtub.” He swiped to a collection of crime scene photos. She leaned forward. Her eyes narrowed as she studied the woman lying in her tub, head tipped back, dull eyes peering out of drooping lids. Her left hand draped over the side sans the ring finger.
“There isn’t a tremendous amount of blood,” Shepard observed. She widened the image with the swipe of her fingers and enlarged the woman’s neck. “She was strangled. Her heart stopped beating, and when the finger was removed postmortem, only a small amount of blood was involved.”
“Correct. The single amputation struck the local homicide detective as odd, and he made a note in the file. He even called around to other jurisdictions in his state and asked if they’d seen a similar case. The general consensus was no, so he didn’t submit
a case to ViCAP.”
“He was assuming this killer only operated in Oregon.”
“It’s flawed logic. But nothing to be done about it now.”
Drawing in a breath, she sat back. “Which leaves us with several women yet to be identified.”
A knock on the door had them both shifting attention from the tablet to the newest arrival, Dr. Josh Connor. Tall and lanky with a runner’s build, Connor was in his midthirties and had a pleasant face. Brown hair offset inquisitive green eyes.
Shepard rose and extended her hand. “Agent Melina Shepard. We met last year. I was working a child abduction case.”
The doctor wrapped long fingers around her hand, studying her face a beat. “I remember. Tough case. Father was involved.”
“He was convicted and sentenced to fifty years. Too bad it couldn’t have been longer.”
“That’s what hell is for,” Dr. Connor said.
“I’d rather not wait for hell,” Shepard said. “Justice in this world is far more satisfying.”
Ramsey agreed but kept his thoughts to himself.
Back in the autopsy suite, an overhead examination light shone down on a stainless steel table that butted up against a station equipped with a sink, a series of swing spouts, hoses, and electrical outlets. Lying on the counter was a sterilized blue pad and an open pack of autopsy equipment including scalpels, bone cutters, scissors, a basin, and a bone saw. A full complement to dismantle a body.
Normally, there was a sheet covering the body. Today, it was a disposable blue pad covering six wrinkled ring fingers lined up in a neat row.
Dr. Connor handed out latex gloves, and once he’d donned his pair, he pulled back the covering. The strong scent of formaldehyde lifted into the air. The fingers looked remarkably small.
Dr. Connor knitted his hands together. “As we all know, six examples of digitus medicinalis, or fourth fingers. They’re all from left hands.” He picked up the first finger and pointed the severed edge toward the light. “Note that the skin and bone are slightly pinched, but the actual bone is smooth. This suggests something sharp, perhaps bolt cutters, which compress and then slice. If the killer had used a different implement, such as a saw, it would have left a much different impression.”