Speaking for the Dead

by Bill Craig

  Still gasping for breath, she stepped out too, letting the little bit of breeze help dry the sweat on their skin. He reached into the car and pulled out a blanket, shaking it open and spreading it on the ground. “You want to go again? So soon?” she asked, a little surprised.

  “Why not? The first time was fast, this time we can really take our time and enjoy it even more,” he smiled at her in the moonlight. He kept his right hand behind him as he held her hand as she lay down on the blanket. He knelt beside her.

  “Why don’t you lay down here beside me?” she patted the blanket invitingly.

  “Oh, I will,” he smiled at her. He reached over and caressed her legs. He felt her shiver under his touch as he ran his hand down to her ankles. He caught both of them in his hand and lifted them into the air. He flicked open his spring-assisted opening knife and struck with blinding speed, dragging the blade through the tendons at the back of her feet, effectively crippling her.

  Tina screamed as the pain hit her and started to struggle, but he held her down, slashing her arms, drawing streams of blood, and rendering her hands useless. Her arms flopped around uselessly. He then slashed the muscles behind her knees, drawing another wail of agony from his victim.

  The man who had introduced himself as Derrick Snow began to slash in a rabid frenzy, turning her into a sobbing blob of misery. Finally, he sliced through her throat and watched the life slowly fade out of her eyes. He felt satisfied and satiated. He walked back to the car and using a wash cloth and two bottles of water, cleaned himself up. He had bought the blanket new that very day, so he wasn’t concerned with leaving it behind. He dressed and started the car and drove away, leaving Tina dead in the night.

  Once he was back in the city proper, he found one of the few remaining pay phones in the city and dialed 9-1-1 and reported the body, hanging up after telling them where to find it. He smiled as he drove home. It would be interesting in the morning to see what the newspapers had to say.

  The ringing of his land line dragged Garrett Moseby out of a sound sleep. He took long enough to glance at the alarm clock. Four a.m. He grabbed the handset. “Moseby,” he answered.

  “Sorry to call you so early, Detective, but we got a call about another slasher murder,” the dispatcher told him.

  “Has it been checked out?” he asked.

  “Uniforms are on the scene and from what they say, it’s just like the one from this morning,” the dispatcher told him.

  “Well fuck,” Moseby sighed. “Let me get dressed and I’ll call back in for the location. Call French, have her meet me there.”

  “Yes, Sir,” the dispatcher said before hanging up.

  He had been afraid of this. Of the killer escalating. Moseby headed for the bathroom to shave and take a quick shower. By the time he had dressed in a white shirt, khaki pants, a blue blazer and sock and shoes. His Colt was holstered on his belt today as he headed for the door.

  He was sure that Lucy French was already on her way to the crime scene as well. He called the station and got the location, punching it into his GPS unit and following the directions to the scene.

  The eastern sky was already pale with the rising sun when Moseby rolled up on the scene of the latest murder. He didn’t see Lucy French’s car yet but knew that she would be there shortly. He had his digital recorder in his pocket, ready to record his observations of this second crime scene. He knew that Lisa Black and the crime scene people were on their way as well.

  He didn’t recognize the deputy from the sheriff’s department that walked up to greet him. “You Detective Moseby?” he asked.

  “I am. I was told you have a murder that matches the one we had yesterday on the Suncoast Trail.”

  “It sure looks that way. This poor gal was sliced to pieces,” the Deputy said.

  “You have a name, Deputy?” Moseby asked.

  “I do. Jake Masters, at your service, Detective.”

  “Nice to meet you, Jake. I just wish it was under better circumstances.

  “Me too, Sir. Whoever did this, they were a fucking savage.”

  “So was the one behind the killing last night.”

  “This guy is a real sadist,” Masters said.

  “I have no doubt of that,” Moseby replied.

  Chapter Six

  “She’s over here,” Deputy Masters said, waving for Moseby to follow him. A sheriff’s department car was parked where the headlights illuminated the crime scene. The body lay just off the road, close to a canal, but not too close. As if the killer didn’t want to take a chance that a hungry alligator would come out of the water and drag off the body before it could be found.

  “Anybody touch the body yet?” Moseby asked.

  “Other than to check for a pulse and determine she was dead? Nope. Most of us have been on the job for a while, we know what to do and what not to do,” Masters replied, his voice heated.

  “I’m not implying that you don’t Deputy. But I have to ask. There might be footprints in the dirt or mud and I need to know so we can eliminate any belonging to you or the other officers that are here.”

  “Well, crap. I should have realized that. But there has been a regular witch-hunt going on through Internal Affairs both in the city and the county the past few months.”

  “So, I keep hearing. It’s got our uniforms really touchy too. But we have all got to work together, which means forgetting about the rat squads of both departments. They aren’t the main problem, the killer is,” Moseby told him.

  “I get that, but with everybody looking over our shoulders and every action being looked at under a microscope, it’s tough,” Master replied soberly.

  “I get that, Deputy. But doing the Job; that has got to come first. If we aren’t speaking for the dead, who will?”

  “You’re right, Detective.”

  “I am. Now I’d like a few minutes alone with the body. Part of the way I work,” Moseby told him. Masters nodded and walked off, leaving him to approach the body by himself. Moseby pulled out his digital recorder and thumbed it on as he drew nearer to the body.

  “It looks like a blanket had been spread on the ground beneath the body. Blood has pooled on it, some soaked in; some dried. Lots of savage cuts all over the body. But this one isn’t like the last one. This killing wasn’t personal for the killer. No, this killing was far more clinical. The cuts were calculated to make them look random. The killer was playing with them.

  “The more I look at the cuts, they were deliberate this time, not random. Her clothing is sliced to ribbons, the first cuts were the Achilles tendons to cripple her. The ones across her wrists were the same way. That hadn’t happened to Sunny Cargill. The cuts to her wrists had come during the struggle. This time, those cuts had been carried out with predetermination.

  “No, this victim was a random pick up. I think he chose her to mess with us. To make us think that he was escalating. I don’t believe that he is, not yet anyway. No, this killing was selected to throw us off the scent. To make us intensify our search while he sits back and laughs at us. He wants to create a sense of urgency to the public, to cast doubt on our ability to catch him before he kills again. He’s good. He’s very good. But we will catch him,” Moseby said, shutting off the recorder.

  “What have we got, Garrett?” Lucy French asked as she walked up. She handed him a Styrofoam cup of coffee.

  “Thanks,” Moseby told her as he took a sip. The hot liquid felt good going down his throat. “I think it’s the same guy, but I also think that he’s playing with us. He’s trying to derail our investigation with this kill.”

  “You sound sure of that,” French regarded him.

  “Because I am. Go take a look at the body and let me know what you think afterward.”

  “I can do that,” French said as she walked towards the body.

  Lucy French approached the body. It was cut and cut up badly. She made it a point to look at each of the wounds. The tendons in the leg had been cut first, and then the wrists. After tha
t, he had played with her, applying his blade to cause the most pain before finally slicing the throat. The other body, he had only cut Sunny Cargill’s wrists after she had tried to fight him. Okay, she knew what that meant. Moseby was right. This killing was a decoy killing. It was random and meant to throw them off from his real target. Lucy stood and walked back to where Moseby was waiting.

  “You’re right. He committed this one to throw us off.,” Lucy said.

  “Why do you think he would do that?” Moseby asked her.

  “That is a good question.”

  “I thought so, or I wouldn’t have asked it.”

  “Smartass.”

  “Somebody has to be,” Moseby grinned at her.

  “This guy scares me, Garrett.”

  “He scares me too,” Moseby told her.

  “How are we going to fucking catch this guy?” French looked at him.

  “Good old-fashioned police work. It works every time,” Moseby told her.

  “Yes, it does, Garrett. But I’m not sure that we have the luxury of the time,” Lucy French told him.

  “Time is never a luxury, Lucy. That’s what you don’t get. Time is urgency. And this case is probably as urgent as it gets,” Moseby told her.

  “I get the urgency, Garrett. But I also get the fact that this bastard is playing us. He wants to make sure that we are so confused by his actions that we don’t know what the hell is going on.”

  “I know that Lucy,” Moseby told her.

  “Right,” Lucy sighed.

  “So, what do you suggest we do next?”

  “Process the scene. Verify this is where the kill took place.”

  “Yes. That sounds right. I wonder what Hopkins will make of this?”

  “How about you talk to him this time? He kind of gives me the creeps!” Lucy wrapped her arms around her chest and shivered.

  “Why does he bother you so much?” Moseby frowned.

  “Just a feeling, some weird vibe that he gives off. Maybe you don’t notice it because you’re a guy. But I’m not the only woman in the department that tries to avoid him,” French replied.

  “You want me to look into it once we wrap this up? Because right now, we need Hopkins to help us profile this guy, especially if he is a serial killer as it is beginning to look like.”

  “I agree, at the moment. Hopkins is a necessary evil. But once this is done, somebody needs to take a look at our resident shrink.”

  “Okay, I’ll deal with him going forward. Right now, we need to focus on catching this slasher.”

  “Agreed,” Lucy nodded. “I’ll grab a flashlight and start walking the area.”

  “Look at the body first. I want your view on the way he killed this one,” Moseby told her.

  “What are you going to do?” French asked.

  “I’m going to call the Captain.”

  He listened to his police scanner. Listened as the Sheriff’s Deputy called in the dead body. Listened to the response. Listened to the call out for the two detectives. Now he had their names. Moseby and French. It was going to be fun playing with them. He was smarter than the cops. He could anticipate their thinking. He had watched enough cops shows to know how they thought. He wondered if they realized that he had targeted Sunny specifically. Probably not. No, they probably figured that she was his first and that he had discovered while killing her that he had enjoyed it. But there was no way that they would realize that Tina had been chosen just to throw them off. To make them think he was much farther gone than he really was.

  No, this had turned into a game for him. A very appealing one with life or death stakes. Him against the cops. How many women could he kill before they figured it out and he was forced to leave Tampa and go somewhere new? California maybe? Like Florida, because of its transient population, California was a serial killer’s paradise. He nodded to himself. Yes, when he was done in Tampa, he would strike out for Los Angeles. The City of Angels. He smiled. He was an angel from Hell!

  “I don’t think this guy is going to go away anytime soon, Captain,” Moseby said. He had his smartphone pressed up against his ear as his eyes searched the darkness.

  “That’s not good news, Garrett,” Captain Stanley’s voice filled his ear.

  “I know that, but I figured you would want a head’s up. The same guy killed this one, but it feels different somehow. Like he is trying to make it look like he’s escalating when he really isn’t. One thing I am sure about is that he likes killing. He likes the power it gives him.”

  “Son of a bitch!”

  “My thought exactly. Cap, I know homicide isn’t a big unit, but I’d like to get permission for Lucy and me to focus on this guy and these cases alone.”

  “Garrett, do you know what you’re asking?”

  “I do. I also know that if we don’t catch this guy quick, a lot more women are going to die. The Mayor won’t like that.”

  “No, he won’t. Okay, Garrett, you and Lucy make these two cases your top priority. You keep me informed through every step of the investigation. Is there any progress? Any suspects?” Captain Luke Stanley asked.

  “There was an ex-boyfriend named Chester Wilkins that we are trying to track down. She had filed a sexual assault complaint against him back when she was in college. He went after her with a knife when she told him no. Cargill kicked him in the balls and the cops locked him up for a while. So far, we haven’t been able to find him,” Moseby explained.

  “I’ll put out the word, see if we cannot get some more eyes out on the street looking for him,” Captain Stanley said.

  “I appreciate that Sir,” Moseby told his boss.

  “Get this guy, Sergeant. That’s all I ask,” Stanley said, and then he hung up.

  Garrett Moseby frowned as he looked at his phone. He could tell that his boss was already under pressure from the Mayor. Politics played hell with police work. Politicians were every cop’s nightmare. They cared less about justice and more about results. He felt sorry for the Captain, but he also knew that he couldn’t let it distract him from finding this killer.

  “So what did the Captain have to say,” Lucy French asked as she walked over to him.

  “He gave us carte blanche to catch this guy. He’s putting the word out for every uniform to look for Chester Wilkins,” Moseby told her.

  “Wow. I never expected that,” French shook her head.

  “I didn’t either. But we have it. The Captain wants this guy caught and he wants it to happen right now,” Moseby told her.

  Lisa Blair frowned as she pulled the Medical Examiner’s van up to the crime scene. Out here near a canal, it was going to be a nightmare for gather forensic evidence. At least this time the body had not been rained on, so there was at least the possibility of some kind of trace evidence. She wasn’t surprised to see Moseby and French there, considering they had caught the first slashed up the victim.

  The first victim. That had been rough. That one had been killed in a fit of total rage after she had been crippled. The wounds that had been inflicted on her body were the result of a violent and sadistic rage after the first cut to cripple her. That was an obvious indicator of the sadistic bent of the killer. Sunny Cargill was a runner, a woman who had kept herself fit and trim. The cut to the tendons above her heels had been done to take her daily regimen away from her.

  The killer wanted her to know what he had taken from her before he killed her. The rest of the cuts had been to cause her the worst pain imaginable and then his rage had taken over and he had mutilated her genitals and killed her. Normally, she would have thought that the killer would have cut her face, to mar her obvious beauty. But he hadn’t. Why not? Then it came to her.

  He hadn’t cut her face because of his vanity. He wanted the world to know that she had been with him at some point. Killing her was a way of showing that he had discarded her when probably she had discarded him in some fashion.

  Lisa nodded. It was something worth mentioning to Moseby. He was a good enough detective that
he wouldn’t dismiss it because he hadn’t been the one to uncover it. There were a few detectives on the force that would. But Garrett Moseby and Lucy French were stand up cops, willing to take any help they could get. Even if it came from the M.E. rather than an informant.

  Chapter Seven

  “What have we got?” Lisa Blair asked as she walked up to where Moseby and French were standing.

  “A second slasher victim,” Moseby told her.

  “I figured as much as soon as I saw you guys. You said yesterday morning that you thought it was a budding serial. After doing the autopsy, I agree with you. Your killer is a sadist. Killing Ms. Cargill was personal,” Lisa said.

  “This one is different, Lisa. There isn’t any indication of rage on this kill. It is almost like he killed her deliberately in an attempt to throw us off the trail,” Moseby told him.

  “I’ll keep that in mind during the autopsy. You guys find anything here at the scene?”

  “Other than the fact that he deliberately staged it out here? Not really. I have a feeling that the bastard that did this was the one that called it in.”

  “I wouldn’t be surprised. He seems to think that he is smart. So maybe he missed something and left a clue to his identity on this one.”

  “He might have, Doc, but my gut is saying that he is just getting started and he wants to see how many he can get away with. He thinks that he can beat us and disappear. I don’t plan on letting him pull that off,” Moseby told her.

  “I wouldn’t bet against you on that, my friend. But you have to understand, he is cunning like a fox, probably highly intelligent too,” Blair said.

  “I already had that part figured out, Lisa,” Moseby smiled at her. Blair nodded and headed for the body.

  “She have anything to add?” Lucy French asked, appearing next to him out of the shadows.

  “She agrees this is probably to throw us off. She thinks this guy is smart and very organized, but he is trying to disguise that fact. She seems pretty sure we will see more bodies.”