The Mile Marker Murders

by C. W. Saari

  After badging his way past Marine guards at the Quantico entrance and FBI police at the Academy’s checkpoint, Bannister drove a half mile down Hoover Road and found a parking spot opposite the Jefferson Building. Doug Gordon had left his name with the receptionist, who issued him a temporary badge. He proceeded to a conference room not many people knew about, located above the back of the main auditorium. He had attended an undercover conference there once.

  He walked down the aisle through the empty auditorium and past the stage. As he climbed the back stairs, he heard voices. Doug Gordon and Steve Quattrone of the Washington Field Office were at the entrance to the oak-paneled room, talking to a woman Bannister didn’t know.

  “Ty, you’re timing’s perfect. Steve just arrived with donuts,” Doug said as he pumped Bannister’s hand. “Since we’re all here, we may as well begin. Sit wherever you want. I’ll do the intros. Otis Huggins is with homicide in DC, and Roger Bell is a Sergeant with the Virginia State Police. Spencer Crum is with the Office of Security, CIA. Steve Quattrone works with me on the flyaway squad at the Washington Field Office. Ty Bannister is on loan from our Atlanta Division. And Natalie Fowler is assigned here at Quantico with the Behavioral Science Unit.”

  Everyone gave a quick smile during Doug’s introductions and, in the usual conference room tradition, either nodded or stuck their hand up as their names were called.

  “I know you have questions, and we’ll have plenty of time to go through them. Right now I’d like to cover what we know.” Gordon got up from his chair and walked over to a large white board at the end of the conference table. “To put your minds at ease, each of you has a top secret security clearance. Information will be discussed, which outsiders don’t have a need to know.”

  “Our department heads will want progress reports,” Otis Huggins said. Huggins was pushing two-fifty and looked like he might have played guard in football. He had massive shoulders and no neck. His round, ebony face housed eyes with raised irises, which gave him a sleepy look. Detective Huggins, however, had risen rapidly through the ranks and was now a Detective II in DC. He was street-savvy, still operated numerous sources in the District’s gangs, and was a man of few words. He let his statistical accomplishments speak for themselves.

  “We have a media agent who will coordinate all releases, those restricted to the various departments as well as what’s released to the press. You remember the problems you had to deal with during the DC sniper case, right?” Gordon looked down the table at Trooper Bell.

  Sergeant Bell was the only one at the table in a uniform. During his fourteen years with the State Police, he’d worked rapes, kidnappings, drownings, and murders. Not only was he an experienced interviewer, he was an outstanding tracker who knew the forests around Quantico and the Blue Ridge Mountains as well as someone who had lived there all his life.

  “After the first four sniper shootings,” Bell said, “we had at least a dozen officers fighting to get in front of a microphone. Hearing from so many spokespersons caused fear in the suburbs and temporary setbacks in moving our investigation forward.”

  “I don’t intend for us to have that problem with this case,” Gordon said. “We have three apparent homicide victims—two females and one male. They’ve been identified. The oldest remains are those of Lillian Wells, the thirty-three-year-old wife of a State Department officer. A missing persons report was filed with the Arlington PD by her husband nine months ago. The second victim is Caleb Williamson, a forty-three-year-old career CIA officer who disappeared the day before he was supposed to report to CIA headquarters. He, too, went missing from Arlington. The third victim, Stacy DiMatteo, went missing from her apartment complex in Arlington. She was an analyst with the National Security Agency. All three victims lived in Arlington and all are Caucasian.”

  “Any idea how they were killed?” Spencer Crum asked. Crum worked with Carl Holmquist in the CIA’s security office. He was the shortest person in the room, including Natalie Fowler, who had him by at least two inches. He was attired in a maroon sweater and rust-colored corduroys whose color matched his buzz-cut hair.

  “It’s too early,” Gordon replied. “DiMatteo’s body had no signs of sexual assault or physical abuse, and the autopsy couldn’t determine cause of death. The toxicology results won’t be available for a couple of days.”

  “What did you learn from the crime scene?” Detective Huggins asked.

  “The normal physical evidence wasn’t there. No clothes were found on or near the bodies,” Gordon said.

  “Can we assume all the bodies were nude when dumped?” Sergeant Bell asked.

  “Yes. The only physical items at the scene were jewelry. Williamson’s remains had a Rolex on the left wrist. Wells’ body had a watch on her left wrist. A pair of earrings and a necklace were found near the skull. DiMatteo was wearing her diamond engagement ring.”

  “Why would the killer leave expensive jewelry on the body?” Bannister asked.

  “Doug, if I could interject here,” Natalie Fowler said. Fowler was one of the Bureau’s profilers. She had a doctorate in abnormal psychology from Johns Hopkins and five years experience working serial offender cases. She had a reputation for bringing a no-nonsense approach to her work. At Quantico, they referred to her as “Agent Friday” for her “just the facts, Ma’am” style. Fowler was lanky, about five-ten, trim, with wavy, shoulder-length brown hair. She used makeup sparingly and had a long, shiny face with high cheek bones and thin lips. She wore a navy blue FBI polo shirt over beige slacks.

  “Please realize my remarks are preliminary only,” she said. “Leaving jewelry on multiple victims after removing their clothing is something we haven’t seen before. What it tells me is that the killer is organized, methodical, and he—since most serial killers are male—killed for satisfaction. At this point, we know nothing about motive.”

  “What do you make of the fact that Williamson and DiMatteo both worked in the Intelligence Community?” Crum asked, looking down the table at Agent Fowler.

  “That’s something we’ll have to explore,” Fowler said.

  Gordon said, “After I make the team assignments, we’ll definitely focus on that, in addition to addressing the questions of means and opportunity.”

  “Does everyone know Williamson’s car was discovered at Dulles Airport?” Bannister asked, leaning forward and looking at Gordon.

  “That’s right,” Gordon said, looking at the faces around the table. “Williamson was a good friend of Ty’s. Presumably the killer drove Williamson’s car to Dulles Airport two weeks after his disappearance. Its license plate had been replaced with a stolen tag. Wells’ car was found in the Springfield Mall parking lot, about twenty miles from her apartment. DiMatteo’s car was located outside the manager’s office at her apartment complex. All were locked. A search of the cars was unproductive.”

  “It looks like the killer snatched DiMatteo from her apartment neighborhood,” Detective Huggins said.

  “It appears that way,” Gordon agreed.

  “And Williamson had been in the Northern Virginia area for less than forty-eight hours, right?” Huggins asked.

  “Correct,” Gordon said.

  During the next hour, Gordon went over the information known about the victims. He answered questions and made assignments. He had previously discussed his decision to have Bannister work the Wells case since she was the first victim. Gordon reasoned if there was a connection between Wells and Williamson, Bannister would find it. Bannister told Gordon he didn’t have any heartburn with the decision.

  “Ty Bannister and Steve Quattrone are assigned Lillian Wells. Spencer Crum and Sergeant Bell will work Stacy DiMatteo, and Detective Huggins and I will concentrate on Cal Williamson. There will be three funerals next week. I want them all covered. Our tech guys will install equipment to discreetly film the ceremonies. We can look for possible subjects and study the reactions of people close to the victims. We’ll meet every day at our Washington Office. Any questions
before we adjourn?”

  “I don’t have a question, but I’d suggest you keep in mind there will probably be more victims until the killer is caught,” Agent Fowler added.

  But that thought had already entered Bannister’s mind.

  Bannister spent Sunday morning going over and over all the similarities and differences of the killer’s victims. After realizing he didn’t have any answers, he decided to spend the afternoon exploring some of the forty blocks of downtown Fredericksburg. Just down from his B&B was Dr. Mercer’s Apothecary Shop built in 1742 to sell medicinals and herbs to the colonists. Plaques on walls of some of the adjacent brick buildings marked where Union cannonballs over a century later smashed through the mortar. Hours later, after filling his head with historic trivia and satisfying his hunger with an Italian dinner, he returned to his room to rest up for the week ahead.

  Doug Gordon told Bannister they had a rental car for his use, so he caught the 6:05 a.m. train from Lafayette Street, a ten minute walk from his B&B in Fredericksburg. At the station, he bought a copy of Monday’s Washington Times to read during the fifty-five mile trip. One of the articles in the Metro section was captioned “Victims of Serial Killer in Stafford Identified.”

  The article was sketchy, but said the remains of three bodies discovered last week by a Virginia State trooper had been identified. Next of kin were being notified, and authorities had mounted an intensive investigation. The account said the bodies were believed to be homicide victims killed at different times. Bannister was glad specific details were absent.

  The train pulled into DC an hour later. Bannister tossed the paper into a trash bin on the railroad platform and rode two escalators to the exit. Outside Union Station, fifty flagpoles standing in a semi-circle, each flying a different state’s banner, made him think of the United Nations—but they were the flags of the fifty states. The temperature was thirty-eight degrees, and the cloudless sky was a robin’s egg blue. He decided to walk the five blocks to the FBI office.

  People were streaming out of a subway stop. Government workers were strutting to work. Several women in long coats and athletic shoes walked by, purposely avoiding eye contact. Students in windbreakers lugging knapsacks shared the sidewalk with businessmen in topcoats carrying briefcases. Bannister crossed the street toward the entrance of the Washington Field Office (WFO), set back a hundred feet from the main road. The building was the first FBI office built with special security measures to withstand a terrorist car bomb. Behind the façade of this green- and gray-marbled government building, which looked like it housed a successful law practice, was the heart of the Washington office.

  After showing his credentials and badge twice, and signing in on two different logs, he was issued a temporary access badge and told to wait in the lobby. Five minutes later, his escort, Doug Gordon, came bounding through the doors to the right. Gordon was wearing his customary white shirt with a tie that looked like a Jamaican beach scene—all pale blues, yellow, and green.

  “The weekends go by fast, don’t they?” Gordon said, extending his hand.

  “That they do.”

  “Come on up and I’ll show you where you’ll be camping out for the next few weeks.”

  They took an elevator up four floors and passed through two additional access doors before arriving in a large bay of modular desks.

  “This is the Flyaway Squad’s area. The agents are assigned cubby holes here to my left,” Gordon said, pointing to a labyrinth of gray walls over which Bannister could make out the agents’ individual pods.

  Gordon indicated an office behind a glass wall. “That room’s for anyone’s use and has three large tables where you can spread out your reports, photos, and paperwork. You and three other team members have desks in the glass-walled area right next to it. Our conference room is behind your work station. Squad members have to walk past your desk area to enter the conference room, so be discreet about what you leave lying on your desk. I had the secretary leave orientation packages for you, Otis Huggins, and Roger Bell. Yours also has current FBI directories and numbers for everyone at headquarters and Quantico.”

  “So you think I’m going to be spending a lot of time working the phone?”

  “I hope not. That’s why the brown envelope has maps for DC and Northern Virginia. Your rental car is in a garage two blocks from here.”

  “You’ve gone through a lot of effort,” Bannister said.

  “No problem. I know when I hit a new city, or at least one I haven’t been to in awhile, I hate spinning my wheels trying to figure out how to get where I need to go.”

  Gordon took another fifteen minutes familiarizing Bannister with the office layout. He pointed out the wing housing the executive offices and showed him where the breakroom, restrooms, and computer room were located.

  “Stop by the secretary’s office and give her five bucks. Tell her to put your name down for the coffee fund. I’ll see you in the meeting in a half hour.”

  Bannister walked into the office Gordon had pointed out. On one of the three desks was a white cardboard name plate that read, BANNISTER. He settled in.

  Ellen Kaminsky, WFO’s Special Agent in Charge of National Security, was introduced at the start of the meeting. Kaminsky’s light brown hair had a few blonde streaks. It was hard to tell if it was natural or if she’d had it done professionally. In any event, with her dark gray jacket, skirt, and white blouse, she looked every bit the professional she was. She gave a quick nod to everyone seated in the room.

  “Each of you has some unusual expertise,” she said. “Collectively, I think we’ve put together a great team, and I’m confident you’ll solve these murders.” Kaminsky put her hands down on the glass top of the conference table and leaned forward. “Even though the FBI is providing space and resources, this is a task force operation. Right now five agencies are involved and it may grow. Because of this, a lot of rumors and misinformation will be flying around. Communicate with each other and keep me in the loop. I’ll do the same. Refer options to me for decisions, not problems. And I don’t like working in a vacuum. That said, rest assured that you have my complete support. And the CIA is assisting us with costs.” She looked over at Spencer Crum and winked. “One other thing. I dislike surprises, especially hearing them first from reporters. I have a meeting at Justice with the Deputy Attorney General. So, unless anyone has any questions, that’s all I have.”

  No one raised a hand. Kaminsky looked over at Gordon. “Carry on, Doug. It’s your show.” She walked briskly out of the room.

  Gordon took the cue. “It’s been forty-eight hours since we met at Quantico. Here’s what’s new. Everything’s complete on the autopsies except the tox results. There’s no obvious cause of death for any of the three. DiMatteo’s body was in excellent condition. She had three pinhead-sized marks on her body, two evenly spaced above her left breast, and one on her right arm.”

  “Does that mean she could have used drugs, or may have taken injections, like a diabetic?” Sergeant Bell asked.

  “We won’t know that until we pull her medical records and talk with friends and relatives,” Gordon answered.

  “Could the dual marks on her chest be from a stun gun?” Detective Huggins asked.

  “That’s possible. The other two bodies were too decomposed for a comparison. If the killer used a stun gun, it might explain how his victims were incapacitated. Today I want us to focus on developing connections among the three victims.”

  “Although there are anomalies, it looks like all three victims were specifically targeted,” Quattrone said.

  “I agree.” Gordon swiveled his seat toward his colleague. “The victims weren’t chosen randomly. Two of the victims, DiMatteo and Williamson, worked for US intelligence. I don’t know if all of you know this, but they worked against the Russians. The first victim, Wells, although not connected to US intelligence, was married to a career foreign service officer.”

  “What about funeral plans for the victims?” Sergeant
Bell asked.

  “DiMatteo’s service and funeral will be in Woodbridge on Wednesday morning. At the same time, at a Presbyterian church in McLean, there’ll be a memorial service for Williamson. Lillian Wells’ funeral is scheduled for Thursday in Arlington. We’re going to cover all three.” Gordon picked up his notebook and stood up.

  Bannister was paired with Quattrone. They’d drawn the ticket on Lillian Wells. Bannister knew she was the key. She had been the first victim, at least the first victim they knew of, and her death had preceded the other two by five months.

  Gordon had pulled the missing persons report and a database dump on Lillian Wells and left it on Bannister’s desk. Bannister had read through all of it before riding with Quattrone over to Arlington PD to talk with Detective Alvin Weber, the officer who had taken the report nine months earlier from Felix Wells when Wells had reported his wife missing. Bannister wanted Weber’s read on Wells before they interviewed him tomorrow at the State Department.

  “Was Washington your first assignment?” Bannister asked Quattrone in the car.

  “Yup. Been here ten years. Worked counterintelligence the entire time. Doug and I volunteered for the squad when it was set up six years ago. It’s been great work, and I’ve learned a lot. I’ve had a chance to work cases in Denmark, South Africa, and Greece.”

  Quattrone pulled into an official vehicles only space behind the Arlington Police Department, pulled down the visor with the blue lights, and put an FBI Vehicle sign on the dashboard. When they got inside, Weber was already waiting and had reserved an interview room. They were shown into a bare-walled room with a wooden desk and three chairs.

  “Sorry about having to use one of these, but all the offices are occupied this afternoon unless you want to talk outside. There are a couple of concrete benches and umbrellas set up out there. It’s where we grab a smoke,” Weber said.