Dead, Without a Stone to Tell It

by Jen J. Danna

  “There was no sign that the bodies were stored and then moved,” Matt said. He ran his hands distractedly through his hair. “Maybe there’s something in the pattern of the victims. The women are of varying ages, so he’s not selecting them based on that characteristic. The men are practically boys, some not even out of their teen years. Maybe he’s selecting the men first and then—”

  Suddenly Leigh understood the awful possibility, and it stopped her cold even as a soft gasp of surprise broke from her lips. She stood frozen, staring into space until Matt stepped into her field of vision.

  “What?” he asked softly.

  “What if—” she broke off, trying to organize her rapidly tumbling thoughts and explain her flash of inspiration coherently. “We’ve been going on the assumption since we saw that surveillance tape that we didn’t just have one murderer, but two, working together.”

  “Right,” Matt said slowly.

  “You may have just hit on the key. All the male victims in the grave were young, barely out of their teenage years, if they were out of them at all. Just like John Hershey. Maybe you’re right when you say he’s picking the men first.” She locked gazes with him. “But what if they weren’t picked as victims? Not to start.”

  Matt’s eyes suddenly went wide as understanding hit.

  “Wait,” Kiko said. “I’m not sure I’m following. What does John Hershey have to do with the other male victims? He was killed in his house. He was never buried.”

  “Follow along with me here,” Leigh said. “Each of the ‘B’ graves has a male and female victim in it. The female was tortured to death, the male was a head shot to end his life quickly. The oldest and newest graves, ‘A’ and ‘C,’ only had the female victim, no male victim. But we know John Hershey helped with the abduction of Tracy Kingston and—we’re assuming—with her death. And yet our remaining suspect was out on the island alone that day. He had no helper with him then.”

  “Follow the connection, guys,” Matt said. “All of the male victims were young, just like John Hershey.”

  Kiko’s brows drew together. “Are you suggesting John Hershey wasn’t his partner for all the killings? I mean he couldn’t have been for one of them as he was in Juvie, but …” Fleeting expressions of surprise, astonishment, and horror flitted over her face in succession. “You’re suggesting each time he had a different partner in the abduction, torturing, and killing of the girl, but when they went to the island to bury the female victim, he killed his teenaged partner and buried them together?” She looked to Leigh for confirmation.

  “It makes sense doesn’t it? We don’t know why he’s killing but for some reason he feels he needs a partner in crime. But after the murder is done, if he kills the partner, then there’s no one to tie him to the murder, no eyewitness to the crime.”

  “Think about the orientation of the bodies in the graves as well,” Matt suggested. “In two out of three of the graves, the male remains were found on top of the female remains as if they’d been added last. In the ‘B2’ grave, the remains were side-by-side so burial order isn’t clear, but the female victim could have gone in first.”

  “That makes one wonder why the first burial in the ‘A’ grave-site was different,” said Juka. “Perhaps he didn’t find it satisfying as a solo act? Or maybe he found it too difficult to transport and bury the body on his own?”

  Leigh shrugged. “Crimes aren’t static acts. Criminals develop a style as they go and they escalate, both of which could explain why the oldest grave only has a single victim. The more important question is—why does the newest grave only have a single victim?”

  “Maybe Hershey suspected that his death was imminent and bolted,” Matt suggested. “Maybe he was supposed to come to the island and help to bury the body, but he suspected something and took off. That would explain why our suspect was still burying the body in daylight when we got there. Maybe his grand scheme was falling apart around him.” He glanced over at Leigh. “We still don’t know where the killings took place.”

  “But we may know how they met—‘Death Orgy.’ That seems to be the connection between them. And if this theory is correct and that’s how he’s been meeting his ‘partners,’ then there must be past players who have disappeared from the game. The other players or the group that runs the game could tell us that.”

  “But that’s not going to help us find him,” Kiko said.

  “And who knows how desperate he’ll be.” Paul shook his head. “He might grab someone else.”

  “Unless he’s confident we can’t track him,” Leigh suggested. “Then he may just lay low until next summer. He may consider this round done now. The female victim was killed, and now his male partner is dead. Not by the usual method, but this method actually speaks more of anger and revenge. A gunshot to the head is quick. You’re no longer useful to me—bang: you’re dead. But Hershey’s death … that was more like the women. Drawn out and painful.” She met Matt’s eyes. “He wanted Hershey to pay.”

  Matt nodded in agreement. “There’s no doubt Hershey suffered in the worst way possible.”

  At that moment, Leigh’s cell phone rang. She pulled it out of her pocket. “Abbott. Tucker! What have you got for me?”

  Four pairs of eyes stayed fixed on her as she listened. “You do? How fast can you track it down? No, I’ll find a judge to sign the warrant, just find me someone at those companies to talk to. Right.” She hung up and turned to the team. “Rob Tucker says he’s on the trail of Orcus.” The smile that curved her lips was triumphant. “He’s picked up the scent. We’re closing in on him.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR: YELLOW GRUB

  Yellow Grub: Clinostomum marginatum, a common fish parasite. Through the course of its life cycle, the Yellow Grub uses snails, fish, and herons as hosts as it moves from egg to larva to adult flatworm.

  Monday, 10:19 A.M.

  Essex Detective Unit

  Salem, Massachusetts

  Leigh shifted restlessly in her chair, checking her wristwatch for the fourth time in ten minutes.

  What was taking so long?

  She knew Tucker was working as fast as he could, but she was getting impatient. She didn’t want to sit in her cubicle. She needed to do something.

  The tip of her pen tapped in a rapid staccato against her paper-strewn desk as she surveyed the flurry of forms spread out in front of her. She picked up the original death investigation form, reviewing the scant details she’d noted about the single bone that began their journey. A week ago, they’d had so little to go on, but Matt and his team had led them to the brink of discovery.

  “Now, if Tucker would only call me back …” she muttered under her breath.

  Tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, she bent over the paperwork once more. She’d go over it again. Maybe she missed something; something that could be the clue they were looking for—

  “Hey, Abbott! You there?”

  “Right here.” Leigh got to her feet, rising above her divider to see Riley striding toward her through the cubicles.

  “This just came for you.” He extended a standard, slim white business envelope.

  “Came how?”

  “Same day rush courier. It was just dropped off at the front desk. Charlotte flagged me down as I was going by and asked me to bring it to you.” He held it to his ear and gave it a brief shake. “It sounds like there’s something in it.”

  The back of Leigh’s neck prickled with alarm. “Put it down.”

  Riley looked puzzled, but promptly set it down.

  Bending, Leigh rummaged through the messenger bag beside her desk and pulled out a pair of latex gloves. Riley’s eyebrows shot straight up but he remained silent.

  After gloving, Leigh examined the envelope. The address was neatly laser-printed directly onto the securely sealed envelope. Then she read the return address and swore softly. “Do we know who delivered this?”

  Riley nodded. “You know Charlotte. Nothing comes in here without a way to
trace it. She’s got the name of the company and the delivery boy.”

  “I have a feeling we’re going to need that information. Look at the return address.”

  “One Schroeder Plaza, Boston.” His brows drew together. “Why does that seem familiar?”

  “Because it’s Boston P.D. headquarters, that’s why.” Leigh ran her fingers over the envelope, feeling the outline of something solid inside. “I need a letter opener. Charlotte has one.” She looked at him expectantly.

  “Uh … right. How about I go get that for you?” He ran from the room and was back in less than a minute, a wickedly sharp letter opener clutched in his fist.

  Leigh took it from him and slipped it under the edge of the envelope, neatly slicing it open before peering inside.

  A single sheet of tri-folded paper lay inside; cradled in the folds of the letter were the tangled links of a silver chain. She laid a clean piece of paper on her desk and carefully tipped the envelope sideways. With a metallic slither, the necklace slid free to puddle on the paper. Leigh picked up the necklace in her gloved hands, letting the pendant fall free, straightening the links.

  She heard Riley’s sharp intake of breath.

  The chain was blackened with dried blood.

  Her gaze flicked up to meet his.

  “Do you think this is from your guy?” he asked.

  “I’d be willing to bet money on it.” Hanging from the delicate silver chain was a silver Gothic cross, beautifully inlaid with onyx and overlaid with silver filigree. She turned it over to find the name Harcourt Jewelers inscribed on the back.

  Leigh sealed the necklace in an evidence bag and set it aside. Then she carefully extracted the single piece of paper. As she unfolded it on the desk, Riley moved so he could read over her shoulder.

  Trooper Abbott,

  How does it feel to be the public face for your department’s failure to find me? Or to even know that I was out there? All those women gone and not a single lead.

  Failure can come in many forms. Being fired from the case would be the easiest one for you. The most painless. Staying on the case will only bring you pain and misery. Be careful, or rather than leading the case, you’ll be the next victim.

  Have you ever noticed that sometimes it’s the things that we don’t suspect that can wound us mostly deeply? Reach into a jar of sea glass, for example, and you never know what you might find. If you’re not careful, perhaps instead of all those softly rounded pieces, an unexpected sharp edge will pierce your flesh, perhaps to the bone.

  Never assume something is as innocuous as it looks. That kind of mistake could get you killed.

  Until we meet again, a little token to remember me by …

  The letter was unsigned.

  At first, all was silent in the bullpen. Then Leigh exploded. “Son of a bitch! That bastard knows where I live. He was in my yard.”

  Riley stared at her in confusion. “What? Who?”

  Leigh shook the letter under Riley’s nose for emphasis. “Our serial killer. He wrote this note.”

  “Well, I figured that.” When Leigh whirled on him aggressively, Riley took a nervous half step backwards.

  Leigh struggled to pull herself together. It wasn’t Riley’s fault that it was all snapping into place for her just now. “Sorry. It’s been a tough week.”

  “No problem. What makes you think he was in your yard?”

  “Several days ago, after shift, somebody hurled a rock through my kitchen window while I was making dinner. At the time I chalked it up to some teenaged punk pulling a prank.” She rapped at the letter with her index finger, the paper snapping under each sharp blow. “But he’s telling me here that he’s the one who did it.”

  Riley searched the letter again. “How? I don’t see that.”

  Leigh lay the letter back down on the desk and pointed to the third paragraph. “That’s because no one is supposed to get it but me. My kitchen is at the back of my house. You can’t even see it from the road. The only way that someone could throw a rock through that window in particular would be by standing in the yard that runs along the side of my house. The relevant point here is there were three Mason jars on my kitchen windowsill that were filled with the sea glass I’ve collected walking the beaches over the years. When the rock came through the window, it shattered one of the jars and spilled bits of broken jar and sea glass all over my floor.”

  “You didn’t see anyone in your yard when you were inside? Before the rock hit?”

  “No, I had my back to the window. But it’s a narrow galley-style kitchen so I would have been clearly visible to anyone out there. I ran out to my yard right after, but he was already gone.” She leaned back on the edge of her desk. “Clearly I was a bit rattled because I didn’t think it through at the time. Had it truly been a random hit, no teenager would pick that window when the front windows are right on the street and would make for a much easier getaway. He went to the trouble of actually entering the yard. It had to be him. I’ve been in the public spotlight. All he had to do was follow me home from the Detective Unit.”

  “It makes sense, once you filled in the blanks.”

  “Any cop worth his salt should have been able to figure that one out. This isn’t rocket science.” She fixed him with an unblinking, icy stare. “Don’t believe everything you hear, Riley. I’m a better detective than some people say.”

  Riley flushed bright red but had the courage to not look away. If she’d had the luxury of time, she might have felt sorry for him since he was clearly sensing a disconnect between what he’d been told and the flesh-and-blood woman who stood before him. But there was no time for such niceties now.

  Riley’s gaze dropped back to the letter. “He really doesn’t like you.”

  “I don’t think it’s just me that he doesn’t like. Look at how he treats his female victims—he doesn’t like women in general. In fact, I bet he’s insulted that a woman is leading this investigation.” She tapped the letter again. “He’s threatening me and insinuating what might happen to me if I stay on the case. He’s trying to scare me off, trying to throw me off my game. It’s not going to work.”

  Riley grinned with approval. “You know, Abbott, if you need any help on this one, I’d be willing to toss in some overtime for you. I know we’ve never worked together but it’s a big case, so if you need a hand …”

  “Thanks for the offer. I’ll keep it in mind. Due to the expanding scope of the case, Harper’s going to be putting together a task force in the next couple of days, so maybe there might be a place for you there.” She glanced down at the letter. “Actually, you could do something for me. I’d like Kepler to see this. Can you see if he’s in his office?”

  Riley grinned at her. “Sure.”

  Leigh watched him jog from the bullpen, a pleased smile curving her lips. Perhaps there was a kindred spirit in this room after all.

  As she sealed the letter and envelope in an evidence bag, she considered her new evidence. Everything from the generic envelope to the plain paper to the laser-printed ink could be found at any big box office supply store by the gross, so they were unlikely to generate any new information there. But while the necklace might not point directly to the killer, it definitely would help in the identification of one of the missing victims.

  Every step forward was a step in the right direction.

  She gave a small start when her phone rang. Picking it up, she checked the caller ID. Finally. “Tucker, what have you got for me?”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE: MARSH HAWK

  Marsh Hawk: Circus cyaneus, also called the Northern Harrier, is a raptor that flies close to the ground over marsh and grasslands, hunting for small rodents, fish, and amphibians.

  Monday, 1:03 P.M.

  Boston University, School of Medicine

  Boston, Massachusetts

  Dodging pedestrians, Matt hurried down the sidewalk, a hot coffee clutched in one hand. He glanced at his watch, wondering once again how long it could possibly take t
o get a warrant. Agitation made him pick up his pace as he cut through Boston University’s Medical Campus Park and past the few lunchtime stragglers still sitting at the picnic tables under a spreading ash tree.

  After a morning spent in Rowe’s lab examining the last two victims and still with no word from Leigh, Matt gave himself fifteen minutes to run down the street for coffee, some fresh air, and a chance to stretch his legs. The suspense was killing him. They were so close; it felt as if they were standing at the edge of a precipice, just one step away from free-falling toward either glory or certain death.

  When Leigh’s ringtone finally sounded, he didn’t even take the time to utter a greeting. “How are we doing on the warrant?”

  “Hello to you too,” Leigh said. “I’m at the Essex Courthouse. Justice Connelly is in chambers right now, but his admin promised that I can get twenty minutes with him as soon as they’re done.”

  He walked over to a nearby vacant bench, dropping into it and setting the coffee beside him. “You have the address? You’re sure?”

  “Yes. Tucker worked damned hard yesterday, tracking down the Internet service provider. We served the warrant on them this morning and that lead us directly to him.” Excitement made Leigh’s words come quickly. “We’ve got a name, Matt. We’ve got his name.”

  Matt fist pumped the air and grinned at the students who stared at him curiously. “Finally. Who is he?”

  “Neil Bradford. He has no record and we’ve never looked at him before for any reason. But he has both a motorcycle and motorboat registered in his name.”

  “Bingo,” Matt said. “We know he’s got both. Where does he live?”

  “Gloucester. He works in town as part of the maintenance staff at the Riverdale Community Health Center.”

  “You’re going there?”

  “Yes. I’ve got the Special Tactical Operations Team—STOP—standing by. After what happened at the Hershey house there’s no way I’m going in there without STOP, and Detective Lieutenant Harper is one hundred percent behind me. Sergeant Kepler also wanted in on the search, so he’ll be there too.” She paused for several seconds, long enough to quench his euphoria and raise the hair on the back of his neck. “There’s something else. Something that makes me think that tactical backup would be a good idea.”