by Stone, Mary
Ellie grinned. “I like how you think. I have my suspicions too.”
“Care to share?”
Below them, the tech riding the MVS was turning to make a second pass, moving clockwise around the vehicle this time. “The wheels, for one thing. I know a blowout can do some major damage, but for that many tires to blow at once has to be intentional.” Ellie gazed at the scene below, but she was remembering how the battered wheels had looked close-up. “The parts of the tires that were left looked to be in good shape. Plus, a man like Lucky isn’t going to risk being discovered because he let his rig fall into disrepair.” She nodded toward the semi below them on the sealed cement floor. “His truck is spotless. There’s no way someone as meticulous as Lucky would let something as important as tires go. And Jake didn’t mark any road debris on his report, aside from the tires.”
“We’ll find out details soon enough.”
They turned as one as a chestnut-haired woman sitting at one of the computers along the wall called out. “Agent Lockwood, the model is ready.”
“Let’s take a look at what Agent Hart found.”
Ellie followed Clay across the room, stopping in front of a wall-mounted monitor that displayed an enlarged image identical to the one on Agent Hart’s computer. The picture was colorless, with black and gray lines on a white background, which showed the large sleeping quarters complete with a table, small kitchenette, and sleeping area. “Wow. I didn’t know the sleeping area was that big on the inside. It’s almost a small RV.”
“A sleeper that size is usually meant for teams and small families.” Agent Hart’s voice was crisp through the speaker as she explained the setup. “They’re designed so that one person can drive while the other team member and even their small children can go about their day as they would at home.” Hart used the mouse to highlight the sleeping area on the monitor. “There’s a second Murphy bed here. When you pull the handle, the tabletop folds down between the two benches and creates a platform for the bed. There’s also a cargo style net you can attach to the outside of both beds so a person can sleep while the truck is in motion without falling out. The system is ingenious and perfect for teams because the limits on how long a truck can be on the road is based on drivers, not the rig itself. So, two people can be on the road twice as long, moving more freight than a single driver.”
“More freight means more money.” Ellie tilted her head, pointing as she stepped closer to the screen. “What about to the bottom right? Do we know what that is?”
“Could be a safe of some sort built into the floor.” Agent Hart zoomed in on the area Ellie had indicated. “We’ll know more once the techs are done sweeping the inside.”
Ellie stepped back as Agent Hart zoomed back out again, planting one hand on her hip. Taking in the lavish sleeper car setup, she frowned. “I don’t think Lucky worked as a team. There’s no indication of it, and if he’s the same man who picked up Charity Parker, Leanne didn’t mention a second.”
Agent Hart shook her head, looking up into the office from down below. “Until we get inside, there’s really no way to tell if a second person was there, but a single driver can purchase one of these trucks. Anyone can, if they have the funds.”
“Especially if someone wants a lot of privacy and a closed off area to hide a captive.” Clay tapped his jaw and Ellie could see the wheels turning in his mind. “If this is our guy, it makes sense. There doesn’t seem to be a safe zone with him. The bodies that I suspect are tied in were dumped all over the country.”
“That’s typical of highway killers. If the point is to keep authorities from connecting the cases, it makes sense that he would dump them randomly.” Ellie turned from the window to Clay. “I haven’t heard of a case where the highway killer has a safe zone like other serial killers.”
“You’re right, but they’re likely to stick to one highway, and when there are multiple bodies, there still tends to be a pattern. Even a killer who is well versed on forensic countermeasures can’t control human nature. We tend to return to places we know and that are comfortable.” He took out his tablet and pulled up a map. There were location pins all over the country, each with a woman’s name or date their remains were located. “These are all the dumped bodies I believe our killer is responsible for over the past two decades.”
“They’re everywhere.” Ellie scowled, doing a quick count as her heart sank. “If he killed all these women, that’s more than two a year.”
“I can’t say for sure they’re all him, but they fit the general circumstances. Remote area, known to hitch rides with truckers, and teen runaways. Now, let me show you another highway killer who had over a dozen murders.” He flicked his finger across the screen, pulling up another map.
Ellie pointed to an area where the location pins were closer together. “I see what you mean. This area right here seems to be the hotspot.”
“When this case was solved, we discovered his home here, south of the cluster. In many cases, we catch highway killers within a few victims because they tend to stick to one highway, so this pattern doesn’t always have a chance to emerge.”
“But if the killer goes on long enough, human nature takes over.”
“Exactly.” He flipped back to the first map. “But this killer has no cluster. Now that I’ve seen the rig, I’m betting that’s because his semi was his only home.”
Ellie recoiled a little. “That’s surprising. It doesn’t make sense that he wouldn’t have a place to go when he’s not working, or at the very least, family he visits.”
Clay’s phone beeped, and he read the message and motioned to the window. “They’re ready for us.”
She followed him to the elevator, where he pushed the button for the lower level.
“The more we learn about this man, the more I’m sure this is all part of his unique profile.” He turned toward her as the doors slid shut, his brown eyes heavy. “Depending on the state, a trucker can’t haul across state lines until they’re twenty-one. If he started murdering women around that time, he could’ve been living with family or couch surfing. Once he got a taste for killing, it would make sense to build a life with no ties and no home.”
Ellie didn’t like that, not at all. “If that’s the case, he could be anywhere.”
“That’s part of the reason I wanted to consult with you on this case. This killer is like none I’ve ever dealt with before. You caught a connection between cold cases, exposing an entire trafficking ring that had operated undetected in Charleston for over a decade, if not longer. The way your mind works.” He looked at her with awe and shook his head. “I know you get a lot of flak for being reckless and stepping outside the lines, but you’re made for this kind of work.”
Heat crept up Ellie’s throat, but the elevator door opened, and Clay turned before it filled her cheeks. If he noticed, he didn’t comment.
The doors closed behind them, and Clay led her to a small closet nearby that held navy coveralls identical to the ones the techs were wearing. Clay covered his shoes with surgical booties and handed her a pair. Once she had them on, she grabbed a coverall off its hanger and pulled it on over her clothes. Her hair was already braided and pinned back, so the surgical cap went on easily, elastic cupping her earlobes and the base of her skull.
“Stylish.” She laughed when he turned to face her, looking like an undercover inspector from an alien movie.
“Apparently, you look good in anything.” He grinned, winking. “The rest of us should be so lucky.”
She wrinkled her nose. “Bad use of words.”
He swiped his access card and the final door opened, letting in the antiseptic smell of purified air. The hangar floor was louder than she’d expected, the constant chatter of techs and the equipment they used echoing in the large space.
When they reached the truck, a tech emerged from the driver’s side carrying a leather briefcase labeled “fingerprint kit.” “It’s all yours,” he said to the woman who was photographing the outsid
e of the truck.
The photographer was inside the cab in a matter of minutes, and not much time passed before she poked her head out and motioned to Ellie and Clay. “You can come in now. One of the techs is working on the floor safe, so you’ll need to wear eye protection.” She pointed at the coveralls Ellie was wearing. “Front, right pocket.”
Unzipping the pocket, Ellie slipped on the thin, flexible glasses, followed by gloves, and climbed into the cab. Inside, she slid between the two captain’s chairs to access the open door to the sleeper. A tech knelt on the floor in front of the dinette, working with a precision laser. Ellie stepped to the side in the tiny kitchenette so Clay could join her. “This looks exactly like the picture the MVS generated.”
“The program is pretty amazing. Our forensic artist will use the photographs to create a full color graphic of the inside of the cab. The technology has saved so many lives, but the 3D images we’re able to generate are vital to building our cases. There’s something about being able to see what we have at the scene that really helps juries.”
“Does it always work in your favor?” Using a gloved hand, Ellie opened the first cabinet, pulling a soft cotton rope out.
“Not always, but more often than not the diagrams help the prosecutor.” He arched an eyebrow. “That’s a lot of rope.” He handed her an evidence bag from the box sitting on the counter, along with a permanent marker so she could write the details on the label. After she did so, he sealed it, placing the bag into an empty box.
“Gags, blindfolds, duct tape.” Ellie shook her head, handing each item to Clay as she bagged and labeled.
“Lucky obviously didn’t worry about being caught.”
Ellie paused, holding a roll of silver tape. “Why would he with his own rig?”
“He had to have passed through Border Patrol checkpoints.”
“Wouldn’t that mean crossing into Mexico?” Ellie handed the duct tape to Clay.
“I’m guessing you’ve never traveled from California to Texas.”
Ellie shook her head. “Not by car, why?”
“There are Border Patrol checkpoints all along Interstate 8, and other strategic places between California and Texas, sometimes even a hundred miles from the border inside the US.”
“I didn’t know about that.” She frowned. “I don’t know how I would feel about being stopped like that on a road trip. Especially if I didn’t leave the country.”
Clay lifted one shoulder. “They rarely do more than ask if you’re a citizen, then send you on your way. With a rig like this, they do a cursory glance of the inside of the cab.” He gestured at the doorway between the sleeping area and the driver’s seat. “Since this rig has a door, they would likely ask him to unlock it so they could take a look around. This is the perfect place to hide stowaways, even if the driver isn’t a serial killer.”
“If that’s the case, they would’ve found anyone he was holding captive.”
“You’re right, but the girls who were reported missing routinely hitchhiked with truck drivers. There’s no telling how long they rode with Lucky before they realized they were in danger.”
Ellie couldn’t imagine being a young girl who only needed a ride and entrusted a friendly truck driver to get her where she needed to go, only to find out he was anything but friendly. She knew the terror of being trapped in a car with a psychopath, though, and shuddered at the memory. “And a man charismatic enough to convince a woman that he posed no danger would be able to keep that act up until he was in the clear.”
“The truck stop Charity called her mother from was in California, and she was dumped in Arizona.” Clay pulled up a map on his tablet. “There’s a checkpoint just past the Arizona state line in Yuma, then a large stretch of I-8 that’s desolate and empty in between towns. The next permanent checkpoint isn’t until Las Cruces, New Mexico. That’s a five-hundred-mile stretch.”
Ellie’s stomach flipped as the trucker’s disgusting methods became clear. “And once he’s north of New Mexico and Texas, he only has to worry about crossing state lines. This man is smart. He knows where the checkpoints are, and he makes sure he doesn’t draw attention to himself.”
“Very smart. He keeps his rig well maintained, and I bet all his paperwork stays up to date.” Clay’s eyes lit up as he ducked out of the sleeper and into the cab. Sitting on the passenger seat, he opened the glove box and clicked his tongue. “Look at this.” He held up the paperwork, which included the truck’s registration. “It’s amazing he’s bold enough to travel under his own name. The truck is registered to Matt Loomis of Lucky Transport.”
“Bold,” Ellie repeated, clenching her teeth.
“Arrogant.”
The tech at the floor safe gave a small whoop of delight, drawing them both back to the sleeper. Ellie stopped a few steps away from where the tech was still crouched, the door to the safe twisted to the side and connected by only one hinge. Inside the safe sat a polished wooden box with a simple brass clasp. Lifting it out of the small space, the tech set it at Ellie’s feet.
Ellie lowered herself to the floor, sitting with her legs crossed, her throat tight with anticipation. Her gloved fingers trembled as she pulled at the latch and pushed the lid upward. Bile rose in her throat, but she quickly swallowed her horror, turning to Clay.
His face was solemn as they waited for the photographer to take pictures of the contents.
Click.
Click.
Click.
Ellie took a deep breath, reached into the box. Heart in her throat, she gingerly picked up the first ID, staring into the young face of a smiling brunette with honey-colored eyes and a dimple in one cheek. Her voice wouldn’t work when she tried to speak her name. Had Ellie not run as fast as she did, or been hit by a patrol car at the age of fifteen, something of her own very well may have ended up in a box, a souvenir for a demented mind who stole innocence in the dark.
Gathering her strength, Ellie swore to herself that, just as she would never rest until her own kidnapper was either proven dead or behind bars, she would never rest until all of Lucky’s victims’ families were given the very least they deserved…closure.
“Allie Border. She was fifteen years old when this photo was taken in Utah.” She handed the ID to Clay and slowly picked up the next one. “Madeleine Vaughn. Kansas.”
Clay wrote down each name, along with their state and date of birth, before he placed the ID in a bag.
Ellie’s eyes burned with unshed tears as her quivering voice echoed in the heavy silence that had come over everyone in the truck’s sleeper. Reading the victims off one by one, she kept track of the number in her head. With each ID, her heart broke a little more.
A familiar face stared back at her from the twelfth ID. Charity Parker’s smile was bright, green eyes sparkling with joy as she posed for her permit license photo.
Ellie’s shoulders slumped as she handed over the license and turned back to the pile of IDs in a neat stack, still so tall. Her chest heaved as a wave of grief overtook her, and she took a moment to compose herself, avoiding Clay’s eyes.
“Take your time, Ellie. None of us were expecting this.”
She nodded, biting her lower lip between her teeth as she counted all the IDs left in the box. “This is a lot of women, Clay. Have you found this many bodies you can connect to Lucky?”
“No, but having their names and descriptions may help me identify some of them.”
“There’s forty-four IDs.” She took a deep breath. “And what about the ones who didn’t have a license or state ID? Lucky could be the most prolific serial killer we’ve seen in our lifetime, and somehow he’s managed to go on completely undetected.”
“Keeping their IDs and belongings prevented them from being identified in some cases.” Clay pointed to another compartment inside the safe. “He’s collected quite a bit of jewelry. When unidentified remains are loaded into the database, we log jewelry too, since most families can provide at least one picture with the missing p
erson’s favorite necklace or bracelet. I wonder if he truly kept these things as mementoes or if it was solely a forensic countermeasure.”
“Either way, he’s not just lucky, but incredibly smart.”
Clay took the stack of IDs from her, continuing to log them and placing them in the evidence collection bags. “There’s just one thing he didn’t count on.”
Ellie deeply wanted to untangle the jewelry, to give it the respect it deserved instead of just being tossed into a pile. But she couldn’t risk dislodging some minute piece of DNA or other evidence. “What’s that?”
“Whoever disabled his truck, and why.”
Ellie scanned the sleeper area. “There’s no blood in here, and no blood at the scene.”
“My guys combed the scene where the truck was found. If there’s a body, it’s deep in the woods. But there was no sign of a struggle, or anything else between where the truck was and the edge of the woods.”
“It’s like he vanished.” Ellie worked her lower lip between her teeth, eyes fixed on the cabinet across the small space, deep in thought. “He’s too smart to have just left his registration in the glove box for us to find, along with all his paperwork, not to mention all this evidence.”
“What if he thought he was on the verge of getting caught? Dumping the truck could have been staged. He makes it look like he’s dead, or presumed dead, and takes on a new identity.”
“I don’t think so. Lucky is intelligent and resourceful. Every murder we know about has been so well orchestrated that it took twenty years for anyone to connect the cases.” She shook her head, turning to Clay. “If Lucky was staging his own death, he would’ve made the scene more obvious. Could he have met with foul play?”
“My gut tells me the same thing, I just don’t understand who would snatch him from his truck, or why.”
Smiling, Ellie lifted a shoulder. “Karma?”
“I don’t know if this is a kidnapping or something else, but when we find him, Lucky’s got some explaining to do.”
* * *