“Why do you think he might have money?” Russell asked as he cruised, his gaze roaming the streets. “Because he travels?”
“Yeah, but he also has the flexibility to travel. Be away from work, or at least an office. Then again, maybe he works from home. After COVID, there are a lot more people working remotely.”
“Not likely his work would take him to these cities for weeks at a time.”
“Can’t really rule it out, but I agree. Unlikely.” She thought a moment. “If we take him at his word, he’s an Iraq War vet. He could be living on a disability retirement.”
“Hard to live on a disability retirement, let alone travel extensively on one.”
“Except that when he’s not murdering his customers, he’s making money on his soap and chocolate business to supplement his disability retirement.”
“Enough to support a sightseeing-and-serial-murder lifestyle?” Russell shook his head. “Definitely something sick about that.”
“What part of being a serial killer isn’t ‘sick’?” Vail let her eyes wander right, checking out the passersby, looking for a wheelchair.
As they left the Luxury Row area, Russell flicked on his signal to circle back.
When they came out of the turn, Vail saw a sign in a storefront advertising a service designed to get people out from under their burdensome time-share commitments.
“This is the tedious part of police work,” Russell said. “Drive around for hours looking for someone who may not even be here.”
“There’s another option.”
“Let the other cops drive around and we go grab a beer?”
“No,” Vail said, shifting her bottom in the seat to face Russell. “It fits.” She nodded.
“What fits? Want to let me in on what you’re thinking?”
“What if he’s not flush with money, or retired, or working remotely, or disabled.”
“We were just brainstorming. All of it could be wron—”
“What if he’s a time-share owner? Know anything about them?”
Russell laughed. “Seriously? Waikiki is chockfull of time-share owners. A lot of those high-rise buildings that look like hotels are actually condos. Some are privately owned, but a lot are time-shares.”
“How do they work? Is this something our UNSUB could use?”
“Let’s say a big company buys up properties all over the world and then sells ‘shares’ to owners. There are different setups, but a popular one nowadays is where the company gives the shareowners a certain number of points per year to spend on their vacations. The owners use those points to go to any place the company owns property.
“Take DV Squared, the biggest one here on the island. They own dozens of floors worth of condos—suites, basically—and people can come and spend a couple of weeks on Oahu depending on how many points they have in their account and how much those points are worth here. The points are also worth more in winter months because it’s not as desirable as being here in the summer. Weather’s not as good.”
Looks pretty good to me. You should come to Virginia in December.
“So this company has properties in other states where people can use their points?
“Yep.”
“What’s it called? BV something?”
“DV. Diamond Vacation Ventures. DVV. Awkward to say. Cooler to say squared. Two Vs, so it’s squared. DV squared.”
Thanks for the mathematics lesson.
“Call Kuoko back. Those previous asphyxiation deaths, the ones not ruled murder. He said they were clustered in twos, about three years apart.”
“What about ’em?”
“Ask if they were around the same time of year.”
“You really think the killer is a member of a time-share.”
“Hoping. Because he should be in Luxury Row already if he was coming. And if he’s not working here today, he could be somewhere else on the island.”
“In which case this is a waste of time.”
“Right. Unless one of your uniforms happens to see him somewhere, we need another way of tracking him down—sooner rather than later.”
Russell dialed Kuoko—and within ten minutes the ME called back and confirmed that the asphyxiation deaths all occurred in December and January.
“Far from a slam dunk,” Vail said. “But it’s something. You know anyone who has connections with a time-share?”
“A friend at DV Squared. Arranges tours for people, tries to get them to listen to a sales pitch to increase their ownership fees in exchange for more points.”
If I’m right about this, I’d like some points. See the Grand Canyon? Get married in Yosemite?
Russell hung a sharp right and accelerated. “Let’s go pay him a visit.”
43
Diamond Vacation Ventures
Ilikai Resort Tower, Waikiki
Vail and Russell left their sedan out front—pissing off the valet—and jogged up the slate staircase of the Ilikai Resort Tower entrance, where Diamond Vacation Ventures Oahu offices resided. They walked through the mahogany-paneled lobby, decked out in Hawaiian decor around a central fountain that shot water twenty feet into the atrium.
“Nice place,” Vail said.
“That’s the idea. People want to feel like they’re on vacation in the lap of luxury.”
“I used to know a hooker named Luxury,” Vail said.
“Must be where that expression came from.”
Vail laughed—but caught a glimpse of the ocean directly ahead and realized what she was missing. “That the beach out there?”
“You should take a walk on the sand if you can before you leave—which could be soon if you’re right about this time-share thing.”
“Ready to get rid of me?”
“Definitely ready to get rid of you.”
Vail’s phone vibrated as they approached the DV Squared office, a storefront down a wide corridor that was lined with ice cream parlors, cafés, restaurants, gift shops, and high-end convenience markets.
“Text from Atlanta. Looks like the same story we got from Kuoko, Chicago, and LA. Similar clustering of victims over a ten- to-fourteen-day period. Three years apart.”
They pushed through the door and entered the time-share. A long reception desk sat along the back wall, where several large-screen monitors displayed high resolution video of vacation paradises. Vail caught a scene in Dallas, and another in Los Angeles … not surprisingly, a glam shot of Beverly Hills.
“Adam!” said a man in his mid-thirties sporting a nose ring and black nail polish. “How you doin’ brah?”
“Aloha. How’s Mindy?”
“Doin’ great. She’s off today, hitting the waves.”
Russell laughed. “And getting hit on, no doubt.”
“No doubt.” His gaze flicked over to Vail.
“Oh,” Russell said. “Sorry. Benny, this is a colleague, Special Agent Karen Vail. FBI.”
“Whoa.” Benny scooted back in his office chair and held up both hands. “I’m innocent. I did not rob that bank. I swear.”
Vail looked at Russell, her expression saying, “Are you serious?”
“Benny has a strange sense of humor.”
Yep. Strange. Let’s leave it at that.
“We’re hoping you can help us with some general time-share questions,” Vail said.
“I invoke my Fifth Amendment rights.”
Vail pursed her lips, then nodded slowly. She artfully drew back the right portion of her jacket, exposing the handle of her Glock. “So which bank are we talking about, Benny? Citi or Chase?”
Benny’s grin faded. “Huh?”
Vail took a deep breath. “We’re here on a murder case. How about you can the … attempt at humor and answer our questions?”
“Everything okay over here?”
&nb
sp; Vail and Russell turned to see an older woman.
“All good,” Russell said, holding up a hand. His jacket lifted a bit on the left, exposing his badge. Her gaze dropped to the shiny gold surface. “Benny’s a good friend of mine. He’s helping us with some info on time-shares, how they work, that type of thing. For a case.”
She eyed their faces, then turned to Benny. “Anything I need to know about?”
“Everything’s fine, Charlotte. Like Adam here said. I’m helping them out.”
“It’s just that I get nervous when the police show up asking questions,” Charlotte said.
Oh, one of those. A helicopter manager.
“He is just helping us out,” Vail said. “But if we do have to arrest him, you’ll be the first to know. I promise.” She held up her badge. “FBI agents don’t lie.”
“Karen,” Russell said, covering his eyes, dropping his chin to his chest, and shaking his head.
Vail was sure he was stifling a laugh.
Charlotte did not know what to make of this—or Vail. She gave Benny a dubious look, then turned and walked off—keeping an eye on them over her right shoulder.
“What do you need to know?” Benny’s demeanor was instantly serious. More like: “Hurry up and get the hell out of here before you get me fired.”
“Sorry if we caused you any trouble,” Russell said.
Benny shot a look at Charlotte, who was behind the long desk about twenty feet away, making no attempt to hide the fact that she was monitoring their goings-on.
“We need to know if Chicago, Los Angeles, Dallas, and Atlanta are common areas for time-shares,” Vail said.
“DV Squared has properties in all those cities. Anywhere that’s a destination for travelers, places people want to go for a vacay, you’ll find a time-share.”
“How much do these things run?”
“To buy into a time-share?” Benny asked.
“Yeah.”
“Varies.”
“You wanna get rid of us?” Vail asked. “Give me an idea. A range.”
“From thousands of dollars to fifty thousand, or more. And then an annual maintenance fee, which can run six hundred to twelve hundred. Depends on the properties and the number of points, amenities, number of weeks each year, stuff like that.”
“They’ve got properties in all those cities,” Vail said, directing the comment to Russell.
He glanced at the photos of the various locations. “But how are we gonna look him up, see if he’s an owner? I doubt ‘John’ would get us anywhere.”
“I was hoping we can get a name from this somehow.” She swung her gaze to Benny. “You can look in your system and see which of your owners are staying here, right now, in Waikiki. Right?”
“Of course. But …” His eyes flicked over to Charlotte, then back to Vail. “I’m not sure I’m supposed to release that info. If you feel me.”
“I feel you all right,” Vail said. “So you want us to go before a judge, get a warrant, and then serve you. Here. In front of all your colleagues. Not sure Charlotte would like that.”
“But I didn’t do anyth—” Benny cut himself off, ground his molars, then—as if realizing that Charlotte was still watching—said, “Sure, I can help you with that. Thanks for your interest in Diamond Ventures Vacations.”
“Our suspect is in his forties,” Russell said. “Full beard. May be a war veteran. Wheelchair.”
“Wheelchair.” Benny’s eyes widened. “I think I may’ve seen him.”
“When?” Vail asked.
“You sure it’s our guy?”
He looked up at Russell. “No, I’m not sure. I only saw him once, a couple days ago.”
“Then why do you remember him?” Vail asked.
He had this box on his lap. He was selling something. And on the side of the box, there was this sign. Something about being an Iraq War vet. So I asked him where he served and his answer didn’t really add up.”
“Benny did two tours.”
“Ah.”
Bet that was before he got the nose ring and painted nails.
“I have serious doubts about that veteran story, too,” Vail said. “You call him on it?”
“Nah. I mean, he was in a wheelchair. If he needs to bend the truth a little to make ends meet … well, aloha, ya know?”
“Yeah,” Vail said. “I’m beginning to understand.”
“We need his name and room number.”
Benny’s eyes flicked over in Charlotte’s direction. “Why? What’d he do?”
“You gotta keep this under wraps,” Russell said. “Okay?”
“Brah, all you gotta say is quiet.”
Russell leaned forward. “We’re pretty sure he’s a serial killer. And he’s already murdered several people on Oahu.”
Definitely no aloha in that.
“Holy shit,” Benny said, then covered his mouth, his gaze again shooting right, toward Charlotte. “Sorry,” he said, grinning and waving meekly at her. “The one in the news?”
“Sooner rather than later,” Vail said.
“Right.” Benny struck some keys on his keyboard. Then several more. He groaned, then continued to tap away.
The suspense was getting to Vail—she was about to scream when Benny leaned back in his seat. “I searched for single-occupancy rooms that are wheelchair accessible. And I got one. Name’s Scott Meece.” He swiveled the screen so they could see it. “Room fourteen-eleven.”
“You got a photo?”
“Nope. We don’t have that kind of info on file.”
“How ’bout a home address?”
“We do have that. But in the billing and financial records. I don’t have access to those. Lots of laws governing that kind of data.”
“Benny,” Vail said loudly, “I can’t thank you enough.” She shook his hand. “You may’ve just saved a number of innocent people. Thank you for being a hero. We’re all indebted to your courage and bravery.”
On her way out of the office, Vail saluted Charlotte—the kind used by the military, not the one featuring an extended middle finger.
44
November 2, 2001
Scott placed the robust, newly purchased specimen in his kitchen, by the window, just like his mother had done. He wanted it to get acclimated to its environment before digging up and pulverizing one of its roots. He could always buy another one but doing so could attract unnecessary attention. Better to try to take care of it. Go slowly. Treat it with care.
That was something his mother never did with him. Funny that she reserved such love and affection for a plant. It obviously gave her the joy she did not derive from her family.
Then again maybe it was not funny at all.
Two weeks later, with the flowers blooming and bursting with bright and rich color, Scott gently dug his fingers into the moist soil and hooked a stringy rhizome. He snipped off half of it and reburied the remaining portion in the dirt.
After drying the cutoff material in a dehydrator for two days, he pulverized the root in a mortar with a stone pestle. Wearing a mask and rubber gloves, he crushed and ground the root until it was nearly a fine powder. He found the gnashing motion strangely calming, yet satisfyingly aggressive, as he took out his frustrations on the plant.
He placed the resulting talc-like dust in an empty Kodak Ektachrome canister and used an awl to punch several holes in the cap, creating a controlled delivery mechanism.
With the poison prepared, he went about prepping for who he would try it on—and when.
Scott decided the best way to test-drive his concoction was to follow accepted medical research convention: try it on an animal. He was in the subway, waiting for the Times Square-Grand Central shuttle when he saw a few rats scurry by down along the tracks.
Perfect.
That afternoon, he stop
ped at a local pet shop on Thirty-Ninth and bought a rat. He did not bother with a cage or any of the accoutrements, telling the merchant he already had the stuff from a few years ago.
He took the rodent home in a box poked with holes and set it on the kitchen table. After opening the flaps, he watched it scurry from one side to the other, wondering what had happened: he had been in a large terrarium-style environment, playing with his buddies, running on the wheel, eating and drinking, enjoying life.
Now he was in a brown prison. No stimulation other than a rocking motion as he swung to and fro. And finally in this new place, light streaming in from above with a gentle warm breeze blowing on his neck.
“Yep, the heater’s on, my friend. I know it was cold outside. But I need a normal environment to run my test properly. Enjoy the toasty air because in a few minutes you’ll be joining all your friends in rat heaven.”
Scott picked up the small film container he had filled with ground aconite.
“I’m gonna call you Peter,” he said, peering into the box at his new pet. “You look like a Peter. So how much should I feed you, Peter?”
Scott held up the canister and shifted his eyes from the fine dust to the rat’s body.
“No idea. But that’s what research is all about, right? I’ll keep a journal. Start with a small dose and observe the reaction. If you survive, I’ll try a larger dose. Record the results. Sound good?”
Peter stopped and stood on his hind legs, his two delicate front paws held in front of him, tiny nails projecting from the ends.
“You look hungry. I’ll give you some food and sprinkle the goodies on top. Okay?”
Peter looked up, locking his eyes on Scott’s.
“I’ll take that as a yes. Okay, here goes.”
Scott put the mask on and removed a small ceramic bowl from the cabinet. Next came a hard-boiled egg from the fridge. He had done his homework.
After setting it all out, he used a wood stirrer he had saved from Starbucks to scatter the aconite over the yellow yolk. He took a pinch of Swiss cheese shavings and sprinkled it on top. Added a tiny drop of red food dye for that Hawaiian Punch look. Just like Mary did.
“That should do it. Here ya go, Peter. Enjoy.”
Red Death Page 21