by Linda Berry
“I’ve seen him once. He came over to pack up some of his belongings. He rents the guesthouse at Katie’s farm, which is halfway to Jackson. So whatever he needs, he gets over there. He works nights. I purposely stay clear of Katie’s Café.”
“Why are you avoiding each other?”
“Trying to dodge the bullet, I guess.” She stared into her wine as though reluctant to speak, then she met Ann’s gaze. “He called last night. He wants to talk. Guess I can’t avoid it any longer.”
“Talk about what?”
Selena shrugged a slender shoulder. “Maybe he wants to patch things up. Move back in.”
Ann felt a sharp stab of concern. Selena had a blind spot where Randy McBride was concerned. Ann wanted to tell her friend not to get her hopes up. Her ex was a loser and would always be a loser. Just weeks after her second miscarriage, he up and left her. Selena was crushed. But in Ann’s estimation, it was a blessing. Once out from under his rigid control, Selena opened to life like a rose in full bloom. She became financially independent, learned to trust her instincts, and even relearned how to laugh. “You sure that’s a good idea?”
“I miss him.” Selena stared gloomily into her glass, and the parallel lines between her brows deepened. She lifted her eyes to Ann’s. “Or maybe I just miss having a man in my life.”
“He can’t go back to rodeo,” Ann stated firmly. “He’s thirty years old. Nursing chronic injuries. Can’t believe he lasted as long as he did.”
Selena nodded. “Don’t I know it. He’s broken about every bone there is. Men weren’t built to be thrown off bulls, year after year. I kept telling him to train for another job, but would he listen? No. Too darn stubborn.”
“Has he given you any money since he’s been back?”
Selena shook her head. “He says he’s in debt. I’m paying the bills.”
Ann resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “You know I’ll back whatever decision you make about Randy. Just promise me you’ll think about it long and hard.”
“I will. Thank you.” Tears welled in Selena’s eyes. “You’ve been such a good friend. I want to be a good friend to you, too.” She swallowed. “I’m going to spend nights here for a while. You shouldn’t be alone right now.”
Ann felt a warm rush of gratitude. It was true. She desperately needed company, and she couldn’t ask Matt. Her son labored hard from dawn until dusk and was exhausted at night. “I’d love it if you stayed.”
“Sidney’s not the only one who can be a badass. Dad taught us both to handle guns. I’m a pretty good shot. I have my .38 pistol in the car.”
“I don’t like guns, Selena, but right now I’d feel safer if I was armed, too.”
“I’ll bring you my twenty-two. It’s small. You can attach the holster to your belt. Wear it all day while you work. We could set up some cans in the pasture and practice.”
“That’d be great.”
They were interrupted by the loud flutter of wings and a big shadow passed over the table. With a graceful hover and descent, Arthur the raven landed on the back of Ann’s chair, his ebony feathers glossy in the sunlight, arriving right on time for his midday snack.
“Hello, Arthur,” Ann cooed.
“Hello,” Arthur repeated, imitating Ann’s diction perfectly.
The magnificent raven had been a daily visitor for four years. At first, he watched her from the trees, then the bushes, then he advanced to the porch railings, enticed by the variety of treats she set out for him. Often, he trailed her in the garden, bouncing over the grass, hopping from perch to perch, making little cawing sounds in conversation. One day she was startled when he repeated her greeting. Ever since, Ann chatted with him regularly, putting special emphasis on a handful of words, repeating them over and over, building his vocabulary.
Arthur gestured with his beak toward the box of Cheerios she kept on the table. “Treat.”
“Treat. Yes, Arthur. Good boy. Coming right up.” With a chuckle, Ann grabbed a handful of Cheerios and lined them across the end of the table. The raven cawed softly, jumped from the back of Ann’s chair to the table, and crunched the treats one by one. When finished, he bounded back to the rail, watching them closely, eyes as shiny as onyx beads.
“The wisdom of a sage,” Selena said.
Arthur cocked his head. “Evermore.”
Selena laughed, clapping her hands.
“Evermore,” Arthur repeated.
“You clever, clever bird!” She turned to Ann. “How many words can he say now?”
“About a dozen.”
“Did he bring you a gift today?”
“Didn’t look. He usually leaves them on the birdbath.”
They shielded their eyes and peered across the garden. Something brightly colored sat on the lip of the birdbath.
“Is it a flower?” Selena asked.
“Arthur’s never brought me a flower before.”
As though on cue, the raven burst from the rail, flying fast with deep strokes of his powerful wings. He circled the birdbath, then in one elegant swoop, snatched the shiny object in his beak, returned, and dropped it at the side of Ann’s plate.
“It’s an origami butterfly,” Ann said with a touch of wonder. Picking it up by the tip of one wing, she admired its delicate construction. Twice the size of an actual Monarch, the paper had a pattern of scarlet flowers on a bright yellow background. “This is amazing. The folds are so intricate, so precise.”
“Whoever made it is an origami master,” Selena said, leaning in, awe in her voice. “Where on Earth did Arthur find it?”
“I don’t know, but he’s outdone himself today.”
In reply, Arthur cawed, “Evermore.”
“Here’s your reward.” Ann laid out more Cheerios. While Arthur crunched, she turned the butterfly over and frowned at a thick, reddish-brown spot on one wing. “This looks like blood.” She glanced at Selena.
“Oh dear. You’re right.”
“Seems far-fetched, but could it be from the crime scene?”
Selena’s eyes narrowed. “The paper’s unsoiled. If that’s blood, it’s fairly fresh. Put it in a baggie. We’ll give it to Sidney. She can have it analyzed.”
Ann jerked up her chin at sudden distant barking. “Do you hear that?” She froze, listening intently.
The barking grew louder.
Her breath caught when Bailey bounded around the corner of the house, limping and panting heavily, his big pink tongue lolling out of one side of his mouth.
“Bailey!” Ann stood so suddenly her chair fell over backward.
The dog charged into her arms with enough force to knock her on her rump, whimpering, body wriggling, tail wagging ferociously, oversized tongue frantically mopping her face. Ann’s tears streamed down her cheeks and mixed with Bailey’s drool.
Selena knelt beside them, and the three had an ecstatic reunion, Bailey delivering sloppy kisses to both. When the hound finally calmed down, Ann ran her hands over his body, looking for injuries. “Where have you been, my poor boy?” She sucked in a sharp breath when her fingers traced a sizable lump on the dog’s head, above the right ear. “He was hit. Hard. Must have knocked him out. That’s why he stopped barking.”
“There’s blood on your shirt.” Selena gasped. “From his paws.”
The front of Ann’s t-shirt was stamped with bloody paw prints. All four of Bailey’s paws were cracked and bleeding. “He looks like he ran a marathon.”
“Poor Bailey. Where have you been?” Selena stroked his head.
Ann rose to her feet. “I’m going to treat these wounds.”
“We need to get him to the vet. Have some tests run. Who knows what he’s been through.”
“You’re right… the vet,” Ann stammered. “I’m not thinking straight.”
“I’ll drive. Where’s his collar?”
Ann frowned. “He had it on last night.”
Realization widened their eyes. The psycho in the woods must have kept Bailey’s collar.
<
br /> “Is your phone number on it?”
“Yes,” Ann said with a stab of fear.
“Sidney needs to know. Let’s get to the vet. I’ll call her from the car.”
“I’ll grab my handbag.” Ann made a quick tour through the house, put the butterfly in a baggie, grabbed her handbag, and locked the door.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
SIDNEY AND GRANGER STEPPED from the sharp midday heat into the cool lobby of the small community hospital. A few patients sat reading magazines in the cramped waiting room. Sidney caught a whiff of disinfectant drifting in from the two sterile hallways. Nested inside the building were three doctor’s offices, an ER ward that was often empty, and half a dozen patient rooms. Anyone needing trauma care was rushed by helicopter to a hospital in Salem. Thanks to Dr. Linthrope’s tireless quest for grant money, there was a well-equipped morgue and forensic lab in the basement.
Sidney greeted Alice Friedman, the stocky, brown-haired administrator who kept the doctors’ schedules running smoothly. Dressed in green scrubs, she stepped out from behind her counter. “Hi, Chief. Dr. Linthrope is expecting you. Right this way.” After crossing the polished linoleum in the hallway, she ushered them into a small break room reserved for medical staff. “He’ll be with you shortly.” Smiling, she closed the door behind them.
The white walls, flat gray cabinets, and faded linoleum floor had a bland, institutional look. A sideboard held the standard offerings—coffee, tea, bottles of water. A vending machine promoted chocolate bars, chips and pretzels, and a small refrigerator purred quietly in one corner. Sidney and Granger seated themselves in plastic chairs at the gray laminate table, and Granger opened his laptop.
Sidney’s phone buzzed, and she slid her finger across the screen. “I only have a second, Selena.”
Her sister rushed her words. “Couple things. Bailey came home.”
“Great. Is he okay?”
“His feet are bloody. Looks like he traveled a long distance. We’re on the way to the vet.”
“Tell the vet to get a sample of Bailey’s DNA to Dr. Linthrope ASAP.”
“Will do.” A pause. “The killer kept his collar. Ann’s phone number is on it. Can he get her address from her phone number?”
Hearing the strain in her sister’s voice, Sidney kept her voice calm. “Yes. She doesn’t need to answer if she doesn’t recognize the caller. Tell her to stay alert. Keep doors and windows locked.”
The door swung open, and Dr. Linthrope entered the room hugging a few manila folders to his chest.
“Gotta go. Call me when you’re done with the vet.” Sidney clicked off.
The doctor wore a white lab coat over a blue shirt and gray slacks. His hair was an electrified white halo circling his scalp, his intelligent gray eyes were clear and bright. One would never guess he spent the morning cutting apart a corpse.
“Good afternoon,” he said pleasantly. “Coffee?”
“None for me, thanks,” Granger said.
“No, thanks, Doc,” Sidney said. “I’ve had four cups this morning.” What she and Granger really needed was lunch. Coffee swishing around in her empty stomach made her nerves jittery. “I’ll take water, though.”
Linthrope handed out plastic water bottles, poured himself coffee, and carried the Styrofoam cup to the table. He arranged the files in a neat stack, sipped his coffee, and peered up at his visitors. “Let’s start by reviewing the autopsy report.”
He opened his top folder, passed out photocopies, and continued with a distinctive edge of authority to his voice. “As we surmised last night, Samantha’s death is indeed a homicide. She died from massive blood loss due to severed radial arteries on both wrists. Other than minor lacerations to her feet, sustained from being dragged barefoot, there was no other trauma to her body. Old needle tracks were found on both arms, but no evidence of recent drug or alcohol use.”
“She was staying clean,” Granger said.
“Yes.”
“What about the neurotoxin? Is it the same as Mimi’s?” Sidney twisted off the bottle top and took a swig of water.
“Don’t know yet. I’ve sent blood, urine, and liver tissue to the lab for testing. Some material always leaks around the injection site, so I also sent a sample of the tissue surrounding the needle mark. Let’s hope they can identify it this time.” The doctor sipped his coffee and continued. “There were traces of soil on her clothes that don’t belong to the crime scene. A very specific, nutrient rich soil.”
“Something a professional landscaper or a farmer might use?” Sidney asked, immediately thinking of Matt Howard and Noah Matsui.
He nodded. “Most definitely used by pros.” Linthrope pushed his glasses higher on his nose and light from the window briefly caught the lenses. “The small piece of fabric Officer Cruz found probably came from the killer’s sweatshirt. Ann said he was wearing a hoodie. It has no human trace on it, but it does have DNA from dog saliva.”
“Bailey must have grabbed it with his teeth,” Granger said.
“Most likely.”
“The vet will get you Bailey’s DNA sample today.”
“Perfect.”
“Any sign of sexual assault, Doc?” she asked.
“Can’t say for certain. No bruising or tears on the skin. I found seminal fluid, a trace of condom lubricant, and a single pubic hair belonging to a male. Samples were sent to the lab. She may have had consensual sex before her abduction. But if the killer did assault her, and he left his signature, let’s hope his DNA is in our database.”
Sidney sharply exhaled. “Hallelujah. That would break the case.” She turned back to the autopsy report. “Partially digested ham and eggs were in her intestines. Does that give you the time of her last meal?”
“Eight to twelve hours before her death. Noon, or early afternoon.”
Sidney paused, reflecting. “There was no mention of rape in Mimi’s report.”
“Again, we don’t know for sure. I found a trace of condom lubricant in Mimi, too. Her husband told us they had intercourse the morning of her disappearance. They routinely used condoms, but different brands, so we couldn’t trace the lubricant specifically to him.” Dr. Linthrope paused for a moment, his bushy brows lowering. “I don’t believe sexual assault is this perp’s primary motivation. There would be more evidence of physical contact.”
“Revenge?” Granger asked. “Like you suggested before, Chief?”
Sidney tapped the water bottle with her fingertip, thinking.
Granger watched her, waiting.
“I believe our killer was reacting to a real or perceived threat by these women, which prompted a devious urge to punish them.”
“Certainly, a need to assert control over a helpless victim,” the doctor said.
“Right. No immediate, passionate response would serve his purpose. He needed to draw out their suffering over many hours.”
“Payback for the suffering he endured at their hands,” the doctor said.
“He had her all afternoon and evening?” Granger asked.
“That’s what the evidence suggests.”
Granger’s eyes sparked with anger. “Where did he keep her? What did he do to her?”
Dr. Linthrope peered at Granger over his file, his face flickering for an instant with unaccustomed emotion. “Whatever he did, she was conscious, helpless, and terrified.”
“We need to nail this bastard.” The vehemence in Granger’s voice matched Sidney’s feelings exactly. “He can’t do this to another woman.”
The three fell silent. Sidney’s gut knotted, and she saw from the doctor’s tight expression, he, too, felt anxious. A sadistic killer lurked in their town, and until he was caught, no woman was safe.
“Where’s the link between Mimi and Samantha?” Sidney asked calmly and firmly, a technique she used to distance herself from gruesome images and an attempt to cool the temperature in the room. “They had different lifestyles, different habits. One was very involved in her church. The other in the
drug scene. One was twenty-two, one forty-three. They don’t fit a pattern.”
“I agree,” Linthrope said. “No similarity outside their appearance. Both quite pretty.”
“He may have been attracted to them,” Granger suggested. “And rejected.”
“Very possible. To some men, rejection is the worst offense,” Linthrope said. “But a psychopath is more apt to act on feelings of abandonment and betrayal.”
Sidney put down the report. “Were there any personal effects, Doc, at either crime scene, besides clothing?”
“None from Samantha.” Linthrope’s eyes widened momentarily. “Wait… there were a couple items found on Mimi.” He pulled out his bottom file, opened it, and thumbed through a dozen photos. “Ah yes. Here we are.” He handed over two eight-by-ten glossies. One showed a silver earring with an amethyst stone. The other picture surprised her. An intricately folded origami butterfly, brightly colored. Somewhat wilted and faded on one side.
“That earring was still in her ear,” Linthrope said. “The other was missing. The butterfly was tucked into her panties. My guess, the killer planted it there.”
“An origami butterfly.” Sidney rubbed her chin, trying to make sense of it. She passed the photos to Granger. “He wanted us to find it. Why? What does it symbolize?”
Linthrope handed her a photo of the butterfly unfolded into an eight-by-eight-inch sheet of paper. “There was handwriting inside, but as you can see, it got too washed out from the rain to read.”
“There’s a little symbol on it. Six lines.”
“A hexagram. Two lines broken. Four straight.”
“Maybe a watermark.”
“We had the paper analyzed, but couldn’t identify its source,” the doctor said.
“Too bad about the writing,” Granger said, frowning. “It could have given us some insight to his motive.”
Linthrope nodded. “I believe so.”
Sidney handed back the photos. “Doc, you said you’d share information about the death of Ann Howard’s husband. You said Ann and Matt killed John in self-defense. What did the autopsy reveal?”