CHAPTER 26
Fifteen minutes later, I was striding through the front door of the police station with a grim look on my face. In my experience, any time federal law enforcement decided to stick their nose into local police matters, either one of two things happened. Either the feds took over the case, in which they fouled things up, or a joint task force was formed, and they fouled things up. Either way, I thought darkly as I approached Turk at the duty desk, things were gonna get fouled up.
“Morning Turk”, I nodded, as he reached for the buzzer to let me in to the back. “I hear there’s a party upstairs for me, huh?”
Turk released the button and rubbed his stubbled jaw. “Four feds introduced themselves here a little while ago. They said the visit was related to your Newton case, the one that got dug up yesterday.”
“Yeah, that’s what Barnes told me too. They’re upstairs with him and Detective Dunning?” I asked, as I reached for the inner door handle.
“Barnes is up there, yeah.” Turk replied, making a note on a pad. “Detective Dunning left just a few minutes after they got here. Something personal came up that she said she had to take care of.”
I paused and looked at him. “Did she say what?” I asked.
“Nope.” Turk replied, shaking his head. “Just said that she’d be back later.”
“Okay, thanks.” I said, as I thumbed my phone on and stepped towards the stairs.
I called Medora as I went up the stairs, but it went straight to voicemail. I left a quick message asking her to call me when she received this, then hung up and sent her a quick text. Hey Medora, I wrote, hope everything is ok. Left you a message. Call when you can.
Rounding the stairs at the second floor, I swung open the door and headed down the hallway. The conference room was just down from the detective’s bullpen on the opposite side of the hallway, just before Barnes’ office at the end of the hall.
Pausing at the bullpen, I noticed the door was slightly ajar. I poked my head in and saw Riley and Ashlynn at their desks working. Their heads raised and they looked at me when I opened the door all the way.
“Hey,” I said, “you guys heading over to the meeting?” I motioned towards the conference room.
Ashlynn shook her head. “We weren’t invited. Not our case.”
Great, I thought, flying solo.
“How about Medora? You guys see her leave?” I asked, as I spied the half-filled box of stale donuts left on the war table from yesterday and beyond.
“Yeah.” Riley replied. “She left right after Barnes came in looking for you. Said she had to leave right quick. Something medical, she said.”
I nodded slowly to myself. Fantastic. Well, off to the party. Reaching down, I grabbed the box of donuts and turned.
“Thanks.” I said, as I moved back towards the door.
“Good luck.” Riley called. “We’d offer to help, but well, you know, it’s the Feds…”
I smiled slightly to myself as I left the bullpen, turned, and strode towards the closed door of the conference room.
I entered to a full house. The room itself was rather large, about thirty feet by twenty feet. A full three panel window was on the opposite wall and gave a rather nice aerial view of Wolf Hollow as the buildings gently sloped down to the white sands and then the sparkling ocean. The conference table was a large oval table of burnished pine with a black conference phone setup in the middle. There were ten black leather chairs surrounding the table, five of which were currently occupied. The wall to the left had a small credenza, on which were two coffee pots, some bottled water, and a tray of untouched pastries. The wall to the right was blank except for a rolled-up projector screen near the ceiling. In the near corner by the credenza sat Mary Lou Perkins, a young beat police officer who was new to the force. She had a notepad on her lap and a pen, and when she looked at me when I entered, I could see her face was slightly awestruck with her surroundings.
Smiling re-assuredly at her, I entered the room, closed the door behind me, and turned to greet our guests. Chief Barnes was seated at the head of the table, dressed in an impeccable blue suit stretched tightly over his large frame, which he undoubtedly changed into once he heard who our guests were. He was talking quietly on his phone in one hand, while his other hand was slowly spinning his ceramic “The Boss” personalized coffee mug. To his left, against the window, were seated four well-dressed people, who I could only assume were our honored guests, here to enlighten me about Ms. Alison Newton. They were all talking busily among themselves, with papers and file folders spread out in front of them.
Turning, I went to the opposite end of the table from Barnes and pulled out the head chair. No way I’m sitting alone on the opposite side of the Feds, I thought to myself sourly. I sat down and slid the box of donuts to the center of the table. “Help yourself.” I offered to the suits. “Fresh this morning.”
One of them, a rather attractive slim black woman dressed in a light blue and gray pantsuit with her long black hair tied up in a tight bun met my eyes and smiled slightly. “Thank you” she said in a soft, midwestern drawl.
Barnes finished his phone call, put the phone down, took a sip of coffee, then looked up and addressed me.
“Detective Harper Jones, “he began formally, “thank you for getting here so quickly. As you can see, your partner, Detective Dunning, was called away, and is unable to be here with us. If you could please update her when we’re through, so that she is up to speed.”
I nodded to Barnes, and decided to play his formal game, at least for the moment. “Yes sir, Chief. And what exactly, will I be updating her on?”
Chief Barnes flashed a brief look of annoyance at me, then continued. “These fine people are from the federal government, and they have come by today to give us some information on one of your cases, Alison Newton.” I nodded impatiently, clearly aware that he was posturing, and enjoying it.
“I’ll introduce our guests.” Barnes continued, nodding to the man directly to his left. “This is Special Agent Dylan Walsh, and his partner Litty Cabot, of the Federal Bureau of Investigation office based in Colorado Springs.”
The FBI from Colorado? I thought. What the hell?
Agent Walsh was probably in his late forties, dressed in a tailored blue Brooks Brothers suit, with sandy hair, a gaunt face, and frameless oval glasses. He nodded at me as he gathered up the two files in front of him and place them to the side. His partner, Agent Cabot, was the aforementioned woman in the pantsuit. She acknowledged me with a tip of her bottled water as she brought it to her rouged lips.
“And these two,” Barnes continued, looking at our other two guests, “are Marshals John Devlin and Lin Chu with the US Marshal Service, based out of Houston, Texas.”
Texas? Alison was from Peoria, Illinois! Thoroughly confused now, I recalled what I knew about the US Marshals.
The U.S. Federal Marshal Service is the oldest law enforcement service in the United States. They were established in 1789 when President George Washington appointed the first thirteen US Marshals following the passage of the initial Judiciary Act. Some of their original duties were to carry out death sentences on condemned criminals, to chase counterfeiters (until the Secret Service was established) and to conduct the national census every ten years. Over the next 150 plus years, the Marshals’ duties continued to expand, as they became a valuable and flexible tool of the Executive Office. In 1971, the Federal Witness Protection Program was established as a division within the US Marshal Service, and they were charged with protecting, re-locating, and giving new identities and histories to witnesses involved in major criminal and mob-related cases. Since its inception, the program has hidden over 8,300 witnesses and over 9,800 family members.
It was in the last part of my recollection that it finally dawned on me, and some pieces began to click into place. Alison Newton, it turned out, was apparently a lot more than what Wolf Hollow thought she was.
CHAPTER 27
Focusing back on the conference room, I looked at the two US Marshals. Marshal Devlin had a graying ponytail under a gray Stetson cowboy hat. He was tall and rangy with a salt and pepper goatee and steel blue eyes. He was wearing an open-necked white shirt under a blue blazer, and if I had to guess, probably had on rugged cowboy boots, and carried a six-shooter strapped to his belt.
His partner, Lin Chu, was a slight, dark-haired Asian woman of indeterminate age. She was wearing a trim grey suit with a soft purple cravat. She turned to me, gave me a cool smile, and nodded.
I acknowledged everyone with a grim smile, and began, “You all came from a long way away to talk about a burial desecration. So, what’s this all about?” I knew damn well they weren’t here just for that, but I wanted to get things moving.
Reaching for a donut from the box, Agent Walsh began. “As you have probably gathered by this point, your Alison Newton isn’t exactly who she seems.”
No shit, I wanted to say. Get on with it. But I just nodded silently at him to continue.
Picking up one of the folders in front of him, he looked at it as if to check something, then satisfied, he closed it and slid it across the table to me.
“Alison Newton’s real name is, was,” he corrected himself, “Sabrina Velotti. As you’ll see in there, “Walsh nodded at the folder,” she’s from Colorado Springs, which is where we come in.
I reached for the folder and began to open it.
“Have you heard of the name Colton Jericho?” He continued, asking me. Raising my eyes to meet his, I shook my head. “How about ‘The Angel Slayer’”. He asked.
This time I nodded slowly. “Sure. Serial torturer and killer, somewhere out in your neck of the woods. Kidnapped, tortured and killed five, six women, I think. Wasn’t he caught a few years ago?”
The black agent, Cabot, took up the story. “It was seven women tortured and killed. And no, he was never caught.” She pulled one of the folders from her stack and slid it over to me too. “But he was found out. One of his victims, his eighth, managed to escape. Before we could apprehend her kidnapper, he fled. We found his abandoned SUV near Hurricane Canyon, outside of Colorado Springs. We were able to track him for a few miles but lost him in the deep woods near Pikes Peak.” She took a breath. “This was three years ago.”
Putting down the unopened Velotti file, I reached for the folder Agent Cabot had slid to me. “So, who was he, this Jericho?” I asked, as I opened it.
Agent Walsh picked up the thread. “He was a state trooper, nine years.” He said quietly. “Before that, he was army, 75th Ranger Regiment, Special Ops. Deployed to the Mideast, classified operations. Honorably discharged. Purple Heart, Valorous Unit Decoration, Medal of Honor, and I’m sure some awards that were never made public.”
Looking at his photo on the cover sheet, I saw the handsome shot of a tanned face with a square jaw and piercing blue eyes. His hair was black stubble, and his features were slightly exotic, possibly due to a little Mediterranean heritage in his background. His lips were set in a tight line as he stared at the camera, as if daring the cameraman to try and make him smile.
“So, I’m guessing it’s not a stretch to assume that the one who got away was Alison Newton.” I said, skimming the front page of Jericho’s dossier.
“Correct.” Walsh said. “Jericho had a cabin set off in the woods a few miles outside of Colorado Springs. Sabrina had just been kidnapped the day before. He had handcuffed her to a bed and left her there for the night. Fortunately for her, she had a barrette that she was able to shake free from her hair and after several hours, was able to use it to unlock the cuffs and escape. Brave girl.” He said admiringly.
Agent Cabot glared at Walsh. “The brave young woman,” she continued, “then fled the cabin and ran three miles through the woods to a gas station, where she was rescued. After she identified her tormenter, we immediately descended on his house. When we got there, he was gone. His kitchen and living room were a mess. Broken table, overturned chairs, lamps shattered, silverware scattered on the floor. There was also some blood on the carpet. His wife, who was also a police officer as well, was gone too, though her car was still there. When we ran the blood, it turned out to be both his and his wife’s. We figured that he fought with her when he found out he had been discovered, injured or killed her, and took her with him. She has never surfaced and her body has never been found, so we have presumed her dead.”
I looked up from Jericho’s folder. “How was he tipped off?”
Walsh answered. “Near as we can tell, he had a nanny-cam in his cabin that he was connected to remotely. Our best guess is he saw that she had escaped on his phone, knew the jig was up, got in a fight with his wife when he tried to leave, injured or killed her, and then bolted.”
I returned to scanning the file. “Has this Jericho turned up at all in the past three years?”
Cabot gestured to the folder. “Near as we can tell, three times. Six months after he disappeared, a woman in Spanish Fork, just outside of Provo, Utah, disappeared, and was found dead two weeks later, signs of being tied up, tortured, left posed with her hands crossed across her breast. Eight months later, two more women were found in Redding, northern California, same scene. Most recent was just about a year ago, in Olympia, Washington, two women, tortured, killed, hands crossed across their chest. All three of these locations, are near heavily wooded, mountainous areas, where, with his background, he could easily disappear. This was when the national media got wind of it and dubbed him the “Angel Slayer”.
I nodded and looked up from my reading. “Only a few women at each location before he moves on. He’s being much more careful now that he’s been found out.” I observed. “But his method of operation has been women who are alive. He’s been operating exclusively in the northwest. What makes you think he drove across the country, just to dig up and…violate…Alison or I guess, Sabrina?”
Walsh and Cabot exchanged glances. “There was one ‘component’ that each of his victims had in common that we kept under wraps. A solitary identifier, unique to this killer, if you will.” Cabot looked at me. “When we heard about Sabrina being dug up, we called Chief Barnes.” She paused dramatically. “All of Jericho’s victims, including now Sabrina’s corpse, shared the blob of Vaseline on the forehead. With close-up pictures and forensic analysis, we think Jericho, using the Vaseline as a barrier, kissed his victims on the forehead after he killed them.”
Chapter 28
I dropped Jericho’s folder, blew out a deep breath, and sat back. I had so many questions. I looked over at the two Marshals that up til now had sat by stoically.
“And Marshals Devlin and…” I started.
“Chu.” Marshall Chu supplied.
“Chu,” I continued, “are here in their Marshal capacity for the Witness Protection Program?”
Chu nodded. “Once Jericho escaped, we put Miss Velotti in a safe house while the law enforcement conducted their search. After his campsite in the mountains was discovered, and it was determined that Jericho had vanished, we offered to put Sabrina in Witness Protection. She accepted, and we fabricated a background for her as Alison Newton, and relocated her to Wolf Hollow. I was assigned as her protector, her contact, in the event that she was compromised.”
A small ball of anger began to form in my stomach. “Compromised?” I bristled. “I think it was a little more than that. She was killed. Murdered! And then dug up and violated again. I don’t see much protecting there!”
“Detective!” Barnes barked, as Chu blinked and looked away. “That’s enough!”
I glared at Barnes as my anger began to surface, then turned back to the Marshals. “Why the hell wasn’t the Wolf Hollow Police Department made aware that we had someone in Witness Protection living here?” I demanded. “For Chrissake, we could have helped keep an eye on her!”
Marshal Devlin pointed his finger at me and came to his colleague’s defense. “Two things Detective. One, we don’t make a witness’ location known for the precise reasons of keeping them safe and secure. The location is only known to their handler, in this case Marshal Chu, and our secured witness database, accessible only from Marshal regional offices.
“And how’d that work out? The ‘safe and ‘secure’ part?” I asked staring at Devlin. “And two?” I then prompted.
“And two,” Devlin growled, his mustache bristling, “at the time of her murder, we had no indication that her cover had been blown. Jericho had been seen only in the northwest for the past three years. And “he continued, fingering his Stetson, “after she was killed, we did inform your police department. We liaised with your…” he checked his notes, “Chief Haskins. We quietly ran a parallel investigation after her death and came to the same conclusion that your department did, that her murder was not related to the Jericho case.”
I stared at Devlin. “So, after she was killed then, why was the secrecy kept? If we had known of her true background, you could have saved our department from chasing our tails for months, trying to figure out who she was, and who could have possibly had a reason to kill her!”
Marshal Chu stepped in. “For precisely that reason, actually. We ran our investigation based on Sabrina’s Colorado angle, and that way, your department could run an unbiased investigation on her Wolf Hollow life.”
“Bullshit!” I retorted. “You were covering the Marshals’ ass. If it came out that one of your protectees was murdered, it wouldn’t look too good for your record, or for the Marshall Service, would it, Marshal Chu?”
“Jones, you’re out of line!” Barnes shouted. “Can it, now!”
Taking a deep breath, I silently processed this, then looked over at Barnes. “Chief,” I asked, “did you know about this whole witness thing?”
Barnes reached for a stale donut, and took a bite, chewing slowly before he answered me. “I did not. Chief Haskins did not inform me of Alison Newton’s background. When Agent Walsh called and told me of the reason for their visit today, I called Clem. He hasn’t returned my call yet.”
I nodded silently and turned my attention to the four feds. “So let me get this straight. Alison Newton is killed. You let us locals twist in the wind while you conduct your own quiet investigation and determine that her murder was not related to this Jericho. So, your ass is covered. Then, six months later, Alison’s body is dug up and molested, with a telltale Vaseline identifier that then pegs her assailant as Jericho. That about right?”
Walsh and Chu just stare at me, while Cabot looks down at her notes. Marshal Devlin gives me a short nod, while Barnes glares at me, ready to pounce if I so much as think about stepping across his imaginary line.
I continued. “So, by this point, you knew that your serial killer had driven across country to what? Put a psychological exclamation point on the death of Alison Newton? And now, you’re concerned that this Jericho will start killing here?” I stopped and thought for a second. “Tell me. How did you find out that she had been dug up?”
Walsh looked at Cabot, then back at me. “Your retired Chief Haskins called me, once he had heard about the Vaseline.”
I nodded, expecting the answer. “And both the disinterment and the murder were local news only. So, in your expert, federal opinions, how would a serial killer hiding out in the Pacific northwest, suddenly hear that his Sabrina whatever-her-name-is was dead and buried in a small oceanside town in North Carolina, a full continent away?”
Walsh stared at me tight-lipped. “We don’t know yet. That’s why we’re here. To help you in your investigation.”
By this point, my little ball of anger was dangerously close to exploding and setting the room on fire. “And Anders’ murder at Alison’s crime scene? How does his assassination fit into your little serial killer drama? Or Kenny’s death last night, that also happened at Alison’s crime scene?”
The four feds looked at each other questioningly. Marshal Chu turned back to me. “We hadn’t heard about this Kenny’s death. What happened last night?”
I nodded, expecting the answer, as I gathered the two folders in front of me and stood up. “Well thanks for the info, agents. I hope your keeping silent on this Jericho guy doesn’t result in any more deaths here in my town.”
Barnes frowned at me, and half rose in his chair. “Jones, sit down! These agents aren’t just here to inform us. They’re here to assist in our investigations.”
I looked directly at Barnes as I opened the door and suddenly lost it. “They’re grade-A assistance so far has been to cover up their fuck-up, which quite possibly resulted in Alison being dug up. And now poor Kenny is dead, and we also very likely now have a serial killer on the loose in Wolf Hollow. And all that isn’t even mentioning Anders’ death being somehow linked in here, unless you believe in coincidences!” I snarled. “Am I missing any assistance?”
I stormed through the door and slammed it close behind me, cutting off Barnes’ shout of “Jones! Get back here!”. I stormed down the hallway and briefly thought about retreating to the bullpen, but then thought fuck that. Barnes will just track me down and drag me back in with those empty suits. I needed to go somewhere to think. To process. I pulled out my phone as I reached the stairs. And where the fuck is Dunning?
CHAPTER 29
Angie shook her head dazedly as she slowly regained consciousness, a throbbing pain pulsing from her jawline and her right temple.
Where am I? She thought groggily. Her brain was still foggy, as she couldn’t process her recent memory. Opening her eyes, she could only see blackness, and a musty smell of rust, mold, and old socks permeating her nostrils. Realizing she was lying on her side, Angie struggled to sit up. It was then she discovered her hands and feet were bound, most likely from zip ties, by their feel. She also discovered that she had something jammed in her mouth, the socks smell? Briefly struggling against the restraints, she quickly gave up. She was too weak, and the ties were too strong.
Abruptly she was jolted, and fell back, banging her already painful head on what felt like carpet-covered metal. I’m moving, she surmised, as her faculties began to come online. Am I in the trunk of a car?
Suddenly, her memories came flooding back, and along with them a sudden surge of terror. She had been at the beach, snapping pictures of sand dunes, waves lapping at the beach, and the smelly corpses of stranded horseshoe crabs. The beach here was deserted for a half-mile each way, except for a lone man about fifty yards down, walking slowly at the water’s edge, head bent, as if searching for something. He was in shorts and a t-shirt, and was tall and well-built, judging from his large shoulders and thick legs. He was also barefoot, and had his sneakers in one hand, his socks in the other.
Thinking that he might be good for a quote for her story, she let her camera fall back on its strap around her neck and smoothed back her hair. Never hurts to flirt a little, she thought, besides, he looks like he could be kinda cute…
Changing her path to one that intercepted his, she called out to get his attention. He had looked up, and her initial impression she found was accurate. He was attractive in a rough kind of way, square jaw, piercing, intelligent eyes, heavy brow, slightly crooked nose, probably from some fight long past. He was bald, but she supposed she could learn to live with that…
He had responded to her questions easily, and she discovered he had a nice smile and a deep, masculine voice. It turned out that he was looking for sand crabs, that buried themselves along the water’s edge. He was from out of town, and the lady at the front desk of his hotel had suggested coming down here near sundown and look for them.
By a pleasant coincidence, he had parked right next to her off the beach, so they had walked together as she filled him in on the sights and sounds of Wolf Hollow.
When they had reached their cars, she had turned to him, planning to ask if he wanted to get a drink somewhere, thoughts of Brian and a late-night dinner a distant memory, when pain suddenly exploded through her chin. She had reeled backwards, stunned and confused, when she had felt a hand on her head, which immediately propelled her into what felt like the hood of her car, and then into blackness.
Terrified now that her memories had come back, Angie snapped fully alert, head pain be damned. She struggled violently against her restraints, screaming against what tasted like dirty socks, but to no avail. Gasping for air, she lay back, exhausted. As near as she could tell, all of her clothes were still on and in one piece. She only had one shoe, but that had probably come off when they had struggled between the cars. More like me being a punching bag than a struggle, she thought ruefully for a second. But then, he had been so charming, and he did exude a raw, physical appeal…
Abruptly, the car slowed, then turned, then stopped. The engine shut off, and she could hear the door open. About a minute later, she could hear a key scratching in the trunk door, and then, with a creak, the lid swung open.
Squinting against the late afternoon light that was pouring through trees above, she could see the man’s large silhouette blocking her vision. Reaching in, the man scooped her up effortlessly, despite her struggles. Angie tried to speak to him around the socks stuffed in her mouth, but to no avail. He looked down at her briefly as he nudged the trunk shut with his elbow. The eyes that stared down at her now were nothing like they were at the beach. These eyes held a blackness, with a deep malevolent glow. His mouth, smiling at the beach, was now set in a tight cruel grimace. She shrank back as far as she could from his grotesque mask of a face, squealing in fear.
The man grunted and turned, carrying her with him. With her wide, frightened eyes, she could tell she was in a clearing with woods all around, and some rusted hulks of some sort of machinery. The man was slowly walking her towards a run-down wooden shack, it’s door swaying crazily off it’s hinges. Kicking the door open with his bare foot, the man shouldered his way inside. Looking around the dim, dusty interior, she saw what at one time had passed for furniture and equipment that one might have seen in an office. As the man paused in the entryway, her eyes adjusted and continued scanning the interior, and what she saw made her stomach grow cold. Against the far corner of the hut was what looked like a large cage made of meshed wire, with chains and locks attached to spikes driven into the ground. Outside of the cage was a bare inflatable mattress, with more spikes and chains at the four corners. The small desk that had once been used in the past now held canned goods, bottled water, knives, screwdrivers, and other tools that she didn’t recognize. Terrified, she tried to scream, and looked up at the man wildly.
The man returned her horror-stricken gaze, fondled a tress of her chestnut hair, and gave her a hideous smile. “Mother, welcome home.”
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