CHAPTER 11
The man turned his Chevy onto Laurel Avenue, careful to use his blinker. Straightening out, he slid into the slow lane as he accelerated to the forty mile-an-hour city speed limit. He wanted to be careful, and not take a chance on getting pulled over for a silly traffic violation, which could make things very complicated. The car, he had stolen out of a suburban driveway four nights ago in Eugene, Oregon. The same day he had learned that Alison was buried in Wolf Hollow. He had then swapped license plates in Boise, Idaho after driving all night, and traded out license plates three more times as he made his way across the United States. His last swap gave him his current Illinois plates, which he reasoned was far enough away that he felt comfortable keeping them. Besides, on your average day, car drivers rarely look at their license plates when they enter and exit their vehicle. In fact, most Americans, if pressed, could not recite their plates from memory.
Cruising through the intersection of Laurel and Main, he slowed down as he passed the tall stone building that housed the police station.
Staring through his dark aviator sunglasses, he whispered quietly to himself “I know you’re in there. Why don’t you come out and play?”. He rubbed his jaw with four days of graying stubble as he then accelerated and pulled away from the station. Alison was taken from me, he thought angrily. I’ve laid her to rest. Now, I’m coming for you.
Ten minutes later, he pulled into the parking lot of a half-empty strip mall, and parked near the salon on one end. On the opposite corner was the bar “The Wolf’s Den”, whose neon signs were not lit quite yet. As he watched, a beat up Ford truck pulled into the lot and parked opposite of the front door. A large man with a shaved scalp and wearing a black t-shirt pulled tight over a muscular frame, army fatigues and black combat boots got out and approached the front door. As he unlocked the door, he paused and looked around. His glance traveled over the Chevy, paused briefly as he saw that the vehicle was running and occupied, then opened the door and shut it behind him.
The man glanced at his Apache Tactical watch strapped on his thick wrist. Probably the bartender, he thought. From his research, he knew that the bar opened in fifteen minutes, at eleven. He also knew he shouldn’t be here. From his experience, criminals often re-visited the scene of their crime. And though he didn’t kill Alison, he did set in motion the course of her life that ultimately ended in her death. And now, he had breathed life back into her story by visiting her in the cemetery. If the detective that he had seen at the cemetery was any good at his job, he would be re-tracing the day of Alison’s death. That’s what he would have done.
But he couldn’t help himself. He had to see where it happened, where she had been taken from him. Turning off the car, he stepped out, shut the door, and headed for the near corner of the mall where the alley led around back.
Turning the corner, he entered the alley. The scene of the crime looked exactly as it had when he had watched the archived news footage at the library in Kansas City. Straight ahead was the dumpster where Alison’s body had been found. The wooden fence to the left still separated the alley from the apartment complex behind, where Alison had lived. Moving to the dumpster, the man crouched down, closed his eyes, and reverently stroked the graveled ground where her body had fallen. After a moment, he opened his eyes, and his gaze traveled up and over the slatted fence, settling on the wooded hills above the apartments, where the assassin that had killed the detective had lain in wait. “You were not a part of this, but you were made a part of it.” He whispered to himself. “I will avenge you”.
A sudden bang snapped the man back to the present. Cursing, he wheeled around and stood, facing the down the alley where the noise had come from. Beyond the dumpster, at the other end of the alley, a skinny kid with a hair net who looked fresh out of high school was emerging from a door with a large plastic bag in each hand. He was staring at the man with a look of startled curiosity, clearly not expecting to see anyone back there.
Cursing again under his breath, the man spun around and retraced his steps towards the near end of the alley. After a moment, he heard the noise of the dumpster flaps being thrown open, and garbage being tossed. A minute later, he was around the corner, back in the parking lot and heading towards his car.
Opening the door, he got in and started the engine. God, he was tired of running, tired of being hunted. He used to be the hunter, and what an exhilarating experience it was. Time to become the hunter again, he thought, as he turned the wheel and exited the lot. And I have the perfect prey.
CHAPTER 12
I returned to the bullpen carrying two case boxes, Alison’s and Anders’. Alison’s box contained her clothes, bagged and labeled, car keys, wallet, and the murder book, which had all of the documents related to her murder. Anders’ box was much lighter, with the bagged bullet that had killed him and his murder book, which was pretty thin. Grunting, I approached my desk, and dropped the boxes next to my stapler with a solid “thunk”. Startled, Medora looked up from her computer screen as I dropped into my seat across from her.
“Any luck with the search?” I asked.
“Not yet.” She replied. “There are plenty of necrophiliac cases, although most of them are closed. I started with North Carolina, and am working outwards state by state. Of the thirty one that are still open in the mid-Atlantic region, none of them involve digging up a body, and none of them have a reference to a clear jelly substance on the forehead. I’ll keep looking though.”
Leaning back and nodding absently, I gazed blankly at my computer screen as I recalled the scene at the cemetery this morning.
“Don’t use the substance as one of your search parameters.” I said. “We’re keeping that part of the crime quiet, so we can use it as our Unique.” A Unique was one specific attribute of a crime that detectives kept away from the media and common knowledge as a method of differentiating copycats from the original perpetrators. Although frankly, I thought ruefully, if we end up with copycats of this particularly macabre crime, I’m giving up and moving to Norway.
“Yeah I didn’t.” Medora replied. “Just looking for it in the matches that come up for graverobbers and necrophiliacs.”
“Good.” I said, glancing over at Ashlynn and Riley. I looked at Medora and nodded towards them. “Those guys make an appearance yet?”
Medora glanced over and shook her head. Ashlynn was typing away on her computer while Riley was flipping through a folder on his desk. “Nope. Keeping themselves amused over there.”
“Riles! Ash!” I called out. “C’mere a sec.” Riley and Ashlynn paused what they were doing, looked at each other briefly, then got up and shuffled over. “This is my new partner, Medora. Be social and welcome her to our party.”
Riley looked down his long nose, pushed his glasses up with his index finger and said “Welcome Detective” in his high, reedy voice. Ashlynn stepped around her partner and gave Medora a cool, appraising look. “Nice to meet you.” She said in a husky voice that had been roughened by years of smoking cigarettes.
“Riley here used to be my partner before Anders replaced him.” I explained, “and Ashlynn, well she’s my ex-wife’s cousin. Small town.”
“Well, it must be.” Medora said. “One could say it’s almost too small.”
Inwardly hiding a small grin, I got back to business. “Did you both hear about the Newton thing?” When they both nodded, I continued. “I pulled the case file for Anders, along with Newton. Since Anders was your investigation, can you give Medora the highlights?”
Riley looked at Ashlynn, then shrugged. “Not much to tell really. The slug that was used was a .300 Winchester Magnum, typically used in game hunting. It’s often paired with bolt-action rifles like the Remington 700 and the Winchester Model 70. We checked gun dealers in a hundred-mile radius, and no one had sold either the ammo or those rifles in the past two years. We found the killer’s sniper nest up in the forest above the apartments behind the strip mall, about four hundred yards. A good shot for a trained shooter. The sniper collected his casings, so all we were able to get from the scene were a knee impression and a boot print, and the boot print matched the prints that were found at the Newton scene below.”
Riley paused, and Medora interjected, “You have a good memory Riley. That was what, six months ago?”
Riley looked at her. “Some cases, particularly ones that involve your own, you tend to remember.” He inhaled deeply. “And once I heard about Newton this morning, I reviewed the case file.”
“Anyway,” he continued, “we did a deep dive on Anders’ background, to see if we could come up with a motive. Didn’t find anything. The only thing we could figure was that the Alison murder was used to lure Anders to the kill zone. So then we looked at Anders’ past cases, to see if anyone might have had a reason to come after him.”
“If it was a past case,” Medora interrupted, “then the killer would have tried for him too, no?” as she motioned towards me.
“That was our thought too.” Riley replied. “But there was only one shot fired, there didn’t appear to be an attempt on Harper. Which brough us back to it being a personal attack. But as I said, we couldn’t find anything.”
Medora shook her head and looked at me. “There’s got to be something we’re missing. A detective in a small town doesn’t get killed for nothing. And this was pretty well planned, and it seems like the assassin was a trained shooter. And the killer was even willing to murder a local to set the stage.”
Riley looked at her, impressed. Ashlynn, who had been studying Medora while Riley was filling her in, replied, “Trust us honey, we all loved Anders. We turned over every rock we could find to make a connection. You’re welcome to try your luck.” She reached behind her and grabbed the box of donuts. “Donut?” She asked Medora as she held out the box to her.
Medora looked at the box of old donuts. “I’ll pass, thank you.” She said, smiling sweetly. “Appreciate the thought though.”
Sighing inwardly, I leaned forward. “Thanks for the summary, Riley. Let us know if you think of anything else that might help us.”
Riley nodded shortly, turned and returned to his desk. Ashlynn tossed the box of donuts back on the war table, and without a word, followed Riley to the other side of the pen.
Medora followed their progress with her eyes, then turned to me. “They’re not gonna be much help, are they?”
I shook my head. “Riley will help, but the bare minimum. He wasn’t happy when Anders replaced him as my partner. He thinks I requested the change, when really he had just become lazy and sloppy. As the senior detective, I typically get the more interesting and higher profile cases, and the Chief wanted to make sure I had a solid partner. Then, when Anders…. passed, Riley assumed he’d become my partner again. And now you’re here…” my voice trailed off.
Medora nodded thoughtfully, looking at Riley. “And Ashlynn?” she asked.
“Ashlynn blames me for my divorce with her cousin. On top of that, she resents my being the senior detective, despite her being here longer than me. And to cap it off, I’m guessing she’s none too happy with a newer, younger woman detective taking the spot that she feels she should have.”
“Why did I get paired with you then?” She asked.
I grinned slightly. “To be perfectly honest, I made it clear to Barnes when he came aboard that I would sooner quit than be forced to pair with either of them.”
Medora smiled back at me. “Well, thanks for honesty. I’ll try to live up to your lofty expectations.”
I nodded towards her computer. “Well, you can start by finding any matches to our crime scene this morning. And after I’ve finished searching for potential matches, “I motioned to the boxes, “get yourself caught up on the details. Maybe a fresh set of eyes will see something the rest of us didn’t.”
“Aye-aye boss.” She returned as she swiveled around and grabbed her mouse.
“Boss, huh. Now you’re getting it.” I returned, as I reached for the Newton box, preparing to refresh myself with the case. Back down the rabbit hole, I thought to myself. But this time, I’m gonna find myself a rabbit.
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