by Blake Pierce
Tessa glanced at them and then straight back to the floor. “No. Coins aren’t his thing. He does furniture, ornaments, clocks, some weird religious stuff. One of his old jokes was ‘there’s no money in coins.’”
Ella wasn’t sure she heard Tessa correctly. Suddenly, her thoughts went down a dark path, and for a moment she was transported to a different world. Here, these murders took on a much more sinister hue.
“Does the name Alan Yates mean anything to you?” Byford chipped in before Ella could speak first.
Tessa wiped her nose. “No, sorry. Who is that?”
“Another victim of this unsub,” said Byford.
“Un-what? What’s that?”
“Unsub. It means unknown subject.”
“You mean Jim wasn’t the only one?”
Ella was surprised Tessa hadn’t already heard about it. “No. Another gentleman was murdered three days before your husband was,” she said. “This is a serial case.”
The announcement induced new fear in Tessa. She suddenly pressed herself into the arm of the sofa. “A serial killer? In this town? What if he comes after me next?”
If Mia was here, she’d throw her a stern look about now. She always told her off for revealing details she shouldn’t. “He won’t come after you. You’re safe here.”
“How do you know that?” Tessa said. “You don’t know who this guy is. He could be anyone. What am I gonna do, live here forever?”
“Serial killers don’t work like that. Your husband was chosen at random. This isn’t about anyone in particular.” Ella wasn’t sure if she was telling the truth or not, but right now Tessa needed comfort more than anything.
“Well, stupid me. Forgive me for not knowing that.”
“Sorry, I’m just trying to say you’ll be fine.”
“Fine?” Tessa shouted. “Are you out of your mind? My husband was murdered in my house, and you think I’m gonna be fine?”
Ella felt this escalating. Tessa was getting hysterical. Understandable, but it would just make her feel worse in the long run. Ella didn’t want that. Tessa jumped out of her chair.
“I’ve been a widow for a day, and you come in here asking me questions, why don’t you…”
Byford leaped from his seat and came in between Ella and Tessa. He took Tessa’s hand.
“Mrs. Loveridge, my partner meant no harm. You understand it’s difficult for us to navigate these conversations sometimes.” Tessa pushed Byford’s arm away. He held up his palms to her. “Please, we’re here to do a job. A thankless one at that.”
Tessa backed up to the far wall. She dropped down into a sitting position and the tears came again.
“I’m sorry,” she sobbed. “I’ve lost the only man I’ve ever been with. I don’t know what to do.”
Poor woman, Ella thought. As hard as it was for the investigators, it was a million times more difficult for the victims” families.
“Don’t do anything,” Byford said. “Just keep going. Sit in silence for hours. Cry all you have to. Go through old photos. Just because he’s not here in the flesh, doesn’t mean he isn’t alive in your memories.”
Ella could barely believe these words were coming from Byford. She’d only known him a day but she didn’t think he was capable of such emotion.
“You’re right. Forgive me. I didn’t mean to lash out,” Tessa said. She crawled to her feet then sat beside Ella. “Thank you for the words of encouragement. Both of you.”
Byford reached out and shook her hand. “If you think of anything else that might assist us, please contact us at the NDPD.”
“I will. Please find whoever did this.”
“We’re doing everything we can, ma’am, and your information will certainly help us.”
Ella followed Byford out the door, saying her goodbyes to Tessa and her sister on the way out. They headed to the car in silence.
“Tricky one,” Byford said.
Ella started up the engine. Interviews like this always felt surreal. “Thank you for stepping in there,” she said.
“That’s what partners are for. Do we have any family to interview on victim one’s side?”
They rolled off the driveway and back onto the road. “No. Alan Yates lived on his own. A neighbor found him.”
“So I guess it’s back to research.”
“Yeah, but I have something I want to look at. Let’s head to the precinct.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
The feelings coursed through Ella, sensations that grew exponentially. She paced around her office like a caged animal. Byford ignored her as he typed away on his laptop. About now, Mia would have pushed her to spill her theories. What she needed right now was another mind to bounce ideas off, shape and mold them into actionable plans. She craved an expert’s ear to filter her muddled thoughts, but Byford didn’t seem at all interested.
But still, she couldn’t be too frustrated with him. He’d saved her from a hysterical woman a few hours ago.
She began writing on the whiteboard, but her thoughts strayed too far to make any coherent notes.
“Ella, what’s wrong?” Byford asked, finally. At last, she had an invitation to bounce her ideas off him.
“Did you hear what Tessa said her husband sold at his shop? Weird religious things.”
“Yes, and?”
“I checked the store online and found what she was talking about. Look at this.” She turned her laptop around to show a row of miniature statues. One was a hand missing two fingers, another was some kind of demonic ghoul, another was a deformed fetus.
“Not something I’d associate with antiques, but I’m sure someone would purchase them,” Byford said.
“These aren’t religious things; they’re occult relics,” said Ella. “What if we’re looking at this all wrong?”
“Wrong how?”
“I’ve been thinking about how rare it is for a serial killer to knowingly leave something behind at the scene. Other than items of convenience like murder weapons, it’s pretty much unheard of. Leaving something behind just gives police more evidence to work with, so these coins must be the most important part of his ritual.”
Byford sat back in his chair. “Right, but what’s this got to do with religious relics?”
“Because of the serial killers who left behind physical items, a lot of them were motivated by religion, Satanism, occult beliefs. There was a guy named Luke Woodham, a so-called Satanist who left behind goat horns. There was Michael Hardman who left behind ripped Bibles. Michael Kelly who left behind masks. I could go on.”
Byford seemed impressed. “So you think this has to do with what, Satanism?”
“No, not quite that. But coins have a long history with occult beliefs. I’ve been reading about it since we got back. Have you heard of Charon’s Obol? It’s an ancient Greek practice where people used to put coins over dead people’s eyes to take them to the underworld. Ancient Egyptians used to put coins over the eyes of the dead to shield them from the horrors of the afterlife. It’s all there.”
“So, why’s this guy doing it?”
Ella got frustrated again. “I don’t know, but it’s too much of a coincidence to ignore. There’s also a load of occult religions that do similar things. A church called The Final Judgment mummified their dead with coins in their hands so they could pay something called the boatman’s toll in the afterlife.”
“Ella, I don’t know. It sounds very farfetched. Could it not just be that this unsub is a psychopath with a twisted world view? Or perhaps he’s just insane? This all sounds very specific.”
Ella dropped down in her seat, the theories burning her brain. There were too many to just focus on one and that was the problem. She didn’t know where to begin, and she couldn’t consume everything she needed to know about these bizarre practices on her own. Even worse, Byford didn’t seem like he wanted to entertain this idea at all.
Mia would have.
“So, what do you suggest we do? Because I’m not seeing many lea
ds here.”
“Neither am I,” Byford said, “and your outlandish claims aren’t producing any leads either. This is all just conjecture. Even if he is doing something along these lines, how does it help us find him?”
Ella couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “How does it help us find him? There are a hundred ways this could help us find him. We could search for other practitioners of these religions in the area. We could try and find an online presence of his on a community forum. We could track down more potential victims.”
Byford stood up with enough force to push his chair back. “You do that then, but I think it’s a waste of time.”
“A waste of time?” Ella said. “To help save lives?”
“I’m all for saving lives, but I’m not one for speculation. We have to go off the evidence.”
“And what evidence do we have? Both victims had a tenuous connection to coins. Antiques and money. That’s it. Pretty much anyone who works in these fields could be a potential target. That’s too many people. We need to narrow it down.”
Ella didn’t like this. It felt like they were at two opposing ends of the track. When she argued with Mia, it was always for the good of the case. Byford seemed to have a reluctance to dig any further than the surface.
“You could always suggest something,” Ella said, her voice a little rougher than she anticipated.
“I am,” Byford said as he moved towards the door. “I’m going to get a drink and clear my head because you’ve filled it with nonsense. Then I’m going to come back and do actual detective work rather than making outrageous guesses.”
He left the room, slamming the door in the process.
Ella stared at the gray door, dumbstruck. Had her partner really just walked out on her? All because she was trying to make headway in a murder investigation?
She pushed back her hair and then rubbed the disbelief from her face. The last thing she needed right now was more conflict. She buried her head in her notes again, but the words on the page just skated past her pupils, not going beyond the eyes to the brain. She couldn’t focus. Her palms began to sweat, and she suddenly craved another soul to confide in, even if it was just to talk about something mundane. Anything. She just wanted to know someone out there was on her side.
Mark was the first name that jumped into her head, but she didn’t want to deal with his paranoia right now.
Was there anyone else?
One person, she thought. One person who could help her. The only partner who always knew exactly what to say to make things right.
Ella pulled out her phone and found her recent call lists. The phone would probably ring out again, but she had to try. She dialed Mia’s mobile again.
Please answer, she thought. For God’s sake, I need you.
***
Mia Ripley sat alone in a Manhattan bar after leaving Melissa back at the local precinct. She needed to get away from her and clear her head. She’d been off the booze for three weeks now so she drank what she referred to as a virgin whiskey and coke. It wasn’t quite the good stuff but it was better than nothing.
Her phone chimed on the table in front of her, and for what seemed like the millionth time this week, Ella’s name flashed up on the screen.
“Rookie, you gotta leave me alone,” she said aloud. “We’re done.”
But what would happen if she answered? Would Ella apologize her heart out like she usually did? Would she try and justify what she did? Or was she looking for something else?
Mia couldn’t deny the rookie’s capabilities. She made a fantastic partner, even if she was a little reckless. But all of her partners had their flaws. Hadn’t her first one been high off his rocker every time they were together? Hadn’t that weird woman she was partnered with in ‘06 tried to sleep with her son? Yes, they were all imperfect, but none of them kept real secrets from her. None of them conversed with the man who triggered nightmares and crippling self-doubt. The man who took everything from her and made her question her own abilities.
It was an unforgivable act. There was no going back from here.
Mia had already heard about the serial case down in Delaware, and she knew Ella had been assigned to it with her new guy. An odd duo, she thought, and no doubt Byford would be getting on her nerves by now. Mia had her own thoughts about the case, although they were admittedly based on the bare facts and nothing more. The coins were a crucial part of the killer’s identity and the men were surrogates for something much bigger. By now, the rookie should have figured that out.
Or had she? Had Mia’s teachings left their mark or was the rookie clueless without her by her side? When they first got together, Ella wasn’t very skilled at getting inside these killers’ heads, but on the last case she was analyzing them like a veteran profiler.
No, the rookie would be fine. She had to be. Mia was never going to be by her side forever, so it was time she learned to handle these things on her own.
Her name flashed up again. It would be twelve long seconds before it stopped. Mia hovered her index finger over the green ANSWER button and toyed with the idea of talking to her one more time, maybe just to swap ideas on her case. Hell, maybe the rookie would have some insights to share on her Manhattan case too.
But then she remembered the letter from Tobias, the tidal wave of spilled secrets drowning her out. Mia would never forget that feeling. It was like reliving the past all over again, that night when Tobias made her burn all of the evidence she’d found. She’d faced countless criminals since then, been at their mercy more times than she could count, but that night with Tobias Campbell was the only time she felt true despair.
She might be a product of the past, but she wasn’t going to be a prisoner of it. It was time to move on. Her short stint with Ella had been a memorable one for a host of reasons, but she was more than willing to let sleeping dogs lie. Time to move on. New partners, new adventures.
But she’d be lying to herself if she didn’t miss the rookie’s occasional wild theories.
CHAPTER EIGHT
He unlocked the door to the forgotten room in his house and was suddenly reminded of an old story. On his deathbed, Johann Sebastian Bach asked an organist to play one of his symphonies. The organist stopped before he finished the piece, so Bach leaped from his bed, rushed to his piano and finished it. Bach couldn’t live with an unfinished melody, and neither could he. That’s why he had to do what he was doing.
His forgotten room had gone untouched for the longest time. Dust and cobwebs lined the walls like peeling wallpaper, and there was a distinct smell that reminded him of the old man himself. It felt like there was still a part of him here, watching from between the boards, ready to appear like a phantom and reprimand him for his wrongdoings.
He’d never added up exactly how much money this collection was worth. Maybe a few thousand dollars, nothing really worth pursuing considering the amount of time that had gone into acquiring the collection. The coins sat in bags and jars, some in frames and some stacked high. There were too many to count, some from the Victorian era, some from faraway lands. But the best and most treasured ones were in the glass case.
No doubt the collection would bring great pleasure to an enthusiast of the hobby, but what he was doing was worth much more. You could put a price on gold-plated war memorial coin from 1950, but there was no price for vengeance. No price for taking back years of lost youth and innocence. Two down and plenty more to come.
Who would be next? There was no shortage of potential targets. It could be the old man from the bank who always made him feel stupid when he made deposits. It could be that bitch coin collector who was always tracking down those rare British pennies.
He circled the room, taking in the sights and auras. This room had been sealed for God knows how long. He’d even put filler in the door cracks so he couldn’t get in here if he tried.
But the past few months, something changed. The room called to him like a siren’s song, luring him back to the forbidden relic
s within. He wondered if he’d feel different when he saw the coins, or would he still harbor the same rage and fury he felt as a youngster?
Armed with a sledge hammer, he’d smashed down the door and walked in like a Viking ready to pillage. He’d forgotten just how many coins there were in here. In his head, there were only a hundred or so, but now he realized there were thousands upon thousands. It only then dawned on him just how long it had taken to acquire such a vast collection. A lost lifetime’s worth. Now, it was time to make up for it.
He picked up a 1942 Nazi coin off the table and rolled it around in his fingers. No, this one wouldn’t do. Too specific. He found a stack of Nigerian coins from 1970, all but eroded to dust. No, he needed something that sent a real message.
He lifted up the glass table and chose one of the so-called favorites. A Chinese coin from the Shen-Si Province, still with visible flecks of gold. He checked the year.
1964.
Perfect.
Now, who was going to be the lucky recipient?
CHAPTER NINE
Ella had been alone for ten minutes now. God knows where Byford had gone. She wanted to apologize and get back on track because being on two different wavelengths wasn’t going to get them anywhere.
Mia hadn’t answered her phone the two times she’d tried. Maybe it was never going to happen. Mia had erased her from her life and there was nothing she could do other than show up on her doorstep. And even then, who’s to say she wouldn’t just get the door slammed in her face? That was the most likely option.
She tried to forget about the Mia situation and focus on the case. Even if Byford wasn’t going to buy her theory, she was going to pursue it regardless. This killer had a religious fixation, be it occultism, Christianity, Satanism or anything else that fell under the banner of blind devotion. It had to be the case. That’s what the pattern showed.
Ella’s phone pinged on the table. Mark had finally decided to reply.
How are things going?
She typed her response. Up and down. I’m trying to figure this guy out, but he keeps throwing me curveballs. Working on a new theory. Are you doing okay? x
