by Blake Pierce
“I think we need to go further into this world of coin collecting,” said Byford. “What if we went through the police archives and found any crime that involves coins or money or debt. Then we could cross-check their names against the people in coin collecting communities.”
Ella liked the optimism, but the suggested task was a massive undertaking. “Local officers did that yesterday. The results ran into multiple thousands. Plus, with how many coin collectors there are in Newark alone, even narrowing it down by known collectors’ names would yield too many results to sift through. It’s a great idea, but we’d need some manpower.”
Ella’s phone flashed up. For once, it wasn’t from Mark. It was a notification that her takeout coffees had arrived. “Back in a second. Breakfast is here.”
She left the office, went through the open-plan area of the office, and down the steps to the foyer. She opened the door and collected her order from the deliveryman. Just before she closed the door, she heard a voice.
“Miss Dark?”
Ella peered around the door. Standing against the outside wall was Aleister Black. He appeared to be shuffling back and forth as he gripped his forearm with the opposite hand. Ella recognized the signs immediately. Overbearing anxiety. Withholding a secret, maybe.
“Aleister. Are you okay? What are you still doing here?” She put her coffees down and joined him outside.
“I was on my way home, but I came back.”
His face was a wreck. He looked like he’d been through the wars. “Why? You need to go and rest.”
“I had something I wanted to tell you. It’s only something small, but I thought you better know.”
Ella’s curiosity piqued. “Of course. I’m listening. Please say whatever’s on your mind.”
“You mentioned that you found an Okinawa 1964 coin alongside Jimmy’s body, didn’t you?”
“Yes, we did. Gold. One thousand yen.”
“Those parts aren’t important. What’s important is the year. It’s always about the year. Forget everything else about the coins. Focus on the year.”
Ella raised her eyebrows. As far as she knew, Aleister wasn’t aware the other coins were also from 1964. “Is that symbolic of something?”
“No,” Aleister shook his head. “But if your killer is also a coin collector, then he was born in 1964.”
Ella checked their surroundings to make sure no one was within earshot. “What do you mean? Why do you think that?” she asked.
“It’s the collector mindset. It might not make sense to regular people, but every collector has what we call a special interest inside their own collecting niche. For me, it’s Soviet coins. Others might focus on wartime coins. But for most collectors, especially older generations, it’s the year of their birth. I think it’s his way of leaving something of himself at each scene. Collectors are naturally possessive people. They like to boast of the things they own.”
Now that she’d heard it from someone else’s mouth, it seemed obvious. She was so focused on thinking the coins were symbolic to each victim that she didn’t stop to think the coins might be symbolic to the unsub. If the killer was born in 1964, that would make him 57 years old. Based on the sneak attacks, she’d profiled the killer to be young and agile, but was it really so necessary that he was? Why couldn’t an older male pull off the same level of cunning?
“Aleister, thank you so much,” she said. She reached out and hugged him, hoping such affection might lessen his sense of vulnerability. Even though she couldn’t see his expression, she sensed his awkwardness.
“I have to go,” he said. “I need to go to work.”
Aleister disappeared down the street, and Ella returned to her office. She pulsed with so much excitement she forgot to pick her coffee back up. She vaulted up the stairs, through the precinct and back into her office.
“Nigel,” Ella said as she arrived back. “Let’s do your idea. Can we get the records of every crime relating to coins or debt in the past twenty years?”
“Woah,” Byford said, “hold on a minute. You said that would take too long.”
“I did, but I’m backtracking. It’s a good idea and I know how we can narrow it down.”
Byford clicked away on his laptop. “I’ve still got the save file the sheriff sent me. I can execute it again. How do we narrow it down?”
Ella hunched over Byford’s screen as he navigated for the file. “Aleister just caught me while I was outside.”
“He’s still here?”
“He went and came back, but he told me that a lot of coin collectors obtain mint sets from their birth years, especially older ones. He said that our unsub must be born in 1964. He said it was something to do with the collector mindset. But to be honest, I think there’s another reason Aleister thought that.”
“Because that’s what Aleister would do if he was this killer,” Byford said.
It was like he read her mind. “Exactly what went through my head.”
“Maybe we are in sync after all. Here are the results.”
Endless columns of data flashed up Byford’s laptop, all in text barely big enough to comprehend. The tally in the bottom left corner said there were 3,426 results. “That’s a lot, but let’s break it down by perpetrators born in 1964.”
Byford scrolled around the screen looking for the filter options. “Your patience is required,” he said. “I don’t know this system. There, found you.” He typed in the information.
The 3,426 reduced to 32. The results showed crimes that involved coins, however minimal or trivial. It could have been crimes committed for financial gain or a pensioner beaten to death with a bag of pennies. Ella wasn’t going to dive into each individual case until she was sure they’d exhausted all their filter options.
“Better, but still a lot. How can we narrow it down further?” Byford asked.
“We’re looking for a white male who lives or works within ten miles of the first crime scene. Zip code 19711. An unsub like this wouldn’t stray far away from familiar territory, especially for his first murder.”
Byford followed Ella’s lead. “Done. Any more?” Thirteen results disappeared, leaving 19 in place.
“He would have started small, minor issues like disorderly behavior. He may have been diagnosed with mental health issues from a young age.”
Byford ticked and unticked boxes, filled in keywords and clicked around the database with painful slowness. “Sorry I’m taking my time. I don’t want to screw this up.” He clicked the execute button and the results dropped to 3. “Bang, and the dirt is gone,” he exclaimed.
Three. That was as good as it was going to get, Ella thought. It would be different if she was divulging a simple psychological profile for a recent murder, but she was looking for crimes that had been committed any time in the past two decades. It made it all the more difficult to determine the necessary filters.
“Let’s dive in. What’s the first one?”
Byford pulled up the first name and read the notes. “Vincent Jones. He killed a woman in the street and stole a quarter from her purse. This was in 2006.”
“Not our man. Our killer is only targeting men, plus he stole something from the scene rather than leaving something behind.”
Byford clicked off and went into the next name. “Adrian Neville. 2011. Killed a man by accident when he flicked a quarter off the top of River Tower. Definitely not,” Byford said and clicked back.
Ella’s breathing doubled in speed. Last name on the list. If this wasn’t a hit, it was back to the drawing board. “Final contestant, come on down.”
Byford loaded up the screen. The first words Ella saw were suspected homicide.
“Hey, this is more like it,” said Byford. “I think we could have something.”
Ella glided through the report, forming a picture of this potential suspect in a matter of seconds. His name was Kevin Steen, but he was a different category of criminal from the other suspects.
“Goddamn. He’s a profession
al thief,” Ella said.
“Looks damn well like it. Check this part out.” Byford moved his cursor. “He burglarized an antique shop in 2016. Then a few days later, the owner was murdered. Pretty suspicious.”
“You’re not kidding. Looks like he only stole rare coins too. Can you check his last known whereabouts?”
Byford dug into Steen’s current status. “He was in prison for robbery until…,” he stopped mid-sentence. Ella finished it for him.
“Last month.” They exchanged a look that said the same thing. “Holy crap. We need to check with this guy’s parole officer. Can you get his details?”
“One sec,” Byford said. Ella grabbed her phone and opened up her keypad. Byford read out the number she needed. Ella dialed it.
One ring.
Two.
“Hello, Community Services Probation and Aftercare, Julia speaking, how can I help?”
“Hi, my name’s Agent Dark with the FBI. I need to speak with a…,” Ella glanced at Byford, realizing she hadn’t got the officer’s name she needed.
“Kathy Starks,” Byford mouthed.
“Miss Kathy Starks,” Ella repeated. “It’s about a parolee under her care.”
“One moment please,” the receptionist said. The line went silent, then symphonic music fizzled through. The volume dynamic was completely off.
Another voice joined the line a second later. “Hello, this is P.O. Starks.”
“Hi, Miss Starks,” Ella side. “My name’s Agent Dark with the FBI, designation C131. May I talk with you about a parolee of yours named Kevin Steen?”
“Mr. Steen is currently missing, Agent. Do you have information on his whereabouts?”
“Missing?” she asked. She directed the comment towards Byford as much as her new friend on the phone.
“Yes Agent, Mr. Steen didn’t report for his last parole check. We’ve attempted to track him down with no success. What is it you need to know?”
“We believe Mr. Steen may be responsible for a series of murders throughout Newark. Do you believe he would be capable of that?”
Kathy Starks hesitated for a moment. “I’m afraid I couldn’t comment in a professional capacity. Could you do me a small favor, please Agent Dark? Could you call me on my cell phone? I’m having trouble hearing you down this line.”
“Okay. I can do that.”
Kathy recited the number then hung up. Ella dialed the new number as she looked at Nigel in confusion.
“Weird. She asked me to call her cell,” Ella said.
“Did she say he was missing?” Byford asked.
Her call connected. The same voice picked up on the other side. “Hello, Agent Dark?”
“Hi, can you hear me better now?”
“Miss Dark, sorry to have to do that. Truthfully, I heard you fine on the other line, but I needed to talk to you off the record. I can’t do that on my work line.”
Ella’s curiosity surged to uncontrollable levels. “Off the record? Sure, but why?”
“Professional courtesy prevents me from speculating and doing so can cost me my job. But you said Kevin Steen is a suspect in a murder case?”
“He is, yes. Three murders.” Ella heard Kathy sigh desperately down the phone, like she was struggling to control her breathing. Her voice lowered to a whisper.
“Kevin Steen is a notorious thief, but he’s also highly dangerous. I assume you know about his past.”
“I know he was in prison for thievery.”
“He was tried for the murder of the same store owner but acquitted due to lack of evidence. But in private talks with me, Kevin more or less admitted he did it.”
Ella waved to get Byford’s attention. She flailed her arm around in a futile attempt to relay the conversation. “Really? He admitted it?”
“If you ask me, yes. But it doesn’t stop there. During our last contact, he told me he ‘had big plans.’ I didn’t know what he was talking about. I thought he was just being his usual grandiose self. But he said he was going after ’the big four,’ and he was going to do it in the span of a week.”
“The big four?” Ella said. “Any ideas what that meant?”
“None. I thought it was just Kevin being Kevin. Talking about turning his life around, maybe. Then I saw the news of Alan Yates and Jimmy Loveridge and my heart just sank.”
Ella digested the information, tried to process it all and make sense of it. “Hang on a second, why did you assume Kevin Steen had anything to do with their deaths?” She detected Kathy’s hesitance, despite them being a hundred miles apart. The line crackled with static.
“We are off the record, yes? This information can’t be used in a court of law.”
“No, I promise.”
“Well, this is by no means confirmed. It’s just one of those rumors, one perpetuated by Kevin himself.”
“I’m listening.”
“Alan Yates and Jimmy Loveridge. Kevin Steen was their supplier. He would burglarize items for them. How do you think they both made so much money?”
“Oh, Christ. That’s… very helpful,” Ella said. “Do you know where Kevin might be now?”
“No. We’ve had police searching for him for several days. He was due to check in on April 26 but never did.”
Ella turned to the timeline on the whiteboard. That was the day before the first murder. Something was going on here.
“Thank you, Miss Starks.”
“You’re welcome. Please don’t mention this conversation in any official capacity.”
Ella understood the need. “Trust me. One last thing before you go. Does the name Barry Windham mean anything to you?” She heard a tapping down the other end of the line.
“Windham, Windham,” Kathy repeated. “Yes, but…”
Kathy stopped. Ella sensed a reveal was forthcoming. “You know it?”
“I just checked Kevin’s notes. The store owner who Kevin was suspected of killing. He was Barry Windham’s brother.”
That’s it, Ella thought, finally seeing a clear picture for the first time. Everything fell into place, like a million-piece jigsaw that had been scattered across Newark. The revelation brought a euphoric high that nothing in the world could match.
“Thank you for your help. You might have just helped us find a murderer.” Ella hung up, turned to Byford and didn’t know where to start.
This killer is clearing up loose ends, she repeated.
CHAPTER TWENTY TWO
They always returned home. It didn’t matter if they were petty criminals or wanted fugitives. If they were on the run, the one place they’d visit again would be their home. That’s why Ella was sat in a car one hundred yards from the house of Kevin Steen, eyes glued to it like a hawk. The building was a split-level home, with a set of wooden steps leading to the front door. Cream window blinds obscured the interior, and between them and the single-hung windows sat a row of potted plants. Not exactly how she pictured the home of a notorious thief. She and Byford now entered their third hour of waiting.
“Ella, this is great and everything, but we can’t sit here all day,” Byford said.
She was starting to feel the same way. Steen would return eventually, but it could be days or weeks before he did. Career criminals had places they could hide long-term. “Yeah, you’re right. What do you wanna do?”
“What if I patrol the streets? I’ll get some of the local PD to come with me. We can cover more ground that way.”
“Sounds like a plan. If you catch a whiff of this guy, buzz me straight away.”
“Same. If he comes home, call for backup. Don’t try and take this guy down on your own.” Byford pulled out his phone and made a quick call back to the precinct. “I’m gonna jump in a squad car down the road. We’ll stay within a few miles.”
Byford exited the car and disappeared down the road, leaving Ella alone. She’d looked at the house for so long now that the image was burned into her retinas. She had every exterior detail committed to memory so if anything changed when s
he blinked, she’d know about it.
Ella considered the suspect and how his thought process might be operating. Kevin Steen had a connection to each victim and a motive to kill them. Ella put herself in his head and ran through the events of the past five years. In 2016, Kevin Steen burglarized Gold Rush Coins in Wilmington, Delaware. Steen was caught in the act by the store owner but managed to flee. Three days later, the store owner wound up dead.
Steen was tried for the crime and ultimately found innocent of murder, but such an ordeal would take its toll on the man. He’d harbor resentment for the man who caught him and put him through a lengthy trial process, so after that, could Steen be targeting the people from his past? If these rumors were true of Steen supplying goods to people around Newark, what triggered him to take their lives? Was he trying to wipe the slate clean, or maybe exact vengeance upon people who used him?
And who were the “big four” he allegedly spoke of? Four victims, four people from his past? If that was the case, that meant he could be planning to strike tonight. A deranged mind like this would be thirsty for retribution after the mistakes he made with Barry Windham last night. Right now, he’d be doubting himself, and the only way to make things better would be to pull off a flawless crime scene like the first two.
Ella’s phone vibrated on the dashboard, and for the umpteenth time today, Mark’s name appeared. She didn’t read the messages because they’d just upset her. She didn’t have time to deal with an insecure, emotionally stunted abuser when there were more pressing matters to attend to. When she got back to D.C., God knows when, she was going to tell Mark the straight facts. Our relationship is over. He’d know the reasons why, and she would be under no obligation to state them even if he begged her to. She owed the man nothing, and she’d start and stop at exactly that.
It was nearing two pm and the rays of spring beamed through her windshield. She welcomed the warmth, then pushed back her car seat so she had ample space to stretch her joints. Her shoulders cracked loudly then she slumped back down in her seat. She shut her eyes, hoping that a minute of micro-sleep might tackle her exhaustion.
