Scheme Of Sin (Wayne Falls Book 3)

by John J. Hunter

  "You already are," the woman replied, now more confused than ever.

  Alice put away the badge. "Mrs. Keune, I'm here to talk to you about your husband, Jeffery Keune."

  Her eyes flickered with worry. "What about him?"

  "Mr. Keune seems to have traveled to Malibu over the weekend."

  "Yes, he was there for a business trip," she replied, placing a hand on her chest. "He travels often. Is he alright?"

  Alice broke her gaze. Her eyes darted to her shoes. She could not bear to look at the woman as she delivered the news. When she forced herself to look up, she found her eyes round with fear.

  "Ma'am, have you heard of the San Bernardino Butcher?"

  "No," she gasped. A hand flung to her mouth and her eyes glistened with tears. A moment later she was on her knees, heaving loud sobs, tears streaming down her face.

  ***

  Melissa Keune had composed herself considerably half an hour later when they sat across from each other in the living room. A quaint ceramic cup painted with delicate flowers sat on the table between them filled with steaming black coffee.

  Melissa dabbed a tissue over her cheeks; her nose glowed red and tears swam in her eyes. "I just don't know how to break it to the boys," she choked, quickly rubbing away a tear that had rolled down her cheek.

  "You have children?"

  "Yes. Two boys," she replied, staring at the broken tissue in her hands. "Jeffery meant the world to them." Her voice trembled with emotion.

  "I am sorry for your loss."

  Melissa shook her head, her emotions overwhelming her once more. "He was a good man. He didn't deserve to die in such a horrible manner." She bent over her knees, giving in to another spell of crying.

  Alice offered words of condolence, gulped down the coffee, and got up to leave. She imagined Melissa needed time to break the news to the kids.

  The photographs out in the hallway caught her attention. She scanned the smiling face of Jeffery standing next to world dignitaries — powerful businessmen and politicians. Her eyes lingered on a photograph of Jeffery, a beaming smile on his face, next to a man in a cassock in front of a building with a group of small children in tattered clothes standing beside the two men.

  "He was so committed to God's work," said Melissa, staring thoughtfully at the photograph of her husband. "It's like how Father Thomas always says, the sinners always come after the Godly men first."

  Alice stepped out of the door and strode down the driveway to the car. She got inside the cream-colored Dodge Charger and turned on the ignition. The engine revved to a start. She eased it out of the driveway and onto the road.

  Marcus had seen to it that she was provided with a vehicle when she arrived in Needles. She had checked into a motel and unpacked her stuff. The first task to check off on her list was to inform Jeffery Keune's family about his murder.

  The car cruised around the neighborhood; it was the prettiest place in the town that she had seen so far. Large colonial houses with lavish front yards and neatly trimmed edges lined either side of the road.

  The discovery of the third bag in Malibu had thrown her off. But in hindsight, it made perfect sense. Chopping up the bodies and dumping them in multiple locations reduced the chances of their discovery and identification of the victims. It made Alice conclude that whoever was behind these crimes was a frequent traveler who could use his trips as a guide to dispose of bodies.

  It clarified one thing, however; the murderer liked to hold on to the victims' bodies and possessions. He spent time cleaning and bathing the bodies, meticulously dismembering them, and then choosing to either dispose of them or keep them as trophies.

  The fog obfuscating the murderer inside her head was beginning to clear as she learned more about him.

  The motel loomed into view as she turned a corner. She parked the car outside, killed the engine, and stepped out. The air was cool and crisp. An obsidian night sky hung above, strewn with stars. She walked toward the motel, her steps echoing in the silence.

  Tyler leaned over the railing in the loggia above, watching her traverse the length of the parking lot and climb the stairs.

  "How did it go?" he asked as she came near him.

  "What do you think?" she asked, resting her elbows on the metal railing and leaning next to him. The devastated look on Melissa's face flashed in her mind and she felt a jab of pain thinking the poor soul would relive the horror once more when she would sit down to tell her children about their father.

  "She did not know of any enemies Jeffery may have had. She noted nothing out of the ordinary in her husband and said that he was out in Malibu on business."

  "We have to find out everywhere he went, the people he met and interacted with. Retrace every step he took after arriving in the city."

  Alice could feel her head throb as she grasped the magnitude of work required. She rubbed her temple as weariness tugged on her.

  A smile rippled across Tyler's face. He gave her an amused look. "Don't forget that this was your idea of fun."

  "When did I ever call it fun?"

  "Oh, come on! You ditched your vacation for this."

  "Not because I deem it fun."

  "Then?"

  She thought about it for a moment. "Okay, I'll admit, solving crime is gratifying."

  "There you go. Now we're being honest." He grinned.

  Alice felt butterflies in her stomach at the sight of his dimples. He had floppy brown hair that he was always brushing back, kind brown eyes, a sharp jaw line, and a strong build. There was no denying that she found him incredibly attractive.

  She looked away, trying hard not to smile back and give away her feelings. "How was Naomi when she saw you packing to leave as well?"

  His smile became rather stiff. "Not too thrilled."

  Alice had guessed that much. Naomi had been on edge ever since she decided to take up the investigation. "And what about Adrian?"

  "He didn't seem to mind." Adrian had chosen to stay cooped up inside a tiny hotel room ever since he came to Malibu.

  With her boyfriend refusing to come out of his room and her other comrades cutting the vacation short and going back to work, no wonder Naomi was pissed.

  "It's late. I better go and get some sleep," he said, stifling a yawn. "We've got a long day ahead." He winked at Alice and ambled toward his room.

  Alice stood by the railing, staring at the sky. Out in the middle of the desert — away from the smoke-spewing traffic and bright lights of the city — the sky here shone brightly with a million stars. She looked on, transfixed.

  ***

  It was a slow day for Sergeant Whitfield. He was done with the morning patrol and sat in his office going over tedious paperwork when the phone began to ring.

  “San Bernardino County Police Department, Sergeant Whitfield speaking,”

  “Sergeant Whitfield, there is a woman on the line claiming to have information about one of the murder victims, Jeffery Keune,” a woman’s voice informed him.

  “Put her through.” He waited to speak to the woman. On Alice’s insistence, they had run the victim’s picture in every newspaper and news channel hoping to gain information regarding his whereabouts in Malibu on the day he was murdered.

  There was a click and another woman’s voice greeted him. “Good day, officer. My name is Hailey Jones.”

  “Good day, ma’am. What can you tell us about Jeffery Keune?”

  “Well, I’ve known him for years. He was a frequent visitor at the bar where I work. I served him drinks the night he got killed.”

  Bill jolted up in his chair. Sitting in a more alert position, he pressed the phone to his ear and quickly grabbed a pen and paper. “Do you remember him talking to anyone in particular?”

  “Actually, yes. He was with a man. I don’t remember seeing him at the bar before but the two of them seemed to know each other. Jeffery had a lot to drink that night, and I remember that man escorting him home.”

  Sergeant Whitfield felt a thrill
of excitement course through him. “And could you tell me the name of the bar?”

  “I work at a gay bar called the Pride Club.”

  Bill listened in stunned silence.

  “Jeffery was a regular customer.”

  ***

  Eric Warshaw stared at the bar’s name, scribbled on the paper, and grimaced with disgust. He looked up at Whitfield sitting before him in the office.

  “So Jeffery Keune was a man of secrets, huh?” he said. “Too bad his secret got him killed.”

  Something told him the chief did not feel particularly sad about the murder. “I’ll leave it up to you to investigate the matter further,” he said and got up to leave.

  “Oh, one more thing Sergeant,” Eric called out as he was about to walk out the door. He turned to face him. “Let’s keep this information just between the two of us for now. We’ll bring in the woman and get a composite sketch made of this fella cozying up with Jeffery at the bar and see where that leads us.”

  He gave him a confused expression. “Are you suggesting that we should withhold information from the FBI?”

  The chief chuckled. “No, not at all. I’m just asking you to delay the information. Agent Sloan is overworked as it is. Let us get the work done and then let her know.”

  The sergeant stared grimly at Chief Warshaw. He gave a short nod and walked out of his office.

  ***

  Adrian worked away on his laptop on the bed while Naomi flipped through a magazine next to him. She tossed it aside a few moments later and let out a loud groan. She was bored out of her mind. Who would have thought that she would experience such ennui at a place like Malibu? She glanced at Adrian staring at the laptop screen with a somber expression.

  Perks of hanging out with a bunch of workaholics. They could make even the most fun places feel boring.

  She slid up next to him, resting her head on his shoulder and brushing her toe along his leg coyly. “Feel like taking a break?”

  He did not seem to notice her seductive gestures or her alluring voice. “In a minute,” he replied, absentmindedly.

  Naomi glanced at the laptop screen and felt her stomach flip at the photograph he had opened on his screen. An image of a woman’s head — judging by the bluish tinge of the lips and sallow skin, she could tell it was the close-up shot of a corpse. He was busy comparing the photograph to a dozen others in the National Missing Persons Database.

  She retracted herself away from, crossing her arms over her chest and looking askance.

  Adrian noticed the sudden change in her demeanor and turned toward her. “I’m sorry but this is kind of important.”

  “Alice got you working on solving the Butcher murders?” she asked.

  Adrian hesitated a moment. “Yes,” he finally admitted.

  Naomi shook her head in disbelief. She regretted choosing to spend her summer with this particular group of people. All she wanted was some time away from the talk of psychopathic murderers and dead girls.

  She sprang to her feet and stomped to the closet where she had stowed away her bag. Dumping it on the bed, she began packing her clothes, furious. Adrian got up and touched her tenderly on the shoulders but she shoved him away.

  “I’m not ready for all this,” she said, shaking her head, her voice welling up with emotion. “I’m not ready.”

  Adrian tried holding her by the shoulders one more time. She let him wrap his arms around her this time. “I know. I know,” he murmured, pulling her into an embrace.

  She buried her face in his chest and quietly let a few tears roll down her cheeks.

  “I’ll take you back, okay,” he whispered. “Don’t worry.”

  He held her tightly in his arms, swaying gently to the sides as if rocking a child and she felt herself calm down. It felt reassuring to have him by her side.

  ***

  Alice felt her heart skip a beat at the sight of Adrian’s name flashing across her cell phone screen. She had turned the motel room into a makeshift office. Case files, news clippings, and crime scene photographs were strewn all over the bed. She sat cross-legged in the middle of the mess with her laptop propped open in her lap.

  “Found her,” he said. “I’m emailing you the details right now.”

  A moment later she was staring at a youthful, oval-faced girl of no more than seventeen years of age on her laptop screen. Alice recalled the severed head she had found in the bag in the desert and recognized the cherubic face right away.

  Her profile was uploaded on the missing person’s database a few months ago. The teenager, Marie Sinclair, seemed to have run away from home and was hitchhiking through different states when she was supposedly picked up by the killer.

  So far two victims had been discovered and while the murders were connected by the bizarre dismemberment of the bodies, they had little else in common. Most serial killers preferred victims who possessed a certain set of attributes. The notorious Son of Sam, David Berkowitz, preferred brunettes. The infamous Ted Bundy preyed on young women with long dark hair parted down the middle.

  A fixed set of gender, race, and age preference was not uncommon for serial murderers, however, that did not mean they did not deviate from the pattern now and then. The only reasonable conclusion Alice could come to was that they had to amp up the search for more bodies; only then could she build a strong enough criminal profile.

  The phone rang, snapping her out of her reverie. She plucked her phone from the bedside table. Sergeant Whitfield’s voice greeted on the other side.

  “I just wanted to inform you of a witness that came forward in reference to Mr. Keune just recently,” he said. Something about Chief Warshaw’s insistence to keep her out of the loop had made him suspicious and he had gone against what he had been advised.

  “A lady named Hailey Jones claims she served drinks to Keune at a bar in Malibu the night he disappeared.”

  Alice’s eyes shone as she listened to the crucial piece of information. It would bring them a step closer to solving the mystery.

  “She says she saw him speaking to a man at a gay bar. She is on her way to the San Bernardino Police Station as we speak to help us build a composite sketch of the suspect.”

  Alice pictured Jeffery Keune’s wife and wondered whether she ever suspected his frequent business trips for what they were. She hung up and stared at the photograph of the teenager with glowing amber eyes and a smiling mouth. Her eyes were filled with dreams for the spectacular life she had lying ahead.

  CHAPTER 5

  Hailey Jones folded and unfolded her hands in her lap nervously. Her beady eyes darted from Tyler to Alice and finally to Sergeant Whitfield. She had short dark hair, a round downy face, and a double chin. Sitting on the chair before them facing the desk, she looked as frightened as a mouse. She gave off the same nervous energy as someone who had turned up for a job interview unprepared.

  “Ms. Jones, could you tell us how long you have been bartending?” asked Sergeant Whitfield.

  She puckered her lips as she thought. “Almost 30 years.”

  “And how long have you known Mr. Keune?”

  “Almost 10 years. Like I mentioned before, he was a regular customer.”

  “And how would you describe his behavior the last time you saw him?” asked Tyler.

  “Oh, he was like his usual jovial self. Laughing and drinking and flirting with the guys. Nothing out of the ordinary.”

  “And what can you tell us about this man he supposedly left with?”

  She licked her lips, looking visibly shaken. “Well, it was dark,” she said with a nervous chuckle. “I’m not sure I saw him clearly enough.”

  “Ms. Jones, I understand if you are feeling anxious or scared. I just want to assure you that we will provide you with maximum witness protection. All we require is that you give us as much information about this person as you can,” said Alice.

  Hailey gulped and stared at her feet, trying to muster the courage to speak. Alice wondered if she was having second tho
ughts about coming down to the station. The media had been hyping up the murders and creating an atmosphere of terror by sensationalizing the killings. She feared Hailey had fallen victim to fear-mongering and may retract the statements she made to Sergeant Whitfield over the phone.

  “He was a new face. I had never seen him before at the bar but Jeffery seemed to know him. They were talking and laughing together — nothing unusual. They were the last two left in the bar. I was cleaning up when I saw him steering Jeffery toward the door. Jeffery had a bit too much to drink so I didn’t think much of it back then.”

  “Do you remember any stand-out feature of the man Jeffery left with?” asked Tyler.

  “Like I said, it was dark and I wasn’t paying much attention.”

  “Anything at all?” Alice insisted.

  Hailey raised a hand to touch her temple and knitted her brows trying hard to remember. “I remember him telling Jeffery about serving in the army in Vietnam." She concentrated, trying desperately to dredge up more details. "Somewhere in the conversation he pulled up his sleeve and showed him a tattoo on his forearm.”

  "Do you remember what it was?" Alice asked.

  She shook her head in dismay. "I'm sorry, I didn't get a good look."

  Alice wrote the details on a notepad. Being a Vietnam War veteran placed the killer’s age anywhere between 55 to 97. Based on the vague description of his features that Hailey provided next, Alice believed him to be between the age of 55 and 60.

  Hailey spent the next hour with a forensic sketch artist to come up with a composite sketch of the killer. Alice turned to Sergeant Whitfield once their interview with Hailey had come to an end. “It’s a shame Chief Warshaw couldn’t be with us. I would have appreciated his insight.”

  “I did inform him but he refused,” he grunted. He had an inkling that the chief could not bear to be in the presence of the young FBI agent and felt positively baffled with the chief’s massive ego.

  Alice did not think much of the chief’s refusal to come down to meet with the witness. She could tell he was not too fond of her but she had more pressing matters to attend than managing a grown man’s emotions for him. “Any information on the teenager, Marie?” she asked, unconcerned by Chief Warshaw and his tantrums.