by Edwin Dasso
12
Before anyone could speak, Brandt’s phone rang.
He raised it to his ear, then pulled it away rapidly as the other party started to talk and he realized he still had the speaker on. He tapped the button, then resumed the call. Punctuated by sporadic grunts and ‘huh’s from Brandt, the caller did most of the talking.
“Okay. Send the address to my phone, will you? Thanks.”
He turned to face the other two occupants of the room, his face drained of color.
“We’ve got another one.” Almost whispered.
“But it’s only been a few days…”
“Guess he’s changed his schedule.”
“Where?”
“Napa.”
“That’s just over an hour away.”
“He’s not only upped his schedule; he’s getting more brazen. Since the very first one, here in Sacramento, all the others have been some distance away,” said Brandt.
“You’re forgetting Elk Grove. That’s close.”
“Yeah…” Brandt was staring at the map he had hung on the whiteboards, slowly shaking his head. “We gotta ‘nother letter though. ‘N’. Does that help narrow down your lists?”
Carter pulled out her phone and pulled up the spreadsheets she had created.
“If the next one is an ‘O’, then that’s the Croation word for ‘Good Luck’. Is this guy saying he’s Croatian? Or is this a red herring?”
“What about that theory of yours about spelling backwards. Another letter must surely rule out more of the possibilities.”
“One thirty one left. I don’t see any that jump out. Wait! Napa. That’s wine country. Aren’t winemakers called a vinters or something?”
Adams, silently observing the dynamic between the two agents until now, chirped in.
“Vintners, not vinters.”
“Oh! Guess I should get out more. I thought we had a match.”
“The County Sheriff is waiting on us. We’d better go. Noah?”
“Sure, I’ll tag along. I’ve been to too many crime scenes over the last forty years. Reckon I’ve probably seen just about every twisted thing one human can do to another.”
Adams looked at Brandt, noticing he had not moved despite his words. His gaze then traversed to Carter. She too stood immobile. Both seemed to be waiting on something. Heavy, dead air hung between them.
Adams coughed loudly, deliberately breaking the uncomfortable silence.
“We got a name?” asked Carter. It was almost a whisper.
“Yeah. The body had ID.” He crossed over to the whiteboard, picked up a marker and wrote the new victim’s name under the previous one, his back covering the words. He then stepped slightly to one side and wrote a single letter.
“Elizabeth Anne Everett.”
He had added the single letter to the previous string.
C… A… R… T… E…
“Now do you believe me?” he asked Erin.
13
Brandt drove. Carter sat in the back with the psychiatrist at the latter’s request. Adams was intrigued by her story of twins who were triplets and wanted to explore more details during the journey, if the agent was willing.
“So, Erin, you say there were three of you. Tobias, you and Toby. Have I got that right?”
Carter glanced at Brandt, well aware he was trying to concentrate on driving and listen in at the same time. He’d not heard the full story either. She lowered her voice to a little above a whisper.
“This is not for public dissemination, Doc. I don’t want this circulating round the Bureau. It’s personal. Not even Brandt knows all of this.”
“Okay. I understand. Jim, can you put the radio on please. Something nice and loud. Thanks” Reluctantly Brandt complied. “That should do it.”
Carter took a deep breath, letting it out slowly before speaking.
“Me and my brothers were conjoined at birth. In fact, throwing us out into the world killed my mother. It probably saved her from what was to come though. In the prep for the surgical procedure to separate Tobias and I… that’s when they discovered Toby. You see, Toby was attached to both Tobias and myself. He wasn’t fully formed; not much of a lower body. Cutting him away from Tobias, then separating Tobias and myself went well. The problem arose with where Toby was inside my body. He was… is located near the base of my brain. The surgeons opted not to even try to separate him because they were sure I wouldn’t make it out alive. Dead, or in a vegetative state for the rest of my days. It’s a case in a million. My parasite twin, who I decided to call Toby to remind me how Tobias and I shared him until the operation, is still there. I can feel his presence like a kind of tension in my head, though doctors told me he had been absorbed by my body before I was seven. I suffered from terrible migraine until my mid-teens. I think they were caused by Toby’s presence.”
“And your brother, Tobias, does he have any symptoms from back then?”
“We both have a rare genetic disorder apparently. Something called Monoamine Oxidase mutation…”
“MOAO-L mutation. I’m familiar with it. It can produce impulsive behavior that can manifest in hyper sexuality, extreme mood swings, sleep disorders and a tendency to violent behavior. Do you experience any of those? MOAO-L mutation is also associated with chromosomal anomaly.”
“Only the sleep problems. They kind of come and go. I’ll have days when I sleep so deeply, as soon as I close my eyes, that it compensates for the general tiredness I feel most of the time of late. I’ve been falling asleep on my couch more than I would like to admit. I have some pills my doctor gave me, but they don’t seem to do the trick even though they are supposed to be pretty strong. I don’t want to become addicted to them so I stopped taking the things a few months back.”
“And Tobias, does he exhibit any of those symptoms?”
“Well, he killed our father when we were seven. Does that count?”
14
A heavy silence enveloped the group, like a deep layer of fresh snow. No one wanted to be the first to leave tracks in the unsullied mantle. The journey toward another life prematurely ended neared its halfway point. Brandt reached out a hand to turn off the radio, poising at the last second, returning his grip to the wheel. Sure, he knew enough of Carter’s history to be aware of her brother’s situation. Contacts in the Department of Justice, friends in the military, and general scuttlebutt had painted the sad picture that was Erin’s past life. He had never felt comfortable enough to talk about it with her in any detail. He was surprised, and a little jealous, at the empathy she and Noah had considering they had only met a matter of minutes ago.
Obviously, the death of their father, the implication of her brother, were part of records sealed by the court given they were minors when the events that put Tobias under mental care had happened. He had assumed, given Carter’s mother had died giving birth to the twins, victim of a miscalculation by an inexperienced surgeon, that she had been placed in the Child Care System. Then one or more foster homes, he guessed, until she had enlisted in the army as soon as she could, moving to train as a Military Police Officer. According to her military jacket, which Brandt had coerced a copy of from an acquaintance of his father, she had excelled at the training, scoring one of the highest ever ratings during evaluation. After a couple of years, she had been transferred to the Criminal Investigation Command. Her jacket became cryptic at that point, probably indicating undercover work, or involvement in intelligence activities.
Now, how she had gone from her brilliant military career to apparently being targeted by a serial killer in this investigation, he was not sure. Was it possible the killer knew Carter from her days in the army; perhaps had even been arrested by her back then? Was this some sort of revenge issue? He knew he had to find answers to these questions, even if it was just to discard the possibility. He also knew Carter would not supply the knowledge he sought.
Her rapport with Noah Adams, surprising and sudden as it was, gave him hope the ex-FBI profiler
could help him. Then, of course, there was the brother. They were still close, judging by the frequency of the phone calls to her sibling that had come to light in his follow up call to his friend who had provided the wiretap. Could he fill in some of the gaps? More so, would he? Brandt knew his argument connecting Carter to their current assignment was still unproven, so using that to solicit a formal interview with the brother probably was not going to be approved. However, Noah might be the answer to that situation.
15
Carter’s eyes were fixed on the view outside the rear window of the Bureau vehicle. She knew this road well. Her brother lived not far from here, though, admittedly, it had been a while since she had come for a visit. Sure, they talked at least once a week by phone, though nothing in their conversations stood out in her mind; just one long rambling on inconsequential subjects. He was on medication most of the time they spoke. His voice a little slurred sometimes by the combination of anti-depressants, tranquilizers, and whatever else the doctors had decided to try. Her voice more than a little indistinct habitually too, though her tranquilizers came in a Jim Beam bottle. She was, however, always cautious when discussing anything about her work, especially when it concerned cases of violence such as the current one. His doctors had advised this, saying details of the gruesome findings, which were part of her job, might cause Tobias to react negatively.
Brandt pulled the vehicle to the side of the road. She could easily read the sign for the Skyline Wilderness Park and see the wide entrance off to her right. Carter exited the SUV and followed her partner as he walked further down the road. The flashing lights of a couple of a couple of County Sheriff sedans and the bus from the Deputy Coroner created their own daylight disco a short distance ahead. They walked together, leaving the main road which veered left, onto a lane that appeared to be part of some private property, sited on their left as they approached the police vehicles. The lane ran alongside the park, stretching into the distance, with just a low wire fence separating it from the wilderness land where the body had been dumped. She could see the County Sheriff and a couple of deputies, but not the black body bag she expected. It was probably already in the bus, she thought.
Brandt called out to the short plump woman who was Napa’s County Sheriff.
“Hi, Joyce. The victim…”
“Well, Jim. As you all took your own sweet time getting here, the M.E. has finished his crime scene prelim and has loaded the victim into the meat wagon already.”
“We came as fast as we could. This killer has accelerated, and we’re a little swamped at the moment. This is my partner, Erin Carter,” Nods exchanged. “…and of course you probably already know Noah Adams.”
“Hi, Doc. Long time, no see. Still with the Feds?”
“No Joyce. We parted ways a while back. I’ve set up my own practice now, though I have helped the Bureau, both the FBI and the CBI, on a few occasions as an external consultant. Jim called me in on this one.”
“So what can you tell us, Sheriff?” chimed in Carter.
“White female, mid-thirties, part-owner of one of the local vineyards. Single. The owner of the house over there spotted something odd here this morning as he took his dogs for their walk. Couldn’t make out what it was, and didn’t want to cross the fence to examine it. So he walked down to the park gate, woke up the security man on duty, and together, they and the dogs went to get a closer look. Turned out to be a body bag with our victim inside. The dogs did a number on the ground surrounding the bag and from where it was to the fence, so the likelihood of any forensic trace evidence is slim. Still the security man had the presence of mind to tape off the area as best he could, then call us.”
“What did the Deputy Coroner say?”
“First, he thanked us for providing the corpse in the body bag, until I chewed his ass about that. He now knows the bag was left by the killer, so it’s crucial evidence.”
“Cause of death, Sheriff?” asked Carter.
“The Deputy Coroner reckons she was hit in the trachea hard enough to kill her. A single blow. Precise. He said he’d need to confirm it with the autopsy, but he suspects the attack was aimed at the Vagus nerve and the killer has some serious martial arts training. Death would have been instantaneous.”
“That seems to be a departure from the way he killed all the other victims,” remarked Brandt.
“And it probably tells us something else too,” added Carter.
“What’s that?”
“He was probably in the military.”
“How did you arrive at that conclusion, Erin?” Adams’ bushy eyebrows were raised, peeking above the frames of his glasses, as though to punctuate his question.
“It’s something taught to the military rather than in civilian martial arts academies. You see, when you enter a martial arts academy, a civilian one, you are generally looking for a system you can use for self-defense. Judges almost always incarcerate a civilian who knows martial arts and uses those skills to defend him or herself, when that defense results in the death of the assailant.”
“Wait, you’re saying if I came at you wielding a knife with clear intent to kill you, and you defended yourself, and I, the aggressor died as a result, you’d be the one who ends up in jail?”
“You’ve never come across this in your time with the Feds?”
“Can’t say I have. It just seems… I don’t know… unfair, unjust, Erin.”
“Most judges don’t accept the ‘self-defense’ plea in cases like this. It’s illogical. If you were in your home, say, and an intruder broke in, you would be within your rights to shoot them. But, use a martial arts move against a mugger in the street, you’re looking at serious jail time. Yeah, the bad guys have more rights than the innocent these days.”
“So why the military?”
“It’s all about the objective. Most martial arts academies train for self-defense, as I said, despite the law’s take if you ever use those skills, but in the military, you are trained to kill. So whereas a martial arts master who teaches the public probably won’t teach techniques that result in permanent injury or death, those techniques are the very ones the armed forces focus on. That’s why I think our killer has military training. To end someone’s life with a single, precise blow like the M.E. describes is either dumb luck or some deadly training.”
Adams scratched his chin, thinking hard.
“Erin, you were in the military, right? Could you kill someone like that?”
Carter let out a short laugh.
“Doc, that’s some leading question. I plead the Fifth.”
Further discussion was interrupted by a loud squawk from the Sheriff’s radio. She stepped away from the group, spoke for a short while, then returned quickly.
“We got another one!”
16
“What!” blurted out Brandt.
“Yeah, and what’s more, the Deputy Coroner was the one who called it in. After seeing the body bag here, as he was driving back, he spotted another one near the entrance to Napa State Hospital. That’s just back up the road from here. We all probably drove past it getting here,” said the Sheriff.
Noah Adams spoke quietly.
“I don’t like this. The Unsub is accelerating exponentially. That’s very unusual if he’s kept to a steady pattern before, as you told me Jim. It sounds like whatever game he thinks he’s playing, he’s near to the end.”
Carter looked up from her phone.
“That’s another ‘N’ for Napa. Nothing. There’s no words that have that combination of two ‘N’s, either forward or backwards.”
“What’s that about?” asked Adams, again raising both eyebrows.
“We had a theory the killer was spelling out something with the place names too. Guess it was a bust.” Brandt shrugged. “Joyce, do we have the victim’s ID?”
The Sheriff shook her head.
“Let’s head over there. Follow me, okay.” She ran down to the fencing, despite her generous proportions, vaulted over and
continued to her cruiser.
Brandt, Carter and Adams jogged back to their SUV parked at the entrance to the Wilderness Park. When they reached the car and took their seats, Adams turned to Carter.
“Erin, can you check with an ‘I’ instead of the second ‘N’ in your list, please?”
Carter gave him an odd glance, finished putting on her seat belt then extracted her phone.
“Well, what do you know? We have one word with six letters: I… N… T… E… R…S.”
“Why six letters?” Noah asked.
“Brandt’s theory that it’s my name he’s spelling out with the victims’ names. C… A… R… T… E… R. Six letters.”
“What if it’s more?”
Carter consulted her spreadsheet.
“Seven gives us eight words. Eight gives us eleven. Nine, six. Ten, four. Eleven… and twelve both give us two. Thirteen, just one, then zilch after that. So what are you saying? There could be thirteen victims in all if Brandt’s theory pans out?”
“Maybe…?” Again, the bushy eyebrows rose up behind the frame of his glasses.
“Some small consolation for the next seven victims, eh, Doc?”
The car made a sharp turn left and came to an abrupt stop behind the Sheriff’s cruiser. Ahead, they could see the Deputy Coroner’s van. They joined the Sheriff and then made their way toward a small wooden hut that once might have been part of a security checkpoint, though it now looked to be abandoned. As they neared, the feet of the Deputy Coroner could be seen poking out from behind the structure. They found him kneeling over another body bag. He had partially unzipped it and was examining the corpse within.
“Stan, what have we got?” asked the Sheriff.
“Female, Asian descent. She’s got dirt around her mouth and nose as though she was pushed into the earth until she suffocated. I’ll know more when…”
