A Killer's Daughter

by Jenna Kernan

  “Can you contact any of the detectives from the case?” asked Demko.

  Robins shook his head. “The lead has passed.”

  “I heard. I’m sorry,” said Demko.

  “So was I,” said Nadine.

  “All of us were. I’m not in touch with any of the others.” He turned back to Nadine. “Do you ever visit her? Your mom?”

  “I have, yes, once.”

  “Be careful. She’s dark, all the way through.”

  “Could you tell us about commonalities among the victims?” asked Demko.

  “Boy, could I.” Robins’s eyes lit up and the edge returned to his features. She could see him now, the hard-hitting cross-examiner who destroyed the defense’s case.

  Nadine and Demko listened as Robins talked, flipping from photo to photo. She stopped him at a close-up of a victim’s left hand, pointing at the missing strip of flesh.

  “What’s this?”

  “That’s Michelle Dent’s left hand. Worked in the office at a marina in Deland. Sister to the owner, I think.” He glanced from the photo to Nadine. “But this was interesting. All but your mother’s last female victim had the same thing. A strip of skin cut from the left ring finger.”

  Nadine’s skin stippled and she forced herself to sit still. She glanced at Demko. His face had gone grave.

  “She was carving a ring in their hands. Admitted as much in interrogation. Make them remember their promises, she said. You knew that all her victims were married?”

  She thought of her classmate. “Well, not all. There was Sandra Shank.”

  “Right. The one not given the blood ring. So, all but one married. But Shank was definitely sleeping with married men.”

  Perhaps this was more about punishing unfaithful men, regardless of whom they chose. Punishing men and torturing women.

  “And all the men were killed while committing adultery. She was kind of a vigilante, you know. We theorized this was because your father cheated on her and then abandoned your family.”

  Nadine’s heart banged around in her chest so hard that she thought she might have internal bruising. She met Demko’s intent stare.

  “If our killer made this mark,” she said, “we have a serious problem because the only ones who should know about this are the investigating detectives, crime techs who took this photograph, the people in this room and my mother.”

  Fourteen

  Couple two part one

  She arrives early, standing knee-deep in the calm waters of the inlet, holding her hand up to her face as a visor while she searches for him. He’s not coming, I’ve seen to that by punching a hole in the fiberglass hull of his boat.

  She wears a ball cap, with her long dark hair thrust through the gap to cascade down her back. I can see the slim column of her neck and the inviting slope of her tanned shoulders. The delicate fabric of her top flutters transparent over bare skin and bikini top. Small nylon shorts hug her long muscular thighs. Her tiny wafer sandals sit forgotten on the narrow scrap of beach. Here, past the mouth of the river, the isolated bay nestles in a circlet of green mangroves broken only by the calm azure waters of the cove and the thin lip of fine white sand.

  Now she’s humming as she lifts the camera in her hands, zooming in on her target as I zoom in on mine. She hears me approach in my rubber boots and turns as I tase her in the back.

  She emits a high-pitched scream as her body convulses, muscles spasming, and collapses. I keep the trigger down, prolonging her tremors, as several baitfish go belly up all around her. The electricity and the water are a bad combination. I release the button and wonder if the water is still electrified as another, larger fish rolls to the surface.

  This is Arleen’s progression. Her early kills were quick, too quick to savor. As she advanced, capturing her prey and spending more time became her way. This increases the risk, but also the thrill and the pleasure. For Arleen, this series took fourteen years. But I am measuring in days, and instead of enjoying my success, I am already anticipating the ones to come.

  Better to stop and smell the roses, or, in this case, the acrid odor of urine staining her shorts. I stand in ankle-deep water as I worry the Taser has killed her and press my ear to the soft mound of her breast.

  Bruising doesn’t happen after death. Damage will, broken bones and so forth. But for bruising to occur, you need bleeding, and for that, you need a beating heart.

  I hold my breath and listen. And… there it is, faint but audible. A heartbeat.

  Relieved, I kick her repeatedly in the ribs and stomach. It’s important that she bruises like Lacey. She rouses enough to struggle. I retrieve the carpet knife from my pocket, letting her see the blade. The widening of those dark eyes gives me a tingle, power chased with joy.

  I’m not certain Arleen did this exactly, but she told me she watched their faces as they died. I like that part, too.

  The blade slips into the abdominal cavity. Once, twice, and I lose count. She’s making too much noise now, so I punch the steel between the ribs on one side and then the other. You can’t scream if your lungs collapse and the cavities are full of blood. Pink froth comes from her mouth as I drag her to shore to finish.

  I twist her leg and she rolls like a chunk of wood. Then I cut away her clothing and slice the mark on her ass. A moment later, I’ve removed her rings and stripped the skin from around her finger, spinning the knife in soft flesh to make a blood band. Then I loop the rope about her limp wrist and cinch it tight. A final cut severs the cord. I slice her throat, stepping back to watch as her blood spills into the clear water.

  A night heron swoops in and lands on the lacework of mangrove branches. The arrival of the nocturnal bird warns me that other boaters will soon appear.

  Standing in the shallows of the estuary inside the preserve, I stare out at the rippling water of the Manatee River while gripping the body by one lifeless leg. She’s just meat now.

  I glance back at her. She has gone luminous and pale in the morning light and I can see the slim athletic build crisscrossed by my marks. Then I see the punctures.

  Wrong. All wrong.

  I yank her off the sand. The body drifts in the easy current, then sinks into the water.

  No air in her lungs, so she can’t float. I should have thought of that. Arleen didn’t stab Lacey. But I had. How many times?

  Too many. Damn it. I’ve ruined another one. I lift her heavy camera, hurling it after her and miss.

  I stow her rings and garments, washing away the blood in the warm inlet waters, then step onto the mangroves’ tangled roots, never letting my feet touch the sand. My kayak carries me past the place where the body sank. But the knowledge gives me no spark of joy because my mistakes steal all my satisfaction at this kill.

  Fifteen

  The apple and the tree

  She no longer had to sell Demko on the idea of a copycat. Their visit with the district attorney had done that.

  They returned to Sarasota and collected Molly, arriving at his place with the two identical copies of all Robins’s transcripts, court documents and the investigating Homicide detective’s reports, now in their new binders. She went straight to work while he ordered dinner. When it arrived, forty minutes later, she didn’t even notice the bell until Molly started barking. After the meal and a short walk for Molly, they both settled into reading the case material.

  From their conversation with former DA Bradley Robins, they learned that her mother’s male victims had either the skin sliced all the way around their ring fingers or a circular gash, cut to the bone. All of her female victims, but one, had the same mark, plus what Robins described as a semihorizontal slashing pattern on their backsides. The detectives could not determine its meaning, and Arleen had refused to explain.

  “More coffee?” he said.

  Demko had caught her dozing at his dining room table, the binder before her still open.

  “No, I just need to stretch out.”

  She glanced at her phone and realized it
was past midnight. Then she settled on his comfortable couch with the binder she had been reading. The next she knew, she roused to a dark room, to find Demko sitting beside her on the coffee table, attempting to take the binder she held on her chest like a sleeping baby.

  “What time is it?” she said.

  “After one.”

  “Did you read all those transcripts?” she asked.

  “I started with the detectives’ report, the DA’s notes and the evidence he provided to the courts.”

  So he’d seen the photos of all of her mother’s victims.

  She squeezed her eyes shut as the familiar shame of association swept through her.

  “I didn’t finish the transcripts. But I will.”

  She pushed herself upright, swinging her legs to the floor. Then she scrubbed her face with both hands, trying to force away the drowsiness.

  “You think your mother really went years between murders?”

  “I did. But since visiting her, I’ve changed my mind.”

  “Why?” he asked.

  “I was trying to learn why she made those marks, but she led me off course, hinted that there were more, in addition to the couples. She mentioned two specifically.”

  How many more? Nadine realized she might never know.

  She repeated what she knew about her mother’s attorney’s trying to negotiate a plea deal for Arleen’s confession to additional unsolved murders. She relayed what Arleen had said about the arson death, an unknown woman and about killing a guy after an argument over money. “She also said her brother had helped her move that one and bury him near where Lacey Louder was found in Hontoon Island State Park.”

  “When?”

  “She wouldn’t say.”

  “What’s your uncle’s name?”

  “Guy Owen.”

  “You know his whereabouts?”

  “I haven’t seen him since I was a kid.”

  “Is it possible he knows about the marks?”

  She thought about the times she remembered her uncle living with them. He and her mother had been close, no doubt. Close enough to move a body. Had he helped her with more than one?

  “Yes. It’s possible. Demko, do you think he could be her co-conspirator?”

  “Hmm. Maybe. I’ll try and find him. You know his date of birth?”

  She shook her head.

  “Anything happen in 2002 that you recall? Any new men?”

  “Why 2002?”

  “I’ve found a few missing persons reports that popped up in Ocala Forest that year.”

  In fall 2002, Nadine had turned ten. She remembered her mother had been working cleaning swimming pools and her uncle had visited around Easter. He’d stayed through the end of the school year. She and Arlo called him “Uncle Tinsel” because he had a silver front tooth. But he hadn’t been around for Arlo’s birthday in August. A guy she worked with moved in around September, but that didn’t last long.

  “My uncle was there in the spring. And she had a breakup with a guy around Thanksgiving.”

  Another bleak holiday, she remembered. Arlo had taken her to a fast-food joint, as Arleen had been working.

  “Name?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “After that? What about in 2004?”

  “Well, that was the year she killed Dents and Irwin. You think there were other murders around then?”

  “Maybe.”

  Nadine thought back. “She lost her job as a pool cleaner. Started working at the marina in Deland for Dents. We had to move.”

  “And men?”

  “I don’t know. There were a lot of them. Maybe a new one around then. Let me think.” Nadine remembered a stranger in the kitchen when she stepped into the room for breakfast.

  “This your girl?” asked the shirtless hairy man standing before the open refrigerator in their kitchen. He was huge and even his shoulders were furry. He wore only sagging blue boxers. His cheeks were dark with stubble and his hair was long and fixed in a single braid.

  Nadine pulled up short. It was the first day of school and her mom had promised to drive her.

  “What?” Arleen appeared wearing her underwear and an overlarge T-shirt. Her hair was mussed, and she had a red mark on her neck.

  Nadine wished Arlo were here. But he’d moved in with his girlfriend and she hardly ever saw him. When he was here, she didn’t mind the men in the house. But now she felt scared all the time.

  “That’s Dee-Dee.” Her mother glared at her. “Well, come in and say hello. This here is Bo.”

  “Hey, little lady.” He turned to Arleen. “Ain’t she a peach.”

  “Yeah, and if you’re thinking of takin’ a bite, I’ll cut your dick off.”

  He laughed at that, but as her mother pushed past him to retrieve the milk, the man’s gaze traveled over Nadine in a way that made every hair on her body lift in fear.

  Nadine backed out of the room.

  Her mother’s voice followed. “Hey. Where you going?”

  Nadine had left the house with her backpack, no lunch and no breakfast.

  Her feet pounded on the sandy path that led out of the trailer park. Pounding, pounding.

  “Okay. That’s enough for now.” Demko relieved Nadine of the binder, thumped it on the coffee table and stretched.

  Nadine blinked, giving herself a mental shake.

  “You all right?” he asked.

  His expression changed from concern to something more intimate as he took her hand. Her smile faltered as her heart rate accelerated. He did that to her with just a simple touch.

  “Want to have a swim?” he asked.

  “It’s dark.”

  “Best time. The stars are all out.”

  “And the bugs.”

  “It’s a caged pool. Water is eighty-eight degrees.”

  That did sound lovely.

  “I don’t have a suit.”

  “Even better.”

  She placed a hand on her hip, trying and failing to ignore the surge of sexual energy his words stirred.

  “You do remember that I tried to shoot you.”

  He laughed and rose to his feet. “That was yesterday. Besides, I like dangerous women.”

  That comment made her flush and it took some restraint not to step into his arms.

  Dangerous women. Like his mother? That thought spoiled the urge to reach for him.

  “Sounds fun.”

  She followed him to the master, where he opened the drapes to the sliders, revealing the covered pool deck. The water glowed pale blue from a single submerged light. He rolled open the glass door. Warm air crept into the room with the hum of insects and the trill of tree frogs.

  He tugged off his T-shirt and stepped out of his slacks, dropping both on the floor. His chest was bare, and he wore only loose boxers.

  She stripped down to her lace bra and underwear.

  He offered his hand. “There’s a step down.”

  Demko flipped off the pool light. They crossed the deck, hand in hand. Molly followed them out. The stairs at the shallow end led them into warm water. Nadine glided to the opposite side of the pool and then rolled to her back staring up at the heavens. Through the screening, she could see Orion and the Big Dipper.

  “So beautiful.” She drifted into the shallow end. He moved in beside her, holding her suspended in the water, and walked them in a slow circle. She rolled to her feet, coming up in his arms.

  “I’d be in here every night.” She laced her hands behind his powerful neck.

  “I usually am. It’s a great stress reducer.”

  Molly danced along the pool deck, watching them.

  “She doesn’t swim?” asked Nadine.

  “She will but doesn’t like it.”

  “Good. I have you all to myself.”

  He swept her wet hair back over her shoulders.

  “I love your hair.”

  “Really? It’s just an ordinary brown.”

  “It’s like silk.”

  She s
miled and he leaned in. She lifted on her toes, pressing her breasts to the solid wall of muscle, and kissed him. His mouth opened and his tongue brushed her lips. Their tongues danced as they bobbed in warm water.

  The tingling excitement flared as she pressed her stomach to his hips and felt his arousal. The animal growl in his throat made her shiver. His hands ran the length of her back, slowly drawing off the straps of her bra. He trailed kisses down her neck and back up to her earlobe, which he tugged between his teeth, sending a delicious shot of heat straight to her core.

  Then he set her on the top step and stripped her out of her bra. Warm hands pressed her needy flesh and she thought nothing had ever felt so good, until he took her nipple in his mouth and flicked the beading tip with his tongue.

  Something cold and wet touched her back.

  She yipped and jumped, twisting to see what was behind her.

  Molly stared at them both, with tongue lolling and her brows pulled up in curiosity.

  Nadine laughed. Demko scowled.

  “Thanks a lot,” he said to Molly.

  “She’s jealous!” Nadine giggled.

  “Where were we?” he said.

  Nadine stood and retrieved her bra, now floating nearby.

  “I’m heading back inside to that comfortable bed.”

  “Would you like company?”

  “You, yes. Molly, no.”

  He followed her back inside, and Molly remained outdoors for the next hour.

  * * *

  Nadine had known it would be good between them. How good was still a shock. When she finally rolled to her back, replete and thoroughly satisfied, Clint groaned. He’d asked permission, used protection and then blown her mind, twice.

  She admired his endurance. When her breathing slowed, she planned to tell him so.

  “Now you’ve tried to kill me twice,” he said, and chuckled. Then he gathered her close.

  She fell asleep with her head beside his on a single pillow, her hand on his chest and a leg splayed across one muscular thigh. She was vaguely aware of him rising to use the bathroom and retrieve his dog.