by Jenna Kernan
“The park has two lakes and a river.”
“FBI will have looked there.”
“Yeah.”
“So what’s southeast of Myakka?”
“Nothing. Farms and, well, Arcadia is there, and the Peace River goes right through town.” His face was grim. “I’ll share this with Torrin. Maybe catch the bastard dumping the bodies.”
They parked in the second level of the garage and had the same escort into the FBI field office. They asked Demko to wait, ushering her into a conference room. Torrin and Fukuda met her there and introduced her to an unfamiliar man, an FBI psychologist.
The profiler? she wondered.
Torrin asked her numerous questions about why she’d directed Demko to check out Myakka River State Park. They went around and around as they pretended to need her to clarify but were actually asking her to repeat the same story in a variety of orders. It was a technique with which she was familiar. Trying to find inconsistencies. Finally, out of frustration, she asked, “Am I under investigation?”
“No,” said Fukuda.
“Not at this time,” said Torrin.
“Am I under arrest?”
“No,” said Torrin.
“Then I think I am done ‘helping.’” She used air quotes around the word “helping” and stood.
“Just a few more questions,” said Torrin. “We could use your help.”
Yeah, right, she thought, and resumed her seat.
Special Agent Torrin switched subjects, asking about her grandfather, whom she barely knew except through her mother’s sporadic stories, publicly available court documents, arrest records and conviction reports. She had visited him in prison, but didn’t remember any of that, had been too young. Nadine had read the newspaper article on his conviction that her mother kept. He had killed his supervisor by running him down with a forklift. The jury did not buy his story of mechanical failure and he served eighteen years, dying in prison.
Special Agent Fukuda took over to ask her about her father, who had left the family before she was born, and, finally and forever, when she was less than a year old.
She wondered what they knew about her father that she did not. A prickling warning rippled over her skin like an electric charge.
“He was an engineering student?” asked Fukuda.
“Yes. My aunt told me he dropped out of college when my mother got pregnant and they married against his family’s wishes.”
“That’s Donna Finch, your father’s younger sister?”
“Right. Anyway, after my mom’s arrest, my aunt thought her brother might turn up. When he didn’t, she adopted me.”
“But not Arlo Howler, your brother.”
“He was an adult then.” Her throat was so dry. “Could I have some water?”
Fukuda offered her a bottle, and she drained half the contents.
“Tell me about your father,” said Torrin.
“Why?”
“A theory I’m working.”
“I need to get back to my profiles.” Urgency tugged at her. She didn’t have time for this now.
“Please. It’s related. I promise.”
She tried to conjure the man from the stories she had heard, the photographs she had seen.
“How is it related?”
“I’ll explain. First, tell me about your dad.”
“I don’t remember him.” Nadine glanced toward the door, anxious to leave. This topic made her sweat. “My aunt might better help you with questions about my father.”
“We’re in touch.”
Of course they were. She pinched her eyes shut as she imagined an agent knocking on Aunt Donna’s front door.
When she opened her eyes, Torrin was looking at his notes.
“Your father left the marriage in ’92 and filed for divorce in August, granted January of the following year. Your aunt confirms he suffered from depression and abused drugs. Subsequent to the divorce, he was arrested for failure to pay child support. She covered his bond, but Howler missed his court appearance in March ’93. An arrest warrant was issued, but they were unable to locate him. She says that she has not seen her brother since that time.”
Much of that she did not know.
Nadine spun the half-empty water bottle in her hand, round and round, while her heel tapped a frenzy on the tile floor.
“Do you have any way to contact your father?”
“None.”
Torrin scribbled something.
“Do you?” she asked.
“We are tracking him down now.”
Nadine wasn’t sure how she felt about that or about the possibility of him popping back into her life. Sleeping dogs, she thought, were best left to lie.
“I answered your questions. Now, what does this have to do with your current investigation?” she asked.
“We are working on a theory that your father’s abandonment acted as a trigger for your mother.”
She thought about that. “But DeNato and Rogers were not killed until two years after he left.”
“True.”
“Our profiler believes that the departure of other men from her life acted as a trigger.”
Nadine thought back to the men who had come and gone as her mother played house. Had their leaving prompted the deaths of the rest?
She shook her head, unsure.
“You have an alternative explanation?”
“Arlo told me she got fired from a carpet wholesale warehouse the same year she killed Rogers and DeNato. And she told me that she didn’t let men tell her what to do anymore. I think she meant all men. I thought, perhaps, her trigger might be losing her jobs.”
Fukuda scribbled something on his notepad.
“Did she lose a lot of them?” asked Torrin.
“Yeah.”
“Your aunt Donna told us that Arleen’s brother, Guy Owen, was in and out of mental institutions.”
Uncle Tinsel had a mental disorder?
Why was she surprised? That little nugget fit right in with the rest of the untidy mess that was her family.
“Did he?” She remembered that her uncle came and went from their lives. Her family tree was cringeworthy.
“Did he play a part in your upbringing?”
This conversation made her so uncomfortable, it was difficult not to squirm. Instead, she opened the water and took another sip.
“No. But I remember him visiting.” He was one more blurry face among many men.
“Often?”
“A couple of times. He slept on the couch for a while. In between jobs, I think. After my mom’s conviction, he contacted Aunt Donna about collecting my mother’s things.”
Her attempt to locate him via a web search had failed and Demko had found nothing.
“Do you maintain contact?” asked Fukuda.
“No. Have you found him?”
“Not yet.”
“Is he a suspect?”
Fukuda nodded as Torrin spoke.
“Your uncle is a person of interest. He left a mental health facility in Alabama twelve years ago and disappeared.”
“‘Disappeared’? Is he dead?”
Torrin shrugged. “We don’t know.”
So one of her parents was missing, and the other was on death row. Now add a mentally ill uncle to the stew.
“What was his diagnosis?”
Torrin did not have to look at his notes to answer. “Initially, antisocial personality disorder. Subsequent to admission, his diagnosis switched to schizophrenia.”
Like her grandmother, she realized.
“He voluntarily admitted himself in a plea deal to avoid prosecution for sexual assault. Victim was a thirteen-year-old runaway.”
Nadine grimaced, the assault and plea deal reminding her of Arlo.
“And he just walked out of the facility?”
“After eighteen months, he set a fire and escaped during the evacuation.”
Nadine lowered her head, taking a moment to absorb this new information. A
nother rotting limb on her family tree.
When she lifted her gaze, it was to find the FBI psychologist scrutinizing her. It was interesting sitting across from another psychologist and watching him do Nadine’s job, observing and rendering an opinion on Nadine’s mental state.
Actually, it wasn’t interesting. In fact, it pissed her off.
Nadine gritted her teeth a moment, bracing. “Arleen told me she killed a man who owed her money and that Guy helped her move the body.”
“When did she tell you this?”
“Recently.”
She disclosed the rest of their conversation on the topic, which wasn’t much. She didn’t have a name or a year this might have happened.
Torrin now straightened, his hands folded upon the top of the interview table. His expression was open and earnest. It made her nervous. She suspected that whatever followed, she would not like it. “Nadine, we need your help.”
“So you mentioned, yet none of you have asked to see the comparison you requested.”
“Fukuda told me it’s a geo profile. Our profiler has already established the unsub’s—”
“Likely area of residence,” she interrupted. “Yes, I know. But as I explain to Special Agent Fukuda, this geo profile is the reverse, delineating areas where the crimes will likely occur. I used it to target Myakka River. Did he not share this with you?”
Now he was leaning forward, listening intently.
“I’d like to see that.”
“And here I thought you were more interested in my genealogy.”
“Yes. It’s relevant.” Torrin rubbed his neck. “Let’s have a look.”
She spent the next twenty minutes reviewing her findings. He never said a word until she finished.
“So, you believe we should search the parks along the coast for the dump.”
“But only as far south as Nokomis.”
“Hmm. And you associate the use of the cabin by Dun as similar to your mother’s use of the houseboat?”
“And the stables. My mother’s territory changed with her various jobs. But as you see, Myakka Park is well within this unsub’s target territory.”
“Yes.”
Torrin cleared his throat. And she prepared for whatever was sticking there.
“We are prepping to interview your mother again and would like you to accompany us.”
And there it was. Yet another reason they wanted her as an adjunct member of their team. They needed her help with her mother. She paused before reaching for the bait, wondering if her head was already in a snare.
“When?”
Twenty-Nine
Sharper than a serpent’s tooth
The ride up to Lowell on Tuesday afternoon took only forty minutes because the FBI flew them to the Marion County Airport. Ground transportation waited, and soon Nadine spotted the guard tower and then the high chain-link fencing.
Yesterday she had called her aunt Donna’s landline and reached her uncle, who confirmed that the FBI had visited and asked her aunt a lot of questions.
Donna returned her call as the prison came into view.
Nadine explained that the Bureau was working on the recent homicides in Sarasota.
“I read about them and it’s on the news. It reminds me of Arleen’s crimes.”
“Yes. It’s why I’m involved,” said Nadine. “I’m sorry, Aunt Donna, for all of it.”
“Oh, honey. None of this is your fault.”
Nadine pressed her lips together to keep from crying in front of the agent driving her. Aunt Donna filled the void.
“We’ll see you soon. Just as soon as I get back from Dallas. All right?”
Nadine’s voice cracked as she spoke. “I’d like that.”
She ended the call as they pulled into a separate parking area from the one Nadine had used. She followed the agents through security. The process was simpler when you traveled with the FBI.
They brought Nadine’s mother to the interview room. She wore her usual attire of pale blue with a white leg stripe, slip-on sneakers with no laces, wrist shackles and… lipstick?
It was lipstick. Nadine tried to remember a time she had ever seen her mother wearing makeup and could not come up with a single occasion.
“Dee-Dee! I’m so happy to see you.” She moved forward, shackled arms extended, to hug Nadine.
A guard stepped before Arleen.
“Nope,” he said.
“Prick,” she said, and took a seat.
Nadine moved to the table, sitting across from Arleen. The agents were already situated in the periphery, against the sidewall.
Nadine cleared her throat. “Hello, Arleen.”
Her mother turned to Special Agent Torrin. “She calls me ‘Arleen.’ Hasn’t called me ‘Mama’ since she was eight.”
Nadine hadn’t called her “Mama” since Arleen started asking her to take out the garbage.
“Well, Arleen,” said Torrin. “Thank you for agreeing to see us today. We hope to gain some insights from you.”
“‘Insights’?” Arleen laughed and thumbed at the agent as she looked at Nadine. “You hear this guy shoveling it? Wants my ‘insights.’ Couldn’t be bothered to come here during my trial or after my trial or any other damn time. But now he wants to know all about me.” She turned to the agent. “Told you last time, you are fifteen years too late.”
Her mother folded her arms, lowered her chin, and glared at Torrin.
They had discussed this on the flight. At this juncture, Nadine was to take over and ask the questions that the FBI failed with during the earlier visit.
Nadine lowered her head to remember the first question that they wanted her to pose.
“What’s the matter, Dee-Dee? They got something on you?”
“No. They don’t. I came because it’s an opportunity to see you. I missed last weekend because of this case.”
Her mother gave her an appraising look.
“Mama, I want to thank you for all the letters.”
Nadine hadn’t called her “Mama” in over two decades, and she had not been to the box in Tampa since before her last visit. She was certain it was just stuffed with mail.
Torrin and Fukuda exchanged a look. Clearly, they didn’t know everything, and she believed correspondence with Arleen was news.
Her mother’s brows lifted, and she appeared both surprised and pleased.
“Be nice if you wrote me back now and then.”
“Yes, I know. We’ve been very busy with this case. If we could get it solved, I’d have more time to write and to visit.”
“Maybe I could call you. They let me make calls, if you give me your number and permission.”
The thought of her mother being able to call her anytime, to stretch over the miles and land in her cell phone, gave Nadine a chill. She was never checking that box on the application form.
“Yeah,” she said. “And if I solve it, I get a raise. Then I could put money in your account every week.”
Arleen’s eyes lit up, and for just a second, Nadine felt guilty. Then she remembered her mother’s victims and the guilt dried up like a puddle in the sun.
The air in the room grew heavier, harder to breathe. She could smell the disinfectant used on the floors and the body odor coming from her mother. The stench made her dizzy.
“Mama, those two on the houseboat. Did you move them?” She was careful not to say those victims you murdered.
Arleen’s expression brightened at Nadine’s interest in discussing murder. “Well, if you mean from the dock, yeah. I took out the boat after they closed for the day. Drove downriver toward Sanford. When I finished with them, I pushed them off the back into the lake and then pulled into the marina down there. Folks leave boats there sometimes. I knew the place, used their hoses to wash out the insides and ditched the mattress in their dumpster. Took most of the night. Then I brung her back, clean as a whistle.”
“You cleaned all the boats back then, right?”
“Never cleaned
one like that.” She cackled, and slapped her knee, making the shackles clatter.
Somehow, Nadine held her “I’m interested” look.
“The marina buys all the cleaning stuff. Air fresheners, bleach and that blue junk for fabrics. It don’t take the color, but it gets the blood. Had it with me. Prep work, you know? After you make the kill, it’s best to get clear fast as possible. Remember that, Dee-Dee.”
Was Arleen really giving her daughter advice on how to get away with murder in front of the FBI? Yes, she decided, and her mother was showing off.
“Were they alive when you took them to the lake?”
“She was. Him, definitely not.” Arleen’s smile was chilling. Her mother flicked her attention to Torrin. “She never did take much interest in my hobby.”
Arleen turned back to Nadine and their gazes locked.
“There’s nothing like it, Dee-Dee. Nothing in this world. Maybe someday I’ll have more than my opinion on that.”
Had her mother just called her out to become a serial killer?
Nadine went back to the second couple with her next question.
“With Lacey Louder—”
“Who?”
“They found her in the St. Johns river in 2000.”
Arleen looked confused. Nadine’s blood chilled at the clear sign that Arleen couldn’t recall the names of the people she had killed. She didn’t care enough to learn or remember them.
“The working girl who was with the forest ranger.”
“Oh, that tramp.” She nodded, following Nadine now. Was it possible that she knew more about her mother’s victims than Arleen herself did?
“Why did you kill her separately from Henderson?”
She shrugged. “Seen them together more than once. But then my shift changed. Couldn’t get out there on the nights they were fucking, so I improvised.”
“Why didn’t you drop him in the river?”
“Too heavy and too damn far. You imagine dragging him all the way to the shore through that saw grass. Cut you up like grated cheese, or worse. Strain my back and be out of work? No thank you.”
Arleen had just complained about the exertion of disposing of her murder victims. Nadine felt sick with shame at her mother’s absence of humanity.
