by Susan Lund
"I never knew," Tess said.
"They're just plain criminals. The whole bunch. But Mom's sister married a Kincaid and so she overlooks little things like criminal behavior."
The two of them laughed at that. Tess could see Mrs. Carter diminishing the bad behavior of the Kincaid clan. She'd always admonished Michael when he said anything bad about Eugene.
"When I first started dating Eugene, my mother was so happy despite how much older he was. Michael was furious. Dad was still alive then, but he was always somewhere else, hunting and fishing, so I doubt he even knew."
"He died quickly," Tess said, remembering the story of how, a decade earlier, he’d had a massive heart attack. He’d been hospitalized, but never made it home again.
"Yeah, he collapsed in the garage and the ambulance came and that was it. We went to see him in the hospital, and he died that night. Michael became the head of the family after that, but he moved away to Seattle and got married so Eugene was it for men in the family. I think Michael didn't like that Eugene got so many of my dad's things when he died, but Michael was away at college and then with the FBI, so those things went to Eugene. Most of his tools and his hunting equipment."
"Your dad was a big hunter," Tess said, remembering being over at Kirsten's playing with the tents and fishing gear when they were young girls, before Tess moved to Seattle. A few times, Mr. Carter had taken them to the lake to fish.
Then Tess had an idea. "Did your dad ever have a crossbow?"
Kirsten shrugged. "I have no idea. He might have. He was really into that stuff. You'd have to ask Eugene, since he and Michael split all that stuff." Then Kirsten frowned. "You don't think Eugene's the one who shot Michael?"
Tess felt a shiver go through her. "Of course not," she said quickly and forced a smile. "Did Eugene sell the hunting gear? Maybe whoever bought it used it."
"I don't remember a crossbow, but if there was one, he would have kept it in the shed on our property. I doubt he'd sell it if he did have one."
"Which shed?"
"In the back yard. There were a few rifles and some camping equipment. Fishing gear. If Dad had a crossbow, maybe Michael got it. You should ask him or my mom. She'd know."
Tess made a face. "I don't think I could ask your mom that. I wouldn't want to start her worrying about it. She has enough on her mind without worrying who might have bought a weapon and used it against Michael."
"Yeah, I can just see her now, pulling her hair out over it. She's happy the two of you are together, though. She really likes you, Tess."
Kirsten smiled and it was so warm and genuine, it made Tess feel happy.
"I'm happy the two of us are together too. Michael's a good man."
"He is," Kirsten said. "He really misses his boys and having a family. I know it's been really hard for him after they split. Plus, that boy who was murdered really hit him hard."
"It did."
"That's what caused his PTSD. My mom is worried that he's not following his doctor's orders about being involved in the cases in Paradise Hill."
"I know," Tess said, feeling extremely guilty about her involvement. "We're both far too involved, considering he's on leave and I'm just a reporter."
"You're not just a reporter," Kirsten said and squeezed Tess's arm. "You're a crime writer. You should write a book about the murders in Paradise Hill. Get published."
"I'd like to one day. Right now, and don't say anything, but I'm thinking of applying to the FBI to become a Special Agent."
"No," Kirsten said and pushed Tess on the arm. "Seriously? Did Michael put that idea in your head?"
Tess smiled. "I thought about it after I graduated, but at the time, I had an internship at the Sentinel, so I did that instead. But I've always thought about the FBI's Behavioral Sciences division. What happened to Lisa has always haunted me."
"Me, too. And I heard they found some images of her at John Hammond's old garage where they filmed the porn?" Kirsten visibly shivered and hugged Baby Lou more tightly. "I swear, this world is so disgusting. She was probably one of their victims, right?"
"She may have been. We know that Zoe and Melissa were. And that Janine woman and now, Patrice."
"How many others?" Kirsten shook her head, an expression of horror in her eyes.
They sat in silence for a moment, both thinking of Lisa and that night she went missing.
That's where it had all really started for Tess, Michael, and Kirsten. All three were still feeling the repercussions.
At that moment, Tess's cell beeped. It was a text from Michael, saying he was finished at the police department and was getting a ride from Special Agent Nash.
"I should to go," Tess said and gathered up her bag and cell. "Michael's done at the station and will be home soon. We've got a lot of stuff to go over for the article I'm writing."
She stood; Kirsten remained seated, the baby asleep on her shoulder.
"Come back anytime for a visit before you leave. I'm here most of the time unless I go out shopping."
"I will. Take care and say hi to Phil for me."
Tess bent down and kissed the baby's head.
Then she grabbed her coat and slipped on her boots. She waved once more at Kirsten and left, eager to get home and hear what Michael had learned at the station.
Chapter Twenty-One
Michael took the steps two at a time up to the front door of the Paradise Hill Police Station.
He said hello to the duty officer at the front desk.
"Hey, Pete," Michael said and gave the man a salute. "How's it going? Slow day?"
"The usual," Pete replied. "You here to see the big man?"
"I am," Michael said and signed the roster. "Consultant on the cases."
"Good man," Pete replied. "We can use all the help we can get."
Michael nodded and took the stairs to the second floor. He said hello to Doreen.
"Hey, Doreen," he said, eager to go inside and start work. "Chief Hammond ready for me?"
"He is," she said and rose from her desk. Michael waited while she knocked on the door. "Michael Carter's here to see you," she said, opening the door a crack.
"Tell him to come on in," came Chief Hammond's voice.
Michael went inside and sat in the chair across from Hammond. The man was munching on some Doritos from an open bag on his desk.
"How are you today, young man? Feeling up to this?"
"You bet I am," Michael said and rubbed his hands together in anticipation. "I've been off work now for too long."
"Your arm's still in a sling, so technically, you should be off on sick leave, but I'll let this slide. You have an eye for these things. Here are the records," Chief Hammond said, and handed Michael a thick file. "The box over there contains the print records. This is for the year the girl from Idaho went missing, so you can cross reference the dates."
Michael took the file and opened it on the desk, flipping through a few pages to get oriented to the kind of data it was and how it was presented.
"Can you get someone to carry that box to the empty desk I'm using?" Michael asked. "I'm still out of commission."
"Sure," Chief Hammond said, and picked up his phone. He spoke to Marsha and a few moments later, she entered the room and picked up the box, smiled at Michael, and left the room with it.
"Thanks again, Chief. This will help build the timeline."
"My pleasure," Chief Hammond said. "Glad to have an extra set of eyes on it—especially ones that are trained for this kind of work."
"No, thank you," Michael replied. "Honestly, if I had to spend the next three weeks at home doing nothing but watching television and surfing the internet, I'd go crazy."
He left Chief Hammond's office and went to his own little cubby hole in an empty corner of the big stock room at the end of the hall. Doreen had plopped the file box on the side of the desk and was standing there, waiting for him to arrive.
"If you need anything, let me know. There's coffee in the break room, but
I'm not sure how fresh it is. Feel free to make a fresh pot if you want. I don't drink it at this time of day so it's up to you if you want any good stuff."
Michael smiled at her and sat down, opening the file in his hand. "I will. Thanks for everything."
She left him alone and he turned to the box of files, sorting through them to see the order and mentally picking which dates to check first.
It took a while, but he finally found the right files.
It was exhausting work, but he managed to get through them all.
Of the eighteen girls they had identified as potential victims of the Paradise Hill child serial killer, Eugene had been working on ten of the days—but so had John, Ron, and Daryl.
While it wasn't impossible that Eugene had done the abductions, it was less likely. It would have required doubling back and not being seen by anyone. There was always one of the three older men in or near the town where a girl went missing. Eugene was somewhere else except in two cases, and then, he was farther away so less likely that it was him.
There was no way—no way—that four men were working together abducting girls in Washington, Idaho, and Oregon.
Michael knew of only one other case where three men had worked together; that trio had been unstable, one turning on another out of jealousy. It was usually two men, with one being dominant and the other a submissive follower.
He grew frustrated as he considered the dates. The evidence was all over the place, making it seem as if all four men were involved in at least some of the cases.
What was he missing?
While he was in the middle of a file, Special Agent Nash entered the stock room, and came over to Michael's makeshift workstation. He plopped down in front of the desk.
"You look tired," Michael said, putting down the document he was examining. "Case getting to you?"
Nash rubbed his forehead. "I've been looking at some of the images from Hammond's porn room. Always makes me despair for humanity."
"No doubt," Michael said. "I try to avoid that if I can, but sometimes you can't. What have you found so far?"
"Hammond was an equal opportunity pornographer. He's got kids, boys and girls, dogs, grown men, teenage girls… Makes me sick to my stomach. What happened to all these people? The kids?”
"Yeah, it's a mystery," Michael said. "Who were the kids?"
Nash nodded. "We know Lisa was in some of the images, but there are other girls and boys. One boy in particular appears several times. You can't see his face, but it's clear he's only three or four years old."
"Who would John have access to?" Michael rubbed his chin, thinking of the family and how kids all played together in the Hammond house because they had such great toys in the basement—foosball, ping pong, even a pinball machine. "Which kids played with Garth? He was my age, but we didn't hang around together."
"Maybe he used Garth to attract neighborhood kids, whom he then groomed for his porn," Nash suggested.
"Garth wouldn't have to be part of it," Michael replied, nodding in agreement. "He could be the magnet. Pedophiles often use their own kids to bring victims to the house. Who did Garth play with? Check that out and you'll probably find a couple of kids who might be victims. Often, kids don't understand that what they're doing is wrong or illegal and they don't tell. They're either threatened or just don't think it matters. We know that John Hammond threatened Serena. He probably threatened other children to keep quiet."
Then he thought of Daryl Kincaid. He’d had a son as well. Eugene. Eugene had only lived with Daryl for five years, but he could have been in those images.
Michael could believe that Daryl Kincaid was quite happy to use Eugene in his child porn images. Maybe that's why the one boy's face was never shown. If so, it would explain a lot.
A lot.
A frisson of excitement went through Michael at the realization that Eugene was possibly one of John Hammond's and Daryl Kincaid's first victims, being forced to perform in the porn room beneath the old garage.
The more he thought of it, the more Eugene fit the profile—except that he wasn't in the locations when the girls went missing. That didn't mean it was physically impossible for him to have done the deed—the distances between the locations and Paradise Hill were all manageable if a man was intent on making it work.
Still, he tried to follow the evidence instead of making the evidence fit his hunch. It was far easier to see John or Daryl—or even Ron—as the killer.
"God, it makes me physically ill." Nash glanced away and took in a deep breath. Then he turned back and glanced at the file Michael was looking at.
"How’s the work going?" he asked and leaned forward. "And might I add that you're technically not supposed to be working at all."
"I’m checking the records from Hammond Cartage to match dates that our suspects were delivering with the disappearances.”
"Any hits so far?"
Michael shrugged, not yet willing to admit he had Eugene as a suspect. "All three men could have been suspects for any number of the murders."
"A serial killer trio. Very unlikely, but anything's possible, I guess."
"It is possible. To me, it's less likely that Ron was involved, but that's just my gut."
Nash shook his head. "And maybe your relationship with his daughter?"
Michael shook his head. "Nah, I felt this way before we became involved."
"I say it was John, myself." Nash raised his eyebrows. "The man is a textbook case."
"Except he cried," Michael replied. "He was crying at the end. Most serial killers don't cry—not even when they're being executed."
"They don't," Nash acknowledged. "They don't feel culpable. They don't feel remorse.”
“They feel justified," Michael added. "Their victims are just props in their fantasy life. With pedophiles, children are just tools to be used for their pleasure. They don't recognize the child's humanity."
"We have pictures going back twenty years. Hell, thirty or more years, based on some of the timestamps. Hammond had a darkroom he used to develop the images. It was dismantled and in boxes, because the stuff they did recently was all digital, but the techs found the chemicals and trays, and projectors in storage, so we know he was developing his own images back before computers.”
Michael leaned back and stretched his shoulder, grimacing at the stiffness. "I knew these men when I was growing up, but they never approached me or anyone I knew. There were no whispers about them. It's hard to believe this all happened under all our noses, but it's true."
Nash shook his head. "Even in a tiny place like Paradise Hill. You wouldn't think it would be big enough to have so many perverts—especially not a couple of serial killers."
Michael picked up the file of dates he'd matched up with deliveries Ron, John, and Daryl had made.
"Potentially three, if we go by this."
"Three?" Nash took the file and flipped through it. "Yep. Looks like any of them—or all of them—could be involved. That's one for the textbooks."
He placed the file down and then checked his watch.
"You need a ride home? I’m going for a bite to eat and then I’m driving up to Seattle for the weekend. Need to get away for a while."
"I understand. Actually, if you don't mind, I’ll take that ride," Michael replied.
"Meet me downstairs and I'll take you home," Nash said. "I have to run to my office for a moment."
"Okay."
Nash left the office, leaving the case file on Michael's desk. Michael didn't hesitate. He stuffed the Hammond Cartage file with Eugene's dates in his briefcase, as well as the police file and FBI file on the case. It was against protocol, but he'd make sure to return them first thing in the morning. For at least twelve hours, he and Tess could pore over the files and examine the documents. He knew Tess would eat it up, being able to see real working case files.
She'd find it as interesting—and damning—as he did.
Chapter Twenty-Two
His last delivery
to Easton on Friday went as planned, and he drove to the diner, parked his van, and went inside, ordering a burger and fries for supper and paying with his credit card. The truck stop was busy that time of night, so no one paid any attention to him as he collected up his meal and went to his van to eat. He chowed down quickly, then took his bike to Roslyn, where he'd parked an old clunker he'd rehabilitated over the year, using some plates he'd stolen from one of Hammond's old vehicles.
It wasn't too far from the playground where Elena and the other girls usually spent their evenings.
His heart rate was up as he walked through the darkening forest to his spot, watching them play. He had to take care of business while he watched the kids, because there was no way he could be in control of himself while he was hard. When he was finished, he cleaned himself off and stuffed the used tissues into a pocket.
When the girls left, he followed along as he had before. This time, he made sure he circled around and waited on the far side of the mobile home so the girls wouldn't see him in the forest, just in case they were looking for him.
He was in luck. It appeared she was letting herself into the place; it was dark inside.
While her head was down, as she removed her key from a pocket, he crept up behind her, lunging out of the darkness to knock her in the head before she even knew what hit her.
Cold-cocked.
She didn't put up a fight, or even make a sound. In the darkness of carport, he was practically invisible.
He carried her through the brush, stopping to use his ball gag so she wouldn't make any noise, zip-tying her hands to prevent her from struggling if she woke up before he got to the vehicle.
Luckily, she didn't, so he didn't have to strike her again.
He wanted her alive.
As he drove the second vehicle to Cooper Lake, he thought about how much money he could make taking video of what he'd do to her. He knew lots of places on the dark web where he could sell it to others who appreciated his work.
He wouldn't stay for long that night—just long enough to get her all fixed up and ready for him the next day. He needed to get back to Easton, pick up his truck and get home.
