DRAINED

by Suzanne Ferrell

  “It’s not your fault,” the older dark-haired nurse said. “You got your orders and did your job. It’s just so sad this turned out the way it did.”

  That was his mother. A woman who used her talents to teach others, make their lives better. She’d be proud of him now. Using his art and scientific skills to make something useful out of human trash.

  29

  Do you really think the killer will try staging another body just to get more attention?” Brianna asked Aaron when they’d finished clearing the drinks from the table.

  The group had needed a little breather from all the information they’d gathered about the serial killer—especially Paula, who started coughing and wheezing a bit. Katie had helped her into the bedroom for another of her breathing treatments and then a nap. Matt took the moment to go into the office and give Jake Carlisle and Frank Castello updates on the situation by conference call.

  “C’mon.” Aaron took her hand and led her into the living room, lowering them both onto one of the leather sofas. Stanley immediately jumped onto the other side of her and snuggled into her side. She sank her fingers into his wiry fur and stroked him slowly, as much for her comfort as his.

  “The simplest answer to your question is, yes,” Aaron said after he’d draped his arm over her shoulders and pulled her a little closer so she fit right into his side. “Unfortunately, both Carson and Jake said there would be another body or more before we catch him. This guy has had a plan and a point to make since the day he took your friend Mia. Now that he has our attention, he wants more than the police to see what he’s done. He wants the city, even the whole world to acknowledge how smart and lethal he is.”

  “So, you think Steroid Kyle is already dead?”

  “I do.”

  She didn’t know this young man, had never met him, but she’d hoped they could save him. It made her sad to think they couldn’t.

  They sat quietly in the fading afternoon light. With her head on his left shoulder, the steady beat of his heart comforted her. Despite the horrible things she’d seen in the past few days, the grief over losing a friend, and the fear that others like Paula might be in danger, she’d never known such peace as she experienced with Aaron. His steady calm and constant dependability gave her strength.

  “Who were you texting earlier?” Brianna asked after a while, not really wanting to break this little bit of peace in a horrific situation, but her curiosity, as always, got the better of her.

  “Jaylon,” Aaron answered, his hand slowly stroking up and down her upper arm. “I asked him to contact the East Side Hope Fellowship church and get a list of their volunteers.”

  “That’s a good idea.”

  He gave a little shoulder shrug beneath her head. “It’s a starting place. No one was wearing a badge when we visited that shelter the first night, so I’m assuming they don’t have picture IDs on any of their volunteers…”

  “But if Jaylon can get drivers licenses on them, Paula might be able to pick out the man she saw with Art,” she finished for him, seeing the path his thoughts were taking.

  “It’s a long shot. We can also cross-reference the list at some of the other shelters and see if any names pop up in more than one place.”

  “What if he used aliases?”

  “He might. We’ve already established he’s smart, tenacious and plans ahead. But he’s also arrogant. Thinks he’s God and can decide how people’s blood should be used.”

  Brianna snorted out a laugh. “I mean, who does that? That’s like saying, you’re not using your bones right, let me take them and give them to someone else.”

  Aaron’s deep chuckle rumbled under her ears and she giggle more.

  His phone rang.

  “Crap,” he muttered, pulling it from his pocket, the brief moment of relaxed fun gone. “What’s up Jaylon?”

  As he listened to his partner, Aaron’s body tensed.

  “Where?” he asked.

  Brianna didn’t have to ask what was wrong. The angry look in his eyes and the muscles clenching in his jaw as he got the details, told her all she needed to know. They’d found the next victim.

  “Okay, we’ll meet you there.” He slipped the phone in his pocket and undraped his arm from around her then stood.

  “Where did he leave the body this time?” She followed him into the kitchen, grabbing her coat as he got his.

  “Where would you leave a former linebacker in this town, if you wanted to make a statement?”

  “The stadium,” she answered. “No way is that going unnoticed by the media.”

  “Oh, it gets better.”

  “What’s up?” Matt asked coming in from the office.

  “Another body. At the stadium this time and the bastard called one of the television stations.”

  “Oh, no,” Brianna said, covering her mouth.

  “Yeah. It’s going to be a fucking media circus.” Aaron placed both hands on her shoulders. “As much as I like your take on things and how much you’re already involved in the case, you don’t need to come this time. Some of those reporters might remember you from the sex-ring trial. It’ll be hard to keep your name out of it if that happens.”

  She knew he had a point, but since that case, she’d kept a very low profile in person and on social media. Her hair color was its more naturally dark blonde color and she’d changed the style. Dressed in jeans, a sweater and dark jacket, she doubted she’d really stand out.

  “I’d still like to come.”

  “Okay. You stick close to me and like with Art, you can try to get video of the crowd. I have a feeling our guy is gonna be there tonight.”

  “And Stanley?” she asked with a glance at the pup wagging his tail at their feet.

  Aaron shook his head. “This time he stays here.”

  * * *

  The place swarmed with cops, camera crews and gawkers when they arrived.

  “Great,” Aaron muttered, parking behind the line of police vehicles along the drive to the stadium. The patrol unit had also closed off West Third Street to help control the gathering crowd and preserve the crime scene as much as possible. He sat still for a moment contemplating how best to get Brianna safely past the horde of news people.

  Another cruiser pulled up beside them and out stepped two uniformed officers—one male one female—he’d worked with on another case. And because the senior officer was a stickler for rules and insisted all her partners follow protocols even down to their uniforms, they wore the standard issue jackets and police hats. Which gave him an idea.

  He rolled down his window. “Sergeant Wilson,” he called.

  The fortyish brunette stopped midstride to see who had called her name. Turning on her heel, she marched over to his car. “Detective Jeffers.”

  “I was wondering if you had an extra coat or hat in your cruiser? I need to take my associate into the crime scene, but I don’t want her looking conspicuous,” he said nodding towards Brianna, who leaned forward and nodded at the older woman.

  Wilson’s eyes lit up. She’d been on the extra uniformed security detail at the courthouse during the trial and quickly recognized Brianna. “I bet you don’t,” she said with a lift to one brow. “I think I have an extra coat, and you can borrow my hat.”

  A few minutes later, Brianna was dressed partially as a policewoman, and in the fading light, her jeans would be mistaken for uniform pants by anyone not looking too closely.

  “Keep your eyes forward and walk on the side of me furthest from the camera crews, okay,” he instructed her.

  “Yes, sir,” she replied, and he could see her trying not to grin at him.

  The ruse worked. They cleared the crowd, media and other officers in a direct route to where their killer had posed the former football player lying almost draped across the steps leading up to one of the stadium entrances. Once again, facing east. He’d been dressed in a uniform from his college days and in his arms, he held a football.

  “Just like we thought. Kyle Dandr
idge,” Jaylon said as they neared. He stood a few feet from the body while Ramos and her crime scene team worked the area.

  “Scrubbed clean?” Aaron asked, already knowing the answer.

  “Head to toe. Just like the others.”

  “And the blood?” Brianna asked.

  “Ramos said it was exsanguination like the last two times. Definitely our guy.”

  Special Agent Carson Smith wandered over from the crime scene. “A little different this time.”

  “Oh? How?” Aaron asked.

  “Investigator Ramos said the ligature marks on the wrists and ankles were thicker this time. Probably old-fashioned leather ones, instead of cloth he used before. And two sets of puncture marks. One mid-chest, as well as another set on the back of his neck. Both equivalent with a taser.”

  Jaylon wrote that down on his pad. “Probably had to tase him twice to subdue him because he’s only twenty-six and still pretty muscular.”

  “He wasn’t out on the street long, then?” Brianna asked and all three men exchanged looks. “What?”

  “Dandridge was one of the top draft picks in his class. He signed a very lucrative contract with the Bears, but he got hooked on steroids in college and after two years in the pros, he was washed up halfway through his third. That was what?” He looked at his partner for clarification.

  “Two years ago,” Jaylon said, shaking his head slowly. “It was like he was top of the heap one minute and POOF, gone the next. Wondered what happened to him. Must’ve blown through that sign-on money in a hurry.”

  “Still, two years with his kind of money, he’d still been using, so his muscle mass hadn’t had time to reduce.

  “So, instead of an easy target, your killer picked one that required more effort to take him down. And thicker restraints to keep him still for the blood draining process,” Carson said, shoving his hands into his front jeans pockets and drawing them all back into the current situation. “He chose this target for the sensationalism his discovery would bring.”

  Aaron nodded, clenching his jaw muscles a moment before replying. “We knew he’d want attention as this thing went forward. His first two murders didn’t get him the desired effect.”

  “First two that we know about,” Carson said.

  “You really believe there were more?” Jaylon asked. “We haven’t found any bodies lying around anywhere else.”

  “You also haven’t found the actual crime scene, either.”

  “You mean he’s keeping others he’s killed at the place where he drained their bodies?” Jaylon asked. “Like in a deep freeze from our female victim?”

  “Mia,” Brianna said quietly, looking both sad and angry.

  Aaron wanted to pull her into his arms and comfort her, or at least squeeze her hand, but couldn’t. Not here, not now.

  Carson took a few steps back from the officers and tech milling about doing their work. Aaron, Brianna, and Jaylon followed.

  “What I believe is, your man is way too skilled in his process,” Carson said in a slightly lower voice so others passing by wouldn’t hear. “He befriends his victims. Convinces them to trust him, or in this new case subdues them with little to no effort. Drains their blood almost completely and prepares them this elaborately. All this tells me he’s had quite a bit of practice.”

  “Months?” Aaron asked with a sinking feeling.

  Carson gave a half-shrug. “Maybe years.”

  “Fuck,” Jaylon whispered.

  Aaron couldn’t agree more.

  “Why would he be keeping the bodies?” Brianna asked, her eyes a little wider and a slight pallor to her face.

  “They’re his trophies,” Carson said.

  She cocked her head to one side, the way Aaron caught her doing when she didn’t quite understand something, which wasn’t often. “I thought Art’s medals and Mia’s violin were his trophies?”

  “They were.”

  “Because he couldn’t keep the bodies, themselves,” Aaron said, following the profiler’s logic.

  Carson nodded.

  “That’s sick,” Brianna whispered, arriving at the same conclusion.

  “So, when we find this place that’s his kill spot, we’ll find more bodies?” Jaylon asked.

  Again, Carson nodded. “I can’t be a hundred percent sure, but odds are you’ll find them, or part of them there.”

  * * *

  The trio of plain clothes men standing off to one side were the important ones. All the other police were no more than worker ants, going about from one spot to the other.

  The tall red-headed one hadn’t been at the vet’s unveiling. The other white man and the black guy had been. He’d bet anything they were the lead detectives. The policewoman with them seemed to be listening as they spoke, but she didn’t look to be too important. No captain or anything.

  He held the camera on his shoulder as if trying to get film for the news like the others around him did.

  “Did you hear someone called into the local channels before the police found him?” one of the beat reporters said, holding his cell phone up to get a video of the football player’s body.

  “They won’t be able to sweep this one under the rug like the others,” he said, hoping to get more talk going.

  “Others?” an old journalist asked him.

  “I heard over there,” he pointed ambiguously in the direction of other camera crews, “that this isn’t the first body the cops found like this.”

  “Really? Who said that?” a woman reporter asked, the others all jotting that down or trying to see who he might’ve gotten the information from.

  He shrugged. “Don’t know his name, but he said something about two others posed like this.”

  That news sent several of the vermin news people scurrying over to the other group of camera crews.

  So easily manipulated.

  Smiling inside, he wanted to tell them everything but couldn’t. They’d have to get the police to tell them about the blood and the sunrise. That is, if they’d even figured it out themselves.

  He wasn’t worried. After today, the press would ensure his work made the front page and headlined the nightly news. And when he made his next statement, there would be no doubt about his purpose. They’d understand that people who abused the gift of life needed to be punished and reborn, their gift reclaimed for society.

  Now it was time to get onto his next donor.

  30

  While the three professional lawmen discussed more technical things, Brianna decided to get on with her own assignment. Pulling her phone out of her jacket pocket—she left her bag in Aaron’s car as no policewoman would be carrying one while working—and pretended to dial up a number. On the drive from the safehouse, she’d already set her phone to open to the video mode and made sure the flash feature was off.

  Aaron wanted her to capture the crowd and media people on site again—even though they hadn’t had time to really look at the first one yet. He hadn’t said as much, but she suspected he didn’t want the killer zeroing in on her for her own safety. Aaron treated her like both a partner and someone he wanted to protect.

  If asked, she wouldn’t admit it, but privately she liked that he did both. It made her feel like his equal and special at the same time.

  Stepping back, she put the phone up to her ear as if she were making a call. With the phone focusing on the far left edge of the crowd beyond the crime scene tape and barrios, she filmed, counting to thirty before adjusting her stance to move the camera a mere centimeter. By the time Aaron walked over to where she stood, she was staring out at the Cleveland Port parking lot and Lake Erie just beyond.

  “How’s it going?” he asked, stopping near, but not too close, the way a superior officer would.

  She pulled her phone down, hit the off button. “I think I got the entire crowd, but I really couldn’t see. I guess we’ll find out when we get back to the safehouse.”

  He looked at his watch. Another thing she liked about him. No one she k
new still wore a wristwatch. Aaron did.

  “It’s not yet ten,” he said, as Jaylon joined them. “We need to talk to Dandridge’s family before this hits the nightly news.”

  Jaylon took out his phone and typed in something. Aaron’s phone pinged.

  “That’s his parents address,” the younger detective said. “Want me to come with?”

  Aaron shook his head as he looked at the address. “No, it’s near where I’m staying right now, so I’ll do the notification on my way there. How about you head back to the station and find out what you can on his life since he dropped out of football.”

  “Social media, arrest records, etc. Got it.” Jaylon nodded to them both and strode off in the direction of his car.

  “Jaylon hates doing death notifications,” Aaron said as they went in the opposite direction to where they’d left his car parked. A lot of the media was breaking up, since Investigator Ramos and her team had taken the body to the morgue.

  “Having to do it twice this week, I can very much understand,” she said as they climbed in his SUV. “I have no idea how you do it so frequently.”

  He stared out the window, watching the crowd thin to a few stragglers and one lone cruiser. The two officers pulling down the crime scene tape and moving the last gawkers on their way.

  “It’s the worst part of my job,” he said and Brianna laid her hand over his on the console between them. “If I could put it off on someone else I would. But I can’t. And these people are about to get the worse news of their lives. If it were me, I’d want to hear it in person, not over the phone or on TV. The families deserve the same respect.”

  Finally, his jaw set with the steely determination she’d begun to associate with Aaron, he put the car in gear. “No use putting it off. I’ll tell the Dandridge’s of their son’s murder and do the only thing I can to give them a little comfort.”

  “What’s that?” she asked.

  “Promise them we’re going to catch the son-of-a-bitch who killed Kyle.”