Despite the sheriff’s observations about the obvious differences, Sam felt something familiar about the scene. He couldn’t pin down the gut feeling’s source. In Bradford County, the killer’s statement came across as bold and arrogant. The medical examiner’s report detailed numerous perimortem cuts that hadn’t resulted in death. The killer had wanted that victim to suffer. Here, the killer had let the victim suffer, but it didn’t seem as if that had been his intention. Aside from the bullet holes, she appeared in good condition.
“She probably never suspected a thing.” The sound of Jenn’s voice pulled Sam out of his thoughts. She walked up beside him. “I don’t think I could ever do a job like that.”
“Like what?” Sam asked, piercing his sister with a questioning look.
Jenn eyed him critically.
“How long have you been standing there lost in thought?”
His glare told her to get to the point.
In answer, Jenn motioned back toward the body where Dr. Mira Stratham stood taking about a thousand pictures on her digital camera.
“Doc S. says the woman’s probably a hooker or an escort,” said Jenn.
“How can you tell?” Sam asked. He swept his gaze over the body again from head to toe and back.
Most of the body was hidden in the confines of a long, thin black coat. She didn’t have much in the way of jewelry. Her hair appeared disheveled but healthy and well-maintained. Her nails were chipped from her struggles. Nothing specifically jumped out at him to back up the claim.
“The shoes,” answered the scientist. “Nobody comes to a park in the middle of the night wearing flimsy footwear like that.”
Sam studied the thin straps of the black shoes and silently agreed. Taking out his notepad, he started creating a new to-do list.
To Do:
Look up escort services.
“How did she get out here?” Jenn wondered, not speaking to anyone in particular.
“The killer must have brought her in a vehicle of some sort,” said Sam. “Did she struggle?” He addressed the question to Dr. Stratham.
“On first glance, no, but the medical examiner will be able to tell you for sure. I’m not seeing any signs of stun gun damage or injection sites, but there’s a lot we’re not going to see until the autopsy.”
Sam added a mental note to talk to the vice people. He hadn’t given prostitutes much thought, but he had assumed they stayed near populated areas so they could make the most money possible in an evening. Maybe the vice guys would be able to tell him if their victim was known in their circles.
“Is there anything useful in her pockets?” Sam asked. “Like a license,” he added wistfully. Murder victims found in the woods rarely came with identification. Sam had meant to check on that sooner, but since he didn’t have gloves, he left that to the experts.
Dr. Stratham carefully reached in and turned the victim’s coat pockets inside out. The right pocket turned up empty, but the left held a crumpled notecard. After taking several pictures, the scientist maneuvered the card into a large plastic bag before trying to smooth it out enough to read. The big block letters spelled out one word.
INNOCENT
“Guess that answers the question of a link,” said Sam.
The women nodded agreement.
“I could have told you that before,” Dr. Stratham noted. She bent down, picked up a small plastic evidence bag, and waved it under Sam’s nose.
“What is it?” he asked, not in the mood to squint.
“More gray dust-like particles,” said Jenn.
“Where did you find it?” Sam demanded.
“Right here.” Dr. Stratham reached over to the body and gingerly tugged at a piece of fabric until Sam saw the slit cut in the coat. “There’s another thin strip like this over there.” She pointed to a section several inches over from the one she was tugging on.
“What do you think it means?” Jenn wondered.
“Not sure yet,” replied the scientist. “Maybe it held something. I’m guessing whatever that something is, it must be the source for that gray substance we found at both scenes. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
I hope we never see it again.
Sam wasn’t fully committed to the thought. He wanted to catch the bad guy, but he knew that the odds of that happening without more bodies along the way were slim to none. The sight of his sister leaning over the body to listen to something Dr. Stratham said filled Sam with a sense of urgency. No matter what this woman did for a living, she was somebody’s daughter and friend and perhaps somebody else’s wife or mother. People would miss her. In the killer’s mind, she’d been innocent, so why was she dead?
Chapter 9:
Matchmakers
Samuel Kerman’s Apartment
Narberth, Pennsylvania
Unlocking the door to his apartment, Sam Kerman tried to organize his thoughts into an adequate excuse for the mess. Two seconds later, he gave up, sighed, swung the door open to let his sister enter ahead of him, and braced for her reaction.
Jenn halted one step in when she tripped over a running shoe he forgot to warn her about. The lights came on, illuminating her disapproving frown. Kicking the large shoe out of the way, Jenn turned in a slow circle.
Sam took in the same living room scene. It actually wasn’t too bad today. He had remembered to take the pizza box down to the garbage room and even emptied the recycling. Three half-finished water bottles occupied coasters at various points around the room. Work files covered every inch of the coffee table and most of the couch cushions. The mate to the shoe Jenn had kicked poked its head out from under the coffee table, flanked by an air freshener. Sports magazines overflowed from the corner. The controller to one of his game consoles lay upside down on the couch where he’d tossed it a few days ago. The remote lay facedown like a dead rodent halfway between the coffee table and the table holding the television. The room’s sole armchair sported his disassembled go-bag.
“This place is … an absolute wreck.” The slight pause Jenn put between the first and second halves of the statement reiterated her disgust just in case he’d missed it in her expression.
“Can I get you a bottle of water?” Sam didn’t expect her to take him up on the offer.
“No, thanks, I can’t eat or drink anything until tomorrow, or I’ll pop,” Jenn replied. “That buffet was amazing by the way. Thanks again for the treat.”
“Sure. Everybody should experience cheap, quality Chinese food when they visit Philly,” said Sam. “Make yourself comfortable.”
“Where?” Jenn asked pointedly.
After kicking off his shoes by the door, Sam closed and locked the apartment door and plotted a safe path to the couch. Gathering up the files from the nearest couch cushion, Sam created a stack and placed it on the coffee table. He did the same for the files on the other two cushions.
“Ta-da!” he announced, waving to the freshly cleared space.
Jenn chewed on her bottom lip.
“This is worse than I’d feared,” she muttered. She perched primly on the couch cushion nearest the door and fished her phone from the cavernous depths of her purse.
Sam didn’t mind. He figured the phone would keep her entertained for the next few minutes.
Like a baby with a pacifier.
The thought amused him as he headed for the bedroom to grab some extra sheets and blankets. Since he only owned two sets of sheets and one of them was already on his bed, Jenn would have to deal with the couch tonight. It made no sense to send her home to their parents’ place or to her college apartment. She would need to return to Ridley Creek State Park for at least the next two days, possibly more.
She’d better not nag the whole time, or I’m kicking her out.
Sam knew the thought had no teeth. Thirty-two or not, his parents would kill him if he tossed his baby sister out on her ear. Resigned to this fact, Sam stripped the dirty pillowcase off of the spare pillow and applied a fresh case he had just found. B
alancing two blankets and a set of sheets atop the pillow, Sam returned to the main room. His sister looked up at him with an evil grin.
“Do I want to know what that look means?” he asked cautiously.
“Yes, and I’ll need your credit card,” said Jenn.
“What? Why? What have you done?” The three questions nearly piled up on one another. Sam wanted to rush over, seize his sister’s shoulders, and shake the story out of her, but he knew that wouldn’t be necessary. She wanted to tell him, but she was delaying to make him suffer. His grip on the bedding tightened.
“Credit card,” Jenn repeated slowly. Her left hand rose, fingers wiggling to receive the card while her right hand tapped furiously at the phone keys.
“Not until you tell me what I’m buying,” Sam said. He circled around the coffee table to dump the sheets and blankets on the far end of the couch then plopped down beside his sister. Leaning over, he squinted down at the small text. He couldn’t see much, but the words “Matchmaker Miracles” told him enough. He groaned. “Not this again. Remember what happened last time I let you talk me into a stupid dating site?”
“This is different,” Jenn declared. She let her hand drop since she wasn’t getting the card until she convinced him. “That was a blind dating site, mostly for fun. You could use more fun around here.” She eyed the bare walls of his living room before returning her critical gaze to Sam. “This is serious. I made you a profile on Matchmaker Miracles. It’s a relatively new site, but it’s got great ratings and cool success stories.”
“Wonder who they paid off to get the ratings,” Sam muttered.
“Oh, don’t be a big baby,” Jenn scolded. “This will be good for you.”
“That’s what nurses say when they come at you with a needle,” Sam complained.
Jenn must have sensed the kill, for her hand popped up again and waved for the credit card.
Knowing he wasn’t going to have any peace until he caved, Sam reached for his wallet and fished out a card. As it brushed her fingertips, Sam pulled back an inch and issued one more warning.
“If I find weird charges on my credit card statement, I’m coming after you.”
Jenn’s eyes widened.
“‘Statement,’ as in paper statement?” Her voice sailed higher with incredulity. Looking pained, she shook her head. “Sam, you are such a dinosaur.” The look turned pitying as she heaved a sigh. “Let’s deal with this. Then, I’ll fix your banking situation.”
Snatching the card, Jenn started entering the appropriate information into the boxes to finish the profile.
“What’s wrong with my banking situation?” Sam wondered.
“There’s this little thing that’s been around for a few decades called ‘online banking.’ It’s very handy and easy to use, even for dinosaurs.”
“Don’t get sassy with me, you young whipper snapper,” said Sam, affecting his “old man” voice.
Jenn tried to keep a straight face, but failed and ended up laughing.
“You’re so weird.” Bringing her phone closer, Jenn squinted down at what she’d entered, presumably scanning for mistakes.
Sam stayed quiet. He didn’t want to mess with her concentration while she held his credit card in her hands. When she sat back with a self-satisfied smile, he repossessed his precious card.
“You’re welcome,” said Jenn.
“I’m not thanking you yet,” Sam said, trying hard for a gruff tone.
“You will,” Jenn assured Sam with a knowing smile. A few seconds later, she got serious again. “Now, let’s see about bringing you out of the banking stone age. Which bank holds your accounts?”
“I’m an FBI guy. We’re supposed to keep a low electronic profile,” Sam said.
“Low does not mean nonexistent,” Jenn insisted.
“You’re so annoying.” Sam recognized the statement as an unconscious surrender. He could face down bank robbers and murderers, but dealing with his sister always seemed to take more work. She’d always known how to get her way when it came to Sam or their father. Mom was the only one who stood a marginal chance of resisting Hurricane Jenn when she rolled full-force. Granted, many of the improvements she sought were beneficial in the long run, but she could be a pushy little thing.
***
The Killer’s Lair
Undisclosed Location
Was the notecard too much?
The thought bothered Andrew Novak. He wanted the murders linked, but he didn’t want to make things too easy for law enforcement. If he gave too many hints even the dullest pencils in the box would pick up on the fact that they’re being baited.
A pair of pleasant pings announced that a few of his programs had found something interesting. He always had about a half-dozen programs running in the background. Some searched for potential victims while others kept track of the names he gathered from various news sources. A third set of programs kept track of his siblings’ online activities. The internet had long been his strongest connection to the world. Information was one of the pillars of life. It made everything he did possible and supplied the bulk of his legitimate income.
The notification was a hyperlinked name: Samuel Kerman.
Curious, Andrew clicked the link and waited while several windows populated his desktop in a cascade fashion. The first box contained an old article about the first body dumped on Pennsylvania public lands. He had of course already read this article, but he skimmed it again anyway to discover what the program found intriguing. A tiny footnote in the last paragraph said the FBI had assigned Agent Samuel Kerman to the case. The next three boxes contained similar articles, but the fifth browser proved very different. A slow smile spread over Andrew’s face as he read the bright, cheerful words splashed across the top in peaceful shades of pink and blue: Matchmaker Miracles.
He had set up the site on a whim to gather information on people. The site’s popularity meant that it generated a tidy sum each month too, but he didn’t expect to keep it running much more than a year. The beginning history and testimonials were complete lies, but the match program Andrew had written actually worked well enough to generate real success stories within a few weeks. The site would celebrate its six month anniversary in a few days.
As a newcomer, it’s number of customers was paltry compared to some of the online dating giants, but Matchmaker Miracles was accomplishing what it needed to for Andrew. Because he had designed much of the site himself from scratch, he had backdoor entrances to every profile. Since his last visit to the website, seven new profiles had been created. The latest of these had caused two separate search programs to ping. Apparently, FBI Special Agent Samuel Kerman, poster boy for the feds on this case, was a 92% match for Andrew’s sister, Dr. Melissa Novak.
Mixed feelings rose in Andrew. The temptation to delete the agent’s profile or tweak the settings to hide the match battled the urge to see where things led. Melissa’s profile had generated a few dozen matches in the days since being formed, but she had only logged in once to check them and shown little interest so far in the men on display.
Andrew sat at his desk and pondered the situation. He could bury the agent’s profile or highlight it for his sister. Part of him didn’t want to involve her. They were at the very beginning of this game, but the man was still the enemy. If he veered too close to the actual truth, he’d have to go. That might end up hurting Mel, and Andrew really wished to avoid such an outcome. Still, having them go on a few casual dates could give Andrew an edge in terms of keeping track of the agent. Also, the gambler in him couldn’t resist upping the stakes. Life wasn’t worth living if it didn’t involve manipulating others.
Working behind the scenes like this could be a heady experience, like entering god-mode on a video game. People were endlessly fascinating. For the most part, they kept to predictable patterns, but a few managed to break the molds along the way.
A surprisingly strong protective instinct made Andrew stop and re-read the agent’s profile a few times.
He didn’t want to set his sister up with a psychopath after all. Common sense told him law enforcement jobs attracted those sorts from time to time.
Name: Samuel H. Kerman
Has kids: 0
Wants kids: maybe someday
Smoker level: never
Drinker level: occasional/social
Education: Master’s degree
Occupation: federal employee
Short description: I’m a fun-loving, easy-going guy with a good sense of humor, a strong work ethic, and a solid sense of myself. (Full disclosure: My apartment’s a mess, and I’m a lousy cook unless we’re talking pizza or pies. I enjoy working out. I don’t have pets, but I’m open to the idea of them.)
What I’m looking for: A woman with a beautiful soul who can be my lifelong partner. I want her to share my hopes and dreams, to challenge me, and to grow closer to me every day.
Andrew doubted the agent had written the profile himself. A lot of people needed friends or family members to kick them down the online dating road. He didn’t hold that against them. Over time, those persuaded to commit to the cause shaped their profiles with accurate representations of themselves. He wondered what the H. stood for. It shouldn’t be too difficult to find out. If Kerman had left so much as a baby-sized digital footprint, Andrew would find it.
All right, Agent Kerman, I’ll help you out, but the choice still belongs to Mel. How will you measure up? If you hurt her, there will be severe consequences.
Chapter 10:
First Date
Scratched Off Page 7
