by Blake Pierce
Bill clicked a remote and a couple of images appeared on the screen. One was of a taciturn-looking man in his fifties. The other was of the same man’s corpse stretched out on hardwood floor with a single brutal deep, roundish wound in his forehead.
Pointing to the images, Bill explained …
“Gareth Ogden was killed in his home in Rushville eleven days ago. The murder took place at about eight-thirty in the evening. He was killed by a single hammer blow to the forehead.”
Looking at Riley and Jenn, Meredith added, “This was the murder that the local cop there called the BAU about. She was very insistent, and I wound up talking to her myself. She was concerned about the resemblance of Ogden’s killing to the unsolved murders of an entire family that happened in Rushville some ten years ago.”
“That’s right,” Bill said. “I started looking into it, and this is what I found.”
Bill clicked the remote again, and a new set of images came up. A man and a woman lay in a blood-drenched bed, their skulls literally pulverized. The other two victims, killed in an identical manner, lay in their own beds—one a teenaged boy, and the other a girl who looked about ten or twelve years old.
Bill explained …
“While the Bonnett family lay asleep, an intruder crept into their home. First he bludgeoned the daughter, Lisa, to death in her bedroom. After that he crept to the room where her brother, Martin, lay asleep, and killed him too. Finally, he made his way to the parents’ bedroom. He bashed Leona Bonnett’s head in while she slept. Her husband, Cosmo, appears to have been awakened, and a brief struggle ensued before he became the final victim.”
Jenn Roston squinted at the screen and said, “It’s shocking, sure. But if there’s a connection between the murder of the family and Ogden’s death, I’m not sure I see it—aside from the weapon used.”
Riley nodded in approval. Jenn was a young African-American woman who had already proven herself to be a remarkably capable agent during her short time at the BAU. Riley and Jenn had worked together on several cases. Their relationship had been rocky at first but a lot of trust had soon grown between them.
Meredith said, “Explain, Agent Roston.”
Jenn pointed to the grisly images on the screen and said, “The Bonnett murders were remarkably brutal. It looks like each of their heads was repeatedly bashed, blow after blow. The killings were clearly carried out in a rage, for deeply personal reasons. Agent Jeffreys, could you show us those other pictures again?”
Bill clicked the remote, and the pictures of Ogden appeared.
Jenn pointed to the photo of his dead body and said, “Ogden’s murder was swift and clean by comparison. He died from what looked like a single hammer blow to the forehead. No rage was involved. His killing seems coldblooded and … what’s the word I’m looking for? Almost surgical.”
Riley was intrigued, and what Jenn was saying made sense to her.
“Yes, and murders with a hammer are actually pretty common,” Riley said. “It could be just a coincidence.”
Meredith asked Bill, “How big a town is Rushville?”
Bill said, “It’s just a little town on the Gulf coast, with a population of about sixty-five hundred. That’s part of what bothers me. They normally get virtually no violent crime there—just some aggravated assaults, burglary and thefts, and stolen cars. So if it is a coincidence, it’s a pretty weird one—a new murder committed with a hammer in a town like that, even after a long period of time.”
Jenn scratched her chin and said, “So what are you thinking—that a single killer has been dormant all this time? Isn’t that kind of a stretch?”
“Not really,” Bill said. “Are you familiar with the so-called BTK killer?”
Jenn shook her head no.
Of course, Riley knew what killer Bill was referring to, and she was interested in hearing what point he intended to make.
Bill brought up some more pictures showing the BTK killer’s bound, beaten, and strangled victims.
He said, “Dennis Rader was a classic psychopath—outwardly charming, a Scout Master and a president of his church congregation. But his murders were so brutal that he called himself the BTK killer—the initials meant ‘bind, torture, and kill.’ He killed four members of one family in 1988, then a single female the same year.”
Meredith added, “Then he vanished for three years before he killed again. He kept going dormant between his ten murders, sometimes going longer than five years with no activity.”
“That’s right,” Bill said. “During his active years he sent taunting letters to the media. Then he completely disappeared for ten years. He started sending letters again in 2004, and that led to his arrest and conviction in 2005, more than forty years after he’d started killing.”
Bill paused, seeming to wait for some response.
Meredith wrinkled his brow and said, “I see some similarities, but also some differences. If there’s a serial killer in Rushville, he’s not a publicity seeker. Remember, the BTK killer positively craved publicity, and he’d get quite irate when he didn’t get enough attention. Some of the photos you’re showing were taken by him and sent out to the media, along with crime scene souvenirs.”
Riley said to Bill, “Still, I see what you’re getting at. Not only did the BTK killer stay dormant for years at a time, but his MO changed. He started out as a classic ‘family annihilator,’ then changed to single serial victims. Maybe Rushville has got the same kind of killer.”
Bill nodded and said, “If so, those ten years between murders was just an unusually long cooling off period. The original murders might have been in rage, but maybe the guy found that he enjoyed it. Maybe he’s spent a long time thinking about how he could repeat it. We just don’t know what’s going on in that town, and I’d rather not take a chance on a thing like this never happening again.”
Riley studied her colleagues’ faces. Jenn still looked skeptical, but Riley sensed that Meredith agreed with Bill.
Riley asked Meredith, “Did the FBI get involved with the unsolved Bonnett killings?”
Meredith growled a little.
“No, the local cops tried to handle it until the case went cold,” he said. “And that might be a problem. When I talked to Carter Crane, the police chief down in Rushville, he insisted there was no connection at all. He was actually kind of defensive about it, and mad at the cop who called us about it. The chances of him asking for the FBI’s help are just about nil.”
Meredith drummed his fingers on the table for a moment.
Then he said, “Aw, to hell with it. We actually were asked to get involved by a police officer from Rushville, the young one who called—Samantha Kuehling is her name. I want you three to go down there anyway, and I’ll get a plane ready ASAP. When you get there talk to Crane personally, try to convince him that he might have a serious problem on his hands, and that he really needs our help. I’ll call ahead to give him a heads-up. Don’t expect a cozy welcome, though.”
As the meeting broke up, Riley felt newly energized—even better than she’d felt when she’d been enjoying her vacation.
What does that say about me? she wondered.
Was she more at home among the world’s monsters than among the people she loved?
She remembered again those words her father had said in that dream and also while he was still alive …
“You’re a hunter, like me.”
She sighed and thought …
At least I don’t feel like I’m in a cage anymore.
She called Gabriela to let her and the kids know she was on her way to Mississippi.
CHAPTER TEN
Riley flinched at the hot blast of air as she, Bill, and Jenn got out of the car in front of the Rushville police station.
She wondered …
Is it always this hot here this time of year?
The heat had actually been worse on the scorching tarmac when they got off the BAU plane in Biloxi. It had felt like walking into a steam room. Agents f
rom the nearby FBI resident agency had met them at the plane, turned over a vehicle for their use, scurried back into their own car with its air conditioning still running, and driven away without further to-do.
Riley fanned herself with her free hand as they walked toward the small, plain, red brick police station.
Summers could be hot in Virginia, but Riley couldn’t remember experiencing this kind of oppressive, humid heat there. She noticed that the pedestrians on the nearby sidewalk were moving slowly, like characters in some horror movie about people being under a spell or replaced by automaton-like aliens.
They clearly didn’t like the weather very much either.
At yet Riley wondered …
Does anybody in this town like much of anything?
As soon as they’d driven into town, she’d realized that Rushville felt and looked curiously dead and demoralized.
Riley was relieved to feel air conditioning as they walked on inside. She and her colleagues found themselves in a large open area with a bunch of desks. About eight or nine uniformed cops were sitting at their desks or wandering around—all of them male except for one small but formidable-looking short-haired woman, who appeared to be the youngest.
Is that Samantha Kuehling? Riley wondered.
In the front of the area, a grim-looking secretary sat at her desk doing her nails.
Upon seeing the new arrivals, the woman touched her intercom and mumbled something inaudible.
Immediately a uniformed man strode out of the office behind her—the police chief, Riley realized. He looked a little young for his job, and Riley sensed right away that he was defensive about it.
Riley and her colleagues took out their badges and introduced themselves.
The man crossed his arms and said, “I know who the hell you are.”
Ignoring Riley and Jenn and talking directly to Bill, he said …
“I’m Carter Crane, and I’m in charge here—or at least I like to think so. I’ll just tell you what I told your boss, Agent Meredith. You’ve wasted taxpayer money on a pointless trip, and you might as well drive back to Biloxi and fly on back to Quantico. You’ve got no business here.”
Beaming with triumph and obviously pleased with himself for putting three FBI agents in their place, he looked around at the cops in the room. Then he turned around walked back toward his office.
Bill said in a sharp, clear, but polite voice, “Chief Crane, please just give us a few minutes of your time.”
Crane turned around and looked at the three agents indecisively. He didn’t seem to know what else to say to exert his authority.
Not quite the “big dog” he wants to be, Riley thought.
Now Crane glanced around at the cops in the room a bit sheepishly.
With a soft growl he said, “Come on into my office.”
Bill made a move as if to follow him, but Riley touched his shoulder, stopping him.
Let’s not make this easy on the guy, she thought.
Crane seemed to her like the kind of man who deserved to be embarrassed in front of his team …
It might even be good for him.
She said, “Oh, no need for that, Chief Crane. I’m sure we can talk things over right here.”
Chief Crane gave her a startled look. Riley noticed a slight grin on Bill’s face. He obviously understood and approved of Riley’s gambit.
“OK, but make this quick,” Crane said, hunching over a little and shuffling his feet uneasily. “I’m in the middle of a busy day here.”
Bill said, “We understand that you had a murder here about a week and a half ago. A certain Gareth Ogden was the victim.”
Crane nodded.
Bill added, “And we understand that his murder bears some resemblance to a family annihilation that took place here about ten years ago—the mass murder of the Bonnett family.”
Crane was looking more and more uncomfortable. Meanwhile, the cops who were standing or sitting around them were gawking with curiosity—all except the young woman, who was smiling.
Yeah, that must be Samantha Kuehling, Riley thought.
The chief barked with nervous anger, “Look, there’s really nothing to all this. Aside from the use of a hammer as a murder weapon, there’s no resemblance at all between the crimes. The Bonnett family case went cold years ago, and we’ll probably never know who did it. This new murder was obviously committed by some drifter who came and went.”
“That might be so,” Bill said. “But we’d like to share some of our thoughts about it.”
As Bill started to explain the possible similarities to the BTK killer, Riley scanned the faces of the cops around her. She noticed all of them except the young woman were eyeing herself and Jenn somewhat warily.
Riley quickly realized that she was now in the Deep South, with all of its attitudes and bigotries …
Jenn and I are both women.
And Jenn’s black.
Crane kept sighing irritably and rolling his eyes as Bill went on explaining his theory, including the possible relevance of the BTK killer. It was obvious to Riley that Crane was determined not to believe anything Bill said.
Finally Bill told him …
“So you can see, all we want to do is make sure you don’t have a serious problem here.”
Crane scoffed, and his voice shook with anger.
“Oh, so that’s all you want.”
Crane looked around at the cops in the room.
“Hear that, guys?” he barked. “These goddamn Feds are here out of the goodness of their hearts.”
Most of the men chuckled cynically in solidarity with their chief—but not the woman, Riley noticed.
Riley felt a flash of discouragement. The way things were going, she and her colleagues were liable to have to fly back to Quantico today after all.
Riley thought fast about how to turn this situation around in their favor.
She remembered something Meredith had said to her during their phone call when she’d been on vacation—something Crane had told him about Samantha Kuehling …
“Just some bored small-town cop looking for excitement.”
She also remembered what Meredith had said during their meeting this morning—that Crane was “mad at the cop who called us about it.”
Riley smiled to herself.
Now she knew exactly how to really push Crane’s buttons—and maybe even change how he was dealing with them.
She looked over at the woman sitting at her desk and called out …
“What are your thoughts about this, Officer Kuehling?”
The woman’s eyes widened at the sound of her name. Riley was relieved that she’d correctly guessed her identity.
Picking up his cue to go along with Riley’s tactic, Bill said to the woman …
“Yeah, come on over here, Officer Kuehling. Talk to us about it. Give us your opinion.”
Looking both embarrassed and thrilled, Kuehling got up from her desk and walked toward them.
The male cops looked thoroughly dumbfounded now—but none of them more so than Chief Crane. Riley could well understand why. Not only had Riley and her colleagues known the name of the only woman on his force, but they were more interested in her thoughts than they were in his own.
When Kuehling joined the group, Bill asked her, “What can you tell us about Gareth Ogden’s murder?”
Kuehling shrugged a little and said, “Well, quite a lot, actually.”
She pointed to a youngish man who was still sitting on the opposite side of her desk, looking as nonplussed as the rest of the men.
“My partner, Officer Wolfe—he and I were the first on the scene that morning. We’d just gotten a call from a local paperboy who’d found the body.”
Riley nodded, silently encouraging Kuehling to continue.
Kuehling said, “Well, Dominic—Officer Wolfe—thought right away that the killer was some drifter who had come and gone.”
Riley said, “So goes the prevailing theory, it seems. Wh
y do you think differently?”
Kuehling’s brow wrinkled with thought.
“I guess it was the murder weapon, mostly. I could tell by the size and shape of the wound that it was either a claw hammer or a rip hammer. One of the first things I did was check the victim’s tool chest. And his whole set of hammers was hanging there, looking as clean as a whistle.”
Riley was already impressed by Kuehling’s methods and her powers of observation.
“And there was no other weapon left at the scene?” Riley asked.
“No, there wasn’t,” Kuehling said. “So the killer took it with him when he left. Maybe he threw it away afterwards, but I somehow doubt it. More important, he showed up there with the hammer. Doesn’t that suggest premeditation? I mean, what kind of a drifter wanders around carrying a hammer everywhere he goes? It just doesn’t make sense to me.”
Riley asked, “Was there any evidence of robbery?”
“None that I could see,” Kuehling said. “The chief still thinks robbery might have been a motive, like maybe the killer took some money Ogden left lying around that we don’t know about. But …”
She hesitated, seeming a bit unsure about whether she really dared to directly contradict her boss.
Then she said, “Why wouldn’t he have stolen anything else in the house? He didn’t even take Ogden’s wallet. I don’t get it.”
Bill said, “So you’re worried the culprit isn’t through killing?”
“That’s right, I don’t think he is,” Kuehling said, sounding more and more self-confident. “And I think he lives right here in Rushville—and he’s probably somebody everybody knows. And I think …”
Her voice faded for a moment.
Then she said quietly, “I think he also killed the Bonnett family ten years ago. Agent Jeffreys, what you said right now about the BTK killer makes sense to me. I think our killer is like that. He’s been thinking about the Bonnetts all these years, and he’s been wanting to do something like that again this whole time. Something in him finally snapped, and he took another victim’s life, and he isn’t through yet. He won’t be through until we stop him.”
