by James Swain
“Don’t open your mouth again,” Wayne said.
Shutting her eyes, Vick prayed that he would finish quickly.
Chapter 49
The lightning was the final straw.
It lit up the gray sky and shook the property with a crash of thunder. The excavation team scrambled to the safety of their vans, while Doc threw Tuffy and Bones into the pack of his pickup, the animals cowering in fear. The search was on hold until further notice.
Linderman stood inside the barn, cursing. He should have quit right then, and caught the next plane to South Florida. If nothing else, he could help the police hunt for Vick, and perhaps pick up a trail which they’d missed.
But something told him to stay here, and give this a final shot. The bodies of Crutch’s mother and three sisters were somewhere in that pasture.
He walked over to Doc’s pickup and tapped on the window with his wedding ring. The window came down, Doc sitting at the wheel with Tuffy in his lap.
“What would you do in my situation?” Linderman asked.
“If at first you don’t succeed, ask for help,” Doc replied.
“Any suggestions?”
Doc took his wallet off the seat, removed a worn business card.
“These guys are good,” Doc said.
The card was for NecroSearch, a non-profit organization out of Colorado that specialized in finding clandestine grave sites, its members a Who’s Who of criminologists and scientists. The company logo was a human skeleton inside a coffin-shaped box.
“I’ll give it a try,” Linderman said.
He called from the barn. The company founder, Dr. Max Hellinger, answered the phone. Pavarotti’s rendition of Nessun Dorma was playing in the background, the sad lyrics mixing perfectly with the downpour. Linderman identified himself, and told the good doctor the problem he was facing.
“Let me be sure I understand your situation,” Hellinger said. “You have a pasture filled with graves, and you need to quickly determine which graves contain those of a woman and her three daughters.”
“Correct,” Linderman said.
“An interesting dilemma. The first thing I would need would be a profile of the killer. What can you tell me about him?”
“Our killer was a teenage boy named Jason Crutchfield. He was seventeen at the time of the killings. Physically, he’s rather small, and slight of build. He bludgeoned his family to death in the dining room, and dragged their bodies outside to bury them.”
“This pasture with the graves — how far is it from the house?”
“Approximately two hundred yards.”
“Are you standing in it now?”
“No, I’m standing in a horse barn next to the pasture. It’s raining heavily.”
Hellinger paused to digest the information. “The act you just described would take a great deal of physical exertion. Your suspect had to drag four bodies a good distance, then bury them. He would have been high on adrenalin from the killings, but that would have worn off. You can rest assured that he ran out of strength at some point, and dug shallow graves.”
“You’re sure about this?”
“Absolutely. Digging a hole is hard work.”
“How shallow would the graves be?” Linderman asked.
“Depending upon the consistency of the earth, I’d say between eighteen inches and two feet down,” Hellinger said. “That’s usually the norm.”
Linderman found himself nodding. It was going to be easier than he’d thought. The shallow graves in the pasture would be human, the deeper graves of animals.
“Would you mind holding the line?” Linderman asked.
“Not at all.”
He hustled across the yard to the vans. A window lowered to reveal the team’s captain eating a thick ham and Swiss sandwich.
“What’s up?” the captain said.
“I’ve got a question,” Linderman said. “How many shallow graves did you find when you scanned the pasture with the GPR machine?”
“Define shallow,” the captain replied.
“A foot and a half to two feet deep.”
“None,” the captain said.
The answer stunned Linderman, and a sickening feeling came over him. Had they just spent the past few hours looking in the wrong place?
“Are you sure?”
“Positive,” the captain said. “Rule one of looking for a body — check the shallow graves first. Most killers don’t dig very deep. It’s too damn tiring.”
His words confirmed what Hellinger had just told him. Linderman slapped his palm on the hood of the van and hurried back to the barn. Standing beneath the eave, he removed his cell phone and said, “You still there doctor?”
“I’m here,” Hellinger replied cheerfully.
“We’ve been looking in the wrong place.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. Finding graves on farms or large tracts of land can be challenging.”
“What would you suggest doing?”
“I would try another approach. How long ago did these killings take place?”
“Twenty-five years ago.”
“That’s a long time. Animals often dig up graves, and relocate bones and articles of clothing to their nests. Birds are particularly fond of doing this. I would suggest you climb into the trees and check the birds nests. If you find a scrap of clothing or a bone, you’ll know that the grave isn’t far away.”
“You want me to check birds nests,” Linderman said.
“Yes — is that a problem?”
“We’re having a bad storm.”
“I’m sorry, but I don’t’ know what else to tell you.”
Climbing into trees during a thunder storm was a risky proposition, but Linderman didn’t see that he had any other choice. Either he found the bodies, or he went back home empty-handed. He thanked Hellinger for his help and ended the call.
A quick search of the barn turned up not one, but two ladders, both of which were stored above the feed room, just out of reach. He convinced Doc to pull his pickup into the barn, and was able to pull the ladders down by standing inside the bed.
“What are you planning to do with them?” Doc asked.
“I’m going to look for birds nests,” the FBI agent replied.
“Why?”
“Because they might contain clues.”
“During a lightning storm?”
“That’s right.”
“With those? You’re crazy, my friend.”
The ladders were not in the best of shape. The first was made of old wood and had several loose rungs; the second of creaky aluminum, a perfect lightening rod. Would he rather die from a fall, or from two hundred thousand volts passing through his body? Choosing the latter, he hoisted the aluminum ladder onto his shoulder.
“At least wait until the storm passes,” Doc suggested.
“There’s no time.”
Linderman started to walk out of the barn. A blinding white flash accompanied by an ear-splitting crash of lightning halted his progress, and he retreated inside.
“That was close,” Doc said.
“You’re not making this any easier,” Linderman said testily.
“Can I make another suggestion? Why don’t you take a look inside the barn first? There are plenty of birds living year-round in here.”
Doc pointed straight up. Linderman craned his neck. In the dusty rafters above their heads were three large bird nests. The nests were round and heart-shaped, so perfectly constructed that they looked like works of art.
“Give me a hand,” Linderman said.
Extending the ladder, Linderman positioned it against the rafter containing the largest nest. With Doc holding him steady, he climbed up.
He poked the nest with his finger. Empty. He took another step and peeked inside. The nest was made of twigs and colorful scraps of paper. Convinced he’d found something, he pulled the nest apart. But in the end, it was nothing but garbage pulled from the trash, and his spirits crashed.
�
�Heads up. We’ve got company,” Doc said.
A crow was flying around the bar with a wiggling worm in its mouth. Linderman followed its ascent with his eyes, and saw the crow land on a nearby rafter, and shake itself dry. Done, it jumped into a nest where it was greeted by its chattering offspring. The walls of the nest were multi-colored, filled with tiny pieces of cloth and fabric.
Linderman leaned in, staring.
“Be careful, you’re going to fall,” Doc called out.
Linderman couldn’t help himself, and reached out to touch the nest. The fabric was sparkling with color. The graves were nearby, and he took a moment to look around the barn from his new vantage point. It contained four stalls.
“Let your dogs out of the truck,” Linderman said.
“What about the storm?” Doc asked.
“They’re in here.”
Chapter 50
It was time to get Wayne high.
Renaldo drove the teenager to an abandoned strip center in Lauderdale Lakes a block off Oakland Park Boulevard. The center was a casualty of the economy, the boarded-up stores boarded graying with age, the parking lot a minefield of pot holes. Nature was taking it back, one small step at a time.
Renaldo parked behind the center in the building’s shade and pulled out a small pot pipe. It was already filled with dope. He handed it to Wayne along with a lighter. The teenager seemed to know what to do.
“This is kick-ass stuff,” Wayne said in a high-pitched voice, the dope trapped in his lungs. “You want some?”
Renaldo put the pipe to his lips and took a small hit. He rarely smoked pot or drank, and would not have engaged in this ritual with Wayne, only the Program had demanded that it be done. Each of the Program’s steps was clearly spelled out. Step #7 said that it was important to keep the subject high once he had sex with his victim. By keeping him high, he was less likely to regret what he’d done, or was about to do.
Renaldo handed the pipe back to Wayne.
“Have some more,” he said.
Wayne made the bowl turn bright orange as he took another hit. From the trunk came the sounds of Vick thrashing around. After a few moments the noise stopped.
“Can she breath back there?” Wayne asked.
“Oh, yes. I drilled in air holes. She’s getting plenty of air.”
“You’ve put women in your trunk before, haven’t you?”
Renaldo turned sideways in his seat. Wayne’s question was more inquisitive than an accusation. Like the teenager wanted to know more about the things that he did. It made Renaldo think that a lasting bond was starting to form between them.
“Many times,” Renaldo replied. “I pick up prostitutes off the street, take them to my house, and play with them for a few days. They are my toys.”
“What do you do then. Let them go?”
“Hardly.”
“You kill them?”
“Yes, I kill them. I will show you the films of them dying, if you like.”
“Isn’t that a little harsh?”
“What do you mean, harsh?”
“You know, cruel. Why not just let them go? They probably wouldn’t tell.”
“But if they did, I’d go back to jail.”
Wayne finished the bowl in silence. The car’s interior smelled like an opium den, and Renaldo lowered the windows and flipped on the AC to its highest setting to blow out of the smell.
“You’ve been to jail?” Wayne asked.
“A mental hospital for the criminally insane.”
“Did it suck?”
“They kept me in a straightjacket most of the time.”
“You mind if I roll the windows back up? It’s getting hot.”
Wayne was covered in perspiration, while Renaldo was only sweating a little. He wondered if the teenager was having an adverse reaction to the pot. He rolled the windows back up by pressing a button on his door. The car instantly cooled down.
“When I got arrested, the prosecutor wanted to try me as an adult,” Wayne said. “I could have gone to prison for twenty years. I thought about jail a lot.”
“Would you kill to stay out of jail?” Renaldo asked.
“Yeah, probably.”
Vick had started to thrash around again, causing the car to shake. The desperate sounds were accompanied by a muffled cry for help. Renaldo had put a cloth gag in her mouth instead of using the plastic gag ball, a decision he now regretted.
“You sure she’s okay?” Wayne asked.
Renaldo stared at the teenager for a sign. “She’s fine. Did you like fucking her?”
“She was okay.”
“I was listening through the door when you were fucking her. I heard her say something strange to you.”
“You mean about Adam and the bayonet,” the teenager said.
Renaldo nodded. He did not want to pull information out of Wayne. The teenager had to give the information up. If he didn’t, Renaldo had a problem.
“Adam’s my older brother,” the teenager explained. “He died in Iraq.”
“Why do you think the FBI agent brought him up?”
“She was — aw, shit.”
A yellow and black banana spider had invaded the car while the windows were open, and had attached itself to Wayne’s shirt sleeve. Wayne lowered his window to let the spider out, only Renaldo stopped him.
“Kill it,” Renaldo said.
“I didn’t want to stain the upholstery,” the teenager said.
“Kill it anyway.”
The spider was soon a memory, its remains squashed against the dashboard.
“Continue,” Renaldo said.
“She was trying to cut a deal with me,” Wayne explained. “I used my brother’s bayonet to stab my mother’s boyfriend. She wanted to implicate my brother in the murder so the court would treat me differently.”
“I didn’t hear her offer to cut you any deal,” Renaldo said suspiciously.
“She didn’t. I figured it out. My lawyer wanted to do the same thing. My lawyer knew that my brother had sent me letters from Iraq that talked about all the killing he’d done, and thought the letters had influenced me.”
“Did they?”
The teenager shrugged. “Maybe.”
“Why didn’t you take her deal?”
Wayne grew reflective. He was different than the first two teenagers Renaldo had abducted for the Program, who were impulsive and hot-headed. Wayne was intelligent, and chose his words carefully when asked a question. Renaldo felt like he was talking to an equal when they spoke.
“I didn’t want her controlling me,” Wayne finally said.
Renaldo felt himself relax. It was the perfect answer.
“Would you rather control her?” Renaldo asked.
“Isn’t that what we’re doing?”
“We don’t own her mind.”
Wayne had to think about that. With his finger he scraped the spider’s remains off the dash and dropped them into the ashtray.
“How do you control someone’s mind?” the teenager asked.
“You must make them accept that you are the master, and they are the slave,” Renaldo replied. “It’s not as hard as you think. I will teach you.”
“Sounds cool. The pot made gave me the munchies. Can we get something to eat?”
“What are you in the mood for?”
“A burger would be good. And some french fries.”
Renaldo knew of a fast-food restaurant a few blocks away. As he started to drive away, the noise from the trunk resumed. He couldn’t go through the drive-through with that noise, and killed the engine.
“The lesson starts now,” Renaldo said.
He drew the Taurus from beneath the seat. Got out of the car, and went around back with the keys in one hand, the Taurus in the other. Wayne got out as well.
“You going to shoot her?” the boy asked breathlessly.
Renaldo shook his head and tossed Wayne the keys.
“Open the trunk, then stand back,” Renaldo said.
