by Tim Kizer
If it turned out that Edward’s and Jeff’s phones had been connected at the same time to the same cell tower near the place where Helen Hinton had been killed on the night of December 11 of last year, Jeff would be in trouble, because that would suggest Jeff had been with his son when he murdered Helen.
When he reviewed the geolocation records, Aguero was disappointed to learn that from 7:23 p.m. on December 11 to 8:16 a.m. on December 12 Jeff Phillips’s phone had been connected to a cell tower near his house. During that period, Edward Phillips’s phone had been connected a cell tower near his place.
The fact that Edward Phillips had left his cell at home on the night he had murdered Helen Hinton indicated that he knew the police could use geolocation records to trace the movements of his cellphone, and Aguero had no doubt he had shared that knowledge with his father.
Jeff Phillips probably had an anonymous burner phone, which he used when he wanted to keep his movements secret.
On November 15, Aguero called Emily Phillips and asked if she had talked to her son yet.
“No, I haven’t,” Emily replied. “I’m sorry, Detective. I’ve been very busy. I’ll talk to him by the end of the month.”
It was clear to Aguero that Emily had no desire to talk to her son. Earlier, he had discovered that she had never visited Edward Phillips at the Allan B. Polunsky Unit.
The next day Aguero called Mark Hinton and asked if he was still trying to persuade Edward Phillips to tell him his partner’s name.
“Yes, I am,” Mark said.
“Have you made any progress?”
“No.”
“Did he admit he had a partner?”
“No. Did you find any evidence that his father was involved in Laura Sumner’s or my daughter’s murder?”
“No, I didn’t.”
Aguero told Mark where Jeff Phillips’s cellphone had been on the nights of December 11 and August 23, and then said, “He’s a very careful guy. I think he has a burner phone.”
2
Mark’s phone rang again two hours after Aguero’s call. He did not recognize the number.
“Hello.”
“Hi. Is this Mark Hinton?”
“Yes.”
“This is Douglas Fleming.”
“Hello, Douglas.”
Mark swung his legs off the bed and sat up.
“Are you still in Massachusetts?”
“Yes.”
“Great. I have good news for you, Mark. I decided to tell you the whole truth.”
“About what?”
“About the murder. You’re right. It was a ritual killing.”
“What was the purpose of the ritual?”
“I don’t want to talk about it on the phone. Let’s meet. Can you come here on Saturday?”
“Yes.”
He couldn’t meet Fleming on Friday because the visiting days for Fleming’s housing block were Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday.
“Can you do me a favor?”
“What is it?”
“I’d appreciate it if you put five hundred dollars in my inmate account.”
Five hundred bucks. He could afford that.
“All right,” Mark replied.
“They only accept checks and money orders. There’s a special mailbox in the administration building lobby. It’s marked Inmate Accounts. Put your check in that mailbox.”
Mark stood up and walked to the window. The lights of the city shone brightly. The rain had stopped. He could finally go sightseeing.
“Got it.”
“Thank you. Put my inmate ID number on the check.”
Fleming told Mark his inmate ID number, and he wrote it down.
“See you on Saturday,” Fleming said. “Goodbye.”
“Goodbye.”
Mark tossed the phone on the bed. Then he got dressed and went to explore downtown Boston.
He returned to the hotel at half past eleven. After checking his email, he spent an hour studying the text messages that Jeff Phillips and Sam Curtis had sent and received from July 1 to November 10. Mark searched the messages for “kill,” “murder,” “stab,” “knife,” “sacrifice,” “ritual,” “Helen Hinton,” “Laura Sumner,” “full moon,” and “Douglas Fleming,” and got no hits. Then he did a search for “dad,” “father,” and “son,” and found no matches.
3
The next day, Mark visited South Boston, East Boston, and Charlestown. While in Charlestown, he purchased a money order for five hundred dollars. He spent two hours in downtown Boston before heading back to the hotel.
On Saturday, Mark arrived at the Souza-Baranowski Correctional Center at a quarter past noon. He considered depositing the money order in the mailbox before meeting with Fleming, then thought better of it. He needed to make sure that Fleming wasn’t trying to swindle him.
When Fleming entered the visiting room, Mark waved to him and he waved back. He sat next to Mark and said, “How’s it going, man?”
“I’m fine.”
“I’m sorry I lied to you on Thursday.”
“It’s okay.”
“Did you deposit the check in the mailbox?”
“Yes.”
“Thank you.”
“You said Walter Kindred’s murder was a ritual killing. What was the purpose of the ritual?”
“It’s a body switch ritual, and it requires human sacrifice. Walter was the sacrifice.”
“How is this ritual performed?”
“First you make a human sacrifice. You have to stab each breast once and then cut open the stomach. The sacrifice can be any age and any gender. It doesn’t have to be a virgin. You have to do the body switch within six months of making the sacrifice.”
“What if you don’t do the switch within six months?”
“You have to make another sacrifice. To switch bodies, you need to press your head to the head of the person you want to switch bodies with, and say the incantation three times. Your head must remain pressed to the other person’s head until you finish saying the incantation. The incantation works only on full moon nights.”
“Do you remember the incantation?”
“No. It’s hard to remember because it sounds like gibberish.”
“What language is it in?”
“Some ancient language. I don’t know what it’s called.”
“Do you remember any words from the incantation?”
“I think the first word is naiz, and that’s all I remember.”
“Can the switch be reversed?”
“I suppose it can. You just have to perform the ritual again.”
“And you have to make another sacrifice?”
“Of course.”
“Who told you about this ritual?”
“A guy on a paranormal forum. His name’s Brent.”
“An Internet forum?”
“Yes. It’s called Paranormal Mysteries. Brent told me he’d found a body switch ritual in some old book, and asked if I wanted to try it. I said yes, and he emailed me the instructions.”
“When did he send you the instructions?”
“About three weeks before I killed Walter.”
Had Brent told Fleming about the ritual to see if it worked?
“Do you remember the name of the book where Brent found the ritual?”
“No. It’s a French book. Very old.”
“Did you ever meet Brent in person?”
Fleming shook his head. “No.”
“Do you know his phone number?”
“No.”
“Do you remember his email address?”
“No, I don’t.”
“Did you delete his emails?”
“Yeah, I deleted all of them.”
“Did Brent tell you where he lived?”
“He said he lived in San Diego.” Fleming paused. “I don’t think Brent is his real name.”
“What’s the forum’s address?”
“It’s very easy to find. Just google “paranormal mysteries foru
m.” Brent’s username is rogueghost. Are you going to contact him?”
“Yes. The human sacrifice—who is it made to?”
“Satan, I suppose. I’m sure God is against human sacrifice.” Fleming smiled.
“Why didn’t you switch bodies with a cellmate while you were in the county jail?”
“I couldn’t. I made a mistake. I was supposed to declare that Walter was a sacrifice right after I killed him, but I forgot to do it.” Fleming smiled sourly. “My whole plan went to shit because of one little mistake.”
“What was your plan?”
Fleming laced his hands together and said, “I wanted to switch bodies with a billionaire. These guys must be the happiest people on earth.” He looked at Mark. “If you could switch bodies with anyone, who would it be?”
“Samuel L. Jackson.”
“Good choice. He’s cool. I really liked him in Pulp Fiction. Have you seen Pulp Fiction?”
“Yes.”
“Are you really a writer?”
“Yes.”
“Can you send me one of your books?”
“Sure. I’ll send it when I get home.”
“Do you know if anyone else was killed the same way I killed Walter?”
“I haven’t looked into that.”
“Well, if I were you, I’d look into that. I’m sure Brent already tried the ritual himself.”
“I’ll look into that.”
“Let me know if you find someone who pulled it off.”
“Okay.”
“If Brent tells you the incantation, are you going to perform the ritual?” Fleming said in a low voice.
“No. Do your relatives and friends visit you?”
“My mom visits me every two months. She lives in Syracuse. My friends don’t visit me, but they answer my letters. By the way, do you want to be my pen pal?”
“Sure.”
4
Mark dropped the money order in the mailbox before he left the Souza-Baranowski Correctional Center. When he returned to the hotel, he signed up to the Paranormal Mysteries forum and sent Brent a private message saying, “Hey, how’s it going?”
None of Brent’s forum posts mentioned a body swap ritual. His latest post had been made on October 5 of last year.
Mark got no reply from Brent that day.
Chapter 31
1
Sam was on pins and needles, waiting for Eric Pruitt’s call. Fortunately, Pruitt didn’t take months to make the decision: he called on November 18, one week after visiting New Horizons’ office.
“I want to do the procedure,” Pruitt said.
“Very good.” Sam grinned. “I’ll schedule your son’s procedure for December second.”
“Can we do it next week?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“It’s going to take some time to find the guy who will swap bodies with your son.”
“Okay. December second is fine. By the way, how will I know that this guy is healthy?”
“I can give you a sample of his blood two days before the procedure.”
“I want to watch you draw his blood.”
Sam grimaced.
If he didn’t agree to let Pruitt watch, Pruitt would most likely back out of the deal.
“All right,” Sam said. “I’ll give you a call on November thirtieth. Have you told your son about the procedure?”
“Yes. You said it would be a white man between eighteen and twenty-five.”
“That’s right.”
“Is there any paperwork I have to sign?”
“No. It’s a verbal contract.”
“Okay. Thank you, Jake. Have a nice day.” Pruitt hung up.
Sam jumped up from the couch and raised his arms triumphantly, shouting, “Yesss!”
It would be risky to let Pruitt know where they held the guy who was going to switch bodies with his son, so they would have to draw the blood sample somewhere else. Sam’s and Jeff’s houses were out of the question.
How about Pruitt’s house? Sam didn’t like this idea. He preferred neutral territory.
A hotel room was an acceptable place. It would have to be something respectable; Holiday Inn, for example, or Sheraton.
Sam called Jeff and told him that Pruitt wanted to do the procedure. Jeff suggested celebrating the good news at the Sparrow bar in North Dallas.
Chapter 32
1
On Sunday, Mark called Chris Novak and asked if he had seen any old books in Jeff Phillips’s house. Novak said Jeff had a whole shelf of old books, some of which were over two hundred years old.
Two days later, as he looked at the knife used to kill Helen (now he was sure that it had been sent by Sam Curtis), an idea came to Mark. He could manufacture evidence incriminating Jeff Phillips by getting him to leave his prints on the handle of the knife. Then he could plant the knife in Jeff’s house. If Jeff was convicted of Helen’s murder, Edward would be exonerated.
On Saturday, Mark went to the Allan B. Polunsky Unit to visit Edward Phillips. He told Phillips why Douglas Fleming killed Walter Kindred and then said, “You were right. The ritual works only on full moon nights.”
“Who told Fleming about the ritual?”
“Some guy on an Internet forum. I think it was the Phillipses.”
“Did he tell you the name of the forum?”
“Paranormal Mysteries. I sent a message to the guy who told Fleming about the ritual. He hasn’t replied yet.”
“Can the switch be reversed?”
“Fleming doesn’t know.”
Phillips frowned.
“I don’t want to die.” Phillips cleared his throat. “I don’t want to die, Mark.”
“Your appeal hasn’t been denied yet.”
“Suppose I get a new trial. It’ll take a miracle for me to get acquitted.”
If he’s released on bail, he can simply flee the country before the new trial begins.
“I have an idea. If we prove that Jeff Phillips killed Helen, you’ll be exonerated.”
“How are you going to prove that Jeff Phillips killed Helen?”
“I haven’t figured that part out yet. I know he has no alibi for the night of Helen’s murder.”
Phillips stared at Mark for a long moment, and then said, “Do you believe God has a plan for everyone?”
“I don’t know.”
“Is my being executed for a crime I didn’t commit part of God’s plan? Was your daughter’s murder part of His plan?”
Ever since Helen’s murder, Mark had been wanting to ask his pastor if his daughter’s death was part of God’s plan. He had never done it because he was afraid he wouldn’t like the answer.
“What do you think?” he asked.
Phillips rubbed his chin and said, “There was a guy by the name of Ken Waters. He spent eighteen years in prison for a murder he didn’t commit. They made a movie about him. Hilary Swank was in it; she played his sister. His sister was an amazing woman. She put herself through law school just to help him get out of prison. Half a year after he was released, Ken fell from a wall and fractured his skull. He died two weeks later.” Phillips paused. “If he hadn’t been released from prison, he wouldn’t have fallen from that wall and might still be alive today.”
“It’s a sad story.”
“Sometimes I wonder if God put me through this to save me from a fatal accident.”
“Just hang in there, okay? I’ll do my best to get you out of here.”
“Thank you, Mark. Did you check on my mom?”
“Yes. She’s doing fine.”
“Thank you. Do you know what kind of car Jeff drives?”
“Cadillac CTS.”
“Do you know when he bought it?”
“No.”
“I want to know what kind of car he had on December eleventh of last year. Could you find that out for me?”
“Yes.”
“Thank you.”
On Monday, Mark wrote Phillips a letter, in which he inf
ormed him that Jeff had bought his Cadillac two years ago.
Chapter 33
1
“Do you have any plans for the weekend?” Sam asked. It was 8:13 p.m. He was running on a treadmill in a gym called Energy Fitness, which he had joined a month ago.
“I’m going to the movies with my cousin,” said Luke Gannon, who was on the treadmill next to Sam. Luke was twenty-one years old. He was white and was in great physical shape. He didn’t use drugs, which was one of the reasons Sam had chosen him to trade bodies with Eric Pruitt’s son.
“What are you going to see?”
“Some horror movie.” Luke got off the treadmill, wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, and said, “I’m going home.”
“Me, too.” Sam stepped off the treadmill. “Let me give you a ride.”
Luke lived about a mile from the gym and usually walked here. In the month they had known each other Sam had given him three rides home.
“Okay,” Luke said.
As they went to the locker room, Sam sent Jeff a message saying, “Be ready.”
When they walked out of the gym, Sam said, “It’s cold tonight.”
“Yeah.”
They got in Sam’s car, and as soon as Luke shut the door, Jeff, who was hiding in the backseat, clapped a chloroform-soaked rag over his face. Sam grabbed Luke’s arms to prevent him from using them. When Luke passed out, Sam took the phone from Luke’s pocket and removed the battery from it.
“Did anyone see him get in your car?” Jeff asked as they pulled out of the parking lot.
“No.”
Jeff put the rag in the duffel bag and injected Luke with one hundred and fifty milligrams of chlorpromazine.
Twenty minutes later they arrived at the Vagabond Motel, which was located in Dallas, three miles from New Horizons’ office. They parked in front of the room Sam had rented (he had paid cash to avoid the paper trail) and got out of the car. There was no one in the parking lot or in the hallway. They carried Luke into the room and laid him on a bed. Sam checked his watch. It was 8:42 p.m. He sat on the other bed, picked up the phone from the nightstand, and unplugged it.
Jeff brought in the duffel bag and took a coil of rope, a hunting knife, a pair of handcuffs, and a roll of duct tape out of it. He handed the rope to Sam, then cuffed Luke’s wrists and taped his mouth shut.
