Victim 14

by KJ Kalis

  On the right side of the bench was a pile of tools. Nothing fancy, just a few saws, a chisel, and a couple of hunting knives. Ollie bent over, his body complaining as he reached for a small shoebox that was on the lower shelf of the workbench. At one time, the box had been a glossy pink and white, holding a pair of roller skates that his then five-year-old daughter Willow had wanted for Christmas. Once she and her twin sister had left with their mom, there were very few traces left of them. The shoebox was one of the few things that remained. Ollie opened it up, turning to the side so the little light there was in the basement could penetrate the contents of the box. Holding it up, he gave the box a little shake, looking inside. A couple of wedding rings, a necklace, a watch, and a couple of pairs of earrings rattled at the bottom of the box. Seeing them brought back memories of each of the people that visited the cellar. None of them made it out alive.

  Closing the top of the box, Ollie set it back on the lower shelf, making sure it was in exactly the same spot as he’d found it. He took a deep breath in, exhaustion covering him, staring at what was around him. The only other item in the basement was a tattered olive-green upholstered chair in the corner. Ollie lumbered over to it and slumped down, extending his long legs out in front of him, his feet still covered by the boots he’d worn to work. He didn’t know why he was so tired all the time. It was as if he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders no matter where he went. It was probably because of Libby, he thought. That had become a common refrain in his mind, blaming his ex-wife for the condition of his life that was as tattered as the old chair he sat in.

  A moment later, Ollie felt his eyes close, his mind entering the haunted place that normal people would have called sleep. His mind went black for a little while — how long he couldn’t tell — but soon after, images of Libby and their twin daughters, Willow and Sage, started to emerge in front of him. He saw them smiling and laughing, but they were far away, just out of reach. In his dream, he ran after them, trying to catch them. When he finally did, out of breath and frustrated, he dragged all of them to the cellar. He yelled as he plunged a long serrated hunting knife into Libby’s chest. The yell brought him out of sleep. Ollie realized he was awake, his fingers wrapped tightly around the arms of the olive chair he’d nodded off in.

  Using the back of his sleeve, Ollie wiped his forehead, sweat pooled on his body from the dream. He pushed up out of the chair, pulling the strings for the light bulbs behind him, giving the chair in the corner one last look. Glancing at the calendar posted on the wall, a picture of his smiling twin girls at five years old attached with a rusty paperclip, he realized it was almost time. Five months and twenty-three days had passed since the last torso entered the water. Ollie pulled the last string on the bulb suspended above the ceiling and went up the stairs, plunging the cellar into darkness again.

  4

  Emily hadn’t slept well. The basic details of the torso killer case rattled in her head. Miner had gotten so frustrated with her twisting and turning that at some point in the middle of the night, he’d jumped off the bed and found a spot laying on a discarded blanket on the floor. Sitting up on the edge of her bed, Emily mumbled, “Sorry about that, buddy. It was a rough night.”

  Standing up, Emily stretched for a second, trying to work the kinks out of her body. Her regular boxing workouts had made her body longer and stronger, but she also had more soreness than before. Might be time to schedule a massage, she thought, heading into the bathroom. Brushing her teeth and pulling her hair back into a long ponytail, Emily tugged on a pair of sweatpants and headed downstairs. Mike was crashed out on the couch, his mouth wide open, clearly deep in sleep. Miner walked over to him and nudged at Mike’s nose with his own, startling him. Mike’s eyes half-open, Emily said, “Where’s Flynn?” wondering where Mike’s friend had gone. When she went to bed the night before, Flynn and Mike were still sitting at the kitchen table. She was a little surprised that Mike was still at her house. Alice must be working on a project, Emily thought, wondering why Mike didn’t want to spend time with his girlfriend.

  Mike coughed a little, blinked, and then looked at Emily, “He took off late last night. Said he’d be back this morning.”

  “He’s not working?”

  “He’s got a couple of days off. Just finished a big client project.”

  Emily nodded and went into the kitchen, the wooden floorboards creaking under her bare feet. She walked to the back door, disabling the alarm system, cracking it open and letting Miner outside. It was early enough that the full light of day hadn’t descended on Chicago yet. Cool air touched Emily’s face. Though humid, it was a nice start to the day. Slipping into a pair of flip-flops, Emily walked into the backyard, her toes quickly covered with cool dew on the grass. She bent over and found two ripe tomatoes. Better to get these before the chipmunks do, she thought to herself, giving the fruit a little twist to get it off the vine. She got back to the door at the same time Miner did, the damp from the yard leaving small wet dog prints on the floor as she followed Miner into the kitchen.

  Just as she was starting a pot of coffee, there was a knock at the door. Mike passed behind her. “Flynn,” he said, holding up his phone. “Just texted me.”

  Emily nodded, reaching into the cabinet for the coffee. After a night of bad sleep, she needed a cup of coffee to shake the cobwebs out of her head.

  Before she had a chance to start thinking about the dreams that plagued her, Flynn walked in. Unlike Mike, he looked properly prepared for the day. Clean shirt, clean jeans, his hair still damp enough to show the comb marks in it.

  “Good morning,” he said, setting a bakery box down on the kitchen table and shrugging his backpack off next to the wall. Miner growled for a second and then sniffed Flynn’s knee. Flynn plopped down in one of the kitchen chairs and looked at him. “You remember me, right? I was here last night. Remember? The one feeding you pizza?” Miner agreed to have his ears scratched and then turned away, walking towards Emily, giving her a look that said there were too many people in the house for his liking. He walked off, the noise of his nails tapping on the floor. Emily figured he was going to lay down on the dog bed in her office to get some peace and quiet. She wished she could do the same.

  “I come bearing good news and food,” Flynn said, standing up. The plastic bag around the bakery box rattled and crinkled as he pulled it off, lifting the lid.

  Mike leaned over, “What’d you bring?”

  “Donuts from Presti’s.”

  Emily smiled a little. Presti’s was one of the best Italian bakeries in the area. They were known for their bread and their cookies, but particularly their doughnuts. One Friday night a month, the bakery opened at midnight, as soon as the first doughnuts came out of the fryer, restaurant and moviegoers heading there for a sweet snack before a nightcap. Emily had done that one time with Luca, she remembered, pouring the first cup of coffee from the pot. She pulled two more mugs down, one for Mike and one for Flynn. Her stomach clenched. Flynn had come in, saying he had food and good news. Was it really good news or was it news that would set her off on an adventure she wasn’t sure she was ready to have?

  Might as well get to it, Emily thought. “Thanks for the doughnuts,” she said, looking down into the box, the sugary smell of vanilla glaze catching in her nose. As she took a bite, she said, “You said you have good news?” The words coming out of her mouth made it hard to eat, her throat tightening at what he might say.

  “Yep,” Flynn said, sitting down on a kitchen chair. “Remember how you asked me if there was a way to get in contact with one of the family members?”

  Emily nodded, walking over to the counter to get a paper towel for her fingers.

  “Well, we got lucky. Bradley Barker was online last night. I made contact. He’s game. Said he’d be grateful for the help.”

  Emily frowned for a second. “Who is this? What do we know about him?” The reality that Flynn made contact with some random person attached to the Tifton torso kil
ler case made her uncomfortable. She chewed her lip. Could this person be trusted?

  Flynn pulled out his computer from his backpack, licking the glaze off his fingers before touching it. “Remember what we were saying about the case yesterday?”

  Emily nodded.

  “Bradley’s brother, Sean, was body five – one. Same MO, same body drop in the Little Bayou Pond. He was found as the first body of the fifth year.”

  “Did they find all the bodies or are people assuming that all of the killings belong to the torso killer?” The question had occurred to Emily the day before, but she had forgotten to ask it. Seven years of killing seemed like a lot to get away with.

  “I’d have to check on that,” Flynn said, typing on the keyboard of his laptop. “At any rate, Bradley messaged me back within a few minutes. We went back and forth a couple of times last night. I explained the situation — that you sometimes will travel to help families get the justice they need. He’s open to help. Said local law enforcement and the FBI have done nothing. They tend to show up when a new body is found, rumble around for a week or two and then everything goes back to normal for the next five and a half months until another person is taken.”

  “You didn’t tell him who I am, did you?” The idea that Flynn might have given away her identity caused Emily’s stomach to clench into a tiny ball. Staying under the radar was one of the only ways she’d managed to keep out of the way of law enforcement. Many times, when she traveled to a case, the families didn’t even know she was there. She’d spend about twenty-four hours on the ground at the location, doing some research, before she let the family know she’d arrived. It was better that way. Once she had a chance to dig around locally, she’d meet the family. If they seemed overbearing or too controlling, she’d simply get in her truck and disappear.

  Flynn scrunched up his face, “Your identity? No way! I know better than that. Too many trolls on the Internet.” He looked at Mike, a half-smile on his face. “You know, hanging out with this guy has made me completely paranoid.”

  Emily smiled and felt her body relax. Knowing that Flynn was on the same page as Mike made her job a little easier. “Okay, so tell me a little bit more about the conversation you had with this guy last night.”

  Flynn reached into the box and pulled out another doughnut, taking a bite. “Well, he said the whole town is on edge because they are at the five-month and twenty-three-day mark. Everyone knows what’s coming. They just don’t know who it will be. When someone is taken, law enforcement and the FBI turn everything upside down for a couple of weeks, create a lot of chaos in Tifton, and then they leave. The people that live there are left to put the pieces back together as best they can.” Flynn put his doughnut down for a moment. “It’s a sad thing. I was thinking about that when I drove over here this morning. Can you imagine living in that town knowing that every six months someone is going to disappear? And then the disruption — law enforcement and the feds all over everything, making a mess, and then they leave.” Flynn shook his head. “It’s gotta be hard.”

  Emily nodded. After working in law enforcement for as long as she did, she knew that though most officers were there to help, some just liked to create a commotion and then go back to their own lives. That was one of the things she had learned to love about working in the cold case division. It was a place she was able to make a real difference. But no longer. Emily turned her head to the side for a second, staring out the window. She turned back to Flynn, “When these murderers have happened, does law enforcement take a fresh look at the old cases? Did Bradley happen to say anything about that?”

  “From what he said, it doesn’t sound like it. Sounds like for the first year or year and a half after someone disappears, they check-in when a new body is taken., But after that, they just walk away.”

  “So, in essence, they are only working the active cases. Anybody who disappeared more than a year or so ago, they aren’t that interested in.”

  “That’s what it sounded like to me,” Flynn said, nodding. “I mean, I kind of understand that. Not that I think it’s right,” he said, tilting his head, “but, I can understand how they might think it would be easier to solve fresh cases. You know, fresh leads, new evidence, that kind of thing.”

  Emily tilted her head, suddenly wondering how much about law enforcement Flynn knew. It didn’t matter. She didn’t need Flynn for the case. All she needed was Mike for tech support. “Let me see the message.”

  Flynn’s fingers ran over the keyboard and a few clicks later, he turned the screen toward her. On it, Emily could see the black border of the forum page, the title “Unsolved” at the top. In a little box in the lower right-hand corner of the page, Flynn opened the direct messages between his account and Bradley’s. Emily squinted at the screen as her eyes adjusted to the small type. She found where Bradley Barker replied to Flynn. It read, “Sure, we’d be grateful for any help we can get. Sounds like your friend knows what they’re doing. Can’t say the same about local law enforcement. Can’t speak badly about them either — not sure anybody but the feds could crack a case like this one. Been going on for too long.” On the next line, Flynn asked why people stayed in the city. Bradley responded, “It’s home. I’ve lived in Tifton my whole life. I guess we could run scared and move away, but we’d leave everything we’ve built here including friends and family and work. There’s trouble no matter where you go. At least we know what kind of trouble we have here.” On the next line, Flynn asked Bradley if there was anything he should tell Emily, though it didn’t specifically mention her name. It was the longest response from Bradley, “Just tell your friend that we’d be grateful if they would look into the case. It’s hard living this way. Almost like living in a war zone. And since no one’s been caught all these years, we have no justice. The worst part is we have no idea who might be doing it. No leads, at least none that any of us can find. It’s like sadness has taken over the city. Several families have moved away, worried about their loved ones, but I just can’t. My whole life is here, and I know other families feel exactly the same way. If your friend is interested, make sure they look me up when they get here. I’d be more than happy to show some Southern hospitality. I live on the outskirts of town.” There was an address listed on the next line.

  Emily leaned back in her seat. By the way that Bradley wrote the response, she could tell Flynn hadn’t divulged anything about her — including whether she was a man or a woman. That was good. Just the fact that Flynn had been that respectful felt like he gave her room to breathe. She didn’t say anything for a moment, her mind clattering on its own. Was this the kind of case where she thought she could make a difference? Flynn and Mike were right to some degree — there were parts of it that were definitely a cold case, particularly some of the earlier murders. In defense of the local law enforcement, she agreed with what Bradley said. The locals were hardly equipped to deal with a serial killer that had dropped a while series of bodies. That was definitely work for the feds.

  Standing up, Emily walked over to Miner’s food bowl, bent over and took a few steps down the hall, opening the closet door to refill it. Her mind was still working. So was her gut. She was waiting for the feeling that said to stay in Chicago or make the drive to Tifton. The dry dog kibble rattled in the bottom of the metal bowl as she scooped it up. Emily straightened, closed the closet door and walked back into the kitchen, feeling her eyes clear. “All right,” she said standing in front of Mike and Flynn, who were watching her from over the top edge of their laptop screens. Emily chewed her lip for a second, “Let’s give this one a try.” She noticed they both started to smile, but her words stopped them, “I’ll make the trip down there and do some digging, but no guarantees whether I take the case or not.”

  Mike nodded, his eyes wide. He looked at Flynn, “That’s normal. Emily never commits to a case until she’s there.”

  “How long of a drive is it?” Emily frowned.

  Flynn answered before Mike, “About thirteen hours
from Chicago, depending on how much you stop.”

  Emily nodded. “Okay. I’ll go tomorrow. That will give me the rest of today to wrap things up here and pack.” She glanced at Miner, “And play with my boy before I go.” She glanced at Mike, “You’ll stay here with Miner while I’m gone?”

  “Sure. And I’ll have Flynn on speed dial in case anything else comes up while you’re there.” Mike looked down at his laptop and then back at Emily, “I think you’ll be glad you took the drive down there. Not that I’d want to speak for you,” he said carefully, “but I think you’d feel bad if someone else disappeared and you hadn’t taken a look at the case.”

  Emily shook her head, “Because I’m such the sensitive type, right?”

  “I didn’t say that!” Mike said, getting up from the table.

  Emily turned to walk to the other end of the house to start preparing for her trip. “Not that you’re right very often, Mike, but I think you might be correct in this case.”

  5

  Early the next morning, Ollie woke up, his back so stiff he could hardly sit on the edge of the old bed he used to share with Libby. He sat for quite a while, staring at his feet, wishing he could still hear the pitter-patter of his twin girls in the house, their footsteps crisscrossing from the kitchen to the bathroom to the television and then up to see him. It had been one of their rituals before he and Libby had divorced — the girls would come running into his room and jump on him while he was still sleeping, waking him up. What they didn’t know is that he was usually awake long before they arrived but stayed in bed because he enjoyed playing with them so much. He’d roll over slowly, growling like a lion, and then tickle each of them until they ran off. Many times, Libby would be standing in the doorway, leaning on the frame, a sweet smile across her face. It all ended when she met Ned.