by KJ Kalis
As her eyes adjusted, she saw a small check-in desk off to the right, much like what was at a full-service hotel, just on a smaller scale. A young woman was standing behind it, probably someone about Mike’s age, Emily guessed. “Good evening. Are you checking in?”
Emily nodded.
Before Emily could offer anything else, the woman interrupted, “Are you Emily Miner?”
Emily tilted her head to the side and nodded again, not sure what to say.
The woman smiled. “Your assistant called about ten minutes ago to let us know you were almost here so we could have everything ready for you. Welcome,” she said, “Let me show you to your room. Did you bring your bags in?”
Mike. He must’ve made the reservation under somewhat of an alias and then called them to let them know Emily was about to arrive. She’d have to talk to him about that. Not sure if she wanted that kind of help. It seemed a little creepy.
As Emily followed the young woman, she took a look around. The Tifton Center B & B was way more professionally run than Emily expected, with updated decor and the smell of cleaning products in the air. Emily couldn’t imagine how they survived. It wasn’t as though there was a lot of vacation traffic in the area. Tifton was too far away from main cities like New Orleans and Baton Rouge for that. The only thing they had to offer were the regular killings.
As soon as she thought about it, she realized that was it. The killings. Every six months, a flood of law enforcement would arrive in Tifton, with nowhere to stay, except the Tifton Center B & B. Emily almost laughed out loud at the clever nature of the business. With government expense accounts, the bed-and-breakfast owners could practically charge the feds any rate and it would be covered. With the regularity of the killings, the owners were virtually guaranteed a surge of income every six months.
But that might change if Emily was successful. If...
The young woman Emily was following pointed out some of the amenities as they walked to her room, “Over here to the left, this is our dining room. We serve breakfast starting at six o’clock and keep it open until ten every day. I think you’ll enjoy it. Everything’s homemade and if you have any special requests, we will be sure to take care of them.”
Emily hadn’t noticed the woman’s heavy southern drawl as she was so lost in her own thoughts, but it was there. This is definitely the deep South, Emily thought, suddenly feeling like a fish out of water. A tingle began to creep up her spine. She’d have to be careful. A northerner would stick out like a sore thumb in the small town. The only advantage she had was the town was used to getting outsiders in every six months to investigate the newest killing.
As the young woman led Emily up a wide set of stairs, she said, “You’ll have a private room at the end of this hallway. It has a lovely, attached bathroom I think you’ll enjoy,” she said, sticking the key card in the slot. Emily was surprised by that. Most bed-and-breakfasts weren’t as updated in terms of technology enough to use programmable key cards.
The young woman pushed the door open and flipped a light switch to the right of the door frame. A gentle yellow glow bathed the room. Straight ahead, there was a large king-size bed, covered in white linens with a blue afghan folded neatly over the foot of the bed. The young woman reached around to the right, “The bathroom is in here,” she said, flipping on the light. Emily looked in, seeing a clawfoot tub in the corner.
The woman stopped in front of her, handing her the key card, “Is there anything else I can do for you? Would you like me to send someone out to get the bags out of your car?”
“No, that won’t be necessary. I’ll take care of it.” As the young woman turned to walk away, Emily stopped her. “Does the key card work on the front door of the building as well?”
The young woman nodded, “Yes. It will be locked unless there is someone at the front door waiting to meet a guest.”
“Okay, thank you.”
As the door closed behind the young woman, Emily had the first chance to take a look at her surroundings without a tour guide. She walked over to the windows on either side of the bed, pulling the curtain back enough to peek outside. From her room, she had a good view of the truck. Directly below her room, there was a line of dumpsters. What was below was always good to know in case she needed to make a quick escape. Better to jump down and land on the lid of a dumpster than try to jump the entire way from the second floor without something to break her fall. Emily sighed, hoping her trip to Tifton wasn’t that kind of case.
Turning back to the room, Emily noticed the air-conditioning was blowing gently, keeping cool, dry air circulating. Nodding to herself, Emily realized she was surprised. The bed-and-breakfast was nothing like she expected. In addition to the bed, there was a small desk in the room, information on their Wi-Fi, and a big-screen TV mounted to the wall. The bathroom had fluffy white towels and bottles of shampoo, conditioner, and small bars of soap. “This might change my mind about bed-and-breakfasts,” she muttered to herself, pushing the key card into a pocket in the back of her jeans.
As soon as Emily stepped outside, the heat and humidity assaulted her again. She was still wearing the jeans, tank top and flannel shirt she’d put on early that morning when she left Chicago. It had only been a thirteen-hour drive, but she felt like she was a world away. As soon as she got to the truck, she stopped for a second, stripping off the flannel shirt and tying it around her waist. From inside the backseat, she grabbed her duffel bag, slinging it over her shoulder and then reached to the front, unclipping her backpack from the front seat.
As she slammed the door to the truck, she realized she was starving. Though she wasn’t sure how long her hunger would last in the heat and humidity, she lugged her bags back inside the front door where the young woman was still standing, working on a laptop. “Are there any restaurants around here? Any delivery services? I haven’t eaten in hours.”
The young woman looked up. Emily noticed she had a name badge that said Heather. “I’d be more than happy to get a sandwich from our kitchen for you if you’d like, or there’s a pretty good Mexican place down the road that delivers. Or, if you want to drive, I could recommend a place that has the best gumbo in the area.”
“The sandwich would be fine if you don’t mind. You can add it to my bill.”
“Yes, ma’am. I’ll have it up to your room in ten minutes.”
Emily nodded and walked up the steps to her room, sliding that key card in closing the door. Exactly eight minutes later, there was a rap on the door. “Miss Emily? It’s Heather from downstairs,” a voice called from the hallway.
Emily checked through the peephole before opening the door. It was a habit, probably not one she needed right now in Tifton, but helpful anyway. Heather was standing at the door, carrying a wicker tray with a sandwich and a bag of chips on it.
“I hope a BLT is all right? I added some chips and a cookie just in case you needed it.” From underneath her arm, she offered Emily a bottle of water. “A long trip can be dehydrating. Is there anything else I can get you?”
“No, thank you. That will do it,” Emily said.
Emily bumped the door closed with her hip. She heard it click behind her. Carrying the tray, she walked over to a small table and set it down. There wasn’t a good place to eat in the room, so Emily picked up the plate and sat on the bed, leaning against the headboard and folding her legs underneath her. The remote for the television was on the nightstand next to the bed. She clicked it on to watch the news. Weather, sports, some international stories… there was nothing about Tifton, at least not yet.
Emily tasted the sandwich. Surprisingly, it was good, the bacon salty against the sweetness of the tomatoes. The little bag of chips rattled as she pulled it open, popping one in her mouth, the potatoes crunching and sharp against her tongue as she chewed. Emily took a swig of water from a bottle she brought up to the room and glanced toward the window for a second. Getting up off the bed, she walked back to the door and bolted it from the inside. Knowing that
time was ticking before the next person was taken sent a shiver up her spine. No reason to take any chances, she thought, trying to reassure herself that the Tifton torso killer had only killed people from the Township over the last seven years. Emily didn’t fit that profile, but for some reason, it didn’t make her feel any better. Curling back up on the bed, she tried to take another bite of her sandwich, but it ended up feeling dry and lumpy in her throat. Just as she was pushing it away, her phone chirped. It was Mike. “Getting settled in?” the text read.
“Yes.”
“Have time for a call with me and Flynn?”
“Sure. Let me get my computer out. Give me two minutes.” Emily slid off the bed and grabbed her backpack. From inside, she pulled her laptop and the charging cable out, setting it up on the bed. She took another sip of water while she waited. The urge to get right back in her truck and head home was strong, stronger than it had ever been on any other case. I wonder why, she thought, trying to look at her surge of feelings objectively. The fear came back even more strongly, erasing the option to try to make sense of it. Before Emily could get lost in thought again, her computer beeped, some secret encrypted video conferencing software Mike had installed on her computer automatically opening on the screen. For a second, Emily almost laughed, thinking about the fact that most people used any commercial-grade video conferencing. Not Mike. He had to use a version that was the super sleuth variety.
As the call connected, Mike and Flynn’s faces appeared, Mike in front and Flynn standing behind. “How was the drive?” Mike asked, his face almost taking up the entire screen.
“Long. You know how it goes.” Although Emily certainly could have flown down to Louisiana and rented a car, there was something about the secretive nature of her work that prevented her from doing so. Having the option to just get in her truck and leave whenever she wanted to, night or day, gave her some comfort. There was nothing worse than having to travel back to the airport, drop off a car, check luggage and then wait forever just to board the plane and fly home. At least with her truck, Emily had some freedom. “What’s going on at home?” Just asking raised a wave of sadness in her.
“Same old, same old. You know, nothing new. Flynn and I spent the day digging through some cases we thought might be helpful for you.”
Emily nodded, “Okay, tell me what you’ve got.”
Mike waved to Flynn, who pulled up a chair next to Mike, or at least that’s what it looked like to Emily. Their heads were close together on the screen, like strange twins. Flynn started first, “Well, one thing to know is that torso killers are not unique. I mean, Tifton isn’t the first time that a serial killer has gone about dismembering bodies. It’s pretty normal.”
“How that is normal, I’m not sure,” Emily grunted.
“Well, I don’t mean normal, normal. I mean it’s a common practice for serial killers. I have a couple of examples for you. Recently, a torso that was discovered in 1979 in California has just been identified. How they managed to keep the tissue intact, I’m not sure…”
Mike glanced at Flynn, “That would be a good question for Alice.”
Emily nodded. With her degree in molecular genetics, Mike’s girlfriend was exactly the right person to ask, but it wasn’t something she needed to solve the case in Tifton. “Keep going,” she said, realizing trying to keep Mike and Flynn on track was going to be a challenge.
“Sure. Anyway, this torso pops up in 1979 in California and sat for decades. Nobody could figure out what happened. Before DNA identification, having no facial features or fingerprints made it nearly impossible for law enforcement to figure out exactly who the victim was. If you think about it, a body that’s only a torso doesn’t say much, unless there are scars or something like that. And it’s fairly common for torso killers to put their victims in water.”
Scowling, Emily said, “Why’s that?” The idea that torso killers would leave their bodies in water as a common practice seemed strange.
Flynn shook his head, “Honestly, I’ve got no idea, but what I can tell you is in doing a review of the cases over the last one hundred and fifty years, it’s a common theme. Not always, but frequently. That particular case in California led the police back to the woman’s husband. Bad marriage, apparently. Another famous case is a torso killer in Cleveland. That case was in the mid-1930s. Happened all in one neighborhood. That one is still unsolved. The police kept finding torsos of men in the neighborhood, but never figured out who did it.”
The idea that torso killers were fairly common surprised Emily. She wondered why there was no mention of that in her police academy training, although she didn’t have specialized training like she would’ve gotten at the FBI’s Quantico Academy. “What else do I need to know about the case here, in Tifton?” Emily said, looking at Flynn.
“The torso killer in Tifton has been at it for roughly seven years. I say roughly because in many cases, killers have initial victims that investigators never find and never connect to the case. It could be animals or other people they practice on, for lack of a better phrase, as they hone their craft.” Flynn shifted in his seat, “Sorry, that sounded a little gruesome, but I hope you get my drift.”
Emily nodded, “I get it. Keep going.”
Flynn smiled a little, “Whoever the Tifton torso killer is has a very specific schedule, as we discussed — every six months. Why that is, law enforcement hasn’t been able to figure out, though it’s not for lack of trying. Based on the information in the online forums, the torso killer seems to have somewhat of a profile, but it’s not as narrow as many other serial killers.”
That was curious to Emily, “The Tifton killer doesn’t have a type?”
Flynn cocked his head to the side, “It’s hard to say. First of all, you used the word ’he.’ We don’t know for a fact that the Tifton killer is male, although as we discussed while you are driving, it’s likely. I mean, think about it. Chopping a leg off of a person isn’t exactly an easy job. Even surgeons use power tools.”
Emily’s mind flashed to a story she’d seen on television months before, profiling the life of an orthopedic surgeon. What most people didn’t know was that orthopedic surgery was the bloodiest of all the subspecialties. The noises from the operating room sounded more like a mechanics shop than a hospital. She remembered the image of the surgeon on television. He didn’t have normal surgical scrubs on. He was dressed more like a butcher, a long waterproof smock over the top of his scrubs plus knee-high gators over his shoes and pants. Emily tried to shake the thought from her mind. “Yeah, I know what you mean. So, what you’re saying is you think based on the size of the project, if you could call it that, it’s most likely a man?” Although Emily agreed, she wanted to hear Flynn’s opinion. After all, according to Mike, he was the torso killer expert, at least in Mike’s mind, for whatever that was worth.
“I had the same question and wondered if you would, too. Mike gave me a hand and we accessed the medical examiner’s reports for the torso killings in Tifton. Knowing what we are up against, I thought it would be good to make sure I have all my ducks in a row.” He shifted in his seat a little and looked away for a second, as though he was checking something on his laptop. Clearing his throat, he said, “Based on what Mike and I were able to find, the medical examiner reported that the cut marks, or what he could see of them, didn’t look to be from a power tool. That’s an important point because the sheer amount of strength it would take to remove five different appendages — two legs, two arms, and a neck and head — is a physically exhausting process. Not to be gross, but you’d have to cut through skin, flesh, and muscle before you got to the bone and the flesh on the other side. I’m just tired thinking about it!”
Emily shook her head. She sighed and glanced at the abandoned tray of food next to her. Talking about dismembering a body certainly didn’t do anything for her appetite. She pushed the half-eaten sandwich aside but managed to take another sip of water, hoping it would settle her stomach. “All of that said,
you believe it’s a male that’s doing the killings?”
Flynn nodded. “Definitely. And there’s something about the timing. Something happened in this man’s life that causes him to relive it every six months. Why? I don’t know. I’m not sure anyone does. The other option is that law enforcement does but hasn’t revealed it yet while they try to catch him.”
“Were you able to find out anything about the location where he drops the bodies?” Emily remembered Mike had mentioned a pond, but it would be good to confirm the information.
“Yes, the Little Bayou Pond.” The screen flashed for a second, Mike pulling up a map with a star on it. Mike and Flynn had prepared for the call with Emily like they were giving a sales presentation. In some respects, Emily thought it was cute. She just hoped the information was accurate. Her life might depend upon it. Mike continued, “In each of the cases where local law enforcement has recovered a torso, it’s been left at the same pond. The first one was found floating.”
“Floating?”
Flynn’s face emerged on the screen again, “Yes. The first body belonged to Cory Hawkins. According to the case file, he’d been reported missing and gone for about three days when a fisherman went out onto the pond and saw something floating in the middle of it. I guess it took him a minute to figure out what it was and then he called for help. The notes in the case file said the fishermen mentioned the torso was so mangled it was hard to tell if it was human, or a piece of a dead animal, or a dead fish. The man said he almost didn’t call it in.”
Emily realized that was probably what the torso killer was hoping for. Not only was there a sense of vengeance on a person by severing their limbs in their head from their body, but it made disguising the crime all that much easier. She bit her lip for a second until Mike interrupted her thoughts.
“You’re chewing your lip. What are you thinking about?”
“Just thinking that dumping only a torso in the water would make it difficult for anyone to identify the body, especially years ago when there was no DNA testing. Imagine a nondescript chunk of meat floating around in the water, nibbled by critters. That had to be difficult not only for the investigators, but for the family.”
