“For one reason: the victims died quickly without being tortured. A male killer generally takes pleasure in watching his victim suffer. He tortures them with the idea that if they give in to him, they might live. It’s just a theory. Most times, we assume serial killers are men.” Jemimah felt like a graduate student trying to impress her professor. She looked up. At least he was acting interested in what she had to say.
“I was leaning toward the ranch-hand being our killer,” Romero said. He pulled open a desk drawer and took out a pair of nail clippers. He put them back when she shot him an ‘are you interested or not’ look.
“Charlie Cooper? I don’t think so,” Jemimah said. “Charlie was a druggie, spent a lot of time stoned. Most druggies are incapable of serial killings. Requires too much forethought. Too much planning. They don’t have the ability to focus on that—they’re just interested in the momentary high, chasing the next one, or in whether they are going to run out of drugs too soon.”
He moved his chair closer to hers. She looked at him quizzically. “Go on, I’m listening.”
“From what I learned at the bar in Madrid, Charlie’s quite the womanizer, but he has a steady girlfriend—Brenda Mason. On and off for some time now. McCabe has seen her a few times, so I thought of asking him ...”
Clarissa interrupted, animatedly waving a sheet of paper. “Sorry to interrupt, Boss, but we’ve got a caller on the tip line. This barmaid says she might have information.”
Romero wheeled his chair behind his desk and reached for his the phone. “Hello. Detective Romero here.”
“Yes, hello. My name is Julie, and I work at the Mineshaft Tavern.” She sounded breathless.
“You’ve got some information for me?” Romero asked.
“Uh-huh, I read that Charlie Cooper’s body was found and that the police think he may be the one who murdered those women. Listen, Charlie was a nice man. He wouldn’t have done anything like that. He was gentle as a lamb.”
Her phone was breaking up. Romero put one hand over his ear to hear her better.
“So, what is it you want to tell me, Julie?” He looked over at Jemimah and raised his eyebrows.
“Some months ago, maybe in April, I was working late. Charlie’s girlfriend Brenda got into a nasty fight with one of the victims, I think her name was Linda—the one that lived with Bart Wolfe. Anyway, I was in one of the stalls in the bathroom and heard Brenda screaming at her. Told her that she’d better stay the hell away from Charlie or there would be hell to pay.”
Jemimah could see the expression on Romero’s face change. He was attentive and professional to the caller, waiting patiently for information, jotting it down on a yellow pad.
“Go on, Julie,” he said.
“So a few nights later, I see Charlie with Linda. They’re in the parking lot making out. A few hours go by, and Brenda comes in looking for Charlie. Someone tells her he left with Linda. Brenda gets all hysterical and starts screaming that she’s going to kill that bitch. And now she’s dead. That’s pretty much all I wanted to say,” she said.
“Thank you, Julie. You’ve been very helpful. Now let me ask you—has Brenda been in the bar lately?” Romero said.
“Yes, she was in yesterday. Wearing some really nice clothes and going on and on about buying a new car. She claimed she’d come into a lot of money. Didn’t even act sad about what happened to Charlie.”
Romero was beginning to think Jemimah might be right on.
“Julie, I’m going to send Dr. Hodge over to talk to you,” Romero said. “She’s profiling the killer for us. If Brenda happens to be there, I’d like you to point her out.”
“Sure will,” Julie said.
“Thank you, sweetheart. You’ve been a great help. Let me hand you back to Clarissa. Let her know your work schedule for the next week.” He waved Clarissa over.
Romero sat down and explained to Jemimah what the caller had said. “We need to look into this a little closer, in light of your theories about the possibility of a woman being our killer. You may have hit the nail right on the head.”
“I’m going over to see McCabe around noon,” Jemimah said. “I might bring him along. He’s been hankering to get involved, and this might be a good time to take advantage of his experience in law enforcement.”
Romero walked Jemimah to the door, careful to not brush against her, lest she conclude he was still interested.
Chapter 38
All week long, Jemimah worked on the killer’s psychological profile. She believed the killer of the young women was a product of an overbearing parent, narcissistic on one hand and needy on the other. The mother probably alternated between expressing love and hate: one moment hating her husband and loving her child; the next moment, just the opposite. The case file was full of interviews with Charlie’s friends and acquaintances. Not one confirmed that Charlie had violent tendencies. On the contrary, they made him out to be kind and gentle, even when stoned.
Charlie’s brother from Wyoming claimed the body. He told Jemimah that Charlie was the second of three children. He loved animals, football and fishing. He was popular in high school. He dated regularly, generally stayed in relationships for six months to a year. He didn’t like to be tied down—liked to travel, hunt and fish. Their mother was a loving woman who attended all their school functions. She died when the boys were in high school. His father remarried some years later. Charlie called home at least once a year. Charlie didn’t fit any of the criteria of a serial murderer. Jemimah crossed him off her list.
Chapter 39
The newspaper business boomed in Santa Fe, with headlines that implied the murders had been solved. Charlie Cooper was dead. Single women breathed a collective sigh of relief. There was no deranged madman walking the streets of Santa Fe.
Voluminous files on the murder investigation sat in a neat stack on Romero’s desk. Although he felt compelled to transfer them to the Sheriff’s office, he had a gnawing feeling in the pit of his stomach. Jemimah held fast to her belief that Charlie couldn’t be the killer. They were getting ready to meet with Sheriff Medrano to summarize the case.
Then a phone call from the Assistant ME moved the investigation back to square one. The tox screen had come back on Charlie Cooper. His blood had a high concentration of Methaqualone, better known as Quaalude, and alcohol. He would have probably been unconscious right after his knees were shot out and the bullet entered under his chin. That much Quaalude could have killed him in a few hours without anyone shooting him. It would have gone down as another accidental drug overdose.
Romero called Jemimah to give her the news. She was tempted to say, ‘I told you so,’ but held back, instead giving him a half-smile, which of course he could not see.
At ten o’clock that morning, Jemimah arrived at the law enforcement complex, flashed her badge to the guard at the gate and parked next to Lieutenant Romero’s vehicle. She walked over to him. Through his dark glasses, she couldn’t tell whether or not he was glad to see her. The fireworks between them, fueled by something neither could define, had cooled. Mainly, she felt, because they had not been thrown together much lately. She still had feelings for him but was not sure she wanted to pursue them. She felt overdressed in a dark linen suit, tailored white blouse, and black pumps, but figured that if she looked good, it enhanced her performance. The Sheriff could be a tough nut to crack and doubly tough to impress.
Romero smiled and earned an automatic response from her. They both looked neat and professional. The receptionist directed them to the Sheriff’s office. The furniture had been rearranged since the last time they had been there. Functional, but not deserving of any awards from Architectural Digest.
“Good to see you both,” said Sheriff Medrano. “Have a seat. Carmen, bring some coffee in, would you?” He looked disheveled, as though he hadn’t slept in a week.
“Lieutenant Romero, Rick, bring me up to speed on the four bodies at the morgue. What do we have so far?”
“Not a hell of
a lot on the victims personally,” Romero said, “other than whatever we gathered from friends and relatives. Janet Leyba, twenty-two years old, a secretary at the Hampton Lumber yard on Alameda Street. Bernice Williams, twenty-eight, a waitress at Tesuque Lodge. Her sister said she frequently hitchhiked around town. Barbara Dunigan, twenty-two. Worked at a high-end jewelry shop in downtown Santa Fe. Last, Linda Spottsburg, twenty-three. Worked at odd jobs and lived with a guy named Bart Wolfe at Coronado Heights trailer park. He’s that fellow that got shot at the Indian ruins a while back.”
Romero looked satisfied with his recitation and seemed to be waiting for a compliment from the sheriff.
“The ME give you any idea of the time lapses between murders?” Medrano asked.
“Roughly. First victim died in December, number two in January, three and four around mid-April and June. The dates pretty much coincide with when they were reported missing.
“Anna Mali, the fifth victim, seems to be a random killing, not connected to these. Santa Fe PD has a suspect—a transient. Only been in town a few months. Rules him out on the other murders.”
Medrano thumbed through the photographs. “The victims have anything in common—tall, thin, blond, hookers, anything?”
“Only that they’re between twenty and thirty. Small, attractive women. Liked to party and spent a lot of their free time at the bar in Madrid.”
“They were all on the petite side,” Jemimah chimed in. She was feeling left out of the conversation.
Medrano walked over to the thermostat. “Kind of warm in here, don’t you think?” he said, twisting the dial. “The media’s busting with speculation, trying to incite the public, scaring them into believing a madman’s on the loose. Damn phones won’t stop ringing.”
Romero loosened his tie. “I hear you. My office is fielding calls right and left. Once Charlie Cooper’s body was found, we figured we had our killer. We were ready to close the case. But it turns out Charlie’s blood had a high concentration of drugs and alcohol. It’s likely he was murdered.”
Jemimah shot Romero a ‘get to the point’ look.
“So the killer is still on the loose?” Medrano frowned. “I can’t go into re-election with this case hanging over my head like that. Not going to bode well with the media.”
“Jemimah’s been working non-stop on this case,” Romero offered. He evidently felt she needed defending, which irritated the hell out of her, but she held her peace. “I’ll let her fill you in on what she’s come up with.”
“I’ve spent a lot of time gathering material on this case,” Jemimah said. “This is not your typical ‘mad-dog killer who’s scouring the streets looking for victims.’ These seem to be specific killings.”
“Specific, rather than random. What makes you think that?” Medrano interrupted.
“I’m thinking ‘wrong place, wrong time’ type of murders. All these women had been out with Charlie Cooper at one time or another, probably slept with him, and they all ended up dead. Why? Did he kill them? Probably not,” she said.
“That sounds pretty speculative, Miss Hodge. How do we know he wasn’t stalking them, looking for the right opportunity to kill them?” The Sheriff’s manner was impatient.
Jemimah re-crossed her legs. “Well, I don’t think he was capable of killing these women. He just doesn’t fit the profile.”
“Cooper’s that fellow that everyone thought committed suicide out at the cabin in the Sandias. Now you’re telling me we’ve got another murder on our hands?” The Sheriff shook his head.
“Looks that way, yes. When I met with the ME last week, he was leaning toward the suicide theory, but I remembered someone mentioning that Charlie was left-handed. The gun was in his right hand when he was found,” Jemimah said.
“And that proves what?” The Sheriff said.
“So they did more testing and determined that the traces of gunpowder residue on his hand were minimal. There should have been more.” Jemimah was beginning to get flustered.
“More residue? Many cases are solved with minimal gunpowder residue. It doesn’t take much. The guy might have just offed himself. People do that.” Medrano drummed his fingers on the table. “Let’s leave the technicalities to the forensics squad.”
“I think someone probably shot him then put the gun in his hand to make it look like a suicide,” Jemimah said.
Romero raised his eyebrows. This was all new to him. She looked back at him, trying not to look too smug.
“It’s all in that report I just handed you, Rick,” she said. “Sorry. We didn’t have a chance to talk about it before.”
The temperature in the room was growing warmer by the minute. Jemimah wondered if Medrano had turned the thermostat down or up. Maybe she was feeling intimidated by his questions. She fanned the lapels of her blouse.
“Dr. Hodge seems to think this is the work of a psychotic killer,” Rick Romero said. “Someone who had contact not only with Cooper but with each of the victims.”
She thought about blowing him a kiss, so grateful was she that he was siding with her.
“Where are you going with this, Miss Hodge?” Sheriff Medrano interrupted her thoughts. “Quite frankly I’m going to need a little more convincing. After all, you are the new kid on the block. I can buy speculation seven days a week for a dollar a pound.”
Jemimah pushed her chair back, almost knocking it over. She grabbed her shoulder bag and exited.
Chapter 40
Sheriff Medrano threw his hands up. “Jeezus, did I say something?” By the time Lieutenant Romero reached the door, Jemimah was running down the hallway. She almost knocked a janitor over as she lunged toward the bathroom. She leaned over the sink, wet a towel and wiped her eyes. She took a few deep breaths to calm herself down before re-entering the hallway. Romero was standing by the water fountain. He put a hand on her shoulder.
“Hey, Jem. What’s the matter? You all right?”
“That condescending son of a bitch. Such a damn know-it-all. He was belittling everything I said. And what’s this ‘Miss Hodge’ bullshit? Maybe I should have brought my diplomas with me.”
“That’s just the way he is. Always tries to rattle everyone’s cage. We just let it slide off our backs. He meant nothing by it, Jem. Maybe I should have warned you, but I figured you had already picked up on that. Come on, let’s get back in there and finish this meeting off.”
Jemimah was a little embarrassed. Romero kept his hand lightly touching the small of her back as they walked back into the office. Sheriff Medrano was on the phone. He motioned them to sit.
Jemimah spoke first. “I’m sorry, Sheriff. This case seems to have made me a little emotional. Where were we?”
“You were about to tell us where you’re going with these findings of yours,” he said.
She cleared her throat. “I’ve narrowed it down to one suspect, who wasn’t on the original list. Cooper had an on again-off again live-in girlfriend for over a year. I spoke to the barmaid and the bartender at the Madrid bar. According to them, Brenda Mason was insanely jealous. Every time Cooper even looked at another woman, she made a scene and stomped out, madder than hell. Charlie would hang around, keep drinking and dancing, and leave with the new woman. Brenda tended to show up at closing time, subdued and apologetic, looking for Charlie.”
Medrano flipped through the file. He made a note on his yellow pad and looked at Jemimah. “How do the murdered women fit into this?”
“These women were all Charlie’s type. Small-boned, petite, and ready to get it on. Brenda fits in the looks category, but she’s strong and athletic, works out at a local gym, runs marathons and is in better shape than most men.”
Romero sat up. “I tracked down one woman who was at the ranch when Anaya went out to talk to Charlie about some loose cattle. She decided she didn’t want to miss her class at the Community College and got a ride back with Anaya—you know how horny he is.”
Medrano laughed. “I’ve called that old buzzard to task a co
uple of times. He’s going to get us into a discrimination suit yet.”
Romero walked over to the Formica sideboard and refilled his coffee cup. “Tiny woman with big brown eyes and a shapely figure. Good things come in small packages.”
Romero returned to the table, sat down and reached across Jemimah for the sugar and cream, his arm brushing hers. She picked up the creamer and banged it down in front of him, sloshing some of it onto the table. It was clear to her why these two got along so well. She clenched her teeth and spoke slowly.
“Something like that. The point is, it wouldn’t take much to drug these women, carry them out to the barn, kill them and drag them down into the tunnel.”
“Charlie could have easily done that,” Romero said.
“Yes, but Charlie was an easy-going, lovable druggie,” she said. “He was really only interested in the sex, and he could always find another woman ready to get it on at the drop of a hat.”
“So where does that leave us?” said the Sheriff, visibly annoyed at the tit-for-tat between these two.
“The girlfriend, Brenda,” Jemimah said.
Romero looked at the Sheriff. “Sounds plausible to me.”
“You’ve almost convinced me,” Sheriff Medrano admitted.
Jemimah pushed on. She wanted to get this over with. “I interviewed a couple of guys at the bar who said Charlie was bragging about pulling off a big deal and heading down to Mexico. Alone. Wanted to spend his time drinking, fishing, and courting senoritas.”
“So how did Brenda get the women into the barn?” Romero asked. “Force them at gun point or what?”
“No, I figure she drugged the bottle of whiskey that Charlie always kept around with a slow-acting date rape drug, maybe Burundang or Ketamine—”
“Special K,” Romero supplied.
“You would probably know,” Jemimah said. “In the cupboard you found a bottle that was sent off to be tested. The remaining whiskey had an odd smell to it. The ME has sent off tissue samples to see if a drug screen can be run on them. That’s still possible even where there’s decomposition.
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