by C. M. Sutter
“They had another trucker pick it up and make the delivery. I guess they’ve been using it since.”
“So that driver could be the killer. Maybe some sort of trigger sent him off the rails. His wife could have called him and said she wanted a divorce. Maybe he witnessed a horrific crash that he couldn’t get out of his head, or maybe it’s something work related.”
“Or none of the above, Jade. The driver wasn’t married, and he didn’t fit the description of the man we have on video. They think he went AWOL for whatever reasons unknown to them, and nobody has called in a missing persons report on the guy. I didn’t get the feeling the owner thought a crime had been committed.”
I added, “But if he isn’t married and is an over-the-road trucker, chances are nobody even knows he’s missing.”
“That’s a valid point.” The lieutenant checked the notes he had just scribbled down on paper during the phone call. “According to Millstead Trucking’s owner, the driver, Fred West, was fifty-one years old, skinny, had short gray hair, and stood around five foot ten. That doesn’t sound like our guy. What do you think, J.T.?”
“I think Faulkner County law enforcement needs to get a description and a photo of Fred West on the air. Sounds like he lived and worked in their county, and it’s their duty to investigate what happened to him. Who knows, he could very well be a victim too.”
I slumped but had to agree with J.T.’s assessment. “And nobody thought to fingerprint the truck. So, if the driver was a victim, the killer took his hat and wore it to camouflage his face. That’s just wrong on so many levels.”
The lieutenant rose, cracked his neck, and headed for the door. “I’ll make the call to Faulkner County. Why don’t you two put something together for the news broadcasts?”
“Lieutenant?”
He turned back and faced me. “Yes, Jade.”
“What was said to the families of the three murdered girls from Lake of the Ozarks State Park?”
He jammed his fists into his pants pockets and groaned. “That was a tough one. My detectives notified the families late yesterday afternoon and only said the girls had been killed, possibly by a bear. We don’t want to instill fear in the community until we have facts and preferably somebody in custody. For now, the girls will remain at the morgue.”
“Thanks, Lieutenant.”
He nodded, smacked the doorframe, and walked out.
J.T. reached for the carafe. “More coffee?”
“Sure, thanks.” I had still shots from the videos of the man exiting Bull Shoals-White River State Park at the guard gate and the man exiting Lake of the Ozarks State Park at the side of the road, and I placed them side by side. I also printed out several shots from the video feed at Osage Auto Repair.
J.T. handed me my warmed cup and took a seat at my side. “Okay, you talk, and I’ll write.”
“Ready?”
He nodded with his pen in his hand and a legal pad on the table.
“We’ve concluded it’s the same man in all the videos, so that puts him at six foot three to six foot four. We’ve agreed he may be closing in on two hundred seventy-five pounds. That would make him strong enough to overpower most people, especially if it’s a blitz attack.” I took a sip of coffee and continued. “Doc Wilson thought he was in his late thirties to early forties. He’s an opportunist in the way he kills people and the way he gets from location to location. He either gains people’s trust, meaning he knows how to charm ladies and men, or he sneaks up on them in the night when they’re vulnerable and unsuspecting. He must be hitchhiking, and when he’s lucky enough to catch a ride with a trucker, he steals their vehicle and probably their wallet, runs the truck until it’s out of fuel, then moves on to the next victim. He lives off the land and other people’s money and has nowhere in particular he needs to be. He’s resourceful and smart, the most dangerous kind of criminal.” I looked one more time at the composite sketch that Connie had drawn. I wrinkled my forehead and rubbed my brows.
J.T. noticed and stopped writing. “Is something bothering you?”
“I wish he wasn’t wearing that damn hat. This would have been a perfect image, the best we have, but half of his face is shadowed. There’s something about the part of his face we do see that’s bugging me.”
“Well, we sure don’t have anything to compare it to. That guard shack photo would have been great, but the brim of the cap hid his entire face.”
I shook it off. “Yeah, I know. Let’s show the lieutenant what we have before we call the news stations. Maybe they’ll run this segment along with the missing trucker’s piece. We know damn well they’re related.”
Chapter 14
He woke to the sound of idling engines. Semis chugged only feet from his own in the outer lot of Petro Fuel and Food. John rubbed his eyes, groaned, and stretched. He unplugged his charging phone and reached in the cup holder, pulled it out, and checked the time—8:45.
With the windows cracked open a few inches last night, he had hoped to air out the truck. The thick, metallic scent of dried blood had filled the sleeper and set off his gag reflexes, but the air seemed better now.
He spent some time planning his day. The truck stop, lot-lizard scenario would fulfill his need to kill until the heat got too intense, then he’d go back to the park system attacks or maybe come up with something brand new. As long as he played his cards right, stayed ahead of law enforcement, and kept moving, he would be just fine. His prints weren’t in the system, anyway, but now that winter was closing in, wearing gloves wouldn’t look out of the norm.
Breakfast smells from the diner drifted toward the trucks. John pulled the curtain aside and stared out the windshield. Truckers milled around, smoked cigarettes, and talked to the occasional hooker that tried to stay out of sight of the diner staff and patrons.
John dressed, double-checked his body for blood transfer using the mirror mounted in the bunk, and then climbed out of the truck. Growling sounds rumbled in his gut. A filling breakfast and a hot shower would hold him over until the next stop. He’d top off the fuel tank and take to the open road that afternoon.
An hour later, with a full stomach and clean body, John browsed the gift shop. A new hat was in order. The yellow cap he’d taken from Fred West last week was grimy, with faint traces of blood on the brim. It needed to be tossed in the trash. A plain, dark cap without a logo would be just right.
“Is there something I can help you with, mister?”
John turned to see a sweet young thing twirling her hair around her index finger as she stood behind the counter. He looked her up and down and grinned. “Well, that depends on you.”
A crimson blush climbed up her neck and covered her face. “Is there something in the store I can help you with? My workday just began.” She giggled and approached John.
“I guess we both lose.” He licked his lips. “Anyway, I’m looking for a plain, dark cap. I don’t like all that crap written across the brim.”
“Sure, we have a few over here on the shelf. You like dark, huh?”
“Yeah, hides the stains.”
She nodded. “We have navy and black. I guess those are your only dark choices.”
John slipped a navy cap on, frowned, and then tried the black one. He stood in front of the mirror mounted on the wall and made some adjustments. “This one will do.” He took it off as he turned toward her and replaced it with his old one. “How about stationery?”
She laughed. “People still use that stuff?”
“What can I say? I’m sentimental and have plenty of free time on my hands. I owe a few people letters, anyway.”
“Let’s see what we have.”
John followed her through the gift shop while wondering how to get her into the truck.
“Okay, we have writing paper and envelopes, but it isn’t a stationery set.”
“That’ll do. How about stamps?”
“Yeah, we sell stamps at the counter. Are you all done?”
“Yep, that shoul
d do it. Maybe you ought to check out my truck during your lunch break. Today is a day for lounging. Give it some thought. I have a burgundy tractor with white lettering on the door that says Ray’s Transport.”
She grinned flirtatiously. “I suppose you’re Ray?”
“Absolutely, and I make my own schedule. Let’s have lunch together. What do you say?”
“It’s frowned upon, but I’ll think about it.”
“I’m sure you can be discreet. So how much do I owe you for this stuff?”
She returned to the counter and rang up his purchases. “That’ll be thirty-two dollars.”
He handed her thirty-five. “Keep the change, and I’ll see you later.” John grabbed the bagged goods, gave her another appreciative grin, and exited the gift shop.
Chapter 15
J.T. and I took the hallway to the lieutenant’s office. I rapped on the closed door and waited. We heard him talking on the other side of the wall, so we assumed he was on the phone. The sound of his chair being pushed back seconds later told us he had likely finished the call. We heard footsteps, then the door swung open. The lieutenant waved us in.
“Things have taken a turn for the worse.” He huffed as he plopped back down on his sturdy leather chair.
“What’s going on?” J.T. asked.
For the moment, I kept on my lap the killer’s profile that would be faxed to the TV stations. The lieutenant had something important to tell us.
“I just got word that a body was found along Interstate 65 about halfway between Conway and Bull Shoals. I imagine you can put two and two together.”
I let out an audible sigh. “Fred West?”
“Yep, according to the description that county’s medical examiner delivered.” He looked at his notes. “It says here the body was found by a passerby that made a quick stop to take a piss in the bushes along the highway. You could imagine the condition of the corpse after nearly a week. Purely accidental find.” He shook his head and ground his fists in his eyes. “Crazy how that stuff happens. Guy pulls over at a random spot to pee, gets out, and then smells something disgusting in the brush. He takes a look and nearly passes out. He had his wife call the state patrol while he threw up in the weeds.”
“When was the body discovered?” J.T. asked.
“According to the sheriff’s department, it was about two hours ago. The trickledown effect, going from state patrol to county sheriff’s department to us, took a while. I guess we can cancel the news broadcast for a missing trucker. Fred isn’t missing anymore.”
“His murder is related to our killer, though.”
“True, but the coroner has to make a positive ID first. The body didn’t have a wallet or a cell phone. The man has to have family somewhere that should be notified.”
“What was the cause of death?” I asked.
“Multiple stab wounds and a slit throat.”
“Lieutenant, we need to get this profile on all media venues, not just TV. People could be driving and listening to their radio instead of watching the news. Everyone needs to be informed that there’s a dangerous killer hitching rides or slinking around truck stops.”
“I agree. Let’s widen the net and get that profile out there right away.”
I handed it to him. “Take a look. There’s still time to add anything else you might think relevant before it goes live.”
Lieutenant Taft read the profile we had put together then stood. “It looks good. Let’s get it nationwide. We need to put a chokehold on this killer, and the sooner the better.”
“Okay, at this point, all we know is that Doc Wilson gave him a ride to where he turned off onto his own road from Highway 54, about five miles out of Osage Beach. We have no idea how he got from Bull Shoals to Lake of the Ozarks State Park, though. There could be more dead bodies out there along the highway.”
J.T. added, “And Highway 54 north goes through Jefferson City, a decent-sized town, then farther up, it connects with Interstate 70. That’s the scary part—the killer can be anywhere.”
“I’ll start calling the news channels, and J.T. can handle the radio stations. I’ll call our boss, SSA Spelling too. I’m sure he can get more nationwide media attention on this case.”
The conference room door opened at eleven o’clock. I had just ended my phone calls to the producers at every major television station in the Midwest. I had called SSA Spelling a half hour earlier and explained the situation. He said he’d spread the news, make sure the digital freeway information signs warned against picking up hitchhikers, and see what he could do about getting the coverage nationwide. Without the killer’s name or a clear shot of his face, it would be difficult to count on the public’s help in spotting him and calling something in to the tip line.
Lieutenant Taft leaned against the doorframe with his arms crossed over his chest. “I just got confirmation from the coroners in the DeGray Lake Resort and Bull Shoals-White River State Park killings. Both cases showed microscopic metal shavings in the wounds. I think we can go on record to say this killer has murdered eight people so far that we know of.”
I sighed and checked off the last TV station in the area. “My boss in Milwaukee is taking on some of this load, Lieutenant. As long as this killer is in our region, we’ll do whatever we can to find him and bring him to justice. If his trail runs cold, I can’t even say what the next step would be. He’ll be added to the FBI’s Ten Most Wanted list, like the others, except we don’t even know who we’re looking for. The bits of information we have will be included with his description, along with the nearly useless composite sketch of his face.”
The lieutenant pushed off the doorframe and pulled out a chair. “I understand, and with any luck, somebody will notice something suspicious and call it in. It’s the only thing we have to go on unless we just wait for him to strike again.”
J.T. added, “We have to be proactive. We’re alerting all of the truck stops in the Midwest corridor to be on alert, and we’ll have a larger law enforcement presence patrolling those locations every few hours. The ladies of the night need to put on the brakes and keep themselves somewhere else, out of harm’s way.”
“Good plan, and I’ll see how many truck stops there are right in my own county. I’ll get my deputies to start those rounds right away.”
Chapter 16
He glanced up and scanned the area in front of the truck every so often. John checked the time on his phone—11:37. If that cute girl from the gift shop was going to take a lunch break, it would be soon. John set down his paper and pen, stretched to his right, and reached under the passenger seat. He patted the area until he felt the sharp blades of the Neko Te. He pulled them out by the straps and lifted them to the center console. With a wide sweep, he looked out the windshield and side windows again. He made sure the doors were locked. He wasn’t in the mood for surprises, still angry that a claw went missing. Chances were, it was found at the last attack, and the death-by-bear scheme would be permanently shelved.
Well, it was great while it lasted.
He intended to use the weapon again, but going forward, it would be in private, intimate situations only. He studied it and poked one of the tips with the pad of his index finger. A tiny puncture caused a dot of blood to appear. He sucked on the small wound and chuckled. Dried blood, the last being Betsy’s, covered the blades. This time he wouldn’t wipe it off. He admired his work and had no idea when he’d have the right opportunity to use those tools again. He slipped them under the driver’s seat this time—a more logical hiding place. If found and in the wrong hands, somebody other than his intended victim could be seriously injured.
He continued with the letter he was writing. It had to be perfect before he mailed it, and if he needed to write several drafts, so be it. He glanced out the window again and paused. He squinted then smiled.
She’s just curious enough to get herself killed. Good girl.
He slipped the pad of paper and pen into the side pocket of the driver’s door, quickly
smoothed the blankets in the bunk, and pulled the curtain closed.
His friend from the gift shop headed his way with a large brown bag in her right hand.
Isn’t that sweet of her? She’s providing lunch too.
He hadn’t thought of the proper way to disable her. He hadn’t had faith that she’d actually show up, but there she was, only fifty feet from the truck and getting closer. She waved when she saw him staring at her through the windshield. She held up the lunch bag, and he gave her a nod of approval and a thumbs-up then opened the passenger side door and welcomed her in.
“Let me help you,” he said. He took the lunch bag, set it aside, and reached for her hand. “I wasn’t really expecting you to show up.”
Her face glowed red. “Now I’m embarrassed. Were you just kidding earlier?”
“Not at all. I’m flattered you actually came and brought lunch too. How lucky can I get?”
“No guts, no glory is my motto, and to be honest, I’ve never been in a semi in my entire life. I wanted to see what they’re like. It smells kind of funky in here.”
“Sorry about that. I hit a deer last night, and the blood scent came in through the vents. I hoped the smell would have been gone by now.”
“It’s okay. I’ll get used to it.”
John coughed into his hand so he wouldn’t laugh.
If you only knew how true that statement actually is.
“I hope you like grilled cheese sandwiches and potato chips.”
“Sure do. Actually grilled cheese is my favorite. By the way, you never told me your name.”
She laughed. “Oh yeah, it’s Jane Weeks.”
“Jane? That’s an old-fashioned kind of name and one I have a particular fondness for.”
“Really, why’s that?”
“My mom’s name was Jane, but she passed a long time ago.”
“Sorry.”
He swiped the air. “No worries. It’s been years.”
“What’s your name?”
He raised a questioning brow. “Flustered?”
