The Face of Death

by Cody McFadyen

  “You sure?”

  “Yes. I’m going to do the same myself. I have too much information and not enough answers. I need space to think and forensics needs time to work.”

  “Call me tomorrow.”

  I exit the apartment. Barry is outside, leaning up against the railing. The sky is clear tonight; I can see more stars than usual. The beauty escapes me.

  What’s that smell? Oh, yeah—it’s me. I smell of death.

  “Made any sense of this yet?” Barry asks.

  “No answers, just more questions.”

  “Such as?”

  “Connections. How do the Kingsleys tie in with the two corpses in there? What is it about the children, why doesn’t he disfigure them? Why does he only close the eyes of the females? Why did he leave Sarah alive, and what’s her connection to this scene? Is there one?” I throw up my hands, frustrated.

  “Yeah. So how do you want to proceed?”

  “Callie and Gene and company will process things here. You have Simmons at the Kingsleys’. We have Sarah to interview tomorrow, and we have the diary.” I stop, turn to him. “I’m going home.”

  He arches his eyebrows, surprised. “Really?”

  “Yes, really. My head’s spinning, I kept a teenage girl from blowing her brains out and I’ve seen five too many dead people. My head’s packed with information about our perpetrator, most of it contradictory. I need a shower and some coffee and then I’ll take another look at it.”

  He holds his hands up in a “don’t shoot” gesture. “I come in peace.”

  I chuckle against my will. Barry is almost as good at that as Callie is. Almost. “Sorry. Can you do me one last favor tonight?”

  “Sure.”

  “Find out who they are. The man and the girl. Maybe it will help me figure some things out.”

  “No problem. I’ll call you on your cell. I’ll also get some uniforms over here to assist with whatever.”

  “Thanks.”

  Callie comes out of the apartment.

  “Gene and team are on their way, sleepy-eyed and grumpy.”

  I fill her in on the conversation between Barry and me.

  “Vacation-time is over, I suppose?”

  “Long gone.”

  13

  HOW MUCH LIFE CAN YOU LIVE IN A SINGLE DAY?

  I’m at home now, alone. Bonnie is spending the night with Elaina and Alan. It would have been cruel to wake her just so she could keep me company. I’m freshly showered and I’m sitting on my couch, facing a TV that’s not on, my feet on the coffee table, staring at nothing.

  I’m having trouble putting the day away.

  It’s a trick I had to force myself to learn early: how to leave a scene behind when I came home. How do you separate these two worlds, the dead and the living? How do you keep them from bleeding over into each other? These are questions every cop or agent has to answer for themselves. I wasn’t always successful, but I managed. It usually began with forcing myself to smile. If I could smile, I could keep smiling. If I could keep smiling, I could laugh. If I could laugh, I could leave the dead where they lay.

  My cell phone rings. Barry.

  “Hey,” I answer.

  “I have some information for you on the vics in the apartment. I don’t know how it ties in with anything else, but it’s interesting.”

  I grab a notepad and pen from the coffee table.

  “Tell me.”

  “Male’s name is Jose Vargas. He’s fifty-eight years old and hails from sunny Argentina. He’s not a solid citizen. He’s done time for burglary, assault, attempted rape, and statutory rape.”

  “Nice guy.”

  “Yeah. He’s been suspected but not convicted of pimping, pandering, child molestation, and animal abuse.”

  “Animal abuse?”

  “Of a sexual nature, apparently.”

  “Oh. Yuck.”

  “There was suspicion in the late seventies that he might be involved in human trafficking, but nothing ever came of it. That’s what I know about Mr. Vargas so far. He won’t be missed.”

  “The girl?”

  “Nothing on her yet. No ID in the apartment. I did see a tattoo on her left arm that had some Cyrillic lettering on it, for what that’s worth.”

  “Russian?”

  “Seems so. Though it doesn’t mean she is Russian. One other thing. She’s got scarring on the bottom of her feet. Same type we saw at the Kingsleys’. Newer, though.”

  A brief surge of adrenaline shoots through me.

  “This is important, Barry. The scars are key.”

  “Yep. I agree. That’s all I’ve got, for now, though. Callie and Sykes are going to town here. I’m heading back over to the Kingsleys’. I’ll call you in the morning.”

  “Bye.”

  I lean my head back and gaze at the ceiling. It’s covered with that acoustic “popcorn” that was so normal at one time and is so despised today. Matt and I had planned to get rid of it but had never gotten around to it.

  Scars, I think. Scars and children. These things are important. How?

  Without an eyewitness or a confession or a video of the perpetrator committing the crime, we are left with one avenue: Collect everything, collect it as fast as humanly possible, and then examine it, align it, and attempt to understand it. Investigative arcs shouldn’t go wider and wider, they should become smaller and smaller.

  I slide down so that I am sitting on the floor in front of the coffee table rather than on the couch. I rip pages from the notepad and lay them out horizontally.

  It’s time to organize my thoughts on this. I need to write everything down, put it there in front of me so I can actually see the connections in this case.

  Across the top of one page I write: PERPETRATOR

  I chew on the pen, thinking. I begin to write:

  METHODOLOGY: HE CUTS THE THROATS OF HIS VICTIMS. THIS IS AN INTIMATE ACT. DRAINS THEM OF BLOOD, AND BLOOD IS IMPORTANT TO HIM, REPRESENTATIVE. HE DISEMBOWELS THE BODIES OF THE ADULTS POSTMORTEM. POSSIBLY DRUGS THEM FIRST TO CONTROL THEM.

  BEHAVIORS: DOESN’T MUTILATE THE CHILDREN, ONLY THE ADULTS. WHY?

  LESS ANGER AT FEMALES THAN MALES, AS EVIDENCED BY THE FACT THAT HE CLOSES THEIR EYES. HE WANTS THE MEN TO SEE IT ALL, BUT NOT THE WOMEN. WHY?

  IS HE GAY?

  I think about this one. It’s far too early and we have too few facts for me to make a decisive determination. But the mere fact that he goes easier on the women than the men is telling. Ritual serial murder almost always includes a sexual component, and the gender of the victims generally follows the sexual orientation of the killer. Dahmer was gay, so he killed gay men. Straight men kill women. And so on.

  “You murder those who enrage and frustrate you,” an instructor once noted. “Who better to incite rage and frustration than the object of your desire? Or,” he continued, “to put it more crudely: When he closes his eyes and masturbates, what sex does he see—a man or a woman? The answer will be the gender of his victims.”

  I nod. Something to think about. I continue with my notes.

  PERP ATTACKED DURING THE DAY. WHY TAKE THE RISK? THERE’S A REASON FOR THIS.

  PERP LEFT SARAH ALIVE.

  COMMUNICATES WITH LAW ENFORCEMENT. A PLANNER.

  HE HAS SOMETHING TO SAY.

  MESSAGE LEFT AT THE KINGSLEY SCENE IN SARAH’S BEDROOM: THIS PLACE = PAIN. MESSAGE LEFT AT THE VARGAS SCENE: THIS PLACE = JUSTICE.

  (Note to self: Why “pain” for Sarah, and “justice” for Vargas? This is significant.)

  APPEARS DISORGANIZED.

  I look at this line. Tap the pen against my teeth. I make a decision. I add some emphasis and two words:

  APPEARS DISORGANIZED—BUT ISN’T.

  (Theory: The disembowelment in this case is not indicative of a loss of control. It’s a part of his overall message, as is the blood and the daytime attack.)

  CONCLUSION: PERPETRATOR = ORGANIZED. COMPONENTS THAT APPEAR DISORGANIZED ARE SIMPLY A PART OF HIS MESSAGE.

 
; Occam’s razor strikes again. An organized killer can appear disorganized at times. The reverse will not be true. He held himself to a script, demonstrated planning and control and resolve.

  Organized.

  KNOWN CHARACTERISTICS: SOLES OF HIS FEET ARE SCARRED. POSSIBLY A RESULT OF TORTURE (CANING), WHICH IS INDIGENOUS TO SOUTH AMERICA, THE MIDDLE EAST, SINGAPORE, MALAYSIA, PHILIPPINES.

  (Note: Vargas is from Argentina. Coincidence?)

  Oh, yeah, I think, sarcastic. Coincidence. You bet.

  (Note: Unidentified teenage female at Vargas scene had similar scars on her feet. What’s the connection here?)

  I remember something else from the Kingsley scene. I move back up to where I had written METHODOLOGY and add:

  EVIDENCE OF HESITATION CUTS ON MR. AND MRS. KINGSLEY. RESULT OF SEXUAL EXCITEMENT?

  Uncertainty is the sign of a novice, a hunter who hasn’t calmed down yet or found his stride. This doesn’t fit the man I’m seeing in my mind. I don’t think he hesitated; I think his hand shook because he was too aroused to control it.

  HE PROTECTS THE WOMEN BY CLOSING THEIR EYES, EVEN THOUGH HE STILL KILLS THEM AND DISEMBOWELS THEM. HE KILLS THE CHILDREN BUT HE DOESN’T CLOSE THEIR EYES OR DISEMBOWEL THEM.

  I read this paragraph again. And again. Something is tapping on the door of my mind, something that wants to be let in. I am familiar with this feeling and know I need to be quiet and let it come.

  Why the gradations? Men are worse than women but women are worse than children.

  The knocking stops as the door swings wide.

  HE HAS BEEN HURT BY MEN. HE HAS NOT BEEN DIRECTLY HARMED BY WOMEN, BUT LEFT UNPROTECTED BY THEM. BOTH OF THESE THINGS HAPPENED TO HIM WHEN HE WAS A CHILD.

  There is no proof of these conclusions, nothing to put under a microscope or up on a screen, but I know they are correct. I feel it. I feel him.

  Men are the object of his fear and his rage. He leaves their eyes open so they can see everything that happens to them. Women die, and deserve it, but there’s a nod to tenderness there in the closing of the eyes.

  A mother, maybe? Who didn’t protect him from an abusive father? If she was abused by the father as well, the killer would hate her and empathize with her at the same time.

  The children aren’t mutilated but their eyes are left open so they can see.

  See what I did to him, see what the world does to us.

  The girl at Vargas’s apartment was a mix of the two, eyes closed but not disemboweled. Was this a reflection of her age? Almost a woman, still mostly a child? Did this confuse him?

  What’s it all about? Two sets of murders on back-to-back days. Hatred of men, anger at women, empathy for children. This place = pain. This place = justice…

  A revelation appears, a rush of wind in my head. I blink at the realization.

  I write it down.

  THIS IS ABOUT REVENGE. REVENGE FOR ACTUAL WRONGS, NOT IMAGINED ABUSE.

  Pain for some, justice for others. Both add up to vengeance. It fits with his victims and methodology.

  I consider this, excited.

  THIS IS WHY HE COMES IN THE MIDDLE OF THE DAY. HE’S SAYING TO HIS VICTIMS, TO THE OBJECTS OF HIS VENGEANCE, “YOU’RE NOT SAFE ANYWHERE. I CAN BRING JUSTICE TO YOU EVEN WHEN THE SUN IS OUT, EVEN IN A HOME SURROUNDED BY STRANGERS.”

  Because justice is righteous, and the righteous are invincible.

  He may or may not be gay, but the sexual component isn’t in the present, it’s in the past. He’s getting revenge for abuse that was almost certainly sexual in nature.

  Abuse by men.

  My building excitement derails as it hits the unexplained.

  What about Sarah? Why leave her alive and in pain as opposed to killing her? More relevant: Revenge is personal. What is Sarah’s connection to him?

  I accept that I have no answer for these questions. The rest still feels right.

  Vengeance. This is his motivation, this is the reason behind his choice of victim and his method of murder. Sarah is just a puzzle piece I haven’t found the fit for yet.

  I think some more, decide there’s nothing else I can add to this page for now.

  Examine his victims.

  I grab another page and write across the top:

  VICTIM JOSE VARGAS:

  FIFTY-EIGHT, ORIGINALLY FROM ARGENTINA.

  (Note: Find out how long he’s been in the US and how he got here.)

  BEHAVIORS: EX-CON. VIOLENT OFFENDER, INCLUDING CRIMES AGAINST CHILDREN.

  I consider the obvious connection here. Had Vargas abused the perpetrator?

  SUSPECTED OF HUMAN TRAFFICKING SOMETIME IN THE SEVENTIES.

  MANNER OF DEATH: THROAT WAS CUT. HE WAS DISEMBOWELED POSTMORTEM.

  QUESTION: WAS VARGAS CONNECTED TO EITHER SARAH OR THE KINGSLEYS IN SOME WAY? OR WAS VARGAS CONNECTED ONLY TO THE KILLER?

  A lack of connection between the two sets of victims would indicate that the killer was finally starting on something he’d been planning for a while and hitting it fast.

  Making a list, checking it twice…

  VARGAS APPEARS TO HAVE CONTINUED TO ABUSE MINORS. (FOUND WITH AN UNIDENTIFIED FEMALE COMPANION WHO WAS NOT OF AGE.)

  I consider the page, set it aside. I grab another and across the top I write:

  SARAH KINGSLEY:

  ADOPTED DAUGHTER OF DEAN AND LAUREL KINGSLEY (SO WHAT’S HER REAL LAST NAME?).

  SIXTEEN YEARS OLD.

  LEFT ALIVE BY THE PERPETRATOR. (WHY?)

  SAYS HER BIRTH PARENTS WERE MURDERED. (VERIFY)

  ADDENDUM: SAYS HER BIRTH PARENTS WERE MURDERED BY THIS PERPETRATOR.

  ODDITY: CLAIMS THE PERP HAS BEEN STALKING HER FOR YEARS.

  I turn my gaze back to the ceiling. Sarah’s importance is glaring and obvious. She’s the only living witness, and she claims to have knowledge of the perp. She also represents a significant anomaly in the perp’s behavior: He didn’t kill her. He left her alive as part of his vengeance plan.

  If what Sarah says is true, he’s been at this for a good long while. He’s not delusional, he’s capable of differentiation of desires, and he’s very, very smart. All bad for us. Planned vengeance killers are harder to catch than sexual sadists or ritual murderers. They aren’t crazy enough.

  But why the intimacy?

  In vengeance murders, you generally see more anger than joy. It’s about destruction. What I had seen at the Kingsleys’ was an almost equal balance. The messages on the wall, the disembowelments, these were compelled by rage, they fit. The blood paintings didn’t. They were a sexual act. Memories to masturbate to.

  That’s just noise, I realize. The investigatory key is the vengeance motive. The other is an anomaly, but the human condition is filled with those. Interesting but not probative.

  I turn back to the page.

  SARAH ASKED FOR ME AT THE KINGSLEY CRIME SCENE, BUT HAD ALREADY PLANNED TO CONTACT ME BEFORE IT HAPPENED. (WHY ME?) WROTE A DIARY SHE CLAIMS IS PROBATIVE.

  I can feel myself flagging. I want to continue, but I’m about to hit the end of my rope for today.

  Concentrate. What’s the assignment of resources for tomorrow?

  BARRY AND I TO INTERVIEW SARAH KINGSLEY.

  CALLIE AND GENE TO FINISH PROCESSING THE VARGAS CRIME SCENE.

  GET EVERYONE A COPY OF THE DIARY WITH ORDERS TO READ IT.

  IT WILL HAVE TO WAIT TILL MONDAY, BUT WE NEED DEEP BACKGROUND CHECKS ON SARAH AND ALL VICTIMS. FIND THE CON NECTIONS!

  I read what I’ve written, nod to myself, satisfied. We still have a long way to go, but I can see him now. I’ve begun to feel him, and that’s bad for him. A muted satisfaction purrs through me.

  Less than a day’s gone by, and I already know why you do what you do.

  I put the pen down and let myself go slack.

  God, I’m tired. At more levels than just the physical.

  My cell phone rings. I look at the caller ID. Tommy. Something in me lifts a little.

  Tommy Aguilera is more than a friend, but less than a husband
. Not just a lover, but not someone I need beside me, night after night. Tommy is a possibility; that’s the ten-words-or-less summary.

  He’s an ex–Secret Service agent who now works as a private security consultant. We’d met when he was still in the Service. I’d been investigating a case involving a California senator’s son who’d decided he liked rape and murder. Tommy was assigned to protect the senator, who was pro-life and had been getting a ton of death threats. In the events that followed, Tommy was forced to shoot this Fortunate Son. My testimony saved Tommy from a political firestorm that could have ended his career.

  He’d told me then to let him know if I ever needed anything. I’d taken him up on this six months ago, and afterward, something interesting had happened: I’d kissed him, and he’d kissed me back. Better still, he’d undressed me and had wanted me bad, scars and all. It made me cry and helped me heal. Matt was the love of my life. He was my soul mate. He was irreplaceable. But I needed a man to tell me I was beautiful, and to prove it with sweat, not words. Tommy had done this with gusto.

  We sleep together three or four times a month. I’m busy, he’s busy, it’s comfortable. The perfect arrangement, for now.

  I answer the phone. “Hey, Tommy.”

  “Hey. Thought I’d call you. Not too late, is it?”

  Tommy gives new meaning to the word laconic. It’s not that he’s uncomfortable talking to people, or lacks a vocabulary. It’s his way. He prefers to listen.

  “Nope. I just got in, actually. I got called out to a scene.”

  “I thought you had time off. Packing and stuff.”

  Tommy knew what I was doing this weekend, and knew that he needed to stay away while I was doing it. His ability to understand this kind of thing was just another hint of the depth beneath his stoicism.

  “I did, but there was a girl at the scene. She had a gun to her head and was asking to see me. I had to go.”