“The newspaper says the Graysville police have strong leads and that you’ve conducted interviews with persons of interest. What can you tell me about that?”
Luke shifted in his seat, causing the chair to creak under his weight. “The truth?”
“No, I want you to lie to me. I can’t help you if you’re not honest with me. What do you have?”
Luke turned serious. “Honestly, we’re coming up empty. The only lead we had was a city bus driver who went missing last week, the same night as Traci Farris disappeared. It’s probably totally unrelated to the case, but we found the burned out hulk of a city bus in a deserted field outside of town, but the bus driver was not on the bus. His wife reported him missing. He was just about to retire. His disappearance doesn’t make any sense. But it’s the only reported crime in the city other than the murders, so we’re looking into it for crossover possibilities. The chief thinks that if we find him he may be the key to solving this thing.
“Otherwise, we’ve got nothing to go on. Nothing that connects the girls except the fact that they were all homecoming contestants and their bodies were all dumped on campus. It’s not about one girl now, it’s about all of them. We don’t know if the first murder was premeditated or if the killer saw the girls in the pageant and snapped. We don’t know anything about the killer or what motivated him.
“We do know something about the victims, though,” Luke continued. “All extraordinarily beautiful. All relatively the same age, and most were blonde and tall.”
At this point Luke looked over at Flippy and left what passed between them unspoken. She was blonde and tall.
There was no need to describe herself. She was a typical Tri Delt. To most of the world that meant: Blonde, Beautiful, Bimbo. Of course she was blonde, and she’d almost won enough beauty contests to give credence to the fact that she was considered beautiful, but she drew the line at being called a bimbo. That was just the undeserved reputation the Tri Delts had to live with. Because, all in all, they were a pretty bright bunch. And they’d gone far in the world.
“Whoever he is, he’s obviously getting off on this. But we have no motive, nothing to go on except that he is a serial killer,” Luke said.
“How do you know that?”
“The FBI defines a serial killer as someone who commits three or more murders with a cooling-off period in between. In this case, except for winter break, the cooling off period has been brief, just a week or so.”
“What about sexual assault?” Flippy asked, not sure if she really wanted to hear the answer.
“No sign of that. He doesn’t kill for sex. There were injuries to the face, but no semen or evidence of molestation. I don’t think it’s about lust. That isn’t what he’s after. More like bloodlust. He’s angry at something, that’s for sure, because the violence is escalating. We think maybe he’s sexually impotent, or maybe he’s afraid or intimidated by the beauty of his victims. But he is enjoying what he’s doing, and he could feel sexual excitement on some perverted level. Probably an antisocial personality. Couldn’t have much of a conscience.”
“Does he even feel remorse?” Flippy wondered. “He definitely feels something, or why else would he have killed those innocent girls?”
“He may have felt guilt with his first victim. But once he killed the first girl, he passed a point of no return and may feel he has nothing to lose. What’s one more body, or thirty, for that matter? Those are questions we’ve been asking ourselves.”
“Did you interview all the parents, all the friends of the girls?” Flippy was stating the obvious, but the less than stellar record of the task force to date demanded she cover all the bases.
“Of course we did. We had to rule out known suspects first, and boyfriends, or past boyfriends. We wanted to know about family troubles, and did anyone have an interest in any of the girls, especially if she didn’t return those feelings? So far, all we’ve run into are dead ends.”
And dead girls, Flippy couldn’t help but thinking.
She hadn’t been interviewed. No one from the force had asked about her whereabouts or her ex-boyfriends. She hoped Luke hadn’t made the connection between herself and Traci and Jack. That was the last thing she wanted to discuss with him or anyone else. She didn’t want to impede the investigation, but she knew Jack had nothing to do with Traci’s disappearance. She still wasn’t ready to trust Luke with that information.
“Has it occurred to you that if you follow the girls it will lead you to the killer?” she suggested.
“Look, Flip—, Philippa, we’re doing all we can.”
“Are you staking out the landmarks at the college? That’s where he’s dumping the bodies. It’s a pattern. The killings may have taken place at another location, but this guy obviously knows the NFU campus—Alice Springs, Richert Hall, Centennial Tower. Which adds more fuel to my theory that he might be a student or a former student. At least it tells me he’s local versus out-of-town. Sooner or later a body’s going to show up at another high-profile location. Major Peyton Stadium would be an obvious choice.”
The stadium was recently renamed after the university’s star quarterback of the same name, who’d died tragically in a pileup on the interstate on his way home during Thanksgiving break. Major Peyton had been Jack’s best friend, which probably had, as much as anything, contributed to Jack’s downward spiral and the injury that now defined him. Even before the injury, Jack had been inconsolable because his friend had been killed during the height of the season. The two had been inseparable. Jack caught Major’s passes and they backed each other up on and off the field. Major had been Jack’s wingman, and when that shining star was extinguished, Jack disappeared down a black hole and couldn’t or wouldn’t climb back out.
“Maybe he spends time at the scene after he dumps the bodies, enjoying what he’s done. Time that could be spent catching the son of a bitch,” Flippy speculated.
Luke looked interested. The city police obviously hadn’t even thought in that direction.
They were a bunch of bozos, Keystone Kops, Flippy thought. Whether or not they were willing to admit it, they did need her help.
Luke read her thoughts. “Look, it’s not like we don’t know what we’re dealing with here, but there’s so little evidence, we’re running out of leads.”
“Did you ever think that maybe this guy was turned down by the university? Every year we receive some 29,000 applications and only 2,000 students are admitted in the entering class. You need to run that.”
“That’s a great idea,” Luke said. “I’ll tell the chief.”
“And take credit for my ideas?”
“What does it matter who gets the credit if we catch the killer?”
“There goes my Mr. Nice Guy theory.”
“You were part of the pageant,” Luke said, ignoring Flippy’s sarcasm. “And you were on the homecoming court the year before. Have you ever thought that the killer might be targeting you?” Luke asked.
Flippy sighed. Of course that thought had crossed her mind and was seriously creeping her out. A clean sweep. Maybe she had inadvertently seen the killer before he’d murdered Melinda Crawford and he wanted to tie up loose ends? Maybe she was one of those loose ends?
“I can offer you protection,” Luke stated.
“I don’t need a bodyguard.”
“Because you’re such a crack shot? Do you even own a handgun?”
“Why would I want to own a handgun? And I don’t need you in my business. Don’t you have a partner? I thought you guys usually travel in pairs.”
“I have a partner, and he spells me when I’m in class. He’s my backup. But the chief put me on babysitting duty until this case is solved.”
“Babysitting duty? Is that what you consider this? Look, Luke, we’re equal partners.”
“Call it what you want. We’re stuck together until this thing is over. So I will be protecting you. You don’t go out on patrol with me unless I okay it. You don’t get near anything da
ngerous. You stay in the background where you belong.”
Flippy was tempted to say, “Nobody puts Flippy in the background.” But she thought better of it.
Instead, she said, “That’s outrageous.”
“I’m just looking out for you.”
“I don’t need you looking out for me.”
“Don’t worry. It’s nothing personal. I’m assigned to you. I’m just doing my job. And if you know what’s good for you, you’ll get the hell out of my way and let me do it.”
Flippy was speechless. She’d rarely heard Luke swear.
“Sorry,” Luke growled.
“You don’t look sorry. And you don’t sound sorry.”
“I’m just on edge. Anyway, we’re getting off track here. Did you notice anything that didn’t smell right the night of the pageant? Do you recall seeing anyone strange hanging out before the pageant or after?”
“I don’t recall anything unusual. At least nothing that would justify someone killing or trying to kill all the girls.”
Flippy rubbed her head. All this concentrating had given her a whale of a headache.
“Wait a minute, Luke. I do remember something,” Flippy said, popping the last two aspirin from the bottle in her desk drawer.
“You okay?” Luke look concerned.
“I’m fine, but I do remember that there was someone, a young man, more of a boy, really, but big, who approached me at the end of the program. He was slow, I think, a little off, something about him wasn’t quite right. But he was perfectly harmless. He came up to ask for my autograph. He said he wanted to get all the girls’ autographs for his program. I thought it was kind of sweet, you know. He was so thrilled to talk to us. He had a killer smile. Very disarming. Could that be important?”
“Do you remember what he looked like? Did you see many autographs on his program?”
“It was months ago.”
“Come on, Philippa. This could be critical. It could be the break we need. You don’t think he was a student?”
“He’d be a little old to be a student,” Flippy answered, struggling to remember something about the man that might prove material to the case. “He looked to be in his late twenties. But after talking to him, I’d say no way was he student material. He had a professional-looking camera hung around his neck. He wore a flowery shirt and really high pants stretched across his stomach, like he was channeling Steve Irkle. But he wasn’t an official member of the press. He wasn’t wearing a badge. And he wore a white fanny pack around his waist, where he kept his pen and a small note pad. He was heavyset, kind of nerdy, really. He wore an old baseball cap and glasses with huge soda-bottle lenses.”
“That’s a great start. Could you come down to the station and work with our forensic artist?”
“Of course, but I don’t think...”
“It’s not your job to think.”
Bad Cop Luke was back. “Have you always been such a jerk?” she snapped.
Luke ignored her remark and scratched his head.
“Okay, I wasn’t going to tell you this. I can just see you flapping your loose lips to the press, but the killer pinned a white piece of paper to the blouses of each of the girls. The paper had a copy of the dead girls’ signatures. Our killer left an actual signature behind.”
“And you think that piece of paper might have been Xeroxed from the signatures the guy got from the pageant programs?” Flippy asked, gritting her teeth over the loose-lips remark.
“Has to have been. We’ve got to find that big flowered-shirt guy. Either he’s the killer or he’ll lead us to the killer.”
“Luke, my name was on that program. I gave him my signature.”
“Okay, now we know for sure you’re on his list. I’m going to notify the chief, and we’re going to take the proper precautions. Maybe I can start by protecting you from those men sleeping outside the office in your bushes.”
“They’re not my bushes, they belong to the city. Anyway, they’re harmless.”
“Homeless doesn’t mean harmless. Your receptionist tells me you keep them supplied with doughnuts and coffee.”
“Misty talks too much.”
“I suppose you ask them what kind they like?”
“Glazed.”
Luke rolled his eyes.
“If you don’t stop feeding them, they’re going to keep coming back, like cats.”
“Don’t be an idiot,” Flippy said. “They’re just camping out temporarily. They’ve simply hit a rough patch. They’re unemployed and down on their luck. They have nowhere else to go. They’re not bothering anybody.”
“How do you know?”
“I asked them.”
“You talk to them?”
“Yes, of course. They’re not monsters. They’re human beings.”
“You’re a soft touch, Flippy. I’m surprised you haven’t offered to take them home with you. I’m going to have to insist you stop associating with the homeless people.”
“Insist?”
“Strongly recommend.”
“Why?”
“For the obvious reasons,” Luke answered. “What if one of them is the killer disguised as a homeless man? What if he’s biding his time, waiting right outside your door until you’re alone, waiting for the right moment before he grabs his next victim? There’s a very real possibility you could be in danger.”
“Why do you even care?” Flippy inquired.
“I don’t.” Luke fidgeted with a photo on the desk and did his best to look aloof.
“Well, then let’s drop this whole protection façade. And tell me why you’re really here. It’s not to babysit me or to protect me, as you claim. You’re pumping me for information, information I don’t have or don’t remember.”
“You let me be the judge of that.”
“You don’t even want me on this task force. You’d like the campus police to disappear. You don’t even want to be here.”
“I sure as hell don’t want to be here babysitting a bubble-headed bimbo.”
“Bimbo?”
“I’m not the one who goes to bars, gets hammered, and picks up the first guy she sees.”
Flippy frowned. “Are we back on that tired horse again? I told you, you need to get over that.”
“And I told you I’m already over it. I don’t need you. You’re all wrong for this assignment, and I’m going to tell the chief that.”
“You don’t think I have the brains to be on this task force, do you?” Flippy challenged.
“I never said that.” Luke’s belligerent stare said it all.
“Not in so many words. You called me a bimbo.”
“You don’t know what I’m thinking. Are you a mind reader now, like Crystal Ball Kate?”
“When it comes to you, yes. You’re pathetically transparent.”
Luke narrowed his eyes and pierced her with his steely gaze. “You don’t have the sense you were born with. Take the homeless men. What you’re doing is breaking the law. Did you know Graysville just passed an ordinance against homeless drifters? You’re not allowed to feed them. No more soup kitchens or homeless shelters. We’re trying to clean up Graysville. You could be fined.”
“Then let them fine me. I think it’s shameful that the city is trying to shut them down.”
“You need to call the police about them,” Luke smirked, in his best back-to-business voice.
“I thought you were the police. And I did call the police to see if there was some kind of homeless shelter that could take them in. You know what their advice was? Turn on the sprinkler system and hose them down. Even if I didn’t deem it cruel and unusual punishment to douse a poor, unfortunate homeless person, the campus police department can’t afford a sprinkler system. So I let them stay. Anyway, I like having them around. There’s safety in numbers.”
Luke examined her like she had a screw loose. He probably wouldn’t understand that she found a measure of comfort in the presence of those homeless men who slept in the generous shad
e of the box hedges that lined the front of her office window. And now a growing number of them were making their home in various-sized cardboard boxes, jockeying for position and settling in for a long winter.
One man had told her he’d been drawn to the smell of the rosebushes outside her office, that the smell of roses reminded him of home.
“A couple of those guys are pretty scruffy looking,” Luke said. “Have you seen the way they just walk up and down Main Street, wearing all the clothes they own on their backs? They carry all their possessions in large plastic black garbage bags, and they reek. Some of them probably haven’t bathed in months.”
“But the smell from DaVinci’s kind of masks the scent.” Flippy laughed, not wanting to admit to Luke that she was getting used to their odor.
“You mean the stench,” Luke said. “When I got here, one of them was trying to sniff freon out of your air-conditioning unit.”
“Why?”
“To get high, Miss Crisis Management, Homecoming Queen Runner-Up, who doesn’t know what’s going on right outside her own office.”
“I know everything that’s going on.”
“You need to get a lock put on that valve,” Luke argued, like he was talking to a recalcitrant child.
“I’ll get Misty right on that. Breathing those fumes can’t be good for them.”
Luke shook his head and his face grew serious. “Look, there’s a meeting of the parents of the victims down at the Graysville police station this afternoon. Chief Bradley would like you to go, to reassure the loved ones that we are doing everything possible to find the killer.”
“Is it a press conference?”
“No press allowed. Just family. If there were media, do you think the chief would miss the opportunity to grab the spotlight away from the FBI?”
“Why does he need me, then?”
“Because you’re one of them.”
“One of them?”
“You know, a beauty queen.”
Homecoming Homicides Page 5
