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Chapter 13
THE FRANCHISED HOTEL OFFERED COMFORT and reliability. Its large overhang encompassed a third of the building’s front, and crown accents decorated the edge of the roof. Inside, the lobby was generic but clean and modern. The hotel offered a gym and indoor pool, as well. The former I would take advantage of at some point in the next twenty-four hours. My body was accustomed to exercise, and I was lethargic any day I missed a workout. It wasn’t worth it. I’d rather sacrifice an hour’s sleep. And that was saying something.
After Jack and I checked in, we met Paige and Zachery for dinner in the hotel restaurant.
Paige had slipped into a fancier blouse and heeled shoes—in the field she preferred flats with good traction—and Jack, Zachery, and I were wearing what we’d had on all day. Another striking difference between her and the rest of us was how the burden of the day showed on our faces, whereas Paige appeared to have found her second wind. Looking at her in the dim light of the dining room, there was a jab in my chest at the familiarity of having once been lovers, now torn apart and relegated to friends and coworkers.
The thought should have brought remorse, given that approximately fourteen hours ago, I had left another woman in my home. One who was scantily clad in my shirt and a lacy thong. But I wasn’t going to waste time feeling guilty. Choices resulted in actions, which resulted in consequences. It was a simple equation. And knowing I was responsible for each decision didn’t allow me to brood over bad feelings for long.
“Oh.” Paige waved across the room, and she was grinning. She stood up. “I hope you guys don’t mind, but I’ve made plans for tonight.”
I followed her gaze to Detective Sam Barber. My hands clenched into fists on the table, but I drew them back and forced myself to lay them flat on my thighs. I had no right to lay claim to Paige. We had made our decision, and it was the right one.
Barber was all smiles. And like before, the expression had him appearing to bite his bottom lip. I wasn’t sure if it was a natural mannerism or one he had taught himself. All I knew was I didn’t find him charming. At all. With Paige’s arm looped through his, she might as well be dumping salt over the wound I wasn’t aware I had. Yes, I cared for her, but since my marriage had ended—maybe even before I’d cheated—I wasn’t willing to commit to any woman. And with Paige, it was more complicated. We worked on the same team.
“Brandon,” Barber said, nodding to me.
“Yep.” I had mostly tuned him out, but he had greeted all of us by our first names. I glanced at Paige but she wasn’t looking at me. All I could think was, This guy?
“Sam’s taking me for dinner and drinks, but don’t worry, Jack, I’ll be bright-eyed and bushy tailed at oh-six-hundred.” She smiled, her eyes aligning with mine. Her expression was light, but she was either searching for a reaction or trying to provoke one.
She’d have to try harder. “Well, have fun. I know how you like to stay up late.”
Zachery shoved his shoe into mine, and it had me turning to him. He must’ve had some inkling as to my relationship with Paige. I should have known better than to deceive myself into thinking we’d kept it a secret. We worked with profilers. I wondered if Jack knew.
He, however, wasn’t paying me any attention. The waitress had returned with his vodka martini, and he told Paige to enjoy her night before taking a mouthful of his drink.
Anger pulsed through me like energy, making my stomach flutter and my heartbeat race. We were here on business, not for pleasure. We should be using this time to discuss the investigation over a steak, then calling it a night and rising early.
I tossed the napkin from my lap onto the table.
Jack looked over at me. So did Zachery.
I didn’t look at either of them as I stood. “Well, since this isn’t a working dinner, I’m going to order room service and turn in early.”
Translation: I was going to throw on a pair of shorts and a T-shirt and jab the air while imagining I was knocking the shit out of Barber.
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Chapter 14
THE NEXT MORNING, THE FOUR OF us stood in the morgue with Bill Manning, the medical examiner. I should have been the most rested among us seeing as I had retired to my room by eight o’clock. But I had hardly slept. When I had managed to drift off, it was into a dreamy state laden with images of the women in my life. Deb, my ex-wife, was thrown into the mix with Paige and Becky. Finally giving up, I had headed to the hotel’s gym at five AM where I’d endured physical torture, forcing myself to run faster than normal on the treadmill. I didn’t know what I was punishing myself for exactly—for letting Paige go or for being an idiot and allowing women to get to me like this in the first place.
Before we left the hotel, I had filled a to-go cup with coffee. It was dark enough to provide some sustaining power and was probably the only reason I was still standing.
Tara Day was on the slab, her body exposed and her eyes open and cloudy. There was subtle bruising on her torso where our unsub would have placed his knee. In the bright light of the autopsy room, there was a noticeable bluish tinge to her skin. I thought of something blue again.
Manning gestured toward the body as he stepped around the gurney. “The killer essentially burked her.”
“Burked her?” Was it the fact that this doctor liked to use fancy terminology or the result of my limited sleep? Either way, I didn’t know what that was.
“He’s referring to William Burke. He was executed in Edinburgh in 1829 for murdering several people,” Zachery said.
Manning smiled. “Impressive. Someone knows their history.”
“I read it in a textbook during university.”
“And you still remember that? Extraordinary.”
I didn’t have the patience for an intellectual standoff between Zachery and the older man right now. I still had no idea what burking was. I sensed Paige watching me but refused to meet her gaze. Instead, I took a long sip of coffee, trusting an explanation would come eventually.
Manning crossed his arms, and it seemed he was waiting on Zachery to clarify for the rest of us.
Zachery came through for him. “Burke smothered his victims to death. Hence, the term ‘burking.’ He wanted to leave as few markings on their bodies as possible. Where our killer and Burke differ is ours isn’t in the human-organ trafficking market.”
Manning golf-clapped, and Zachery smiled. I was ready to move on to the next topic.
“So the killer would’ve stood over her and placed his knee to her solar plexus and pushed down. It’s called compressive asphyxiation. That’s why she has cyanosis—” Manning glanced at me “—the reason for the bluish tinge.”
I nodded. We already knew the cause of death. Was it too much to ask for something new to go on?
Manning continued. “It’s also why she has petechiae, the red dots in the whites of her eyes.”
“It shows a deprivation of oxygen but is also indicative of a struggle,” Zachery added.
Was he working for a gold star on his report card or something?
“He likely would have covered her mouth to stifle her screams, as well,” Manning said.
The caffeine must have finally kicked in because that statement hit me hard. Based on the time of night and with no sign of a break-in, it was assumed that the killer was in her house when Tara went to bed. Likely she would have been sound asleep when he’d climbed on top of her. She would have woken up to face her killer. He likely had looked into her eyes while he took her life. Even in a dark room, it would have created a visceral connection, confirming again how personal killing was to our unsub.
The door swung open and Detective Powers and Barber appeared, both grinning at Paige. I refused to acknowledge the latter, but I noticed Paige’s face light up. Again. Like it had last night. I was ready to knock that goofy expression o
ff his face.
“I see we’re just in time. I heard you mention screams, doctor,” Powers said.
“You did.”
“Well, uniforms have finished talking to Tara’s neighbors. No one remembers seeing or hearing anything unusual.” Powers took all of us in as he spoke.
Barber jabbed his hands into his pockets. “Tara was known to sleep around, though. A little moaning or yelling wouldn’t have stood out.”
Jack nodded, then looked back to the ME. “He closes their eyes after he kills them to hide the petechiae, then,” Jack theorized, bringing the conversation back to the body. “He wants them to appear unmarred, perfect.”
“He’s essentially making them up for their wedding day,” Paige added.
Powers hooked his thumb on the waist of his pants. “And what do you make of the severed ring finger?”
Zachery answered. “He may be communicating the end of something, the engagement, the relationship.” He gestured as he spoke. Maybe he was hoping the added flair would bring the needed revelation.
“What about the ring itself?” I lifted my cup, disappointed to find it empty. “Neither Cheryl nor Tara was still engaged at the time of death. I can understand why Cheryl would still have her ring—maybe even have worn it from time to time—but Tara’s engagement ended years ago.”
“We found the box from Tara’s wedding dress, as you know, but the one for the ring was never found,” Powers interjected.
“She could have thrown it out. Tara’s best friend said she wore it on a chain around her neck.”
Powers nodded, then looked to Manning to continue his observations.
“The finger was cleanly cut off,” he said. “There was no evidence the person who did this hesitated in any way.”
“He did it before with Cheryl,” I said.
“Yes, but the lines were clean with her, too. Who you’re after didn’t think twice about cutting the women’s fingers off.”
“Tell me more about the eyes.” Jack pointed at them.
“Well, nature would have us staring off after death, the muscles relax and all that. But your killer glued her eyes shut. And I’m not talking in the way a body is prepared for burial. He coated the entire eyeball and then pulled the eyelids down.”
“Disgusting,” Paige said.
I eyed a garbage can and tossed my cup in there. “So he lifts her veil back to expose her face but makes sure her eyes are closed.”
“He doesn’t necessarily feel remorse over what he’s doing. He wants a clear line of sight to their faces, but he doesn’t want them looking back at him,” Zachery added. “Cheryl’s eyes were the same way.”
“Yes, they were. The glue is your standard eyelash adhesive. Nothing special. Now, here’s the creepy thing: see how there is a smudge of lipstick around her mouth?” Manning pointed to her lips. We all acknowledged, and he carried on. “I think the killer may have placed something in her mouth to form a smile and then removed it once rigor set in. The jaw goes stiff approximately six hours after time of death.”
“He’s making them smile and then hanging around for six hours?” I said. Cutting off their fingers and gluing their eyes shut were bad enough. What had he done to keep himself busy while she decomposed? Sat back and watched?
Based on the silence and energy in the room, I didn’t need to verbalize my thoughts. Everyone was thinking the same thing. Then I remembered what Zachery had said yesterday about the killer not so much recreating a scene but conjuring a feeling. How maybe the killer thought he was doing them a favor and freeing them somehow. There seemed to be something to that, but I couldn’t pinpoint what.
Seconds later, Manning continued. “No prints, not even partials, no DNA, and no evidence of sexual assault. But that last part I think you knew already.”
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Chapter 15
AFTER THE AUTOPSY, WE WENT back to the room at the police station. My gaze kept slipping to Paige. Maybe I was making too much out of her spending time with Barber. I had moved on; she had every right to do the same. Both of us deserved as much. She caught my eye, and I smiled at her. She returned it, but it didn’t touch her eyes.
Jack was pacing the room, his hand going to his shirt pocket as if he were checking on his cigarettes to make sure they were still there.
“We know there are similarities between the two victims,” I began, “and that killing is very personal to him. He’s getting on top of the women until he squeezes the life out of them. They’d wake up and be looking at him when their spirits leave.”
“And he doesn’t seek gratification through sexual assault because killing them is the intimate act,” Zachery expanded.
“I think it’s possible.” I let it rest there, but my mind went back to the bluish coloring of Tara’s body. Could the something blue be the women themselves? The connection between the two was skirting the edges of my brain.
“What do you guys make of the killer posing the victim’s lips so she looks like she’s smiling?” Paige asked the question, but my focus was on the board and the pictures of the two women.
Maybe if I stared at their images for long enough the answer would come to me. I narrowed in on their smiles, and it came together. The others must have sensed my epiphany as they all looked at me.
“I’ve figured out what the something blue is.” I walked to the board. “Think about it: Cheryl had recently broken up with her fiancé. Tara was searching for the perfect man—”
“Who, according to her friend Reanne, she might have found,” Jack interrupted.
“Except Reanne commented on the fact that she was restless because she wanted to find the perfect man and settle down. She held on to her wedding gown and her ring from two years ago. The latter she still wore around her neck.”
“I see where you’re going with this, Brandon. She was living in the past,” Paige said.
“You could say she was heartbroken,” I coaxed her.
“The something blue is—”
“That’s right, the something blue is the victims. The killer is targeting blue, or heartbroken, women.”
Zachery nodded. “These women were searching for happiness outside of themselves and looking to men to fulfill this need. Our unsub—in his warped mind—is fulfilling this need. He’s making them happy.”
“I agree,” I said. “He thinks he’s doing them a favor.”
“The question is why. Why would he believe killing them would make them happy?” Paige asked.
“He could be a strong believer in the afterlife and that what follows is a better place than here. Or he could have had some experience to make him think this,” Zachery added.
“You mean like a near-death experience?” Paige clarified.
He shrugged. “It’s possible.”
Jack stopped pacing. “Paige and Zach, I want you to dig further into Cheryl Bradley while Brandon and I work on Tara Day’s murder.”
“Do you think that’s a good idea with Tara’s murder being so recent? It should present fresh leads, and the more of us on it the better,” Paige said. She didn’t strike me as apologetic for questioning Jack’s orders, but she had a way of doing so without upsetting the man. I didn’t want to see how he’d react if I ever questioned his decisions in front of the team.
“I think it’s what we have to do given with the similarities of the cases. As you infiltrate Cheryl’s world, we’ll put ourselves into Tara’s.”
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Chapter 16
THE MEMORIES WERE GETTING STRONGER, clearer, more persistent. He had to share his gift with more women, but the suffocation part… It didn’t feed his soul. Killer still wasn’t a word he would use to describe himself. He was a friend, a confidant, a healer. Nonetheless, what he did was necessary to align these women with their happiness, to make them find serenity am
id an otherwise chaotic world. The law would never view his actions with empathy or understanding. They would simply seek to lock him up for life. His saving grace from the execution chair was that North Dakota had abolished the death penalty.
He was no longer living in fear of getting caught and had taken the day off from work. Pulling out his sketch pad, he fondly appreciated the beauty of both women. First, Cheryl. Second, Tara. He was building quite the collection, deriving inspiration from the originals, and had about eleven sketches of Cheryl and three of Tara. But as he gazed on the portraits of Cheryl, the spark ignited to flame. She had been so sad. So distraught. She had felt so worthless.
He touched a finger to the edge of the page and closed his eyes.
She had taken a long time to die. But he had pushed through, knowing the greater good was being achieved by his actions.
Cheryl had been sound asleep. She hadn’t stirred until he’d been in position, straddled over her. Her eyes had shot open, then her expression had softened. He’d detected the hint of a smile on her face in the moonlight that filtered into her bedroom. She must have thought he was going to make love to her, but he’d had no intention of doing so. He had fought off her advances the night before.
He didn’t violate her or any of the women for a few reasons. One was the need to be careful about what he left behind. Sexual relations were messy and a forensic gold mine.
Once instinct had awakened her senses, Cheryl had cried out, but he’d quickly covered her mouth and pinched her nose. She’d bucked beneath him, her lungs yearning for oxygen.
He’d watched as the light extinguished from her eyes and felt her body become still beneath him.
All had been so quiet, he’d imagined the digital clock on her nightstand ticking.
He’d let out a deep breath and softly caressed her face with the back of his hand.
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