I shrugged. If he didn’t have a problem with it, neither did I.
-
Chapter 4
GIVEN WHERE THE REMAINS HAD been found, the forensics were being handled by the Coastal Lab of the Georgia Bureau of Investigation. While the institution offered various areas of expertise, it also housed the chief medical examiner we were going to meet. Usually a coroner was charged with determining cause and manner of death, but since this case was a high-profile one, that responsibility had shifted onto different shoulders.
A man in scrubs met us with a friendly smile. He was easily in his fifties and balding.
“This is Chief Medical Examiner Garrett Campbell.” Pike made the introduction for him, but we provided our own names and shook his hand.
“Come on in,” Garrett said. “We can get started if you’re ready.”
The bones from an arm and leg were laid out on a steel gurney. Knowing that the arm found yesterday was with an anthropologist, these were the ones from last week’s victims, which had already been stripped of their muscle tissue. Next to the gurney, a wheeled tray held a fat folder.
Garrett pressed his lips together. “I can just share what I’ve found first, or if you have any questions, we can begin with those.”
“We have a lot of questions,” Jack said. “But let’s start with a time of death. Any luck with that?”
Garrett shook his head. “Unfortunately, finding just a single body part makes determining TOD extremely difficult, if not impossible.”
Jack frowned. “I had a feeling you might say that.”
“Do you know if the skin was removed before or after death?” I asked.
Garrett looked at me. “Given the state of the remains, it is another one of those things that is hard to determine.”
“All right, what can you tell us?” Jack’s tone was unforgiving now.
Garrett proceeded with respect and caution. “The bone marrow was intact in both cases, and we were able to test it to see if there was any evidence of drugs in the victims’ systems. The results from these remains—” Garrett gestured to the bones “—were negative.”
So our unsub had managed to subdue their victims without weakening them with drugs—at least not ones that showed up in a general tox screen. Running with the assumption that drugs were not used, we could be looking at a strong unsub—one that could overpower men in their twenties—but it was also possible that a means of manipulation was used.
“As you’ve likely read in my initial report, the hand and foot were intentionally cut off.” Garrett pointed to the end of the arm where the hand had been severed. “You can see the nicks in the bone there.”
We took turns moving closer to look, and I couldn’t help but sink into a moment of reflection. This was what happened to us when we died. We were catalogued, poked, and prodded, and strangers studied our remains.
Garrett continued. “Since the markings in the bone seem rather clean, I do feel comfortable concluding that the victims weren’t aware of the mutilation.”
“They were already dead?” Paige clarified.
“I believe so. Now, these nicks also help us determine the shape of the instrument used and the blade type. Molding has confirmed that the blade is relatively smooth and slightly curved. It’s apparent the killer would have used a sawing motion to remove the hands and foot.” Garrett picked up the folder, pulled out a sheet of paper, and held it up for us to see. It was an image of a tear-shaped blade. “Our lab has come back with this.”
“Not a standard-shaped knife,” I noted.
Garrett shook his head.
“Was Forensics able to pull anything from the nicks that could indicate what the blade was made of?” Zach inquired.
“Unfortunately, we weren’t that lucky. However, take a look at this.” Garrett exchanged the photo for another one. It was an arm with the muscle tissue still attached. “This is the arm that was found last week. The one from yesterday looked similar. Look at the wrist area. With the state of decomposition, I had almost missed it, but if you look closely, you’ll see areas of hematoma.” He handed the photo to Jack, who was standing next to him, and pointed to the area.
“It would have taken a lot for the bruising to reach the muscle tissue,” I said aloud, surmising.
Garrett looked at me. “For it to show to this extent, yes.” He took out another photo. “The leg also shows sign of subdermal bleeding, just above where the foot was cut off.”
“The victims were restrained,” Zach said.
Garrett nodded. “It seems that way.”
“It’s possible, then, that they were drugged initially and held for a period of time,” I posited.
“Entirely,” Garrett agreed.
That dismissed the need for our unsub to be physically stronger than the victims.
“Have you figured out how the limbs became separated from the torso?” Paige asked.
“My strongest hypothesis is that the victims were stretched out, and their limbs were disjointed from the torso. Then as the remains decomposed, the tissue broke down and detached.”
The killers we hunted never ceased to surpass their predecessors. “So they held on to the dead bodies for a while?”
“How long would depend on a number of things. Namely the rate of decomposition, which can speed up because of heat, immersion in water, burial, the presence of bacteria, predators… What I can say is that every body part found so far is at a different stage of decay.”
“So the unsub kept the bodies and decided to start dumping the parts one or two at a time,” Paige said.
My stomach clenched.
“If that’s the case, though, they took a great risk hanging on to the bodies for the time they did,” Zach stated. “Someone could have found them out.”
Paige was nodding. “Unless there was no one else around to find out.”
“The killer’s a loner,” I concluded.
“Or a team of unsubs who stick together and don’t have an outside circle,” Paige said, handing Garret back the photos. “Going back to the restraints… Were you able to tell what was used?”
“Given the amount of damage to the muscle tissue, I’d say it was something hard and rigid. Metal perhaps.”
“Handcuffs?” I asked.
Garrett shook his head. “I’d estimate a wider cuff of approximately one and a half to two inches.”
“Sounds like some kind of metal bracelet,” Zach suggested.
“Possibly. Now, everything I’ve shared with you on the remains from last week is mirrored in the arm found yesterday, less the toxicology results that we’re waiting on. And the age of the victim,” Garrett stated.
Jack pulled out a business card and gave it to Garrett. “Keep us informed of any new findings.”
He slipped it into a pocket. “I will.”
Out in the parking lot, we gathered with Pike, who I’d almost forgotten was there since he hadn’t said anything beyond Garrett’s introduction.
“What are you thinking?” Pike asked Jack.
“We still don’t know how the remains got into the river, but it seems they were dumped there,” Jack began, “and they couldn’t have been in there too long given the rate of decomp.”
“Agreed. Also, if they’d been in there for a length of time, alligators would have eaten them,” Pike said.
“That means we’re looking at anyone who had access to the plantation, from tourists to employees,” I said.
“To trespassers,” Paige added.
And that just shot the suspect pool wide open.
“Yeah,” I said. “Those too.”
“You cleared all current plantation employees,” Jack said, looking at Pike. “Did you look at Jesse Holt?”
“There was no need to before, given he’s an ex-employee.”
Jack nodded. “
If you could pull his complete background for us…?”
“Sure.”
“But first—” Jack took in his team “—we’re going to pay visits to Tucker and Graham, get a feel for them ourselves.”
Paige’s earlier comment about a team of unsubs with no outside circle came back to me. “What if we’re looking for more than one killer? Maybe it wasn’t a matter of drugging or the unsub being stronger than the victims, it could have simply been a matter of manpower.” I turned to Pike. “Do these two men know each other?”
“I…” Pike rubbed his jaw and glanced at Jack. “I don’t know.”
“I think he’s got a point,” Jack said. “We’ve got to figure that out. Paige and Zach, you talk to Graham. Brandon and I will pay Tucker a visit.”
“I’ll get you their addresses right now.” Pike sauntered off to his sedan and came back with two pieces of paper. He handed one to Jack and one to Paige. “Neither of them are too far from here. Say, fifteen minutes.”
“All right…” Jack consulted his phone. “It’s about five now. We’ll meet back at the precinct after we’ve finished and see where we’re at. Aim for about sixty thirty. And, Pike, if you could have the background ready on Jesse Holt when we get there, that’d be great.”
“Will do.”
With that, we all parted ways.
And so the hunt for a serial killer begins.
-
Chapter 5
JONATHAN TUCKER LIVED IN A modest home on a tree-lined street in Carver Village, a Savannah neighborhood.
Jack parked in Tucker’s driveway, and we got out. The laughter of children was coming from the backyard, along with the smell of barbecuing hot dogs—an aroma northern states associated with summer, not the month of February—and we headed toward the back.
A man peeked around the side of the house and walked toward us, pointing a pair of tongs in our direction. He brought the smell of beer with him, and there were mustard stains on his shirt. “Who are you?”
Aside from his unshaven face, he closely resembled the DMV photo we had for Tucker.
“You’re Jonathan Tucker.” Jack stated it as fact.
“What’s it to you?”
Jack held up his credentials. “My name is Jack, and this is Brandon.”
Rarely did Jack introduce us by our first names, but there were times he did it to set someone at ease. Since we didn’t know if Tucker was involved, and until we had a gauge on how we felt about that, it was better for him to think of us as his allies.
“Whoa, the FBI is on this now?” Tucker asked. “Though I guess that shouldn’t surprise me, especially with another arm being found.”
“Daddy!” The shrill scream came from a little girl in the backyard, and Tucker went running in her direction. Jack and I followed, and when we rounded the house, flames were coming off the grill, at least a foot high.
How the man had managed that while cooking hot dogs was beyond me.
Tucker grabbed a near-empty beer bottle from his patio railing. He tossed the liquid onto the fire, but it did nothing to douse the flames. I wedged in front of Tucker and cranked the propane tank off. The fire kept going. I turned the valves off, too, and disconnected the tank from the barbecue and moved it several feet away.
The fire kept raging.
Two girls were hugging each other, watching in horror, both sets of eyes wide. The younger of the two was crying. Tucker was just standing there staring at the flames.
I scanned the back of the house for a garden hose and found one dangling from a reel not far from where the barbecue was, but Jack had made it there first. He turned it on full force and aimed the water at the fire.
There was a lot of smoke, but when that cleared, what remained on the grill were the black, shriveled husks of what were once juicy hot dogs. They gave charbroiled a whole different meaning.
The younger girl ran to Tucker and flung her arms around his legs. “Daddy.”
“It’s all right, Bethany.” Tucker fanned his daughter’s blond hair, and then she seemed to notice Jack and me for the first time.
Jack had a scowl etched on his face, likely not thrilled by this little detour. Barbecuing really should come with the same warning as operating a vehicle or boat did: Don’t mix with alcohol.
Bethany pointed at us. “Who are they?”
“They’re here to talk to me for a bit. Go back and play. I’ll order up a pizza as soon as we’re done here.” Tucker attempted to downplay the fire situation, but his gaze was on the spoiled food and his soaking-wet barbecue.
Bethany ran off, barefoot, toward a swing set. The older girl remained, eyeing us with curiosity and disdain. My guess was that she blamed us for her ruined lunch.
“Go with your sister, Cora,” Tucker said to the girl.
She grimaced but obeyed her father.
After she walked away, Tucker turned back to Jack and me, his eyes flashing irritation. Over his change in lunch plans, his spilled beer, or the need to relive what he’d discovered, I wasn’t certain.
“I’m not sure what more I can tell you.” He lowered his voice and added a rather detached, “I found an arm.”
For someone Pike had described as being upset over the find, Tucker wasn’t showing much evidence of that to us yet.
“You work at Blue Heron Plantation, yes? What do you do there?” Jack asked.
“I’m paid to ensure the marsh is clean. I pick up any litter or debris in the water. Yesterday, I got more than I’d bargained—” Tucker bit down on his bottom lip, emotion now coming to the forefront.
He seemed suspicious to me, despite his noticeable discomfort. If this guy was in charge of the marsh, why hadn’t he found the remains last week? It could mean a couple of things—he and Graham were working together and had planned on staging the discoveries at certain times or Tucker wasn’t very thorough in doing his job. But the remains last week were found closer to shore, so they could have gone unnoticed.
“Are you responsible for the riverbanks, as well?” I asked.
Tucker shook his head. “Primarily the river itself. I’m out on a boat. But if I see something on the bank that needs taking care of, I’ll do it. You’ve probably seen the place, though? There’s a lot of tall grass and in most places, I can’t see through to the shore.”
“Your statement says you thought it was a stick at first?” I recalled this tidbit from the case file.
Tucker nodded. “It wasn’t until I got closer…that I realized what it was.”
While I was starting to witness his upset, it wasn’t enough to convince me of the man’s innocence. While Tucker’s living arrangements—a modest house and two young daughters—would make it nearly impossible to murder and mutilate men without being discovered, it didn’t mean that he hadn’t teamed up with someone, like Graham, and carried out these acts elsewhere.
I pulled out my phone and brought up a picture of Wesley Graham. “Do you know this man?”
Tucker took the phone from me and looked at the photo for a few seconds. “No,” he said as he handed it back.
“What about the name Wesley Graham?” Jack interjected.
“That sounds familiar.” Tucker’s brow furrowed. “But I’m not sure why…”
If he thought we were going to feed him that answer, he’d be waiting forever.
Tucker’s eyes lit up. “Ah, he was the one who found the body parts last week.”
“And do you know him?” Jack asked, repeating my initial question.
“Never met him before in my life.”
Based on Tucker’s assuredness, body language, and facial expression, he seemed to be telling the truth. “Did you notice anyone around the plantation in the last month or two who seemed strange or off in some way?”
“Nah, not really. I mean, we get some interesting tourists coming through, but no
one stuck out as a killer to me.” Killer was said at a lower volume than the rest of his words, and he gave a quick glance over at his girls.
“What about any locals? Do any visit often, or is there anyone in particular who stands out to you?” I pressed.
“Every town has their oddballs. Here is no different. There’s one man who comes most mornings during the week. I don’t know his name, though. He’s always dressed in a suit. I think he goes to the plantation before heading to work.”
“What does he look like?” Jack asked.
Tucker ran a hand over his mouth, and he squinted as if he were trying to pry a memory loose.
“You said he’s there most days…” Why was it taking such mental effort for him to conjure up an image of the guy if that was the case?
Tucker met my eyes. “I’m usually still half-asleep when he’s there.”
“What time is that?” Jack asked.
“Usually between six and seven.”
“You remember that he dresses in a suit… Brown hair? Blond? A white man?” Hopefully something I said would jog Tucker’s memory.
“Actually, he has short brown hair, and he’s always clean shaven. I think he drives a red Prius, come to think of it. I’ve seen him pull into the lot a few times.”
A man who frequents Blue Heron Plantation. A seeming draw by our unsub to depose of body parts there.
“Are his visits a new thing or has he been going there for weeks, months, years?” I asked.
“I’d say years.”
I was probably taking a long shot with my next question. “Do you know his name?”
Tucker shook his head.
“Did you ever speak to him?” I continued.
“Nothing more than ‘hey’ or ‘morning.’”
What did that say about society when two people run into each other over a course of multiple years and didn’t get past a basic greeting?
“Did he have any sort of accent?” Jack asked.
“He didn’t sound like he was from the South.”
I nodded. Now we were getting somewhere. “Did he sound American?”
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