Crushed

by Kate Watterson

  Now all he had to do was get Ellie to agree to it, and he wasn’t even sure what his motivation might be. Someone to hold his hand? He’d never had dinner with his parents at all, much less alone. What? If he would shoot an intruder to protect Ellie, she should surely be able to have a bite of steak or some lasagna to help him out. She’d at least keep the conversation going.

  Sounded like a fair trade.

  His mother said, “Wonderful. I’ll make your grandmother’s famous strawberry cake. Your father will be very happy.”

  He wasn’t even aware his grandmother had a famous strawberry cake recipe. “I’ll get back to you. Thanks for calling.”

  After that interesting exchange he walked over to Ellie’s desk. Maybe he even stalked over. That was possible. He was abrupt, but Ellie usually handled it fairly well. “Don’t even try to get out of this, but you’re the one that found my parents. I didn’t even particularly want any part of it, so you and I now have a date for strawberry cake.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You did it and you now own it. We’re invited for dinner. You’re the one that pursued this I-should-find-my-parents idea, and I’m not going alone.”

  “To dinner with your parents?”

  “Oh yeah. I think I’m now officially pissed at you. Mexican for dinner tonight at your place, okay? I’ll pick it up. We can talk about it then before I sack out on your couch again.”

  Ellie said in typical Ellie fashion, “You are such an ass. Yes, to Mexican food, I want a beef burrito. Fine, I’ll go along to this family dinner if this makes you so uncomfortable, but I was just trying to help when I found your mother.”

  “My father is a criminal and she abandoned me. Surely they should get a plaque for bad parenting.”

  Ellie crossed her arms. “Your father paid his debt to society and has stayed clean, and your mother is the one trying, not you. There’s nothing for us to talk about, and if there is, tell Lukens. Only talk to me if someone kills someone.”

  “I heard that and guess what? I’m talking to you. You have another body.” It was Fergusson striding by with his usual abrupt approach. “Broad daylight. Different park. The report phoned in tells me it all adds up. He wrote on the victim on the wrist. Two was bad enough. This makes three, or if Grasso is right, maybe four. Get in gear. Metzger doesn’t want to talk on the news, and I don’t blame him. I’ve done it, and I hate it.”

  “Where?”

  “I sent a text.”

  MacIntosh grabbed her jacket while Jason checked his phone.

  “Oh shit,” he said vehemently, “that park is right by my apartment. Coincidence? I’m starting to doubt that right away.”

  * * *

  This was calculated and cold.

  It was a show of power. Ellie knew every single case had a feel to it, and this one pushed the edge.

  Was there a connection between her letting Santiago stay the night at her condo and this new killing? She was starting to think so when she knelt beside the body and read the ink on the victim’s arm.

  Think about me.

  The victim this time was a young man, probably in his early twenties, and asphyxiation once again the method even if in a different form. He’d been hung from a tree, part of the rope still dangling.

  She was cold all over. None of it made any sense.

  One of his shoes had fallen off, and Ellie didn’t want to look at it there in the nicely clipped grass, an orphan of a horrific crime. The scene was still being processed, so no one had picked it up yet, and she wouldn’t either—she had her job and the technicians had theirs—but she hated it just lying there.

  Cinderella …

  “We cut him down thinking it was a suicide, and then saw that.” The young officer sounded pragmatic. “I thought for a second it was a tattoo, but then realized it was just regular ink and made the park connection since I read the paper every morning with my infamous doughnut and coffee. We didn’t touch anything else after we called it in as a possible homicide.”

  “Let me guess, no ID.”

  “You’d be guessing exactly right, Detective.”

  What if a child had stumbled across the body? She knew that when she looked over at Santiago the reason his jaw was clenched so tight was because he was thinking the same thing. This time it was a young mother, Mrs. Harris, who had thought her son’s favorite ball had been left behind and gone back to get it once her husband came home and could watch the child while she ran back. She was as pale as an arctic ice floe and gladly accepted the offer of an unopened bottle of water. Santiago was nice enough to take off the cap for her because she was shaking so much she couldn’t do it on her own.

  When he gave it back, he said with un-Santiago-like sensitivity, “Describe the ball and I’ll find it. It isn’t going to be evidence. Detective MacIntosh might have a few questions, though, for you. Talk to her and I’ll go look for it.”

  “It’s blue and this big.” She gave the dimensions with her shaking hands. “My son is three. He sleeps with it. He has to have it. Oh God. He loves to play here, but I doubt I’ll bring him again.”

  Ellie said, “Let’s go sit in my car and you can take a deep breath while Detective Santiago looks for the ball. The crime scene is almost processed.”

  The woman was young and dark haired, maybe in her midtwenties. She nodded almost frantically and downed about half the bottle of water as they walked to the car. Ellie didn’t blame her. “Did you see anyone?” She tried to be matter-of-fact, but it was really difficult. “I’m sure at the moment you realized there was someone hanging there you weren’t thinking about anything else, because that’s how we work as human beings, but did anyone walk by or catch your attention beforehand? Maybe they weren’t acting strangely, but something didn’t seem quite right? You know about ninety percent of police work is about science, and the important ten percent is about how we sense things. It could be as simple as a bad feeling.”

  She was calming down, considering it, staring at the bottle of water in her hand. “I did have a feeling I was being watched from that way.” She pointed toward the north. “I don’t know why I thought someone was there, but I did. That doesn’t help you one bit.”

  Well, maybe yes and maybe no. “But you didn’t see anyone.”

  Mrs. Harris tearfully wiped her eyes. “A young man stopped and asked if I needed help, but I’d already called emergency services.”

  Oh, that sounded unfortunately familiar. “Can you describe him? Take a minute.”

  “The man? I don’t really know … tall. Young.”

  “The color of his hair or anything distinguishing?”

  “I can’t think of anything. Blond hair maybe … or light brown.”

  “Was he white? African American? Hispanic?”

  “White.”

  Same guy as with the old couple, Ellie knew it. “Nothing else? Was he wearing an earring in one ear?”

  The young woman shook her head. “I didn’t notice one, but I was so shaken up and he was just being nice.”

  Oh yeah, he was positively a delightful human being all right, but even if there wasn’t a pattern yet to how he chose his victims, they had several, albeit vague, descriptions. Second was the park thing, third was he didn’t stab or shoot anyone, he liked them to die from lack of air.

  Santiago was successful with the ball quest and returned the coveted item, opening her door and helping Mrs. Harris nicely out of the car. “One of the officers will drive you home. A patrol car will follow and pick him up. Don’t worry, none of your neighbors will see you arrive in a police vehicle.”

  “Thank you.” She clutched the ball like she was the three-year-old and made a beeline for her car.

  Santiago climbed into her spot in the passenger seat. Ellie commented, “Good idea about having someone drive her.”

  After they pulled away, Santiago said, “I think she was more composed than the janitor dude and a lot cuter. Still, that ball evidently needs to make it home in on
e piece. I’m really starting to hate this guy we’re dealing with. Did she help us at all?”

  “She did. Not that we’re any closer to catching him, but it seems to me like he hangs around waiting for the body to be discovered. Young, seems nice, brown hair, stops to ask if he can help. She didn’t remember an earring, but for all we know, he took it out.”

  “I never thought I’d say this in my life, but I’d love to be the one to discover the next body. If he stopped by to ask if I needed help, I’d just cuff him and haul him in.”

  Ellie sent him a sidelong look. “Probably not in a gentle manner, I take it. I think we need a profiler on this one. He’s contacting us, he’s obsessed with a certain cause of death, and he wants to be right there to see the reaction to his crime. That said, we don’t have a suspect. Let’s find out what we’re looking for.”

  “I’ve got the answer and I don’t work for the FBI. He’s a maniac scumbag.”

  “In this world we live in, that doesn’t narrow it down enough,” she pointed out dryly.

  He conceded that one. “Fine. So call Montoya. He’s your go-to guy for this sort of thing. Since we have almost nothing, it will take about two minutes of his time.”

  “‘Think of me.’ He’s getting bold very fast.”

  This perp was a derailed loaded locomotive. “Call the FBI.”

  * * *

  Montoya was out on vacation, but he answered anyway. She wasn’t surprised. None of them rested, they just pretended to relax. Ellie said, “I won’t waste your precious time. I have next to nothing, but I really don’t know how to find him. He’s killed three people already and we’re thinking four is more accurate. Tell me something about this killer that will help. People are dying.”

  “You seem certain he’s the same one.”

  She outlined the notes written on the bodies. “I can’t be sure about the older lady. I think she was a casualty of having met him directly face-to-face. Others might have also, but she was our only real link. If he was the one who paid her to buy me flowers, he’s not playing around, but that’s if he’s the one who sent me flowers. Someone did. No note.”

  Agent Montoya immediately said, “If he did kill your older victim, she didn’t meet some criteria in his mind. It was necessary but not satisfying.”

  “He also likes to cruise by for the discovery of the body. He chooses a public place like a park to put the victims. He kills a diverse group so far, but floats on by to see the reaction of the people who find them. I have an unusable description, but in their defense, they only hear him asking if he can help. It isn’t like they are committing that to memory; they are so shocked by finding a body that it is the only thing they are thinking about.”

  “Common. But you have a description, right? Make it fast. I need another Bloody Mary. I’m in South Carolina and there’s a golf course with my name on it.”

  “Young male, tall, athletically built, and might wear an earring. I’ve been called on the phone by the killer. It was a burner. We couldn’t trace it.”

  There was a sudden silence. Then Agent Montoya said, “He did what? Describe that conversation to me.”

  “He called me Cinderella and asked if I liked the flowers. The first victim was missing a shoe when she was found. You don’t have to be top of your class in detecting school to make that connection.”

  “That doesn’t make me happy.”

  Oh, good to hear from a federal profiler. She was already jumpy. “Yeah, I know.” She said it tightly. “This latest victim had one of his shoes off and lying on the ground. If I were you I wouldn’t plan on sneaking up on me anytime soon because it is very possible I’ll pull my weapon. I’m worried I’ll shoot a little girl who is selling cookies at my door if she knocks too loudly. My partner is currently sleeping on my couch at night, and while I would normally argue over it, I’m not. This killer has an agenda we don’t get. He seems to want to take me head-on. So tell me about him. What do I need to know?”

  Montoya didn’t answer immediately but thought it over. “Does he kill just women, or men too?”

  “So far your gender is winning a contest in which no one wants to claim the gold medal. One woman and two males; unless he did kill the older lady. We don’t even know the identity of the last victim, as he takes their ID. We have to wait for someone to report him missing.”

  “I see. I’m processing. I think my wife just glared at me, but I get bored on vacation anyway and she’s better at golf than I am, which is emasculating. I’m glad you called. What else?”

  “He doesn’t do it the same way, but asphyxiation is his thing.”

  “Sounds like a great guy. I’m glad he doesn’t live in my neighborhood. You need to be very careful, Detective. He’s forming a bond with you. It happens. Just like children misbehave to get attention, disturbed adults will do the same thing.”

  “He’s very random. We can’t connect the victims. The only similarity is that they’ve all had alcohol in their system so far. We don’t have a full tox back yet on the third victim, but they did do a blood alcohol level test right away. Twice the legal limit, which makes you too impaired to drive a vehicle, but not falling-down drunk necessarily.”

  “That’s interesting.”

  “I think so too.”

  “E-mail me the specs of the cases, but watch your back. You’ve gotten press for apprehending more than one serial killer in your neck of the woods. It could be he just wants you to know what he’s capable of.”

  “I’ve pointed this out to other people, but there was no way of predicting I’d be assigned to this case. I’m definitely not the only homicide detective in this city.”

  “But you’d hear about him, you’d notice him. That’s what he wants. I’m going to say he was fixated on you before this all started, but when he realized you were assigned to this case, he was in seventh heaven. Either way, don’t discount how dangerous he might be to you on a personal level.”

  Apparently Santiago was spot-on. She wasn’t particularly happy when she ended the call.

  She sat there, pulling up the files. It was one thing to be the hunter. It was never fun to be the hunted.

  If she revealed this conversation, Santiago would probably own her couch. She had very mixed feelings about it. She was confident she could take care of herself, but no one can handle everything. She had to sleep now and then.

  A hard thing to learn, but she’d been over it in her head before.

  “Hammett asked me to give you this.” It was Grasso, handing over an envelope. He leaned a hip on the edge of her desk. “Everything okay?”

  “I think so.”

  “I usually hate that answer.”

  “I don’t usually give it.”

  “True enough. How’s Montoya?”

  “Santiago has a big mouth.”

  Grasso just smiled negligibly. “Um, no, he doesn’t. I’m the next Sherlock Holmes, remember? With a third body, if I were in your shoes, I’d call the FBI to talk to a profiler, and you’ve worked with him before. I deduced you’d called him.”

  Ellie took a second to go over her response. “Montoya is sitting in the sun on vacation, but he’s going to go over my notes because drinking booze and golf has him bored. Is there something wrong with every single one of us in law enforcement? Following the activities of a criminal is better than golf and a Bloody Mary?”

  Grasso said without a blink, “Nope, we’re the normal ones. I’m sticking to that story. Any insights?”

  “From Montoya? He’s just going to look over the notes. The man is on vacation.”

  “Nothing else?”

  “I should watch my back.”

  “You should.”

  “You are as bad as Santiago.”

  He rose, as well dressed as ever in tailored slacks, an expensive shirt, and a tie that probably cost two hundred dollars. “As Santiago? That’s the second time lately I’ve been compared to him. I’m not liking the direction this all is going, so cut me some slack for caring.�
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  “Okay, you aren’t as bad as Santiago. He would have said ‘for giving a shit.’” She didn’t like this investigation either.

  Grasso did take that pretty well. “Okay, you win that one. He would say that.”

  “My impression was Montoya was alarmed, but not too much. Obviously we’re dealing with someone dangerous, but we usually are. Once he reads the notes we’ll know more where to look.”

  “Who to look for, maybe, but where is being pretty optimistic.”

  He was right, of course. “We have enough you’d think we could make some progress, but this killer seems really talented at being unmemorable.”

  “I’m not a profiler, but I’d say he’s more adept at seeming to be a pleasant person. We remember someone who alarms us. We don’t remember someone who just offers his help.”

  Grasso had been working this job for much longer than she had. “I agree. ‘Nice’ seems to be the word that keeps popping up.”

  “Yeah, well, he’s not so nice.”

  She thought about the body hanging in the park with a sick twist in her stomach. “No, he’s not nice.”

  Chapter 9

  He ran with a steadiness of long practice, stride even, breathing controlled, the spring air fresh in his lungs.

  He’d headed to one of his favorite trails, a long winding wooded path where the trees were starting to hold a shimmer of green.

  He hadn’t grown up in Milwaukee, but was from a small town in Dane County, a hole-in-the-wall place surrounded by dairy farms, and he’d thought traveling to Madison with his parents was a sophisticated experience when he was a kid, even if his grandparents’ house smelled vaguely like cat urine and pipe tobacco. For a special treat they would all go to a small Swiss restaurant run by a fat woman who made the most amazing dumplings that he devoured like it was manna falling from heaven.