Kill Them All (Drexel Pierce Book 2)

by Patrick Kanouse

  When they arrived back at the station, Victor rocked in one of the conference room chairs, his fingertips touching and the resultant steeple held against his lips. Sobieski paced back and forth in front of the murder board, hands clasped behind his back. He turned on Drexel. “What the hell’ve you been doing? Where’s my goddamn progress?”

  “We’ve got surveillance underway. We’re chasing down his work schedule. We’ve got officers and detectives hoofing it across this city,” said Drexel.

  “And what are you doing? Seems you have time for lunch. Did you bring any to share?”

  Drexel bit his lower lip. He recalled plenty of incidents when Sobieski was a beat cop where his priority seemed to be finishing his lunch rather than answering a call. But the commander only knew how to turn up the volume in an argument. “We were discussing the case. Discussing how we should approach—what our next steps are.”

  “I’ve had reporters call me all morning wanting a statement. I’ve got the superintendent calling me saying he and the mayor need an update. And I’ve got my lead detective on this case eating instead of working.”

  Victor let his hands drop. “Carl, come on. They aren’t slacking off. Let them give you a rundown of what they found so far.”

  Sobieski ignored the captain. “Why are we just now getting autopsy reports for the first two victims? Why weren’t you down there that night on top of the ME’s ass getting these done?”

  Drexel rubbed his hand through his hair. “As I reported, the bodies were frozen. You can’t conduct an autopsy with the body in that state.”

  “Fucking thaw them out.”

  “You don’t know a goddamn thing about what can or can’t be done.”

  For Sobieski, that crossed the line. Doggett could have screamed it at the commander, but Drexel even thinking it deserved the tirade that came next. That diatribe was heard throughout the squad room and probably the floors above and below. He knew he would have to take it, let the commander vent and rage and peter out, exhausting his frustration. When it was over, the commander stormed out, shouting at Victor as he did to “Fix it.”

  Victor smiled after he was gone. “I always appreciate our dear leader’s visits.” He stood up and adjusted the knot of his tie. “Keep doing what you’re doing.” He walked out. As the door closed behind him, he said to the squad room, “Get back to work.”

  Daniela and Drexel continued their search through more Missing Person’s files at the station into late in the afternoon. Drexel opened a file. A photo of Jared Sales bore significant resemblance to the image of the male found in the gas station. The man watching someone dear to him die before him. He read through the initial report. Jared’s girlfriend, Bobbi Lawlend, was also missing.

  He slid the folder over to Daniela. “I think I found the latest victims.”

  She pushed her glasses up on her nose, set aside the file she was holding, and grabbed the folder. She looked it over, nodding slowly and lightly as she read. She bit the end of a blue pen. “Yep, boss, this fits.” She flipped a couple of pages.

  They were reported missing on May 4, 2015. The couple had been engaged two months before their disappearance and had set a date for their wedding on April 23, 2016. Saturday. They lived in the house Jared had bought in 2011. Neighbors remembered their cars arriving home. One neighbor, Oliver Josephs recalled seeing their front living room light on at 5:00 a.m. in the morning when he walked his Yorkshire terrier into the front yard to pee. Josephs reported that was the only time he remembers the light being on at that time of the morning. The house showed no signs of forced entry. It had an alarm system, but Bobbi’s parents stated she never armed it except when they were away for a vacation. No sign of a struggle in the house. Jared’s Jeep Liberty was found three days later—abandoned near the United Center. Police camera footage from the Clark Street and Wallen Avenue corner showed the Jeep Liberty heading south with the image of a pixelated, single driver. Investigators were unable to obtain any more information. Efforts to track the SUV with other cameras were fruitless. And Benoit Cadenat’s name appeared again. He had led the investigation into the missing couple.

  Daniela played with the tab opener on her Monster can. “Unis responded to a welfare request from Jared’s parents. They called when their son’s workplace reached out to them. Last seen on May third. Shit. He worked for Loyola as a professor of English.”

  Drexel opened Bobbi’s file. “Welfare request came from her parents too. She worked in the Student Affairs office for Loyola. If you didn’t see it, Benoit was the lead.”

  “We’re beyond coincidence, right?”

  Drexel nodded, but he did not like it. “The couple was last seen on campus. Not together. The welfare checks were conducted late on May fourth.”

  “Unlikely our perp would take them separately. So they must have been at home.” Drexel pulled out a sheet of paper. Benoit’s typed-up notes. But in the margin, Benoit—at least Drexel assumed so—scrawled “Professional abduction?” He showed it to Daniela.

  She flipped a few pages. “They had twenty thousand in savings, which as of—January this year—hasn’t been touched. No connections with gangs or drugs.”

  As Drexel knew, most of the time if people got in trouble over drugs, they were shot in the street or their homes, not kidnapped.

  Daniela tossed the Jared Sales folder onto the table. “So what do we do?”

  “About what?” asked Victor, who stopped at the entrance of the conference room and leaned against the doorjamb.

  Chapter 20

  You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” Sobieski stared out Victor’s office window onto the sunny streets and shimmering high rises. He ran his fingers through his hair and held them there.

  Victor, who had called back the commander once Drexel told him about Benoit’s connection with every victim to date, scratched his forehead and looked at both Daniela and Drexel sitting across from him. Photos of Victor’s wife and kids sat on the desk to the left of his computer.

  “This is just fucking great.” Sobieski turned around and let his hands fall to his side. “Fuck. I was on my way to see the superintendent.” He curled his hands into fists and then uncurled them. “Fuck.”

  Drexel said, “Sir, we—”

  Sobieski held up a finger and looked at Victor. “Who else knows?”

  “Officially, just us in this room.”

  “Officially?”

  “The reports are available to anyone in Chicago PD, but I doubt anyone has put together anything. Also, we haven’t really stated it yet. We noticed a bit of a trend, with the two individual vics. We haven’t written this up yet.” Drexel held his hands out and shrugged. “But an enterprising journalist?”

  Sobieski nodded and tapped his finger to his lips. “Okay. Then you,” he pointed to Daniela and Drexel, “conduct a quiet investigation. This Marshall guy is the best suspect, but I don’t want TV news to be leading with “cop serial killer” that we haven’t checked out first. We clear Benoit’s name so no one can ask questions. Clear?”

  Victor leaned forward. “Shouldn’t this go to Internal Affairs?”

  “I don’t want those assholes involved. They’ll treat Benoit like a criminal. He’ll clam up and call in his rep. It’ll be a big-ass deal. We just need some questions answered. Cross off doubts. IA won’t allow that to happen.”

  Victor shrugged and leaned back.

  Sobieski rubbed the back of his neck. “Can you two do this and keep it quiet? Civil? Huh?”

  Daniela nodded.

  Drexel said, “Yep. But—”

  “No fucking ‘buts’ Pierce.”

  “Okay.”

  The commander walked to the threshold of Victor’s office, opened the door a few inches, and turned back to Drexel. “And don’t write this up in an official report. Clear his name.”

  “Sir, I’m not comfortable�
�”

  “Pierce, I don’t give a shit about what you feel comfortable doing or not. Obey. That’s all you need to do.” He pulled open the door the rest of the way. “And don’t let off on this Marshall guy. Get him.”

  * * *

  “I don’t like it.” Daniela popped open a fresh Monster drink.

  “When Carl’s giving orders, people usually don’t.” Drexel stood staring at the board, his hands on his hips. “I say we revisit Brittany’s friends. Show them Benoit’s photo. Ask if they saw Benoit before Brittany’s disappearance. I’m guessing they’ll say, ‘No.’”

  “What would be Benoit’s motive in all of this?”

  Drexel turned around and looked at her. “You mean beyond a crazy sick person who would butcher people and freeze them and arrange their body parts in chalk drawings?”

  “Yeah, that.” Daniela smiled despite herself.

  He pressed his right thumb onto the table and twisted it. “He gets off on talking to the friends and families of his kidnapping victims. He snatches them. Holds them. The autopsies don’t indicate sexual assault. So we assume that he’s not living out any sexual fantasies. At least not in a way we can tell yet. After a while, the case slows down because the victims’ trails are lost. Maybe even he loses evidence or undermines its significance. Regardless, he needs a new thrill, so he kills the victims, cuts them up for easier storage, and then dumps them with this weird setup. Creates a lot of attention around his deeds.”

  “But why? And why send you an envelope telling you where the bodies are?”

  “He realizes he can re-create the excitement of the case again. He knows we’ll call him. That’s why he left one victim easy to identify. It’s an encore. And the circles and triangles and bottles of fucking air are to make it obvious, interesting, exciting.”

  Daniela stretched her neck, holding the back of it with her hand. “Convincing. Special Agent Vivaldi, what do you think?”

  Drexel turned around.

  Vivaldi leaned against the doorjamb. “Detective Doggett said you were in here.”

  “Please, come in,” said Drexel. He sat down. “Do you have a profile for us?”

  She sat down with two chairs between her and Drexel and placed her large, solid black purse with gold snaps on the table. “Yes. Preliminary, of course.” She pulled out a manila folder and slid it down to him.

  He caught the sliding folder with his fingers. “Let’s hear it.”

  She nodded. “Well, to answer Daniela’s question, I don’t think you’re far off. That said, I’d like to start with victimology. Based on your interviews and what you’ve been able to find out about Brittany, Jodi, and now Bobbi and Jared, none of them were in the high vulnerability range. That said, Brittany and Jodi were in contexts with increased vulnerability at the time of their abductions, but still low given the probabilities of essentially random kidnappings—so far as we can tell. If Bobbi and Jared were abducted from their home, then they had no increase in vulnerability. We’re not dealing with prostitutes, the homeless, or drugs here. We’re dealing with normal folks, with normal lives up to that point. People who will be noticed all in all much more quickly, which we know based on the welfare checks the police conducted at the instigation of families and co-workers.”

  Drexel and Daniela nodded.

  Vivaldi breathed in and out loudly. “Okay, now the spoiler. You’re looking for two perps, not one.” She let that sink in.

  Daniela leaned over. “Isn’t that rare?”

  “Very much so. But in this case, you’ve got that rarity. I’m convinced of it.”

  “The couple.” Drexel straightened in his chair and rubbed his bottom lip with his thumb. What had bothered him when looking at the photos of the couple sent by the killer became clear in his head. “The photo of the man screaming. He’s doing it as his girlfriend was being killed.”

  Vivaldi nodded.

  Daniela shook her head. “And Jared’s Jeep was taken and dropped off. A van was used to nab Brittany. Two killers drove the van to Bobbi’s and Jared’s house. One left with the bodies in the van. One took the Jeep.”

  Vivaldi finger gunned her with the index and middle finger as the barrel. “But that’s not all. I’m convinced they’re using a van. Possibly not the newest, but it’ll be clean. Well taken care of. Also, one—the dominant—is an organized killer. The other—the submissive—is an unorganized killer. They work as a team but at the direction, under the guidance of the organized killer. The dominant, perp one, plans when they will kidnap someone, arranges for the place where they hold them, and then actually kills the victims. Perp one also arranges the scenes where you’ve found the bodies with the religious or religious-like imagery. Perp two, the submissive one, conducts the kidnapping and then takes the photos and assists in the torture and arrangement of the scenes. I’m guessing perp two also ensured the delivery of the envelopes—but those are all organized by perp one. That’s why you have so little evidence. The organized killer is ensuring you don’t. You need the unorganized one to mess up.”

  “What about the deliveries to the police? Why would they do that?”

  “I don’t think you were far off, but it changes when you’re thinking of two killers. So one of two things. First, the police haven’t put together that the kidnappings are linked, and the killers wanted to bring your attention to it. They’re showing off. Want to be known. The second, and I think the more likely, is that this has been planned for some time to be this way. It’s a taunt of sorts, but it’s really about delivering whatever message the killer is trying to send. I say this based on the chalk drawings, the way the victims are presented in death, the items left nearby. All of this is a message. A message—by the way—we may never decipher or understand.

  “But let me give you some more information. The disorganized killer is in his late twenties to midthirties. Some college education. A bachelor’s degree. Has a tough time holding a steady job, may not have a job right now. He will live alone and doesn’t have much in the way of girlfriends or such relationships. Awkward about sex, he does get a thrill from the kidnapping and torture of the victims. Only his dominant keeps him from conducting sexual acts on the victims.

  “His dominant partner is midthirties to early forties. Maybe even a tad bit older. Holds a steady job. Has for some time. Could be in law enforcement or the medical field. Very intelligent. Would score high on the IQ tests. Looks down on other people, in fact, for their lack of it. Definitely has a degree above and beyond the bachelor’s. Seems socially normal. Interacts with people on a day-to-day basis. This is what drives him to use the submissive. The submissive does the very dangerous, very exposed initial work. The dominant works in the background, in the dark—but it’s his vision both are working toward.”

  Drexel opened the folder. “What vision is that?”

  Vivaldi shrugged. “Not sure, honestly. A lot of religious themes and iconography going on. With the quotations from a quite obscure text, this has a bit of a messianic message. Cleansing. That sort of thing. I don’t think this is about the perp cleansing himself. At least not entirely. I think he wants to save the world.”

  “And the photos and messages to us?”

  “They—and more probably the dominant—wants his work to be recognized. The kidnappings remained obscure. He thinks he’s smarter than you. The frequency is troubling. I think they’re building up to something. They’ve moved from abduction and killing to sharing their killing.”

  Daniela breathed in and ran her fingers through her hair. “So how do we stop them?”

  Vivaldi and Drexel said at the same time, “The submissive.” Vivaldi nodded toward him and continued, “He’s the weak link. It’s where the dominant has the least control and the least ability to clean up and put in forensic countermeasures. But being the weak link doesn’t make it any easier. At least not with what you have. Nothing they’ve done so far is
a big enough mistake for you to get them. Yet. Do you have any suspects you’re looking at?”

  Daniela nodded and told the special agent about the discovery of the fingerprints and what they had learned of Brandon Marshall to date, including the unofficial surveillance. She also told her about Kevin Blair. “And finally we have—and he’s brand new and the commander wants this kept hush-hush—a Missing Persons Unit detective, Benoit Cadenat.”

  They talked about the suspects and how they mapped to the profile. Vivaldi dismissed Kevin Blair outright. She agreed he was a con man, but he lacked the necessary background and was in the wrong field. She thought Brandon Marshall was the submissive if he was a part of the serial killer duo. “I know why you’ve focused on him. I would, too, if I were you. But given the condition of his work van, I’m doubtful. He’s too disorganized—the dominant would have ensured the van was clean, the cleanest in the city. And Marshall has advanced degrees and is holding down a job. Has too many social skills. Awkward maybe, but still. He has the knowledge, but the submissive isn’t the one who must have the knowledge about these Gnostics, though they’ll buy into it.”

  “So that leaves Detective Cadenat,” said Daniela, who stood up and stretched before turning and looking out the window.

  “His reports are thorough, detailed,” said Drexel.

  “And it gives him an opportunity to get some countermeasures in. He can’t be certain he’ll land the cases when they were abducted, but he can put himself in the best opportunity to be.” Vivaldi tucked her hair behind her ear. “He’d be the dominant in this case. Has the right background. Without knowing more, I’d consider him more likely than the plumber.”

  “So how do we get him?”

  “Presuming he’s the one?” Vivaldi watched Drexel nod before continuing, “You can’t go right at him. He’s a cop, he’s dominant, he’ll ask for his rep. You don’t have enough evidence yet to pull him in and throw it at him. You’ll need to work the periphery. You know the killers have a place where they conduct their torture and murder. Lots of options in this city. But it might be rural, as well. This killer will be confident in his ability to get the body to where he needs to for the display. Also, if he’s not married, he’s got an ex-wife. She’ll be suspicious of past activities. She may not know the significance, but something would have been off. Something she may not be able to pin down but lurks there. They would have gotten divorced because of distance, because he was cold and stopped showing affection. That kind of thing. He would not have been abusive to her. Even mentally. Outside of a slackening in affection over the years, he would have been a model husband in almost all other regards.”