Daddy's Little Killer

by LS Sygnet

  "Exactly. I know Candy isn't always the easiest person to get along with or to believe, and I even understand why my parents didn't believe her."

  "Why was that?"

  "Well, she skipped school all the time. She forged notes from my parents so the school wouldn't call home to see where she was. She started doing that ... well, let me think. I think she was nine when the police picked her up for skipping school."

  Truancy. It was listed among other petty crimes on Candy's record. I hadn't paid much attention to the dates.

  "The shoplifting, the time she got suspended from school for bringing one of Dad's hunting knives with her –"

  "How old was she when that happened?" Charlie was writing notes. I didn't need them. I could already see the threads of Candy's past being woven into a very clear tapestry of a girl who was beyond troubled.

  "Second grade, I think."

  Way outside the boundary of troubled. Pathological zip code, smack dab in the middle of it.

  "What happened when Candy went to the hospital? Surely they discovered the same evidence that was collected when you were treated," I asked gently.

  "Candy didn't go to the hospital. Nobody thought much about it when she showed up home late that night. She didn't even tell anybody what happened until I was found."

  "You said you were gone for two days?"

  "Yes," she said. "He let me go on Sunday night. I was found wandering down the road." She blushed deep crimson. "Naked."

  "Did she refuse to go to the doctor?"

  "My parents didn't offer to take her. Like I said, nobody believed her. Not even the police. I was surprised that Candy went to them on her own. She uh ... she doesn't like cops so much. For me, it was proof that she had suffered the same thing I did."

  "Carrie, when you said Candy came home late, what did you mean?"

  "She came home Friday night, the same day he took me."

  "But you saw her that morning? I mean, you were expecting her to meet you and take the bus home from school that afternoon."

  "Yeah."

  "Did you see or hear anything that led you to believe this man was holding other girls, beside you and Candy, hostage?"

  "No. It was just him and me in that camper. To be honest, Dr. Eriksson? I was so freaked out the whole time, it was hard to keep my eyes open before he threatened to ... to ..."

  "Go on," I clasped her hands in mine.

  "He said he'd cut off my eyelids if I didn't look at him."

  In a very sociopathic way, it made sense. The act of rape could never be enough for this guy. He needed their fear, to see it. He needed them engaged and able to be baited into fighting. That gave him the opportunity for another layer of pleasure. But why? Why force the issue with the girls; why not simply dismember and kill all of them?

  I was missing something, his trigger maybe. Or perhaps ... "Dear God," I murmured.

  Carrie's eyes widened. "What?"

  I let the calm, therapeutic mask slide into place. "I keep feeling how terrible this was for you in waves, Carrie. I'm so sorry."

  She was mollified, while my heart tried to claw its way out of my chest. Could that be the missing piece? Was my perp trying to relive a past event? If so, which one? With the woefully low body count and absence of any evidence that there had been other murders, I hit a wall.

  Unless.

  The list of missing girls popped back into my head. More missing than assaulted and set free. They were like shooting fish in a barrel. Natural instinct favored the fight response. It wasn't uncommon for women who followed orders and became passive to suffer from incredible feelings of guilt that crippled them due to a misguided belief that they had consented by not fighting. I wondered if Carrie was one such victim.

  "You know, Carrie, handling the situation the way you did, following his orders and not putting up a fight saved your life. I believe this man wanted to kill you, but only if you resisted in a very specific way."

  "Like that other girl, the one they found in the Elegiac River, right? My parents thought it had to be the same guy who attacked me. The police said they'd look into it, but they never found him. They showed me pictures, thinking that I might be able to identify him. Since I never saw his face, that wasn't possible, but even the photographs didn't seem right."

  "In what way?"

  "He was very tall," Carrie grew distant again, reliving something I suspected she never hoped to do. "Not muscular, but big. Does that make sense?"

  "I believe you. What about those pictures seemed wrong?"

  "I remember seeing the measuring thing on the wall. None of them seemed quite the right height. Is that important?"

  Salvatore Masconi's vital statistics flashed through my head again. Date of birth. Hair color. Race. Weight. Height. He was five nine, a hundred forty-five pounds. It was evidence of his innocence as far as I was concerned.

  But Carrie wasn't done talking.

  "Mom and Dad got frustrated after about a year with no progress. That was when they hired somebody to look for that guy that was accused of killing the girl from Darkwater Bay."

  My stomach revolted. Maya's theory of the crime swirled. What if they had been a duo committing the murder aspect of the crimes? Kelly. Varden. The attempted abduction in D.C. Hairs on the back of my neck bristled.

  "Did the private detective help?"

  "Yeah, even though he never found the guy either. He's been sort of looking after me since I followed Candy to Darkwater Bay. He's done his best to help her too, but I think Candy has only tried to ... well ... you know."

  "Seduce him?" Ugh. Kelly and Varden were beyond troll-like, not to mention, they didn't fit Carrie's description of the very tall, somewhat lean assailant.

  "Yeah, but I don't think Johnny would ever do anything like that."

  The dreamy gaze collided with my sagging jaw.

  "Johnny?" Charlie's tone sharpened to a point. "As in Johnny Orion?"

  "Yes! Do you know him?"

  I didn't know what I wanted to do first, kill him or vomit. One thing was certain. Orion was toast. I'd see to it personally, whether David Levine and the entire FBI was watching or not.

  Chapter 30

  "Change of plans."

  Our exit strategy from LaPierre Bistro was less than graceful. If Charlie hadn't blocked me into the booth, I would've shot out the door at the speed of light. As it was, I had a hard time resisting the compulsion to climb over him.

  "Helen, what do you think this means?"

  Orion's a lying sack of feces for starters. "He has withheld information, vital information, for the very last time," I snarled. Whatever patience I had left snapped, evaporated into the infamous city fog. "Not only that, but he acted like he has no idea how far this thing has gone. Fourteen slaughtered girls my ass. He knows damn well they were survivors of this guy's sexual assaults. I bet he knows exactly how many women weren't found that are potentially victims of similar crimes."

  "You mean, murder victims?"

  I gave a curt nod. "Where are Adams and Thieg?"

  "I told them we'd call when –"

  "Get them on the phone. I want Orion arrested. Tonight. Right fucking now."

  Charlie hopped to and made the call while I paced the sidewalk. Adrenalin seemed to be the cure for my lingering hangover. My energy boiled to the fore.

  "Are we still heading out to the Bennett farm?"

  "Preferably before they get Orion in cuffs. I don't want to see him until I've got all the evidence I need."

  "You don't think ... Helen, is he the guy?"

  "We'll know soon enough, I suspect. After he's locked up, tell Adams and Thieg that I want Candy Blevins picked up, I don't care if they have to beat the truth out of her known associates, she's coming in for a chat post haste."

  "We'll do."

  He muttered into the phone while I jerked the door open on his car, parked curbside in front of the bistro. My cell phone had immediately been deposited between the wall and cushion of the booth when I sa
t down almost an hour ago.

  Hell. Neither one of us thought to ask Carrie if she knew where Candy was after the coup de grâce, the bombshell that put an entirely different face on the investigation. It didn't matter. Adams and Thieg could follow up with her later if need be. I suspected that given Candy's psychopathy ...

  I groaned. "Her psychopathy. Maya's theory of Gwen's murder. Candy Blevins could be the accomplice, the smaller, weaker person who used a garrote like tool!"

  "And we've just bumped up the status of the location on the Blevins girl to priority one, as soon as Orion's locked up," Charlie spoke his final directive into the phone. "Things are happening fast. Gotta go. We'll check in soon."

  The journey to the Bennett farm was mostly silent. If Charlie asked questions, I didn't hear them. My mind was occupied working out the theory of the crime. I knew that Brighton Bennett's cause of death was exsanguination, if Riley Storm could be trusted at all. Orion couldn't have always had a partner. Meeting Candy at the time of her alleged assault could've been the moment of critical change, where two people who should've never met found each other and shared sinister goals.

  So what really happened the night Gwen died? Had Candy become jealous? Figured out that Johnny was spending all his time with one of the survivors and killed her? Orion could've shown up, found her dead, dismembered Gwen ... but the rape happened first. It fit, but then it couldn't.

  "Jesus."

  I was sure Charlie didn't respond.

  He navigated slowly up a long driveway that wound beside the Elegiac River. The distinctive fishy odor told me what my eyes couldn't see. Yes, it was dark and foggy in patches, but not so bad that the dark sentries looming around us could be mistaken. I pondered the trees, their placement, if the circumstances of Brighton's abduction reflected similarities to Carrie Blevins account.

  The modest farmhouse at the end of the driveway was lit by a single beam shining through a window on the west side of the house. I couldn't make out much, but it certainly didn't appear to be more than a modest dwelling, certainly not the home of a successful organic farmer.

  A curtain fluttered at the sound of Charlie's sedan pulling up beside the house. A dog barked, not in warning, a friendly sort of "come pet me" greeting. The light on the back porch cast a halo onto wood that had seen better days.

  Giant Harlan Hartley soon filled the door frame.

  "Vinnie's passed out. Come back tomorrow."

  I was halfway to the door. "Mr. Hartley, I'm afraid that's not going to be possible. We need to speak to Vinnie now. We've wasted enough time waiting for him to get back to Darkwater Bay. If you want us to find the man responsible for Gwen's murder, I need your cooperation."

  "I've been here all along. If you were so hot to catch this guy, you could've talked to me the day she was found."

  I silently cursed Orion again. If someone had been forthcoming, I could've learned more about Gwen by hour eight. "I apologize for that, Mr. Hartley. The man who found Gwen Tuesday night neglected to mention that she had other family, extended or otherwise."

  "I heard it was Orion."

  Inside, I smiled. That was not a friendly accusation. "You're correct, sir. He claimed that he was a close friend of the Bennett family."

  "Yeah, well I reckon he used to be. That died with Gwennie."

  "May we come in, sir?"

  He stepped aside with a grudging huff and gestured to the kitchen table and chairs. While the room was neat and spotless, the furniture had seen better days. Old chrome chairs, several with cracked vinyl that had been taped with duct tape were positioned neatly around a fifties-style matching table. The edges of the Formica were cracked and chipped. The cupboards and cabinets were plywood, painted white. The plumbing in the sink was in need of repair; a soft plink from the leaking faucet punctuated the silence. I wouldn't have guessed Gwen grew up in such a dated home, based on the staggering contrast of her house in Nightingale.

  "Have a seat. I can brew some tea if you like."

  "We're fine Mr. Hartley. I'd prefer that we commence with the reason that Officer Haverston and I have come here. We need information about Gwen."

  "She didn't have an enemy in the world."

  Wrong. "Mr. Hartley, if that were true, she would still be alive. Her murder wasn't an act of love. It wasn't random either. I'd like to know about her normal routine first."

  "She got up, went to work every day and came home at night."

  "You're Vinnie's uncle on the maternal side of the family, yes?"

  "If that means his mama was my sister, yes. You could say that."

  "Forgive me, but I find it unusual that Vinnie would be raised by a cousin after Frank Bennett died, instead of his remaining uncle. She couldn't have been very old at the time she took on such a serious responsibility."

  "She was twenty-four, older than some parents who give birth to their own kids. Vinnie wanted to live in the city. Frank named her guardian in the event of his death. Weren't nothin' fishy about it."

  Charlie tiptoed his way into the conversation with some trepidation. "How long did you know Gwen?"

  "Well, let's see. My sister and her husband –"

  "Which Bennett was he? Pardon the interruption," I said.

  "Eugene. He was a couple of years older than Dennis."

  "And where is Dennis now?"

  "Dead. Like Frank, like Eugene. Can I finish sayin' my piece?"

  I nodded.

  "Gene and my sister got married later in life. They had Vinnie when they were in their early forties, and had the misfortune of a fatal car crash when he was still in the hospital."

  "For?"

  "Born about a month premature. So Frank was Gene's next of kin, and the way the farm was set up, the brothers all agreed years ago to take on the responsibilities of the others, should something happen to one of them. That's how Vinnie came to live here."

  "With Frank and his wife, Gwen's mother."

  Harlan shook his head. "She died when Gwen was about four years old. She had the sugar diabetes, and her doctor didn't want her havin' kids at all. They never regretted Gwennie. Frank did a fine job raising that girl."

  "I'm sure he did," Charlie said. "How long did Gwen work for Danny Datello."

  The ruddy face darkened. "I won't have you smearing Danny's good name. He's been practically part of this family and done more than anybody else to look after Frank's family after he passed on."

  "It was merely a question, Mr. Hartley. We're trying to establish Gwen's routine in a little more detail than she got up, went to work and came home. I suspect that the person responsible for her murder might've stalked her and learned her routine before she was approached."

  "Danny hired Gwen about six months before Frank died. Cancer. Everybody knew it was coming, and I think Frank and Danny made a pact to make sure Gwen and Vinnie wouldn't want for anything after Frank was gone. Danny oversaw the trust Frank set up, and manages the finances for the farm to this day."

  I needed to veer the conversation away from Datello, as much as it annoyed me to do so. I was certain he had nothing to do with Gwen or Brighton's murders, outside getting a little street justice for Brighton. Misdirected as it was, the intentions were appreciated by me in particular. The system fails. Believe me, I get that.

  "What about Gwen's friends, her relationships?" I asked.

  "I wouldn't know about that. She was a private girl, and never talked much about her personal life."

  "Vinnie would know more since he lived with her, correct?"

  "You'd have to ask him."

  "Thank you," I interpreted as an offer that wasn't intended. "We'll wait here while you wake him."

  Hartley muttered under his breath, but shuffled out of the room.

  "Where are you going with all these questions about Danny Datello?" I whispered to Charlie. "I'm certain he didn't have anything to do with Gwen's murder. I'm equally positive that if we don't handle this case just right and the perp slips through the cracks again, guilty or not,
he'll meet the same fate as Masconi."

  "Sorry," Charlie muttered. "I thought maybe Hartley might let something slip that would point to Datello knowing what happened to him."

  "There's no statute of limitations on murder." Good fact to remember with the FBI lurking in my shadow. "We can dig into that after this case is resolved. Any leads we uncover won't go any colder in a day or two."

  Vinnie Bennett floated into the kitchen on a cloud of benzodiazepine. He stood at least six five and couldn't have weighed an ounce more than 160. He bent like a willow twig into the chair Hartley guided him to and nudged with a gentle tap to the bony shoulder. One long swath of jet black hair flopped down to cover half his face. The other side was puffy and red, particularly around the crescent slit of his eye.

  "Vin, this is Dr. Eriksson and I'm sure you remember Officer Haverston."

  "Yes, sir," he gave a zombie nod and stared at the Formica.

  "Vinnie?"

  Blank.

  "I'd like to ask you a few questions about Gwen. Would that be all right?"

  Vinnie shrugged. "Guess."

  "Do you know of any problems she might've been having recently?"

  "Gwen didn't talk to me about that kind of stuff."

  "Ever?"

  "No."

  "Did she seem like she was acting different over the past several months?"

  Valium receded. His chin lifted from where it had been tucked to his chest. The visible eye cracked open wider. "Maybe a little."

  "In what way?"

  "Johnny."

  "Was Gwen involved in a personal relationship with him?"

  "Like being friends?"

  "Or more than friends," I suggested as gently as possible.

  "No way. Johnny's a good guy and all, but Gwen was smarter than that."

  I cringed inwardly at the insult no one but me realized he doled out. As angry as I was at Orion for the lies and manipulation, I knew better than to see him right away. I needed that rage boiling and etched in stone before he could turn on the charm and tap into my hormones with his soulful gazes.

  "Because of Johnny's reputation with women?" Charlie picked up the gauntlet again.