Killing Season

by Faye Kellerman

  “I can’t make that assessment until Katie has been located.” He turned to face her. “About three weeks ago it came to me, stupid idiot that I was. Look at the dates of all three girls, Ro. Julia was abducted on December nineteenth. My sister was abducted on June twenty-second. Katie was taken on March twenty-first. Do you see the pattern?”

  Ro studied the three girls on paper. Different months, different dates, different places. “They’re all in the latter half of the months. But I have a feeling that’s not it.”

  “The murders happened a day or two away from the equinoxes or the solstices.”

  “Wow.” Ro felt her heart beating. “That’s really creepy. Like the Zodiac Killer.”

  “You know about the Zodiac Killer?”

  Ro felt her face go hot. “At one time I wanted to go to California for school. You know . . . sun and beaches. You research San Francisco, you learn about the Zodiac Killer.”

  “Ro, that was like forty years ago. How would that pop up in a superficial search of San Francisco?”

  “Okay. I’ve got a confession to make. Don’t you dare throw it back in my face.” She cleared her throat. “All those crime shows on TV? I’m addicted to them. Not the fiction ones . . . the true crime.”

  Ben was trying to hold back a smile. “There are a lot of them.”

  “I like them all: Reasonable Doubt, The First 48, 48 Hours on ID, 20/20 on ID, Scorned, Snapped, Grave Secrets, Sins and Secrets, Nightmare Next Door, Swamp Murders, Nothing Personal, Dateline on ID, Forensic Files, Cold Case Files, Murder by the Book, Watching Evil, City Confidential, old reruns of Watching the Detectives and Manhunters . . . I have a mad crush on Lenny DePaul. Sometimes I fantasize about being Michy.”

  Ben stifled laughter. “No comment.”

  “I used to watch like all the time. Now with my busy schedule I treat myself to a few before I go to bed.”

  “Sweet dreams,” Ben said.

  “Seriously. I mean, the stuff really scares me, but I keep coming back to it. Like maybe if I saturate myself in such horror, it’ll no longer scare me. Or perhaps I’m a little off like you are.”

  “Those shows are popular. Maybe there’s something a little off in all of us.”

  Ro said, “The Zodiac Killer was always the bogeyman to me because of the taunting of the police, all those charts, and the case was never solved.”

  “Yeah, we got ourselves an astrological monster. These aren’t random dates, that’s for sure.”

  “It’s creepy.”

  “Yeah, when I pointed this out to Shanks, he was thinking about something satanic.”

  “That’s even creepier.” A chill went down Ro’s spine.

  “I don’t think it was satanic,” Ben said. “Julia Rehnquist’s body wasn’t carved up or mutilated like you would expect in a satanic murder. At least I don’t think she was. I’ve never seen the police file. My sister was also . . . whole.”

  “I hear you.” Ro started skimming Julia Rehnquist’s file. It was a year-old case. She had been sixteen years old, jogging on a hillside on a Saturday in Berkeley, California. She was found eight months later, sexually assaulted and manually strangled, buried in a four-foot grave in Mount Diablo State Park. The closest town was Diablo, California, which had a tiny population. Vicks had also written down Alamo, California, a town of fourteen thousand, and Danville, California, population fifty thousand.

  “How far are Diablo, Danville, and Alamo, California, from here?”

  “Around nine hundred miles.”

  “I know that serial killers travel a lot. They drive around all the time looking for victims.”

  “You really have seen a lot of true crime. And you’re right. Rehnquist is in a different geographical locale. With Katie Doogan, I thought I was dealing with someone unique to New Mexico, but now I don’t think so.” He looked up from the computer. “Berkeley is similar to Santa Fe—very liberal and really kooky. It attracts all kinds of people. That’s a point in common.”

  “What does that mean, Vicks? We’ve got a ravaging reactionary who’s killing girls?”

  “As ludicrous as it sounds, you never know.”

  Ro said, “Okay, both Ellen and Julia were buried in the mountains. Which makes sense. If you’re going to take the time to bury a body, you don’t do it in a populated area. Was Julia buried near water?”

  “I don’t know without walking the terrain. There are streams in the area.”

  “Is there something significant about water?”

  “Maybe. Or it could be that he used riverbanks because it’s easier to dig a deeper hole in muddy soil or he uses water as a geographical guide. Whatever the reason, the murderer didn’t want these girls to be found. The graves were deep in both cases.”

  “Hard to dig a deep grave in the mountains in the heart of winter.”

  “It’s a California winter.”

  “Ah, that’s right.” Ro thought a moment. “You said the graves were deep because he wanted the bodies to permanently disappear. But the bodies were found.”

  “Animals smell bodies. They dig. Sometimes they make a hole just deep enough for erosion to start working its magic.”

  Ro said, “Have you told Shanks about the Rehnquist case?”

  Ben gave a pained look. “No.”

  “You have to do that. If you’re wrong, so what?”

  “I don’t care if I’m wrong. I don’t want to drag Shanks into something that would make him look stupid.”

  “Vicks, if you’re not going to do anything about all this data, why do it?”

  “Because at least I’m doing something. I’ll talk to Shanks . . . eventually.” Ben started to gather up the files from his bed. “I’ve been at this for hours. I can’t think anymore. Let’s get out of here.”

  “Where to?” She saw him look at her feet. “What?”

  He said, “You’re wearing boots but not the right kind. What size are you? Your shoe size?”

  “Seven and a half.”

  “I’ll see what I can scrounge up.” He checked his watch. “But we have to leave now.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “You’ll see.” He unlocked the door and opened it, leading Ro into the kitchen, where his mother was setting up a tray of snacks: guacamole, salsa, corn chips, flour tortilla chips, and a plate of fresh fruit. She smiled when she saw the two of them. “You’ve been in there for a while. I thought you might want a snack.”

  “What’s your shoe size, Mom?”

  “My shoe size?”

  “I want to take Ro to see Aspen Vista before all the leaves fall off. Maybe we’ll even have enough time to hike a little of Big Tesuque. But she can’t walk in what she’s wearing.”

  “Ben, it’s after two.”

  “We’ve still got some sunlight left. I promise I’ll be back by dinner. What’s your shoe size?”

  “I’m an eight,” his mom said.

  “Close enough. Can I borrow your hiking shoes?” When his mother smiled again, Ben spoke out. “Ro is JD’s girlfriend but we talk sometimes. You know how it is. Some guys get all the luck.”

  Silence.

  “Can I go in your closet?” Ben asked her.

  “Of course.” His mother’s voice had turned quiet. “Give her the brown high-tops.”

  “Great. Could you wrap that up for us?” He pointed to the food. “We’ll take it in the car.”

  “Of course.” She gave a brief smile to Ro. “You and Griffen are welcome to stay for dinner.”

  “Thank you, but I have other plans.”

  Ben had gone looking for the shoes. His mother was talking with her eyes down. “Well, I guess I’ll go wrap this up.”

  “Can I help?”

  “No, no.” A sad smile. “Just make yourself comfortable in the living room.”

  Ro waited until Ben came back with two pairs of hiking shoes. “Either of these should work. Try them on.”

  “You upset your mom.”

  “By telling her you weren’t
my girlfriend? I’m sure I did. No sense letting her wallow in delusion.”

  Ro tried on a pair of shoes. “She invited me for dinner . . . your mom.”

  “You can stay. I won’t kick you out.”

  “I told her I have plans . . . which is true.” She laced up the high-tops. “These fit.”

  “Then let’s go.” He took her hand and pulled her to her feet. “It’s time for you to see what New Mexico is really all about.”

  Chapter 11

  After loading the backpack with water, food, a first-aid kit, and a flashlight, Ben rummaged through the coat closet for warm outerwear and gloves. When they got outside, he asked for her keys.

  “I can drive.” Ro was offended.

  “I know you can. But I know where I’m going. Don’t argue for once. Let’s just go.”

  Her Explorer handled well, especially on Hyde Park Road where the road was paved. He wasn’t exactly going pedal to the metal, but he made good time, looping around curve after curve, leaving the city and entering national forests with steep mountains filled with pines and scented air that wafted upward from the detritus. They twisted around miles of untamed nature: ponderosa and piñons, sycamores, cottonwoods, Russian olives, red sumac, and golden aspens. When he was closer to the spot, Ben slowed down, allowing Ro to take in the scenery.

  “This is beautiful,” she admitted. “I never knew this existed. You do this often?”

  “I like to hike, especially at this time of year. Just wait. You ain’t seen nothin’ yet.” Climbing higher until traffic suddenly backed up to a crawl, they ascended the two-lane highway at a snail’s pace until the car made the twist around the final bend and the mountainside came into view.

  Ro gasped. And even though Ben had seen it many times before, it never failed to impress.

  The entire surface above and below was covered in pure gold—acres upon acres of deep yellow quaking aspens. The richness of the hue was otherworldly but it was especially brought out by an intense blue sky. It was an abundance of pure color. Cars had slowed down to gawk, allowing Ro to drink in unadulterated artwork provided by nature.

  “Are we getting out?”

  “Not yet, but we will.”

  “How could anything be any prettier?”

  “All we have to do is add water.” He drove for an additional fifteen minutes until they reached Big Tesuque. Parking, as expected, was hard to find, but someone pulled out just as they arrived. Ben backed into the spot, turned off the motor, and they got out. He slipped on his backpack and checked his watch. “I think we’ll be okay. You can use the john if you need to.”

  “How long will the hike take?”

  “Couple of hours maybe.”

  “Two hours?”

  “You’re such a city girl.” He grinned. “Bathroom, yes or no?”

  “Is it gross in there?”

  “It’s a park, Ro.”

  “Flushing toilets?”

  “Dream on.”

  “Ugh.” She used the facilities and came back out. “Ugh times two.”

  He took her hand. “C’mon.”

  The rise of the trail was in gentle steps surrounded by amber aspens and the music of Big Tesuque Creek. At this time of year, the level was high, water rushing down the mountain rather than in its usual trickle. Though the trail was a corridor of yellow, there were other hues to break it up: the deep red leaves of the sumacs, wild daisies, deep burnt-orange Indian paintbrush, and white columbine. The chamisos were shedding the last of their canary flowers. The ground still held some greenery and some scattered wild alpine strawberries, tiny and dry.

  Off the hiking trails was the usual queue of small tents near the creek. There were also artists with easels painting poor representations of nature. The trail wasn’t packed but there were plenty of people—common at this time of year.

  “Okay?”

  “I’m fine.” Ro walked with deliberation, grabbing Ben’s hand and latching on to it for support. As they climbed the mountain, her breathing quickened.

  “How far is it?”

  “We’ve just begun.”

  “I dunno about this. How high is this?”

  “Around nine thousand feet.”

  “Good God!” She was huffing and puffing. “People are actually breathing and talking at the same time.”

  “Rest a moment. We’ve still got a long way to go.”

  “Seriously?”

  Ben smiled and waved at a couple in their seventies.

  “Gorgeous day,” the white-headed woman said.

  “Don’t get better than this,” he answered.

  They resumed the hike, climbing upward as the path twisted and turned, the ground beneath them damp from the rains, until a line backed up at the first stream crossing. The logs were almost submerged but there was enough wood visible to cross without a problem if one was careful in stepping. Ro’s eyes got big. “I’m not doing that.”

  “You’re not exactly fording the Mississippi,” Ben told her. “It’s like six feet across.”

  “I’m not doing it,” she repeated.

  He pulled his hand away. “You have two choices, Ro. You go up with me or you go down by yourself.”

  “I really don’t like you.”

  People were lining up behind them. He said, “Up or down.”

  She grabbed his hand. “If I fall in, I’ll kill you. You go first.”

  “I can’t help you if I’m in front of you.” He picked her up by the waist and placed her on the log. Then he came up behind her, holding her hands outward like they were walking on a tightrope. Ben smiled to himself. It was ridiculous because the distance was so short, but there was a first for everything. “One foot in front of another. Almost there.”

  “This is embarrassing.”

  “You’re fine. No one cares.”

  When she reached the other side, she hopped off. She looked upward. “That’s kind of a steep incline.”

  “No, it isn’t. Keep going.”

  She sighed and plowed forward. Upward, upward, upward. It was comical. Dogs were bounding up the pathway. People in their nineties with canes were passing her by. Toddlers were passing her by.

  “I have a cramp,” she said.

  “Where?”

  “Everywhere. Why is this considered fun? It’s got nothing to recommend it at all.”

  “Nothing?”

  “Okay. It’s pretty.”

  “Yes, it’s pretty,” he said. Especially when the trail widened into an open meadow filled with autumn wildflowers. The line grew sluggish. People had stopped.

  “What’s going on?” Ro asked.

  Ben pointed to a black furry thing sitting in a pile of bushes about fifty yards from where they were standing. “Black bear over there. He’s storing up for the winter. Probably some berries still on the ground.”

  She went pale. “What do we do?”

  “Nothing. It’s happy. It won’t bother us. Just keep going.”

  “What if it likes my perfume?”

  “If anything, he’ll eat me first.”

  “You have no fat on you. He’ll eat me first.”

  “You’re lean yourself. Maybe he’ll take that guy over there. He’s got a gut.”

  Ro laughed. “How about that woman over there?”

  “Way too scrawny.”

  “How old is she? About a hundred?”

  “Maybe more.”

  “She’s in better shape than I am.”

  “A lesson for us all,” Ben said. “Keep going.”

  They climbed up until they reached a second stream crossing. The trailhead ended at a paved service road. Ben pointed to the left.

  Ro was aghast. “We’re not done?”

  “Nope. But this is mostly level.”

  “How high are we now?”

  “Around ten and half, but we’re going down to about ten.”

  “If we go down to ten, when we return, does that mean we go back up?”

  “You can do math. Go on.”
>
  The service road was filled with people. Below, the mountains were deep gold. The sky was cerulean and completely without clouds. It was colder here, in the forties, but the sun was strong and felt good on her face. Ro rubbed her hands together.

  “Cold?”

  “Just my fingers.”

  Ben reached into a jacket pocket and handed her a water bottle and a pair of gloves. “Drink. You don’t want to get dehydrated.”

  She put on the gloves. “You’re not cold?”

  “I’m fine.”

  She drained half the bottle of water. “It really is spectacular.”

  “A rare burst of positivity.”

  “Is that what we do, Vicks? Bicker back and forth like an old married couple?”

  “Truce?”

  “Truce, but probably not for long.”

  He smiled. They walked without talking until the entire vista was nothing but gold. Two elderly women were sitting on a view bench. When they got up, he snagged the seat, slipped off his backpack, and opened it up. He took out the food, opening the Tupperware, careful not to spill. “Hungry?”

  “A little.” She took a chip and dipped it in the guacamole. “Good.”

  “Try the salsa.”

  She tried it and coughed. “What’d she put in there? Gunpowder?”

  “This?” Ben made a face. “This is nothing!”

  “You must have sandpaper in your mouth.” She gulped water. “That’s hot.” She coughed again.

  “Eat some tortilla chips. Water will just spread around the heat.”

  “Do you have any taste buds left?”

  “Jalapeños are considered pretty mild over here. Take the guac.”

  She did, slathering the roof of her mouth with avocado. “This place is nuts. It’s the only city I know that has a dedicated chili shop.”

  “Like the Eskimos with snow, we have a zillion words for chili. Stop kvetching and look at the scenery.”

  “Kvetching?”

  “If you go to Las Vegas, New Mexico, there’s a Jewish cemetery with a bunch of Weils in it. My grandfather Ed on my mother’s side is a Weil.”

  “I take it he’s still alive?”

  “Yes. He lives in Albuquerque.”

  “What does he do?”

  “He was originally trained as an engineer, but worked as a patent lawyer for Sandia Labs down south. He’s always worked for the government. He’s retired now but he still does a lot of tinkering in his garage.”