Killing Season

by Faye Kellerman

The interruption—good euphemism. Ro nodded.

  Nora said, “My husband wanted to move immediately. I hesitated—too much disruption for the other children and I found it hard to let go of whatever I had left of Julia: mainly her room and her belongings. I don’t know if I made the right decision, but here we are.”

  Ro said, “It took my mother some time to move after my sister died. For what it’s worth, I think you made a good decision.”

  She looked confused. “It was your sister who died?”

  “My sister died of cancer. Ben’s sister, Ellen, was murdered.”

  “Oh . . .” A pause. “Do you want regular or decaf?”

  “Regular.”

  She turned to Ben. “You want a cup too, right?”

  “If you’re making it anyway.”

  “I am.” She left them in the living room with the expansive view while she made coffee in the kitchen. Ben smiled at Ro and mouthed Thanks. When Nora returned with a tray several minutes later, she placed it on the living room table, but balanced her own cup and saucer on her lap.

  She said, “If I may be blunt, Ben, how long have you been looking into your sister’s death?” She took a sip. “I assume you’ve been doing this long before you contacted me.”

  Talking about the familiar, Ben visibly relaxed. “I started the day she went missing with the usual things: the searches and the plastering of paper on telephone polls, the interviews, the appearance on TV, the candlelight vigils.”

  “I’m well aware of the drill.”

  “Yeah, it’s pretty much . . . routine.” He paused. “I never stopped hoping until we found her, but after a certain time passed, we all knew it was unlikely that she’d be returned to us alive. When we found the body, and it was confirmed—that’s when I really got serious. Since then, I don’t think a day goes by when I don’t think about who did it. I want justice for Ellen, of course. But even more, I just want this not to happen again.” He shook his head. “That’s the only thing I think about. It can’t happen again.”

  “But you think it did happen again with my daughter.”

  “Yes.” Vicks looked away. “That’s what eats me alive.”

  Nora nodded. “I was taken by your theory of the dates . . . the solstices and the equinoxes. I spent the last few months online looking at anything that might fit the pattern. Lots of weird things go on at those times.”

  “It’s a big Wiccan day,” Ro said. “Other pagan celebrations too.”

  “You think the girls were the victims of satanic rituals?” Nora asked.

  Ben said, “I’ve given the theory some thought. From what I’ve read, satanic rituals usually involve props—candles, incense, knives, symbols carved into trees, or stone or flesh. Those murders are bloodbaths. My sister was strangled.”

  “Julia as well.”

  Ro was taken aback: Nora was so collected, as if she needed a clear head and a cool demeanor to get the job done.

  The woman asked, “What about Katie Doogan?”

  “I don’t know,” Ben answered.

  “But you suspect . . .”

  “Yes, I suspect it was up close and personal because other things were similar.” Vicks bit his lip. “I’m sure the lead detective has some suspicions, but he’s not sharing right now. Which, of course, is prudent.”

  “But you still contacted me. Was that prudent?”

  “We’ll see.”

  “Who is the lead detective for Katie Doogan?”

  “Milton Ortiz. I know he’s working with the lead detective on my sister’s case, Sam Shanks.”

  Nora nodded. “When will they have information about Katie Doogan?”

  “The lab is analyzing the biological evidence taken from Katie. Once they generate a profile from Katie, they want to see if it matches my sister’s killer.”

  “If you’ve taken a profile from evidence off your sister, why hasn’t the lead called up Berkeley?”

  “Detective Shanks made a judgment call. He just found out about Julia because I just told him.” A pause. “I’m careful to a fault. Anyway, since I waited this long, Sam wanted a match with Katie before involving Berkeley. But even if there isn’t a match, I know he’ll be calling up the BPD regardless.”

  Silence.

  “I think he’s trying to be sensitive,” Ben told her. “And probably like me, he doesn’t want to look like a doofus.”

  “It’s one thing if you hold off. You’re not a professional. But once you told him . . .” Her face was angry.

  Ben said, “I’ve gotten to know Detective Shanks very well. He’s a good guy, Nora. I know he wants to have something concrete before he contacts Berkeley.”

  Nora said, “You’re defending him.”

  “He’s all I have.”

  “Touché.” Nora smiled sadly. “Let me tell you what my detectives have found.” She leaned forward. “An unknown DNA male profile and a partial profile from another male. Most of the citizens in Berkeley and the environs offered samples. I would welcome a new profile to test them against.”

  “Two profiles?”

  “One profile was taken from material under her fingernails: the killer. The second profile was taken off her clothes. It wasn’t blood, it was sweat. My daughter was out jogging. It was a warm day. She could have bumped into another sweaty jogger. We don’t know.”

  “This is different. I’ll talk to Shanks.”

  Nora put down her saucer and picked up a notepad. “I appreciate your detective’s sensitivity, but I don’t care about being disappointed. I only care about results. If the River Remez PD has a profile, please tell them to get in touch with Berkeley.”

  “I’ll make a call. It would help if you told the Berkeley PD about the latest development. Means much more coming from you than from me.”

  “I will call Derek Whitecliffe as soon as we’re done. From your comments, I found your sister’s grave eerily similar to my daughter’s—the fact that it was meticulously dug. What about Katie Doogan’s grave?”

  “The same.”

  Her exhale was one of frustration. “What is wrong with law enforcement that they can’t coordinate?”

  Ben answered, sounding more like Shanks than he would care to admit, “I suppose we’re just working on our one case and they’re working on a lot of them.”

  “Why? What’s the crime rate in River Remez?”

  “Practically nothing. But in Santa Fe and especially in Albuquerque where Katie Doogan lived, it’s pretty high. New Mexico is home to a lot of bad guys. It’s a good refuge for men on the run.”

  “We’re not doing too much better,” Nora said. “I think Oakland has one of the highest crime rates in the country.” A sigh. “Maybe I should be more patient.” She looked at Ben. “I’m not a patient person.”

  “Ben has enough patience for all of us,” Ro told her. “He’s prudent, patient, and meticulous.”

  “A good person to have on our side.” Nora’s eyes teared up.

  Ben looked down. “I’m sorry if this is too personal—”

  “Oh please,” Nora said. “What’s your question?”

  “I walked the area yesterday where Julia was found. It’s pretty far from here.”

  “You walked in Mount Diablo?”

  “Yes, ma’am. I wanted to see how similar it was to where my sister was found.”

  “And?”

  “It’s similar. Wooded area in a national park, very isolated, and in the backcountry, as we call it. The spot was far away from the trail and near running water.”

  “That’s important?”

  “In my mind. I think the streams gave the killer a guide to where he had dug his grave.”

  “Do you think he dug the grave beforehand?”

  “He had to have done it beforehand. To be that precise, it was planned.” Nora said nothing. Ben said, “The spot is about twenty miles from here.”

  “He definitely took her to that dreaded ‘second location.’”

  “I know that on the day she dis
appeared, she was jogging near here.”

  Nora looked away. “Would you like me to show you where? It’s a bit of a climb.”

  “We’re both excellent walkers.” Ro got up. “Thanks for the coffee.”

  “You’re welcome. Hold on a minute.”

  Nora disappeared, then she came back a moment later with some fresh roses from the garden. “Let’s go.”

  It wasn’t a sheer vertical drop, but the walk was steep. They seemed to be climbing up hundreds of tiny, moss-covered steps. When they got to the top, even this close to sea level, Ro was winded—unlike Ben, who never seemed to get out of breath. At the top of the stairs was a gravel trail that cut through a woodsy area of pine and brush. Ben’s eyes scanned the area like two radar beams, his head swiveling around like a camera panning over a movie scene. Nora, on the other hand, marched forward oblivious to the surroundings. Ro vacillated between the two of them: keeping up with Nora while pulling Ben along. The day held beautiful weather and the path was filled with people—walking, speed walking, and jogging. As Ro tugged at Ben’s hand, she had to twist and turn to avoid moving bodies. It was easy to see how people could bump into one another. The path was narrow but lit by sunshine. It certainly wasn’t hidden.

  Nora suddenly veered off course, leaving the trail and bushwacking her way through brush and trees. The area became darker and spooky with shadows where someone could lie in wait. The ground underneath was soft and giving. There were piles of pine needles. Ro was wearing rubber-soled boots, definitely not hiking shoes. Ben fared much better in his high-tops.

  Nora came to an abrupt halt near a pine tree that looked like any other pine tree. Her eyes went wet. “They found one of her sneakers here.” She bent down and squatted, gently caressing the ground. “Right . . . here.” She placed the roses from her garden at the spot and stood up. “I always say a little prayer when I come.”

  Nora closed her eyes and then opened them a moment later. She said, “What do you think?”

  Ben was quiet, looking over the surroundings. It took a few moments before he spoke. “Where’s the nearest road?”

  “Spoken like a true detective,” Nora said. “It’s down about a hundred feet down. He probably knocked her out and dragged her to his car. If there were two of them, it wouldn’t be that hard to overcome her.”

  “Does Detective Whitecliffe really suspect two men? That might redefine my way of thinking.”

  “You’ll have to ask him. I’ll tell him to expect your call.”

  “Thanks.” A pause. “Did the detectives find any drag marks in the brush?”

  “I don’t think so. She may have been walking at this point and just lost her footing and a shoe. Or if there were two of them, they could have carried her down.”

  Vicks nodded.

  “You don’t think so?”

  “No, it makes sense . . . to let gravity work for you.”

  “Meaning?”

  “It’s easier to go down than up. Did you find any other items belonging to your daughter other than the sneaker?”

  “No. Nothing. And the police looked.”

  “Huh.” Ben thought a moment. “Can you show me the quickest way down to the road?”

  “Of course.”

  It took a few minutes until they reached an unpaved utility pathway that was camouflaged by trees and brush. Ben said, “Where does this connect to?”

  “If you follow it for about three hundred feet, it connects to a paved road. You want to see?”

  “Sure . . . in a minute.” He looked at her. “Did they find tire tracks?” When Nora didn’t answer, Ben said, “If they had a car here, there would have been tire tracks. Look how loose the gravel is.”

  Nora pulled out her smartphone. “I’ll make a note to ask Derek about it.”

  “Can I see where this leads?” Ben asked.

  “Of course.”

  They walked over the gravel, Ro constantly stopping to empty her shoes of rocks. The pathway ended in a right angle to a busy paved road. Ben folded his arms across his chest. He stared at the traffic. “Is this the main road to Mount Diablo?”

  “It leads to a main highway, yes.”

  “What other roads near here lead to Mount Diablo?”

  “You mean the main highway. There is another major thoroughfare on the other side of the jogging trail. The detectives discounted it once they found the sneaker. Besides, the other side of the jogging trail would involve going up instead of going down.”

  Ben paused. “But the cops did search on the other side of the jogging trail.”

  “We searched over the entire area trying to find Julia. We thought she might have fallen and seriously hurt herself. That’s why we looked down the hill first. And that’s where we found the sneaker.” A pause. Nora said, “What are you thinking about?”

  “I really don’t know, Nora. I’m just thinking about him . . . what he was thinking. Doing what he does . . . the guy isn’t random. He’s very organized. He’s been eluding us for at least three years.” Vicks gave Ro a quick glance, then he spoke to the ground. “I’m just thinking if you want to be clever and throw someone off track, you might decide to go up instead of down.”

  “Her shoe was found down the hill.”

  “Anyone can take off a shoe and throw it down the hill.” He looked up. “You know, I can see the jogging path from here. I mean, not well, but I can see the shadows going by even this far down. This particular spot has hiding places—no doubt about that—but it’s not as secluded as I’d like for an abduction. One good yelp and you’d get someone’s attention.”

  No one spoke.

  “If it’s not too much trouble, I would like to see the jogging trail again.”

  “Let’s go.”

  The climb back up through the woods was arduous and uncomfortably devoid of human speech. They walked along the pathway for roughly another quarter of a mile. Then Vicks abruptly stopped. His eyes were directed upward. “What’s that shack about halfway up the hill?”

  “What are you looking at?” Nora asked.

  “Stand where I am.” Ben pointed upward. “See that thing peeping out between the pine and the redwood . . . looks like an outhouse or a gardener’s shed.”

  She squinted. “I have no idea. I don’t think I’ve ever noticed it before.”

  “Judging from the flies, it’s probably an outhouse,” Ro said. A fetid breeze passed downward. She made a face. They all did.

  Ben said, “Surely someone looked inside when they were searching for Julia.”

  Nora was upset. “How could I have never noticed it before? I searched the entire area. How did you spot it?”

  “Hiding in plain sight,” Ben said. “This part of the mountain is pretty dense and that’s probably why they built the outhouse up there . . . privacy. Also, who would want to get close to something smelly? Do you mind if I take a look?”

  Nora said, “I’ll come with you.”

  Vicks said, “Wanna wait here, Ro?”

  The choice was between something gross and being alone in a spot where someone had been abducted. It really wasn’t any choice. Ro said, “I’ll come with you.” The pathway to the outhouse was a rut in the ground. The structure was hard to see even as they approached it, playing peekaboo with the trees. Ro couldn’t see it well but she sure could smell it. She held her nose but Vicks didn’t seem bothered. He walked up to the shack, which was constructed of old, rotted wood, and stood there, breathing in the stench. The door was ajar, a cloud of buzzing flies and gnats guarding the entrance. Ben swung the door open all the way, stepped back, and stared inside.

  Ro was ready to gag. Nora wasn’t faring that much better.

  Finally, Vicks closed the door. “It’s an outhouse, all right.”

  “I think we came to that conclusion halfway up the path,” Ro said.

  “Why don’t you two go back down and I’ll be there in a minute.”

  “What on earth are you looking for?” Ro asked him. She was breathing thro
ugh her mouth. She could taste the air and it wasn’t good.

  “Don’t know. I’ll meet you down there in fifteen, okay?”

  Nora hooked her arm in Ro’s. “Let’s let the lad do his thing.”

  Vicks said, “And the other road is straight up the hill?”

  “Yes, but you’re going to have to climb through all the trees and untended brush to get to the top.” Nora paused. “About a quarter mile down, there are steps to the jogging trail. You might be better off going to the top that way. The foliage is dense. It’s easy to lose your way.”

  “No problem.” He lowered his backpack and pulled out his smartphone and a compass. “I have high tech and low tech. Either way, I’m covered.”

  It took Ben twenty minutes hiking through the brush to find the street above without any GPS. As he approached he couldn’t see the asphalt until he was right on top of it, but he could hear cars going by. The road was narrow and there was residential housing on the other side of the lane. Cars were lined up on the parkland side, almost bumper-to-bumper as curb space was at a premium. Anyone could hide from view there, blocked from the windows of the houses by the solid metal wall of vehicles. It wouldn’t have been exactly easy to drag the body up and stow it in the trunk of a car, but it could be done quickly if meticulously planned.

  Ben wondered if the police had canvassed the area. And if they had, would the residents have noticed anything? No doubt they were used to seeing people who parked their cars across the street and went down to the jogging trail via the steps.

  He said to himself out loud, “How did you do it?” If he assumed that the killer took her up instead of down, Ben had to ask himself some questions.

  To drag her up, he had to have knocked her out. It was too hard to manage a writhing, screaming girl going uphill on a rocky incline. Julia had been bound and strangled with no blunt-force trauma to the head. If he knocked her out, he had done it chemically.

  The outhouse was a perfect place for him to hide. It was off the jogging trail and it wasn’t used all that much. If he had staked out the area, all he had to do was wait until he saw his prey approach the shack. That would give him time to look around and make sure things were safe. When she came out, he pounced. Dragged her behind the shed and placed the rag over her nose until she lost consciousness. Then he dragged her up the hill—the killer knew exactly where he parked—popped the trunk, and threw her inside. Once she was taken care of, how hard would it be to toss her shoe down the hillside to throw people off track? Then he’d go back to the car and drive to that “dreaded second location,” as Nora called it.