Eleven (Brandon Fisher FBI Series)

by Arnold, Carolyn

  We were at Betty’s Place. She was moving around like a woman half her age, splitting her time between the kitchen and checking on her customers.

  There were eight tables and the six of us took up two of them pushed together. The other six tables were full, save one where the couple was standing to leave. No one was waiting to fill it. Either tourist season was not as busy as Harris led us to believe, or we were here too early.

  “So you had a relationship with Ellie Carter—” Jack brought an abrupt ending to his sentence as he lifted a coffee mug to his lips.

  “Well, she wasn’t Carter back then, Eldridge.” Harris’s eyes went back to his plate as he took another stab at his flapjack, which must have been his fifth one.

  I had finished my breakfast some time ago. Food was simply something my body required. I didn’t find enjoyment in having a long drawn-out meal. That was one area where Deb and I differed, and where I made the sacrifice every anniversary, birthday, and Valentine’s Day. She liked passing time at fancy restaurants.

  Deputy White elaborated for the Sheriff. “She hurt him real bad—”

  “Wayne, that’s none of your business.”

  Jack’s phone chirped with notification of a text message. He lifted it out of its holder, read it, and then looked at us. “Nadia’s finished running the photos through missing persons. The only one it recognized was Travis Carter. The record also confirmed what Ellie told us. He was reported as missing in ’86, pronounced in ’93.”

  “I told you, she’s not a liar, agent.”

  Jack didn’t look at the Sheriff, but continued speaking to us. “We could be looking at victims who didn’t have family or connections. Otherwise, they all would have been reported.”

  I thought of Kurt McCartney, a married man. I hesitated to correct him but wondered if this was another test. “I don’t agree.” The words came out bluntly. Everyone’s eyes went to me. Even the Sheriff who had a forkful paused en route to his mouth. “Kurt McCartney was a married man. So why wasn’t he reported missing?” As I continued talking some more things became clear. “We don’t even know for certain that the people from the pictures were all victims of The Redeemer. We’re assuming that. Maybe some are intended targets?”

  “Hmm.”

  I passed a glance to Jack not knowing how to interpret that one.

  “The Redeemer?” Harris rested the full fork on the edge of his plate, took a napkin, and wiped his hands.

  “That’s what he calls himself on Twitter.”

  “Twitter?” Deputy White leaned forward, waved a hand. “I know what it is, but who has time for such foolishness?”

  Jack passed me a look.

  I responded to White, “It’s popular and honestly doesn’t take a lot of time—”

  “Well, that’s what we call a load of shit ready to spread on a field, agent. It’s time away from family. That’s most important.”

  “It takes seconds to post something that’s on your mind, share a link. There’s a great part of the population that are online with it. I hardly think it’s harmful, or wasteful to spend time social networking.”

  “What do you have to social network for?” White asked the question, and everyone faced me.

  Paige and I matched eyes. “That’s his personal life. Let’s focus on the case.”

  “Sounds like it could be interesting, Slingshot.”

  “Come on, Pending, don’t hold out on us.”

  I looked around the table, appealed to the Sheriff to bail me out of this one. He sat back waiting for an answer. I guess I didn’t help him when it came to Jack’s grilling him about Ellie. “I’d prefer not to answer.”

  “He dresses up My Little Ponies and puts them up for sale.” Zachery laughed.

  “He what?” The Deputy’s words evidenced an underlying amusement.

  “Oh, some people pimp them all out, put jewels on them, paint them, you name it. People sell them, people collect them.” Zachery turned to me. I glared in return.

  “It’s not that.”

  Paige said, “What does it matter? We’ve got ten murders to solve, likely one to prevent. Maybe Brandon’s right, the photos weren’t of victims only, but also of intended targets.”

  Zachery let out a rush of air as if disappointed his fun had ended.

  “Very valid point and one I had considered myself. First I wanted to make sure they weren’t in missing persons,” Jack said. “I emailed Nadia to look into that last night.”

  Paige pushed her plates out from her, leaned forward and crossed her arms on the table. “Makes complete sense. But now that we know they’re not in the database we need to find out who they all are.”

  “If they’re not all victims, it really shows how arrogant Bingham is. He thinks he’s untouchable,” I said.

  Deputy White’s eyes rolled back. “The man’s in prison.”

  “He believes he’ll get out. He still feels he’s above the system.”

  “Based on what?”

  “Attitude. Projection.” I paused, certain the Deputy would add something, but he didn’t. “I know it hasn’t been confirmed that Travis Carter or Kurt McCartney were among the bodies found, but it makes me wonder if his targets are out there walking around. If we find the people in the pictures we might prevent another murder.”

  Paige nodded. Zachery’s expression was hard to read. Jack stared into his coffee.

  “Really, where is McCartney’s wife in all of this? She didn’t report him and she’s not among the photos.”

  Betty Miller came over to the table. “I hope all was good here.” She smiled sincerely, sharing it with all of us at the table.

  “Delicious as usual, Betty.” The Sheriff patted his stomach.

  The woman stood at the edge of the table. An awkward silence filled the space.

  “Is there something you want to say?” The Sheriff put a hand on her shoulder.

  Betty Miller looked from him to Jack. “I know it ain’t polite manners to eavesdrop, and I didn’t mean to.” She bunched up the front of the apron she wore around her waist, twisting it in her hands.

  “It’s okay,” Paige assured her.

  Betty stopped twisting the fabric and wiped her hands on the apron. When she removed them, the apron was still starch white. She looked to Jack. “You said missing persons. And I know that’s what you and him—” She nodded toward me. “—were in here asking about yesterday. Those photos you—”

  The front door chimed, and she lifted on her toes to see who it was. She smiled as she waved the person over. Rounding the aisle was a woman with delicate facial features, her nose slightly upturned. It seemed like her pace stalled when she noticed the rest of us. Her eyes went to the floor.

  Betty wrapped an arm around the woman and squeezed her. “Everyone this is Nancy Windermere. She’s a friend of mine.”

  A hand went up and waved timidly, followed by a weak, thickly accented hi.

  “I did some jaw-flappin’,” Betty said, holding less shame in that than overhearing a conversation. “I told her about the Special FBI Agents up here in Salt Lick, what y’all are doin’.” Betty squeezed the woman tight before releasing her. “It’s alright Nancy, go ahead.”

  Nancy slipped a hand into the oversized purse she carried. It was knitted out of variegated wool of bright pinks, greens, and yellows. She pulled out a five-by-seven photo and extended it to me.

  The photo was of a woman in her early twenties, maybe as young as twenty. She had long, platinum blonde hair, which she wore with the sides pulled back. She was smiling large enough to disclose two deep-set dimples.

  “That’s Sally,” Nancy said, her voice barely loud enough to hear.

  “This is your daughter?” I asked.

  Nancy nodded. “I was hoping that you could help me find her.”

  The Sheriff chose now to stand. The Deputy followed behind him. I sensed this was an arranged meeting. He might not have known when we’d show up, but Harris was aware that Nancy Windermere wanted to t
alk to us.

  Harris put on a hat and tipped it to us. “We’ve got work to do out there, and it’s gonna be another scorcher. Good day y’all.”

  With them gone, Betty slipped into one chair and Nancy the other.

  “Did you file a missing persons report Mrs. Windermere?” I asked.

  “You can just call me Nancy, please. Nothin’ so formal.” Her eyes looked around the restaurant. “But no I didn’t.” The photo of Sally had made its way around the table, and Paige extended it back to Nancy. “No, no, please keep it. That is a copy for you.”

  Instead of pushing the issue about why she hadn’t filed a report, I thought I’d go about it from another angle. It seemed the team left the talking to me. “When was the last time you saw your daughter?”

  “Three years ago.” Nancy clasped her hands over the purse she had placed on her lap. “February eleventh.”

  Different year of course, but February the eleventh was the same date that Travis Carter had last been seen. “Did she have any new friends?”

  Nancy’s lashes soaked with tears. “I know you found something at the Bingham property. People talk. We might talk slower, but we ain’t stupid.” She put a hand over her nose and mouth, wiped downward. “What did that man do to my baby?”

  I looked at Jack who nodded for me to continue. “We haven’t been able to identify who was found as of yet.”

  Betty leaned forward. “But you did find more than one, didn’t you? All those pictures you showed me. Are they victims?”

  “We’re not confirming anything at this point.”

  “Which is g-governmental talk for puttin’ a lid on it.” Betty huffed, crossed her arms, and turned to Nancy.

  “I just want to know what happened to her. I know that she wouldn’t have run away. I know that will be your next question. She was engaged to be married.”

  “We’re going to need his name.”

  “Course.” Nancy went into her bag and pulled out a piece of notepad paper. She handed it to me. “I wrote up everything. His name was Colt Smith. His family grew up ’round here. Doc Jones helped birth him.”

  How ironic that the man who was now undertaking dead bodies had at least once played a role in bringing life into the world.

  “And he and his family are still around in the area?”

  “Yes, course. They live on Caney Avenue. Colt does too. He married another woman a year ago though. He’s a young man, needed to get on with his life.” Her eyes went vacant. “I wish I could. Please find out what happened to my little girl.”

  “I assure you, we will do the best we can.”

  Nancy placed a hand on my forearm and squeezed. “God bless you.”

  I smiled at her, but there was at least one more question that needed to be asked. “Mrs. Windermere—” Her eyes chastised me to be less formal. “—Nancy, I realize it might be hard on you but what specific memories to do you have of that day?”

  “Do you have children, agent? You look young enough to still be considered one. Not much older than my Sally.”

  I shook my head conscious of Jack’s eyes on me. Mark one off for the old man. I was young, was that a crime?

  “She went out of town to the next county over. Sh-shopping for decorations. She called from the store and sounded so happy.” Nancy’s eyes welled with tears again. “That was the last I heard from her.”

  “What about that morning when she left? How did she seem to you?”

  “Jus’ like normal, I s’pose.”

  “She wasn’t anxious, upset? She didn’t complain about anyone watching or following her?”

  Nancy went quiet. “Did Lance kill my baby girl?” Tears fell down her cheeks. She pulled her hand back.

  “We’re still investigating who, and what exactly happened.”

  “As Betty asked, is there more than one?”

  I did my best to redirect. “What about Lance Bingham? Did your daughter know him?”

  “Course. We all attended the same church.”

  “Which church?”

  “Lakeview Community.”

  “Is it Catholic?”

  “No, but it’s Christian.” Arms crossed.

  “We will look into this for you Nancy.”

  She blinked hard and rose along with Betty.

  “Breakfast is on the county. Sheriff Harris settled up already,” Betty said.

  The two women walked away, leaving three pairs of eyes watching me. Zachery shook his head, Paige looked on me with some sort of empathy, and Jack’s jaw sat askew.

  “You two checked with the churches here I thought.”

  “We did, even Lakeview, but Bingham wasn’t a member,” Paige said.

  “And no one knew him?”

  “They heard of him but didn’t know him.”

  Jack fished out a cigarette. “It’s time to go.”

  CHAPTER 13

  “You can’t promise anyone anything. First rule.” Jack spoke with a lit cigarette perched in his lips.

  The four of us were standing near the SUVs in the parking lot.

  “All I said is we would look into her missing daughter.”

  “What you in effect promised is something that might not even factor into this case.” He took a solid drag from the cigarette, letting the ash build up on the butt.

  “But she very well might.”

  “You a gambler, Kid? Because that’s what you just did.”

  “Her daughter knew Bingham, went to the same church—”

  “But three years ago Bingham was in prison. If, and I’m using that generously, if the girl is the last victim, it wasn’t Bingham who killed her.” He dropped the burning cigarette to the dirt and extinguished it with a twist of his shoe. “Their prior relationship might not mean anything. We don’t give people false hope.” Jack turned to get in the SUV.

  “And what’s wrong with false hope? Isn’t hope of any kind better than none?”

  Jack stopped moving and didn’t say a word. Zachery watched me with large eyes, and Paige’s movements froze with the SUV door open and her hand on the handle. Seconds passed.

  “Seriously.” I knew the single word came out as a desperate appeal.

  Jack got into the SUV and slammed the door.

  “Shit!” I stomped a foot into the dirt of the parking lot and found myself turning to Zachery for reassurance. He shook his head and got into the other SUV.

  It had already been decided, before I got a lesson on what to say and what not to, which direction we would be heading. Jack and I would be seeing Colt Smith, Sally’s fiancé, and Paige and Zachery would be paying the guy’s parents a visit. I found it ironic how something that might not even have to do with the case, as Jack put it, had us literally spinning wheels on the gravel to investigate it. Of course, I kept that part to myself.

  We now knew the name of the church that Bingham had attended, the Lakeview Community Church, a non-Catholic denomination. We had assumed that he would have an affiliation with Catholicism because the talk about repenting and gaining forgiveness was similar terminology used in the religion.

  This factor just proved, however, nothing in analysis was concrete. Maybe Bingham’s connection to the religion went back further than Salt Lick. Maybe there was Catholicism in his past, maybe there wasn’t.

  We had forwarded the photograph of Sally to Jones for comparison to the most recent victim. Jack activated the hands-free and called Jones to see how he was making out. Jack had to leave a message, and that didn’t improve his mood any.

  We pulled up to the address indicated for Colt Smith and were about to get out of the SUV when the phone rang. Caller identity read Nadia Webber. Jack answered by saying, “You got the Twit thing figured out?” He looked over at me. He had intentionally referred to Twitter incorrectly.

  “I have something better than that. You also asked me to dig into any open cases that show similar MOs to this case. Sarasota, Florida, sir.”

  “What are we looking at?”

  “Elev
en bodies.”

  “Ah shit.”

  “The murders date back to ’71.”

  “Bingham would have been twenty-two at the time,” I said.

  “Tell them to forward all the information they have on the case.”

  “Have already.” She paused only a few seconds. “I also have accessed Lori Carter’s medical records. She was admitted to the hospital eight times. She had stitches to her cheek once. The last time her nose was broken.”

  “Is there record of any charges against her husband?”

  “No, nothing.”

  Jack disconnected the call and leaned back into his seat.

  The curtain in the front window of the house pulled back, and a woman looked out. Jack either didn’t notice, or didn’t care. He carried on as if we were parked in an abandoned lot.

  “Bingham has no next of kin, and no children on record.” Jack ground a palm into the steering wheel. “With the empty grave and the similar murders now in Florida...” His words trailed off, and he picked up seconds later. “The unsub would have admired Bingham, possibly hung around him.”

  “No one’s mentioned anyone like that.”

  Jack fished out a cigarette and lit up. He put the window down and blew the smoke out the window. “Well, Kid, we’re gonna have to find them.”

  “What if the unsub was connected to Bingham originally through his sister Lori Carter. We could find out if she was a member of Lakeview Community Church, find out who her close friends were. It could be a place to start.”

  “Hmm.”

  Was he giving consideration to what I had said?

  “We need to know who the other people in those pictures are.”

  “Yeah, great idea, but how do you intend to find out? We already know they’re not in the missing persons database.”

  Jack put the SUV into full reverse. Dust from the graveled driveway kicked up into the air.

  “Aren’t we going to talk to Colt Smith?”

  Jack drove with his eyes straight ahead, determination firing in them.

  An hour later, we sat in the visitor’s room at Eastern Kentucky Correctional Complex. Jack told me he would be taking the lead on this. The door opened, and the same guards from yesterday led Lance Bingham in.