Touching Evil

by Kylie Brant

  “You’ve summoned a scuba crew?”

  This from SAC Gonzalez, seated in the front row next to Sophie. Cam scanned the crowd, failed to see any of the top brass in it. And felt a measure of relief. “I’ve got the Underwater Search and Rescue Team sending out a team this morning.”

  His sleep had been interrupted periodically with updates from the excavation crew, and none of the updates had contained good news. After each call and text, however, he’d quickly fallen back asleep. That could have been due to exhaustion, but he was more likely to credit Sophie. What had started as a way to distract her from the PTSD-induced flashbacks had wound up as comforting to him as they had been to her. And that realization made him more than a little uncomfortable.

  “Doesn’t make much sense that he would dump them in the river, does it?” The tips of Agent Robbins’ ears reddened after blurting out the question. He slunk a bit lower in his seat as he fumbled to explain himself. “I mean, why would he bury the ones at the cemetery and at this site, and then break routine with water dumps?”

  “Since we’re heading into Dr. Channing’s territory now, I’ll let her answer.”

  At Cam’s words Sophie stood and turned to address the group. “That’s a good question, Agent. I can only make an educated guess at this point. But I think we can assume that this second offender was subservient to Vance in some way. He was an accomplice to at least one of the kidnappings, that of Courtney Van Wheton’s, and it’s probable that the partnership of the two men required this UNSUB to be in charge of the body dumps.”

  Sophie shifted slightly, angling her body so she could include Cam in her comments. “Given what was seen at the burial site the other night, the man we’re seeking is most likely to be the one guilty of the post-mortem sexual assaults. I think the river represents the same convenience the freshly-dug graves at the cemeteries did. Ease of disposal.”

  “With Iowa winters,” Cam inserted, “this guy wasn’t digging graves year round for the victims. He might have looked for a way to get rid of them that was a whole lot easier.”

  Sophie nodded. “Once the ground hardened too much for digging, I’m guessing there was still open water on the river, which explains using both areas. After what we just learned from the ME, I have more questions than answers about this offender. The most pressing of which is why the bodies found at the river are embalmed and the first six discovered weren’t. And the timing of the disposals interest me. The ME and forensic anthropologist agreed that the bodies discovered in the cemeteries had been buried in the last year to eighteen months. Identification of those victims verifies that estimate. There’s no way to be certain at this point how long the bodies at the new site have been dead. But we now know the recently discovered victim is likely the most recent.”

  Cam took over. “All three bodies found at the river site bear numbers on their backs, just as Vance’s other victims did.” He waited for the murmur from the group to die down before adding, “The two found in the grave bore the numbers four and seven. The one kept in the cave is sixteen.”

  “That makes no sense.”

  Cam waited for Tommy Franks to go on. He and the more senior agent were often on the same wavelength.

  “The ViCAP files don’t show any other crimes with the same details as those first six women we pulled out of cemeteries.” The man’s scowl was fierce. When Cam had needed fresh eyes to go through the copious information gleaned from the FBI’s database on similar violent crimes, Franks had done so. And neither had come up with more victims than the ones discovered a few weeks ago. “Are you saying he varies his victim selection?”

  “I think that might be possible.” Sophie folded her hands before her sedately, her voice pensive. “Vance and his accomplice may not have partnered on all the crimes. Or they could have alternated victim selection. They may even have engaged in a sort of a…for lack of a better word…individual competition. That would explain the difference in the severity of the attacks on the victims. The medical examiner believes that while the new victims were also viciously sexually assaulted, the exterior damage to the bodies at least isn’t as great as the other six.”

  The room went abruptly silent as Sophie’s words sank in. Cam found himself leaning forward a bit, in anticipation of her next words. She was given to movement when she addressed a group, and paced a little now as she continued. “Vance’s prior employment tended to be manual labor, so these two didn’t meet on the job at a funeral home. But something brought them together. Maybe their pastimes.”

  “So they met up at a support group for sadistic necrophiles?” Micki Loring’s question had a chuckle rippling through the agents. Cam could hear the answering smile in Sophie’s voice.

  “Possibly. Although I don’t believe we’ll discover that Vance’s paraphilias ran to necrophilia, there is evidence of torture on bodies recovered from the cemeteries and the one discovered two nights ago. We already know that we’re looking for a man in his late twenties, early thirties. Given his predilection, I’m guessing we’ll find his name on an employee list—past or present—for a funeral home. Other possible occupations are morgue attendant, orderly, cemetery attendant…”

  She broke off and glanced at Cam. “Although that list was exhausted when we searched for Vance.” Facing the group again she continued, “Whatever his occupation, he’ll likely be underemployed and lacking in social skills. Inept with women. Living alone or with a single family member, likely a female.”

  “You’re saying he’s the disorganized one in the partnership and Vance called the shots,” Beachum observed from the back.

  Cam could almost feel Sophie’s wince. He’d been on the receiving end more than once of a lecture from her regarding the danger of stereotypes using the organized/ disorganized dichotomy.

  “I do think it likely that he was dominated by Vance, but I suspect we’re looking for an offender who’s a mix of the typographies. He’s capable of highly-organized behavior, despite likely being almost completely nonsocial. The methods of disposal, the selection of the dump sites, the stalking of Courtney Van Wheton shows that this man doesn’t act at random.”

  Her words flowed more quickly now. And Cam noted that every person in the room, including the SAC was listening intently. Sophie had once confided that she’d grown bored with the routine of teaching at the university level. But she was a natural speaker. And given the case, her subject matter was fascinating.

  “He’s equally likely to be a prisoner to his organization, a creature of routine. Even realizing that his near capture the other night means his image will be all over the media, he will tend to think he can successfully elude capture by changing his appearance, finding a new address in the same neighborhood or both.”

  “You think he’s still around?” Franks sounded startled.

  “I think it’s highly likely,” Sophie said simply. “He’s comfortable only with the familiar. He chose that spot by the river because he’s been there before. He knew it well and recognized that its seclusion would serve his purposes. But the site would be seasonal. Wherever he lives he’ll have an alternate space for his assaults. Look for a chest type or large upright freezer in his home.”

  “He likes his chicks chilly,” cracked Samuels.

  Sophie smiled. “Absolutely. It assists in his paraphilia. Refrigeration would slow decomposition a bit. Freezing would nearly halt it. He’ll also have access to a boat and trailer. And I think it’s possible that he suffers from some sort of mental illness.” The room went silent. “Approximately sixty percent of necrophiles have been diagnosed with a personality disorder, and up to ten percent with a psychosis.”

  The door opened then and Agent Jenna Turner walked in at a fast clip. Cam told her, “I want a forensic sketch done on all three victims in the morgue.”

  She didn’t bother to sit. “I did the first one—the one on the river bank yesterday. And I’m afraid you’re going to need it sooner than you think.” She paused a beat. Sent a nervous look t
oward the SAC. “I touched base with every kid on Pals’ contact list yesterday. Corroborated the names with cyber crimes when they finished with his phone. I did my best to put a scare into all of the high schoolers, but apparently I’m not as intimidating as I thought.” She nodded toward the computer he had at the front of the room. It was used much as Benally’s had been in the morgue, for presenting information visually. “May I?”

  Cam gave a terse nod. He had a feeling he was going to be ambushed with new information and it was a sensation he didn’t much care for.

  “I set a Google alert just in case one of them decided to get clever.” Jenna was typing busily on the keyboard as she spoke. “Keywords Raccoon River, Van Meter, Zombie Woman…” She sent an apologetic look at Cam. “Just trying to think like kids would. Wouldn’t have told me if kids were sharing the video on a social network, but if they uploaded the video to YouTube…” She stepped aside, turning to look at the screen behind Cam. He looked as well. Mentally cursed.

  The video was dark. The images shaky. But there was no denying it was the one Pals had taken of the offender at the river. “When was this posted?”

  Jenna pulled a small notebook from her pocket to consult it. “About one AM this morning. And it has two thousand views already.”

  A chair scraped. Gonzalez was walking rapidly to the door. And Cam knew she was already in full damage control mode. “Send a copy of the victim sketch to SAC Gonzalez’s office. Alert Cyber Crimes. First priority is getting it off YouTube. Second is finding the punk who put it up and nailing him for obstructing an ongoing state investigation.”

  Cam paused a moment to tamp down the temper that had flared to life. If he found out Pals was responsible for this, Jason Drew, his high-powered attorney, was going to have the fight of his life keeping the little prick out of jail. But whoever was to blame, there would be no mercy. “Any way of knowing who posted it?”

  “Not yet.”

  Cam nodded. “I’ll update you later. Leave a hard copy of the sketch for me, too. When you get done at Cyber Crimes go ahead with the sketches at the morgue.”

  Nodding, Turner headed for the door. If anything, the mood in the room had grown more somber. “The clock just started ticking.” A muscle tightened in Cam’s jaw as he issued the words. “The last thing we want is for the victim’s family to ID her from that video before we can alert them. Getting it off the web as soon as possible will help, but every single one of those kids on Pals’ contact list is a potential leak.” He waited a moment for his words to sink in. “We didn’t get a hit off NCIC or any of the other databases I submitted the photo of the victim to. Patrick, you done in Alleman?”

  The agent nodded. Of the group, he was the most flashily-dressed as usual in a dark blue suit, bright purple shirt and matching patterned tie. “No one recognized the UNSUB as someone seen around the Vance house. Got varying accounts regarding Klaussen. A few people saw her occasionally in the van with Vance. One old lady, who quite possibly wears the thickest glasses made in this country, swears she’d seen Klaussen coming and going alone.”

  He shrugged. “I don’t have corroboration of that, and I’m pretty sure I talked to every resident of the town above the age of ten.”

  “Good. I want you to take the copy of the sketch Jenna leaves for me and submit it to every law enforcement agency in Iowa and surrounding states.” It was a task he would have done himself today anyway, but the matter had just gained urgency. Inter-state dissemination wasn’t a problem. Iowa’s LIEN network shared crime information with the law enforcement agencies. But other states had a patchwork of systems that all had to be accessed separately. And Vance had cast a wide net, sometimes hunting out of state. He wanted to make sure not to exclude any of the surrounding locales. “Flag it as a priority.”

  He shifted his gaze to Loring. “Want to catch the group up on what you discovered?”

  Micki rose lithely. She would tower over some of the men in the room if placed next to them, something she never tired of pointing out. “I had a couple funeral homes that reported break-ins and thefts. Ended up visiting them and showing them pictures of the Zieglar case and one-man gurney. Neither of the places could positively ID them as the items they were missing. I figure the UNSUB shopped online. But I did contact the vendors in the state that sell funeral home equipment. Needed a warrant to get their client list, but it came through this morning.”

  She strode to the front of the room to hand the list to Cam. He glanced at it. Then at her. “You keep a copy?” At her nod he continued, “Good. I want you to cross-reference the client list with the one Robbins compiled of the past and present employees of funeral homes in the area.” He reached for the sheaf of papers on the table before him, riffling through them until he found a copy of the list in question to hand to her.

  While she returned to her seat he said, “I followed up a tip that came in last night on the tip line regarding our UNSUB.” Briefly Cam updated the group about the events of last night, omitting the more colorful details. “Although the man arrested wasn’t our guy, he bore enough resemblance to him to make the trip to the area worthwhile. Beachum and Samuels, I want you to continue with the BOLO tip line.” Although the men didn’t utter a word, he could see the weary acceptance on their expressions.

  Cam smiled slightly. “Tomorrow we’ll switch it up. No use letting you two have all the fun.”

  “It’s a laugh a minute,” Beachum assured the others. “Available to the highest bidder. Submit your bids early.”

  “Robbins.” Cam looked at the youngest member of the group. “You have DMPD officers at Channing’s place?”

  The agent bobbed his head. “Got a pretty steady stream of media knocking at the door, and that of the neighbors. One guy in particular was pretty persistent.” Robbins addressed Sophie. “Told the DMPD officer stationed outside that he was your ex, Dr. Channing. Demanded to know the details related to your death. I understand he wasn’t too happy when he was sent on his way.”

  “Under the circumstances,” Sophie said drily, “It’s hard to muster any sympathy for him.”

  “Head back to her place and from there you can follow up on the employee names you got from the funeral homes. Start checking out place of residence and contact records. Run the names through the system for criminal records. Let me know if any of them pop.” Switching his attention to Franks, Cam said, “You want to provide the ballistics update?”

  After the man did so in his usual terse and spare manner, Beachum drawled doubtfully, “I don’t know. If Timmons was right this could just be a case of a woman who wanted out and found a way to do so, while taking Stallsmith to the cleaners. Which isn’t as unusual as you might think.”

  “Until we nail down the alternate victim selection, we can’t afford to overlook the ballistics match.” To Franks Cam said, “Benally is waiting—not patiently—for one of us to attend the autopsy on the victim found a couple nights ago. Head over there and then to the river to oversee the operation until I can arrive.”

  Tommy raised a brow. “And where are you going to be?”

  With a glance toward Sophie, he responded, “Following up on the ballistics match. I’ll meet you later.” With a nod the older man joined the other agents heading toward the door.

  “I’d like you to accompany me on the stops,” he informed Sophie when she gathered up her purse. It was a functional black like her suit and he had to agree with Benally’s earlier assessment. The outfit was butt-ugly, and completely unlike the bright butterfly colors Sophie usually wore. That made it as effective as the wig and newly- arrived contact lenses at disguise. “I’ll want your take on both these men.” He found the information that Franks had brought yesterday and circled the names of the foster parent and Stallsmith. “While you’re waiting, contact them and see if you can get a meet set up for this morning. As soon as possible.” He started from the room.

  “Okay…but where are you going?”

  “To Gonzalez’s office.” And it wa
s something other than intuition that told him the upcoming conversation was going to be far from pleasant.

  Chapter 9

  Sonny had put a rush on the online order of materials to tint his car a different color. Bouncing through the foster care system hadn’t been pleasant, but he’d picked up a lot of skills along the way. He could have bought the supplies at a local auto supply store, but he preferred the anonymity of the web. Online orders were difficult to trace, and it was important to be careful.

  Especially now that he had plans for Lucy Benally.

  Once he’d seen the inside of her house, he’d been certain his original instinct about her had been right. They were perfect for each other. There hadn’t been an item out of place in her home. Sonny had been taught to appreciate orderliness. His own place was equally tidy. Everything precisely placed in a given spot for a reason. He smiled indulgently. Tidiness, at least, was one lesson he wouldn’t have to teach her.

  His leg throbbed. Sonny was beginning to think that Davis, the bastard, had deliberately put something in the wound to make it more painful. He reached behind him for the bottle of pain reliever he kept on the table next to the couch. Empty. He’d have to drive the mile and a half to Pinter’s and get some more.

  His leg sent up a howl of protest at the thought of the effort the trip would take.

  Awkwardly, he swung his feet off the couch, rising with some difficulty. The old woman next door probably had something. The old cow took enough pills to drop a horse. Surely she had some pain relievers in the mix.

  He banged out of the side door off the kitchen and crossed the pitted drive to the identical stoop at Moxley’s house. Because he knew the old bat was half deaf, he let himself in and announced his arrival from her kitchen.

  The tiger striped cat the old lady kept arched its back and hissed at him. Sonny gave it a well-aimed kick, satisfied when it yowled and ran under the table.

  “Carleton?” came the familiar quavery voice. “Here kitty, kitty. Come here, Carleton.”