by David Archer
Another car pulled up on the road near where the ambulance attendants were loading the body inside, and Moore made a face. “That’s Rob Girardi,” he said. “Reporter for the Benton paper.” He motioned for Sam to follow and walked toward the man who got out of the car.
“Hey, Johnny,” the reporter said. “Took me a little while to find the place. Is it really Crazy Daisy?”
“Yeah, it’s her. Somebody beat her around the head.”
Girardi clucked in sympathy. “Man, Thompsonville won’t be the same without her. Any idea who did it?”
“Not just yet,” Moore said. “However, it appears to be exactly like the way Millie Cameron was murdered eight years ago. The ironic thing about that is that Daisy may have known something about that case. Earlier today, she gave keys to the old Cameron house to this man. He’s Sam Prichard, a private investigator who was looking into whether Mrs. Cameron’s son was really guilty or not. Seems pretty strange that she’d be killed the same way just a few hours later, doesn’t it?”
Girardi made a low whistle. “Damn right,” he said. “So, do you think it was the same killer?”
“At this point, all I can say officially is that there are similarities. When you add in the pretty extreme coincidence that we were looking to talk to Daisy about the Cameron case just at the time when she was murdered, then I have to say it sure does look like a possibility.”
“Are you reopening the Cameron case, then?”
“We are. Mr. Prichard stumbled across what might be new evidence in that case today, but I’m not going to go into detail about what it is yet. If I get anything more, I’ll give you a statement then.”
Girardi nodded. “Okay, cool,” he said. “I’ll go get some background on Daisy and just hint in the story that there might be a connection. That okay?”
Moore nodded his head. “That’s fine. You might mention that anyone who knows anything should give me a call.”
Girardi agreed and got back into his car. As he drove away, Sam looked at Moore and grinned. “Your local reporters are easily satisfied,” he said. “I’ve never had one give up that easily.”
“He’s got a murder in an extremely small town. Guy like him can spin that into a front-page story. Details will only get in the way.” He looked around and saw that the CSI team was climbing back into their van. “I think we’re done here. Got any advice on what I should do next?”
“I think the first thing I’d do is start looking for other killings around the region that have a similar MO. We’ve got two murders using identical methodology, eight years apart. If this is a person who already killed once, I’d be very surprised if they waited this long to kill again.” He looked Moore in the eye. “I think we may be looking at a serial killer.”
They got into the car and headed back toward Moore’s office. “I can’t recall ever hearing about a murder around southern Illinois that was really close to what happened to Mrs. Cameron,” Moore said, “but I’ll check. It’s always possible one of the local jurisdictions had a case like it that never got compared to others. If local news didn’t run the story properly, it might not have enough details to jog my memory, you know?”
“I know exactly what you mean. I had a case once where a serial killer had been getting away with it for years because nobody connected what appeared to be a bunch of random shootings. My wife is a whiz with computers, and when she started digging into old news stories and case files, a pattern turned up. In fact,” he said, “she has her computer with her.” He took out his phone and dialed Indie, setting it to speaker so Moore could hear.
“Hey, babe,” she said. “Was it the lady you thought it was?”
“Yeah, it was her. Definitely the one who gave me the keys. Listen, she was killed exactly the way Debbie’s mother was. Can you fire up Herman and see if he can find other killings that happen the same way? Bludgeoning deaths, all with massive head trauma.”
“I’m sitting here with him right now. Give me a sec.”
Sam could hear her fingers tapping on the keyboard for several seconds, but then he heard the first chime as Herman found results. Over the next minute, he heard the chime several more times.
“I’m just scanning news stories from the last fifteen years at the moment,” Indie said, “but I’ve got nine similar murders, most of them older women, including Millie Cameron. Her death is the oldest one, and then there’s one in Golconda about a year later, then another in New Harmony, Indiana, almost a year after that one. The victim in New Harmony was a sixty-four-year-old man. There’s one in Madisonville, Kentucky, a year and a half after that, another in Jonesboro, Illinois, six months after that one. One in Scott City, Missouri, a year later. Next one was Paducah, Kentucky, um, eight months later, but that’s the odd one. The victim was a woman, but she was only twenty-nine. Then we got Hayti, Arkansas, ten months after that. Last one was nine months ago in Olney, Illinois.”
Moore glanced at the phone and then at Sam. “How in the hell have I never heard about all these cases?”
“Probably because you’re too busy dealing with your own,” Sam said. “That’s the way it was on the case I told you about. Every police department involved had enough of a caseload that kept them busy, so they never paid attention to other cases outside their own jurisdictions.”
“And I was only scanning news stories within a hundred miles,” Indie said through the phone. “You could probably check the FBI database and find more, or go out further. It looks to me like you got a serial killer on your hands.”
“Yeah, I see that,” Moore said. “And if you took a map and marked all those places off, you’d find my county right smack in the middle of it all.”
“If you add that to the fact that only Thompsonville has seen two of these murders, then it’s quite possible our killer actually lives in this area. Somehow, he knew that Daisy had given me those keys, and something about her talking to me worried him. What are the chances that he just happened to be in the area on the day I go poking around inside that house?”
“Pretty slim, I agree,” Moore replied. “I need to get all the information on those cases I can find.”
“If you’ll give me your email address,” Indie said, “I can send all these links to you.”
“Thank you, that would be a big help. It’s j-m-o-o-r-e at franklinsherrif.il.gov.”
“Okay, sent.”
“Thanks, babe,” Sam said. “I’ll be back there in just a bit.” He ended the call and put the phone back in his pocket. “So, Millie may have been his first, but she certainly wasn’t his last. The victims are mostly similar, as well, mostly older women. That might actually lend credibility to the idea that it’s a woman. Older women and men might be easier to subdue and beat to death.”
“Yeah, but one of them was a younger woman. What about that one?”
Sam shrugged. “We don’t have enough information to really make a reasonable guess. It’s possible the woman was disabled in some way, might have been some kind of thrill for the killer to attack someone younger. Or, it could be just some kind of opportunity that struck and the killer couldn’t resist, or maybe the victim knew something and the killer was forced to act to silence her. There could be any number of reasons why that particular victim ended up on the list.”
Moore shook his head. “At least we have an idea why Daisy is on it. For whatever reason, she either knew something about the killer, or the killer thinks she did. Even without an autopsy report, I’m already convinced in my gut that we’re dealing with the same killer. Now all we have to do is prove it and clear Ross’s name.”
“I’m with you,” Sam said. “So I’ll need you to back me when I start pushing for Millie’s body to be exhumed and reexamined. I’ll cover the costs, but we need the report of a genuine forensic pathologist, not your local coroner.”
“Just meet me at the courthouse at eight o’clock Monday morning. I’ll get us in to see Judge Middleton. Once I lay out the similarities in the cases, he won’t be abl
e to decline. Can you get permission from Debbie? Have her fax it down or something?”
“I’ll take care of that, no problem. Once we get the order, who do we need to actually do it?”
“Well, Frank Hoover will dig her up for us, but the best forensic pathologist in the area is Dr. Havelock. He’s down in Carbondale; he teaches pathology at the Southern Illinois University medical school and does forensics on the side. I know he’s consulted on a lot of cases around the country, even up into Canada a couple of times.”
“Sounds like the right guy, then. We’ll want to get him on it as soon as we have the body.”
“Middleton will give us whatever we need,” Moore said. “I’ll call Havelock as soon as we get Hoover scheduled. I’ve heard that he loves working on old cases, so this ought to be right down his alley.”
13
Sam called Debbie as he was driving back across town. “Debbie, it’s Sam Prichard,” he said when she answered. “Can you do me a favor? I need you to write a letter granting your permission to exhume your mother’s body, then fax it to me. I have a number you can fax to that will send it to my email, so I can print it out.”
“Of course,” Debbie said. She copied down the number and then asked, “Mr. Prichard? My friend Marcy called me last night and said there’s been another murder, just like Mom’s. Do you think there’s any connection?”
Sam sighed. “I’m afraid there is,” he said, “and I was going to tell you, anyway. The victim was Crazy Daisy. It’s just a little too much to believe that this is just a coincidence, after she apparently talked to me just that morning. Johnny Moore, who was a deputy back then, is now the detective for the sheriff’s office. I thought you’d like to know that he has also come to the conclusion that Ross is innocent, and he’s trying to get the case reopened. He agrees with me that the fact Daisy was killed the same way your mother was is just too much of a coincidence. It’s starting to look like we’re dealing with a serial killer, and probably somebody local. As far as we can tell, your mom was the first victim, but there have been several others over the years since then.”
“Oh, my goodness,” Debbie said. “I’ll get this letter done and out to you right away, but if this is the same killer, then that should be plenty of proof that Ross is innocent, right?”
“If we can come up with enough evidence that the killings are similar enough, then I’m sure of it. In order to do that, though, we’ve got to have your mother’s body examined by a professional forensic pathologist. Detective Moore already has one in mind, somebody who’s been a consulting pathologist on a lot of murder cases. He sounds like exactly the guy we need.”
“That’s good. I’d really like to be able to tell Ross some good news sometime soon. Oh, and I was going to call you in a little while, anyway. Alex and Andy found that letter from Bill Parkinson. They brought it to me a little while ago, and I read through it, but it’s kind of strange.”
“Strange, how?” Sam asked.
“Well, it’s really just a short note. All it says is that he hoped she was doing well, but he just didn’t feel like he could face her. He said it was too painful, anything to do with Lynette, but he just wanted her to know that he wished her the best.”
Sam frowned into the phone. “That’s not much, is it? What about the envelope, where did it come from?”
“That’s the other strange part,” Debbie said. “The envelope doesn’t have a postmark, or even a stamp. It just has my mother’s name written on the front, nothing else.”
“Sounds like it might’ve been hand-delivered,” Sam speculated. “Maybe he had been passing through the area and dropped it off. I saw the mailbox out near the street; he could have shoved it in there and driven away without being seen. Oh, well. Tell the boys I’ll mail out a check to them.”
Debbie thanked him again, and Sam ended the call. He got back to the motel just in time to hear Kenzie announce that she was getting hungry, so they all loaded up into the Ridgeline. Moore had suggested they try Mike’s Drive-In in West Frankfort, only a few miles away, so Sam pointed the truck south. The place was appealing, and the food turned out to be very good, but it was the frosty mugs of root beer they all raved about.
Afterward, because it was simply too early to call it a day, they googled for theaters and drove a bit farther south to the town of Marion, where the latest Disney feature was showing. They did a little shopping before the movie, then finally got back to the motel at nearly eleven that night.
Kenzie was sound asleep, so Sam carried her into the room, but she woke up when he tried to lay her on the bed. There followed a few moments of Sam and Kenzie putting their hands on Indie’s belly to feel the baby move around, which resulted in Kenzie insisting on sleeping with her mommy while Sam took the other bed.
Indie smiled at him, so he gave her a kiss and watched the two of them cuddled up for a few moments, then stripped out of his clothes and got into bed. The events of the day swirled around his head for a few minutes, but then he drifted off to sleep.
The next morning, since it was Sunday, Sam decided they needed to do something recreational. A few minutes googling led them to a few not so distant tourist attractions, so they spent the day on hiking trails and visiting a petting zoo. It was a nice day, and something Sam particularly needed after a week of digging through history and stumbling across murders.
It also left little Kenzie completely worn-out, so Sam got to spend that night with his wife again. Kenzie slept with her grandmothers, so the happy couple ended the day on an even happier note.
When the sun rose high enough for its light to penetrate the heavy curtains on Monday morning, Sam got up and dressed quietly. He kissed Indie and slipped out the door, and managed to eat two waffles in the continental breakfast room before heading for the courthouse.
He spotted Johnny Moore as soon as he stepped inside. He was waiting for Sam in the hallway and looked up with a smile when Sam came limping into view, then stepped up and held out a hand. Sam shook, and Moore said, “I got hold of the judge Saturday and let him know we’d be here this morning. He’s waiting for us in his chambers.” He turned without another word and led the way, and Sam followed along.
They passed through a clerk’s office, and then Moore tapped on a large oak door. A voice inside called out for them to enter, and they stepped into the judge’s chambers.
“Judge Middleton,” Moore began, “this is Sam Prichard. Sam, Judge Harvey Middleton.”
“Pleased to meet you, Your Honor,” Sam said, shaking his hand.
“I think the pleasure is mine, young man,” the judge said. “When Johnny called me the other day and told me about you, I thought your name sounded a little bit familiar, so I looked you up on the internet. Johnny, are you aware that this is the man who stopped the terrorists from dropping a nuclear bomb into Lake Mead?”
Moore’s eyes bugged out, and he looked at Sam. “Damn it,” he said with a grin. “No, I didn’t realize that, but now I recognize your name, too. You could’ve told me, Sam.”
Sam felt his face flushing a bit. “Oh, sure, that’s the way I start most conversations. Come on, Detective, what would you really think of me if I went around bragging about something like that? Besides, I wasn’t the only one on that bridge that day. Some good people lost their lives that day, trying to stop that disaster. I just got lucky, is all.”
“Lucky you lived through it, anyway,” the judge said. “Anyway, all that aside, Johnny says you need an order to exhume a body?”
“Yes,” Sam said. “I have a letter of consent from the next of kin, Mrs. Cameron’s daughter Debbie.” He produced the letter from a pocket and passed it over to the judge.
Judge Middleton read through it and then looked up at Sam. “All right,” he said, “everything is in order. You don’t actually need an order from the court to do this, but it might come in handy. There are a few people around here who don’t really want this case reopened, but I’m sold. Give me fifteen minutes to dictate it, and t
he clerk will have it for you out front.”
“Thank you, Your Honor,” Sam said, and Moore echoed him. The two of them stepped out, and it was less than ten minutes later when the clerk printed out the order and handed it to them.
They walked out of the courthouse together. “I got Frank Hoover to clear his schedule today,” Moore said. “If you’re ready, we can head right out to see him now.”
“Let’s go,” Sam said. “The sooner we get the pathology report, the sooner I can start working on getting Ross out of prison. That’s the goal, but I’m not going to run out on you with this current murder, either. Whatever reason Daisy may have had for giving me those keys, she definitely helped me get to where I can see daylight at the end of the tunnel for Ross. I don’t think I could sleep at night letting her murder go unsolved.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” Moore said. “Just leave your truck here; you can ride out with me.”
The got into the unmarked car again, and Moore started it up and drove away from the courthouse, swinging around the square and heading out on North Main Street. Once they were rolling, Moore looked over at Sam.
“I got the judge to do something else for me on Saturday, when I called him,” he said. “I got the okay to send Daisy Willis’s body down to Havelock, as well. I figured it would be better to have the same pathologist do both autopsies, the current one and the old one. That way, we can get a definitive answer on whether the killings seem to have been perpetrated by the same person.”
“That’s fantastic,” Sam said. “If he can say that there is a significant likelihood that the same killer struck again, then I’ll get an attorney to approach the prosecutor on overturning Ross’s conviction.”
Moore nodded. “I figured you’d like that. Just so you know, though, we’ve still got the same prosecutor that was here when Ross was convicted. He’s probably not going to be too keen on flipping one of his own cases.”
