by Kylie Brant
Which made it all the more imperative that Vickie Baxter was brought to justice. Sonny’s mental illness had led to him targeting Lucy, but he’d been his mother’s pawn in all other ways. Even when it came to kidnapping and murdering the victims.
“Where’s super agent?”
She smiled, amused. “I’m supposed to meet Cam here. I must be early.” Lucy and Cam had a verbally caustic relationship. Sometimes she suspected he had her accompany him on morgue visits in an effort to defuse Lucy’s acerbity. Sophia suspected every male of a certain age received the same treatment. The fact that Gavin had plowed through Lucy’s iron guard was telling, indeed.
All eyes turned to the door when it opened. Cam stepped in, his gaze immediately zeroing in on Sophia. And the flare of heat she detected in his eyes made something inside her go molten.
“Get a rental all right?”
“I’ve had my fill of dealing with all things vehicle-related for a while.” She said nothing more. While Lucy was a friend, she wasn’t quite ready to rehash the details of yesterday’s ordeal. She looked at Gavin. “I’m assuming we’re here because you and Lucy have performed some magic on the remains taken out of the Raccoon River and the mass grave found on its banks.”
Lucy went to the wall to lower a screen and then plugged her computer into a projector. She typed a few commands and a PowerPoint presentation appeared on the pull down screen. “Aging bones is never precise but Gavin and I agree…”
“…that phrase alone is worthy of note,” the man inserted jokingly.
“…that the remains pulled out of the water did not predate some found on the riverbank, at least not by much.” Ignoring Gavin’s comment, she flipped to the next slide, which bore fourteen numbers corresponding with the bodies that had been found at the dumpsites. There was a date next to each, and those that had been identified through DNA testing were coupled with names. Those that had the number found intact on their skin had that numeral in parenthesis.
Solidifying the timeline for the victims’ deaths would help nail down the sequence in which they died. Sophia studied the slide carefully. Some of the remains had been skeletal. On a couple others the skin hadn’t been intact enough for a number to be found, although there was evidence of burns in the bone.
Sophia counted quickly. There were still six without identifiers. She couldn’t imagine a more awful situation for a family member than to go to their grave never knowing what had happened to their loved one. The detective on Emily Stallsmith’s case hadn’t even been certain she hadn’t left voluntarily.
As her husband had said at the cemetery, closure was at least something.
“Fourteen victims in all,” Sophia said evenly. Objectivity was imperative in her line of work. But sometimes difficult to summon. “Vickie Baxter bears a one, and Sonny a two. Seven occur during the time Vance was in prison the first time, so we can credit the Baxters with all those found on the riverbank or in the water. Except for number sixteen.”
“Maybe all the bodies first went to the cave,” Gavin said. “There Sonny…uh…enjoyed them for a while before he gave them a final disposal. Could be he would have found a final resting place for number sixteen atop a vault in a freshly dug grave like he had the previous six when he was done with her.”
“Since Sonny Baxter was seen sexually assaulting her corpse it’s obvious why she hadn’t been buried yet.” Cam’s voice was absent as he moved closer to the screen, squinting at it thoughtfully. “But carrying a corpse in that Ziegler box and gurney down through the woods and down that steep incline to the clearing and then back up would be a lot of work. And pointless, when he had a disposal site right there. No, he would have dumped her there. In the mass grave, or in the river. The question is why did he revert to his original disposal method?”
“Because it suited his purpose.” Though the other three had drawn closer to the screen, Sophia remained rooted in place. As if her physical distance would equate with an emotional one. “Always the paraphilia is about the offender. His wants. His needs. Remember the last victim was embalmed, where the prior six hadn’t been.” Through the course of the investigation they’d learned that Sonny Baxter had once worked in a funeral home. “I think the question is were the other bodies found in and near the Raccoon River embalmed?”
Lucy turned to beam a smile at her. “Give the lady a gold star. We can’t be positive, of course about the three in body bags found in the river.”
“Two of the bags smelled strongly of formaldehyde, though,” Gavin put in. “And every body in the mass grave there was embalmed.”
“Fascinating,” she murmured, her mind racing.
“Not actually the word I’d use to describe a killer with necrophiliac tendencies, but to each their own.”
She smiled at Gavin’s words. “I meant from a psychological standpoint. From what we know of Sonny Baxter he was his mother’s pawn, but the disposal was left to him, endowing him with a measure of power. He then chose a method that allowed him to indulge his paraphilia for a longer amount of time.”
“He said something like that before he kidnapped me,” Lucy recalled. Gavin closed the distance between them. Gave her hand a squeeze. “That they could love him longer when they were embalmed.”
“But then Vance came along and I’m betting Sonny’s only bit of control was taken away. Now he wasn’t just taking orders from Vickie, but Mason Vance, as well. Maybe it was even Vance’s idea to dispose of the six bodies in the cemeteries.”
“So embalming victim sixteen was Sonny’s way of re-exerting control.” Cam’s face was set in grim lines. He balled his fists, shoved them into his suit coat pockets.
“I think you’re partially right.” Involuntarily Sophia drew closer to the screen. “In so far as exerting control meant he could indulge his fetish again. That need would have been paramount over any other. When he was discovered, it was because he had fixated on the last victim.”
Her gaze flew to Lucy’s, full of mutual understanding. He’d fixated on Lucy as well. Had shot Gavin, kidnapped the woman. Had things happened differently the medical examiner could have shared the fates of the unfortunate women designated by the numerals on the screen.
“The aging of the rest of the remains helps with the sequence. It supports some of our conclusions.” Cam moved away from the others. Paced a bit. “We now can be certain Vickie and Sonny killed ritualistically seven on their own over the course of nine years, and when Vance came on the scene there were seven more victims in less than two years.”
“Sonny disappeared out of foster care when he was seventeen. This timeline means his mother had him start helping with killings within two years.” Sophia rested a hand on an empty metal gurney beside her, before snatching it back, recalling what the gurney was used for. “She got pregnant with him when she was seventeen. I suspect she was responsible for the fire that killed her relatives when she was three years older.” She caught Cam’s swift glance. “That leaves a span of sixteen years in her life in which she likely evolved ritualistically. Maybe she role played, engaged in BDSM.” And maybe she killed, for profit or thrill. But however she’d spent the time, her development into a serial murderer had been progressing.
“This helps, thanks.” Cam’s words addressed both Gavin and Lucy. Then he grinned at the other man. “Guess this means you’ll be taking your souvenir bullet hole back to California to show off to your friends.”
Gavin’s teeth flashed. “And most visitors leave Iowa in the summer with nothing but a bag of sweet corn to remember their stay.”
Lucy flipped her dark braid over her shoulder with an agitated movement. “I’ll email the report to you, Prescott. Let me know if you have any more questions. I’ve got an autopsy scheduled in ten minutes. If you guys want to talk over good times, use the hallway.” She stalked out the door she’d entered through.
Seeing the surprised expression on the men’s faces, Sophia shook her head. Guys, she decided as she started after her friend, could be
decidedly obtuse.
She caught up with Lucy in her office, staring fixedly at a computer monitor. “I left Cam and Gavin tied to gurneys, but need your help with the oscillating saw.”
Lucy gave a snort of laughter. “Don’t tempt me.” She whirled around in the computer chair to face her friend. “But even I realize my tolerance for dumb stoic male humor is short these days.”
“Gavin almost died,” Sophia said gently, going further into the room. “You have a right to be a little sensitive on the subject.”
“There’s that,” the woman agreed with a brood in her tone. “Plus…he’s leaving. And he’s asked me to go with him.”
“I’d gleaned that much.” She drew up another chair and sank into it. “Are you considering it?”
“See, that’s the thing.” Lucy stabbed a finger in Sophia’s direction. “I’m tempted. How am I tempted? I don’t do permanent. Never have. Never wanted to. This has to be chalked up to, I don’t know, some sort of guilt or something. Sonny Baxter came after me. Gavin never would have been shot if he hadn’t come tearing after me after I left his motel room. I’m the reason he almost died.”
“I’m not unfamiliar with the weight guilt can bring to bear.” Sophia’s chair squeaked when she settled more comfortably into it. “That first night Vance came for me in the barn…he was in a rage because the profile I’d done on him had been released to the public. He started beating me. I knew he meant to rape me.” The deep fathomless darkness of Lucy’s gaze invited confidences. And this was one that still haunted. “I tricked him into agreeing to let me write another one. One he could release to the media. After a short interview he left me to write it.” Buying valuable time, she’d thought at the time, the familiar vise of remorse gripping her. “Moments later he began assaulting Courtney Van Wheton, in another stall. I had no idea there was another victim in that barn with me. But if I hadn’t put him off, she would have been spared that night.”
“Well sure, since you’re blessed with omniscience you should have known she was there,” scoffed Lucy. “You realize that’s not logical, right?”
“Have you had any luck trumping emotion with logic?” she queried.
“Point taken.” The other woman drummed her fingers on the desk in front of her. “Jesus, look at us. We’re ridiculous.” Her glare dared Sophia to dispute it.
“Maybe the key is to focus on how you felt about Gavin before he was shot. Sure those feelings may have deepened by now over the last few weeks. I happen to know you spent a lot of time by his side in the hospital. Had him convalescing at your home. But before all that…did you have feelings for him then?”
“I figure you know I did.” The other woman heaved a sigh. “But he realizes I come with a neon blinking caution sign. He’s asking too much. Maybe…we can try a long distance relationship first. See how that goes.”
Sophia hid a smile. Something told her Gavin had asked for far more than he expected to get just to win this concession. “Conventional wisdom would say that surviving a traumatizing event could cloud judgment. But I’m learning that it can help you focus on what’s really important.” And somehow she’d convince Cam of that, she thought. That a trauma in her past couldn’t be allowed to dictate their future.
“You’re right. And we so should be having this conversation over wine.”
“Next time,” she promised. “Right now we should probably get back to the autopsy suite and untie the guys from the gurneys.”
* * * *
Franklin Paulsen replaced files in the Italian leather briefcase and snapped the lid shut. “I’ve reached the end of my stall tactics. You need to prepare to be transferred to a maximum-security prison until the trial. Likely Anamosa. Probably within the week.” There was no visible reaction from the man sitting across the table from him. Just the flat pale blue stare that turned the attorney’s bowels to ice.
“I thought you’d have more for me.”
The words were fraught with meaning. Innocuous in case anyone overheard. There was no one else in the small room used for attorney client conversations. But a guard was posted outside and kept watch through the glass at all times. Franklin was increasingly grateful for that.
“I’ve told your friend…things will be strictly by the book from now on. It’s important that nothing be allowed to jeopardize your case.”
“You should reconsider.”
The attorney’s palms went damp. The physical response angered him. He wasn’t the one locked up and who would—despite Franklin’s very robust defense—likely die behind bars. Franklin walked in and out of here freely.
And his mother had been safely moved to another facility, a fact that she complained of bitterly. He’d promised that she could go back…someday. Once the danger was over. Once this man and his accomplice were both imprisoned for good.
“I’m not going to reconsider.” He said the words crisply, making sure he kept his back to the door. He’d always suspected some of those guards were adept at lip-reading. “I’m a respectable attorney. All of my dealings have been and will always be above the law.”
The law, thankfully, could be obscured and confounded by an adept lawyer. And everyone had different standards of legal. He’d passed money to his client each time he was here, but giving Vance the capsules ‘Vanecia Mason’ had given him was a risk he wasn’t going to take. And now that the couple had no leverage against him—now that Mother was safe and Franklin had hired security for himself—he was back in control of the situation.
He pushed his chair back from the table and rose. “Here’s a little piece of advice, Mr. Vance, and I won’t even charge you for it.” He couldn’t keep the triumph from sounding in his words. “Not everyone can be bent to your will. Violence is no match for wits.”
He turned and gestured to the guard, who unlocked the door. It wouldn’t be opened until a second guard had joined the first so Vance could be secured and taken back to his cell.
“Guard,” he heard Vance shout as he walked through the door. “I need to make a phone call.”
Franklin’s step faltered, before he stiffened his spine and marched on. The precautions he’d taken meant he had nothing to fear. Mason Vance had taught him a valuable lesson. It was important to be safety-conscious when taking on high-profile criminal cases. It was just as important not to over-estimate the power and reach the criminal had.
He whistled a bit as he walked to his car, his step jubilant. He doubted either Marcella Rosen or Antonio Cavanaugh could claim to have backed down the most notorious killer in Iowa’s history and lived to tell about it.
It was a shame, he thought, giving his keys a jaunty toss and recapturing them, that no one could ever hear the story.
* * * *
“I need to catch you up on a few things, and I don’t know the next time I’ll get the chance today.” Cam steered Sophie toward the vinyl-upholstered furniture in the lobby just inside the entrance. The state morgue shared the building with the state crime lab, and had recently scored a new facility.
“All right.” She sank gracefully into one of the chairs and cocked her head, waiting for him.
Shit. He’d rather stab himself in the eye with a fork than tell her what he’d learned that day from Dennis Leslie. On the other hand, if she somehow found out about it from another source, she just might be the one wielding the utensil. He sat beside her and told her the gist of the interview, glossing over details in a manner that—so sue him—she’d probably call sugarcoating.
And the shocked, sick comprehension on her face was like taking a hard right jab to the solar plexus.
“The ad is still running,” she repeated in a numbed voice. One hand went to the bracelet on the opposite wrist, fidgeted with the silver links there. “Meaning Leslie might not be the only one. There could an unknown number of men Vickie Baxter talked to about this. Dozens, even.”
