The two men looked at each other and then back toward the flickering light. The outline of the large man became clearer. He stepped in a pothole and stumbled.
“Shit!”
“Is she alive?” one of the deputies at the entrance yelled back.
“She’s dead, and alone!” he cried out.
“Did you call it in?”
“Yup, sure did.”
The bulky deputy finally made it to the clearing where the two deputies stood waiting for more details. He lowered his flashlight but left it on. Then he pointed it down the narrow path. “Jesus Christ, who ever did that back there is a sick bastard.”
“What’s the condition of the body?” one of the other deputies asked.
“Not good. Looks like she’s been out there for about three or four days. We found her near the bank of a narrow creek. No clothes on the body except a white top. Looks like her hands were tied together. She has cuts around her wrists.”
“Raped?”
“Don’t know, but probably was. There’s something strange, though.”
“What’s that?”
“She was face down when we found her, with a deep gouge around her neck.”
“Strangled, eh?”
“I’m sure she was. But what’s weird is when we rolled her over her forehead was caked with dried blood.”
“He cut her up too?”
“Sort of. It looks like three letters are carved into her forehead.”
“No shit! What are they?”
“Couldn’t tell, too much blood. But the middle one looked to me like an X.”
25
ADAM PACED the living room while Valerie and Dawn sat on the edge of the couch. Two hours had passed since he’d received the phone call from the man with the metallic voice that gave detailed directions to where Sara Ann could be found. What the hell’s going on?
Carillo’s cell phone rang. Whirring adrenaline started deep in Adam’s gut and surged throughout his body, setting off a hammering pulse in his chest.
“Carillo.”
A long silence.
“You did . . .? Are you sure?”
Another long silent moment.
“Was he there . . .? Damn.” Carillo glanced at Adam. “Okay, I’ll tell them.”
Adam stood next to the equipment table staring down at Carillo. “Tell us what?” he demanded.
Carillo rubbed his bald head and cleared his throat.
“What is it?” Adam shouted.
“I’m afraid there’s bad news,” Carillo said.
“What?” Adam shouted again.
“Oh God, no,” Valerie screamed.
Dawn sat in silence.
Carillo cleared his throat again. “Sara Ann was found dead,” he finally said.
Valerie shrieked so loudly that Carillo had to cover his ears. “No! It can’t be her!”
Dawn jumped up from the couch with her hands planted on the top of her head and spun in circles. Her agonizing moans reverberated in the room.
Waves of panic burst through Adam, shooting to the core of his soul, leaving him weak and numb. The room was spinning, and his body was heaving with fear. “Are they sure it’s Sara Ann?” Adam bellowed. “It’s dark out. Maybe it’s another girl. Maybe they just thought it was Sara Ann.”
Carillo stood and faced Adam. “Yes, they’re sure. The deputies have a photo of her. They were able to make a positive identification.”
“Did they find the man?”
“No.”
The fear that gripped Adam only seconds earlier shifted to deep rage. “He said he’d be waiting,” he forced out.
“I know, but there was no one else out there.”
There was a thud from across the room. Adam and Carillo turned to see Valerie on the floor her chest heaving, gasping for air. Dawn was at her side.
“She’s hyperventilating,” Carillo said. He turned to Adam. “You need to get a paper bag.”
Adam rifled through kitchen cabinets until he found a small brown bag. He rushed back to the living room and knelt beside Valerie.
“Here, Val, breathe into this.”
She took the bag, put it to her mouth, and began inhaling and exhaling. The bag repeatedly expanded and collapsed. Its crackle sounded like fallen autumn leaves being crushed under a heavy jackboot.
Goldman’s phone was ringing. The sleep-induced fog slowly melted away, and the clanging of the phone finally registered. He rolled over and checked the alarm clock. It was eleven fifty-two.
“Goldman here. It better be important.”
“This is Detective Wilkerson. Actually, it’s very important.”
“What the hell is it?”
“Sara Ann Riley’s dead. Her body was found around ten-thirty.”
“Ten-thirty! Why the hell wasn’t I notified immediately?”
“I thought Rob Averly would call you.”
“Goddamn problem is you don’t think. Son-of-a-bitch. Were you two at the scene?”
“We were. I got there before him. He just now asked me to give you a call.”
“Who the hell you think has the lead on this case?”
“You.”
“That’s right, me. I don’t care if I’m here in Florida or working out of Virginia. I’m still in charge.”
“I got it.”
“You’d better,” Goldman snarled. “Where was the body found?”
“Scottsmoor. It’s a small town north of Titusville, off U.S. One. Her body was found in the woods, near a creek.”
“Where’s the body now?”
“It’s been released to the medical examiner.”
“Where’s it going and who’s the medical examiner?”
“It’s going to the Cape Canaveral Hospital. Dr. Harold Albright is the Brevard County M.E. But—”
“But what?”
“Albright won’t do the autopsy until tomorrow.”
“I figured that. When?”
“In the morning at nine.”
“There’s something else you should know.”
“I’m listening.”
“When I arrived at the scene, they were bringing her body out of the woods. I wanted to see the condition of the body, so I took a look.”
“And?”
“There’s something carved on the girl’s forehead.”
“Go on.”
“A couple of us determined there are three letters carved into her skin.”
“What are they?”
“CXJ.”
Goldman’s plans had now changed. He stared at the carry-on bag he had packed just before going to bed. There would be no flight back to Quantico tomorrow morning.
He pulled the sheets up to his chest and flipped the light off. What’s CXJ? What could it mean? Sleep didn’t come, only thoughts about how everything had changed. There’s a killer out there. He knew he’d kill again soon, very soon if not caught. And she would be young, blond, and pretty.
26
AS ADAM RILEY APPROACHED the large glass doors at the entrance to Cape Canaveral Hospital, one of them automatically opened. A volunteer at the main building’s front desk gave him directions to the back of the first floor.
In the northeast corner Adam found the morgue. The entrance was a single door with no window. He saw a button and speaker on the wall to the left of the door with a sign above it: Push Button to Enter.
Adam depressed the button. Nothing happened. Several seconds went by, and then he heard a high-pitched voice from the speaker. “Yes, who is it?”
“Adam Riley.”
“Oh yes. Come in, Mr. Riley. Yes indeed.”
A loud buzz sounded, and the door-lock snapped. Adam pulled the door open and stepped into a waiting room. Seconds later a diminutive man with thick black-framed glasses appeared. He had dark hair that fell over his ears and was parted down the middle.
“Hi. I’m Darrell Bloomfield,” the man said. “I’m the diener.”
Adam nodded. He assumed the diener was some sort o
f assistant, like a morgue technician.
Bloomfield led Adam into a large room with white walls. A sickening smell instantly hit Adam like a large wave, and a nauseous tide followed. He recognized some of the odors, but it was the mixture that made them repulsive. It seemed to be an amalgamation of some type of astringent cleaner, the odor of formaldehyde he recalled from his high school biology class years ago, and an unknown smell. Oh God, I want this over with.
Adam slowly gazed around the room. It was eerie and cold. There were exposed pipes crisscrossing in the ceiling, resembling an urban freeway interchange. The tile floor had several drains, and the air was chilled well below normal room temperature. There were three large, two-tier, stainless-steel tables in the middle of the room. Adam stared at them for several moments feeling like he was somewhere far away, almost anesthetized.
In the back of the room, on the left, he saw Goldman, Averly, Wilkerson, and two other men he didn’t recognize. One held a camera. They were gathered in front of a white folding table with several neatly-spaced chairs. Wilkerson gnawed on a toothpick, Averly removed his glasses and rubbed his ruby-red face, and Goldman talked to the other two men. None of the men acknowledged Adam’s presence.
“Mr. Riley, I’m Dr. Harold Albright, the county medical examiner.”
Adam shook the hand of a gray-haired man in baggy blue scrubs and a matching surgery cap. He wore thick glasses and had ears that seemed too large for his head. “When do I see my daughter’s body so I can get out of here?”
“Right now. Follow me.”
Adam followed behind Albright and Bloomfield. They walked around the three large stainless-steel tables and stopped at the back of the room before an array of three rows of five stainless-steel doors mounted in the wall. Each door had black stick-on numbers.
Both Albright and Bloomfield approached the far right door in the middle row with the number ten. Albright took out a ring of keys from his pocket. Adam kept his distance. He noticed the only door with a padlock was the one they were about to unlock. Albright handed the keys to Bloomfield, who in turn unlocked the door and slid the lock off, hanging it on his belt loop with the keys still dangling from the padlock. The two men then stood on either side of the cooler door. Albright turned toward Adam.
“Are you ready to view the body, Mr. Riley?”
Adam felt nauseous. He could feel sweat starting to flow from every pore in his warm skin, and his legs felt rubbery.
“I think—I think I am,” Adam answered. He held up his right hand. “Please give me a minute.”
“Sure, take your time.”
Adam turned around with this back to the two men, put his hands on his hips, and threw his head back. He took two deep breaths.
“Perhaps you should sit down, Mr. Riley,” Albright suggested.
Adam said nothing. He took one more deep breath, turned around to face the men, and finally said, “Okay.”
Bloomfield opened the door and began sliding out a large tray with a white vinyl bag on it. Adam stood beside Albright and closed his eyes. He could feel the cold air flowing from the refrigerated storage. He heard the ripping sound of a zipper.
Now the odor was unbearable. He opened his eyes and looked down. He saw his daughter’s face. Sara Ann was dead. His stomach churned. Her face was blue and she had cuts, scrapes, and gouges on both of her cheeks and forehead. What was once brilliant blond hair was now dingy and matted. Her tongue was partially chewed off and hung out of the right side of her mouth. But what repulsed him most of all were the maggots that had colonized the wounds on her face. Adam’s body felt like it was on fire, his head began to spin, and a salty taste filled his mouth.
Darrell Bloomfield immediately grabbed Adam’s right arm and helped him to a sink only a few feet away. Adam stood with both hands on the sink and emptied his stomach. He gasped for breath and heaved again, but nothing came out.
“Are you all right, Mr. Riley?” Bloomfield asked. “This is never easy, sir,” he added, squinting and wrinkling his nose. “Yes indeed, it’s never easy.”
“I think I’m okay now.” His head started to clear. “How was she killed?”
“We won’t know for certain until the autopsy’s performed,” Bloomfield explained. “Yes, sir, we have to do the autopsy first.”
Albright joined them. Adam turned to him. “What’s on her forehead? For God’s sake what did the sick bastard do to her?”
“We don’t know yet, Mr. Riley.”
Adam found the hospital chapel on the second floor. He entered the small, dimly-lit room. There were eight simple wooden pews, four on either side of a narrow aisle that led to the pulpit. On the wall behind the pulpit was a large ornate piece of stained glass with religious symbology of no particular denomination. There was also a small wooden table under the stained glass. Sitting on top of the table was a wooden finial that held a polished brass cross.
He sat in the front pew and stared at the cross through teary eyes for a few moments. What’s happened? Why has God let this happen? What possible purpose could this serve? He had no explanation. Adam lowered his head and closed his eyes.
The uneven road rocked his car, but Gabriel didn’t notice. He just wanted to drive and think. Think about the beautiful blond hair of Sara Ann. He could smell her hair and feel her body against his. The thought of her perfumed neck sent his head spinning. A surge of excitement shot throughout his body. It was as though his mind and soul were being lifted from him.
His escalating arousal suddenly turned. But she was a whore, a whore that deserved to die. Mother never wanted me to be with them. I had to kill her. God and Mother want this. I must obey. As he drove, he saw images of her struggling as the nylon rope tightened around her neck. They all must die.
27
SOON AFTER ADAM LEFT THE HOSPITAL, Dr. Harold Albright called everyone to the center autopsy table. Darrell Bloomfield already had the body on the table, still in the white vinyl bag. Several shiny instruments were neatly placed on a steel tray next to the autopsy table that had a large grocery-type metal scale at its foot.
“Mr. Bloomfield, the tape recorder,” Albright said.
“Yes indeed, the tape recorder,” Bloomfield mumbled. He walked over to a metal rack on the wall and pushed two buttons on the face of a silver box.
Albright reached up over the table and turned on the microphone hanging from the ceiling. The recorded notes would become the autopsy report after being transcribed. He wore a plastic apron and a pair of latex gloves, and had booties over each of his shoes. But he didn’t don a rebreather; he never did, even though OSHA required that they be worn. Besides, one of the best tools a medical examiner possesses is his sense of smell.
“If anyone needs a mask, they’re on the table over there,” Albright said as he pointed to a small table against the wall. “And for those of you that need it, there’s also a bottle of wintergreen oil.”
Albright was ready to start the autopsy. The observers had their white masks on, the metal strips pinched firmly against their noses. All of them had smeared wintergreen oil on the inside.
Albright pulled the zipper down to the bottom of the bag. Bloomfield assisted as the two removed the body and placed the dead girl face-up on the autopsy table. The man with the camera snapped several pictures. The only piece of clothing on the body was a white top with several tears in the material. There were plastic bags tied around her hands.
The autopsy table had two tiers. The top was perforated stainless steel where the corpse rested. The perforations allowed body fluids to drain to the bottom tier, made of solid stainless steel. Bloomfield reached over to the head of the table and turned on a faucet. Water trickled down the smooth surface and gurgled in a drain in the tile floor.
The spectators observed at a distance. Bloomfield hovered over the corpse, also without a rebreather, as Albright began his examination.
“This is a seventeen-year-old female Caucasian. Her name is Sara Ann Riley,” Albright stated. “Blond hair, sh
e measures five feet four inches and, upon arrival, weighed 102 pounds. There are two remarkable features. The first is a deep cut around her neck, and—”
“What about those letters carved in her forehead?” Averly asked, his voice muffled through the mask.
Both Albright and Bloomfield glared at Averly.
“I will get to that next,” Albright said with a stern tone.
Averly’s face turned an even deeper red.
Albright lifted the dead girl’s right arm and rotated it slightly. “And there are also deep cuts around both wrists. All three wounds appear to be the same width. Also noted are the larvae in and around the wounds.” Albright looked around to make sure all eyes were on him. “Maggots.”
That was enough for Glenn Wilkerson. Without a word he left the room.
Albright continued. “From the cut around her neck, the bruising about the mouth, and the protruding tongue, I’m certain this person was strangled to death with some type of cord. I would say a nylon rope.” He paused for a moment. “The killer probably strangled her from behind as she lay in the prone position on the ground.”
“How do you know that?” Averly asked.
“Because of the cuts and gouges on her face. They were most likely a result of the struggle she put up while she was being choked. There was probably some gravel on the ground. Note again the cuts on both wrists. They appear to be the same width as the one on her neck. He probably had her hands tied behind her back with the same type of nylon rope. Was any rope found at the crime scene?”
“No,” Averly answered.
“The killer probably took the pieces of rope with him,” Goldman said. “He knew they could be analyzed and possibly traced back to him.”
“Can you tell if she was raped, Dr. Albright?” Averly asked.
“Without lab work and a detailed physical examination, we don’t know for sure,” Albright said. “But she probably was both raped and sodomized.”
Dead River Page 9
