“After twenty-five years in the business, I have never seen anything like this.” Don motioned to the headless body against the tombstone. “I need to show you something.”
We knelt down next to the body. Don pointed to the chest. “Look closely at the wounds here.”
I leaned closer, but I didn’t find anything, other than ripped flesh and part of the boy’s rib cage. “What am I looking for?”
“They didn’t come from any weapon I’ve ever seen before.” Don stood and stepped around the body to face me. “Take a closer look. His face. Do those look like claw marks to you?”
“You think this was an animal?” I shook my head. “Let’s be realistic here. When’s the last time you saw an animal around Austin big enough to rip a body apart?”
He shrugged, and suggested, “Maybe it was a large bobcat. Or something bigger.”
“It’d have to be the size of a tiger to do this much damage. And a bobcat isn’t going to tear up three kids like this. No, we’re looking for a man with some type of blade, homemade or something. Not an animal.”
“Homemade weapon?” Don said. “Our prime suspect is Freddy Krueger now? Get a grip, Aaron. I’ve been doing this a long time, my friend. These wounds were not made by any blade.”
“Until you convince me otherwise, this is a homicide.” I placed one hand on top of the tombstone and lifted myself up. “Prove to me a wild animal did this, and I’ll call Animal Control and Jack Hanna myself.”
†
Don identified the one-armed boy within several hours as Cullen Chandler, a thirteen-year-old whose fingerprints triggered a match in the Juvenile Justice Information System database. The boy had two arrests on his record for assault and possession of marijuana. He also had quite a lengthy record of fighting at school.
“What about the other body?” I asked Don, while retrieving contact information for the Chandler youth’s parents.
“With only a torso to go by, and no DNA to match up with, it’s a bit of a challenge. So far, we don’t have anything. I do think our victim was probably around fourteen to sixteen years of age, judging by the size of his remains. That’s all the information I can provide you for now.”
“Guess we’ll just have to keep an eye out for any missing teens reports. What about the weapon? Have a chance to examine the wounds?”
“As I suspected, they’re inconsistent with any conventional blade. My theory of an animal attack is looking more substantial.” Don handed me a small plastic bag. “I found these brown hairs inside one of Cullen Chandler’s wounds.”
I examined the hairs through the clear plastic bag. “And I suppose you think the lab will determine these are from a big cat or something.” I handed the bag back to Don.
“They were embedded inside the wound, Aaron.”
“We’ll let the lab results tell us more, but until then, we’re looking for a man, not a man-eating cat.” I grabbed the copy of Cullen Chandler’s juvenile record and emergency contact information and headed towards the door. “Give me call when you get the results. In the meantime, I’ve got to go knock on some doors and place a few phone calls.”
†
After leaving the Medical Examiner’s office, I attempted to locate Jason Dexter’s parents, but no one answered their door, and my phone calls went straight to voicemail. I left a message to have Jason’s parents call me as soon as possible, and then drove to Cullen Chandler’s house to deliver the difficult news.
I arrived at the Chandler residence a half hour past five in the afternoon. I parked my car in the driveway behind its younger, more exotic cousin, a brand new, bright yellow late model Corvette ZR1, with paper dealer plates.
After salivating over the American supercar, I approached the front porch and pressed the doorbell. That triggered the high-pitched yapping of several small dogs from somewhere inside the house. A man yelled at them to shut up, and then a moment later, he opened the door. The dogs continued to bark, but presumably from the back yard.
The tall, middle-aged man, dressed in Texas Longhorns sweatpants and a matching t-shirt, pursed his lips and shook his head when he noticed the badge clipped to my belt. “What did he do this time?”
“Are you Kenneth Chandler?”
“Yeah, that’s me. What mess did Cullen get himself into?”
“Mr. Chandler, my name is Detective Aaron Sanders with Austin PD. May I come inside?”
Mr. Chandler cocked his head back. “Detective? I don’t understand. A regular cop usually drags Cullen’s ass home after he’s done something stupid.”
“Mr. Chandler, I’m with Robbery-Homicide. May we speak inside?”
Concern crossed Mr. Chandler’s face. Without another word, he stepped aside and gazed in the direction of the living room. He led me to a leather couch in the living room, and offered me a cup of coffee, his voice constricted and shaky.
“No, thank you. Is Mrs. Chandler home?”
“She left the house to pick up a few groceries, but she should be home soon.” He sat on the edge of a leather recliner. “So, what’s this about?”
“I think we should probably wait for your wife, Mr. Chandler.”
“Whatever you have to say, you can tell me right now. We don’t need to wait for her.”
“I really think we should wait, if that’s okay.”
I always hated informing people that one of their loved ones died, but this was especially hard because it involved the brutal death of a child. I certainly didn’t want to have to tell each parent separately.
Once is bad enough.
“Sir, with all due respect, you tell me you’re with Robbery-Homicide, and here about my son, and then you expect me to wait for who knows how long for my wife to come home? You need to tell me what’s going on right now.”
“Mr. Chandler, you don’t understand. Your wife needs to—”
“No, sir, you don’t understand. Cullen is by no means a perfect kid, and he’s had his share of trouble, but he would never do anything serious enough for a detective to get involved. So, whoever is accusing him of whatever it is you think he may have done, you can talk to my attor—”
“Mr. Chandler, your son is dead.”
The blood drained from Mr. Chandler’s face, leaving an empty expression. He remained silent for two long minutes, and I struggled to come up with something comforting to say. Then the front door opened.
Mrs. Chandler stood in the doorway, two cloth grocery bags in her arms. “Ken, are you going to help me with the groceries? And whose car is that in the driveway?” When she noticed me, she said,
“Honey? What’s wrong? Who’s this?”
“Mrs. Chandler?” I stood and introduced myself. “I’m Detective Aaron Sanders with the Austin Police Department. I’m afraid that I—”
Mrs. Chandler dropped her groceries. Eggs cracked in their carton as the bags hit the floor and Cullen’s mother fell to her knees.
†
Mrs. Chandler handed me a cup of coffee and sat next to her husband on the couch. I took a sip and set the cup on a coaster on the end table next to the recliner I occupied. Mrs. Chandler pulled a tissue from a box on the coffee table and wiped tears from her eyes.
“Are you sure it was him?” Cullen’s father asked. “I mean, he sneaks out a lot, but I figured… um… when he didn’t come home last night, I… I just thought…” He struggled to maintain eye contact. I could tell the man was attempting to hold back his tears, but the red in his eyes gave him away. “He gets into trouble a lot, but… are… are you sure it’s Cullen?”
“We ran his fingerprints in our juvenile system. I’m afraid there’s no question it’s your son. I’m sorry.”
“But don’t you need us to identify him before you can be sure?”
I hesitated, uncertain of how to explain that Cullen’s killer had decapitated him and ripped open the boy’s torso. “Identification through fingerprints is adequate enough.” That should do it. Why go into the gruesome details? “However, if you wa
nt further confirmation, we could order a DNA test.”
“DNA test? What do you mean?” the boy’s mother asked. “What happened to Cullen?” She straightened her shoulders and jutted out her chin. “I want to see my son.”
I glanced at Mrs. Chandler, her eyes pleading for more information.
I exhaled a soft sigh and said, “I really think we should wait until—”
“He’s our son, Detective. We have the right to see him, don’t we?”
“Of course you do, Mrs. Chandler.” I glanced at her husband and then asked her, “May I speak with your husband outside for a moment?”
She answered only with sullen eyes.
“Mrs. Chandler?”
She finally nodded her approval. I followed Mr. Chandler to the end of the driveway and explained my hesitance. “I didn’t want your wife to hear this.”
“Tell me.”
“The reason I’ve been so vague is because your son experienced a very brutal death.”
“Brutal?” Mr. Chandler swallowed and scratched his cheek in a nervous tic.
What were the right words to explain the condition of his son’s body without being too gruesome? “Your son was…”
“He was what?”
“We found his body dismembered and decapitated.”
Mr. Chandler’s eyes grew wide. He stepped backwards, bumping into the driver’s side door of his car. “Oh my… Cullen…” He leaned forward, clutching his stomach, and vomited on the driveway.
His wife stepped outside with her hand over her chest. Her eyes met mine with despair. Her husband wiped his mouth, glanced back at her, and cleaned his chin with his shirtsleeve. “Where did you find him?” he said without eye contact. “What happened… exactly?”
“We found him and two other boys at Memorial Heights Cemetery. It’s just speculation right now, but it could’ve been a wild animal. Until we can confirm that, we’re treating their deaths as homicides.”
“Wait, what? Two other boys? An animal attack? None of this makes any sense.”
“Like I said, until we can corroborate the animal attack theory, we’re treating this as a homicide.”
“And if it wasn’t an animal? Can you promise me you’ll find the son of a bitch that butchered my son? Can you promise me that?”
I placed my hand on the man’s shoulder. “Trust me, Mr. Chandler. If that turns out to be the case, I will find the person who did this. I can promise you that.”
“What about the other boys? Do you know their names?”
“The only other victim we’ve been able to identify at the moment is an eleven-year-old boy named Jason Dexter.”
“Jason Dexter?”
“You know him?”
“Yeah, I know him. That’s my manager’s kid.”
“I’ve been trying to locate his parents.”
“My boss is out of the country on business. Sometimes his cell phone doesn’t work when he’s overseas.”
“What about Mrs. Dexter?”
“Divorced. He hasn’t been in contact with that bitch… um, ex-wife… for years.”
“Do you know who takes care of Jason while his dad is away?”
Mr. Chandler explained that his boss didn’t have any brothers or sisters, and both of his parents were deceased, so it was pretty much just him and Jason. He did remember his boss saying something about Jason staying at a friend’s house.
“Do you have a name?”
“I know his last name is Smith, only because it’s so common. I can’t remember his first name, though. Justin? Maybe Jacob?”
I wrote the information down, and thanked Mr. Chandler for his help. Before I left, I gave Cullen’s parents my business card, and contact information for a psychologist I knew. I encouraged them to set up an appointment as soon as possible.
“What about our son?” Mr. Chandler asked. “When can we… when can we bury him?”
“A funeral home can help make arrangements with the Medical Examiner’s Office about releasing Cullen’s body.” It was a bit blunt, but I didn’t know what else to tell them. I couldn’t even muster the proper words of condolence, for fear of saying the wrong thing. Instead, I chose to stick with what I knew… and that was simply being a cop.
CHAPTER THREE
Westgate Middle School
I waited at the counter of the administration office at Westgate Middle School for one of the staff members to check on the principal’s availability. A few minutes later, a short, heavyset brunette entered through a doorway to the left of the front counter.
“Hello, I’m Principal Whitmore. How may I assist you?” We shook hands.
“Detective Aaron Sanders, APD.” Several office workers stared at me as I showed the principal my badge and ID. “We spoke on the phone earlier.”
“Yes, of course. We can speak in my office.”
I followed the principal and politely declined her offer to get me something to drink. She shut the door behind her, while I took a seat in front of a large and very organized cherry wood desk. She took the seat behind it while holding a Texas Longhorns coffee mug in one hand. “Are you sure you wouldn’t like a cup?”
“No, really. I’m good. Thank you, anyway.”
She took a sip and set a manila folder on the desk in front of me. “The attendance records you requested.” As I opened up the file and scanned through the list of absentees over the last couple of days, Principal Whitmore asked, “Does this have anything to do with the news yesterday? You know… about the cemetery?”
I peered over the document, and said, “I see you have Cullen Chandler, Jason Dexter, and Cody Sumner marked ‘truant’ on this attendance report. What’s your truancy policy here?”
“We have an automated system that makes a robo-call to the primary contact number. If we don’t hear from the parent or guardian by lunch period, our attendance clerk attempts a notification. If we are still unable to resolve the absence by the end of the school day, we flag the student as truant and follow AISD guidelines for truancy intervention.” She handed me a pamphlet that explained the intervention steps for students and parents. “We rarely require the involvement of social services.”
“So, your attendance clerk made calls for all three students?”
“Yes, I believe so.” She pulled a keyboard drawer out from underneath her desk. “If you would give me a moment, I can check their records on the computer.” She clicked her mouse and made a few keystrokes. “Yes, our attendance clerk contacted all three, but she only managed to make contact with Mr. Chandler yesterday morning. This was Cullen’s third unexcused absence. I show we’ve already sent a warning letter and scheduled a home visit for this evening.”
I set the attendance record on the desk and rubbed my forehead. “You can cancel that home visit.”
It took a moment for the principal to make the connection, but then the expression on her face told me she understood. She placed her hand over her chest. “Cullen is… Is he dead? Are they all dead?”
“Department policy prohibits me from releasing the names of any victims until the next-of-kin have been notified, and we’ve been unable to locate the father of one of the victims. I can confirm that Cullen Chandler is in fact deceased.”
Principal Whitmore reached inside of her desk and pulled out a tissue. She wiped her eyes, smearing her makeup. “I just cannot…
What about Jason and Cody? Are they—?”
“You haven’t been able to reach Cody’s parents, because they’re also deceased, as of Sunday night.” I could tell by the principal’s emotion and tears that she cared deeply for the students at her school.
“Cody wasn’t hurt though. He’s… um… he’s going to be okay.”
Principal Whitmore closed her eyes and said, “You didn’t come here to inform me of what I would eventually read in the paper.” She opened her eyes and gazed into mine. “You needed the attendance record to see if it would help you put names to the bodies you found. Cullen Chandler, Jason Dexter… and anot
her that you still cannot identify.”
Protocol kept me from answering that, but I needed her help. Without addressing her question directly, I said, “Mrs. Whitmore, it’s apparent that you care a lot about the kids at your school. And I think you can help me. That’s why I’m here.”
She rested her eyes behind the palms of her hands. “Jason was an honor student, one of the sweetest kids I have ever met.” She was unable to hold back her tears, and wept.
I hadn’t told her that Jason had died, but she knew, and I didn’t correct her.
“I’m so sorry,” Principal Whitmore said. “I’ve lost students to accidents, cancer, and even suicide… but never anything like this. The news reported it was an animal that killed them. What if it wasn’t? What if they were murdered?” I hadn’t said that either, but again, I didn’t correct her. “What kind of monster could murder a child?”
“I’ve asked myself the same questions, Mrs. Whitmore. And I hope that isn’t the case. Maybe it was just an unfortunate encounter with a wild animal.” I didn’t believe an animal had attacked those kids, but what else could I say? Comforting people was never one of my strong suits, but I did find that reinforcing a theory was sometimes comfort enough.
Mrs. Whitmore regained her composure and asked how she could help me with my investigation.
“We’re having difficulty identifying one of the bodies, and… well—”
“You have me confused, Detective. I thought you used fingerprints, DNA, and dental records, or something like that?”
“Unfortunately, none of those, except for possibly DNA, are viable options.” I avoided the unnecessary details. “But even with DNA, we’d need something to match his DNA to. So, we’re stuck. We’re also not getting any matches in CODIS, which doesn’t surprise me, when dealing with youth.”
“CODIS?”
“Combined DNA Index System. It’s basically a computer system that stores DNA profiles of convicted criminals. This kid obviously didn’t have a felony record, which would be the only way we would get a DNA match in CODIS.”
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