by Charly Cox
An overpowering need to know about her swamped his thoughts. But first he needed to drive into Albuquerque. The shops near the main police station on 4th and Roma were great places to pick up on rumors surrounding breaking news. And as soon as Gabrielle Sanchez cut back to the studio, he jumped into his car and headed downtown where, in a spur of the moment decision, he whipped into The Espresso Grind, his heart thumping wildly at the knowledge that he would be just another face in the crowd.
Inside, customers and employees alike huddled together in groups, already whispering about the tragedy, exchanging theories ranging from too close to home to outright ludicrous. Several times, he had to battle his urge to tell someone what he knew.
And then someone mentioned her, the female detective. Alyssa Wyatt. Like he had with Callie, he rolled her name around in his mind. It wasn’t as smooth as Callie McCormick’s, but it still drew him in. He made his way to the counter where he ordered a coffee he didn’t really want, but it got him that much closer to the person talking about his interview with the detective.
‘Of course, I didn’t mind talking to her as long as I got to ogle her partner. That man was yummier than a hot fudge sundae on a summer day.’
Annoyed, Evan bit back the urge to snap at the man to get back to the detective. But, once on the topic of the hot partner, neither individual seemed inclined to discuss anything else. So, he left his untouched coffee on the counter and walked outside, ignoring the barista as she yelled after him that he’d forgotten his drink.
Outside again, standing on the sidewalk, he was drawn to the tall, adobe building that housed the main police station a mere block away. Warmth infused his blood as he fought the impulse to waltz in and look around. Are you stupid? Is that it?
He froze, looking around, realizing he was standing on the steps leading into the station. He’d been so focused on the possibility of seeing her, he hadn’t noticed he was moving. He remained where he was until he spotted three officers heading his way. He turned and walked back down the steps, forcing himself to walk normally back to his vehicle. He drove to two more cafés before he bored of hearing the same gossip and headed home, anxious to learn more about this Detective Alyssa Wyatt. As he drove, he softly sang her name as if it were the lyrics to his favorite song.
In the privacy of his own home, he booted up his computer, forcing himself to begin with the detective’s partner. He typed in the man’s name, and a few clicks later, discovered all he cared to know. Cord Roberts, married three years to his high school sweetheart, no kids and no social media accounts he could find, though his wife had a private one. One article featuring his heroic efforts to save a young girl from jumping included his photograph, and he understood why the guy in the coffee shop had been so over the moon; Roberts looked like he should model for GQ magazine.
Palms clammy, he finally moved on to Alyssa Wyatt. His pulse accelerated and sweat dripped off his forehead as he entered her name in his search engine. None of the other women had elicited such a powerful response, and he was anxious to know about her.
Forty-two minutes later, he thrust his mouse away from him. Finding information on the detective outside of her cases was difficult, and his temper bubbled just below the surface, one click away from boiling over.
He stood and paced, mumbling to himself. And then it came to him, and he rushed back to his computer, navigating to a site he’d learned about long ago. He typed in her name, city, and state, leaning in closer as he waited for the results to appear. Less than one minute later, multiple prospects popped up, and he scrolled through, deleting any whose names were not a match or whose ages weren’t close. That left him with two possibilities, so he opened the first one, paid the fee for the full report, and waited for the page to load. And hit pay dirt on his first try. A phone number, address, aliases used, something he assumed was a maiden name, and several possible relatives flashed in front of him. Disappointed no photo accompanied the information, he closed out the window and opened another, this time typing in Alyssa Archer. Thousands of results filled his screen, and methodically, he began opening and scanning each one.
Until one caught his attention. Eagerly, he clicked on the article, sitting on the edge of his chair as he began to read.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Friday, March 29, 11:30a.m.
A sharp knock on the conference room door was all the warning they had before it opened. To everyone’s surprise – and Alyssa’s immense relief – Ruby walked in, pushing a cart filled with sandwiches from Jason’s Deli, cookies, a platter of fruits and vegetables, along with coffee, sports drinks, and bottled water. If she’d thought she could get away with it, Alyssa would’ve hugged the normally grumpy lady.
‘Ruby, you’re just a gem,’ Hal said as he rolled over to the cart, earning himself a glowering eye-roll from the precinct secretary.
‘Well, that’s original,’ Ruby groused. ‘Certainly never heard that one before.’
Rounds of gratitude were uttered as the tray was attacked with gusto. Cord, bless him, grabbed the coffee carafe, poured her a cup, and set it and the entire carafe in front of her. He knew her so well. Why did she ever think she’d miss her old partner, Ellie? Ellison had never indulged her passion for caffeine.
Carefully, she moved the files to the side so she wouldn’t make a mess on them. After everyone else had grabbed some food, she approached the cart and randomly grabbed a sandwich, chips, and kiwi. But when she went to take a strawberry, an image of Callie and her strawberry birthmark filled her head, her shoulders dropping as she was reminded of her failures.
The day had begun with Callie’s death, and had seemed to go downhill from there. As soon as she and Cord had left the hospital, Alyssa’s phone had rung. It was one of the lab techs calling to let her know the partial fingerprint lifted from Callie McCormick’s shattered phone had been unusable. Of course. Why should anything go her way so she could solve this case? she thought sarcastically.
For the next five minutes, no one spoke as everyone shoveled food in. Finally, Alyssa turned to Hal. ‘Before Liz continues with what she was saying, I’d just like to know if you really do have a death wish.’ At his blank look, she cocked her head toward the closed door.
Hal laughed. ‘Oh, you mean Ruby? I’ll get that woman to smile one day if it’s the last thing I do,’ he said.
‘Yeah, well, it just might be the last thing you do if you’re not careful.’ Alyssa turned to Liz. ‘Go ahead with what you were about to say.’
‘Before she does, I’d like to tell you we finally got Callie McCormick’s cell phone records, not that it does us any good,’ Joe interrupted. ‘Most of the calls are to and from the charities she volunteered for, the Mitchells, and her husband. Same for text messages.’ He pushed the document over to Alyssa. ‘In other words; there’s nothing there that might help us.’
‘Thanks, Joe. Okay, Liz. Go on.’
Liz looked to Hal, and he nodded for her to go ahead. ‘Well, like I was saying before Ruby came in, there was something about Callie McCormick’s picture that was making my neck itch. I tried to blow it off as something as simple as a similarity to someone I’d sketched in the past. And then it hit me, the reason why she looked so familiar, and I called Hal to help me do some research. Hal?’
He swallowed his food and washed it down with his sports drink before he began. ‘Do you remember back about fifteen years ago, that woman in the canyon who went missing?’ He pulled out the newspaper article that had featured the case back then and slid it over to Alyssa. ‘Evelyn Martin, twenty-five years old, headed to the Old Country Feed Store in the canyon like she did every Tuesday night. Except this time, she never returned home, seemingly disappearing into thin air. Her car was found abandoned on Route 66 with a flat tire, and her purse and phone were missing.’
Liz chimed in. ‘When the police pulled her phone records, she hadn’t called anyone, so their forefront theory was that someone happened along and offered to give her a ride.’
Hal picked
up again. ‘Shortly after she was reported missing, there was a hard rainstorm which washed away any potential evidence, including footprints. Case went cold after a year when all leads trickled and then stopped altogether.’
He thumbed through some papers in front of him. ‘I took the liberty of pulling the original police report and requesting the file from that investigation, including a list of every suspect questioned and cleared.’ He passed that along the table, as well.
When it reached Joe, he grabbed it, walked to the copier that had been brought into the room earlier, and made copies for everyone.
‘It wasn’t my case, but I remember it, though I’m not sure how it pertains to Callie McCormick or her death.’ They’d met up with the rest of the team as soon as they left the hospital, and Alyssa was beginning to feel the effects of functioning on less than two hours’ sleep.
Liz chimed in. ‘Look at her description: petite, long, blonde hair.’
Alyssa pursed her lips, one eyebrow raised, as she glanced sideways at Cord. She had an idea where her favorite forensic artist was going with this, and her fatigue made her want to shout, We’re wasting time! ‘I assume you’ll make your point soon?’
Hal handed another photograph over to Cord who studied it before passing it to Alyssa, his face revealing nothing.
‘Jill Lawry went missing ten years ago,’ Hal continued.
Alyssa nodded. ‘Also, not my case, but I remember her. Still unsolved, correct?’
This time, Liz nodded eagerly as she said, ‘Yes. But her body was found somewhere up in the Sandia’s a few months after she was murdered.’
Cord jumped in. ‘Let me guess: long, blonde hair, petite, young?’
‘Look, I know what you two are getting at, but there are an awful lot of young women with long blonde hair in the Southwest.’
‘Hold up,’ Hal said. ‘There’s more.’ He rustled through his pages and pulled out a stack of newspaper articles and photographs, tossing them into the center of the table. To Anthony, he said, ‘Mind laying those out?’
As Officer White did as he was asked, Hal rattled off names. ‘Mary Terra, Alice Winslow, Debra Hyatt. All went missing. None of them found. All of them –’
‘Young, long-haired, blonde…’ Alyssa interrupted, her stomach tight as she could no longer deny an emerging pattern. Still, what her teammates were suggesting was…
‘Not to mention they all share the same heart-shaped facial structure,’ Liz said, causing Alyssa to shift her eyes quickly toward her partner as she thought back to how he had commented on the resemblance between Callie and herself, and how she hadn’t really seen it, aside from the heart-shaped face.
Liz was still speaking, so she forced her mind back to what her teammate was saying. ‘Hal and I ran a state-wide search to see if there were other similar cases,’ Liz said. ‘In Cloudcroft, Rhonda Dupres and Sandra Jackson went missing within two months of each other. I called down there – did you know your old partner, Ellie, has been promoted to the entire southern district’s cold case files?’
Alyssa nodded. ‘I’m aware. Go on.’
Liz spoke faster as she became more excited. ‘I spoke with Ellie, and she pulled up their electronic files. She said the resemblance between the women was so strong, they could’ve been sisters.’
‘I think I remember that one, too,’ Tony said. ‘I was in Cloudcroft on vacation when Sandra went missing. I called you about it, remember, Joe?’
Joe scratched his head. ‘Is she the one whose bones were found a few years back not far from your dad’s cabin?’
‘That’s the one.’ Tony stood and scanned the photos now scattered in the middle of the table.
A clicking sound filled the air as Cord used his laptop. A few minutes later, he turned it around for everyone to see. A collage of the women’s pictures filled the screen, including Callie McCormick’s. Two – now three – of the women pictured had been found dead, bound, badly beaten, and tortured. None of their killers had been caught. If what Liz and Hal proposed was correct, that meant there were at least eight women who’d been killed by the same person.
Her brain shied away from the reality of what they were looking at, but she couldn’t escape what was right in front of her. But thinking and admitting it were two very different things. Verbalizing it was like willfully bringing on a bad omen.
It was Cord who did it. ‘Think it’s time we call the captain in. If there’s any possibility we have a serial killer on our hands – one who’s been getting away with it for at least fifteen years – we need to get on this quick.’
A sour, acidic taste in the back of her throat, Alyssa stood. ‘No time like the present,’ she said, noticing her teammates’ faces; a mixture of relief they weren’t the ones having to break the news to Captain Hothead and empathy that she was. Each step closer to Hammond’s office made the pressure behind her eyes pulse.
Just outside his door, Cord came up beside her. ‘You forget we’re partners; you don’t have to do this alone,’ he said.
The captain’s door was open, and Alyssa tapped on the glass before walking in. Cord followed, closing the door behind him.
Hammond’s eyebrows shot up as he stood and walked around his desk, making the room smaller. ‘If we need privacy, I’m not going to like whatever it is you’re here to tell me.’
Alyssa wondered if it was a conscious or subconscious decision on the captain’s part to intimidate by shrinking the amount of available space in a room. Not wanting to be in there any longer than necessary, she cut to the chase. ‘We don’t have concrete proof yet, but we may be looking for a serial killer.’
She kept her mouth shut as the captain spit out a string of colorful curses. When he’d finished, he said, ‘Serial killer is an awful big label to be throwing around, so you’d better have good reason.’
When Cord handed him a copy of the images he’d shown the team, Hammond studied the pictures while they took turns detailing what the team had uncovered. He glanced up, eyes drilling first into Cord’s, then Alyssa’s before stating the same objection Alyssa had put forward earlier. ‘Awful lot of young, blonde-haired women in Bernalillo County.’
‘The victims were scattered throughout several counties, not just Bernalillo, sir,’ she said. She moved so she could see the women’s faces. ‘These two,’ she tapped on the images of Rhonda Dupres and Sandra Jackson, ‘went missing in Cloudcroft in 2013. Rhonda’s body was never recovered, though, according to the report Hal dug up, blood found at the scene of her disappearance indicates foul play. Of course, her family insists she had everything going for her and no reason to up and disappear.’ She moved her finger over. ‘Sandra Jackson’s body, or rather, her bones, were discovered in 2016. You might recall; it was on the news.
‘Jill Lawry lived in Valencia County, but her body was found in 2009 – that was just before you moved here, I believe – in the Sandia Mountains, not too far from the Sandia Cave.’
‘Sandia Cave? Isn’t that the back road through Placitas up to the Crest?’ Hammond asked, moving back behind his desk where he stood near the window looking out to downtown.
‘That’s the one,’ Alyssa said, almost adding he should drive it and visit the cave soon since he’d lived in Albuquerque nearly ten years now. But then she looked at his bulky frame and decided maybe it wasn’t a good idea to suggest the captain crawl around in a dark, enclosed cave.
‘Christ,’ he swore as he tapped his steepled fingers together. Finally, he said, ‘There’s enough there to explore, I’ll admit that. But not enough to go public and create mass hysteria,’ he decided. Then, glaring at the detectives, he said, ‘I don’t like thinking there’s been a serial killer lurking about on my watch.’
Alyssa fought the urge to roll her eyes. You think we do? ‘Trust me, sir, neither do we.’
‘Grab anyone else you need for your team, and then I suggest that you catch this person. Preferably yesterday.’
As if that wasn’t everyone’s primary goal. ‘Ye
s, sir, we’re working on it.’
Hammond waved them out. ‘Work harder,’ he demanded, just before he slammed the door behind them.
‘Well, that went well, I think,’ Alyssa muttered.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Friday, March 29
Lips pressed together, Evan wrestled with his emotions as he reread two of the articles he’d found, shaking his head. His brows pulled in and he rubbed the middle of his forehead as flashes of memory swam in and out of focus. Two little boys huddled together. A floor – the kitchen? – blood everywhere. Pain, so much pain.
* * *
Friday, August 12, 1983
Grim Discovery Found at Home that Burned to the Ground – Neighbors are Asking: Could it be the Missing Children?
Upon entering the burned-out shell of a home located on Ohio Street, firefighters stumbled upon nearly a dozen bodies in several enclosures in the basement of the home. Due to the size of the remains, the bodies are believed to be those of young children – which leaves families here wondering – could these be the remains of some of the missing children?
Police and firefighters search for answers to the startling and grisly discovery they encountered while attending to a fire that broke out in the Ohio St. neighborhood Friday night around eleven p.m. According to witnesses, the home was already fully engulfed in flames by the time emergency crews arrived on the scene.
Captain Joe Harvey reported that rescue workers, despite believing that ‘no one could’ve survived flames that hot,’ searched through the rubble for possible survivors who may have been home. Harvey refused to comment at this time as to what may have caused the fire.
The home belongs to the Brim family but is currently rented out to truck driver Carl Freeman, who was not believed to be home at the time of the fire and could not be reached for comment.
Police are asking the community for help in locating Mr. Freeman, but Sheriff Ryan Daniels stressed, ‘Mr. Freeman is not a suspect at this time. Right now, we just want to make sure he’s safe and ask him some questions.’
