by Al Boudreau
I shrugged. “It’s possible, and if that’s the situation, I can sympathize. Tough to be spread so thin while on the job.”
“Of course it is,” Sarah said. “You know I didn’t mean any disrespect, right? I’m just not too jazzed about letting any clues get past us.”
“We’re on the same page. I say we wait until we get the medical examiner’s report on our latest victim, then spend a little extra time conducting our interviews. We’ll push the new case real hard, then revisit the work James did on the previous murders if the need arises.”
“Makes sense,” Sarah said. “Maybe we’ll uncover exactly what we need without having to back track.”
“Hope so. I don’t want to send the wrong message to James or Chief Goodhue. Stepping on toes isn’t my style.”
“I don’t think either of them would feel the least bit slighted if we followed up, but I get why you feel that way.”
I knew Sarah was right, but there are lines you just don’t cross when it comes to cops. Repeating the steps of another detective’s work is one of them.
I was about to explain that to Sarah when the chief popped his head in. “I’ve got James on the line. I’m going to send the call through to you. Pick up when it starts buzzing, would you please?”
“Will do,” I said.
The chief disappeared, and a few beats later the buzzing began. I activated the tabletop console, switched on the speaker function, and hit the call button. “James?”
“Hey, Carter. The chief told me you and Sarah were there working the case files. Any questions I can answer?”
“Oh, I have questions,” I responded. “Has nothing to do with your work, though.”
Sarah frowned in response to my little white lie. What could I say? I wasn’t about to kick a man who’s down. Especially not a friend.
“Just wanted to let you know,” James said. “I spoke with the lead medical examiner. Said he’d give me a heads-up as soon as someone from his office is en route to the strip mall. I intend to meet them there. I’ll finish investigating the scene at that point.”
“Okay,” I said. “Appreciate you letting us know.”
“No problem. Thanks for the assist this morning,” James replied and ended the call.
I looked over at Sarah. She’d already refocused on the case file. After a beat she said, “According to the medical examiner’s reports, our insurance salesman victim, Mark Cutter, was moved after his death. The actual scene of the crime is still unknown, but Cutter’s body was found behind the old caved-in movie theatre on the north side of Bridgeport. Our other victim, the unemployed veteran Vincent Sprague, was murdered in Fort Frederick Park. The ME’s office claims Sprague died exactly where his body was found.”
“Wonder what their findings will tell us about our strip mall vic. Can’t say I noticed any significant blood around the scene.”
“Nope. I didn’t, either,” Sarah replied. “Vic probably got relocated after the fact, just like Cutter.”
I sat back in my chair and stared at the ceiling for a few seconds. “This killer, or killers, chose brutal methods to end these people’s lives.”
“Sadistic,” Sarah said.
“Maybe … but, not necessarily. Could have been a form of payback. Maybe a way of punishing them. Seems to me there was a strong desire to make these folks suffer. I’ve been hit with a Taser before. Trust me, it hurts. The hot steel, on the other hand---”
“Carter, please. I … I get the gist.”
“Sorry. Just trying to get into this whacko’s head a bit.”
“I know, and I understand why. Can you please try to keep the gruesome parts to a minimum, though? Having to imagine what these poor people endured isn’t going to help me think more clearly.”
“Sorry,” I said. “I’ll keep the details to myself.”
She reached across the table and squeezed my hand. “Thank you.”
I smiled. “While I have you in a grateful spirit, mind coming over here and jotting down some names and contact information for me? I want an accurate record of who James interviewed, concerning each vic, as well as the victim’s names, DOBs, and social security numbers.”
Sarah came around to my side of the conference room table. I opened my notebook to a fresh page and handed her my pen.
“Not one of these names is common to both victims,” she said. “Let’s hope we discover that one or more of them had some sort of connection to victim number three.”
“That would be real convenient,” I said. “Unfortunately, murder investigations never go that smoothly.”
“A girl can dream, right?”
“Dream away,” I said as I checked the time on my cell phone. “I’m dreaming about something to fill my stomach.”
Sarah finished up with the notes and slid my notebook back to me. “Like what?”
“I could go for an Italian sub.”
“Mm. That sounds pretty good.”
“It’s half past eleven,” I said. “If we leave right now we’ll beat the lunch crowd. Just got to drop these files off on James’s desk and say goodbye to the chief.”
“I’ll meet you outside.”
I gave Sarah’s shoulder a squeeze as I passed, thinking about how quiet it was in the building---unfortunately, as a result of too few tax dollars instead of a reduction in crime. I tossed the files onto James’s cluttered desktop then continued down the hall to the chief’s office. He looked up as I entered.
“Got everything you need, Carter?”
“I do. We’ll put our heads together on this situation this afternoon and see what shakes out. I’m hoping our killer left us something to work with on this strip mall discovery.”
“Let’s hope so,” said Goodhue. “We can’t afford to have whoever did this loose on the streets any longer. Any help your involvement brings will be greatly appreciated.”
I gave the chief a nod and turned to go.
“Oh, and Carter.”
“Yeah, Chief.”
“Keep an eye on James for me. I’ve been asking a lot from him. I don’t want to see him crash and burn.”
“Will do.”
Chapter 4
Sarah appeared to be deep in thought as I climbed behind the wheel of my car. “Don’t tell me you solved this mess already,” I said.
Sarah turned and stared at me for a beat. “You know, it would be a heck of a lot easier if we could go back to the strip mall and conduct our own investigation, instead of having to wait for James and the medical examiner’s office to do it.”
“True, but it would open the police department up to all sorts of legal problems, and probably result in the case getting thrown out of court. None of us can afford to nail this lunatic, only to watch him get away with murder in the end.”
“I know all that, but I don’t have to like it.”
“Ah. Got it. You’re venting.”
“Something like that,” she replied.
“Okay, so how come you never let me get away with doing the same?” I asked.
A faint smile appeared on her face. “Someone on this team has to be the voice of reason. Just happens to be you.”
“I see. And … how did I get the job, again?”
“It was put to a vote. You just weren’t here that day.”
“Sounds about right.”
“Not only that, but you started the investigation firm. So, naturally, you have to shoulder more responsibility.”
I smiled as we drove away from the station. “Lucky me.”
Sarah reached over and gave me a few pats on the shoulder. “On a more serious note, I was thinking a little more about what you said back at the station.”
“Which part?”
“You said that maybe the killer wanted to punish the victims. The concept rings true to me, but I’ve been racking my brain. I can’t come up with any common ground these two victims might have shared. One was unemployed, so there’s no chance they worked together.”
“Trouble is,
anger, vendettas, scores that folks feel the need to settle … that kind of stuff can go back decades. Could amount to a traumatic experience that took place on a grade school playground, forty years-worth of pent-up aggression that finally came to a head.”
“That’s not exactly what I wanted to hear,” Sarah said.
“I know, and my theory could be way off.” I thought for a few seconds then added, “We don’t even have any real suspects at this point. Hard to chase down a motive when you don’t have so much as a person of interest to look at.”
“Makes me wonder how people ever get caught in the first place.”
“Good investigative skills. But, you already knew that, because you’ve got talent. Let’s not forget, we’ve been on this case less than three hours. Every bad guy screws up at some point. We’ll dig till we find answers.”
“We’ve gotten to the bottom of some difficult mysteries,” Sarah said as we pulled up in front of Moe’s Italian Sandwich Shoppe.
“Yep. We have. Makes me hungry just thinking about it. I’ll run in and get us a couple subs. Be right back.”
I couldn’t blame Sarah for feeling overwhelmed. I refused to let on, but I wasn’t exactly full of confidence on this one after reviewing those case files. So far, forensic evidence was either missed, or non-existent. Could be due to luck or extreme caution on the part of those who committed these heinous acts to begin with.
I ordered our lunch, and within five minutes we were devouring some of the best sandwiches Bridgeport has to offer.
“What’s our afternoon looking like?” Sarah asked.
“Thought we’d head back to the house and do some background research on Mark Cutter and Vincent Sprague. The more we learn about what each of them was into, the more we learn about what might have led to their demise.”
“Okay. Who’s taking who?”
“Got a preference?” I asked.
“Well … if it’s all the same to you, I’d prefer to do research on Cutter.”
“He’s all yours, but I’m curious. Why’d you choose him?”
“Salesmen are an interesting breed. It might help keep me from thinking about what happened to these poor men and what their families must be going through.”
“Fair enough,” I said, then polished off the remainder of my lunch.
“Oh, my goodness,” Sarah said as she noticed me stuffing the empty wrapper into the bag. “I can’t believe you ate that entire sandwich already. Did you even taste it?”
“Delicious,” I said as I wiped my hands. “Thoroughly enjoyed it.”
She simply shook her head, barely finished with the first half of her sub.
I started the car and eased out into the flow of Bridgeport’s lunch rush traffic. There was nowhere I’d rather live, but summertime came with the challenge of heavy traffic delays. “Think it would be quicker to take the downtown streets back home, or to jump on the highway?”
“Seacoast. July. Middle of the week. I’d say flip a coin.”
“You’re right. Might just as well stay the course. The highway may still be slow, due to that accident earlier.”
“Wouldn’t surprise me,” Sarah said. “Maybe New Hampshire should double the tolls on the interstate highway, then use the extra money to hire more cops.”
“In theory your suggestion sounds like it could work. Unfortunately, they’d never get legislation like that to pass. Too many small business owners would squawk about how it would keep tourists away and effectively ruin their cash flow.”
“Why does everything always have to come down to money?”
“Because the folks who run the whole enchilada want it that way,” I said. “It’s all about control.”
“No wonder so many people play the lottery.”
“Guess it gives some folks hope. It would do nothing but drive me crazy, being disappointed week after week. The odds of winning are ridiculously slim.”
“Yeah, but some people actually win.”
“For a while.”
“Huh? I don’t get it,” Sarah said.
“I’d be willing to bet that winning the lottery ruins more lives than it enriches. It’s probably great at first, but after a while the lack of purpose in life would get old. Well, for me, anyway.”
“If you say so.”
“Seriously. I enjoy having to work for what we have,” I said. “Keeps me out of trouble.”
“No comment,” Sarah said with a smile as she turned the radio up.
I thought some more about the case while Sarah allowed herself to get lost in the music. The fact that three murders were committed, likely by the same people, and all within the course of a twelve day stretch, gave me hope. That kind of timetable was tight, increasing the odds that mistakes were probably made. Haste usually equates to being sloppy, and one single, solid clue can lead to the capture of even the most seasoned criminals.
I’d made up my mind at this point: those responsible for taking the lives of these two men---and possibly the life of a third individual---were going to have to answer for their crimes.
Chapter 5
We pulled into our driveway exactly twenty minutes after leaving the sandwich shop---not bad for a mid-week, tourist-laden July afternoon.
Under normal conditions, the trip took no more than five.
Sarah took off like a shot, her feet on the tarmac before I had a chance to put the transmission in park. Her bladder was not pleased with the added travel time.
I went and grabbed the mail before following her inside, an oversized carton dangling from our curbside box piquing my curiosity. Sarah claimed she wasn’t expecting any packages, and I rarely bought merchandise via the internet, so the strange delivery was a mystery.
It was addressed specifically to me. No return address or indication of where it had come from. The postmark read Boston, MA, and indicated it left the city nearly a week ago. The box felt so light, I wondered if there was actually anything in it. I waited until I got inside before tearing it open.
An abundance of bubble packs surrounded a much smaller package, comparable in size to a standard pack of chewing gum. I began unwrapping it just as Sarah appeared in the kitchen.
“What the heck is it?”
“No idea,” I responded. “But, we’re about to find out.”
I tore the shipping paper and cellophane tape away to reveal a plain brown cardboard box. I slipped my thumbnail under the tight-fitting tongue and pried.
A UBS thumb drive fell out onto the table. “Looks brand new,” I said as I picked it up and examined it more closely. “Sure you didn’t order this little beauty?”
“Not me,” Sarah said as she looked at the remains of the outer carton’s protective material. “It’s addressed to you, in very neat handwriting. I wouldn’t have ordered something in your name.”
I massaged my chin while staring at the thing. “You can never tell if one of these storage devices contains a virus until you plug it in. I’ll go grab one of our old spare laptops, just in case.”
“Good idea.”
I headed into my office and reached for the computer when my cell began buzzing. A quick look told me Detective James was on the other end of the call. “Hey, Detective.”
“Carter, we caught a break. The head medical examiner is a few minutes away from our crime scene, and I just pulled into the parking lot, myself. You anywhere near the strip mall right now?”
“Negative. We just got back to the house after a twenty minute trip from downtown Bridgeport.”
“Yeah, I haven’t seen congestion like this around here in quite some time,” James said. “Well, I’ll leave it up to you as to what you want to do. Just wanted to give you the opportunity to be here.”
“Appreciate it. Go ahead and get it done without us. No sense in holding up the investigation another minute. In the meantime, we’ll go ahead and see what additional information we can find on the other two victims.”
“Fantastic. I was hoping you’d be willing to do that.
I’ve got to be honest … I just can’t keep up. This string of murders is bad news, and I haven’t been able to devote the kind of attention cases of this magnitude demand.”
“We’re on it,” I said. “Let us know what you find over there.”
“I sure will. The ME just pulled up, so I’ll let you go. Talk later.”
I ended the call and headed back to the kitchen. Sarah was seated at the table, going through the rest of our mail. “James and the ME are over at the strip mall. James called in order to give us the opportunity to be there.”
“Figures, now that we’re clear across town,” Sarah said.
“Yep. Told him to get it done without us.”
“I hate to miss this opportunity, but it would take us a full hour to get back over to the far side of Bridgeport.”
“At a minimum. Anyway, I told him what we were up to. Said he’s glad we’re on it, because he feels like he’s dropped the ball.”
“Those were his words?”
“Not exactly, but that was the gist,” I replied.
“I’m just glad he’s open to us mucking around in his cases.”
“He needs help. Fortunately, his ego allows him to admit that.”
“James is one of the good guys. Chief, too.”
“Yep.” I took a seat at the table, fired up the computer, and inserted the thumb drive into one of the UBS ports. The hard drive began whirring as it generated our first look at what was contained inside the small plastic device.
A total of four file folder icons populated the computer screen, labelled Franklin, Spellbinder, Sage LLC, and Skull Cap. “Any of these names mean anything to you,” I asked Sarah, who was now standing behind my chair.
“Not a one,” she replied.
“Well, let’s see what we’ve got.” I double-clicked the Franklin icon and a list of roughly two dozen JPG photo files appeared before us. I double-clicked the first one and a photo of three well-dressed individuals, two men and a woman, appeared. The photographer captured the trio full-length, walking down a boardwalk together. They appeared to be having a discussion. “Huh. Not anyone there I recognize. You?”
