by Al Boudreau
“Nope. Can’t say I know where the photo was taken, either. Fairly big vessel behind them, but their bodies are blocking the name.”
I clicked on the next file down. It was a photo of the same three individuals, this time capturing a close-up of their faces. The name of the ship was now clear. Franklin. “Well, that explains the file folder name. Let’s check out these other files.”
I opened the file labelled Spellbinder to find a similar number of JPG files. I opened the first one. “Huh. Same woman that was in the last photos, but this time she’s with a different individual.”
“Yeah … and he looks to be about half her age. Bathing suits this time. Nice sailboat they’re on.”
The second photo revealed a close-up of the pair, as well as the name of the yacht. “Spellbinder. What a surprise.”
“What’s in the file labelled Sage, LLC?” Sarah asked.
I opened the file. “Documents.” I opened the first one to reveal a ledger---containing names, and some very big numbers. The second showed an invoice from Sage LLC to a company in the Netherlands.
“Don’t keep me in suspense. What’s inside Skull Cap?”
I opened the file to reveal nine PDF files. I double-clicked the first one. A hand-written letter to someone named Fiona started out with a romantic flair, then quickly turned graphic and sexual in nature.
“Whoa. What on earth is all of this?” Sarah asked.
“No idea, but I have a sneaking suspicion we’re going to find out.”
“Think it has to do with the murders?”
“It took the package nearly a week to arrive by third class snail mail from Boston. We’d barely agreed to help Bridgeport PD with their case load around the time this thumb drive was sent.”
“Good point.”
“Here’s another good point,” I said as I removed the device from my computer. “We need to shelf this little gem for now, then get busy doing more research for our present case.”
“Do we have to? The information on that thumb drive is so intriguing.”
“All depends. Do you care about getting paid and putting some murderers behind bars?”
“I’m not going to dignify that question with an answer,” Sarah said as she snatched the thumb drive out of my hand. “I can’t promise I won’t be delving further into this baby in my free time, though.”
“Knock yourself out.”
“Where are we going to set up to work our research magic?”
“I’m fine with sitting right here at the kitchen table,” I replied.
“OK. I’ll go get my laptop. Be right back.”
I brought a search engine up on the computer screen, got my notebook out, and entered Vincent Sprague’s name and address into the search bar. The top four hits that appeared all had to do with the sixty-four year old’s decades-long protests of our countries wars, the man being a veteran of the one that took place in Vietnam.
As the results came up, the most popular link brought me to an arts and entertainment article a local newspaper did on Sprague. The article was quick to mention that the bulk of the money Sprague lived on came from donations he’d received for playing an old guitar and kick drum in an around Bridgeport over the years.
The remaining links consisted of various arrest reports for drunk and disorderly, which we’d already seen in the case file James had put together on Sprague.
Next, I did a search for images of Sprague. Many local residents had posted snapshots of the veteran playing his instruments. The images appeared on many of the most popular social media sites. In fact, given the fact Sprague was unemployed and homeless for the better part of the last forty years, he had a remarkable and substantial online presence.
Sarah came back with her computer as I was jotting down some notes. “Find anything on Vincent Sprague?” she asked.
“One article about him, and a surprising number of photos. He was quite the musician, according to the internet.”
Sarah gave me one of her looks of disapproval. “It’s not really cool to be poking fun at this poor man.”
“I … I wasn’t. I’m being serious.” I spun the screen around so Sarah could see what I was talking about.
“Wow. No kidding? That’s so adorable.”
“Playing music is how he made enough money to get by, according to what I just read.”
Sarah hit me with one of her classic frowns. “I wish I’d have known about this guy. It kind of breaks my heart we didn’t get the chance to help him out.”
“I know,” I said. “Unfortunately, there are thousands of vets just like him … all across our country. I know you’d try to save them all if you could. One of the many things I love about you.”
Sarah shot me a hearty grin as she took a seat at the table. “Thanks. You’re way ahead of me, already. I’d better get cracking on this research.” Her fingers began clicking away on the keys.
“Yep. We’ve got a daunting task ahead of us. The sooner we compile this information, the better equipped we’ll be for tracking these killers down.”
“Man. What a beautiful family Mark Cutter left behind. His wife is absolutely stunning, and his kids are both gorgeous. A boy and a girl. Such an epic loss for them.”
“No doubt.”
“Okay, listen to this. Cutter was an assistant coach for his son Ryan’s Little League team here in Bridgeport, Ryan was a Little League All Star two years in a row, and their team earned a spot for this year’s Little League World Series.”
“Wow,” I said. “That’s impressive. Cutter must have spent a lot of time playing ball with the kid.”
“Totally. Also mentions here that Cutter’s wife Courtney is a stay-at-home mom, heavily involved in a number of organizations related to her kids’ school.”
“Find many pictures of Cutter?”
Sarah typed a few words. “Yes. A lot of photos with Cutter and his son playing ball. In fact, the spot where most of these were taken looks really familiar.” Sarah reached over and grabbed my notebook. “Ah … got it. Your notes say that the Cutters live over on Schenectady Court. Their house is right next to that fancy condo building that went up on the corner a year or so back.”
“The Shallows?”
“Exactly.”
“Those places went for big money,” I said. “Over a million, each. Pretty pricey, considering what you get. I read somewhere the construction was so shoddy you could hear what was going on in the next unit as if it were happening in your own.”
“Really? Why the heck would anyone pay that much money when they could have a beautiful house for less?”
“Simple. No mowing. No plowing. No upkeep. No---”
“OK, OK, I get it. We’re getting off track.”
“Quite a contrast between these two victims. Really makes me wonder what the common thread could be to make them both targets for such unthinkable acts.”
“No kidding,” Sarah replied. “Nearly twenty years apart in age. One with a military background, the other with a Masters of Business degree. One with kids, the other, none.”
“Let’s hope this latest crime scene James is looking at reveals a clue or lead that provides us with some direction. Because, so far, I’m drawing a huge blank.”
Chapter 6
Sarah let go a sigh and began massaging her temples. “We’ve been sitting at this table for nearly an hour. I need to do something else for a bit.”
I slid my chair back, stood up, and stretched. I was about to suggest we take a walk around our neighborhood when my cell phone began buzzing. “It’s James,” I said to Sarah as I answered the call and hit the speaker function. “What did you find out, Detective?” I asked as I placed the phone on the table and grabbed my notebook.
“Victim’s name is Robbie Kramer. Twenty eight years old. Lived and worked here in Bridgeport. The medical examiner said he thought the deceased was killed no more than sixteen hours prior to the discovery, and that the body was moved to the strip mall after the murder took place
. We’ll have to wait for the autopsy to take place before we can be one hundred percent sure, but the ME said he believes Kramer was killed by the same person or persons as our last two vics.”
“You said he worked in Bridgeport. Do we know where?” I asked.
“He?”
“The victim,” I said.
I heard James clear his throat. “Our latest murder victim is a woman, Carter.”
I looked over at Sarah. She gave me a subtle nod, probably to remind me she’d made the call on that particular detail.
“OK. Got it.”
“Kramer worked as a bartender at the Lobster Shack, and had a side business crafting personalized greeting cards. She worked local craft fairs and the farmer’s market circuit.”
“Where in town did she live?” Sarah asked.
“Rental. An apartment over on Lafayette, adjacent to the water park,” James answered.
I jotted down the information then asked, “Find anything compelling at the scene, in terms of evidence?”
“Nada. Well, not so far, anyway. Seems whomever committed these crimes was careful not to leave a trace. However, the victim has an additional wound the last two didn’t. Seems Kramer sustained a deep incision to one of her biceps. The ME believes the wound was attended to prior to her death.”
“That’s odd,” Sarah said.
“Well … we’ll start doing some research, right away, concerning this Kramer woman,” I told James.
“What else can we do to help?” Sarah asked.
“Let me get the paperwork under way and get a new file put together,” James replied. “I’ll be able to give you a better answer once I’ve got that done.”
“We’ll wait to hear from you,” I said. “One of us will call you if we come across anything earth-shattering.”
“Thanks. To both of you. I feel like I can actually breathe a little with you two on the job.”
“You got it.” I ended the call and looked over at Sarah. “Guess we know what the rest of our day is all about. Oh, by the way, good call on the strip mall victim’s gender. I would have bet big money our vic was a male.”
Sarah shrugged. “I just got lucky.”
I shook my head. “I’m the one who’s lucky. Your skills get better with each passing day.”
“Thanks, handsome,” she said as she turned her attention back toward the computer and began typing. “That means a lot to me.”
I closed my eyes and took a few deep breaths. That walk around the block I was about to propose prior to James’s call had just become a luxury we couldn’t afford. The clock was ticking and we had nothing at all on our killer, yet. “You mentioned the contrast between Cutter and Sprague, wondering what the common thread between them might be. Kramer’s crime scene hasn’t exactly given us the leg up we were hoping for.”
“That’s for sure,” Sarah said. “Different gender this time, and much younger than either of the other two. No apparent connection, in terms of what she did for work, either.”
“Not that I was expecting the killer to screw up, but there’s always that possibility.”
Sarah reached out for my hand. “This case isn’t looking like it’s going to be an easy one, but I’ve seen you in action enough times to know that the more difficult a case becomes, the harder you fight to solve it.”
I nodded. “Never thought about it in those terms, but I guess you’re right. I never back down from a challenge.”
“It’s a true good-versus-evil battle we fight on these big murder cases,” Sarah said. “I have to admit, I lose sleep over it some nights. You know, lying awake, wondering what we’re missing, trying to connect the dots in different ways. But, you know what? I’ve never felt a deeper sense of purpose in my life than I feel right now.”
“Guess that’s one of the keys to finding satisfaction in a career. Do work that makes a positive difference in the world.”
Sarah smiled. “Makes it all---”
Sarah’s voice was interrupted by my cell. I picked it up to find James’s name on the screen again. “What’s up, Detective?” I asked then hit speaker.
“I’m on my way over to Jonesey’s Gym,” James said. “The one down the street from your place. Dispatch just got a call from one of Jonesey’s counter jockeys. Girl was reviewing yesterday’s twenty-four hour security footage and noticed questionable activity on the far end of Jonesey’s back lot. Took place shortly after closing last night, about ten past ten. She took a quick walk out there before calling us. Carter, she found blood. In the dirt, and on the edge of the pavement.”
I looked over at Sarah, her expression telling me she understood the implications of what James had said.
There was a chance we’d just caught our first break in the case.
Chapter 7
“I don’t see James’s cruiser,” Sarah said as we pulled into the parking lot of Jonesey’s Gym. “Looks like we beat him to the scene.”
“Not too surprised, considering how packed these roads have been all day,” I replied as I drove around the single-story, painted block building toward the back parking lot. As we rounded the corner I spotted a young male, wearing what looked to be a work uniform, walking from the far side of the lot back toward the building, staring at his cell phone. I maneuvered my car between him and the gym as I rolled my window down. “What were you doing over there?” I asked as I pointed out toward where he was coming from.
“Err … nothing. Just taking a smoke break,” he replied, his expression devoid of emotion.
“You were out there looking at the blood on the ground,” I said. “Right?”
The kid---who couldn’t have been more than sixteen years old---didn’t answer immediately, but the slow hint of a smile growing on his face told me all I needed to know. “That’s a crime scene you’re messing with,” I said, voice raised just enough to get his attention.
That smile disappeared as fast as the last slice of pizza at a frat party.
“A Bridgeport police detective is on his way here to meet us. You’ll be lucky if he doesn’t haul your rear end down to the station.”
“I … I didn’t walk over it, or anything,” he said, a hint of desperation in his tone. “Look,” he begged as he produced a snuffed-out filter cigarette from inside his pants pocket. “I didn’t even toss my butt on the ground.”
“What about photographs? You take any pictures of that area?”
The kid surprised me and handed me his phone. “Just one.”
“Send it to anyone or post it online?” I asked.
“Not yet. I was just about to when you pulled up.”
I immediately dragged the snapshot over to the trash icon then emptied it. “Better head back inside now, son,” I said as I began rolling toward the edge of the lot.
“Yeah, so he can go clean out his britches,” Sarah said once the kid was well out of range.
“Nah. I went easy on him,” I replied. “Got to take every opportunity to wake these kids up.”
“You could probably get in trouble for messing with his phone like that.”
“Let him sue me,” I said as I spotted the crimson-stained pavement and came to a stop. “If anyone is going to be taking photographs out here, it’s us,” I said as I climbed out of the car, got my cell phone out, and captured the scene from several different angles. “Helps to know the scene might be compromised. Footprints, and the like. At least we can compare what we find here with the footwear the gym staff is wearing.”
“Good point.”
“One of us should head inside and have a conversation with whoever is in charge. Let them know we have questions. We need to get a good look at that surveillance footage, too.”
“You go ahead in,” Sarah said. “I’ll stay out here and keep an eye on this area until James shows up.”
“Thanks,” I said and headed off across the lot toward the building. Within a minute I was walking through the front entrance. The first thing I encountered was a foursome of employees standing in a c
ircle, having what appeared to be an intense discussion. The young man we’d previously spotted out behind the building noticed my presence before the others, mumbled something, and their discussion came to an abrupt end.
It was as if I’d suddenly encountered four deer standing in the middle of the road at night, me, of course, playing the role of the headlights.
They tried to disperse before I got any closer.
“Hold up,” I commanded. “Which one of you called the Bridgeport police about the surveillance footage?” I asked the group.
A young woman, no more than twenty years of age, held her hand up---barely above waist level. “Me?” she said, her response sounding more like a question than an answer.
“What’s your name?” I asked.
“Sibyl?” came her timid reply, once again posed more like a question.
I was beginning to feel like I was standing on the edge of the set of Jeopardy while the latest episode of the game show was being filmed. “Good job,” I said. “Calling the police after watching that video footage was the right thing to do, Sibyl.”
She responded with a few short, quick nods.
“What wasn’t so great was telling the rest of the staff about what you discovered out back. I’m pretty sure the officer you spoke with on the phone told you to keep everyone away from that particular area until the proper authorities arrived, right? That’s a crime scene out there. Any tampering with evidence, deliberate or otherwise, could result in an individual getting away with murder.”
She nodded as tears began welling in her eyes. “I’m totally sorry. It’s just … like, it was wicked busy in here this morning. They left me in charge while my boss uses up her vacation time, and…”
I waited a beat to find out if there was more coming before responding. “I need you to show me the surveillance footage you watched. Specifically, the time period showing the incident out behind the gym last night.”
“OK. I have it all set to go,” she said then turned and began walking away. “Over here, behind the front desk.”
We made our way back toward the entrance, barely avoiding getting mowed-over by a pack of young, gung-ho women in yoga pants, toting rolled-up, neon-colored workout mats.
