Donors

by C. M. Sutter

  Thanks for the donation, Heather. Mom will appreciate it.

  Sam crossed the garage and reentered the house. He checked on his mom before leaving.

  Adeline pulled the headphones off and paused the movie. “Is it done?”

  “It’s done, and I’ll be back in a few hours.” Sam gave her a reassuring nod and walked away.

  Heather’s purse still hung from the back of the chair in the kitchen. Sam took it into the garage, sat on the step, and unzipped it. He found her keys inside. He pushed up off the step and opened the overhead. He pulled out the van then backed her car in. With the trunk popped open and waiting, he removed the tubes from Heather’s body. He carried her into the garage and lowered her into the trunk. She was about to take her final journey. Sam climbed in behind the wheel, set her purse on the passenger seat, and drove away. He wouldn’t be back home until after midnight.

  As with the others, he dumped Heather somewhere in the Gary area and abandoned her vehicle in the worst neighborhood of South Chicago. He knew it would be dismantled quickly with no trace of its existence left behind. He always dropped off the cars and purses, void of any ID and cash, in that same Chicago area. A local bus frequented a stop two blocks away, and it took him within walking distance of the Illinois and Indiana Freeway Flyer. That city-to-city bus dropped him off within two miles of home. Sam walked the rest of the way. He was careful never to leave a trail or use a toll road that had cameras and plate readers.

  Finally back home, Sam checked in on his mom one last time that night. She was sound asleep. He powered down the laptop, placed it on the side table, and turned off her light. In his workroom, he tightened the caps on both half-gallon jugs of blood and placed them in the refrigerator. He’d deal with the cleanup tomorrow.

  Chapter 2

  Our normal workweek began early on Mondays. Weekend incidents had to be reviewed, and we needed to determine whether any law enforcement agencies had requested our assistance. Spelling sat at the head of the table and conducted the usual back-and-forth with us about everyone’s weekend activities before beginning our morning meeting. He opened the black folder his hands had been resting on. All of us had matching folders. He nodded, and we opened ours and followed along.

  Inside were three files, each with a photograph paper clipped to the first of four pages of notes, including the initial police report, ME field exam, forensics report, and final autopsy reports. The photographs showed three deceased young women, each with the pads of their fingers burned away, most likely with some type of acid. Their nude bodies had unusually white skin.

  Spelling put his fist to his mouth and cleared his throat. “Let’s begin. Take your time reading the full reports after the meeting. These cases were called to my attention because of the similarities between them. At this point, we’re assuming these three ladies met their deaths at the hands of the same individual because of their condition and the proximity of where they were found. All three were discovered within a twenty-mile radius of Gary, Indiana. The skin on their fingertips was burned off postmortem, and most noticeably, nearly every drop of blood had been drained from the first two bodies for sure, according to their autopsies. We’re assuming the third will be the same. Each woman had bruising at their femoral and carotid arteries.”

  I shook my head. “That explains the freakishly white skin, and the bruising means their blood was drained while they were still alive.”

  Spelling continued. “That’s correct, Jade. The first two women discovered, in order, were”—he looked at the contents of the folder—“Corrine Lionel and Taylor Dorsey. They were found two weeks apart, seven miles from each other, and both in December.”

  “Wouldn’t the winter temperatures interfere with determining the actual TOD?” I asked.

  “Absolutely. The killer could have kept them alive for months or killed them immediately and had them stashed in a freezer until winter to dispose of them. There wouldn’t be an odor from decomposition or a way to tell when they actually died.”

  Cam spoke up as he flipped each page. “So you’re saying they’ve been missing for a while?”

  “The missing persons report was filed on Corrine in late October and on Taylor right around Thanksgiving. Corrine was located in tall brush near a quarry on December fourth, and Taylor was found on December seventeenth in an abandoned house in one of the worst neighborhoods of Gary.”

  “What about Heather Francis?” Val asked as she looked at Spelling.

  “She was reported missing Saturday morning and found yesterday along a path at Marquette Park.”

  “Marquette Park?” J.T. flipped to the last page with the rest of us. “I’ve never heard of it.” He took a sip of water then rubbed his nose.

  “It’s supposed to be very scenic. It’s a large park along Lake Michigan with paths, beaches, and a pavilion for weddings, that sort of thing,” Spelling said.

  “Are any of the locations near each other? Could we possibly draw those parameters in a little tighter?” Maria asked.

  “I’m afraid not. Each location couldn’t be farther away or less similar to the other. Seven miles was the closest, and that was between Corrine and Taylor. Heather’s body was found twelve miles from Corrine’s location and nineteen miles from where Taylor was found. Of course, the areas are too remote, or in Taylor’s case, too impoverished, to have CCTV cameras installed.”

  “Smart guy,” I said. “He isn’t establishing a dump pattern or location. He could live anywhere, but he’s obviously familiar with the different areas of Gary. How were the girls identified without fingerprints, boss?”

  “Not everyone is in the system, especially at that age, unless they’ve been caught in criminal activities. Removing their prints was an odd act to begin with, but the perp was likely trying to buy some time. He wasn’t counting on the DNA profiles. The samples taken from the bodies were matched against the DNA in the missing persons profiles of Corrine and Taylor. At least with them being frozen, their features hadn’t decomposed yet. The parents were able to make positive IDs through photographs too. As far as Heather was concerned, she had only been missing for thirty-six hours before she was found. Other than the obvious injuries and unusual coloring, she still looked like Heather. All three ladies are being held at the government complex building where the medical examiner’s office and morgue are located. Heather’s autopsy is scheduled for today.” Spelling stood and closed his folder. “Gary, Indiana, is requesting our help. Jade and J.T., familiarize yourselves with the information contained in your folders. Val, schedule meetings for Jade and J.T. at the police department in Gary and with the Lake County coroner in Crown Point. Get contact names for them. Let the PD know that two FBI agents should arrive by twelve thirty.” He pushed up his sleeve then looked at both of us. “Yeah, that will give you time to take traffic into consideration and grab a bite to eat.”

  J.T. nodded. “Thanks, sir.”

  Spelling continued. “Val, set up hotel rooms for them in the area. Text all the information to their phones when it’s done.”

  “Got it.”

  “Okay, you’ll be leaving immediately. Good luck, and update me every chance you get.”

  J.T. and I grabbed our go bags and coffee and climbed into a fully fueled government cruiser that sat in the lot just for these occasions. Gary, Indiana, was close enough to justify the drive since it was only two and a half hours away by car.

  I read and took notes as J.T. drove. Every so often, I’d run ideas by him.

  “What do you think of demonic cults? Is that still popular with youths?”

  J.T. rubbed his chin, as if in thought. “What was the age range between the girls?”

  “Hang on a sec.” I opened the folder and double-checked. “Okay, Corrine was twenty-three, Taylor was nineteen, and Heather was twenty-one.”

  “Yeah, still pretty young. Even though kids that age think they’re smart, they don’t have the best judgment yet. They’re impressionable, and if the perp was close in a
ge, well—”

  “Well, what?”

  J.T. raised his brow at me. “Have you ever known a millennial that didn’t trust another millennial? That’s like expecting a pup to be afraid of a car by instinct. Why would they if they’ve never been hit?”

  “Good point.” I took the final sip of my lukewarm coffee and jotted down notes. “So back to the cult thing.”

  “Sorry, I got a little sidetracked there. So based on the ages of the girls, their closest peers would likely be between eighteen and twenty-five. The outer range could be from seventeen, but probably not younger, up to possibly twenty-eight. And yeah, I do believe demonic cult activity is still popular across the country.”

  “So that could include blood sacrifices?”

  “Uh-huh, although that would lead us into a really dark culture, Jade.”

  “But we have to go where the clues take us, right? Anyway, I’m just throwing possibilities out there, partner. You never know what goes on in this messed-up world anymore.” I paused and thought about my next comment. “Don’t laugh at me.”

  J.T. laughed, and I gave him a left eyebrow frown.

  He raised his hand in protest. “How am I not supposed to laugh when you just said not to?”

  “Whatever. So, what’s your take on vampirism?”

  He held back the second laugh. “It’s Gary, Indiana, Jade, not LA.”

  I smirked. “Was there a point to that comment? Messed-up people can live anywhere. Look at the freak shows I’ve dealt with in North Bend.”

  “All right, you’ve got me there. I concede. Write that down too.”

  I did. “What about selling blood on the black market?”

  “That’s a good point. We’ll check that out as well. I’m thinking since the police have had several months to conduct investigations on the first two girls, they might have covered those bases already, but it doesn’t hurt to cover them again.”

  Chapter 3

  “Sam, that stack of mail is really piling up, and it doesn’t look like you’ve opened any of it. No reply from the state-funded health care department yet?” Her hopeful expression quickly disappeared when she saw him shake his head.

  He punched the straw through the tiny foil circle on the juice box and handed it to her. “I checked for that letter first, and like every other day, no response.” He knew what the rest of it was without opening it, and there wasn’t much he could do. The bank had been threatening foreclosure for six months, and warning letters came in the mail constantly. Sooner or later, Sam and his mother would be kicked out onto the street. The electric company had turned off the power three times before Thanksgiving, spoiling everything in the refrigerator. At least they weren’t allowed to do that anymore in the dead of winter. The thought of it all made Sam even more anxious. “Look, Mom, I’m trying to take care of you and go to work. I’ve missed a lot of days because you’re getting sicker.”

  Adeline buried her face in her hands. “Why don’t you let me die? It would make your life a lot easier.”

  Sam took a seat on the couch and carefully embraced her. She was thin and frail. Her bones poked him when he held her close. “Don’t talk that way. Let me check your veins, Mom.”

  She held out her arms. Bruises covered both of them between her elbows and the back of her hands.

  “You need to drink more water so your veins don’t collapse. I’m going to leave the IV ports in from now on.” When the clock chimed on the half hour, he checked the time. “It’s almost time for your transfusion. I’ll grab you a snack before we get started.” Sam pushed off the couch and walked into the kitchen. He took a package of almonds out of the cupboard and two individually wrapped cheese sticks from the refrigerator.

  “Will you set the bag of blood on the counter as long as you’re in there? I don’t like the way it feels when it’s too cold.”

  “Sure, Mom.” He did as asked then returned to the couch and handed her the snacks. “Here you go—plenty of protein.”

  “I watched the news today, Sam. They found that Heather girl way too soon. Isn’t she the one that came over Friday night?”

  He waved away her comment. “You don’t need to worry about that. The only connection I have with her is that she works at the same hospital as me. They employ over seven hundred people. The others were random girls, no connection at all. I’ll be more careful from now on, I promise.”

  Adeline patted Sam’s knee. “You take real good care of me, honey. What would I do without you?”

  “Don’t know, but we’ll get through it together. I promised you that years ago and don’t intend to fail you now. I did my research before we started this process. I know whole blood isn’t the best thing for you, but look on the bright side. Your blood type is compatible with everybody’s blood. I’m going to start giving you two smaller transfusions a week. It might be easier on your body. I know we can turn this around.”

  Sam mentally calculated how much blood he needed. At the halfway point of blood loss, his victims usually died. When their hearts stopped pumping, they were useless. No more blood flowed out, and the blood that remained clotted. He was determined to keep his mother alive.

  “Anyway”—he turned to his left and smiled—“stop frowning. It wrinkles your fragile skin. Eat your snacks, then we’ll get started.”

  After that light lunch, Sam helped his mother into the wheelchair and back to her bedroom. He lifted her to the bed, raised the back slightly, and arranged the pillows as she liked them. With several taps against her skin, he checked to see which veins popped up. “How about the back of your wrist? The port won’t be in the way, and I’ll tape it down really good. That’s where I’ll leave it.”

  “Yeah, go ahead.” Adeline braced for the poke with the needle. Sam had become proficient at finding a viable vein on the first try.

  “There we go.” He placed the IV bag of blood on the hook. “I’m going to change it to a half a pint, twice a week, so you won’t have to be hooked up for so long. How about a TV show?” He reached for the remote and handed it to her. “I think your favorite soap is about to start. Need anything?”

  “I’ll take water and a straw.”

  “Sure thing.” Sam checked the IV bag and left the room. He returned with a tall insulated cup with a straw poking out of the lid. “Here you go. I’m going out for a bit.”

  Adeline gave him a look of concern and swiped her bangs out of her face. “Be careful, honey.”

  He placed her cell phone within reach. “You know I will.” Sam closed her bedroom door at his back. He changed into warm, winter jogging pants. As much as he hated the cold, he knew where diehard females ran along the public paths, often with their dogs. He had become acquainted with a few ladies who frequented the trails and knew at some point they’d come in handy. Plus, there weren’t any cameras nearby. Sam pulled two bottles of water out of the refrigerator. One had a nearly invisible needle hole poked through the label and into the bottle, and the other hadn’t been tampered with. He placed a black dot on the label of the bottle that wasn’t laced with GHB and headed out.

  Chapter 4

  With our lunch finished, we were back in the car, and J.T. merged onto the Indiana Toll Road, also known as Interstate-90.

  “Okay, ten miles to go. You’ll take the Buchanan Street exit and go south to West Sixth Avenue, then turn left. No, scratch that. It’s a one-way street. We’ll go to West Seventh, turn left, then backtrack a few blocks to Polk. The police department is at 555 Polk Street, and it must be on the fourth floor. I’ll go over it again once we exit the freeway. It seems simple enough.”

  “Yeah, okay. Did you get the texts from Val? There’s plenty of time to check into the hotel first if it’s close enough to the police station.”

  I pulled up my phone again and read the text Val had sent an hour earlier. I hadn’t even thought of it until J.T. asked. I’d been busy trying to come up with reasons somebody would drain blood from their victims. In my mind, removing the blood seemed more impo
rtant than the actual kill.

  “Looks like we’ll be checking in later, after we pay the ME a visit. The nicer hotels are near Merrillville, south of Gary. Actually they’re just over halfway to Crown Point. Val booked our rooms at the Fairfield Inn and Suites off of I-65.”

  J.T. clicked his blinker when he saw the sign for the Buchanan Street exit a mile ahead. I craned my neck and looked over my shoulder. “You’re okay to get over.”

  “Thanks.” J.T. crossed two lanes of traffic and stayed to the far right. “So who do we ask for when we get to the PD?”

  “Looks like Captain Mark Sullivan is the man in charge. I imagine he’s our initial”—I made air quotes—“‘go-to guy,’ but he probably has a slew of detectives on the case.”

  J.T. took the exit ramp and turned right onto Buchanan Street. “Now where?”

  “Go south until you get to West Seventh Street. Turn left, then another left a few blocks later on Polk. We’ll head back north until we see the building.”

  “That’s confusing.”

  “Nah, it’s just because of the one-way streets. You live in Milwaukee. You should be used to it.” I spread my fingers across the phone screen and enlarged the picture of the police department. “It looks like that building has a gated parking structure. That’s probably our best bet.”

  J.T. turned left on Polk. “We’re almost there.”

  I stared through the windshield and lifted my sunglasses. In the downtown area, the large buildings blocked the light, anyway. “We should see 555 Polk Street coming up in a minute.”