I Can Kill: An FBI Thriller (The O'Reilly Files Book 1)
Page 6
According to the police reports, Keisha and Brenda didn’t know each other. The day they were found murdered was the day Keisha’s boyfriend, Jamal Foster, had taken her on a day-long hiking date. His family had told the police he planned on asking her to marry him during the hike. But she was found murdered before it ever happened, and Jamal vanished.
The investigating federal agents suspected the boyfriend and believed he killed Keisha and started a new life somewhere else.
The situation surrounding the murders and Jamal’s disappearance baffled the local police and the FBI. Theories passed from mouth to mouth, but nothing made sense of what really happened.
Although Aidan understood why the original agent believed what he did, he couldn't help but wonder if Keisha and Jamal happened upon the offender as he was dumping the body. It was possible. If they did, and the offender saw them, then he’d have to take care of them in order to ensure he’d remain unidentified.
Taking that into consideration, Aidan decided on a possible scenario most law enforcement, including the FBI, hadn’t seemed to believe.
“What are you muttering about?”
Aidan looked across his desk at Shaun, who was busy flipping through paper copies of the FBI and police reports.
“So, the offender’s MO is tasing his victims, torturing them, then killing by strangulation,” Aidan began, leaning back in his chair. He crossed one leg over the other and began rapping his pen against the edge of his desk. Shaun looked up to give Aidan his undivided attention. “He’d leave them where they’d be found later, right?”
He nodded his agreement.
“So, when he killed Brenda Wilkes, he followed his system. Then enter Keisha Moffett and Jamal Foster. They'd planned to spend the entire day in the mountains. Hiking, fishing, camping, whatever. During their hike, maybe they saw something they weren’t supposed to see.”
“A man tossing a dead body to the side,” Shaun put in.
“Right,” Aidan said. “The offender saw his uninvited guests. Maybe he heard them approach, or they asked if he needed help. But it didn't take much to realize something was wrong, so they'd obviously want to get the heck out of Dodge.” Aidan narrowed his eyes. “If it happened to Cheyenne and me, I would tell her to run as fast as she could, then I’d do whatever I could to give her enough of a chance to escape.”
Shaun nodded. “According to reports, Keisha was found heading down the mountain.”
“Yeah, so if Jamal tried to protect her, then it makes sense he’d fight off the killer. And we know the killer had a knife because he used it on Keisha. So, he probably used it on Jamal, chased after Keisha, and caught up with her a couple of miles away.”
“So, what happened with Jamal’s body?” Shaun asked. “He was never found.”
“The wonderful thing about mountains is they are enormous. Plenty of hiding spots. The police and FBI alike weren’t thinking of looking for a third body. After finding Keisha, they immediately suspected her boyfriend killed her and took off.”
“So,” Shaun said, “Jamal Foster’s remains could still be somewhere in those mountains.”
Aidan swallowed hard.
“It’s starting to make sense.”
“What?” Shaun asked.
Aidan regarded him with hesitation. “I didn’t investigate Brenda Wilkes’ murder. Or Keisha’s and Jamal’s.”
“Okay…” Shaun pressed.
“The following year, The Carnations Killer started leaving me his notes.”
“Oh.”
They fell into silence.
Aidan told Shaun that he wanted to get Monroe to send out a search party to comb the Porcupine Mountains. He realized she wasn’t going to like it because it’d take more people and time, but he believed it had to be done.
Aidan rose from his chair and they made their way to Monroe’s office. After her muffled voice told them to come on in, they did.
“We may have a break,” Aidan told her.
Monroe looked up from a report she was in the process of signing.
“You’re kidding.”
Aidan sat and crossed his leg over his knee with a despondent sigh. “We don’t know how much of a break it is. Could be nothing. But I do think we need to follow up and see where it leads.”
Shaun and Aidan took turns in telling Monroe what they found, and their theories. She listened with intent, but after they finished, her red lips turned to a frown.
“So, you want me to send a search party to look for a body in the middle of the mountains in Michigan, which may or may not be there?”
Aidan nodded.
“I don’t know about that,” Monroe said. “That’s going to exhaust a lot of resources we can’t afford right now. Especially since we may need them here.”
“Monroe,” Aidan replied, “Please. I realize it’s a stretch. And I know there’s a fifty-fifty chance I’m wrong. But what if I am right? It may not get us closer to finding The Carnations Killer, but if we did find Jamal Foster somewhere in those mountains, then it’d provide a little closure for his family. And Keisha’s. Right now, they’re living their lives believing he may have murdered his girlfriend. If we do find him, they’ll know that their son, their brother, their friend...that he isn’t a killer.”
Aidan told her it wasn't the offender's style to bury the bodies, so he figured while he went after Keisha, Jamal may have tried to escape the mountains in another direction. He was probably stabbed, so he was bound to lose a lot of blood.
Monroe looked from Aidan to Shaun, as if to check on the validity of the claim. Finally, after almost three minutes ticked by, she sighed. She put her hand on the landline.
“Okay,” she agreed. “I’ll see what I can do.”
“Thank you,” Aidan said. “We’re going to grab something to eat, then pay Jordan Blake another visit to see what he has to say about his time in Michigan. With any luck, he may remember seeing something.”
15
AIDAN called Lieutenant Christenson and asked him to bring a few officers with him to the WJFX studio in case they were needed. When he spoke to Christenson over the phone, Aidan relayed everything they found so far, and that they were in the process of searching for Jamal Foster’s remains in the mountains. Christenson voiced that he didn’t believe the Michigan police would find anything. Aidan replied that they agreed, but had a duty to the families to try.
They were now in Jordan’s office, much to the reporter’s antagonism.
Aidan asked him whether or not he was ever in Michigan on a reporting assignment.
“Yeah, I was in Michigan for a little while,” Jordan answered. “It was just for a few months.”
“Do you remember covering any other Carnations Killer murders?” Aidan asked.
“Kind of sort of,” Jordan replied.
“What kind of answer is that?” Shaun snapped. “I’m sure a good reporter such as yourself would remember. You do realize the more you keep from us, the guiltier you’ll appear.”
“I have never hurt another human being,” Jordan scoffed. “So I reported on other Carnations Killer murders. Surprise, surprise. I’m a reporter.”
“A reporter with a knack of knowing things beforehand,” Aidan said, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. He narrowed his eyes. “I mean, you arrived at the Maya Gibson site shortly after the body was found.”
“Told you the kid started running his mouth.”
“You knew Maya was the latest Carnations victim.”
“He sent me a text saying he was back.”
“Which conveniently disappeared.”
Jordan opened and closed his mouth, unsure of his next rebuttal.
“And to top it off,” Aidan continued, “you lied about knowing Maya, and you withheld that you were pretty familiar with the other investigations. I’d say that’s pretty suspicious.”
Jordan frowned. “I had nothing to do with these murders. I love women. Really. And they love me. I have zero interest in kidnapping and whipp
ing them.” He winked at Aidan. “Unless of course, they give me their approval.”
“Then, I’m certain you can provide an alibi for last Tuesday night or this Thursday morning.” It was Christenson who spoke.
Jordan turned his attention to the lieutenant, squaring his jaw. “No.”
“In that case, I’m afraid, we have no choice but to bring you in,” Aidan informed him. “We’ll get a warrant to search your home and office.”
Jordan released a groan as Lieutenant Christenson motioned for one of his men to read the newscaster his rights. The officer cuffed his wrists behind his back, then guided him out of the news station.
“The guy's a snake,” Christenson stated.
“That's one way to put it,” Aidan said, watching Jordan stroll through the hallway as though he was being escorted to a royal party.
“Let me know what you find in Michigan,” Christenson requested.
Aidan told him he would.
After he left to follow his men, Aidan glanced at Shaun.
“He looks guilty,” he said. “Acts it too.”
“Looking and acting are different than being,” Shaun reminded him.
“You don't think Jordan's responsible for Maya's death?”
“You've followed The Carnations Killer investigation for the best part of ten years, right?” Shaun asked him. “During all those years, how many times has he let himself be so careless?”
Aidan frowned. “Not enough.”
Aidan knew the offender was too detailed to let himself be sloppy. At the same time, he wouldn't bother framing another man. Not unless the feds were on his tail and he needed an escape.
So what was it?
Coincidence?
Soon enough, once they had the warrant for his home and office in their hands, they’d be able to find whether or not he had anything that may implicate him.
16
Western Upper Peninsula of Michigan
Ottawa National Forest
Six miles to Iron River
Chief Harmon Gillespie overlooked his men combing through the vast land in search of the body of a man who disappeared five years ago. He remembered the case vividly and he had always believed Jamal Foster was not the man responsible for the murder of his girlfriend.
It never sat right with him.
He’d heard of The Carnations Killer from the news before the killer ever struck his first Michigan victim. He knew he killed other women in other states. And he knew he murdered Brenda Wilkes. That much was a given. Even the feds thought so.
But they disagreed with him that the same man who murdered Brenda also killed Keisha Moffett and Jamal. Because Jamal’s body was never found, they believed he killed his girlfriend and willingly disappeared.
But Gillespie thought differently.
Until now, he never had the resources to search for Jamal’s body.
Thanks to Agent O’Reilly, Gillespie was able to watch as his men, along with the feds, scoured the mountains on foot and by helicopter for the remains of a young man.
As his mind drifted, he held onto his notepad, scribbling whatever they found and where they searched.
It was still a strong possibility their time would be wasted.
He knew that.
But at least they were finally trying to get to the bottom of a five-year mystery.
Daylight was waning, and Gillespie felt a yawn coming, but he refused to call it a night. They’d only been searching for a few hours. He couldn't give in to sleep just yet. They still had a lot of ground to cover.
“Chief!”
A young officer called out to him, and Gillespie hurried to where she stood, kneeling on the ground.
Sergeant Karen Black snapped a photo before reaching into a bed of leaves and pulling out a small, black box. She pushed to her feet so she’d be at the same height as Gillespie, and then opened the box.
Its hinges were rusty, but it creaked open with ease.
Inside was a diamond ring, almost as brand new as it had been when originally bought.
Gillespie exchanged glances with his young sergeant. He knew she knew how important this search was to him. She’d been a part of the investigative team. Gillespie knew the sergeant also had reservations about Jamal’s guilt.
“Could it be his?” she asked, her voice breathy.
“Over here! I’ve got something!”
Gillespie’s heart leaped to his throat.
With Black hot on his heels, he rushed to where a federal agent was kneeling, looking at something on the ground.
One of his officers carefully stepped to where the agent stooped. When Gillespie arrived, he saw what was hidden beneath the leaves and dirt: a pile of bones and a human skull.
“Careful,” Gillespie instructed the agent. “Don’t hurt it.”
The agent glared at him but stepped away to allow one of the men to snap a photo before another carefully brushed away debris covering the remains.
Sergeant Black was already on the phone requesting for a forensic anthropologist to come to their location right away, as one of Gillespie’s men began collecting bugs that crawled around the skull. With the bugs, he’d be able to determine the approximate time of death.
“Hard to believe, isn't it?” Sergeant Black said after she ended her phone call.
Gillespie nodded.
“Want me to contact the family?”
“No,” Gillespie said, his eyes still on the skull. “We need to confirm it, then I’ll contact his family. It should be me.”
Gillespie stood in the medical examiner’s office as the forensic anthropologist the FBI sent him ran tests on the remains. She'd already sent fiber samples to the lab and ordered a request for Jamal's dental work.
The testing would take a few hours, and he realized his presence was annoying her, but Gillespie was too anxious to be anywhere else. He stood in the far corner of the room, and as he waited for her to finish her analysis, he glanced through the photos his people took of the bones and ring. He’d already emailed the photos to Agent O’Reilly and informed him as soon as he confirmed the remains belonged to Jamal Foster, he’d give him a call.
The anthropologist's assistant entered the room and handed her a sheet of paper.
“Well?” Gillespie said impatiently. He stepped closer to the gray slab of a table and studied the remains. “Is it Jamal Foster?”
“It is,” she told him. “And gauging from the markings on his neck bone, his throat was sliced, which is the cause of death. And...” The anthropologist hesitated as she scanned the sheet her assistant handed her. “The bugs collected from the remains match my findings for the estimated TOD. He died around the time Keisha Moffett was murdered.”
Gillespie's stomach took a dive.
“He was likely trying to find help,” he muttered. “He wasn’t where the other two victims were.”
“I’d say congratulations,” the anthropologist said, “but I’m not so sure it is congratulations.”
Gillespie stared at the remains that used to be known as Jamal Foster. After five years, they finally learned what happened to him.
“At least his family will know,” Gillespie said, breaking the silence. “They can take some comfort in knowing.”
Gillespie thanked her and turned to leave.
It was time to call the agent in Augusta and tell him the remains had been confirmed.
17
Jordan’s office didn’t have anything of interest, and so far, neither did his home. He lived alone in a ranch-style house littered with Playboys, empty beer cans, and clothing. The wallpaper was peeling off the walls and the bathroom obviously hadn’t been properly cleaned in a month.
The way his home looked, Aidan decided that if he could, he’d arrest him for house-abuse.
The grass in the backyard needed to be cut. There was a doghouse, and a golden retriever stood by the opening near two bowls containing water and food. He was barking, letting them know they weren't welcome in his home.
He glanced at the caller ID and saw it was Chief Gillespie calling.
“Agent O’Reilly.”
“This is Chief Gillespie of Ottawa County in Michigan,” he said.
“I just got the autopsy results of the bones we found.”
“And?”
“And it’s Jamal Foster.”
Aidan sat in the chair at the computer desk, unsure of what to say.
“The forensic anthropologist confirmed Jamal’s throat was cut,” Chief Gillespie continued. “Before I called you, I went over the original report for Keisha Moffett and it seems she died shortly before Jamal’s estimated time of death. So, I’m guessing after our suspect cut Jamal’s throat, he ran after Keisha to take care of her. Jamal, on the other hand, may have been disoriented enough to end up where he was and bled to death.”
“Why hasn’t anyone come across his body?” Aidan asked as Shaun appeared in the doorway.
“Well, we have experienced heavy storms and inclement weather since then. Over time, he probably sank into the ground and underneath falling leaves.”
Aidan nodded. It made sense.
“So now we know Jamal didn’t kill Keisha,” Aidan muttered. “Your suspicions all those years ago were correct, Chief.”
“Hmm,” Gillespie muttered. “But that begs the question: who killed Keisha, Jamal and the rest?”
“That’s what I intend to find out. Eventually,” Aidan said. “Thank you, Chief, for everything.”
“No, Agent O’Reilly,” Gillespie insisted, “thank you. Because of you, I can give Keisha’s and Jamal’s families some sense of peace knowing he didn’t kill her.”
“Let’s pray we can find the man responsible so we can give all the victims and their families the justice they deserve.”
“Will you keep me in the loop?”