by L. T. Vargus
“I’m not always like this.”
His voice sounds thick. Sleepy. He clears his throat.
“I mean, I didn’t want it to be this way.”
His head snaps to the right and snaps back. He can’t look at it for long. Can’t maintain eye contact.
“It was the only way. That’s all. It was the only way I could have you.”
He knows that this, too, isn’t real. It’s a make-believe conversation he’s attempting to strike up. It’s pretend. But he wants it. He wants to believe it a little.
He’s not insane. A little weird maybe but not insane. He wishes he was. That would probably make it easier.
Again he glances that way. His head swiveling in slow motion. The muscles in his neck twitching and quaking. The cords there stand taut. It is somehow a strain to turn his head a quarter of the way.
But he does it. Holds it. Looks.
The zippered mouth of the bag hangs open. Flaps parted as though in surprise.
He can see the face in profile there in the opening. Her face. Nose pointing at the ceiling. Eyelids open barely a slit. The cheek bone stands out. The skin still drawn tight there. Smooth. She looks pale. Bled white like a maggot. But otherwise, she looks good. He can’t quite make out the jagged edge where the neck once connected to the torso. Maybe that’s for the better.
Electricity thrums through his veins as he takes the sight in. It jolts in his head. Coursing and popping. Behind his crooked eye. Behind his blank and empty face. Current radiating deep within his skull.
His breathing changes. Grows ragged. His heart pummels at the walls of his chest.
Looking at her, he wants to go back. Feels the draw to return to the scene like a wolf hearing the howl. Something animal. Primal. He wants to go back. Needs to go back. To feel it again. To live it again.
But no. No.
Not tonight.
It’s a risk. Too big of a risk with that FBI bitch lurking. He’d seen the two of them together. He pushes the urge down. Shoves it away. For now.
Still, he’s too keyed up to sleep. Wired.
He’s not sure how long it’s been since he slept. Three days? Four?
It matters not for now. Slumber isn’t an option. It won’t be for a long time yet.
He drives. That’s all. He lets his eyes drift back to the road.
And the void is right there. All around him. Black nothing that stretches out forever in all directions.
He needs to go somewhere. To let the electricity in his skull burn out a little.
And he knows just the place.
Chapter 23
Darger had expected just the lead investigators from each case to be present at the meeting. Instead, there were the three detectives, two sheriffs, a chief of police, one prosecutor and two assistant DAs at his side, along with a handful of uniformed men.
Donaldson greeted her at the door and guided her over to the Athens County Sheriff.
“Sheriff O’Day, this is Special Agent Darger.”
“There are two of you now, eh?” he asked rhetorically, shaking her hand in that confident way all politicians had. “Where’s Agent Loshak?”
“On his way, I’m sure,” she said.
Darger didn’t tell him that Loshak hadn’t answered his phone or responded to the several texts she’d sent. She figured he’d forgotten about her, even though she’d reminded him about the meeting twice before she left for the Medical Examiner’s office.
Maybe it was his passive-aggressive way of telling her he wasn’t as amiable to her being there as she’d initially thought.
“You sure you don’t want a lift?” Luck had asked when Loshak hadn’t picked up after their meeting with Dr. Kennard had ended.
“No, go on ahead. I’m sure he’ll be here any minute,” she said.
When Loshak didn’t show, Darger had to call another Uber.
But the meeting had been going for ten minutes now, and there was still no sign of him. She started to get nervous. The Sheriff had specifically mentioned the “friends from the FBI” and how they’d “offer their insight” later on in the meeting. What if Loshak didn’t show up?
She’d coordinated with local law enforcement before. But never for something like this. Never for a serial murder case.
It was Sheriff O’Day who finally took to the podium at the front of the room and called the meeting to order. She supposed everyone was comfortable deferring to him considering they were in his building.
“I’d like to start off by saying that all information at this meeting is considered restricted in terms of the press and the public — no one should be talking to the press without express permission anyway. But the same goes for when you’re at home. Anyone not in this room is on a need-to-know basis.”
His eyes flitted about the room, and several of the task force members nodded like dutiful school children.
“Earlier this week we got the lab results back on the bleach samples from the first two victims. They are the same chemical composition, and the lab traced the samples to the brand name Tandil. Obtainable only at Aldi stores, which I’m sure most of you know we do have locally here in Athens, but also all over Ohio.”
He glanced down at a computer printout.
“Over 60 stores in the state, and about seven are within an hour driving distance from Athens proper. Obviously we’ll have to wait a bit longer to confirm that the bleach on the most recent victim is a match. The contamination on the third body makes a verification there unlikely.”
Darger frowned down at the sheet that was circulated around the room. She made note of her concerns in that regard for later.
“Why don’t we have the lead investigator for the newest fill us all in. Detective Luck?”
At first, Luck had the look of a kid who had been doing his damnedest to go unnoticed and had gotten called on by the teacher anyway. He stood, buttoned the top button of his jacket, and seemed to grow a little taller. He didn’t falter when he began to give the room a run-down of the newest murder. He started with the who, where, and when, moving over to a projector connected to a laptop to show a few photographs of the scene. Darger forced herself to look, though she’d seen quite enough of the images of Sierra’s defiled body to last a lifetime.
After that, the detective moved on to the M.E.’s report, summarizing the cause of death, probable weapons used, and the trace evidence collected.
“We also know now where Sierra was the first time she was abducted, and have every reason to believe that she was in the same place this time.”
Janssen raised his hand and chimed in.
“Sorry, but why the hell would we assume that?”
“The vehicle,” Luck’s eyes glanced almost imperceptibly in Darger’s direction. “The car Sierra Peters was driving was found parked on the street near the first abduction location. It also happens to be on the same street as her dealer, Jimmy Congdon.”
“Great. I assume you got that shitbird in a cell as we speak, awaiting questioning.”
“A CSI team is en route to collect the car, as well as an arrest unit for Jimmy.”
“Wait, what?” Darger said. “An arrest unit?”
Luck smoothed his tie.
“That’s right.”
Her head was moving back and forth, partially in disbelief. She was appreciative that he’d covered for her, not blurting out that it was her car Sierra had been driving. Her car, that she’d been stupid enough to allow to be stolen. But this was the wrong move, and she couldn’t just sit by and let it happen.
“Why would you arrest him? He’s probably the last person who saw Sierra Peters alive.”
Luck stared at her, not following.
“I’m confused. You’re saying that because he’s the last person to see her, we shouldn’t arrest him?”
“Who the hell are you?”
Janssen was looking her up and down with wariness.
The Sheriff piped up as if she were incapable of speaking for herself, “Sorry,
this is Special Agent,” he gestured with his hand like he was trying to conjure a rabbit from a hat, “Darwin, is it?”
“Darger,” she said through gritted teeth.
“Where’s Loshak?” Janssen said.
“I’ve been asked to fill in for Agent Loshak for the time being,” Darger said, embellishing a little.
Well, technically it was true. Cal had sent her out here essentially for that purpose. And it was a good thing, too, considering the fact that he wasn’t here.
She turned her attention back to Luck at the front of the room.
“My point, Detective Luck, is that Jimmy Congdon is already likely going to be a combative witness. Arresting him and treating him like a criminal is only going to make things worse.”
“He has a record,” Luck reminded her.
Like she’d somehow forgotten. She wanted to point out that if it weren’t for her, they wouldn’t even know about Jimmy Congdon, but she refrained.
“That may be, but if we approach him like he’s guilty of something, he’s never going to talk to us.”
“You’re saying we should roll out the red carpet for a known drug dealer?” Janssen said.
“I’m not saying we have to go pick him up in a limo, for Christ’s sake,” she snapped, then tried to reel it in. “I’m only suggesting that a more gentle, amiable approach might be more likely to gain his cooperation.”
“Gentle and amiable. Un-fucking-believable,” Janssen muttered loud enough for everyone to hear. “How do we know this Jimmy guy isn’t the killer?”
“Because he doesn’t fit the profile. He’s too young. Too well-connected socially. We’re looking for a loner. And the timeline of the abductions and body dumps have been consistent with someone working a first shift, Monday to Friday job. Congdon is technically unemployed.”
She turned her focus back on Luck.
“Call it off. Now. Before it’s too late. We’ll only get the one chance. If you turn him against us, he’ll never talk.”
He seemed to consider it momentarily, but Janssen butted in again.
“Maybe he doesn’t want to miss an episode of his favorite TV show?” Janssen said, only half-joking.
Loshak, where the hell are you? she wondered, sending out a psychic bat signal.
Janssen continued.
“Who can say why he does anything? Could be coincidence, couldn’t it?”
Darger said nothing, trying not to lose her temper.
Cops loved nothing more than to assign the term coincidence to anything that didn’t fit their personal theory, while at the same time insisting that any circumstantial evidence that proved their position was anything but.
Targeting Luck again, she sat forward.
“You’re being short-sighted. You’re going to throw away our best chance at catching a serial killer — a man who’s butchered at least four women that we know of — for a petty criminal like Jimmy Congdon?”
Maybe it was her tone, or maybe it was the phrasing, but she’d obviously taken a wrong turn. Luck fixed her with a hard stare.
“Do you know how many overdose deaths we have in this county every year? That’s not counting everything else that goes along with the drug trade: the robberies, the assaults, the prostitution, the toddlers left home alone wondering if mommy’s gonna come back or if she’ll stay passed out in whatever craphole she went to get her fix.”
His face was red and the emotion in his voice wasn’t phony.
“That may be petty to the FBI, but it sure as hell isn’t in the eyes of our department.”
Luck straightened a little taller, standing his ground.
“Sorry, Agent, but this is my call. My investigation.”
Yours to fuck up, you mean, she thought to herself.
“Well, after that lively debate,” Sheriff O’Day said, “why don’t we turn over the floor to the Special Agent so she can fill us in from the profiling angle?”
Special Agent, Violet thought. She was certain he’d already forgotten her name again as she rose from her chair.
Luck took his seat and Darger replaced him at the podium. She wasn’t sure how much Loshak had gone over with them, so she started from the top. She decided to leave out her pet theory about Fiona Worthington merely being a stand-in for Sierra Peters. It was still Loshak’s investigation more than hers, and she wanted to tread lightly when it came to contradicting him.
They were a dutiful audience until she got to the head.
“Cutting off the head,” one of the uniformed officers said. “That’s like, depersonalization, right?”
Darger shook her head.
“Just the opposite. When a killer wants to depersonalize a victim, they’ll often either cover the face or mutilate it somehow. Cutting or beating until it’s unrecognizable. Removing the identity in some way. Making it ‘just a body.’ It can indicate remorse or shame. But not always.”
She used the computer to flash through several photos of the first three victims.
“This guy leaves the faces untouched throughout the task of dismembering them. He wants them to still be a person. So much so that this time, he kept her head. Of all the possible parts, the face is the one that marks her as an individual more than any other.”
The glare from the projector blocked Darger from seeing who asked the next question.
“The last two were dumped within Athens city limits. Doesn’t that mean he’s probably a local?”
There were murmurs among the group. Some seemed to be in agreement — mostly those from outside of Athens PD who no doubt wanted to believe it couldn’t be one of their own.
“We don’t know how much significance that has. For one, Sierra Peters was a break in a lot of the previous patterns.”
“Looks like the same sick fuck to me,” Janssen offered.
“Oh, I don’t have any doubt that it’s him, but I think he was rushed on this one. No stab wounds, no mutilation other than the decapitation, of course, plus the fact that he dumped her within about 24 hours instead of the usual 48-72 hours. He was in a hurry to get it done. And I think he was in a hurry to dump her.”
“Doesn’t that strengthen my point? He’s a local guy, so instead of driving all the way out to Bumfuck, Egypt, he dumps this one close to home.”
“It’s possible,” Darger said, trying to keep her tone level.
Something about Janssen rubbed her the wrong way. Also she was starting to get a mean headache.
“But even in a rush, he’s still careful. I doubt he’d tip off where he lived that easily.”
“Guy’s a fuckin’ psycho who gets his kicks cuttin’ girls into pieces. How careful can he be?”
Darger ignored him, wishing again that Loshak was there to back her up. Massaging her right temple with a fingertip, she continued.
“There’s another issue about the dump sites that I think we should all consider.”
She gestured at the map projected onto the wall.
“Two different counties. Three separate jurisdictions so far. I don’t think that’s an accident.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that your average citizen doesn’t have a lot of knowledge of that kind of thing. City PD, Sheriff’s Department, State Troopers… cops are cops to most people.”
“You’re saying you think he’s a cop,” Detective Luck said and there was plenty of grumbling dissent that followed.
“Not necessarily.” Darger raised her voice over the din. “In fact, I think not.”
“You just said—” Jannsen started.
“I said I didn’t think he was your average citizen, in terms of police knowledge. But I also don’t think he’s in law enforcement. He wouldn’t have the discipline.”
That seemed to quell them a bit.
“However, it’s possible that he’s someone in the periphery of law enforcement. EMT, volunteer fire, or maybe a cop groupie.”
“Possible, possible. Everything’s ‘possible’ with you guys. Sounds like a bunch
of mumbo-jumbo to me,” Janssen said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Might as well consult my kid’s Magic 8-Ball.”
“And you’re welcome to take it or leave it, Detective Janssen,” Darger said. “It’s your case. Your board to clear. Not mine.”
The room was quiet then, and she let it sink in. As elected officials, she knew the pair of Sheriffs involved were more than a little anxious to clear these homicides, and the only way that happened was finding the guy.
“Alright,” Janssen spoke up again, “let’s say you’re right. He’s from out of town. Maybe even from somewhere like Columbus. Why not dump the girls there? Murders are a dime a dozen in the city.”
“For two reasons. One is for exactly the reason you said. He doesn’t want to be a dime a dozen. He wants the spotlight. Even if that’s not the case at first, these guys almost always find that they like the attention. The second reason is that, this being a rural area, he might be aware that you lack investigators with a lot of homicide experience.”
It all came out in a rush. She'd been in the zone and wasn't thinking about the phrasing or the effects the words might have. But she immediately realized her mistake. What sounded to her like an innocent fact would come off as a dig to the men in this room, and not just the ones looking to fight, like Janssen.
Another silence followed, this one seeming more strained than the first.
Well, shit.
Janssen crossed his arms over his chest.
“What’re you trying to say?”
Luck had been quiet for a while, but he spoke now. His eyes remained focused on his hands folded on the tabletop in front of him.
“I reckon she’s trying to say that us country folk are in over our heads.”
He effected a slight twang to his voice, which should have been funny but only highlighted more that he was angry.
Before she could defend herself or her words, the sound of someone clearing their throat broke through the awkward tension in the room.
“Why don’t we wrap things up there for now?” Sheriff O’Day said, consulting his watch.
It was past five o’clock. She was sure he was rarely in the office this late most days.
Chairs scraped and voices babbled to one another. Violet raised her hand in the air.
