by A Wallace
“Tell me why you believe this.”
“The labeled sketches showed an adult male which would be Steven, two women, Emma and Bonnie, and a female child, Robin. Emma is always next to the child.”
He rubbed his chin and leaned closer to her. “This is why you went into the master bedroom.”
She nodded. “The extra bedroom is unused.”
“We think alike…”
“Don’t insult me. This is an unconventional family. Those three share the same bed.”
“Emma is Bonnie’s sister. That’s just…” Murphy shook his head.
“In the master bathroom,” she held up three fingers, “three hairbrushes, white, green, and tortoiseshell. The last one is his.”
“How do you know?”
“Bonnie and Emma have red hair, brown for Steven.” She tipped her hands and shrugged. “Easy.” She made a V with her index and middle finger. “Two sets of women’s clothes in the closet. Tell me I’m wrong.”
Murphy keyed the ignition. “I’m suspicious. Emma displayed more emotional trauma. You say Robin knew, how?”
“She understood her family was different from others. They may be kids, but it doesn’t make them stupid.”
“Explains why she spent so much time at Justin’s.”
“Is Steven and Bonnie married?”
“Yes, but…”
“But what?”
“A copy of ‘The Book of Mormon’ was on the foyer table. It’s been over a hundred years since plural marriage has existed within the Church. Polygamous groups exist, but Latter-day Saints doesn’t recognize those sects. If any members practice polygamy, they are excommunicated.”
“I’ll ask this question anyway. Does it have anything to do with Robin’s death?”
“I’m not sure, but let’s not discount it.”
“Interesting.” He clicked his mouth. “It’s wrong.”
“It may be to us, but to them, it’s normal.”
“Poor kid.” He rubbed his forehead.
“When we spoke with them, Emma and Steven seemed grief-stricken. Bonnie, not so much.”
“You’re suspicious of the Senters?”
“Kinda. Let’s talk about the photo.” She held out the picture. “See the inside of his arm?”
“A butterfly tattoo. So what?”
Charley pointed at Mr. Leeds’s wrist. “The tattoo is an icon. And I know what it is.”
“Don’t make me twist your arm.”
She crinkled her nose. “It’s the CLogo, child lover logo. The butterfly represents pedophiles who molest both genders. The pink and lavender coloration alternates between the larger wings and the smaller ones. The wings are heart-shaped.”
“You’re sure?”
“It sure looks like the ones I’ve seen.” She handed him the photo. “Take this to the Hoover building. Give it to Scott Grae to clean up the image and verify it’s the CLogo.”
After Murphy placed the photo inside his suitcoat pocket, he pressed on the gas pedal and drove out of the neighborhood. “Let’s go together. Then grab a bite to eat.”
“I can’t. Plans.”
He covered his mouth as if in shock. “Someone dates you?”
“Is that your best?” Charley sneered. “Take me to my car at Sunnyvale. This is good, Murphy.” She dug her phone from her pocket and dialed Scott Grae. She explained to him if the image proved to be the CLogo, to contact Doobie right away, relay the information, and haul Gerald Leeds in for questioning.
Murphy’s hand dangled over the steering wheel as he glanced at her. He tried to concentrate on the road, but his mind shifted to the crime. He questioned the odd way Robin’s family reacted and their unique family structure. At a traffic light, he studied Charley as she peered out the window in one of her usual trances.
Murphy reclined his head on the headrest, reliving the week he worked with Charley in Charlottesville. After a few days, it proved to be stressful and frustrating. Her strong will and refusal to back down showed she would battle him until the last drop of blood fell. Their feverish argument replayed in his head so many times. Other detectives witnessed their encounter. Murphy backed away from her, as she hurdled over his desk unleashing her wrath, calling him incompetent and resistant to advice. Worse, she was right. He was wrong. A petite woman devoured a six-feet-two man with eighteen-inch biceps. He never conceded, causing him nothing but regret. Again, he considered her. Despite her negativity toward him, she was a stunning beauty who wore combat boots.
Chapter 6
Stars are the Freckles of the Night Sky
Northern Virginia – FBI Satellite Office
Wednesday, 16 March – 3:15 PM
Charley readied herself to meet with the Medical Examiner, Forensic Pathologist, Dr. Ansel Carmichael in Manassas. The preliminary autopsy complete, additional information and the cause of death might lead investigators in the right direction.
A unique brand of killer lurked within the Northern Virginia area, one who killed without intense violence. Rigid and fixed, his code drove him to murder a child. Why honor Robin’s death with such drama?
The office door opened with the rap of a knuckle. Murphy peeped around the door. “You ready to go?”
Charley grabbed the holster hanging on the back of the chair. “Almost.”
“I’ll drive.”
She refused to give him the privilege of a glance. “I travel alone.”
He sighed. “No need to take two vehicles.”
“Forget it.” She rose from the chair, securing the leather harness to her shoulder. She unlocked the desk drawer, removed a SIG Sauer P-226, and checked the safety before holstering the weapon. Her attention focused on the drawer, she took her D2 knife and strapped it to the back of her belt.
“Expecting a coup?”
The security drawer closed and locked, she whipped around the desk. “Only in my head.” She brushed by him towards the door.
He wrapped his hand around her upper arm, pulled her back into the office, and closed the door to impede her exit. “How long will this continue?”
She yanked her arm from his grasp. “Forever.”
Frustrated, he sighed. “I give. You’re right. I should have listened.”
Charley traced the corners of her lips with her thumb and forefinger. Her voice remained smooth. “You threw a red flag in my face after I told you how to catch the perp. You dismissed my suggestions. Why? Because I’m a woman?” She spread her hands in front of her. “Everything we say is brimmed with emotion and drama.”
Murphy shook his head. “No.”
“I checked.” Her finger stabbing inches from his face, but her voice remained calm. “He’s still out there, laughing at you.”
“I place little merit on profiling.”
She pulled her hand back and pressed her fingertips on her temples. “For the last time, behavioral analysis. If it’s all that is available, use it. It may be the only way.” She turned to the door and left him standing.
Manassas, VA – Medical Examiner’s Office – 3:58 PM
Charley expected another confrontation with Murphy, she made personal pact to remain professional. She pushed through the glass entrance doors of the Medical Examiner’s facility. The white, sterile walls reeked of formaldehyde and death.
She flashed her badge to the bored security guard, who was a beloved relic from the original building. Constructed last year, the new ME facility kept its icon, Mr. Chapman, who added character, nostalgia, and an occasional joke.
“Good afternoon, Dr. Faraday.” Mr. Chapman gave her a dentured grin. “Tell me something. What do you call a smart blonde?”
Charley wrapped her golden tresses around her hand. “A golden retriever.”
The elder snickered. “Smarty pants.”
She titled her head, grinning. “Why do men gain their best ideas in bed?”
Mr. Chapman drew in his brows and shrugged.
“Because they’re plugged into a genius.” Charley laughed
hard and loud.
“You’re tops, Faraday.”
“So are you dear friend.”
Charley blushed and snickered as she advanced towards the exam rooms. She spotted Murphy leaning against the wall next to Autopsy Room 2. “Are you ready?”
“Sure.”
Murphy adjusted his tie and smoothed his suit coat before reaching for the handle to open the door for her.
He browsed the austere, yet ultra-modern room. “Nice.”
“State of the art.” Charley highlighted the eight stainless steel examination slabs in two symmetrical rows, each with their own equipment and surgical tools. The windowless room had steel cabinets and counters lining the alabaster epoxy walls.
Carmichael adjusted the lamp over Robin’s body. Despite his gruffness and tendency to show his anger, his soft heart seeped from his soulful eyes. The sound of their footfalls caught his attention. He indicated to the right. “The gloves and aprons are next to the sink.”
Protective clothing donned, Murphy and Charley took their positions. Robin’s corpse laid between them.
Carmichael pulled back the white sheet, folding it below her shoulders. “The initial autopsy data is on the server.”
“Let’s hear it,” Charley said.
He demonstrated starting at Robin’s head. His hands waved over her. “The killer bathed her with mango bath gel and conditioned her hair.”
“Wait, how do you know the killer bathed her, instead of Robin doing it herself?” Murphy said.
“Skin cell absorption,” Carmichael said. “Bathed after death.”
Carmichael placed his fingertips on the sides of Robin’s neck. “Strangulation marks are present on her neck. There are three sets, but they’re different.” Carmichael glanced at them. “Do you know why?”
“Each abrasion at a different time and pressure,” Charley said.
“Correct. Petechial hemorrhaging in the eyes.”
“Whoever he is, he had a hard time killing her. Three attempts.”
Murphy stroked his chin, his tone definitive. “This little girl suffered, and she knew her fate. He’s one sick son-of-a-bitch.”
“He hesitated.” Charley tilted her head. “Interrupted? The cause of death is strangulation?”
Carmichael exposed his palms. “Not, so fast.”
“No damage to the hyoid bone or cartilage?” Murphy said.
“Correct.”
“Good call, Murphy,” Charley said.
The ME angled his pinky at the victim’s nose. “Cotton fibers were present in the nasal cavity.”
“Therefore, smothering,” she mumbled.
“Suffocated with 170 thread count, cotton polyester blend. Most likely a pillowcase.” Carmichael lifted the right hand of the victim, his finger circled around her wrist. “Friction abrasions, the bindings eroded the epidermis to the dermis.”
“One hand tied, but the other was free,” Murphy said.
“Yes, take a gander.” Carmichael referred to Robin’s fingertips. “Light pink nail polish.”
“I didn’t notice the lacquer at the crime scene.”
“Me either, until I examined the body.” Carmichael laid the little girl’s hand across her abdomen. He shifted to the end of the exam table, lifting the sheet to expose her feet. “Pedicure. I found it unsettling.”
Murphy shook his head. “Implies sexual overtones.”
He replaced the white drape, covering the victim’s legs. “Let’s move to the abdomen. Fed well, her stomach contents included chicken, mashed potatoes, green beans, and milk. The stomach digested forty-five percent before TOD.”
Charley glanced at Murphy. “She ate around nine Monday night.”
Murphy eyed Carmichael. “What about toxicology?”
“Blood work showed severe anemia, because of her diet during captivity. I spoke with her pediatrician. Robin required iron supplements. No traceable physical evidence found. One more thing, he brushed her teeth with bubblegum flavored toothpaste.”
Charley stepped back as her eyes widened. “He brushed her teeth?”
“We found fibers between her teeth. Tests confirmed it to be dental floss. Cinnamon flavor.”
Charley lifted the victim’s upper lip with her thumb and forefinger. “Her left incisor is emerging.”
“Any signs of molestation or physical abuse?” Murphy said.
Carmichael waved his hands over Robin’s body. “After examination, no signs of traditional sexual or physical abuse.”
“George Leeds’s tattoo is a dead end.” Charley huffed.
“Not necessarily,” Murphy said. “Doc said traditional, meaning no vaginal penetration.”
Charley rubbed the bridge of her nose. “Leaving oral as a possibility.”
“Correct.” Carmichael said.
“He dresses her too young for her age, but used nail polish,” Charley said. “A contradiction. Keep the innocence, but add a dash of an adult theme to the killing.”
“Give us a preliminary, Charley?” Carmichael said.
“He’s between twenty-five and thirty. He appears meticulous, intelligent, educated, high organization skills and… uhm… nonthreatening. My guess, he volunteers. He’s parental, but he isn’t a father… a teacher, a juvenile counselor?”
Carmichael’s eyebrows lofted. “Why not a father?”
Charley tilted her head. “Data indicates fathers rarely murder their children, without underlying circumstances, such as severe family stress or mental illness, which evolves into the murder-suicide of the whole family. It’s a statistical conclusion.”
“The strangulation marks illustrate he didn’t strangle her. I doubt lack of strength is the reason.” Carmichael crooked his hands as if choking someone. “Bare hand strangulation is difficult. It takes an average of forty seconds to strangle a victim. He opted for an alternative, a pillow.”
“Wouldn’t she struggle?” Murphy bowed his head and rubbed his eyes. “No defensive wounds present.”
“Is there an explanation?” Charley said. “Smothering creates some fierce physical reactions.”
“No.” Carmichael laid his hand over Robin’s. “Except, the lack of damage to the trachea and the haploid bone. Sometimes if the victim resists, the killer will increase pressure on the neck.”
“There are three common reasons to commit murder.” She marked them off, tapping each finger with her thumb. “Passion, money, and revenge. It’s not money or passion. He didn’t follow through using strangulation. Revenge, but against whom?”
“Parents, unrequited love, jealousy?” Murphy said.
“Possible. When he disposed of the body he placed her in a sleeping position.” Charley’s jaw slid back and forth. “He didn’t want her lying on the cold ground.”
“Guilt?” Carmichael said.
“Concerned for her comfort he made a pillow from leaves,” Murphy said.
Charley dug deep, trying to piece together the mental structure of the abductor. “Why did he place a marigold in her hands?” Charley lowered her head and massaged the bridge of her nose.
Murphy peered at Carmichael. “Where are the crime scene images? Maybe we’ll find an answer.”
“Over there.” Carmichael aimed his thumb at the counter behind him.
Murphy and Charley stepped to the stainless steel counter to view the images. Charley laid them out on the worktable in sequence. With intensity, she studied the photos. Confident with her assessment, she tapped hard on the table. “There are definite signs of guilt.”
“Explain,” Murphy said.
“Excellent lace job on the shoes, the bow is centered. The dress is feminine and placed with care.”
Murphy motioned his hand to encourage her. “Keep going.”
“Why abduct a child, attend to her needs, and kill her?” Charley turned away from him. “Something happened to him. An event destroyed him. He’s evening the score. He doesn’t want to suffer alone. Therefore, he kills to create his perception of balance, concluding he�
��s innocent of something other than the murder of Robin.”
“Psychotic break?”
“Not psychotic. He’s a disturbed person with severe emotional trauma. Before his criminal actions, he was functional. He lost something or someone.” Her mind raced. “Loss, he lost a loved one or something dear to him. He’s obsessed.” She returned to the body with Murphy behind her.
She placed Robin’s hand into hers and stroked her hair. Charley traced over Robin’s freckled cheeks as if connecting the dots. “A little girl without freckles is a night sky without stars.” She placed Robin’s hand on the steel slab and stepped back. Her eyes narrowed as her forehead creased. “What did he want with her?”
Carmichael held up his index finger. “I almost forgot, and it’s interesting. Her stomach contained distilled water.”
“Distilled?” Charley said.
“He’s health conscious,” Murphy said.
“Explain?” she said.
“Distilled water dissolves digestible substances absorbed by the body’s cells. It separates inorganic minerals attached to tissue so impurities to allow removal thus purifying the body. It’s the only solvent known which won’t harm human tissue. Over time, it dissolves inorganic materials and other wastes collected in the body without injury to tissue or cells.”
“I didn’t know that. Did you, Ansel?”
Carmichael cocked his head. “I did, but never considered it.”
“It’s a cleanser,” Murphy said.
“Where did you learn this?” she said.
“Men’s health magazine. I don’t have the healthiest of diets. Distilled water takes care of my love for certain foods.”
She grinned. “Eat a delicious greasy burger and drink distilled water. Sweet.”
“I built a still. I’ll share.”
Charley ignored his offer. “Anything else, Ansel?”
“If I come across anything, I’ll call.”
“One more thing, did Robin wear a necklace? A purple infinity symbol?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t we spot it at the crime scene?” Murphy said.
Carmichael pulled on the top of his apron. “We discovered it after the removal of the clothing. Is the necklace significant?”
