Of Truth and Lies: Hollingsworth Copycat Killer (Virgil McLendon Thrillers Book 5)

by catt dahman

  “But you didn’t scream?”

  “I guess not.”

  She called for help. Virgil had the notes and read: “I’ve been attacked. A man…he came in and attacked me with a knife. No. He’s gone, and I locked the door. I need help. Please. I need help now. He…he had a knife. I don’t know. He cut me. No, he cut me. Mike! Mike, help me, Mike. He had a knife. I threw it on the counter. Mike! Mike!”

  Virgil read only her words to the dispatcher. She gave her address and still screamed for her husband. He then took the phone, repeated the address, and moaned as he saw his wife bleeding. He told her to sit down. “You knew you were cut then? You said you were.”

  “I guess. I don’t know. I get so frustrated, trying to remember, but it’s like I was in a fog.”

  “Did you sit down?”

  Starla shook her head, “I started to. I touched the chair…the barstool, but then I thought about how weird it was that the kids weren’t running around since I was screaming. I didn’t know why they weren’t all around.”

  “Did you go to the sink?”

  “No. I went to the den to check the children. I just started screaming. Someone came in and killed them, and I just screamed,” Starla sobbed.

  “Were you holding a rag to your cuts when you saw your children?”

  “I…maybe.”

  “But two of the children were still alive?” Hollingsworth asked.

  “Yes. I think. I’m not sure. I…Mike yelled at me and said to get a towel for Ricky, and I did. I got one from under the sink, got it damp, and ran to Mike. I saw Ricky and started screaming again. I guess I did go to the sink.”

  “Why did you wet the towel?”

  “I guess…to wipe away blood? Mike wiped away blood on me. I did the same thing.”

  Hollingsworth stared at her, “But you had not seen the blood, had you?”

  “I saw it. When I went into the den, I saw it all.”

  “Where were you? At the doorway or inside when you screamed?” Virgil asked.

  She was in the doorway, she thought.

  “You could see Beth? From the doorway, the chairs blocked your view of the boys and baby. Mike was there with them in the middle. You saw Beth covered in blood?”

  “Yes. I think so. I don’t remember.”

  Virgil leaned forwards, “You dropped a rag that was covered with your blood and got a new one, right? When Mike yelled for towels?”

  “Yes. I think I did. Maybe. I can’t remember really.”

  She took a damp towel to Carl and laid it across his chest on top of the baby blanket and his sleeping bag. She held each of her children. Then she lay back, saying she was dizzy. “I was dizzy and confused. I felt sick and was so...oh God, those were my babies. I felt numb.”

  “You were bleeding a lot?”

  “I think so. I’m not sure.”

  “Mrs. Stoker, are you aware a great deal of force was used in the stabbings of your children?” Dr. Hollingsworth asked.

  She wiped at her eyes, “I am.” She looked puzzled at the change in direction of questioning. He seemed predatory, and he frightened her.

  “The attacker used a lot of force and applied several stab wounds that were extremely deep. The force would have required a lot of energy and strength. In your photos, I see bruising of your hands and lower arms. How did those bruises occur?” Dr. Hollingsworth licked his lips.

  “I…I guess from the cuts, or maybe he grabbed my arms. I don’t know. I don’t remember.”

  “He grabbed you? I didn’t see that in the notes,” Virgil said, looking in the file. He didn’t see anything related to being grabbed.

  “Doctor, I don’t remember,” Starla addressed the doctor.

  “How did you feel when you saw that two of the children were still alive?”

  “What?” Starla asked.

  Hollingsworth persisted, “Two were dead, obviously. Two were left for dead, but were still alive. Did you speak to them as mothers will? Did you comfort them? What were you feeling?”

  Starla wept into her tissues, “I don’t know. I was scared and in pain. I was…shocked and upset.” She didn’t really answer. Who could answer such questions? “I was scared, confused, in pain, upset, sad….”

  Starla had lain on her side and let the medical attendants care for her.

  “Why were you scared? Deputy Staggs, was the scene clear? Were they all safe?” Virgil asked.

  “Yes sir, Deputy Tackett, Deputy Gunn, and I were sure the attacker was not in the house and was not a threat. We are trained to secure the scene immediately. We walked the scene well.”

  “I don’t know,” Starla said. “I don’t remember the police being there.”

  Virgil removed the locket from his pocket and opened it. On one side was a tiny picture of Starla and Mike. On the other side was a more recent picture of Cherry, the baby. Virgil passed it around and then handed it to Starla who stared at the pictures.

  Virgil told her, “I found this and some random papers on top of blood. That means they were knocked on to the floor after the intruder left and after you locked the door. Where was the locket and the papers?”

  “I guess on the counter.”

  “And who knocked them on the ground?”

  Starla concentrated, “I don’t know. I didn’t see them when we ran through the kitchen to the back door, but I wasn’t looking. Maybe one of the deputies knocked them over? I don’t know how they fell.”

  “No, I checked, and none of us knocked anything over,” Kimiko Staggs said. “We were very careful. I stepped over blood and anything else. I secured the scene.”

  Starla stared blankly. “Maybe you did though. I don’t know what else could have happened.”

  Hollingsworth spoke again, “This intruder killed four people and cut you, so his hands and the knife must have been very bloody. In the photos, I see that you left a few drops of blood on the floor, but there aren’t many. There is no blood from a knife dripping, and there is no back splash from an intruder slashing at you in the kitchen, so we know he was retreating even though he had a weapon. Now, you claim he dropped the knife. Why would he? And if it fell, it would have hit and bounced a little, leaving blood splatter and a sort of image. There were neither.”

  “I don’t know. He dropped it where there are all those prints.” She looked at the picture Virgil showed her of the kitchen floor. “I guess I stepped in it because I grabbed the knife when he dropped it.”

  “Dropped or tossed it?”

  “I don’t know. Dropped.”

  “Why did you pick it up? What were you going to do with the knife?”

  Starla glared at Dr. Hollingsworth. “I wasn’t thinking. He dropped it, and I got it because then he couldn’t stab me. I was going to stab him, I guess, if he came at me again.”

  “And yet, you set it here,” Hollingsworth pointed, “on the counter, but not at the end as you passed or by the phone over here. You had to walk around the island and close to the sink, and then you set it down. There is a lot of blood in the sink and all over the floor in front of the sink. Did you set it down after you locked the door?”

  “I guess. Yes.”

  “But we see both of your hand prints on the door and handle.”

  “I was bleeding. I don’t remember. I put it down and called for help.”

  “You fought a man with a knife, chased him, locked the door, picked up the knife, and set it down calmly…it wasn’t tossed… grabbed a rag for your neck, and then used the telephone. In all that time, you didn’t check your children or scream for your husband?”

  “I guess not. I don’t know why I did it that way. I was in pain and scared. All I could think of was that my neck was cut.”

  “Deeper than you first thought? You said you didn’t know you were cut.” Hollingsworth sat back with a nod to Virgil.

  “I was attacked and almost killed. There is some crazy man out there who needs to be caught. I have no idea why you arrested me, Sheriff Kirby. I was the victim h
ere; please, help me. Find out who did this.”

  Virgil ignored her and looked at the pictures of Carl again. With his wounds, he should have died quickly; he was the main event. He was the one with the injury to his eye. Yet, Starla didn’t hold a towel to his stab wounds, and she didn’t cover the poor ruined eye. “Did you think Carl might survive?”

  “I didn’t think about it. I was terrified.”

  “Did you watch the medical team working on Carl?”

  “I don’t remember.”

  “You just sat back and let everyone work, right? Because you were injured?” Virgil asked.

  “I don’t know.”

  Virgil shifted papers. He tried a new tactic and asked, “Your children had life insurance policies?”

  “We all have them.”

  “At the bottom of the stairs on a wall is a large mirror. I noticed a smudge and looked at it; it was your fingerprint. When did you look in the mirror and touch it? Why did you?”

  “I don’t remember doing that.”

  “Were you depressed and sad? Were you angry with Mike because…let’s see…he was having an affair that you discovered the night before?”

  Starla glared. Virgil stared back, calmly. It was his ace in the hole, and he was guessing at some of this, but she reacted perfectly. He had been given that tidbit of information by Sheriff Kirby, and it was the possible motive for the crime.

  “Yes, I was angry,” Starla flared, “wouldn’t you be? She’s a tramp. Maybe she hired someone to do this to us! Talk to her. I was furious, but I didn’t hurt my children and cut myself. I think she did it or hired it done. There. Case solved.”

  “I think she has a tight alibi, and we have nothing to suggest she hired anyone to do anything,” Tina added.

  Virgil steered her back to a discussion about her injuries. She said she remembered being in the ambulance and the attendants looking worried, but they were attentive and checked her over thoroughly as they raced to the hospital. She said they were very kind and spoke calmly. Once there at the hospital, she was taken straight to the emergency room and checked by a doctor who, with composure, explained that they were taking her into surgery immediately so they could suture one of her wounds that had been cut into the fat and muscle of her shoulder. He said that while she was anesthetized, they would stitch her other wounds and assured her she would be fine. She had a saline IV hanging and already had had a transfusion to replace the blood she had lost.

  Her shoulder wound was very serious although not life threatening. The deep cut on one arm was also very serious and was carefully stitched and bandaged. When she came out of surgery, she had bandages on both arms, shoulder packed with gauze, and thick bandages all over her neck. For forty-eight hours, they kept her sedated and on pain killers, and in that time, she was not questioned.

  “Your oldest was twelve. The next one was born four years later. The third was three years later, the fourth was two years later, and the baby was about two years later. Your pregnancies became closer together.”

  “Yes,” Starla looked at Hollingsworth and said, “I had easy pregnancies and deliveries.”

  “The woman…Candice, whom your husband had an affair with…does she have any children?”

  “I don’t know. No, I don’t think so. Look, I found out from a friend and confronted him. He swore he would never see her again and that he loved me and the children, and he wanted our marriage to work. We cried a lot. I forgave him. That was nothing to do with this.”

  “But you said maybe she did it? Odd. Did you sleep in the same bed with Mr. Stoker?”

  “Yes. He is my husband.”

  Dr. Walter Hollingsworth smirked, “How has Mr. Stoker behaved since the incident?”

  Starla said after she began recovering, he was with her at all times, and her neighbor brought Cherry home. They cried together. When Starla was released, she, Mike, and the baby went to stay with her sister because they couldn’t bear to go back to the house where was all the blood and bad memories were.

  “How did you find out about what happened that night? Did you tell Mike or anyone else about what you remembered?”

  “I told everyone. Nurses. Mike. I started remembering more. Mike told me about my children. I was devastated,” said Starla as she sighed.

  “When first questioned over forty-eight hours later, you brought up the recent murders here in town. A family found slaughtered with knife wounds and with the children brutally slain. You said maybe it was the same person?”

  “Yes, I read about that in the paper…it was all the talk…the Becks. I thought it had to be the same person. I still think so if it’s not that woman. Sheriff, why aren’t you looking for the real killer? Why don’t you find out who killed my children and attacked me?”

  “So maybe it was your husband’s girlfriend, Candace, or maybe it was the same one who killed the Becks. You have theories?”

  “Yes. Find out who killed my family.”

  Virgil smiled thinly, “Mrs. Stoker, I am doing just that. I am finding out exactly who killed those children.” He stood, indicating he was finished. “Thank you for the interview. You’ve been most helpful to me.”

  As they went back to the room that they used as headquarters, they dropped files and notes onto tables and desks. Virgil pinned a photo on the wall.

  “I only know one thing: this wasn’t the Copycat as we know him by profile, and Sheriff, you do likely have two killers in town. I don’t know yet if Mrs. Stoker is involved; I will need more information before I can say for sure. I am interested and would reveal my opinion, but I have to be sure. It’s a convoluted case. The idea of a mother killing children is unheard of.”

  Hollingsworth grinned enigmatically, repeating only the parts of Starla Stoker’s story that were virtually implausible and didn’t follow human nature. He seemed to savor the details, but his eyes flicked a few times, indicating that he found more within the notes than he shared.

  “Fine. Good by me. Take your time.” Sheriff Kirby made sure Dr. Hollingsworth was back in his cell and was being guarded by two agents in another section and that Starla Stoker was in her cell. He tried to focus on what Virgil said, but Harold Tackett pulled him aside and talked quietly, waving his arms and shaking his head.

  “Let’s roll,” Kirby said. He frowned and lines filled his forehead. He suddenly looked five years older.

  “What’s wrong?” Tina asked.

  “We found the first kill,” Deputy Tackett said, “and it’s bad.”

  Chapter Eight: Thirteen Days Before

  He found the back door unlocked, something fairly common for country homes in a small town. It didn’t matter to him anyway because he had a plan, and he was going to work it, no matter what else happened.

  He took a knife from a drawer, irritated there wasn’t a butcher’s block; then, he took out two glasses and filled them with water. He would tip one over after there was blood on the floor as Dr. Walter Hollingsworth had done when he went on his killing spree.

  From there he walked down the hall, having to look into two rooms before locating the baby. It was a boy, not a girl, but the man didn’t think that mattered overall. The baby looked up at him as he leaned in, slit her throat, and watched the blood pour over the blankets and bedding; he did a good job with no hesitation so that the baby didn’t suffer or cry out.

  There was no reason to torture people needlessly when another agenda was in place. He wasn’t there to cause suffering but to play homage to his idol.

  Going back to the first door he had gone into, he approached the bed where a young boy slept. The man didn’t know the child’s age, but the little boy seemed about five or six, which was perfect. The child had not wet his bed, and that was a vital part of the plan. That infuriated him.

  In desperation, he used a sock from the floor and rammed it into the child’s slightly open mouth, scaring the little boy awake. As he brandished the knife, the child fought back, but the man hit him in the face a few times, taking the
fight out, and like the man wanted, the child wet the bed, making the scent of urine strong in the room. The man felt pleased.

  He finished without emotion, only concerned with getting the scene right. He stabbed, bruising the skin badly with the hilt of the knife, and then he finished with a deep slash across the boy’s neck, letting the blood cover everything. Without having pictures, the man would have to base the scene on the images he developed from his imagination and newspaper articles and whispers in town.

  It wasn’t in the newspapers about the removal of a toe, but the man knew to remove one, and he knew which one to take. He feared disappointing Dr. Hollingsworth and wanted the scene to be easily recognizable.

  Something he already had found was that the parents slept separately. Because the father of the children took sleeping medication, he was easy to dispatch, and the man was able to take his time and duplicate wounds as close as possible to a crime committed many years before. In the end, he felt as if he had over worked the scene; it was more commercial-looking than truly about bloodshed and futility. A scene like this couldn’t be redone, so he stopped amidst furious stabbing, realizing he was losing control.

  Dr. Hollingsworth worked so effortlessly; it was a testament to the doctor’s brilliance for him to effortlessly produce good art. The man enjoyed this part because he felt no fear of being stopped now. Taking a handful of the mother’s hair ( her name was Dana), he shoved a rag into her mouth, bruising her lips against her teeth and cutting the inside of her mouth. Her eyes were impossibly huge.

  “Stay quiet. You have children, and we don’t want them to awaken and have to be silenced, do we?”

  She nodded as if her head were partially unattached. Her head bobbled. She wasn’t sure if she were happy to see him or more terrified by whom he was.

  She scrambled to catch herself as he yanked her off the bed. He directed her to the kitchen, hissing at her to watch where she was going as she struggled to look to the doors of the other bedrooms.

  “Come on,” he whispered.

  For only a second, the man worried, but then he found the silk stocking he needed and bound it so Dana couldn’t scream. He felt a warmth rush over his entire body as he yanked the knots tight, hurting her. She writhed, moaning and scratching as the pain became too much for her to bear in silence.