Free to Kill

by Julie Mellon

  Michael laughed at her enthusiasm. “Yes, I played college basketball for the University of Tennessee. I got my degree in Sociology, with an emphasis on Criminal Justice. I then went to Law School at UT and then joined the FBI.”

  Michael stopped talking and though he didn’t ask any follow ups, it was obvious that he was curious as to what sparked the questions.

  “You didn’t answer about what your siblings do.”

  “Well, most of them work in the family landscaping business. Two of my sisters are stay-at-home moms.” Michael laughed at Katie’s scrunched up nose. She had no desire to be a stay-at-home anything, as evidenced by her earlier comment about kids.

  “Why didn’t you join the family business?”

  “Well, I went to college with the intention of studying landscape design or some such thing. But criminal justice caught my attention when I took a freshman sociology course. I just knew from that moment on that I wanted to be in law enforcement.”

  Again, he didn’t ask anything more from her, but this time, she felt obligated to share something in return “I’m an only child. I was raised by my mom in Arizona. It wouldn’t have been so lonely to have had other family.”

  “Woo hoo! Now that wasn’t so tough, was it?” Michael’s outburst made Katie jump and then laugh as she realized that he had lured her into the conversation with the express purpose of breaking her exterior.

  “I’m not very good at sharing,” Katie admitted.

  “Well, that didn’t really need to be said.” Michael winked at her to soften the comment. “I’ll help you work on that.” With that, he stood up again and headed for the door. “What do you say we call it a day and reconvene tomorrow at 0800?”

  “That sounds nice. So can I ask you one more question?” At his affirmative nod, she asked, “Could you recommend a good place to stay? I just got into town about thirty minutes before our meeting, so I don’t know the lay of the land yet.”

  “You don’t have a place to stay?” he asked incredulously.

  “Nope, just me and my suitcases in the car. I figured I would find a place once I learned the city a bit and knew which area to live in. Until then, I thought I could stay in a hotel. Free breakfast, right?” Her smile was nervous, but at least she was attempting to interact.

  “I know just the place. Why don’t you let me drive you and pick you up in the morning?” Michael new immediately that was the wrong thing to say. Katie’s face closed so quick it was like a slamming door.

  “Never mind, I’ll find a hotel nearby.”

  Michael sighed, “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. Why don’t you follow me? Traffic can be a little hairy, so I was just trying to spare you the headache in an unfamiliar city. I know a great bed-and-breakfast in Smyrna. It will put you further from the craziness, and since I already live down there and the administration tries to give me cases down that direction, I figure it would be good for you to be south as well.”

  Katie nodded, relieved that he seemed to understand without her having to explain. They got into their cars and headed south.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Michael led Katie to a yellow Victorian house nestled on about twenty acres on the outskirts of Smyrna. Smyrna was a city of a little over 40,000 people located about half an hour south of Nashville in Rutherford County. Katie immediately felt at home. Though the house she grew up in had been pueblo style, it too was situated on a lot of land on the outskirts of town. For the first time in a long time, Katie experienced a pang of homesickness.

  Inside, Katie met Caroline Shoulders, the owner of the bed and breakfast and her three children, Ian, Tommy and Carrie. She signed in and went to settle into her new room. The room was decorated in shades of maroon and cream. The furniture was dark mahogany and oversized. Looking out the window, Katie had a beautiful view of the lake on the back of the property. Sighing, she sat down at the window seat and allowed her mind to drift back to her childhood home. She didn’t like to think about it much; it always made her sad. Though the bed-and-breakfast felt like home, the scenery was very different. The trees outside the window were green with lush green pastures in the outlying fields. Back home, there wasn’t much grass and the few trees they had were different from the dense foliage here. Finally, she shook herself back to the present and got up to unpack her belongings.

  Katie came down for dinner at the appointed time and met Caroline’s husband, Kevin. Kevin worked as an accountant for a local firm and coached little league for both his boys. Carrie was only three, and didn’t yet play. Dinner was a boisterous event, with all the kids trying to tell about their day. The Shoulders offered to serve Katie in the private dining room intended for guests, but as she was currently the only one staying at the B&B, Katie chose to sit with the family. Secretly she was interested to see how families interacted. Katie offered to help clean up the dishes, but Caroline wouldn’t hear of having a guest work in the kitchen, so instead she changed into her running clothes and decided to take a run around the property.

  Retiring to her room, Katie showered, then pulled out her notebook and wrote a letter to her mother. She didn’t know if her mother even read them, or if she just threw them in the trash when they came in the mail. Regardless, it made her feel better - or at least connected to something in the world - to write home. She always mailed them and always would, as long as they didn’t come back unopened. More than likely, it was Patty, the woman who helped run the ranch, who read them, rather than her mom, but that was okay. She owed Patty more than she could ever repay. While she wrote the letters, she always pictured her mother sitting on the veranda sipping iced tea and having lemon cookies while reading them. It never failed to make her cry, though she would never let anyone see her tears. Tears are a sign of weakness. You must keep your emotions inside. If you show them to people, they will take advantage. Her mother’s words came back to her as if the woman were sitting right beside her saying them.

  Finishing her letter, Katie called it a night and crawled into bed. The minute the lights were out, she fell into a deep dreamless sleep. Her mind recognized the place as home and, for once, didn’t keep her up tormenting her with all her mistakes.

  Michael arrived at the B&B at 7:30 the next morning. He was sitting at the dining room table eating breakfast when Katie came downstairs.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked abruptly. Then seeming to catch her tone, especially in front of Caroline, she added, “I didn’t expect to see you until I got to the office. I think I can find my way now.”

  “I have no doubt you can find your way, but we have a case down south, so I thought I would stop by and we could take off from here,” he replied. “Have some breakfast and then we’ll head out.”

  Normally eager to start her day, Katie was about to turn down the offer, but her stomach chose that moment to be heard. Caroline turned from the stove with a plate piled with eggs, bacon, a biscuit and jelly, and some white substance. “What’s that?” Katie asked, pointing to the semi-liquid stuff.

  “Don’t tell me you’ve never eaten grits?” Michael chortled. His amusement with her was growing by the day.

  “I’ve never seen grits, but I have heard of them. Are they good?”

  “Give them a try,” Caroline said. “And don’t mind him, he just likes to aggravate people. Comes from being the almost youngest.”

  “Oh, did you two grow up together?”

  At the odd look that Caroline gave Michael, Katie knew she had missed some connection. Just then six-year-old Tommy rushed into the room. “Guess what, Uncle Michael? I lost my first tooth!” he crowed as he threw himself onto Michael’s lap. Katie’s fork paused halfway to her mouth. Slowly lowering the fork back to the plate, she looked up at Caroline.

  “Thank you for the hospitality. I will look for another place to stay this evening.” Katie shook her head. She should have seen the family resemblance. All the kids and Caroline had the same dark hair and brown eyes as Michael. Now t
hat she looked, Ian could have passed for Michael’s son instead of his nephew.

  “Please don’t do that. My brother is always trying to play Mr. Fix-It. The truth is, we just opened as a B&B and you are our second guest. He’s trying to help us get our name out, and having a long-term guest is great for business. I’m sorry he didn’t tell you. If I had known, I would have told you myself last night. Besides, with you here, we can share Michael stories.” The look on Caroline’s face showed how much the family needed the business, and since the place felt like home, Katie reluctantly nodded and resumed eating. Caroline glared at her brother and turned to the stove to dish out food for the kids as they came down. Each one jumped on Michael’s lap and told him all the newest information. It was such a homey scene that Katie had to swallow several times to get rid of the lump in her throat.

  Half an hour later, Michael and Katie left the B&B to head to Shelbyville, a small town about forty-five minutes south, where Elaine Henderson, a wife and mother of two, had been abducted the week before. Earlier that morning, the husband had gone out to retrieve the morning paper and found his wife’s nude and mutilated body on the front porch. When the local police saw what had been done, they immediately called for FBI assistance.

  Shelbyville was the county seat for Bedford County and was known for Tennessee Walking Horses and making pencils. About half the county population lived within the city of Shelbyville, or about 16,000 people. Sitting on the banks of the Duck River, it was a sleepy little town that prided itself on being family friendly. The only excitement in town was usually when the Tennessee Walking Horse National Celebration was held.

  There was one police car blocking off each end of the street where the Hendersons lived. The home was a two-story Cape Cod with little doghouse-shaped windows protruding from the roof and a porch that stretched end-to-end. It sat at the end of a long drive on a hill that overlooked the neighborhood. Michael and Katie flashed their identification and were allowed through. Michael pulled the car up to the curb noting that there were two police cars in the driveway, unconsciously destroying possible evidence. Exchanging a knowing look with Katie, they emerged from the car and went up to the front porch.

  As they approached, they noticed there was a lump on the porch that had been covered with a blanket. “Chief Davidson at your service,” a portly man said, as he approached them from one of the cars; his large cowboy hat obscured most of his face. They introduced themselves, shook hands and asked for a briefing.

  “Well, now, I reckon that seeing it would be easier to believe than trying to describe it. Truth is, I just don’t know as I got words to put to this.” The older man was scratching his bald head as he shook it. He was highly distressed and the jerky movements showed how upsetting the situation was for him. “I been in law enforcement for nigh on forty years and ain’t never seen nuthin’ ta equal it. I had my men put the blanket over her. Just don’t seem right leaving that out for all the eyes that might be lookin’.” He replaced his hat on his head and gestured for the agents to go onto the porch, but made no move to follow.

  Michael gently lifted the blanket back to reveal a woman with long blonde hair. That was the only identifiable feature, as the rest of her was folded up. Her legs were folded under her and her head was resting between her knees. There was a metal band wrapped around her body, squeezing her tightly. Putting on gloves, Katie gently pushed the hair back from the woman’s face. The tear streaks down her face were red, as if she had been crying blood. Without touching anything more, Michael gently replaced the blanket and they went back down the steps to rejoin the chief.

  “Who coulda done that to poor Elaine? She never hurt nobody,” the chief said.

  “You knew the victim?” Katie asked.

  “Her name is Elaine, not the victim. She’s my wife.” The anguished statement came from the backseat of the nearest patrol car. It was the only thing the man could say as he broke down sobbing. He buried is face in his hands, his bathrobe gaping open across his chest.

  “I am sorry for your loss, Mr. Henderson. I promise we will do everything we can to find the person responsible,” Michael said. He motioned for the chief to follow him out of hearing range of Mr. Henderson. “We need the background on this case. Everything from the time she was abducted. I don’t know what that device is but we will find out.”

  “It’s called The Scavenger’s Daughter,” Katie said. “It’s a medieval torture device that was around in the sixteenth century.” Both men just turned and stared. “I have a degree in history. I combined it with my criminal justice degree and did a thesis on medieval crime and punishment. I know a lot about this subject; let’s suffice to say that the death wasn’t pretty.”

  “Did she suffer long?” the chief asked.

  “Well, it’s too soon to tell right now. The device can be quick or it can be prolonged over a period of days. Judging from her condition, I would say she has been dead for no more than six hours, but the coroner will have to confirm that. I also know that if she was abducted a week ago, and has only been deceased for six hours, she had to suffer some.” Hopefully not like this for that entire time, Katie added to herself.

  The chief just shook his head. “How am I supposed to tell Rick that? That’s his wife up there.”

  “Actually, we would appreciate it if you didn’t tell him how she died.” Michael said. “We would like to keep that fact quiet as long as possible. How many people have seen the body?”

  “Well, Rick saw it, the two deputies who answered the 911 call, and myself. You two and whoever the coroner sends. That would be it.”

  “Let’s try to keep it that way. It might be wise to ask your men to keep this confidential. That means not even telling their spouse,” Katie said in a flat tone. Though she didn’t intend to be brisk, her manner came across that way. She hadn’t grown up learning to sugarcoat her words and saw no reason to now.

  The chief puffed out his chest prepared to jump to the defense of his men. Michael quickly stepped in and said, “We all know that they are aware of the need to keep this confidential, but something this upsetting, especially to someone they know, can lead to a need to talk. Please just remind them that if they need to talk, they should do so to a licensed professional and not at home.” The chief deflated at Michael’s words and walked off to talk to his deputies.

  Michael turned back to Katie. “Luckily, the Bedford County medical examiner is very competent. She should be here any minute now.” As he finished speaking, the medical examiner’s van pulled up and Dr. Marie Bennett stepped out. The tiny woman with spiky salt-and-pepper hair approached Michael and shook his hand.

  “Heard old Stan retired. About damn time.” Turning to Katie, she extended her hand, “I’m Marie, sorry to meet you under these circumstances.” Energy vibrated from her small frame and she seemed to be perpetually in motion.

  Katie extended her hand introducing herself at the same time. “How much do you know about medieval torture?” Katie asked.

  Looking surprised, Marie answered, “Not a thing. Is that a trick question?”

  “Unfortunately not,” Katie replied. “The victim was left on the front porch in a device called The Scavenger’s Daughter. What I didn’t tell the chief is that the device isn’t necessarily used to bring about death. Normally the victim is squeezed until their ribs and breastbone break. Sometimes the spine dislocates. It can cause great damage, even the bleeding in the eyes due to the pressure exerted on the internal organs. The victims usually die slowly from internal injuries. My educated guess is that she was left on the porch still alive. I think it was a game to the guy, maybe a ‘let’s see if the husband finds her in time.’”

  Michael and Marie just stared back at Katie in horror. Finally, Marie managed to say something. “That is horrible. Are you serious? Who would do that?” Marie looked up to the covered lump on the porch, shaking her head.

  “A very sick and twisted individual,” Michael answered as he too looked at the covered lump on the
porch. Without another word, the three of them turned and climbed the steps to begin the process of removing the body.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The three of them spent the next several hours photographing the scene and collecting evidence. After having the police vehicles removed from the driveway, much to the embarrassment of Chief Davidson, Michael and Katie worked to identify any signs of the person who had left Mrs. Henderson on her own porch. The only visible signs of a vehicle were from a tire imprint by the sidewalk.

  “It appears he backed his vehicle up to the steps to remove Mrs. Henderson. Let’s get a cast of the imprint. Might help us out later,” Michael speculated, rubbing the back of his neck. They had been stooped down duck-walking over every inch of the driveway and front yard for over three hours at this point and the temperature had climbed to the low eighties. “Let’s let the crime scene people finish up here. I want to get down to the morgue and check out the autopsy.” Michael’s comment showed his distaste for the process. The medical examiner’s van had pulled out over an hour before, taking Mrs. Henderson to her final injustice.

  “I think autopsies are fascinating,” Katie said. “They always reveal so much about a person. It’s like all your secrets are just there to be discovered. The closet smoker who never wanted the family to know…you can’t hide the evidence provided by your lungs. The woman who had a secret child…she can no longer hide the evidence of giving birth.” There was a reverence in Katie’s tone as she spoke. “Of course, there are the disturbing ones, like Mrs. Henderson, who will have the secrets of what was done to her exposed. I’m sure she would be embarrassed by it all, but in the end, it will be those secrets that will allow us to find who did this to her. Guess it doesn’t really mean much to her at this point…” Her voice trailed off at the end, as she gazed out over the street. Television and camera crews had begun to show up over the course of the morning. They were scrambling to get any information they could. Luckily the body had been removed in time to prevent any long-range lenses that might have captured the indignity.