[Anthology] Abby & Sei Thriller Starter

by Ty Hutchinson

  Kang immediately pulled himself together. “No, we’ll take it. I apologize if I came off as not wanting your help. I was caught off guard, that’s all. My partner and I would be happy to hear Agent Kane’s thoughts on our case.”

  “Well, with that said, why you don’t you guys go play nicely?” Reilly suggested, motioning with his hands for us to get out of his office.

  “Follow me,” I said. “We can talk in the conference room.”

  As we walked down the hallway past L-shaped desks and glassed-in offices, I could only imagine what Kang thought—probably that I thought he was an idiot. I didn’t know him well enough to make that judgment. We’d had a series of weird and unusual encounters. That’s all.

  “You guys want something to drink?” I offered as we passed the break room. “Coffee? Soda?”

  “We’re fine, thanks,” Kang replied.

  I led them both into the conference room and shut the door behind us. It had large windows instead of walls. “I hope you don’t mind.” I walked around the room and closed the shades. “I can’t stand it when people peer inside as they walk by.” Neither said anything.

  I took a seat opposite both of them and thought, before getting into the details of their case, I should make peace. We’re all fighting the bad guys. “It’s Detective Sokolov, right?”

  The big Russian nodded.

  “Look,” I continued, “before we get started, I want to apologize if I led you to believe I was someone I wasn’t.”

  “You could have pointed out you were an FBI agent the first day we met,” Kang said.

  I nodded my head. “I could have, but what took place that day wasn’t a federal crime. There was no need to identify myself as a federal agent. I had a duty to help, which I did.”

  The two of them looked at each other, and then back at me.

  “You’re right,” Kang said. “Now that we know what each other does, we can move on.”

  “Great. So fill me in on your case.”

  Kang did most of the talking as he told me about the two bodies, the details of each crime, and how the missing body parts connected the two.

  “And other than the missing finger with the diamond ring, the other jewelry and money were left behind?” I asked.

  “Yes. That’s why we ruled out robbery. Same thing with the man with the missing teeth.”

  “Both victims were killed fast and quietly with a blade.” Sokolov motioned across his neck with his finger. “Our guy knows how to kill.”

  “Exactly,” Kang said, sitting forward in his chair. “That’s why we think it’s the same person. Both victims had the carotid artery in their neck severed. The killer then takes what he needs from the victims and leaves. They die quickly without the ability to call out for help.”

  One didn’t need to be a brain surgeon to see that they were right. I agreed. “You got anything to go on? Witnesses? DNA? Any leads?”

  Both detectives shook their heads.

  “Where were the bodies found?”

  “We found the lady in Fay Park on Russian Hill. According to the husband, she was out walking her dog late at night but never came back. She only lived two houses up the street. The husband figured she swung through the park, so he headed over there.”

  “Why did he think that?”

  “She loved visiting that park, and apparently, she was prone to falling asleep if she sat for too long. Anyway, he finds her sitting on a bench with her throat cut and a finger missing. The dog lay by her feet unharmed.”

  “And the other victim?”

  “Black male. His teeth were found first in a gold pan between Fisherman’s Wharf and Pier 39. We found a body in the water with missing teeth. DNA match confirmed they were his.”

  “No witnesses from that crime scene either?”

  “No,” Kang said.

  “From what you’re telling me, I have no reason not to question your theory. Killing a person and then mutilating the body afterwards or during the process is typical of serial killer behavior. Clearly, there’s some sort of meaning behind the missing body parts or in the way the victims were killed. Removing the victim’s gold teeth and placing them in a gold pan suggests that the killer might be trying to send a message. Do you have a serial killer on your hands?” I tilted my head from side to side. “The evidence supports that theory, but more importantly, you really have nothing else to go on at the moment. What’s missing here is motivation.”

  Kang turned both his palms up. “So what are you saying?”

  “I’m saying that, if you can figure out the motivation, that’ll tell you whether or not this person intends to keep on killing or if it was just a two-body hurrah. Typically, it isn’t labeled a serial killer unless there are three bodies.”

  “So you’re saying we should wait until there are three?”

  “Actually, I don’t agree with that argument. I think you can have two bodies.” I laced my fingers together and placed them on the table. “Look, there are plenty of gang members who have killed more than three people, and yet, they don’t get the label. The reason is motivation. Their killings are either a result of a robbery, retribution, or simply being in the wrong neighborhood. The motivations for those types of deaths aren’t to gain attention or to seek out sexual gratification.”

  “We think he’s collecting body parts.”

  “Now that is motivation that’s more in line with a serial killer.”

  Listening to Kang, I couldn’t help but make comparisons to my own case and wonder if all three crimes could be connected. Whoever killed Piper Taylor had killed before—I knew that much—but I still needed to determine what motivated my killer. Kang thought his killer collected body parts, which was textbook serial killer. As far as I knew, Piper wasn’t missing any limbs or organs. Would that immediately eliminate my victim from being associated with his? I also had to assume that Kang might be wrong.

  “I’m investigating a homicide right now where evidence suggests my killer has killed before.”

  “What homicide?” Kang asked.

  “An FBI agent discovered a body on Mount Tamalpais over the weekend. The victim had an axe sticking out of her chest.”

  “I heard about that one,” Sokolov piped up. “Young girl, like a model, right?”

  “That’s the one.” I filled Kang and Sokolov in on the details of the crime and what I had learned from the medical examiner’s office. After I finished, Kang leaned back in his chair and chewed on his fingernails before speaking. “You’re thinking there might be a connection?”

  “I hadn’t ruled it out yet.”

  “The medical examiner’s theory seems plausible. But you also said no body parts were missing.”

  “There’s the rub. I don’t know now if there is a connection, but three bodies in the same time frame that aren’t gang related is too much, even for the Bay Area. These crimes aren’t typical, and we can’t ignore that.”

  “I agree,” said Kang.

  Sokolov nodded his answer as well.

  “So now what?” Kang asked.

  I’d had no idea the meeting would end that way, but I couldn’t ignore my gut. “I think we should combine our efforts and work the three cases together.”

  14

  Because we were employed by different law enforcement agencies, it made sense for each of us to retain the lead on our individual cases and continue to share information as we acquired it until something in one of the three cases suggested we work differently. I had to admit, Kang did not come across as an idiot, nor did Sokolov. My impression was quite the opposite. They were nothing like the two detectives I’d gotten saddled with while working a case in Detroit.

  I bade goodbye to Kang and Sokolov, unsure of what I had gotten myself into, and headed out of the building. The Oakland satellite office, where Agent Tracy House was stationed, was my next stop. I wanted to hear her take on the crime and catch up a bit. It had been a while since we had last spent time together. I called ahead to let her know I wa
s on my way and she suggested we meet at the Starbucks around the corner—the air conditioning in the office was on the fritz.

  House arrived before I did and acquired a table in the far back, away from most of the customers. She waved and smiled as I walked toward her and gave me a hug when I reached the table.

  “I got you hot water.” She slid a paper cup toward me.

  “Thanks.” House knew I had a specific taste for a special green tea that I always carried with me. I removed the lid from the cup and dropped a pinch into the water. I returned the cover to let it steep a bit before taking a sip. “I really appreciate you taking the time to talk to me about the case,” I started. “I know your write-ups are detailed and—”

  “Don’t worry about it,” she said, waving her hand. “I totally get it. I’m the same way. What do you want to know?”

  “Walk me through everything as you saw it.”

  House recapped that Saturday morning for me, leaving out no details as I listened and sipped my tea. Only when she finished did I ask my first question.

  “So you don’t think the body was moved there?”

  “I wondered that as well, but I did a perimeter search shortly after finding the body and couldn’t locate any evidence of a body being dragged or even a trail of blood. All bodily fluids were confined to the spot where the body lay.”

  “And you didn’t see the victim until you were in the clearing?”

  “That’s correct. In fact, I wandered into the clearing from the back side. I was on Fern Creek Trail, heading south toward Muir Woods, but veered off it by accident. That’s how I stumbled into that area. Had I stayed on the trail, I wouldn’t have found it. Some hiker would have smelt the decomposition days later, though. You think someone put the body there?”

  “Not really. Ruling it out, I guess.”

  My pieces of the puzzle were starting to grow. Piper met her killer sometime after leaving the hostel. If she headed straight to the ferry building, that left a tiny window where she could have met up with someone. If I closed in on those few hours, eventually I would squeeze the killer into the open.

  “I know the girl left the hostel alone, so she had to have come into contact with someone she trusted to hike with along the way.”

  House leaned forward in her chair. “So possible meeting points are the ports from where the ferry leaves and arrives, the ride across the Bay and the park.”

  “There’s one more place. Earlier, I questioned a girl that works at the hostel. She said Piper mentioned a store that sold organic cotton candy.”

  “Organic?” A look of discontent appeared on House’s face.

  I didn’t blame her. I, too, found it a bit ridiculous.

  “Looks like you know what you need to do.” House made a wringing motion with her two hands.

  I pursed my lips before speaking. “I do wonder whether she knew her killer before that day or if she actually met the person on that trip.”

  “Most likely a man: an extremely charming one,” House said. “Piper was pretty, probably received a lot of attention, and the right kind could have caused her to lower her guard.”

  “She also traveled alone. Solo travelers are usually open to the idea of doing something with other travelers.”

  House nodded in agreement. “Cost saving could have brought them together. How did they get to the park from the Sausalito? Bus? Taxi?”

  “The girl from the hostel mentioned a bus, but I don’t think this was about saving money. She met someone she took a liking to, and they decided to travel to Muir Woods together.”

  “I would suggest that perhaps the death was accidental, and the person is on the run out of fear. But I saw that axe.” House paused. “Looked pretty darn intentional,” she finally said.

  “Sure did. I don’t even think the killing was a spur of the moment thing. I think the killer spotted Piper and decided she would be the victim.” I quickly filled House in on what I had learned at the medical examiner’s office.

  “So you have a guy who’s killed before. He likes girls, tall pretty ones. If you want, I can run a check and see if we get a hit for other tall, pretty girls found dead, axe or not.”

  “That would be helpful.”

  “Makes sense to me,” House said as she took a sip of her latte.

  “The strange thing is, nobody has stepped forward with any information. I have no witnesses—which is unusual considering the park ranger who took me to the site said the trail was a popular one.”

  “It’s the damn media. Unless the news is sensational or a hot topic, they pay it no attention. I bet most of the people there that day don’t even know they were hiking around a dead body.”

  I agreed with House on that one. I needed to get the Taylor case some media love. Someone had to have seen something. “I’ve got an axe, and that’s it. According to the forensic people, they found plenty of DNA from the girl but nothing to suggest another person, except we know she didn’t just axe herself.”

  “Nope.” House nodded as she sat back.

  “There’s something else,” I said as I scratched the side of my cup with my fingernail. I filled House in on Kang’s two homicides and his collector angle.

  “What’s the connection? Timing?”

  “That, and the idea that Piper’s killer has killed before.”

  “But you said the woman’s finger was removed, and the man had his teeth pulled. Piper had no visual mutilation. Did the ME find something?”

  “No. That’s where it breaks down. Unless…”

  “What?” House said, her words hanging.

  I thought about what Kang said, about his guy being a collector. There had to be more, something bigger than the taking of body parts. And that’s when it came to me.

  “Unless it’s not about collecting but about staging. Gold teeth left in a pan. Staged. According to the report, they found the woman sitting on a bench. Could she have been propped up that way? A hiker killed in a beautiful clearing instead of hidden away in the brush. Maybe this is about presentation. A performance.”

  House took a deep breath as she pondered what I had said. I knew she would call bullshit if she thought it. That’s what I liked about her. Business was business and our friendship was our friendship.

  Her eyes shifted back on me after a few seconds of staring out the window. “That’s a wild theory… Wild enough to be true.”

  I thanked House for her time. She had proved to be a great sounding board, and I had a new angle to pursue.

  15

  Fay Park was located on the west side of Russian Hill on Leavenworth Street between Lombard and Chestnut Street. I had walked by it twice before realizing the immaculately groomed backyard with the white gazebo I kept passing really wasn’t someone’s backyard but the park. A closer inspection revealed a tiny sign near the small, gated entrance. Mental note: Things I love about this city—they have tiny, quarter-acre parks sandwiched between homes.

  The park was gorgeous and had, not one, but two white gazebos separated by a rectangular plot of grass with inverted corners. Four symmetrical plots of blooming flowerbeds surrounded each gazebo. Two sets of stairs led down to the second level, where there were rose gardens. There were a few benches as well, but the one that caught my eye was located on the first level between the two stairs. It’s where the body was found.

  I sat on the bench and understood why the victim loved to sit there. The view was idyllic and peaceful. I wonder how the killer found out about this park or how he even came upon her. Certainly he didn’t happen by and say, “Hey, I think I’ll kill that lady.” If she had fallen asleep, it would have been the perfect opportunity. But the park was small and not well known. I found it hard to believe that the killer had happened upon her by coincidence. Had he spotted her earlier and followed her home? How long did he watch her? Days? How did he know she walked her dog every night? He knew her routines. He stalked her.

  And what about the cutting of the finger? I stood up and looked arou
nd, hoping something might pop out. He had taken her finger with a diamond ring but none of her other jewelry. I pulled out my phone, pulled up the report Kang had emailed over and scanned it until I found what I was looking for. Interesting. For some reason, I assumed it had been her wedding ring finger that had gone missing. It wasn’t.

  Kang said the victim lived two houses up, so I searched the report and found the address. The street number was odd, so she lived on the left side of the street. I counted two houses and stopped in front of a beautifully renovated, two-story Victorian with a very ornate, colorful, wood-trimmed façade.

  The home sat high, away from the sidewalk, with stairs that required three switchbacks on their way up to the front door, mimicking the famous crooked street nearby. It was beautiful, but I couldn’t imagine making that climb every day. As I admired the residence, something sparkly in one of the lower hedges directly in front of me caught my eye. I moved in closer for a better look. Holy moly! I found myself staring at a large, diamond ring. It was on a finger.

  Could it be? I moved a few branches and answered my own question. It had to be the victim’s missing finger. But why leave it here? Why would the killer risk coming back to the victim’s home to plant the finger? It makes no sense.

  If the killer had indeed placed the finger here, it felt more in line with the gold teeth in the pan. Both victims had suffered body mutilation with the body part moved to another location, away from the body. Was the body part the killer’s objective or was the kill? Was the removal of the body part a way to prolong the kill? He was trying to make a statement, but about what, I wasn’t quite sure. It was a strange way to communicate, but riddles from killers aren’t unheard of.

  Still, that’s not what I thought the staging of the body parts was trying to do. And why did I continue to think Kang’s killer also did my hiker? Aside from the medical examiner’s findings and my hunch, nothing more connected the two crimes. Unless…

  I pulled out my phone and dialed.

  “Kang, here.”