Sand City Murders

by MK Alexander

  “Oh her… yeah, only this ain’t no girl.”

  We walked up to the body and he showed me her face. It was an older woman, closer to sixty than twenty. I recognized her as Lorraine.

  “She’s different than the others. A different MO.”

  “The others?” I asked.

  “Your freaking Barefoot Killer,” Durbin said with no amount of pleasure.

  I had a hard time believing that Barefoot Killer actually flew as a headline. I couldn’t imagine Eleanor ever agreeing to it. “Was the killer barefoot?” she’d doubtless ask.

  “Just like the other victims though… the shoes are over here,” Durbin said.

  “The shoes?”

  “Yeah, a pair of women’s high heels, like at the first two crime scenes… and at the swamp.”

  I glanced over at Fynn. He looked back, equally perplexed. Durbin led us over to a yellow marker. A pair of women’s silver high heels had been placed carefully together on the grass.

  “Different color this time.”

  “You mean different than Lucinda?”

  “Yeah… and not her shoes… we checked. These are the same size too... seven and a half.”

  “Weird.”

  “This one we got an ID for. Found her handbag, wallet, cell phone, cash, cards, all untouched,” Durbin said. “Lorraine Luis, Garysville, age fifty-seven. I already checked the DMV records. There’s no doubt it’s her.” He paused to glance at me. “Oh yeah, you going to explain to me why you called this woman’s phone before?”

  “I know her,” I said.

  “You know her?”

  “I did an interview last week… this is hers.”

  “What’s hers?”

  “The sculpture. She made it back in the mid seventies.”

  “No shit?” Durbin remarked. “That might be something.”

  “It seems like the killer is making a statement,” Fynn commented. He had said nothing up till now. I looked over at him and I’m sure he looked confused. “It is a statement of anger, I would suppose… Placing her on the very sculpture that she created.” Fynn made a face. “There are other differences, notably, this victim is easily identified, the other’s have not been.”

  A thin man came jogging up the hill, seemingly out of nowhere and shook my hand. “Hey Patrick, just wanted to say thanks.”

  “Sure… for what?” Did I know this guy?

  “For filling in when I was on vacation. I’m gone for two weeks and sure enough two murders…”

  I looked over at Durbin.

  “Patrick, this is Nick Powell, our forensic photographer.”

  “Oh right, nice to meet you.”

  “Well, I guess I owe you one... or two… I’ll put in a good word to the chief.”

  “The chief?”

  “Arantez.” Powell gave me a quick smile and headed off down the hill. “I’m going to see him now.”

  “Still waiting on Hackney?” I asked Durbin.

  “Who?”

  “The coroner.”

  “No, he’s disappeared… on vacation, I guess… or maybe he’s finally retired. County’s sending in somebody else. Probably stuck in traffic.”

  “So, Inspector Fynn, what does our expert say about this one?” Durbin asked.

  “Very little I’m afraid. I’m quite perplexed by this murder.”

  “It doesn’t fit the pattern, does it?”

  “No… yet there was something in the other cases… One other older woman found killed in my previous investigation. So, perhaps, this may be related. It may be part of the killer’s routine. Several young girls and then an older woman...”

  “Sick shit.”

  “A question, if I may, Detective Durbin.”

  “Sure…”

  “Where was her handbag found?”

  “In the bushes over there.” He pointed.

  “Was there blood on it?”

  “Yes.”

  “I see…”

  “And?” Durbin asked impatiently.

  “There are some things that seem immediately apparent to me.”

  “Such as?” Durbin asked.

  “Firstly, she was lured here, probably by a telephone call.”

  “How can you possibly know that?”

  “A policeman’s hunch.” Fynn smiled and walked to the nearby park bench a few yards away. He examined it closely. “The victim sat here waiting for someone. That is to say, not in the middle… she left room for someone else to sit, to join her.” Fynn took out his telescopic pointer from his pocket and then carefully examined the bench. He pointed. “Blood spatter, you see it? Likely she was killed right here by a very hard blow and perhaps unawares. The killer may have come up behind her, there from those hedges… This part of the bench is clear from blood. This is where she sat, and I suppose her handbag was tucked to one side, along the edge. There is a gap in the splatter here as well.” Fynn pointed again, then walked over to a trash can. He rummaged through. “Ah, and here… a coffee cup in this receptacle. It looks rather fresh, and with a trace of lipstick on the rim.” He fished it out with his wooden pointer. “I’m quite sure you’ll find that it is hers.” He looked further. “I see some shoe prints here…surely a woman’s shoe, but not high heels… so she was likely not barefoot at the start. And it’s a chilly morning. Not a morning to go without shoes, eh?”

  “Okay, but how does that tell you she was lured here— and by telephone?”

  “I suppose it could be an email or a regular letter… but I am guessing she expected to meet someone in particular, someone she knew.”

  “Why?”

  “The lipstick for one. And her dress. It’s rather nice… not formal, but she wanted to look her best. I will say she knew her assailant, or that she expected to meet someone she knew rather well. To me it rules out everything but a telephone call. An email or a letter is rather impersonal. A telephone call best suits this scenario.”

  “How about a text message?”

  “This too, I suppose…”

  Durbin called over some techs to bag and tag Fynn’s discovery. “I’ll run her phone records,” he said, thinking aloud. “What else is different this time?”

  “Perhaps we can ask a better question: what is the same?”

  “The shoe prints and the cane,” Durbin said and led us to a muddy patch of ground off the path. They were tagged with two yellow markers. Clearly evident were the same shoe prints and the mark of a cane. “I’m wondering about what’s different... We found her cell phone this time.”

  “Hmm,” Fynn made a noncommittal noise. “There is much to consider here. Both the shoe prints and the cane are most important to my mind. The shoe prints, because they are found at each crime scene.”

  “Not in the swamp,” Durbin countered.

  “Perhaps not there, this is true… but then again, given the nature of the terrain...”

  “Okay, so what are you saying?”

  “Find the owner of the shoes and you find the killer,” Fynn said simply. “The cane is another matter. It is missing at only one crime scene.”

  “One crime scene?” Durbin asked.

  “Yes, at Sunset Park. There was no trace of it, no mark.”

  “Also, no high heels.” Durbin commented.

  “As you say…”

  “What about at Doc Samuels’?” Durbin asked.

  “Also, no high heels.”

  “Funny, inspector. I meant the cane.”

  “Ah, but I believe the cane was there… there was a hamper full of walking sticks behind the basement door.”

  “Are you saying it’s gone now?”

  “Yes, Patrick and I searched for it yesterday to no avail.”

  “Holy shit, so we’re talking one killer here… for all these murders.”

  Fynn said nothing, but his expression seemed to agree with Durbin’s conclusion.

  “Patrick, I’m going to need your help on this.” The detective turned to me. “Can you search your archives and give me everyth
ing you’ve got on Lorraine Luis?”

  “Sure.”

  “Um, listen, don’t be offended. I have to ask you… I have to ask everyone: where were you last night, or in the early hours of this morning?”

  “Just routine, right?”

  “Yeah.” Durbin looked at both of us again.

  “I was home, asleep.”

  “Inspector?”

  “Ah yes, in my room at the hotel, also asleep…”

  ***

  “He has unfixed everything!” Fynn whispered sharply in my ear once Durbin was distracted.

  “Who?”

  “Mortimer.”

  “Have we gone back to the very first timeline?” I asked.

  “I am not completely sure,” Fynn gave a cautious reply. “Yet, you should be extremely vigilant. See if you can determine what has changed exactly.”

  “Like, back to the first two murdered girls…”

  “I’m counting eight now with poor Lucinda, and it seems as if Arantez has returned. I have reverted back to a consulting detective.”

  “Why would he kill them again? I mean, Clara and Deb… what’s the point?”

  “Most curious, I agree, and I cannot fathom his motives.” Fynn raised an eyebrow. “It is high time we made a list of suspects.”

  “Suspects?”

  “Of course. Who is posing as Mortimer and who is helping him at present. They are like our two jetties without names.”

  “Um… I’m sorry for doubting you before, I mean everything...”

  “Not at all… a natural reaction, though you can doubt me no longer, eh?”

  “I guess not.”

  “Did you notice her earrings?”

  “Whose?”

  “Our victim on the sculpture. She was wearing seashells, not dolphins. It’s not Lorraine. I’m sure it is Elaine.”

  “Her sister? How much of this timeline has changed then?” I asked.

  “This has nothing to do with a timeline…”

  “What do you mean?”

  “As I’ve said repeatedly, the person we met in Garysville was not Lorraine at all. It was Elaine.”

  “What?”

  “It seems obvious now. The question still remains why did she masquerade as her sister all these years?”

  I had to think about this, but something else came to mind. “I led him straight to her. This is my fault.”

  “No. You could not have prevented this.”

  Durbin caught up with us on the way down the hill. “We’re gonna have to refund a lot of tickets… Can you talk to Melissa about that?”

  “What, you think the Policeman’s Ball is a bad idea now?”

  “Funny, Patrick.” Durbin didn’t laugh. “Good PR, Arantez said.”

  “You mean a PR nightmare.”

  “Tell me about it. But I’m not the guy to argue with the chief.”

  “Yeah, how is the chief? Did he send you a post card?”

  “From Fairhaven?” Durbin laughed. “He’s riding my ass big time. This makes eight freaking murders…”

  “Arantez? He’s back?”

  “Back? I didn’t know he’d left.” Durbin laughed. “I wonder about you sometimes, Jardel.”

  “Where is he?”

  “Still in the hospital. He should be out tomorrow or the next day.”

  “The hospital?”

  “Don’t you even remember what you wrote?”

  “I think Joey must have covered that and put my byline on it.”

  “Really...” Durbin said disbelievingly. “Why, who wrote the story, Gary Sevens?”

  “Remind me.”

  “Hit by a foul ball, broke his clavicle… threw out the first pitch at little league opening day… and the kid whacked it.” Durbin stared at me. “How can you not remember writing this story?”

  “I do a lot of stories. Maybe Frank did that one.”

  “It’s about the funniest thing you ever wrote, Jardel.” Durbin smiled despite himself. “Not sure you meant it to be funny though.”

  “So… that makes you acting deputy chief, doesn’t it?”

  “Yeah, but it doesn’t mean you can call me Deputy Durbin.”

  “Right.” I paused. “When can I report this? My deadline is tomorrow.”

  “Don’t say anything for now. I’ll give you a call— okay?” Durbin walked to his car and reached in. He pulled out a black plastic bag and handed it to me. “You visited some weird sites, Patrick,” he said.

  I opened the bag and found my laptop. I probably turned bright red. I could feel myself blushing.

  “Still, you seem to be in the clear,” he said and added a squinty grin.

  ***

  “I have to head back to the office. Should I drop you off somewhere?”

  “Not at present.” Fynn gave me a weary look.

  “You want to get some coffee or something?”

  “Yes. I would like to sit and discuss our strategy.”

  “Strategy?”

  “We have some work ahead of us, I think. Suspects, clues, evidence…”

  “Okay, well, we do a have a couple of clues to go on.”

  “Such as?”

  “Seems to me, that all the messing around with the records is important.”

  “Indeed.”

  “Like, who got to our morgue? Who hacked into the Times archives?”

  “Very well, we should tackle these one by one, though it may be an entirely futile effort.”

  “I’m thinking the only records we can really trust are from Wilma in Fairhaven. She doesn’t let anyone near them without the right paperwork— and they are not computerized.”

  “As you say… This may be our salvation.”

  “Okay, I’ll go back there and see what’s up.”

  “And at your newspaper?”

  “Who trashed our morgue, you mean? I think that was in the last timeline. I already asked Miriam— she said nobody.”

  “And the Times?”

  “I’ll talk to Jack Leaning.”

  “Who could interfere with their computers? Who has such expertise that you know?”

  “That I know? Only Jason… or maybe Leaning himself…”

  “Hmm.”

  “Didn’t you meet Jack Leaning already? He did that profile on you a while back.”

  “No, that was only by telephone. Though he has been pestering me as of late. Perhaps, I’ll grant him another interview.”

  “Well, that’s about it… wait a second, what Annabel said…”

  “Annabel?”

  “Mrs Lovely, from the library. She described someone interested in the microfiche machine. What did she say? I’m trying to remember… He was tall, ‘a great hulking man with white hair and a beard…’ And she seemed to think he was familiar in some way.” I paused to smile. “Bingo. The same guy who was Samuels’ best friend.”

  “Yes. This is most interesting. Detective Durbin also mentions this man, Doctor Hackney the coroner. You’ve met him?”

  “No.”

  “He fits the general description as well.”

  “We should talk to her.”

  “Her?” he asked and looked at me. “Oh, you mean Mrs Lovely. I don’t suppose she’d even remember him at this juncture… though it is worth a conversation.”

  “Absolutely, especially since she called the police this morning.”

  “Then she will be our first interview.”

  chapter 28

  confirmations

  I left Fynn at the Cove Cafe and drove back to the office. It was probably less than a mile but it took me a good twenty minutes to get up Captain’s Way. Traffic was jammed already. It was another beach day for sure. Our parking lot was full too, but I didn’t recognize a single car. That was a bit alarming at first until I realized it was all just spillover from the Candle Factory and McMoo’s ice cream shop. Seemed a little too early for either. The office was abandoned, that is, no one was there yet. Oddly though, there was a fresh pot of coffee already made, creamer
and sugar too. I could learn to like this timeline. I spent the rest of the morning in the morgue and regretted it for the most part. The day was gorgeous and I should be out there enjoying it— maybe not. I guess that could wait for now. All the archives seemed to be back in order. The distant past also seemed very familiar:

  1975, Clara Hobbs, missing, no mention of Roxy though.

  1976, Debra Helling, missing, nothing about her Pontiac.

  1977, Elaine Luis, missing, and from the Sand City Police Blotter: a missing bike. Patrolman Arantez responded. Hector Diaz reported a stolen bicycle, a Schwinn 5-speed given to him on his fourteenth birthday by his mom and dad. Officer Arantez reminds all residents to lock their bikes whenever possible… Hector went on to say, “If you see anybody riding it, please let me know. It has big chrome fenders and it’s brand new.”

  I couldn’t exactly say nothing had changed. But despite Fynn’s distaste for the word timeline, it sure seemed as if we had reverted back to the original one, or picked up where it left off. In the present, though not identified: Clara Hobbs, dead at North Hollow. Debra Helling, dead on Boxtop Beach. Elaine Luis, dead at Sunset Park… Old Doc Samuels and the brutal killing of the two kennel girls, Alyson and Emma, the same. Lucinda, dumped in a swamp. And now, at least according to Durbin, Lorraine Luis, age 57, dead at Spooky Park. Surely the murders would end there.

  I also went through the last couple of months of Chronicle issues. The headlines were of some interest; it almost seemed like the timelines had combined or merged in some strange way, and rather selectively it might be said:

  3/15: Barefoot Killer Claims Third Victim

  3/22: Blue Dunes Hotel Seeks Third Floor

  3/29: Baxter Estates Expansion Plan Clears Hurdle

  4/5: Dutch Inspector to Help Fight Crime

  4/12: The Last Milkman

  4/19: Doctor Henry Samuels Found Dead

  The office was still empty when I came back downstairs, a good time to check my messages. The slew of voicemails also served to confirm my current view of reality:

  “Hi Mr Jardel, this is Anthony Williams, assistant editor for the Boulder Broadsheet. Could you get back to me ASAP? I’ve been reading your op eds… We sure could use a guy like you in these parts. I like your sensibility on progress versus preservation. That’s really what we’re all about here…”