Moment of Doubt

by Sara Gauldin

  “Someone wanted to stop the bleeding?” Genevieve asked.

  I swallowed hard and tried to block out the image forming in my mind. It was no use. “Is it possible that someone was trying to prolong the man’s life for the sake of the torture?”

  Dr. Sanchez nodded. “Yes, stopping the blood flow would have prolonged his life, assuming that’s what killed him.”

  “So, it’s possible they tortured this man for the sake of torture…” Genevieve said.

  “Or for information….” I finished her thought.

  “May we see the other body?” Genevieve asked.

  “Yes. I don’t think she lasted very long. The carotid artery was severed. She bled out quickly.” Dr. Sanchez grabbed the handle of the next refrigerated locker.

  I braced myself. There could be no happy memories of Dana now. Things had to be clinical and informative. I was here to stop a killer. For all I knew, the person or people responsible for this sadistic ending was still out there torturing, killing, or planning and stalking the next victim. Time was everything… until I looked into the face of the person who was once my best friend, lying on a slab in the morgue, carved up like some art fair gone awry.

  “She has less peeling than the male victim.” Genevieve pointed out. And it was true. Dana’s body was more intact than the other victim, but that did not mean they left her unaltered. Intricate cuts laced their way up each severed leg. There was a bruised mark at each thigh, the mark where a tourniquet once was before the legs were removed from her body.

  “Were the bodies dismembered before or after death?” I asked.

  “That was all post mortem,” Dr. Sanchez said.

  I allowed myself a small sigh of relief. Dana was not less dead. A permanent grimace of pain was etched on her face that once wore a smile every single day. But at least she didn’t suffer through some civil war reenactment of amputation while she was still alive to feel it.

  Chapter 7

  Genevieve’s boots echoed down the hospital corridor, as we made our way away from the morgue. “So, what we have is a sadistic freak that is carving people up and then dismembering them. What we need to know is why.”

  I took a deep breath trying to clear the image of my friend’s murdered corpse from my mind. I had to stay objective. I owed her that much. “With this kind of behavior, I don’t think we’ll ever know why.” I held open the door to the parking lot area.

  Genevieve rushed past me. “No, you’re right. But something triggered this. No sane person just wakes up one day and does something like this.”

  “No, but all of it must mean something to whoever did this.”

  “Someone put a lot of effort into those carvings.” Genevieve pushed the unlock button for her car and climbed in.

  “Yes, and some of them were very detailed shapes of trees and patterns.” I had to allow the images back into my mind. I cringed and climbed into the passenger seat of the cruiser.

  Genevieve cranked the engine. We headed out of the parking lot and onto the street. “Detailed carvings. What kind of person would have the skills for those kinds of carvings?”

  I considered her question. “Somebody with excellent fine motor skills.”

  “That doesn’t narrow it down as much as I would like.” Genevieve sped up, merging into traffic.

  I couldn’t push the memory of the flayed flesh out of my mind. “This will sound wrong, but the way the skin was removed in places was almost artistic. Whoever did this wasn’t just slashing for torture; they were interested in the aesthetics.”

  I flipped open Dr. Sanchez’s reports, bypassing the pictures. “All right, the doctor collected some impressions from the saw marks on the bones. We should be able to identify the saw blade if we find something to compare it to.”

  She scowled. “That’s something, but first we have to find that saw.”

  “True.”

  Genevieve tapped on the console and scowled. “We don’t have enough to go on yet.”

  I shook my head. “The lab may come back with more information. In the meantime, we can try to track the victims’ last moments and find another piece of the puzzle.”

  “Hopefully, we can find that trail in the information they have at the precinct.”

  “Yes, at least we could find another angle to investigate. What do you know about Dana?”

  “She joined the military, the Navy, and served for three years. It wasn’t for her, so she finished her tour of duty and didn’t reenlist. She was married for a while. I never met the guy, but it only lasted for a year or two.”

  “Anything else?”

  “I haven’t heard from her much over the last few years. I was putting all of my energy into my career and she was… doing her own thing.” A wave of guilt hit me. I should have known this part. She was there for me when I needed her, and I was the one who couldn’t follow through.

  “We have to talk to everyone who was part of her life. We need to know her routine and anything that changed recently. That way we have a better chance of finding out if this was somebody she knew, or if she was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

  “I agree. Her mom still lives in town. I’d like to talk to her. Maybe she’ll be less guarded if I’m the one asking questions.”

  “I think you’re right. You should be the one to interview the family members if you already have a relationship with them.”

  I nodded. “I’ll talk to her mother. I don’t think I ever met her dad. He traveled for work.”

  ***

  “Oh, Avery. It’s so good of you to come.” Ms. Yeaman wrapped me in a hug that lasted much longer than I was ready for. When she pulled away, she wiped away a tear that had betrayed the crack in her cheerful greeting.

  “Thank you for agreeing to see me on such short notice.” I tried to give a reassuring smile. “This is special agent Genevieve Richards from the FBI.” I gestured toward Genevieve.

  “The FBI?” Ms. Yeaman’s eyes widened.

  “Yes. I’m here to help find out what happened to Dana.”

  Ms. Yeaman waved us into the other living room. “I want whoever did this to Dana to come to justice.” She sat down on the couch.

  Genevieve took a seat on a chair nearby, and I took the hint to sit next to the woman who once cooked me Sunday morning breakfast most weeks.

  “Ms. Yeaman, when was the last time you saw your daughter?”

  “She and I went out to lunch the day before she disappeared. That was on a Saturday.”

  “What was the date?” asked Genevieve.

  “It was November seventh.”

  “Was it just the two of you?” I asked.

  Ms. Yeaman flushed red. “Well, yes.”

  I wondered why she was suddenly so red. The question had struck a nerve.

  “Was there a special occasion?” Genevieve passed Ms. Yeaman a tissue.

  “Oh, no, well, not really.” She rubbed her eyes with the tissue.

  “Did Dana seem normal at lunch?” I asked.

  “She was the same as always: all smiles.”

  I glanced at the family portrait hanging on the living room wall. Dana smiled down from the picture, her white teeth and almond-shaped eyes were lovely as always. She was a far cry from the decimated remains I had looked at on the slab earlier. “What about her job? Were things going well for her there?”

  Ms. Yeaman shook her head. “Dana’s been at Haven Outreach for a few years now. She liked it. Working at a nonprofit made her feel like she could make a difference.”

  “That sounds like it suited her. Did she spend any time with anyone from work outside of work?”

  “Well, she went out with one young man a few times after her divorce. I was glad she was getting back out there.”

  “We’ll need the man’s name she was dating.” Genevieve readied her pen over the notepad on her knee.

  “I wish I could tell you. If I knew, I would. But you have to understand, Dana was a very private person. She was afraid that the fa
mily thought badly of her after her marriage… well, she didn’t want me to meddle.”

  Genevieve shot me a look, and I knew we would stop by Haven Outreach where Dana had worked in the immediate future. “What about her ex-husband? Is he still in town?”

  “I don’t know. Paul was planning on moving when the papers were signed. Things were unpleasant between the two of them. None of it ended well. The last I heard, he bought a motorcycle, and he had some eighteen-year-old girl riding around with him all over the place. They showed up at Dana's house. She had to take out a restraining order.”

  Genevieve nodded. She already knew about the order. “Had Dana mentioned him?”

  Ms. Yeaman wrung her hands, as she considered the question. “No, it has been a while since his name came up. I was hoping they were free of each other. Dana was a good girl. She worked hard, and she deserved better than the guys she seemed to end up with.”

  “What about friends?” I asked. I felt awkward, asking a former friend's mother about her current friends.

  “Not really. There were a few ladies from work that she would go out with from time to time. She worked most of the time.”

  I smiled. “I understand that. I went through a stage like that myself.”

  “I heard about that, Avery. Your father was so proud of you, making detective. It surprised me to hear you were back in town.”

  “Oh, why is that?” I asked.

  “I didn’t realize you were still doing police work.”

  A strange twist in my stomach made me feel uncomfortable. How did Ms. Yeaman know anything new about my career? My dad hadn’t lived in the town for several years.

  “One more question, Ms. Yeaman.” Genevieve gave Ms. Yeaman a look of sympathy, as the woman dabbed her eyes with a tissue. “Did your daughter ever mention Jeffery Ellis?”

  “Jeffery Ellis? No, that name doesn’t sound familiar. Do you think he has something to do with Dana’s murder?”

  “It is too early to know the answer to that question. We just need to know if there is any connection between the two of them,” Genevieve said

  Ms. Yeaman blew her nose. “I’ll keep it in mind, but I don’t remember Dana ever mentioning him.”

  “Thank you for your time. I know it’s not an easy topic.” Genevieve stood to leave.

  “I have one other question. This one’s a little strange. Did Dana ever mention knowing anyone who was artistically talented?” I asked.

  “Well, I seem to recall you could draw, Avery.”

  I smiled. “Well, I like to doodle. But I was talking about more detailed art, possibly sculpting or whittling.”

  “I… I can’t think of anyone.”

  “All right. It’s all right. I know this isn’t easy.” I allowed Ms. Yeaman to pull me into an awkward hug.

  “Your parents must be so proud of you,” she mumbled in my ear.

  The hair on the back of my neck stood up. “Thanks.” I thought of the woman who could have been my mother’s clone who showed up when everything was on the line with the George family and then disappeared as quickly as she’d appeared.

  It was a slip of Ms. Yeaman’s memory, I told myself. She couldn’t know anything like that, and I was certain she had attended my mother’s funeral. I could remember her laying a purple flower on her closed casket.

  I took a deep breath to clear my thoughts and allowed Ms. Yeaman to walk us to the door.

  Genevieve handed Ms. Yeaman a business card. “Call us if you hear from any of Dana's former gentleman friends, or if you remember anything about the days and weeks leading up to Dana’s death, even if it doesn't seem important. Sometimes, it’s the tiny details that make all the difference.”

  Ms. Yeaman nodded. “I will. And Avery, dear, don’t be a stranger. It will be quiet around here now.”

  “I’ll be glad to visit.” But I wasn’t sure what I could say to change any of this, except to tell her we found her daughter’s killer, and there was work to do before that could happen.

  Chapter 8

  I climbed into the car with all that Ms. Yeaman had said running through my head.

  Genevieve started the engine. “Well, we have an ex-husband and an absentee boyfriend to check out.”

  “Yes, but first we need to check out whoever is driving that car.” Keeping my hand low, I pointed at a silver sedan down the block as it pulled out and made its way toward us.

  “That car? Why?” Genevieve asked.

  “Because that car was at the hospital, too.”

  Genevieve flipped on the patrol lights, signaling our vehicle was police issued. “Well, they know we spotted them now, so I guess we better see who this is.”

  The car signaled and turned on the block, moving away from us. As soon as they went around the corner, I could see them speed up down the street. “They don’t seem to want to be part of a traffic stop.”

  Genevieve gripped the steering wheel as she focused on the car. “Or they didn’t notice the lights. If they were already turning.”

  I was barely listening. I was squinting to make out the plates from a distance and readying my weapon for action, as we went around the corner. The car was already a block ahead, and I felt the engine rev as Genevieve kicked into the gas to close the distance. “Can you make the plate?”

  “Not yet, we have to get a little closer.” I craned toward the windshield.

  “Whoever this is, those are some dark widows.”

  I watched as the car swerved slightly. “Too dark. I have a terrible feeling about this.”

  Genevieve wasn’t listening. She was already radioing in for backup.

  “Look out!” I said.

  A man stood up from the sunroof with a black gun pointing back at us. Genevieve hit the brakes and swerved to the right. At the same moment, the seatbelt caught me. I heard the bullet’s loud thumps as they sprayed the front of the car. The windshield was pitted, but the bulletproof glass held. Genevieve swerved in an attempt to dodge the line of fire. Our car careened over toward the ditch, and we came to an undignified stop as the silver car sped away, the shooter safely tucked inside.

  I looked at the bullet-pocked glass for a fleeting moment with gratitude before drawing my gun. But it was too late. The sedan swerved around a corner and out of sight. I grabbed the radio while Genevieve tried to get the vehicle back on the road. “This is Unit 776 FBI. We are a quarter-mile from the intersection of Cliff and Maple. We have taken fire. The vehicle is damaged. We are in pursuit of a silver sedan. License plates… F or TIK the numbers are unknown. The car has tinted windows; a white man with dark hair wearing sunglasses is a passenger. Be advised, the suspects are armed and dangerous.”

  Genevieve revved the engine as she attempted to free the car from the ditch. After two attempts she managed to rock the SUV back on to the road and we were in pursuit once again.

  I hung up the radio and braced myself as we made the same turn the sedan had made, much too fast. The car fishtailed, but Genevieve straightened it without hesitation, and we went down the narrow city street with lights and sirens on and no car in sight.

  We could hear other units responding and the search for the would-be cop killers beginning to unfold. But there was no sign of the car.

  Genevieve’s knuckles were white on the wheel. “They disappeared. They have to be local.”

  “I doubt they went far.” I tried to look down each street as we passed them.

  The radio blared back to life. “All units, be advised, we have confirmation of a silver sedan headed south on Third Avenue.” Another voice chimed in. “This is unit 115. We have eyes on the sedan and are in pursuit.”

  “Where, Avery? Which way?” The vein in Genevieve’s neck bulged. I realized that she was about to boil over.

  “Turn left. We’re about three blocks over. Then turn right.”

  I held on to the grip on the ceiling while Genevieve whipped around the corner. Part of me hoped the locals already had the perps in cuffs before Genevieve got to them. I d
oubted her usual civil attitude was up to the task.

  We didn't make it to the second turn before we spotted the flickering of police lights up ahead. As we pulled up, four uniformed officers surrounded the silver sedan with guns drawn. The window rolled down, and two bangled hands reached out the window in surrender.

  Genevieve was already out of the car and headed to the suspect before I unfastened my seat belt.

  The suspect stepped out of the car and my jaw dropped. The woman was likely in her eighties. Her hair was styled in silver-blue curls covering her head like a hat, and she wore a tropical print top and neon pink pants. “No, way. There’s just no way.” I looked at the car, and from what I could tell, it was the same one.

  “I don’t understand. Was I speeding?” the lady whined as they patted her down.

  The officers searched the car, but there was no sign of the shooter or any kind of weapon. “It’s clear!” one officer yelled.

  “There must be some mistake,” the lady complained. Her hot-pink lipstick had rubbed off on her teeth, and she stood with her hands raised like the butt of a bad joke.

  There was a mistake, or at least there was some kind of trick here. I ran my hand through my hair and pushed it behind my ears. “We need to speak with that lady.”

  Genevieve scowled as she glared at the woman, who was old enough to be my grandmother. “Something isn't right about this. I’m not buying it.”

  “I agree, but whoever the shooter was, he’s in the wind now. And I bet this lady knows something.”

  Genevieve fished out her FBI badge and tromped over to the car where they were questioning the woman. “FBI, Genevieve Richards. I need a moment with this suspect.”

  “Suspect? You must be mistaken. This is all just a misunderstanding. You don’t think I was involved in a shooting?” the old lady protested.

  “Who mentioned a shooting?” I glared at the woman who knew too much.

  Genevieve went nose to nose with the suspect. “Well, a GSR swab will tell us if you fired a weapon. But that won’t answer the real question. Where is the man who was shooting from your sunroof?”