Fifteen Times a Killer

by Alan McDermott

  Jess put her shoes back on and trudged forward. She reached the foot of the hill and peered at the crest, then checked her phone once more, hoping the marked square had moved. It still lay dead ahead. She swore at nothing in particular, then began her ascent.

  She stopped after thirty yards, leaning against a rain-starved tree as she fought to catch her breath. Her chest heaved, her vision blurred.

  How did I get like this?

  There had been a time when she could walk at least a couple of miles and not break a sweat, but years of soft living since leaving home had taken their toll.

  After vowing to buy herself an exercise bike the moment she got home, Jess set off once more, one eye on the app with the other watching out for obstacles in her path.

  It took half an hour under the blazing sun before she reached the plateau, and Jess was ready to drop. She collapsed onto a log, and as she waited to get her breathing under control, she looked around.

  There was no dead body, but then she hadn’t really expected one. Joanne had been killed nine years earlier, so unless he’d kept her in the freezer all this time, she must be in the ground. If he’d just dumped the body, wild animals would have picked it clean by now.

  Jess got up and started to look for signs of disturbed soil, but again came up empty. What she did find were two crossed sticks lying on the ground. Standing over them and checking her app again, she saw that she was in the right place.

  Now she had a dilemma: start digging and possibly destroy any evidence that the killer might have left, or call the police and let them know that she’d received the letter? She realized that either way, the police would have to know that the killer had been in contact with her. If she decided to dig and found Joanne Perry, she would have to tell the police how she came to know the body was there. If she just called and told them about the killer’s letter and manuscript, they might not believe her.

  She settled on the latter choice, and if the police didn’t believe her, she’d come back and start digging. Jess then chided herself for not thinking of it earlier, before she’d subjected herself to the mammoth trek.

  She took a few pictures of the crossed sticks on her phone, then turned to leave.

  And found herself staring down the barrel of a gun.

  * * *

  “Yeah, it does sound like he’s not finished yet.”

  McCrae had just finished reading the latest chapter. He’d hoped that he’d be dealing with fifteen cold cases, but the last line of chapter two suggested the killer was still active.

  “In a way, I kind of hope he’s not,” Corrina said as she began the climb up the hill.

  “You do?”

  “Don’t get me wrong, I’d hate to see another woman die, but we’d have a much better chance of catching this guy if we had a fresh body to work with.”

  McCrae had to agree with the logic. Most murderers were caught within the first forty-eight hours, whereas cold cases tended to remain unsolved, unless DNA found at the scene happened to match a suspect years later.

  “I see your point,” he said. “Maybe you could send a BOLO to all offices asking them to keep a lookout for disappearances. It would be good to be in on the investigations from the start.”

  “We have a process called setting a lead,” Corrina told him, “but it wouldn’t cover the blanket description of missing persons. I could ask them to report non-runaway women of a certain age, or mysterious disappearances of Caucasian women, that sort of thing, but even then it probably wouldn’t get through office review. My boss isn’t going to sign it off unless we can narrow it down. So far, we’ve got a teenage blonde and a 43-year-old brunette. Not really fitting one profile at the moment. If we can find a link between the women, something that made the killer choose them both, we might have a chance.”

  They both knew that wasn’t going to be easy. The two victims so far—if Joanne Perry was in fact the second—had nothing in common. Well, there was one thing, according to the killer’s manuscript.

  “Maybe it’s the money,” McCrae suggested. “Kerry was spoiled by her father, and chapter two said Joanne hadn’t worked in years. Could that be what links them?”

  Corrina halted her ascent and looked back at him. “Could be. I’ve got my team looking into the backgrounds of the families as we speak. Hopefully there are some similarities we can concentrate on.”

  Corrina resumed her climb, and McCrae couldn’t take his eyes off her figure. The tight trousers accentuated her perfect body, one he’d admired for such a long time.

  Over the years, he’d thought many times about making a move, but two things had always stopped him: his wife, and Corrina’s husband. McCrae had met Mike a few times, and he seemed a decent guy. Good looking, steady job, always talking about his plans for his son. Mike coached the kid in Little League, and the dream was to see Connor go all the way to the majors. There was no way McCrae was going to split up such a tight unit just to get laid.

  His own marriage wasn’t as strong as he’d led Corrina to believe, though it wasn’t from lack of trying. He’d met Jean at a bar eight years earlier. McCrae had been a probationer with the LAPD, Jean a college student taking her associate’s degree in nursing. The attraction had been instantaneous and mutual, and they did a lot more than kiss on the first date.

  McCrae treated Jean like a princess from the get-go, but he now realized that had been a huge mistake. The more he gave her, the more she expected. It started off with little things, like the new handbag she’d had her eye on, and the little yappy Shih Tzu dog. McCrae had wanted a Labrador or a golden retriever, but he’d given Jean her wish.

  Then it was the washing machine that let you add clothes after the wash had started. There was nothing wrong with the old appliance, but she just had to have the upgraded version. He’d probably seen her use the new feature twice in the three years they’d had it.

  At the time, they seemed like little things. Costly, but insignificant when he considered her happiness.

  The wedding two years into their relationship had cost an arm and a leg. He’d never imagined that he’d start out his married life twenty-five grand in debt, but that’s what the ceremony, reception and honeymoon had cost. At the time, it didn’t bother him. It was what Jean wanted, and her happiness was everything.

  But as time wore on, the demands grew in scale. She desperately needed a newer car, even though the five-year-old Camry ran fine. It was functional, but it just wasn’t the BMW she had her heart set on.

  Then came the kitchen remodeling. He’d never known a woman who spent less time cooking. McCrae prepared most of their meals when they didn’t go out to dinner, but Jean just had to have the latest design with the integrated oven and the granite work surface.

  McCrae told her she couldn’t have it. They simply couldn’t afford it. With the bank loans, the maxed-out credit cards and the car payments, there was nothing left at the end of the month. She now wanted to add thirty grand to the debt pile to remodel a room she hardly ever used.

  That hadn’t gone down well. Over the six months since he’d put his foot down, their relationship had been on a downward trajectory. He’d tried to make it up to Jean, but everything he did was thrown back in his face. “We haven’t got the money, remember?” That was her favorite taunt when he wanted to do something nice for her. Go out for a fancy meal, or a romantic weekend away.

  She’d started spending nights away from home, sleeping at her mother’s house after her shift at the hospital. At first McCrae had thought she’d found another man, but after tailing her a couple of times, he discovered that she was indeed staying with her family.

  That didn’t make it sit any easier with him.

  He suggested couples’ therapy, but Jean wasn’t interested. As far as she was concerned, nothing was going to restore the love they had. Too much time had passed. Her feelings for him had changed.

  McCrae was inclined to agree with her. The happy, bubbly woman he’d met all those years ago was gone. All
that was left was a crabby, resentful husk.

  His marriage was over.

  If he was honest with himself, they were never a great fit. Sure, she’d been hot. Not super-model hot, but she had a mysterious look and a seductive smile. She wore her black hair cut over one eye, and she had a habit of tilting her head slightly when she spoke. Just thinking of her stirred something within him, but only briefly. Looks apart, there was nothing attractive about her. She didn’t share any of his interests, and so conversations were one-sided. She talked, and McCrae listened.

  Looking back, he realized that the only thing they had in common was alcohol and sex. McCrae would have a couple of beers twice a week, maybe more when the game was on, while Jean often got through five bottles of wine a week. The times spent in bed were probably the only moments they were doing something together that they both enjoyed, and even that had grown stale over the years.

  Not that McCrae would share any of this with Corrina. He hadn’t told anyone, not his colleagues, his friends, even his own parents. He wasn’t looking for sympathy, and certainly not a rebound romance with a married woman.

  “You coming?” Corrina asked.

  McCrae looked up at her and saw that she’d got a head start on him. “Aye, I was just… yeah.”

  “You okay?”

  “Fine. Just remembered something I had to do, that’s all.”

  Corrina nodded and continued up the hill. McCrae set off after her, glad that she hadn’t pushed him for an explanation. Jean would have badgered him for hours, but not Corrina. She was the best partner he’d ever had, always on the same wavelength and damn good at her job.

  He’d been heartbroken when she’d told him she was joining the Bureau.

  Corrina stopped. She crouched down and put a hand up for McCrae to do the same. He stooped over and eased closer to her.

  “What is it?” he whispered.

  Corrina pointed, and McCrae saw the unnatural red outline between the trees. He drew his service-issue Beretta 92FS, and saw that Corrina had drawn her weapon, as well.

  He took the lead. Corrina seemed to read his mind and moved left, leaving him to take the direct route to whoever was at the crime scene. Spreading out would make it harder for the mystery figure to take them both down.

  McCrae waited for Corrina to get into position, then stood up and moved forward with his sights on the red target. He maneuvered around a tree and saw the long flowing ginger hair of a woman. But he wasn’t about to let his guard down just because he was facing a female. As he closed on her he could see that she was taking pictures of the ground with a cell phone. When he got to within twenty feet, she turned to face him.

  The shock on her face was almost comical.

  “LAPD. Hands in the air, nice and slow.”

  The woman didn’t move.

  “Do as he says,” Corrina shouted, and the woman’s head snapped to the side to see where the second voice had come from.

  Slowly, she raised her hands, arms trembling like branches in a hurricane.

  Corrina approached her, weapon raised, and instructed the woman to turn around. She did, and Corrina snapped the handcuffs into place.

  “What’s your name, and what are you doing here?” McCrae asked.

  “J…Jess. Jess…Duffey. I’m a reporter.”

  “That’s not what he asked,” Corrina said.

  Jess paused, looking conflicted. McCrae expected a lie.

  “I got a letter. Delivered to the newsroom. It said there was a body here.”

  McCrae looked at Corrina. The last thing they wanted was the story splashed across the front pages. Whenever that happened, the police and FBI got flooded with crank calls from the intellectually challenged claiming to be the killer. If it helped the investigation, then perhaps some aspects of the case could be leaked to the press in the hope that the general public might be able to help. In cold cases, though, that was rarely the case.

  Now, it seemed that decision was out of their hands. If this reporter didn’t go to press with his story, another one would.

  “Where’s your ID?” Corrina asked as she patted the woman down.

  “Over there,” Jess gestured with her head, “on the log.”

  Corrina fetched the large purse, and McCrae watched his ex-partner root through the contents.

  “Why didn’t you go straight to the police when you received this?” Corrina asked, holding up a manila envelope.

  “I didn’t know if it was just a hoax,” Jess said. She seemed to have regained some of her composure, probably because she realized she wasn’t about to get whacked.

  “So, you decided to trample all over a crime scene instead.” McCrae said as he holstered his handgun.

  “I told you, I didn’t know if it was real. I thought I’d come up and check it out. If I found anything, I would have called you.”

  “And what did you find?” Corrina asked her.

  “Just those.” Jess pointed to two crossed sticks. The bark had been stripped off, just like the two marking Kerry Swanson’s grave.

  Corrina took Jess by the arm and led her away from the cross on the ground. When they reached McCrae, Corrina removed the handcuffs.

  Jess rubbed her wrists. “Can I have my things back?” she asked, holding out her hand.

  “I don’t think so. This is evidence. You’re lucky I’m not arresting you for withholding it.”

  “I told you, I was—”

  “You wanted to check first,” Corrina interrupted. “Well, that didn’t work out too well, did it? You’ve compromised a crime scene and probably destroyed what little evidence there was.”

  “Why? Did you find any at Kerry’s grave?”

  McCrae realized that Jess was over the initial shock at being held at gunpoint and was now back in full reporter mode. “No comment,” he said.

  “Do I at least get your names?” Jess pressed.

  “No, but you can tell me why Lehane gave you this assignment,” Corrina said. “I’ve dealt with the Telegraph a few times, but I’ve never heard of you.”

  “Yeah, how come Claire McMillan isn’t working this?” McCrae added. That was one reporter you never forgot.

  Jess swallowed, and McCrae knew he’d touched a nerve.

  “Maybe I should call Lehane,” he said, and he took out his phone.

  “No,” Jess said, a little too forcefully for McCrae’s liking.

  “Then explain yourself,” he said, his thumb hovering over the screen.

  Jess’s head slumped. “He doesn’t know.”

  “What do you mean, he doesn’t know?”

  Jess threw her hands up, exasperated. “I didn’t tell him, okay? I knew that if I did, he’d give it to Claire or Sam Harkness and I’d be stuck doing grocery store robberies and burglaries. The letter was addressed to me, and I came here as soon as I read it. I thought that if I wrote a piece and presented the story to Lehane, he’d have to let me run with it.” The passion drained from her as quickly as it had arrived. “Are you going to tell him?”

  McCrae looked at Corrina, who stepped in.

  “No,” she said, “we won’t say a word.”

  Jess perked up, but Corrina immediately burst her bubble. “On one condition. You sit on the story until I give you the go-ahead.”

  “What? But…when will that be? Days? Months? What if someone else breaks it first?”

  “That won’t happen,” Corrina said. “If anyone asks about the investigation, we’ll offer no comment. You’ll get primary access, but you have to work with us on this. If you go to print before I say so, I’ll cut you out of the loop. Got it?”

  Jess appeared to weigh up her options before realizing she had none. “I got it,” she huffed.

  “Good.” Corrina gave Jess her card and asked for her cell number in return. With the exchange done, Corrina told Jess she was free to go.

  “But I need the letter to start writing the story.”

  Corrina tapped the envelope against her thigh as she considered the
request, then handed it over. “You’ve got ten minutes. Make some notes, then I want it back.”

  Jess grabbed it and ran over to the log, where she fished out a pen and notepad and began scribbling furiously.

  “Think that’s wise?” McCrae whispered to Corrina. “What if she changes her mind and prints it?”

  “She won’t. She’s hungry. If she goes to Lehane, he’ll give it to someone else. Her only chance is to work with us.”

  McCrae didn’t like the press at the best of times, but trusting a reporter he’d never dealt with before with didn’t sit well with him.

  “I hope you’re right.”

  McCrae called Alistair Birch to tell him he was in for another long night.

  * * *

  There you are.

  He watched through the high-power lens as the three people stood around Joanne Perry’s grave. Even though he was over a mile away, it felt like he was standing among them, like he could reach out and touch them…

  He wouldn’t have to wait long to do that. It was almost time. Not quite, but almost. It was so close he could feel it, taste it.

  His only regret was that he had to get them involved so soon, but it had to happen at some point. When Miriam Crane died, he’d had no option but to go public. If he didn’t, they wouldn’t know. And they had to know. They had to feel his pain.

  Miriam Crane had got off lightly.

  She had escaped his wrath.

  She would have felt pain before she passed away, but not enough.

  The others would know.

  Chapter 9

  Jess didn’t get much more from the cop and the FBI agent. She discovered their names and where they were stationed, but that was about it. They rebuffed her with “no comment” when she dug for details of what they knew so far. When the field investigation unit turned up, she was shepherded aside to watch from a distance. McCrae warned her not to try to get information from the forensics team, or the deal was off and she’d be arrested for obstructing justice.