Fifteen Times a Killer

by Alan McDermott

  When she reached her street, she saw a familiar vehicle parked on the road outside her home. Corrina swore, turned into her drive and shut off the engine. She was getting out of the car when Mike appeared by her side.

  “Making the most of being single again?” he slurred. She could smell beer on his breath, which meant he was risking a second DUI. His first had been five years earlier after a night out with his work friends. She thought he’d learned his lesson, but she’d clearly been wrong.

  Corrina brushed past him. “You’re drunk.”

  He took an exaggerated step backwards and almost lost his balance. “Whoa! No need for that. I’m just here to talk.”

  Corrina spun. “And what exactly do you want to talk about? Taking my son away from me?”

  Mike burped. A comical gesture at any other time, but Corrina was angry and tired, and she didn’t find it at all amusing.

  “What went wrong with us?” he asked. His right leg took a step to the side, then returned to its original position. Corrina hadn’t seen him this drunk in years.

  “Go home, Mike. And don’t drive. If you get in that car, I’m calling the cops.”

  “Yeah, that’s right. That’s your answer to everything. The cops. Wanna avoid spending time with your family? Say you’ve got an im…important case. Wanna spend a night with that Scottish prick? Say you gotta follow up a lead.”

  “Is that what this is about? McCrae? Christ, Mike, we’ve been through this a hundred times. There was never anything between us!”

  “You’re seeing him, aren’t you? Don’t deny it.”

  Corrina got in his face. “Nothing has ever happened between me and McCrae.”

  Lights flicked on in the neighboring houses, curious faces peering around curtains to watch the commotion.

  “And if something were to happen,” she continued, her voice lower but sharper, “it’s got nothing to do with you. You and I, we’re through. If I wanted to take him home and fuck his brains out, it would be none of your goddamn business!”

  “So you do have feelings for him.”

  Corrina knew she was wasting her time. Once Mike had an idea in his head, he wouldn’t let it go. It was bad enough when he was sober, but there was no reasoning with drunk Mike. She took out her phone. “You’ve got two choices. I can call you an Uber, or I can call the cops and you can explain how you got here. What will it be?”

  Mike looked confused, as if the options were too difficult to understand. While he contemplated the choices, Corrina walked to his car. As she’d expected, the keys were in the ignition. She took them out, locked the car and put them in her pocket, then ordered an Uber. The display said it would be there in four minutes.

  Mike was doing his one-legged dance again. It looked like someone had nailed his left foot to the ground. Corrina took hold of his arm and led him unsteadily to the sidewalk.

  “Where did we go wrong?” he repeated, swaying.

  “We did that already. Remember?”

  Mike thought about it, then grinned. “You and McCrae,” he chuckled and put his finger to the side of his nose and attempted a wink. “I know. I know everything.”

  “You know shit,” Corrina said softly.

  “Everything,” Mike repeated.

  Corrina let him have his fantasy. He burbled on until the Uber arrived. She got him buckled up in the back seat and put his car keys down the front of his T-shirt.

  “You owe me fifteen bucks for the ride, asshole.”

  She slammed the door and hit the roof of the Prius, waiting until it had turned the corner at the end of the street before heading inside and the bottle of wine that awaited her.

  Chapter 16

  Corrina decided to spend Sunday in the office. For one, she didn’t want to be home when Mike returned to pick up his car. She also wanted to get the early edition of the Telegraph to see what they’d made of the Fifteen-X story.

  It read much as it had when she’d checked through it the previous day. There were a couple of new embellishments, such as the police warning people to be vigilant. Corrina suspected they weren’t Jess’s work.

  The phones started ringing soon after she finished reading. With her name mentioned in the article, it seemed every reporter in the world wanted her version of the events. She gave the first few callers the number of the press office, which had been instructed to offer nothing more than the standard boilerplate responses. Then she put her desk phone on mute and ignored it for the rest of the day.

  Josh rolled in just after ten, surprising Corrina. She knew that, as the new guy, he was keen to show his value to the team. She just didn’t expect to see him on a Sunday.

  “Hey. You forget something?”

  “No. I just need to add a couple of tables to the database I created. I got two new sets late yesterday but had to be somewhere.”

  “Which ones?”

  “Owners of GMC Savana vans and current addresses from the DMV. Looks like about 350,000 sold in the last twenty years. I’m gonna pull out anyone living in the LA area.”

  “Good work. Let me know what you get.”

  She almost felt sorry for chewing him out the previous day. She’d pointed out that a junior reporter had come up with more information on Vincent Perry than he had, and her criticism must have stung. On the other hand, he was clearly trying to make amends, so perhaps it wasn’t a bad move on her part.

  Hopefully it would narrow down their search, but Corrina was still cautious. The killer had set false trails before. They couldn’t even be sure that the GMC van seen at the scene of the Diane Markland kidnapping belonged to Fifteen-X. It seemed highly likely, but not certain. Perhaps her disappearance was totally unrelated, in which case they wouldn’t be just chasing shadows, but the wrong shadows.

  She walked to the task force room and stared at the board, wondering what they knew for certain. They had the identities of all three victims, which had been confirmed by DNA samples, and the rounds he’d fired from his pistol.

  That was it.

  He might drive a GMC Savana. He might own a remote house with a basement. He might ride a bike. He might be male. Most of these were based on his written accounts of the killings, and they could all be fictitious, designed to throw the police off the scent.

  Her cell phone rang as she was studying the wall and she saw that it was McCrae.

  “Hey,” she said. “Any news?”

  “Well, we went back through the CCTV from the first grave and saw plenty of people on bikes, but the images aren’t good enough to identify them. Anything your end?”

  “Zip,” Corrina told him. “We ran the image of the blond-haired guy through facial recognition but got no hits. We’ve just got a data set of Savana owners that we’re gonna run against homeowners with detached properties sitting on more than five hundred square yards of land. It’s probably just another dead end, but we gotta try something.”

  “Maybe we should put our heads together. Feel like brunch?”

  The thought of spending an hour in his company was a lot more enticing than staring at a wall covered in pictures of long-dead bodies. “Sure,” she said, forcing herself to sound casual.

  “Okay. See you at Kate’s in half an hour.”

  The place he’d chosen was an Italian-style bistro, not too expensive but great food. Corrina went to tell Josh she was heading out for a while, but her cell rang again.

  It was Jess.

  Corrina answered, hoping it wasn’t anything that would force her to cancel her time with McCrae. “Hi. I was just heading out.”

  “He emailed me again,” Jess said. “A couple of minutes ago. Did it forward to you?”

  “Let me check.” Corrina ran to her desk and checked her email. There was a new message sitting in her inbox, and she clicked it open. “Yeah, I got it.”

  “Great. Meet you at those co-ordinates.”

  Before Corrina could object, Jess hung up. Knowing how strong-willed Jess was, there was no point calling her back. Instead, Corrina
phoned McCrae.

  “We’re gonna have to cancel brunch. Fifteen-X has sent chapter four. I’ll forward it to you.”

  “Where this time?”

  “Just a sec.” Corrina checked the email and entered ///skin.bland.global. “It’s in the Angeles Forest again, about two hundred yards south-east of Josephine Saddle.” She gave him the code. “I’m gonna read this while you get everyone mobilized. See you there in about ninety minutes?”

  “Okay, see you there.”

  Corrina sent the email on to McCrae, Josh and Hank, then printed off two copies as well as the attachment. She took them through to the task force room and pinned one copy of each to the wall, then sat down to read.

  Dear Jess,

  I can’t tell you how disappointed I was to read your version of my story. I chose you because I thought you’d tell it like it was, but no, you had to go all soft on me. People have to know why I did what I did. YOU need to know why I did what I did. Next time, tell it straight. If you don’t, I’ll find someone who will.

  Number four can be found at ///skin.bland.global.

  15X

  Corrina went to her desk and picked up the Telegraph. She took it back to the task force room and closed the door, not wanting to be disturbed.

  What didn’t he like?

  She read through Jess’s story, looking for something out of the ordinary. There was nothing. Jess had covered the timeline accurately, and none of the facts had been altered.

  “You had to go all soft on me.” What did he mean by that?

  The only emotional aspect of the story was Anthony Swanson’s love for his missing daughter. Was that it? Did Fifteen-X object to Jess interviewing the surviving relatives?

  I’m going to be sympathetic toward the families, despite their pasts. The words from her conversation with Jess the previous day leapt into her head. Corrina re-read that part of the story, the meeting with Anthony Swanson.

  Perhaps the greatest heartbreak is that while the victims are now at peace, for the relatives and friends, the pain will never stop. Anthony Swanson told me how much he loved his daughter. He’d never given up hope of finding her alive, yet it wasn’t to be. His torment will live with him forever, as I’m sure it will with all the other unwitting victims of this tragedy.

  Did the killer not like the fact that he’d hurt the relatives? Did that play on his conscience?

  Corrina went back to her desk and forwarded the killer’s email to the BAU along with her thoughts. It would be interesting to get their take on it, too. She then told Josh to check his emails.

  “Already got it,” he said, holding up a few pages. “I’m doing a search for the relatives as we speak.”

  “Good man. Remember, I want to know every detail, no matter how small.”

  “Microscope up the ass. Got it.”

  Corrina returned to the task force room and closed the door again. She picked up the printout of the fourth chapter with a sense of dread.

  * * *

  Chapter Four

  It was nice to get a woman again. Men tend to fight back. Women, not so much.

  Yeah, I know, I’m a misogynist. When the day of reckoning comes, that’ll be the least of my problems.

  This woman was called Jennifer Madden. She was fifteen when I took her, so maybe not quite a woman. She was getting there, though. Pert breasts, bushy pussy. I like them like that. I know a lot of women shave, but that’s not for me. As far as I’m concerned, a shaved pussy could only appeal to men who like fucking underage kids. It’s like men who screw women in the ass. What’s that all about? You wanna fuck someone in the ass, get a guy! Leave the women to us real men!

  Anyway, I digress.

  Jennifer was an easy take. I didn’t have to jump on her or surprise her, I just offered her what she was looking for.

  She was looking for liquor and drugs.

  Not what you’d expect from the only child in a God-fearing family? I know, right? The problem is, when a kid spends their entire life being told not to do this and not to do that, it just makes them wanna do it even more. I know, because I was just the same. My parents always warned me not to smoke, but when I was thirteen and a kid at school was handing out cigarettes, I just had to try one. There were about five of us, and we all lit up on the way home. I remember puking my guts up, but at least I tried it. The other four kept smoking all the way through high school, but not me.

  I think Jennifer must have gone through the same kind of thing, only once she tried liquor, she was hooked. I don’t know when she started. Maybe I should have asked her. It doesn’t really matter. I just knew what she liked so I planned to give it to her.

  She used to leave her house at about six most nights. She’d walk out with books in her hand, like she was going to study at a friend’s house, only before she did, she’d meet with a guy three streets over and he’d sell her what she wanted. Usually grass and a half bottle of vodka. The good stuff. She could afford it.

  All I needed to do was become the guy she went to for her fix, and that was easily done. I trailed her normal dealer for a few days until I found out where he lived. It wasn’t the ass-end of town, the kind of place the cops never went. No, he lived in a good neighborhood. He obviously only catered to the filthy rich, and he didn’t mind starting them young. I started following him instead of Jennifer. Wherever he went, she was sure to turn up eventually.

  I watched Eddie—that wasn’t his real name—for days, until I knew where to strike. It was a Sunday and he was going into his apartment block. It was one of those with the buzzer on the door. You have to enter your PIN number to enter, or have someone buzz you in. I was dressed nice that day, looking like I belonged in the building when I really didn’t. I stood about twenty yards from the door, and when I saw Eddie approaching, I jogged up. When he entered his PIN, I walked in after him.

  “Morning,” I said to him with a smile.

  Eddie nodded back but didn’t say anything. When he turned away from me, I pulled the metal pipe from inside my coat sleeve and whacked him on the back of the head. Boy, steel on bone makes a wicked sound. He collapsed, dazed, and I went through his pockets until I found his phone. I knew that Jennifer never called him, she always sent a text message telling him she was on her way. Only the next time she turned up, I’d be there, not Eddie.

  I dropped a picture on Eddie’s chest as he rolled around, mumbling to himself. “If you report this and the police come calling, I’ll give them all the other photos. Understand?”

  Eddie looked confused, so I held the picture close to his face so that he could see himself dishing out barbs or crack or whatever the hell it was to one of his rich and powerful clients. “No cops, or I tell them about your little drug business. Got it?”

  Eddie nodded, and it looked like it hurt him to do so. Good. Served the little shit right. If he wasn’t selling drugs to schoolgirls he wouldn’t be in this mess.

  “And no leaving the apartment today. I’ve got someone keeping an eye on it. If you leave before tomorrow morning, my collection goes to the police.”

  Eddie touched the back of his head and his fingers came back bloody. He murmured something that sounded like “okay.” I checked his phone and it didn’t have a lock PIN. That was good.

  I left him on the floor and walked out of the building. The subway was just a couple of blocks away, and I managed to get five stations without anyone arresting me. So far, so good.

  All I had to do now was wait. While I did, I checked through Eddie’s phone messages. There were a lot from Jennifer, though it looked like Eddie called her J-Bear. The timing of the messages matched Jennifer’s meetings with him, so I knew I had the right contact. I just had to wait for her to get in touch, which she always did on a Sunday.

  Two hours later, her message came through. She wanted a full bottle of Grey Goose this time, plus two bags of weed. Must be a party somewhere, I thought. I wouldn’t be invited, so I’d have one of my own. As Eddie would have done, I sent her a reply, th
en drove to where she normally met him.

  I got there about 5 minutes before she showed. She was still cradling her books like she always did. Up close, they looked like they’d never been opened.

  “Hi, J-bear,” I said.

  Jennifer didn’t look pleased to see me.

  “Where’s Eddie?” she asked

  “Sick. Asked me to cover for him.” I held up the Grey Goose I’d bought. A hundred bucks for a bottle of fucking liquor! No wonder this country’s going to shit. Rich folk paying more for a bottle of booze than most people can afford for car payments. “I got what you asked for.”

  She started getting money from her pretty Gucci purse, but I put a stop to that. “Not out in public,” I told her. “Too many eyes. I can’t go down again, it’ll be three strikes. Get in, we’ll drive around the corner.”

  She didn’t seem happy with the idea, so I played to her weakness. “Or you can just wait until Eddie’s better. He should be up and around in about three days.”

  I knew she wasn’t going to wait for her fix, and I was right. She got in next to me and I set off. As I drove, she took a wad of notes from her purse and handed it over. I put it in my pocket and handed her the vodka, smiling.

  We got to an intersection and I looked over to the right, past her pretty little face. “Shit! Cops!”

  Jennifer looked right as well, and I stuck my stun gun in her ribs and gave her a good blast. She jerked up straight, a look of surprise on her face. I kept it going while I pulled the top off the needle with my teeth and stuck it in her leg. Even then, I kept my finger on the trigger. She was young, she could handle it. I let go after about thirty seconds. She flopped, but wasn’t out, so I grabbed her hair and pulled her head into my crotch. I bet it wasn’t the first time it had been in that position. I held her down as I drove one-handed. She struggled a bit, but the stun gun had taken a lot out of her.

  Eventually she went limp, and I was able to concentrate on driving carefully at the speed limit. Wouldn’t be good to be caught with an unconscious, underage girl in my van, would it?

  Two hours later, she was strapped to my special table, naked as the day she was born.