Captain Harrison seemed skeptical. “Why is that so telling? I mean we knew this wasn’t King to begin with, right?”
“We did. I put three bullets in him myself and witnessed the cremation. But this isn’t about King. The choice of victims tells us the person we are looking for is inexperienced. Two victims with such close ties to one another severely restricts the suspect pool, compared to complete strangers who could have been in contact with anyone at random. This changes the game. And gives us our first glimpse of the light up ahead.” Booker looked reassuringly at the captain. “We will stop this person, count on it.”
As if to show that their meeting had come to an end, Booker began walking to the parking lot. “Come on, lots to do. Keep up, Rime.”
“We haven’t checked for weapons and other clues.” She bellowed. “I hate this guy,” she whispered to the captain, who grinned in response.
“He wasn’t killed here. Not enough blood. Catch up, Detective.” He never looked back, just kept walking towards his car, the tap of the cane echoing on the blacktop.
“He’s right, you know. There isn’t nearly enough blood for the butchering that took place. It definitely didn’t happen here.” Grace added as she took off her gloves and stood to shake her head at Sarah.
“I know he’s right.” Sarah began stomping off. “But I still hate him for it.”
♦♦♦
An hour later, Booker walked into a classroom filled with the robust smell of fresh coffee. It was six thirty, but surprisingly, he wasn’t the first one there. The lights and coffee alerted him which student had arrived far before his eyes laid on the short old man in the wool cap and flannel shirt. Ski turned and stuck a mug of coffee in the professor’s hand. “Ski! You read my mind. I was hoping you’d bring some.”
“Hell, this early in the morning, I just brought the whole damned coffee pot.” The older man grinned and slapped Booker on the shoulder, almost spilling the cup he had just handed him. Sure enough, Booker saw that on the window sill, Ski had plugged in what had to be a five or ten-dollar coffee maker from home.
“I got your call, loaded up the car, and tore ass right over here,” Ski said in between gulps of coffee that would have burned the tongue off of any other man.
“And what did your wife have to say about that?” Booker laughed.
Ski shrugged. “She’s just happy to get me out of the house, and she’s busy herself today anyhow. Water aerobics, book club, gardening club. Knitting maybe?” He shrugged again, waving a hand. “I don’t know. I can’t keep up with her half the time.”
As Ski filled brewed another pot, August took a seat behind his desk. “The others should arrive shortly,” he said.
“We’re here already.” Max stumbled in, lugging his laptop case and backpack. “I would have been here earlier, but instead of waiting for the shuttle, I caught a ride with sleeping beauty.” He motioned behind him at the doorway.
Booker and Ski heard the beast before it was seen. The deep angry wail of an apex predator awake before its time. Or maybe it was a yawn? Kara slowly came into view, hair in a messy bun, half-hiding the angry, squinting, hazelnut eyes glaring at them. She apparently hadn’t spent much time getting ready, as she was still wearing pajama pants tucked into the top of very comfortable looking, wool-lined boots. She dropped a heavy set of keys on Booker’s desk, which she immediately cleared with one floppy sleeve of her oversized sweater. Once it was clear, she sprawled on her stomach over the desk.
“Really, kid?” The professor said in a voice that doubted her use of dramatic form.
One sleepy eyelid slowly opened and gazed on Booker. Then she let out a growl and returned to her restful position.
“Here you go darlin’.” Ski set a steaming cup of coffee about six inches in front of Kara’s head. Her two sleeve appendages reached out and slid the coffee closer to her. At the same time, she lifted her face just high enough to get her lips on the rim of the mug.
Max looked to Booker as he set up his computer. Booker raised his eyebrows, gesturing to the lump on his desk.
“Oh, I know,” Max said. “I’ve been dealing with this the whole way to school.” He sat back at one of the student tables and began typing away.
“I sent you some pictures this morning. Once you get them in your email, bring them up on the screen.” Booker turned to Ski, but Sarah walked in before he could continue.
“Seriously? Do you have these people on call?” The detective wasn’t three steps in the door before Ski had placed a cup of coffee in her hand as well.
She gave a quick nod of thanks before turning back to Booker. “When I was in college, you couldn’t pay me to make an eight o’clock class, let alone come in at this hour of the morning.”
“Well, we’re dedicated,” Max said without a hint of the sad truth in his tone. Max was a foster-kid who had aged out of the system. Besides his dorm, he had no place else to go.
“Ugh…” Kara moaned from the desk.
“Yeah, I see that,” Sarah smiled at the prone cheerleader. “Did you tell them yet?” she asked Booker.
“No, I was waiting for you. It’s your show.”
While Sarah highly doubted that Booker thought she was the one leading this investigation, she at least appreciated his attempt to respect her position… or even just humor her.
“It seems last night’s little stakeout was a waste of time,” Sarah began.
Ski and Max looked quizzically at the detective. Sarah paused, trying to word things the right way. This group was different, but she didn’t want to fully let on how upsetting the crime scene was to a group of students, no matter how old or talented they might be.
“Aimee Glazer is dead. We found her… her remains this morning. Judging by the state of the crime scene, she was presumably murdered by the same individual who killed her husband.”
If the coffee had not done its job waking up the small group of students, that jarring bit of unexpected news did.
Kara jolted upright. “Wait…what?”
“She was…” Sarah paused and looked over to Booker, who nodded reassuringly. “Aimee was dismembered. Pieces of her body were found swinging from a jungle gym this morning.”
“Monkey bars actually,” Booker corrected.
“Whatever,” Sarah’s nausea again disappeared under her irritation. “The point is we lost our prime suspect.”
Sarah paced the room. Pausing in her deliberate paths, she turned to Booker. “I have to be honest, professor. I’m not seeing the benefit of letting your little group of students help on this. We still have just as little as we had almost a week ago.”
“We’ve finally got some direct evidence.” Booker nodded at Max as he said the words. Pictures that the professor had taken at the scene of the crime were projected onto the screen.
“Jesus!” Ski nearly spit out his coffee in shock. “He butchered her. What are we supposed to deduce from this?”
The teacher pushed himself to his feet with the cane. “As unfortunate as it is, this tells us much more than we knew before.” He spun to look at Max. “What do you think, Max? You’ve had a chance to digest the evidence a bit longer than your peers.”
Max nodded, gravely. “It tells us this guy definitely isn’t a Puppet Master copycat.”
“Yes.” Booker nodded, approvingly. “Why?”
“King’s victims were never connected. He wasn’t an opportunist killer. He didn’t just pick up a woman alone at night or an early morning jogger like some serial killers do. And he wasn’t the money, love, revenge type of killer, either.”
“Ok,” Sarah leaned against the wall, “I’m listening.”
That little encouragement was all the young man needed. He launched into more explanation, talking at a speed that was much too fast for that time of morning. “King researched all of his victims. He stalked them for weeks before striking. Kept notebooks documenting their every move. He never would have killed a husband and wife… or if he did, it would have been a
t the same place at the same time. We already doubted that this suspect was a true copycat, but now it’s obvious that they aren’t even a professional.”
As Max was talking, Kara’s eyes grew bright. She pulled her hair back and tied it up. “This second kill was too rash and sloppy,” she added to Max’s explanation. “Also, only a week from her husband? That’s drawing too much attention.”
“Yeah, but the way the bodies are displayed, that’s not the work of someone close to the victim,” Ski put his two cents in. “Friends, family, even close acquaintances—they don’t butcher people that way and put them on display.”
“So why was Aimee Glazer killed then?” The detective asked as she looked at the group.
Booker shook his head. “Wrong question. We know why she was killed.” He pointed his cane to the old man.
Ski chimed in on cue. “She was killed because she knew something. It’s the only reason to chance exposure and leaving more of a trail.”
“What did she know?” Sarah mumbled, half to herself.
“That, my dear detective, is the real question.” He looked once again at all the pictures. “If we find the answer to that, we find our killer.”
Chapter 15- Coffee Break
A grey squirrel scampered across the asphalt, dodging the oncoming wrath of three cars as it made its way through the intersection and to the safety of one of the adolescent oak trees that lined the sidewalk of Broadway. This section of Berksville used to be a carcass of its present self. “Out of business” signs papered vacant, murky windows; grave markers for the once-thriving businesses. People would come up with excuses to steer away from this end of the neighborhood, just so they didn’t have to be reminded of what had been lost.
Then came gentrification in the form of the Lucky Roll. The once desolate thoroughfare became a testament to new beginnings. It housed up-and-coming professionals in luxury loft apartments. They had brought with them a need for industry and revitalization, and now the streets were jam-packed with whole-food stores, restaurants, bars, two movie theaters, and a handful of quaint cafés. One of which August was sitting in. He watched the rainfall, and the squirrel scurrying for the cover of the foliage. It’s nice to know somethings get second chances. He thought.
A leggy blonde under a red umbrella stepped into view. Her hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail and she had replaced the cocktail dress with extremely fashionable and form-fitting slacks and a sleeveless blouse.
“Becky.” August gave her a quick nod, as he lifted his empty coffee cup towards the barista behind the counter and held up two fingers. The young man in the apron gave him a quick thumbs up and went to work. “Twice in one week that I’m graced with your presence,” August smiled. He used his cane to push out a chair across from him, in a welcoming gesture. “I know you haven’t called on me for my charming disposition.”
“Now, don’t sell yourself short.” Rebecca batted her eyelashes and gracefully floated down to the offered seat.
August leaned back in his seat, feigning relaxation. Becky always seemed to have an agenda. He looked at her silently until their coffees were dropped at the table. She took a sip, leaving a trace of crimson lipstick on the rim of the cup.
“You trying to intimidate me, Booker?” Rebecca prodded the conversation along.
He winked and drank some coffee. “I’m trying to figure out what you’re after. You don’t just stop by to chat.” He lowered the porcelain cup. “You and I are people of action, Becky. Beating around the bush doesn’t become us.” Booker referenced a quote from one of their favorite movies.
Just as she was about to answer, the same college-age girl who had brought coffee to their table approached again. “Excuse me… Ms. Vance?” she asked apprehensively.
Becky smiled and nodded, which the girl took as permission. “I knew it was you! Carl over there said I was crazy, but I knew you had a book launch this week, and you look just like the picture on the back of your book!”
She produced a copy of one of Becky’s books from her apron, along with a pen. “Is it inappropriate to ask for your autograph?”
The author took the pen and opened the cover. “Who should I endorse it to?”
The coffee shop girl was caught off guard. “What?” She seemed confused that Becky was even speaking to her.
“Your name, sweetheart?” Becky prompted with a smile.
“Oh! Chloe! I’m Chloe.” The waitress slapped herself in the forehead and looked back at Carl who was watching from a distance.
“Is Carl your boyfriend?” Becky asked as she closed the book and handed it back to the girl, who turned three shades of red beginning at her collar bone and working its way up.
“Make him bring you out for dinner tonight,” Becky smiled. She raised her voice toward the counter, “Do you hear that Carl! Take her out tonight. Somewhere nice!”
Carl ducked below the coffee machine as Chloe scampered back to him, showing off the signed book.
August rolled his eyes and drank some more coffee. “You were getting to the point before the paparazzi interrupted.”
“Now, August, jealousy doesn’t become you.” She crossed her legs and sat back, with the posture of a debutante. “I heard through the grapevine there was another murder.”
She looked at August’s face, but he betrayed nothing. “Well? What’s going on? I thought this was no big deal.”
He bit his lip but stayed silent. Rebecca tried to hide her excitement, but she was terrible at it. “Do you have suspects? Have you set a profile?”
“What ‘grapevine’ are you connected too?” August tried sidetracking the question. “The media hasn’t even released any information yet.”
“Don’t be coy with me. You know I have tons of sources.” She lightly blew on her coffee, pursing her lips softly. “Now, cough it up.”
“Becky, I’m not going to provide you with all the details of your next bestseller. Why not just make it up? It never stopped you before.” August jabbed irritably.
“Ouch!” Rebecca held up two hands as if to defend herself. “I may have used a little dramatic license here and there, but don’t take out your frustrations on me.”
She’s right, August thought. Was he actually angry with his ex-partner? He really had no interest in how many books she sold. He had to face the truth that the source of his frustration was in how long this case was taking. He remembered things fitting together easier in the cases he dealt with as an FBI agent. He conceded to her after a moment. “I apologize, Becky. My mind is just on other things right now. I’m sure your books are delightful.”
For the first time in their conversation, Becky’s mask cracked. “You haven’t read them?” August couldn’t decide if the look on her perfectly prepared face was anger, outrage, or hurt.
“Don’t be offended, Becky,” he protested. “I don’t need to read them. I lived them. And the thought of reliving them….”
He trailed off, and she softened, but only slightly. Booker smiled with the same comforting look he would give a student who felt they had been unfairly graded. “I have heard great things, and if they weren’t well-written, you would never have become so successful.”
She gave a small sigh as August took another sip from his mug. Then she regained her mask, and that flirty, whimsical smile crossed her lips.
“Isn’t it just like you, to reduce it to that logical conclusion?” Becky asked, brushing her hand over his. “I should know better than to be surprised anymore. One of these days, maybe I’ll surprise you for a change.”
Shaking her head, she found her way back to the topic at hand. “August, to be honest, I’m just happy you finally got back on the job. After your injury, and your decision to leave the agency, I was beginning to worry.”
August straightened his posture and adjusted his tie. “You shouldn’t waste your time worrying over me, Becky. I always find my way.” Then he added, “And I’m not ‘on the job’ as a point of fact. This is a one-time favor for Capta
in Harrison. I’m helping his new detective get settled in; then I’m back to my classroom.”
“Teaching, August? Please be serious.”
“I am serious, Becky. I quite the agency. I’m done with chasing down sociopaths from week to week.” He snapped angrily. “I realized a long time ago that we can’t possibly stop every criminal. I could either continue to just put out fires, or I could help do something to combat the bigger issue.”
“And that being?” she asked half-heartedly.
“Not enough detectives are prepared for the realities of the job. So now, I teach future detectives. I help prepare those who can then enter the field and stop an exponentially larger number of criminals than I could ever do by myself.”
“You weren’t by yourself, August. You had me.” He had hit a chord, and Becky now returned fire.
Seeing her anger rising he took a breath and returned to his famously calm demeanor. “Becky, you aren’t with the agency anymore either. We are the past. We need to look toward the future. I have some very promising students.”
“You mean the retiree and the two kids?” she scoffed.
“Listen, all three of those students have the ability to be exceedingly competent detectives. Benjamin Ski may be old, but he’s not exactly your typical retiree. Max is a technical wizard who could be a real asset to the Bureau. And Kara has both mental and physical prowess. Her ability could far outreach most agents in the field today. She could be great. That’s where my time and energy need to be focused now. My fieldwork is far behind me.”
“You sound like you’re geriatric, off to play shuffleboard. You’re only thirty-eight years old August! Agents don’t retire until they’re fifty-seven. You have two decades left to do some good. Make a real change. Instead, you’re out here playing babysitter.”
Booker opened his mouth to respond, but Becky raised a manicured finger into the air to silence him. “Don’t you dare tell me we are the past. The only reason I left the Bureau was because my partner left me.”
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