Speaking for the Dead

by Bill Craig

“I think we have a budding serial killer on our hands,” Moseby told her about it.

  “I hate that, Garrett.”

  “I’m not especially thrilled about it. I wish we knew more about the victim.”

  “Me too. I feel for her. Nobody deserves to die like that.”

  “No, they don’t. We need to find this guy and find him fast.”

  “Agreed. It would sure help if we knew how he chooses his victims,” French said.

  “It would. How about when we get back to the office you go talk to Dr. Hopkins and see what he thinks about it?” Moseby suggested.

  “I can do that, but I’m not sure how much he can read into what we have so far.”

  “You might be surprised. Hopkins is good, Lucy. Really good at reading these guys.”

  “I’m sure he is, but that doesn’t make him infallible.”

  “Not it doesn’t. But it doesn’t hurt either.”

  He tried to contain the feelings washing over him. Last night had been awesome. It had been exhilarating. It had freed a part of him that he had never experienced. It was a high like nothing he had ever before experienced. He had considered taking something from her but had not done so. Something that would help him recreate the high of the moment when he had slammed her to the ground and sliced her tendons to keep her from being able to escape from him. The pain etched on her face had excited him like nothing he had ever experienced before. He had lost control as he used his knife. It had turned into a frenzy. He would have to control that in the future.

  The blood. The blood had excited him, had caused him to have an erection. He wished that there had been time for him to fuck her, but he couldn’t take that chance! No, the killing had satisfied him this time. But he knew that wouldn’t always be the case.

  Sunny should never have humiliated him the way she had. She should never have laughed at him the way she had. He had treated her right, done everything she had ever asked of him, and then when they were finally together and he had been so excited that he had failed. Instead of being understanding and supportive, she had laughed at him, made fun of him, said that he must prefer boys over a real woman. Well, he had made her pay for that. He had shown her! He had taken control, taken the power! He would do so again too!

  When they got back to the office, Lucy left to go run down the department shrink. He did most of their profiling. Moseby went straight to Captain Stanley’s office. It was about that time that he overheard one of the other detectives talking about Grimm being found dead in a parking garage. It didn’t surprise Moseby in the least. He had never liked Grimm.

  Captain Luke Stanley was at his desk and he looked tired. Moseby knocked and then stepped inside. Captain Stanley looked up at him. “What have you got?”

  “Jogger murdered out on The Suncoast Trail. She was cut up pretty bad except for her face. I think we may have a budding serial killer,” Moseby said.

  “That is really the last thing I needed to hear this morning, Garrett. Not only are we still working the Caroline England murder, and now the murder of Detective Grimm. Now you tell me we have a budding serial killer setting up shop. SHIT!” Stanley yelled slamming his fists down on his desk. Moseby took it in stride, sitting quietly as his Captain vented his rage.

  “Captain, I need this case to be a priority if you want us to find and stop this guy before he kills again. Can you call the crime lab and make that happen?” Moseby asked.

  “I can do that.”

  “I appreciate it,” Moseby told him, before walking back out of the office. He needed time to think. He wanted to see what he could find out about the victim. About her past. He had a feeling that the answers were there. But how would help him prevent there being future victims? He had no idea.

  Lucy French knocked before stepping into the office of Dr. Adrian Hopkins. He was the department shrink. He made her uneasy. When he looked at her, it was like he was looking into her soul. It freaked her out. But she also knew that Moseby was right. Dr. Hopkins was very good at reading serial killers. The F.B.I. had even called on him from time to time. He was even better than their Behavioral Science Unit when it came to profiling.

  Dr. Hopkins was in his fifties, with a full head of dark hair that had gone gray at the temples. His face was unlined and he actually looked a good ten to twenty years younger. He looked up as she entered.

  “Detective French, to what do I owe the pleasure?” he asked with a smile.

  “We’ve got a body and Moseby thinks he’s a budding serial,” French said.

  “So tell me what you saw?” Hopkins asked.

  “Lots of blood, several stab wounds, but he never touched her face. It was almost like he wanted her to be recognized,” Lucy told him.

  “Interesting. Her clothing?”

  “Slashed to ribbons. He had stabbed her multiple times in her genitalia.”

  “Like a rage killing?”

  “It had that feel, yes.”

  “I think your partner might be right. He obviously had a connection with the victim. And he also projects that on all women,” Hopkins told her.

  “So, you agree that there will be more?”

  “Yes, a lot more,” Hopkins told her.

  “I was afraid you were going to say that.”

  “Yes, I figured that. I’ll tell Moseby.”

  “This man is very dangerous, Detective French. Maybe even more than I can say.”

  “I understand, Dr. Hopkins,” French told him.

  “I hope so,” Hopkins told her.

  Moseby ran the dead woman’s prints through AFIS. They came back with a match. Sunny Cargill. She was in the system. It surprised him.

  She had filed a complaint about a sexual assault. Moseby wanted to know more about that.

  Chapter Three

  Garrett Moseby took the elevator down two floors to the records department. He had copied the case number down to give to the clerk. While the department was in the process of copying everything to digital files, sexual assault complaints were still kept on paper files. He wanted a look at Sunny Cargill’s file. Reading about her case would give him a better insight into the victim. Also, it would hopefully have her address.

  They would need to go there, see where she lived. See if there was anything there that would point to her killer. He hoped that she wasn’t targeted at random. That would make it harder to catch the guy. The first 48 hours of a murder investigation were the most important. After that, chances of closing the case dropped at a terrifying rate. Some were never solved. Moseby didn’t want that to be the case for Sunny Cargill.

  Moseby gave the clerk the file number and she vanished through a doorway to go find it. His cell phone rang and he pulled it out of his pocket. It was Lucy. “What have you got?” he asked.

  “Doctor Hopkins agrees with you about this guy being a serial killer, or at least being in the process of becoming one. He did say that he felt like this was his first kill, so I guess that’s good news at least,” Lucy French told him.

  “It is. Maybe, we can catch him before he kills two more and becomes an actual serial killer. I ran the prints and got a hit. The victim’s name is Sunny Cargill and she had filed a sexual assault complaint. I’m in records now, waiting for the file,” Moseby told her.

  “Great. Spell her name for me and I’ll do a computer search, see if I can come up with an address for her.”

  “Thanks, Luce. If we can get a current address and push a warrant through, it might help us find the guy who killed her quicker.”

  “I hope so,” Moseby said before hanging up.

  The clerk finally emerged from the back room with a slender manila file folder. She handed it to him and Moseby thanked her. She smiled at him and then he turned and walked out the door, heading back to the squad room. The Clerk’s name had been Marcia. If the file helped, he would send her some flowers.

  Lucy French was at her desk when Moseby walked back into the squad room. She looked up, saw him and smiled. “I have an address, the warrant
had been sent to the judge and signed, we just have to stop and get it on our way out,” Lucy smiled again.

  “That was fast,” Moseby observed.

  “It was. Judge Grissom was sympathetic. He has a daughter around the age of the victim.”

  “That helps,” Moseby nodded.

  “It does. You see his daughter also runs the Sunset trail,” Lucy shrugged.

  “Even better. He can look out for his own and help us at the same time. Makes him look like a good father.”

  “It does. He wants this asshole caught.”

  “He’s not alone in that.”

  “Nope.”

  “You got the address, you drive. I’ll be reading the sexual assault complaint on the way.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” Lucy smiled. Together they headed for the elevator. Things were happening; things that might help them break the case.

  The air-conditioner was blasting in the car as they swung out of the parking garage and into the street. It was nearly noon. Sunny Cargill lived in an apartment at 10200 N Armenia Ave, Tampa, FL 33612. It was at Deerpath on the Lake.

  Seeing her apartment, where she lived would help. Moseby had let Captain Stanley know that they would probably be out of the office the rest of the day. When they reached the apartment complex, all it took was informing the apartment manager about what had happened to their tenant and he was more than eager to show them where Sunny Cargill had lived.

  The manager’s name was Josh Dillon, and he had a bit of a crush on Sunny Cargill. That was obvious from the way his face fell when Moseby had told him that she was dead. French had remained silent while he had dropped that bomb and Moseby knew that it was because she wanted to observe how the man took the news. The only other suspect they had was Germaine Ellis, the man that Sunny had filed the sexual assault complaint against.

  Josh Dillon was dark-haired, bearded, and over-weight. He had on a pair of checkered shorts and a light blue Guayabera shirt. A pair of dark-rimmed plastic glasses covered his eyes. He was wearing flip flops as he led them up the stairs.

  “Sunny was a good tenant. She was quiet, kept to herself a lot of the time, but she always paid her rent when it was due,” Dillon told them.

  “Anything else you can tell us about her?” Lucy French asked, taking the lead in questioning him. Moseby let her because he could tell that Dillon was infatuated with his partner.

  “Not really, no. Except she was always really nice to me. Everybody at the complex loved her,” Dillon shrugged.

  “That is very helpful, Josh,” Lucy French told him.

  “Here we are,” Dillon said as they reached her apartment.

  “After you unlock the door for us, we need you to wait outside,” Moseby told him. Dillon nodded.

  “I can do that. In fact, I’ll go back down to the office. Just drop the key off on your way out,” Dillon said.

  Moseby thanked him and then followed Lucy French inside. He let the door close behind him. While they had reached an understanding with the apartment manager, he still didn’t trust him.

  “She liked her luxuries, our girl did,” Lucy said as she looked around the apartment.

  “That’s useful,” Moseby agreed.

  “She also lived alone. I’ll verify that when I go through the bedroom, but all of the signs are here.”

  “You see anything that might tell us where she worked?” he asked.

  “Not yet, but the search is young.”

  “Yes, it is,” Moseby nodded. He headed for the bedroom, figuring anything of interest would be found either there or in the bathroom. He was pretty sure that they would find little connected to her death at the apartment. Unless she had a diary or something. If she did, that might help point them in the right direction.

  It took about an hour for them to properly toss the apartment. They had found a diary and it was secured in an evidence bag. Moseby wanted it dusted for prints before he opened it and read it. Lucy agreed. Prints on the diary might mean something, especially if pages were torn out. Moseby wasn’t so sure that was the case but it didn’t pay to take chances. It was nearly five o’clock in the evening by the time they headed back to the station.

  He had managed to make it through the day at his job, but it had been hard. Every time he closed his eyes he could see her face, see the fear and the terror there. He could hear her voice, begging him not to hurt her anymore. This time, he was the one who was laughing. He had been glad when it was time to clock out and go home. He was filled with nervous energy and he needed to find a way to let off some steam. He climbed into his car and headed for the gym.

  The weights would help. It would give him something to focus on besides her. A new-found confidence was flowing through his veins. To the cops, he was a ghost, nothing more. He had gotten away with murder and he had discovered that he liked the power that it gave him. He wanted to do it again.

  But he had to be smart about it. The next time, his victim would not be someone that he was connected to. It would have to be someone totally random. That would help confuse the cops, help keep them off of his trail. He was becoming something else. Something other than what he had been before. He was filled with the power of an avenging God.

  He pushed the bar upward. Then he lowered it to his chest and pushed it up again, repeating the action until he had done fifteen repetitions. The weight was 350 lbs. A thin sheen of sweat slicked his body, his gray tank top was wet with it. He had a good build. Women found it appealing.

  Steroids had helped him chisel his body, make his musculature stand out. But they had an unintended side effect. They made him impotent. That was why Sunny had laughed at him. Because he couldn’t get it up no matter what she tried. So she had become crude. She had claimed he preferred boys. That wasn’t the case. It had been very satisfying to watch her die. It had given him a raging erection and he had calmed as he watched the life go out of her eyes.

  In a way, he was glad that he hadn’t had time to fuck her as she died. That meant that there was no DNA left at the scene. He had read enough mystery novels to know that DNA could get him the death sentence. If he did it again, he would put on a condom before fucking his victims. If he had to kill to get an erection, that was what he would do.

  “You want me to take the diary to the lab and wait while they check for prints?” Lucy asked when they arrived back at the station.

  “Yeah, do that and I’ll read that file on the sexual assault complaint she filed and also check out the boyfriend, Germaine Ellis. Might be something there, might not, but it’s worth a look,” Moseby replied.

  “Yes, it is. I want this guy, Garrett. We need to find him and take him down,” Lucy said softly. Moseby looked over at her. She looked almost haunted.

  “The way she was killed really got to you,” Moseby observed.

  “It did. First, he cut her tendons so she couldn’t get away, and then he systematically butchered her. He’s one very sick puppy.”

  “It still bothers me that he left her face untouched.”

  “That bothers me too,” she nodded. “Why would he do that?”

  “I wish I knew. I have theories, but nothing solid.”

  “So what’s your theory?”

  “I think he wants her identified. He wants everyone to know that she’s dead. I just don’t know why.”

  “That sounds like a good theory. Okay, I’m heading for the lab.”

  “I’ll see you back in the squad room.”

  Sgt. Moseby headed for the elevator. He frowned as he pulled his digital recorder from his pocket. “I think this first killing might be personal for the killer. If he kills again, it will be because he discovered that he likes killing and the power that it gives him. After all, the power to be able to take a life is the ultimate power. To take a life and get away with it, that’s even more powerful. That this guy is sick isn’t even being questioned. What is being questioned is his motivations. Why her? And why was he so brutal and sadistic when he had killed her? This guy has some pr
etty big bats in his belfry,” Moseby shut off the recorder. He would download the digital files to his computer so he could listen to them again and add those observations to the murder book.

  As he rode the elevator up to the floor where the homicide squad room was located, he wondered how long it would take the lab techs to dust the diary for prints. He shook his head, that wasn’t something he could control. What he could do was download his audio files and read the file the complaint. After that, he would do a computer search on Germaine Ellis.

  Lucy French shivered as she walked into the crime lab. This case had spooked her and spooked her good. She felt a certain empathy with the victim, probably because they were both women.

  Judy Chastain looked up as Lucy entered holding the evidence bag containing the diary. “Hey, Lucy. What brings you into my domain?” Judy was in her late twenties, with short blonde hair and bright blue eyes. She was petite and slender and vivacious.

  “I need to have this diary printed ASAP. In fact, I’ll wait while you do it,” Lucy replied.

  “It belongs to that gal that was found out on The Suncoast Trail?” Judy asked.

  “It does. We are hoping to find something in there that might well point us towards her killer. Moseby bagged it immediately, so we haven’t even looked through it yet,” Lucy told her.

  “Got you. It helps to know that because it means I don’t have to run your and Moseby’s prints against any I find,” Judy said.

  “Captain Stanley said this case is a priority.”

  “I got the memo,” Judy grinned. She signed the chain of evidence form and opened the bag.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Moseby was on his third cup of coffee when French entered the squad room. He watched her expectantly as she came across the room, the bag containing the diary in her hands. She stopped in front of his desk. “You get anything off it?” he asked.

  “No prints other than the victims. You want to read it first or do you want me to?” French looked at him.