by David Archer
He hurried out of the water and grabbed the blood-soaked blanket as he hurried back to the van, then started it and drove away. He found his way to the main road, turned north and forced himself to drive at the speed limit so he wouldn’t draw attention.
It was hours later before he stopped and checked into a motel, and he walked into the room and went straight to the bath. He had rinsed the blood off his hands when he put her body in the water, and he had changed shirts while he was driving up the road, but he still felt the need for a shower.
When he was done, he lay back on the bed and flipped on the television. He was flipping channels when he hit a news program talking about how Breanna Davidson, a fourteen-year-old girl, had been found—alive—crawling along a dirt road by the lake. She had been raped and beaten, but was unable to remember details to give to the police. The only lead they had was from a waitress who remembered a man with dark hair who had been talking to her earlier in the day at a local restaurant, but she couldn’t recall what kind of vehicle he might’ve been driving.
“Son of a bitch,” he said. “I shoulda made damn sure she was dead.”
He promised himself he would never make that mistake again, and he never did. He also developed the habit of changing his name fairly often. It turned out that it wasn’t all that difficult, especially when you could take over the identity of someone who wasn’t using it anymore, someone who wasn’t likely to be missed. It didn’t give him the same thrill as his usual hobby, but there were plenty of guys living on the streets that were around his age. He made a point of finding the homeless populations from time to time, picking someone who was close to his age and build and getting to know them. Once he was sure they didn’t have family that was going to be asking questions if they disappeared, he would take them for a ride. Then all he had to do was clean out their wallets and jump through a few hoops to get a driver’s license in those names. He had a dozen or so stashed in a hidden compartment behind the glove box. Whenever he actually had to use one of them, like when he was questioned over something, he would throw it away and get another one out. His new identity would “buy” the old van and register it, so even his old tags couldn’t be used to track him down.
That’s how it had started, his hobby. It wasn’t something he did often, but every once in a while, the desire to feel that rush of power would hit him again. At first it had only been once a year or so, but lately it was happening more often. When it did, he would carefully watch until he found a young girl by herself, convince her to get into his van and take her somewhere alone. He got in the habit of tying them up, so they couldn’t fight at all, and then he would do what he wanted.
And when that was over, the old butcher knife he had picked up at a thrift store and kept very, very sharp would come out of the toolbox. He’d developed a need for it, like an addiction, and he didn’t know how to control it other than by giving in. He had given in just a few weeks ago, back in Colorado.
As he got back into the van, he realized that, once he got the next job finished, it was going to be time to scratch that itch once more. It was getting stronger.
EIGHT
Indie had ridden to court with Ron and Jeff, so they had all piled into Ron’s car after Sam was released. Ron drove them directly back to the Windlass office and they all went inside. Jeff had them sit down in the lobby while he went into a back room, and he returned a few minutes later with the ankle monitor.
“I’m really sorry to put you guys to all this trouble,” Sam said. “I guess I should just be glad you had a monitor to use.”
“No problem,” Jeff said. “We keep some around, because we do some bonding working now and then. It only takes a minute, goes on your ankle. Which one?”
Sam held out his left ankle. “Use this one,” he said. “The other leg has enough problems already.”
Jeff knelt down in front of him and wrapped the monitor around his ankle, then snapped it together. “Whatever you do,” he said, “don’t try to take it off yourself. It takes a special key to remove it without setting off alarms, and we don’t need O’Rourke thinking you’re trying to skip out on him.”
“You don’t have to worry about that,” Sam said. “I’m just glad I get to be out here to help track down whoever is doing this to me.”
“We all are, Sam. If anyone can find the real killer and clear your name, it’s going to be you.”
Sam got to his feet. “Guys, I know you’ll probably get tired of hearing it, but I really do appreciate this.”
“It’s not a problem, Sam,” Ron said. “We know you couldn’t possibly be guilty, so how could we sit by and watch this happen? Come on, let me drive you guys home. I’m pretty sure your kids are going to be glad to see you.”
They followed him out the door and into his car once again, and Sam sat in the back seat with Indie as they made their way back to the house. It was just after lunchtime, but Sam didn’t want to stop to eat. He just wanted to get home.
Ron dropped them off at the curb and drove away as they walked up the steps to the porch.
“Daddy!” Kenzie shouted as they walked in the door. The grandmas had come to stay with the children while Indie had gone with Ron and Jeff to court, and had kept the secret after Indie called to say Sam was out on bail. The surprise in the little girl’s face made it worthwhile, and Sam scooped her into a hug when she came running toward him. The impact made him stagger a bit, and he had to dance for a second to keep from letting his hip making them both fall.
“I’m home,” he said. “I get the feeling you might be glad to see me.”
“I am,” Kenzie said. “I don’t know what was wrong with those people, taking you away like that.”
Sam thought about how to explain the situation to the little girl, and he carried her to his recliner and sat down with her on his lap.
“Kenzie, there was nothing wrong with them. See, the problem is that somebody has done something really, really bad, and they made it look like it was me that did it. From what they can see, they thought they were absolutely right to take me to jail. Now I’m out, and it’s up to me to help prove that they were wrong, but that doesn’t mean they were bad. Somebody has apparently worked pretty hard to make them think I was the man they were looking for.”
“But you’re gonna find that bad man, right, Daddy? You’re going to make sure the real person who did the bad thing gets in trouble, right?”
“That’s the plan,” Sam said. He squeezed her in a hug and then let her slide off his lap as Bo started shaking the playpen to get his daddy’s attention. Indie picked him up and brought him over, and Sam held him up in the air and cooed at him until he started giggling and drooling.
“Okay, enough of that,” Sam said. He settled Bo on his lap and looked up at his wife. “Babe, you think I could have some coffee? I haven’t had a cup all day, and I need it desperately.”
“You got it,” she said. Kenzie followed her to the kitchen, and a few minutes later it was Kenzie who carefully carried a cup of freshly brewed coffee to him. Indie came back with her and sat on the end of the sofa closest to him.
They talked for a couple minutes, but then the sound of car doors could be heard out front. Indie jumped and ran to the door, almost afraid of what she was going to see, but then she broke into a smile. The reporters had all gone, having caught Sam as he left the jail and gotten his clear, determined statement of his innocence, so Indie pulled the door open as Summer, Jade, Darren and Denny came inside.
“Hey, Sam,” Summer said. “We just wanted to come by and see how you’re doing, and give you a little report on what we’ve been up to. I had a nice little chat with Detective O’Rourke, although I don’t think he’s too happy about it. I told him about the whiskers—I’m sure you know about that by now, right? Well, I filled him in about how those cannot possibly be your whiskers, and while he seems determined not to believe me, I could see in his eyes that I caused him a little bit of doubt. I don’t think it’s going to be too hard
to make that doubt grow, especially if we can find anything else to back it up.”
“And I,” Denny said, “found four other cases that fit the same MO. All the evidence, including some DNA evidence, is on the way to us and should arrive by tomorrow. I talked to Ron, and he’s already got a lab set up to do a rush DNA analysis on the samples. If we can find another one that matches, it’ll show that it’s highly unlikely the killer is really you. Three of these murders happened while you were still on the police force, and in parts of the country you couldn’t possibly have gotten to in your free time.”
“Which would mean,” Sam said, “that either somebody has changed my DNA profile, or there’s somebody out there who’s an exact duplicate of me.” He shook his head. “I’m really hoping for the changed profile scenario. The thought that someone out there could be just like me and do this sort of thing, that makes me pretty sick.”
“Yes, but it’s not like you have an evil twin,” Denny said.
“No, that’s true,” Sam said. “It’s kind of ironic that I did have a twin, but he died right after we were born. I never actually knew him, except maybe in the womb.”
Indie turned and looked at him. “You never told me that,” she said. “You were a twin?”
“He was,” Grace said. “He had a twin brother, Cameron James. We were going to call them Sam and Cam, but Cameron had some sort of heart defect and died when he was only a few hours old.” Her eyes clouded over slightly. “His father and I were devastated, but at least we still had Sam. It’s one of the reasons I was so protective of him, when he was little. I was always scared to death something was going to happen to him.” She looked at Indie. “It’s also the reason we never wanted to have more children, but his sister Carrie came along anyway. My father had a similar heart defect, and it killed him when I was only about three years old. We didn’t want to take a chance on passing that gene to another child. I’m just so thankful that neither Sam nor Carrie had any problems.”
“But Sam was okay, then?” Indie asked. “I would think that if one twin died, the other one would.”
“No. The doctors said it was something of a miracle that he didn’t, but his heart was just fine. Of course, that didn’t make me any less protective.”
“And protective she was,” Sam said. “I think I was nine years old before I got to play in the snow for the first time. Carrie, she had it a little easier than I did. Mom was a little more relaxed by the time she was old enough to start expressing herself. Probably why she went a little wild on us for a while there.”
“Well, at least we know you don’t have an evil twin out there committing murder,” Darren said. “Ironically enough, I really did hear of such a case once. A man in California was arrested for murder based on DNA and eyewitness testimony, but it turned out it was his identical twin brother who did it. They lived in different cities, but his brother had come to town on business and ended up killing someone. The only reason they found out is because the guilty twin had told a friend of his what he had done, and the friend tipped the police. When he was arrested, he confessed and knew details that only the killer could’ve known, so that cleared his brother.”
“Geez, Darren,” Jade said, “we don’t need to hear about that right now.” She turned to Sam. “Darren and I went to see the lab that did the DNA analysis, and we got its director to agree to do it again. We’re hoping that he’ll get slightly different results this time, which could indicate that there was a problem in the lab that made it match up to you. If it still comes out the same, he’s going to run it through the database again. It’s possible that the computers might have made an error, but if that doesn’t pan out, then we have to stick to the theory that someone has changed your DNA profile.”
“Guys, I can’t tell you how much I appreciate all this,” Sam said. “Especially after I ran out on all of you. I wouldn’t have blamed you if you’d told me I was completely on my own.”
“Come on, mate,” Denny said. “After all we’ve been through together, you really think we could turn our backs on you? Not bloody possible, Sam.”
“And I really do appreciate it. Listen, since you’re already here, why not stay for dinner? Indie won’t mind, will you, Indie?”
“Of course not,” Indie said, “especially since I’m ordering pizza for everybody. After a day like this, I’m not going to the kitchen and cooking a big dinner, not for anybody.”
Another pair of car doors was heard outside, and Summer looked out the window. “Walter and Steve,” she said. “Okay to let them in?”
“Of course,” Sam said.
She opened the door and let Steve and Walter come in, and Walter broke into a smile when he saw Sam. “I told them,” he said. “I told them you couldn’t do something like this.”
“Thank you, Walter,” Sam said solemnly. “That means a lot to me.”
“Yeah, well,” Steve said, “this might mean even more. We went out to the maintenance garage this morning and looked things over. I’ll admit I didn’t think we were going to find anything, not after three weeks, but Walter—Walter is the bomb, man. It took him about ten minutes to figure out that there’s probably a witness to the murder.”
“A what?” Sam asked, incredulous. “A witness?”
“Don’t get all excited, we don’t know who it is yet. Walter found evidence to support the idea that somebody was sitting in a car right beside the building when this murder happened. The killer actually had to drive around the car as he left, and since he drove through a bit of oil stain from a power steering leak on the witness’s car, it had to have been right about the same time. That means somebody was sitting there while that poor girl was killed, and if we can find out who it was, they may be able to identify the actual killer.”
“We checked all the employee cars,” Walter said, “but none of them have any sign of the power steering leak. We need to check all the repair shops around the area to see if anybody has had one fixed lately, and we already asked the police to keep an eye out for a car that fits the description.”
“Description?” Sam asked. “You know what kind of car it was?”
“We do,” Steve said. “After we got done, we went by to see Detective O’Rourke and took a look at the section of video that he’s got of when the murder took place.” He shook his head. “It’s really hard to watch that, Sam, knowing that poor girl was dying inside that van at that moment. And I hate to admit it, but the van does look a lot like the one you bought for that trip. I only saw it that one morning, so I couldn’t swear it’s not the same one, but you might be able to point out differences. Anyway, we watched another part of the video a bit after the van drove away, and we saw a light colored Chevy Malibu, probably five or six years old, drive quickly through the field of the video. We couldn’t see the driver’s face or get a tag, but whoever it was waited about fifteen minutes after the killer drove away and then got out of there fast.”
“Do you think it could have been an accomplice?” Jade asked. “Somebody there to watch, make sure no one interrupted him?”
Darren shook his head. “No,” he said. “An accomplice wouldn’t have stuck around that long after the killing was over. He would’ve driven away just a minute or so later, leave just enough time to put some distance between them on the road. To wait that long, he was probably aware that something bad had happened and afraid the van might come back. I’m with Walter on this one, we probably have an unidentified witness.”
“O’Rourke agrees, too,” Steve said. “He’s got a BOLO out for a car matching that description, oil leak and all.”
“It could help,” Sam said. “If someone actually saw the killer, we could put me into a lineup and see if he picks me out of it, or get him to work with a forensic artist for a sketch. At this point, I’ll take anything I can get.” He turned to Denny. “Tell me more about these similar cases, would you?”
“I found four that caught my attention,” Denny said. “All of them teen girls who were raped and mur
dered, their bodies left in near the same condition as the victim in this case. All of them show ligature scrapes on their wrists, and that led to something that may also help. One of the CSIs tested some rope fibers from the girl’s wrist for DNA and got multiple hits. It seems our lad must use the same rope over and over. If this victim had rope fibers that match, that’s another big bloody strike for their case against you.”
“Yeah, it could be. Where did these murders happen, and when?”
“The first of these was seven years ago, in Charlotte, North Carolina. Next was Jacksonville, Florida, a year later. A couple years after that one, we have a case in Tupelo, Mississippi, where they actually picked up a suspect, but didn’t have enough to hold him, even thought they felt sure he was the killer. I’ll have his photo tomorrow when everything comes in, but he’s dropped off the grid. Coppers in Tupelo think he was using a phony name. And after that, we have Pine Bluff, Arkansas, about two years back. There are other cases that could be the same bloke, but these seemed like the most likely matches. If we get a hit on these, we should be able to find matches to some of the others, too, I’d wager.”
“Wait a minute,” Sam said. “I was arrested about two and half years ago, and that’s when they took the DNA sample. If this is the same killer and his DNA comes up as a match to mine, wouldn’t they have found a result in a case only two years back?”
“Not necessarily,” Darren said. “While they took a DNA sample during that arrest, it can take up to a year for that sample to be processed and entered into the DNA databases. This one probably happened before your profile was even created.”
