by David Archer
It was a sheet of plywood, and while it was beginning to decay, it was still strong enough to lift away from the shallow grave underneath. Sam’s heart did a flip-flop as he shined the light on the skeletal remains below.
He made his way to the ladder and climbed up, then sat on the floor beside the trapdoor. “Mrs. Willis? I’m afraid I’m going to have to have the police come down here.”
“The police? But why?”
“Because I just found the remains of what I believe is the girl who went missing almost two decades ago. There’s a skeleton buried in your basement, and it’s wearing a skirt.”
The rest of the morning was spent dealing with police officers. The two cops who made up the entire Jenksville Police Department were there, along with four sheriff’s deputies and a couple of state troopers. The medical examiner arrived quickly, as well, and the basement under the old house became crowded quickly.
“Well, obviously there’s no way to tell for sure,” said Doctor Wilkerson, the medical examiner, “but I’d just about bet this is Cynthia. What’s left of the clothing looks like what she was wearing when she disappeared, and I would say that this person was about the right size. There’s plenty of black hair down there, so I’d just about guarantee it’s her.”
Photos were taken and Sam was asked over and over to explain how he found the remains. That required telling the officers about C.J. and the current investigation into so many murders, as well as handing over the poems he had found in the upstairs bedroom closet. By the time Sam was able to get back up out of the basement again, the house was surrounded by reporters and townspeople, and the story had taken on a life of its own.
Mrs. Willis was questioned, but it quickly became obvious that she knew nothing about those remains. Considering the mounting evidence against C.J. and other murder cases, the sheriff’s office quickly determined that he was the top suspect in this old case, as well. Sam was taking a break at Mrs. Willis’s kitchen table when his phone rang.
“Prichard,” he said as he answered.
“Sam? What in the world is going on?”
Sam grimaced as he recognized Wendy Dawson’s voice.
“I’m down in Florida, trying to get some background on the case I’m working on,” he said.
“Yeah, I’m hearing all about it. Sam, my feelings are hurt. You got the charges against you dismissed, and you didn’t bother to let me know?”
“I didn’t let anybody know,” Sam said. “We actually had a gag order on it, but somebody found out. Will you believe me if I tell you I was planning to call you first?”
“Probably not, but I’ll forgive you eventually. Can you tell me what’s happening down there now? There are reports flying around the wire that say you may have found the earliest victim of a serial killer.”
“That’s the way it looks,” Sam said. He sat and explained about learning that he had a missing twin brother, and then how the DNA evidence had tied C.J. to many other murders. “I came down here to talk to his family, and found something he had written about hiding a victim in a cellar. It was pretty chilling, so I checked out the basement and found a body. Seems to be the remains of a girl who went missing about twenty years ago from right here in this town.”
“So, you believe your brother actually killed this girl, as well?”
“That’s the way it looks, but the investigation is just beginning. I can’t say for sure at this time, and the local sheriff’s department will be handling the rest of the investigation.”
“And what about your twin brother? Have you any idea where he’s at?”
“Not just yet. We’ve got a description of him and his vehicle out all over the country, so we can only hope that somebody is going to spot him. In the meantime, we’re pursuing every other possible lead we can get hold of. Be sure to say that if anyone has any idea where he can be found, they need to contact Windlass Security or their local police department.”
“I will,” she said. “Don’t I always have your back?”
“Yes, you do,” Sam admitted. “I’ll be flying back in tonight, and I’ll be happy to give you some footage in the morning. Give me a call, but not before eight o’clock.”
“I’ll hold you to that,” Wendy said. “Okay, Sam, talk to you later.”
Well, that settles that, Sam thought. C.J. is going to know for sure that I’m after him now.
The sheriff came out of the basement and supervised the removal of the remains, then turned to Sam.
“Mr. Prichard, I suppose you can go. We have your statement and your contact information if we have any more questions. As far as C.J. goes, I got to tell you it’s a little spooky looking at you. If I’d seen you on the street, I would’ve sworn you were him.”
“I understand, Sheriff,” Sam said. “At least we know what he looks like, right?”
Sam collected his mother from the living room, where she was still comforting Mrs. Willis, and the two of them got in the rental car and headed for the airport. Sam called ahead to make sure the pilot and crew were ready, then called Indie to let her know he was coming home.
* * * * *
“We interrupt your regularly scheduled programming,” the announcer said through the radio in the Mustang, “to bring you this special announcement. Police nationwide are on the lookout for a serial killer. The suspect has been identified as C.J. Willis, originally from Jenksville, Florida. He is a suspect in a minimum of eight murders of young women, though police say there may be many more victims they have not identified yet. His last known whereabouts were in north-central Illinois, but the authorities say he could be almost anywhere at this time. He is described as six foot two, with dark brown hair and brown eyes. He has an athletic build, and his nose show signs of having been broken. He is usually known to drive a light blue 1983 Chevrolet van and will likely be using a different name. Authorities ask that anyone with information regarding his whereabouts should contact your local police department, or call Windlass Security at 855-WINDLASS. Windlass Security is coordinating the investigation with law enforcement agencies, and has offered a fifty thousand dollar reward for information leading to his arrest.”
C.J. kept driving steadily, but he was raging on the inside. If they had tracked him down and knew who he was, then his picture would be out on television news, the Internet, and every freaking cop in the world probably had a copy on his sun visor. He was going to have to do something about his appearance, and he was going to have to do it quickly.A billboard caught his eye and he took the next exit ramp. There was a country store a few miles off the interstate, and C.J. figured it would be a good place to look for some kind of disguise. He slipped on a pair of sunglasses and parked in front of the door, happily noticing there were no other cars in the parking lot at the time.
He walked inside. An older man was sitting on a stool behind the cash register, but he was reading a magazine and paying little attention to who might have walked inside. C.J. turned and walked down one of the aisles, looking at the assortment of novelty items that were available.
Unfortunately, there weren’t any handy disguises. He was going to have to get creative.
A bottle of brown, non-toxic shoe polish would darken his skin, and a pair of novelty false teeth would throw off the entire contour of his face. He picked up a hooded sweatshirt that was two sizes too big, then grabbed some snack items and a bottle of water and added them to the pile he set on the counter.
The old man tossed his magazine on the counter and grinned at C.J. “Howdy,” he said. “This be all for ya?”
“Yep,” C.J. said. “That’ll do it.”
The order came up to thirty-seven dollars and C.J. handed over a pair of twenties. The old fellow gave him his change, then picked up his magazine and went back to reading as C.J. walked out the door. He actually chuckled as he got behind the wheel of the Mustang, because the old fellow hadn’t paid any attention to him.
Still, it made sense to be cautious. He drove up the back road a ways until
he spotted a dirt track, then turned onto it to make some changes to the way he looked.
First, he dumped out part of the shoe polish and added some water to dilute it a bit. He shook it up well, then used the applicator to spread it over the skin of his face, arms and hands. It made him look like he had a deep suntan, or maybe even like he might be of Hispanic heritage. He thought that might be an even better idea, so he looked into the mirror and said, “Hola. My name, it is José.” His accent sounded fine to him, so he tore the novelty teeth out of their package and slipped them into place.
They did a pretty good job of hanging onto his real teeth, so he tried talking again. “Si, Señor,” he said, but the teeth made it difficult to get the accent to come through. He gave it up and tried talking again. “Hey, there, my name is Johnny. Y’all got any rooms for rent?”
Yes, that would work. All he had to do was act like a hillbilly redneck, and with the teeth in place and the darkened skin, nobody would recognize him. He didn’t need to look completely different, he reasoned, just enough to not look like the pictures that were undoubtedly circulating.
He slipped on the hoodie and cleaned up his trash, tossing the whole bag into the woods beside the road. Last thing he needed was to be caught with evidence that he was changing his appearance, so they had to go. He got into the car and turned it around, then cruised past the old general store on his way back to the interstate.
Only five hours to Denver, and then he’d get busy locating his mother and his twin brother.
NINETEEN
The Cessna touched down at Denver International at just before eight p.m. Sam and Grace disembarked and thanked the pilot and crew, then walked back to Grace’s car. Sam put the bags in the back seat and slid in beside his mother as she started the car and turned it around.
Neither of them had said a lot since they left Mrs. Willis. The whole thing had been an ordeal, especially after learning that C.J. killed his first victim while he was still a teenager himself. He would’ve been just shy of his sixteenth birthday when Cynthia vanished, but Sam was quite certain the remains he found would turn out to be hers.
One of the things the medical examiner had pointed out was the cut marks on the ribs. Cynthia, like most of his victims over the years, had been stabbed to death. The only real difference was that they found the knife in the shallow grave with her.
It was an old butcher knife, one of the big, old, heavy ones that used to be found in every kitchen. C.J. had left it laying beside her, and it was old, dirty and rusty. It was almost certainly the murder weapon, but there wouldn’t be any chance of recovering DNA from it after years in the acidic soil.
They pulled up at Sam’s house a half-hour later, and Grace said she was tired and wanted to go home. Kim spent the night before with Indie, and hurried out to ride home with her best friend as Sam came in and dropped his bag on the floor beside his recliner. Harry, Denny and Carrie were all sitting on the couch together and smiled as he sat down.
“Daddy!” Kenzie yelled. She ran and jumped into his lap, and Sam pulled her into a hug. Indie sat on the arm of the chair, holding little Bo so that he could also reach for his daddy.
“Now, this is the way to make a homecoming work,” Sam said. “Let the whole family just climb on top of me, and I’m happy.”
“We’re just glad you’re back,” Kenzie said. “Did you have a good time?”
“I didn’t go to have a good time, sweetheart,” Sam said. “This was all business, not fun. We’re trying to find the bad guy who really did the things that Daddy got arrested for.”
“Well, did you find him?”
“Not just yet, but we’re getting closer. I think we’ll be able to find him before too much longer.”
“But who is he?” Kenzie asked, and Sam looked at Indie with his eyebrows high.
“You might as well tell her,” Indie said. “It’s going to be all over the news in a few days, anyway.”
Sam nodded and turned back to his daughter. “Well, sweetie,” he said, “you see, back when Daddy was born, I had a twin brother. Now, something happened and somebody else had a baby that night who died. There was a nurse there who thought it was a shame that that lady’s baby died, so she took my twin brother and put him in the crib where that baby was, and put the dead baby in my brother’s crib. My mom, your grandma Grace, she thought that my brother had died, but the truth was that he went to live with the other lady and never knew that I was his brother.”
“That lady was mean,” Kenzie said. “She didn’t have any right to do that.”
“No, she didn’t,” Sam said. “Unfortunately, nobody knew about it until just a couple days ago. Well, it turns out that the bad man who has been killing people is really my twin brother. That’s why they thought it was me, because they found things that seemed to come from me on the people he killed. Because he and I are just alike, and nobody knew that he existed, everybody thought it must’ve been me that killed that poor girl.”
“But you didn’t. Are you going to have to kill your brother?”
Sam glanced at Indie, then looked back at Kenzie. “We certainly hope not,” he said. “But we do have to arrest him, and we have to put him in jail. That’s the law, when you kill somebody, you go to jail.”
Kenzie sat back on his lap and stared at him for a moment. “I’m sorry, Daddy,” she said. “It’s not fair that your brother turned out to be a bad man.”
“No, honey, it’s not,” Sam said, “but we have to deal with the truth that’s in front of us. He’s doing some bad things, so we have to make him stop. The police all over the country are looking for him right now, and sooner or later, somebody will catch him.”
“But now, Daddy’s home,” Indie said. “And I bet Daddy is hungry. Am I right?”
“I actually am,” Sam said. “They offered me a sandwich on the plane, but I wanted to wait and eat when I got home.”
“Good,” Harry said, “because Indie made lasagna.” He started scooting forward on the couch to get up, and Denny took hold of his arm to help him stand. “Come on, let’s all get to the table. Kenzie insisted we had to wait for you before we had dinner, so we are all just about to starve to death, Sam, boy.”
“Ignore the bugger, Sam,” Denny said. “Indie has been feeding him snacks all day.”
“The privilege of age, young man,” Harry said. “I’ve earned the right to be hungry. I’ve had to put up with you and Sam’s sister mooning over each other all day, and all night as well.”
Denny grinned, and Carrie blushed. The two of them took seats together at the table a moment later, and Sam just shook his head.
Dinner was delightful, as usual, and then Denny asked if Sam needed him to stick around.
“I think I can handle things now,” Sam said. “You ready to head for home?”
Denny grinned. “Actually,” he said, “your delightful sister has agreed to let me take her out on the town tonight. Assuming that’s all right with you, of course.”
Sam chuckled. “She’s a grown woman,” he said. “On the other hand, she’s a Prichard. Might be more than you can handle, Denny.”
Denny looked over at Carrie, who was smiling back at him. He turned back to Sam. “You ever known me to run from danger?”
“Not really,” Sam said, grinning. “Go on, you guys have fun. Carrie, give us a call when you’re ready to come home. I’ll get up to let you in.”
Carrie blinked at him. “Who says I’m coming home?”
* * * * *
C.J. arrived in Denver an hour earlier and got a room at one of the cheap motels on the edge of town. It had Wi-Fi, so he got on his computer and started looking for Grace Prichard’s address. It wasn’t listed with the phone company, but he was able to find it on the county records website. Luckily, it was about fifteen minutes from the motel.
Next, he looked up Sam’s address. He had to use the same website to find that, because Sam kept his home address fairly secret, but there’s no way to hide tax records. Wh
en he found the address, he checked it on Google maps and found that it was a little farther away, nearly forty minutes.
That was okay. He wanted to get some rest before he met his brother, anyway. He kicked off his shoes and lay back on the bed, then picked up the remote and turned on the television.
He scanned through the channels until he found CNN, and then his eyes went wide. There was a bar across the bottom of the screen that said, “Serial Killer’s First Victim,” and the picture behind it was of the house he had grown up in. He turned up the volume and listened.
“… and decided to take a look into the basement of the house. While he was there, Prichard discovered a shallow grave covered by plywood and a thin layer of dirt, and when he opened it up, he found the remains of a young woman who is believed to be Cynthia Alderson, who vanished when she was fifteen years old. Police are speculating that C.J. Willis, who is currently being sought in connection with several other murders around the country and grew up in that house, is the perpetrator, but they cautioned that the investigation is only just beginning.”
There was a picture of a pretty girl with long, black hair on the screen, an obviously old picture. It looked like something out of a high school yearbook, and C.J. stared at it. He knew that girl, and he knew the name they had mentioned, Cynthia Alderson, but there was something—it was some kind of veil over the memories, almost like some sort of cloud that he couldn’t see through.
He sat up on the bed and stared at the screen. The picture changed suddenly, and he saw two men carrying a stretcher out of the house. There was a plastic body bag on the stretcher, but it was incredibly thin.
Cynthia. He knew he should be able to remember her, because they flirted with each other constantly during his sophomore year. C.J. had been dating a bit, if that’s what you could call it when all he did was meet a girl somewhere and do his best to talk her out of her clothes. Only rarely did he bother to take them to a movie or one of the two restaurants in town, and then only when the girl made it clear it was the only way he was going to get what he wanted.
