by Jen J. Danna
Leigh followed the couple into a comfortably furnished living room. A well-padded couch and two comfortable chairs were grouped in front of a large fireplace, hardwood piled high beside the grate in a brass log rack.
The heart of the house was proudly displayed in the framed photos of Tracy on nearly every surface in the room. But they weren’t just pictures of Tracy alone; there were easily as many photos of the three of them together through the years. Leigh’s gaze fell on a graduation picture on the mantel—Tracy, clad in cap and gown and grinning exuberantly, stood with her arms thrown around her proud parents. It was a picture of family unity and mutual affection. Leigh studied the young woman in the photo—all bright eyes and overflowing laughter. So vivacious and full of life. A life cut short.
Leigh’s heart squeezed in sympathy as the knot pulled tighter.
She followed the older couple, taking one of the armchairs after they chose the sofa. Mr. Kingston clasped his wife’s hand before taking a deep breath and raising his eyes to meet hers. Leigh read resignation there and felt a wave of sympathy for him—the truth was already clear to him. But Mrs. Kingston’s shock was yet to come, and it would shatter her world forever.
She folded her hands in her lap, hardening herself to deliver the blow with all possible speed. “Mr. and Mrs. Kingston, I regret to inform you that your daughter’s body was recovered near the coast outside the Town of Essex.”
Stunned silence filled the room. Mr. Kingston’s head dropped even as his hand clutched his wife’s, but Mrs. Kingston simply stared at Leigh. “Her body … you mean … she’s gone? Tracy’s gone?” Stricken, she turned to her husband. “Kevin, this can’t be right.” She whirled back to Leigh. “You can’t be sure. You said a body was found, but you haven’t had us identify that body to make sure it’s Tracy.”
“Dorothy.” The word came out as a harsh whisper as Mr. Kingston raised his head, tears welling unashamedly in his eyes.
“No!” She tried to pull her hand from her husband’s, but he held on tightly. “It can’t be her. There’s been a mistake.”
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Kingston, but there’s been no mistake. I was able to identify her from the Missing Persons report you filed. The Massachusetts Medical Examiner confirmed the identification through dental records. Please accept my condolences on your loss.”
“No, I won’t believe it.” Her husband pulled her into his arms and she collapsed against his chest, weeping openly as he whispered to her, his voice thick with tears.
Motionless, Leigh sat across from them, her back ramrod straight and her hands clasped in her lap, her fingers clenched so tightly that her nails left deep imprints in the backs of her hands. She felt like the worst of intruders, an eyewitness to the most raw and brutal kind of grief; the kind of grief that shouldn’t be seen by any stranger. Yet here she was.
Their pain was palpable and she steeled herself against the depth of their sorrow. She still had a job to do, and she couldn’t do it unless she kept her emotions wrapped tight. She remembered Matt’s words to his students—Put emotion aside for a few minutes. This is how we can do the most good. Matt was right—she served the victim best when she put her emotions aside.
For now, anyway. But this kind of anguish always left a mark on those who witnessed it. She swallowed thickly, pushing down sympathetic grief, and simply waited.
After several minutes, Mr. Kingston raised his head to meet Leigh’s eyes. The devastation in his eyes was almost a physical ache. “How did she die? Was it an accident? You said her …” His eyes closed briefly and then he forced himself to continue. “You said her body was found on the Essex coast. Did she drown?”
“No, sir. Current evidence indicates that she was murdered.”
“Murdered?” Mrs. Kingston’s head finally came up. Her eyes were red-rimmed and her face was blotchy. “Someone murdered our girl? But why? Everyone loved her.”
“We’re investigating that now. There’s a possibility that her death might be related to other remains that were found in the same area.”
Mr. Kingston stiffened. “Other remains?”
“Your daughter’s body was found close to several sets of older remains. We suspect they are connected, but it’s too early to be sure. We have a forensic anthropology team currently working with the medical examiner to investigate this possibility.”
“But I don’t understand,” Mrs. Kingston whispered. “Are you saying that she was the victim of a serial killer?” Tears started streaming down her cheeks again. “Someone just randomly decided that she should die?”
“We’re pursuing all available leads at this time. It would be helpful if I could ask you a few questions now if you feel up to it.”
Anger flushed Mr. Kingston’s face with color. “Can’t it wait?”
“Sir, I could ask these questions later, but every minute we delay is a minute that we could be out tracking down the person responsible.”
The older man seemed to crumple into himself slightly, but he gave a small nod.
Leigh pulled out her notebook and pen. “Was Tracy personally involved with anyone? Did she have a boyfriend or a partner?”
“Tracy was dating someone last year but they had a messy breakup and Tracy decided to stay out of the dating pool for a while.”
“A messy breakup? Was it violent? Did he ever threaten her?”
Mr. Kingston shook his head. “Not that Tracy ever mentioned.”
“She would have told us. She told us everything.” Mrs. Kingston pushed away from her husband to sit straighter, but gratefully accepted the handkerchief he handed her to wipe her eyes and cheeks. “He hurt her emotionally, but never laid a finger on her. We can give you his contact information, but the last I heard from Tracy, he’d transferred to the West Coast to take another position in his company.”
“I’d still like to follow up on him. Was there anyone at work that she was having problems with?”
“No, Tracy got along with everyone.” The older woman’s voice started to wobble. “Everyone loved her. Kevin?”
“I’m right here, love.” Putting his arm around his wife, Mr. Kingston pulled her against his side as she dropped her face into her hands and her body shook with sobs.
Leigh laid her notebook and pen in her lap, patiently waiting out the storm.
Finally, Mrs. Kingston quieted, her head rising slowly. “How did she die?” When Leigh paused, the older woman pushed. “I need to know.”
“She was severely beaten, but the cause of death was manual strangulation.”
Mrs. Kingston jerked, a low moan of pain breaking from her.
Leigh tried to cushion the truth as much as possible. “We believe that she was unconscious at the time of death. She didn’t know what was happening.”
Mrs. Kingston abruptly surged to her feet, crossing the room to the nearest bookshelf. She picked up a crystal frame, gazing at the family in the picture. She returned to hand the photo to Leigh.
It was taken in a hospital room almost thirty years ago, based on Mr. Kingston’s clothing and glasses. Mrs. Kingston lay in the hospital bed, exhausted, but her face was lit with an inner joy. Mr. Kingston perched on the bed beside his wife, his chest puffed out with pride. In Mrs. Kingston arms, wrapped in a pink blanket, lay a tiny baby. Tracy.
“They told us we couldn’t have children,” Mrs. Kingston said tearfully. “We’d given up hope. And then, a miracle happened. I got pregnant at forty-five. Tracy was that baby. She was our life.” Her voice broke. “She was our whole life.”
The older woman covered her mouth with a shaking hand and sank down onto the sofa, leaning against her husband. Closing her eyes, she took several deep breaths. Then she looked up at Leigh. “Can I tell you about her?”
Leigh smiled gently. “I’d like to hear about Tracy. She’s mine now, so I want to know her.”
She settled back in the chair and let Mrs. Kingston talk herself out.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN: SALTMARSH CORDGRASS
Saltmarsh
Cordgrass: Spartina alterniflora; a wetland perennial grass that typically grows at the border of tidal creeks in the marsh; the dominant plant species in the low marsh, it enables the rest of the marsh to form around it.
Thursday, 2:47 P.M.
Essex Bay Coast, Massachusetts
Raising his head from the remains, Matt called over one of the Crime Scene Services photographers to document the next stage in the excavation. Sitting back on his haunches, he rolled his head from side to side, trying to release some of the tightness that was building in his neck and shoulders from so many hours hunched over the grave.
The team had advanced well over the day and the contents of both excavations were exposed to view, although Matt’s was progressing faster than Kiko’s. Wearing Tyvek and latex gloves, Juka sat opposite Matt, taking advantage of the brief break to quench his thirst from the water bottle he kept nearby. Kiko and Paul crouched over the second set of remains, brushes in hand, as they meticulously worked to sweep away the soil surrounding the bones. Two other Crime Scene Services techs moved around the burial site, recording the scene in both video and still photos. Several Essex police officers were stationed at the periphery, talking quietly to one of the techs and watching intently as the scene was slowly revealed.
Leigh suddenly broke through the brush to stand at the edge of the clearing. Standing all alone, she looked worn and tired, as if the investigation was wearing her down. But she gamely smiled at Matt and he returned the gesture.
Leigh crossed the clearing as Matt rose to his feet, pulling off his gloves to ball them in his fist before stuffing them into the pocket of his coveralls. “Hey.”
“Hey, yourself. You guys have really made progress today.”
Juka, still kneeling beside the grave, smiled and offered a silent nod of greeting.
“We have,” Matt agreed. “Granted we’ve been at work since seven and we only took a twenty minute break around eleven.”
Leigh glanced at her watch. “Maybe you should let them take another break and grab some food if they brought any. It’s almost three o’clock and you don’t want them dropping from exhaustion. We’ve all had a busy few days. They must be worn out.”
“Is it that late already? You work on an excavation like this and you sort of get into the zone and you lose track of time.” Matt critically surveyed the excavations before nodding. “I think we can afford to take a break now. Guys! Take twenty. Get something to eat. Then we’re back at it until we lose the light and have to shut it down for the night.”
The three young people stood, giving small groans of relief at the change in position. The photographers wandered off to talk to the cops.
Leigh circled the grave to study the tangled remains that lay below the surface of the surrounding earth. There were clearly two sets of remains inside the grave, excavated laterally so that only the lower legs were still encased in soil. The first victim lay stretched on its back as if placed there with some care. In contrast, the second body lay partially covering the first, its head pillowed sideways on the chest below, its limbs bent at awkward angles. The cause of death was startlingly clear in the topmost skull—the front of the skull was brutally fractured, with pieces of the smooth forehead section shattered into large shards and collapsed into the partially dirt-filled cranium.
“I was really concerned after yesterday that there might have been more than two sets of remains,” Matt said. “But we’re sure now it’s only two. It’s the same in Kiko’s grave.”
“As bad as it is, it feels like a small blessing it’s not more.” Ignoring her neat charcoal slacks, Leigh knelt in the dirt at the edge of the excavation, bracing her hands at the edge of the grave so she could lean over. She bent close to the shattered skull, her eyes narrowed in concentration as she studied it. “Any idea what happened here? Blunt or sharp force trauma?”
“Single gunshot round to the head, likely at a moderately close range, execution-style. Fairly high velocity, but not from a rifle. Probably a small caliber handgun.”
“Can you clearly see the back of the skull? Did the bullet pass right through?”
Matt shook his head. “I don’t think so. Not from what we’ve uncovered so far or from the estimated trajectory. You might get lucky—if the bullet didn’t go through, it might have bounced around inside the skull a few times, but it’ll still be there. If so, we’ll recover it for you, and ballistics can run it.”
“We’ll be able to do a direct match because Crime Scene Services pulled several spent bullets out of tree trunks after our run-in with him. If there’s a positive match, then we’ve got a direct tie between him and these victims. Not that he would necessarily be using the same gun, but if he was, then that would go a long way toward starting to tie up some of our loose ends.”
“Loose end number one being ‘is it the same killer?’ ” Matt proposed.
“Definitely.”
“What are we looking at, bullet-wise?”
“Twenty-two caliber. More specifically, between the bullets themselves and the casings that the techs collected yesterday, we know that he’s using a Remington .22 LR, 36 grain, high-velocity hollow point.”
He glanced back at the damaged skull again. “Small caliber bullet, as I thought. But it’s also pretty common. Lots of those around.”
“All we need is one to compare it to.” She turned back to the grave. “Any sign of bullet trauma in the second body?”
“Not so far. There isn’t a bullet wound in the front of the skull. However, there could be something in the back we can’t see yet. But, we’ve found signs of significant trauma.”
Her gaze shot to his. “What kind of trauma?”
“On a first quick examination, it’s similar to what we saw in yesterday’s victim. There are multiple kerf marks on the bone.”
“Then we have more to tie into the serial killer theory if the injuries match the newest victim. Can you tell what caused these marks?”
“Not yet. But once the remains are back at the lab and all traces of the soil are removed, I’ll be able to magnify the defects and start matching them with potential tools. Different tools and weapons leave characteristic marks just like a bullet does.”
Raising her head, Leigh indicated the second grave. “Anything different there?”
“Not too much. A slightly different body positioning—those two bodies went in side-by-side. Between the two graves, cause of death looks identical at this point with one victim shot in the head and the other having multiple tool marks. It’s also a more recent burial—we’ve found desiccated tissue, the hair cap, and more significant clothing remnants. We may have something interesting there. Kiko noted early on that the remnants only seem to be associated with one set of remains, so she thinks that one body went into the grave clothed, but the other was naked.”
Leigh’s gaze jerked from the grave on the other side of the clearing to Matt’s face. “That has to be significant.”
“You would think so. We can’t tell that from this grave yet due to degradation, but when we unearth the feet, that may tell the tale. Cottons and natural fabrics can degrade quite quickly in the grave, but the synthetics used in shoes don’t. That may tell us if one of the bodies was naked.”
“Why the difference? Was there evidence he was trying to hide so he didn’t bury the clothing with the victim? Or were they a keepsake from the victim, something to treasure so he could relive the experience? Why from only one victim and not both? And why the difference in killing methods? There has to be a reason for that if it’s in his MO.” Leigh climbed to her feet, bending momentarily to brush the loose soil off the knees of her pants. “Maybe he’s taking the two victims as couples. What if he grabs a couple, and the fun is to torture one of them while making the other watch while he slowly kills? He’s physically torturing one victim, but mentally torturing the second. Then when the first victim is finally dead, the fun is over.”
“So he finishes off the second victim quickly. Half of the killer’s fu
n is to terrify the second victim and the first is potentially only a means to an end in that respect? Then once the first victim is dead, the game is over and he just caps the second? It might go down that way.”
Leigh picked up a small stone from beside the grave, worrying it absently in her hand. “It might, but something about this isn’t playing for me. If the point of the double murder is to torture the second victim, why stop then? That ends the game too quickly. Why not stretch it out and torture the second victim too if that’s how you get your enjoyment out of the act? They’d already be terrified out of their minds before you even started in on them. Also, if we had couples disappearing together, even over a large area, that would be noticed. These disappearances have been completely under the radar.” She shook her head, her lips pursing. “We might have an idea of what’s going on here, but something’s still not right. Which reminds me …” Reaching into the breast pocket of her lightweight jacket, she pulled out a color print of one of the digital photos taken by the photographer during the autopsy. She held it out for him. “This is the signature I told you about last night.”
Matt examined the mark closely. “Very careful and precise markings. I don’t recognize the symbol. Where was it on the body?”
“Here.” She patted the spot over her left breast. “But because of the positioning in the grave, I can’t see that area.”
Matt squatted down to examine the remains. “You’re right, with the one set of remains overlaying the other, we can’t see that part of the rib cage yet.” He straightened. “You’re hoping that we’ll be able to find a trace of that kind of carving on the bones to prove that it’s a true signature and to tie all the victims together?”
“Yes. If it’s a true signature it should be in approximately the same place.”
Matt studied the picture again. “I wonder if Kiko might recognize the symbol. She’s American but with her Japanese background …”
“It might make no more sense to her than to us, but it’s worth a shot,” Leigh agreed. “She may be able to tell us what kind of symbol it is, even if she doesn’t know exactly what it means.”
