by Blake Pierce
Kate kept an eye on her phone and when she got the notification that she had a new mail, she opened it right away. Strangely, she felt a stirring of compassion when she saw the lists. The Nashes alone had hosted six children through Family Friends and Services. The Langleys had cared for six, while Monica Knight had housed four foster kids. It was heartwarming to know that there were people in the world who still cared for orphans and troubled children in such a way. It made her think of Michelle and how she would be fortunate to grow up in a home where she would always be loved.
There was a note at the bottom of the lists. It read: Not a complete list. Some children had their names changed. Some parents had them removed once they resumed care. Others were removed from all lists at their own request after turning eighteen years of age.
“I see two in common right away,” DeMarco said, looking at her own mail.
Kate spotted that, too. And while she hated to instantly eliminate so many other names from the list, it simply made more sense to go with the children whom all of the victims had in common. Seeing these two names, she did start to feel a slight bit of anxiousness slipping into her mind.
“Agents?”
They looked up and saw a middle-aged woman in glasses approaching them. Like the receptionist, she smiled widely. She wore a pair of glasses that made her eyes appear very bright.
Kate stood up and shook the woman’s hand. DeMarco followed suit.
“Thanks for meeting with us,” Kate said. “As I told your receptionist, it’s a time-sensitive matter.”
“Yes, and I got a text from Ruby that told me you were coming as well. So come on back, Agents, and let me see if I can help.”
***
Kate and DeMarco sat on the opposite side of Dr. Ethridge as she slowly lowered herself into the chair behind her desk. “Do you mind if I ask if this matter is about the Langleys and the Nashes?” she asked.
“It is,” Kate said, surprised that she knew about one other family that Ruby at Family Friends had not known about. “And if I’m going to be blunt and expect your full cooperation, I suppose I can also tell you that as of this morning, another woman has been killed—Monica Knight.”
“Oh my God,” she said. “I never really knew her, but heard of her. She wasn’t with FSS, correct?”
“Not that we know of,” Kate said. “Just foster care.”
“We’re here,” DeMarco said, “because so far the only link we can find between the victims is the fact that they were all connected through the foster system in one way or the other, although we understand the Nashes weren’t foster parents, but involved in Family Friends and Services.”
“And while we can’t go into detail just yet,” Kate said, “the killer has been leaving little clues behind that indicate he may have some sort of trauma from his childhood that is still tormenting him.”
“I’ll help in whatever capacity I can,” Ethridge said, “but surely you understand that there will be areas where my hands are tied when it comes to doctor-patient confidentiality.”
“Yes,” Kate said, fully expecting this. “But I don’t think you’ll have to divulge too much.” She slid her phone over to Ethridge and showed her the list of names. “As you’ll see, there are two names that the victims have in common. Two children.”
“Yes, I was aware of at least one child that both the Nashes and the Langleys had seen. I don’t know if Ruby told you, but I also see quite a few children from DSS cases, particularly after the kids have been moved into foster care. I don’t get them all, but I do get many of them.”
“So these two children,” DeMarco said. “Do the names ring bells? Or, more importantly, do they raise any red flags?”
“Well, Renee Pearson was a handful,” Ethridge said, pointing to a name on the list. “I had no idea she had ended up with Monica Knight, though. It might have been just a respite situation where care was only needed for a day or so. Anyway, Renee was always looking for an argument. She’d lash out at people, hitting them in the hopes of getting into a fight. In her first foster home, she was caught holding a pillow over the face of the family’s three-year-old son while he slept. The kid was okay, thankfully, but the trouble that Renee got into didn’t seem to bother her at all.”
“So you’d say she had a tendency toward violence?” Kate asked.
“Yes, that’s a safe bet. But…this was nearly…God, almost twelve years ago the last time I saw her. She found a home that sort of fit. Last I heard—and it’s been a while—she had gone to college.”
“Do you know if she still lives around here?” DeMarco asked.
“Pretty sure. If you’ll check with my receptionist on the way out, she might have a current address that we use for Christmas cards and the like.”
“Anyone else in that trio stand out?” Kate asked.
Ethridge nodded. “Yeah. Robert Traylor. He was one of those young boys that just…I hate to say it, but you could see the hate in his eyes sometimes. Abandoned as a baby, sexually abused by a foster father when he was four. Robert was cutting himself when he was nine or so—and that was right around the time his uncle finally took him in. That helped for a while from what I can remember, but he got taken in by the cops for the first time when he was eleven or twelve.”
“What for?” DeMarco asked.
“Beating up a homeless man. Smashed a liquor bottle right over his head.”
“Did he ever threaten you?” Kate asked.
“Oh yeah, almost weekly. He threatened to break into my house and rape me. Pretty harsh words coming from a thirteen-year-old.”
“At the risk of jumping to conclusions, do you think he’d be capable of murder?”
Ethridge thought about this for a moment. She steepled her fingers together as she thought, clearly not wanting to take the conversation where it was headed. “I can clearly remember putting notes like self-harm and suicidal thoughts and tendencies into his evaluations. And that was pretty much over the entire time I saw him as a patient. I suppose he’d be in his late twenties now. Maybe early thirties. And while I am a huge proponent of thinking anyone can change, I just…well, I find it hard to think that he could have changed that much.”
“Have you seen or heard from him since you last met with him professionally?” DeMarco asked.
“No. And that’s been nearly nine years ago.”
Kate nodded and got to her feet. As far as she was concerned, they had what they needed. “Well, thanks for your time—again, we certainly appreciate it.”
“Agent Wise…do you mind me asking what the killer is leaving behind? You said there were clues he was leaving behind.”
“Fragments of what appear to be an old blanket.”
“Like a security blanket?”
“That’s the hunch I’m going with. Why do you ask?”
Ethridge thought for a moment before answering: “That’s a pretty sentimental object.” Kate waited for something else, but Ethridge looked lost in thought.
Kate gave a final nod of appreciation and then left the office.
On the way down the hall, DeMarco pulled out her phone. “I doubt someone like Robert Traylor is on the Christmas card list,” she said. “I’ll put in an information request on his current residence.”
“And if Renee Pearson is local, let’s pay her a visit, too,” Kate said. “Maybe she can offer some insight into how being bounced around from home to home can alter a kid’s thinking.”
But even while they were making these plans, the last thing Ethridge said remained stuck in her head. It slowly started to glow, as if it might have some meaning to it, some clue to help them break the case.
That’s a pretty sentimental object, Ethridge had said of the blanket.
It was a notion that Kate had felt ever since the beginning, but she could not tease out the meaning of it just yet.
Maybe when they encountered Robert Traylor, he’d be able to tell them himself—from the confines of an interrogation room.
CHAPTER TWE
NTY ONE
Renee Pearson—now Renee Matthews after getting married three years ago—lived just outside of Roanoke, in a neighborhood nestled in a valley that gave a breathtaking view of the mountains. Seeing the neighborhood was, to Kate, an exercise in not pre-judging people based on their history. The neighborhood was a gated community, with houses that would easily go for seven to eight hundred thousand in this part of the country. Dusk was only an hour or so away, the evening light painting the neighborhood in rich colors that seemed to add to the value of the place.
Just as Kate was parking along the curb in front of Renee Matthews’s house, DeMarco’s phone rang. She answered it right away. Kate continued to admire the neighborhood from behind the wheel as she listened to DeMarco’s side of the phone conversation. She was off in less than a minute and although Kate had gotten the gist from DeMarco’s end, her partner filled her in.
“So there appears to be no current residence for Robert Traylor,” DeMarco said. “The last actual address on file for him was in Blacksburg, Virginia, and that was three years ago. The post office can confirm that he no longer lives there. The best we could get was the address of his uncle. They were apparently fairly tight at one point.”
“He local?” Kate asked.
“Just outside of Blacksburg. About an hour and a half away.”
“Maybe too late to visit tonight. We can call him when we leave here to see how cooperative he’ll be.”
They got out of the car and walked up to the porch. DeMarco knocked on the door and it was answered right away by a man carrying a toddler. The kid sucked on a bottle and looked at the agents skeptically.
“Can I help you?” the man asked.
“We’re looking for Renee Matthews, formerly Renee Pearson,” Kate said.
“That’s my wife,” he said. He then gave them a skeptical look that mirrored that of his son. “Can I ask who’s visiting?”
“Agents Wise and DeMarco, with the FBI,” Kate said, showing her ID. “We just need to ask her some questions about some people from her past.”
“Ah,” the husband said, as if it all made sense now. “Come on in. Renee is in the laundry room. I’ll get her.”
Mr. Pearson led them into the dining room and offered them both seats while he walked to the back of the house. Kate was glad to see that someone with a marred past had managed to do so well for themselves. Even if it was a case of marrying well, it was something to admire.
Moments later, a pretty woman dressed in a T-shirt and sweatpants came into the dining room. Her blonde hair was done up in a messy bun that made her look about ten years younger. Kate thought she could catch glimpses of the young girl who had once met with Dr. Ethridge.
“Renee?” Kate asked.
“Yeah, that’s me,” she said. “Chris said you were with the FBI?”
“That’s right,” DeMarco said, showing her badge.
“Is something wrong?” Renee asked.
“I don’t know if you’ve heard about the Langleys and the Nashes yet,” Kate said. “But they’ve recently been killed.”
Renee nodded her head. “Yes. A friend of mine from in town called me. One day after the other, like a double play of terrible news.”
“Had you remained close with them over the years?” Kate asked.
“I spoke with Toni Nash every now and then,” Renee said. “She would occasionally call to tell me about Olivia being in college. I hadn’t spoken to the Langleys in a while, though. They called on my birthday last year and I think that was the last time I spoke with them.”
Kate did her best to deliver the next news softly. “What can you tell us about Monica Knight?” she asked.
“A nice enough lady. I stayed with her for about a week when I was fourteen or so and then for a weekend the year after that. She’s such a sweet woman, but looking back, I think she was at war with which to give in to: her heart for kids or her career.”
“Well, I hate to tell you that she’s been killed, too,” Kate said. “Sometime last night, we think.”
Renee’s hand went to her mouth and tears formed in her eyes.
“When did you speak to her last?” DeMarco asked.
“Oh, it’s been years. I was married three years ago and she sent me a gift through Amazon. She never called. I invited her to the wedding, but she didn’t come.”
“How was your time with her when she hosted you?” Kate asked.
“Fine. Nothing special. We got along but nothing really ever clicked, you know? She was very kind and hospitable but there was never any real sense that she wanted to get to know me on a personal level.”
“During your time with the Langleys, Nashes, and Monica Knight, did you happen to ever cross paths with a young man named Robert Traylor?”
Renee considered it for a moment before shaking her head. “It doesn’t sound familiar. But then again, I was yanked around a lot for several years there.”
“We spoke with Dr. Ethridge in Roanoke,” DeMarco said. She smiled and added: “It looks like you got things turned around.”
“I did,” Renee said, wiping a tear away. “I met this college girl at one of the foster homes I was in and she was telling me how awesome college was and how she basically already had a job lined up when she graduated. I decided I’d give it a go. Did some community college to get my GPA up and then went to Virginia Tech. I graduated the same year Chris and I got married. I’ve been working with the Forestry Department ever since. I think it’s a job that’ll eventually lead us to West Virginia to live, but we’re not quite sure yet.”
“Now, just for the sake of us having to do our jobs,” Kate said, “would you be able to prove your whereabouts every night for the past week or so?”
Alarmed, Renee sat up rigid in her seat. “Are you seriously suggesting that I—”
“I’m suggesting nothing,” Kate said. “However, so far the only thing that these victims have in common is the fact that they were involved in foster care and child protection. And you were a common link among them all.”
Renee looked pissed but it was also clear that she understood their approach. “I was here every night for the last week, with the exception of Thursday night. That’s our date night. We have a sitter come so Chris and I can go out to dinner.”
“And I’m sure that will all check out,” DeMarco said apologetically. “Mrs. Matthews, you knew all five of these victims. Is there any reason at all you could think of for someone to want to hurt them? Was there maybe anything that linked them together somehow?”
“I honestly don’t know,” Renee said. “I can’t think of anything. Then again, I was very self-absorbed and wrapped up in myself during that time in my life.”
Kate got to her feet, a little regretful that they had driven out here for this brief and uneventful conversation. “Well, over the next day or so, we’d appreciate it if you could give it some thought. If you come up with anything, please let us know.”
“Of course.”
With that, DeMarco left a business card on the dining room table as Renee walked them to the door.
“You know,” Renee said, “foster care is a double-edged sword. For every great family, there’s a shitty one. I heard about some pretty bad stories. But I find it hard to believe any of these families would have done something so bad to a child that would cause this.”
“Did you ever meet a kid that was abused in the system?” Kate asked.
“A few girls here and there, yeah.”
“And would you happen to know any of the names of those abusive families?”
“No…sorry.”
“How about you?” DeMarco asked. “Did you ever experience it?”
“No. The Nashes and Langleys were the only actual homes I stayed in.”
So there goes any hope of singling out the next family on the killer’s list, Kate thought.
They thanked Renee one last time and headed back to the car. As Kate cranked the engine to life, DeMarco looked thoughtfully out the window.<
br />
“So if this killer is a former foster kid with connections to his victims, how can we know when he’s done?”
“What do you mean?” Kate asked.
“What if he’s like Renee? What if these were the only families he stayed with? What if he’s killed them and has quit? He could have already gone into hiding.”
“Then let’s go find the bastard,” Kate said and shifted the car into Drive.
CHAPTER TWENTY TWO
Despite the late hour, Kate was actually glad that the uncle of Robert Traylor agreed to meet with them. His only caveat was that they meet him at a bar in downtown Roanoke. So as the night wound closer to nine o’clock, Kate found herself driving back into Roanoke, following GPS directions to a bar called Shorty’s Pub.
They found him at the back of the place, in a corner booth that looked like something that had been torn straight from an old noir movie. A pitcher of beer and a half-empty glass sat in front of him. He was vaguely watching one of the TVs behind the bar, squinting at the highlights on Sports Center.
“Mr. Traylor?” Kate asked as they approached the table.
He looked away from the television and to the two agents. His startled look made it clear that he probably wasn’t expecting two women—although Kate was the one he talked to on the phone. An embarrassed look crossed his face, one that he turned toward the pitcher of beer and then back to them.
“Al Traylor,” he said. “Nice to meet you. Want a drink?”
Kate would have loved a glass of white wine but she had never been one to drink on the job—not even after hours when she was away from DC.
“No thanks,” she said. DeMarco shook her head as well. “Mr. Traylor, I’m Agent Wise and this is Agent DeMarco. As you were told on the phone, we were hoping to speak with you about a case we’re working on.”
Traylor nodded and sipped from his beer. The glass wasn’t quite empty yet but he refilled it from the pitcher in front of him—which was, itself, about half-empty.
