by Linda Berry
The rhythmic thumping stopped for a few seconds, then started again. Feeling tension in her chest, Sidney made a detour to her bedroom, grabbed her Glock, and advanced to Selena’s room holding the handgun at her side. She felt a thin stream of cool air flowing under the door over her toes.
“Selena?”
No answer.
Sidney stood to one side, twisted the handle, and opened the door with enough force to slam it against the inner wall. She listened. No sound of an intruder. She peeked into the room, pulled her head back. It appeared empty. She brought the gun up to eye level with both hands, stepped into the doorway, and scanned the room.
A stream of cold air drew her gaze to the window, open several inches, the blinds pulled almost all the way up. The base of the blinds bumped steadily against the window frame in the wind. Simple explanation. Her sister left the window open and a current of wind shut the door. Then Sidney imagined a different scenario. The back door was unlocked when she arrived home last night. Had someone been in the house? Heard her come in? Retreated to the bedroom and exited from this window during the night? The thought chilled her.
Sidney crossed the room to the window. The sill was wet, and so was the carpet beneath her feet. Last night’s rain. She scanned the sunlit yard below in slices, studying the shadows closely. Yellowing flowers. Withering vegetable garden. The remaining rust and ochre leaves on the trees fluttering in the breeze. Peaceful. No human movement.
She gazed directly below. A long drop. Rose bushes undisturbed. Not likely someone would choose this way to leave the house. Nor would he leave by unbolting the front or back door if he wanted his presence to remain undetected. An intruder would go through a downstairs window, pull it shut behind him, and no one would be the wiser.
Sidney closed the window and blinds, then turned and viewed her sister’s room as she would a crime scene. Like her own bedroom, it was furnished simply with charming gems rescued from Molly’s Thrift Shop—botanical prints on the wall, worn Persian rugs, a celadon vase from China, mismatched antique lamps. Nothing looked out of place in the array of practical items lining the surface of the desk, nightstand, and dresser. One side of the chenille spread that covered the bed was smooth. The other side had an imprint on the pillow, and the spread was ruffled, as if someone had taken a nap on top of the covers. One of three brightly colored throw pillows lay on the floor.
Chili loped into the room, leapt onto the bed, and immediately formed a cozy nest in the center of the pillow. Again. Simple explanation. It would be logical to assume the cat was the mystery culprit who ruffled the spread. But Sidney took a moment to think illogically. She put herself into the head of a psychopath who might surreptitiously enter a woman’s home and invade her most private space—her bed. Sidney pictured a stranger lying there, quickly rising, unknowingly pushing the pillow to the floor.
Unease settled into Sidney’s gut as she searched under beds and closets throughout the house and checked all the doors and windows. All locked except for the window in the laundry room. How long had it been unlocked? Days? Weeks? Or just since last night? The tension in Sidney’s stomach tightened as she asked herself a hard question. Was she emotionally capable of handling these Garnerville murders? Was her anxiety warranted, or was she allowing the old stress of investigating homicides play havoc with her imagination? Pushing her worries aside, she hurriedly dressed for her morning meeting.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
SIDNEY PARKED THE YUKON at the curb and sprinted up the stairs of City Hall, a domed two-story brick building with an extended portico and four imposing columns, circa 1889. The brass plaque posted by the entrance stated the design was inspired by classical Greek architecture, but a step into the interior quickly dashed that ill-conceived notion. Remodeled numerous times, it languished in the purgatory of the bland and unimaginative, featuring boxy rooms, utilitarian furniture, humming fluorescent lights, and a musty smell that breathed through the ancient heating system.
A red-haired twenty-something woman sat guard in the reception area, blue fingernails tapping her keyboard. “Morning, Chief.” She beamed a high-wattage smile that was a bit blinding first thing in the morning. Somehow, she looked familiar. No doubt, they’d met at some civic function that Sidney could not remember.
Sidney read from the nameplate on her desk. “Morning, Sara.”
“Mayor Burke’s waiting in the conference room. Can I bring you coffee?”
“That’d be great. Cream, one sugar.”
Sara smiled. Another flash of impossibly white teeth.
The spacious conference room retained some of the building’s original elegance: coffered ceilings, marble-tiled floor, walls lined with sepia-tone photos of prominent historical figures. The ornately carved, highly polished display case, sideboard, and conference table looked like relics predating the First World War.
The mayor stood talking to Jeff Norcross in front of the bay window, their figures striped by sunlight slanting through the blinds. Gray-haired and attractive, despite his over-sized nose and slightly jutting chin, Mayor Burke was one of the few people in town who wore a suit to work. This morning he looked distinguished in tailored gray flannel, a white oxford shirt, and red striped tie.
Sidney attempted not to frown as she assessed Jeff Norcross. The owner and sole employee of the Daily Buzz sported a lacquered blonde comb-over, gaunt face, and pale blue eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses. He wore his standard khaki Dockers and long-sleeved polo shirt.
Grave expressions transformed into smiles as the three greeted each other, then tightened again as they took seats at the end of the table.
Sara strolled in, placed a steaming mug of coffee in front of Sidney, and quietly left. Sidney took a grateful sip.
“Have you seen the morning paper, Chief?” Jeff pushed his glasses higher on his nose with an index finger.
“No. Haven’t had time.”
Jeff passed the paper to her and both men remained silent as she focused her attention on the lead story. Above a photo of Samantha Ferguson appeared the bold headline:
Local Woman Murdered
The body of local resident Samantha Ferguson was discovered in the Siuslaw Forest Wednesday evening around midnight. As of yet, no details have been released. Police Chief Becker stated the case is under investigation, and they are pursuing several strong leads.
The article went on to highlight the young woman’s interests, future dreams of a career in art, and her surviving family members. No mention of her struggle with drug addiction or her less than exemplary lifestyle. Her father, a retired surgeon, traveled abroad annually with Doctors Without Borders, and the Fergusons often sponsored charitable events here in town. Sidney realized she needed to brush up on her social awareness. She shouldn’t be learning who the leading citizens of Garnerville were from the newspaper.
Mayor Burke cleared his throat when she looked up. “So, Chief Becker, we’re facing a grim situation here. A beautiful young woman from a high-profile family was murdered, her killer is at large, and only a dribble of information has been released to Jeff and me.”
“I’ve extended the courtesy of printing just the bare facts,” Jeff said with a hint of indignation. “But now the complete story needs to be told. Rumors are flying. Scaring people.”
Sidney turned her attention to the reporter with whom she had a congenial, if indifferent, relationship. Working out of a cubbyhole here at City Hall, Jeff mostly covered rotary events, weddings, and obits. Details of minor crimes were fed to him through briefings from Winnie. Sidney knew he was salivating to fully cover Samantha’s homicide. “I appreciate your concern, Jeff, but we don’t reveal details of ongoing investigations. This case needs to be handled with sensitivity. We have to carefully evaluate what we release to the public.”
“The public needs to know a serial killer’s on the loose,” he said sharply.
Mayor Burke sat upright. “What?”
Sidney blinked, stunned. How did Jeff know about a serial
killer? Was he grasping at straws, or had someone leaked classified information? “Where’d you hear that?”
“I have my sources.” With a tight smirk of satisfaction, Jeff turned his laptop around to face her and the mayor.
Sidney’s stomach twisted. On the screen was the photo of an origami butterfly, identical to the one found on Mimi’s body before it got rain-washed.
“Chief Becker, want to tell me what’s going on?” Mayor Burke asked, the muscles tightening around his mouth.
“Similar butterflies were found on the bodies of Mimi Matsui and Samantha,” Jeff interjected. “Which ties both crimes to one killer.”
“That true?” Burke asked. “We’re dealing with a serial killer?”
Sidney drew in a slow, careful breath, and said evenly, “We’re still processing information, but that seems to be the case.”
The mayor’s face paled.
Sidney turned to Jeff. “I was going to give you full disclosure after the lab results come in. How’d you get this information?”
“Sources.” Cocky grin.
“If you’re covering for someone who hacked into police files, that’s a felony. Who’s your source?”
The cocky grin was replaced by thinly veiled hostility. “Confidential.”
“This isn’t Deep Throat, Jeff,” she said coldly. “National security isn’t at stake. We’re trying to catch a dangerous killer, and you’re impeding my investigation.”
Jeff pressed his lips together so hard they turned white.
She leaned forward in her seat. “Only a few people have access to this information. I know you didn’t get it from my deputies or the M.E. You must be colluding with the killer.”
Jeff’s face flushed beet red.
“Who sent it, Jeff?” Mayor Burke asked sharply.
Silence.
He shot Jeff a warning look, and repeated sternly, “Answer the question.”
The reporter raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. “Christ. Okay, okay. An anonymous email.”
“Show me the email,” Sidney said.
Jeff’s fingers worked his keyboard, and an email opened that contained one line of type and an attachment. The topic line read: Newsflash! The type read: Beautiful butterflies found on the bodies of Mimi Matsui and Samantha Ferguson. Jeff clicked on the attachment and revealed the butterfly.
“Coldblooded bastard,” Burke said.
“Is this the only email you got from him?” Sidney asked.
“Yes.” Jeff’s expression looked determined. “I won’t mention the butterflies, but people need to know a serial killer is targeting women in Garnerville.”
“That’s not entirely true.” Sidney kept her voice steady. “These aren’t spontaneous, random murders. These two women were selected well in advance. Their deaths were carefully planned. A determined killer with time on his hands is going to get his victim. No one can protect her. To scare the hell out of all the women in town, and everyone else for that matter, including tourists, would be a huge mistake.” Sidney could not allow the story to be driven by Jeff’s desire to sell papers and make a name for himself. “Don’t rush this story, Jeff,” Sidney said. “You go big, you’ll draw news teams from across the state. They’ll turn our town into reality TV. Reporters from every network will be parked on Main Street, harassing people, following my officers, blowing every nuance out of proportion. They’ll push you off the story. That what you want?”
“She’s right,” Burke said. “The town would turn into a media circus.”
“I need a few more days to investigate this case,” Sidney said. “My department and the county deputies can get more done working quietly. Before folks put up their guard.”
Jeff pursed his lips, glared.
“Work with us, Jeff. You’ll get first crack at breaking the story,” Sidney said. “Every detail.”
“Keep the story small, for now,” Mayor Burke agreed. “People are freaked out enough by Samantha’s murder.”
Sidney was relieved the mayor was letting her take the lead. Smart move. If her decision blew up in their faces, she would take the heat, not him. “Jeff, you can help by advising people to use caution. Stay in groups at night. Lock their doors. Be alert. If anyone saw anything suspicious Wednesday night, they need to come forward and share that information.” She paused and waited while he took notes, fingers clicking on his keyboard. “No details about the crime scenes. Agreed?”
Jeff puffed out a breath of frustration. “Agreed.”
Sidney didn’t like his lack of conviction.
“Can you trace that email to its source, Chief?” Mayor Burke asked.
“I’ll have Darnell take a look, but from my experience in Oakland, I’d say it’s virtually impossible. No telling how many servers the message traveled through before it got to Jeff. It would be like trying to catch a minnow in the ocean.” She turned to Jeff. “If you get contacted again, notify me immediately. You could be instrumental in breaking this case.”
Jeff’s eyes brightened at the prospect.
“Thank you for working with us, Jeff,” Mayor Burke said in an appeasing tone. “Now I need to speak with Chief Becker alone.”
The reporter nodded, grabbed his computer, and left the room.
“I’m sorry you had to learn about the killer this way,” Sidney said when the door closed behind the reporter. “I know it’s a shock.”
“Understatement.” He ran a tanned hand through his thick crop of hair. “What else can you tell me?”
She exhaled, thinking, but there was no way to make the words less blunt. “Both victims were abducted, held hostage for several hours, then killed and staged the same way.”
His eyes widened. “Holy hell. He abducted them? Held them hostage?”
“Yes.”
“Sick bastard.” His face was marked momentarily by a shadow of disgust. “Where the hell did he take them? What did he do to them?”
“I can’t answer that.”
“How were they killed?”
“Their wrists were cut. They bled out.”
“Gruesome.” He was silent for a long moment. “Are we dealing with a sexual predator?”
“We’re not sure. Lab reports should let us know on Monday.”
“So, these aren’t random killings?”
“No, sir. I believe the killer knew his victims. This perp is methodical and careful. He stalked each woman and waited for the perfect opportunity to abduct her.”
Mayor Burke looked a little dazed. “Never thought anything like this could happen here. It’s frightening to think a vicious killer’s out there. Watching. Perhaps waiting to strike again.”
Sidney shifted her weight in her chair. “People tend to think of these killers as blurry figures lurking in the shadows. In reality, he could be someone we know. Many psychopaths have families, go to church, are active in their communities, appear quite normal.”
“Comforting thought.” His forehead creased. “Why is the killer contacting the press after three years of anonymity? Why disclose evidence now? He suddenly wants attention?”
“My guess? In his own eyes, Mayor, the perp is successful at what he does. He’s the best. He’s stumped the cops for three years. He deserves recognition. He wants more of a challenge, so now he’s leaving clues.”
“He’s thumbing his nose at us?”
“So it seems. We have some strong leads and several persons of interest. Hopefully the lab results will give us enough evidence to make an arrest.”
“You’re that close?”
“I believe so.” Sidney prayed she wasn’t making a false promise.
“I know you’re understaffed, Chief. Putting in long hours. You have my full support and appreciation.” They stood and shook hands, and he gave her a resigned smile. “Keep me posted.”
She nodded silently, and left City Hall, her mind darting between thoughts, trying to connect random dots. She didn’t have enough evidence to form a coherent picture of the killer and hi
s perverted motivation. Jeff’s urge to break the story was unsettling. Gagging him was a short-term solution. If the killer wanted details of his crimes to be made public, he’d find a way to make that happen. Sweat dampened the back of her neck. She didn’t have much time.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
AT NOON, Ann stood and stretched. She’d been working in the loft all morning, staying too busy to allow extraneous thoughts to derail her. Bailey was stretched full length on the Navajo rug in front of the portable heater, snoring, his bandaged paws occasionally twitching.
Before Selena left for town to teach her yoga class, she made sure her holstered .22 pistol was clipped to Ann’s belt. The two had practiced shooting in the pasture for two hours. Ann could now load and safely fire the handgun. The holster felt cumbersome, but being caught unarmed in a life-threatening situation would be worse.
Ann wandered to the window, picked up her binoculars, and scanned Miko’s covered porch to see if he discovered the apple pie she’d left that morning in a cooler on his porch. Her lips curved into a smile. The cooler was gone.
Miko was nowhere in sight, but she spied Noah seated on a green John Deere tractor plowing through a sea of yellowed corn stalks, his dark hair blowing in the wind. A flock of blackbirds flitted behind the tractor like a shifting cloud of smoke, darting from sky to earth to peck at the crushed, uprooted husks. Three ravens suddenly lifted from the highest cedar boughs and glided gracefully on eddies of wind. They jetted into the cloud of blackbirds, dispersing them like so many bits of soot streaming from a chimney. Ann smiled at their mischievous antics. The blackbirds regrouped, only to be waylaid again by the larger ebony birds. An opera of nature playing out in the sky. Ann wondered if Arthur was one of the ravens.
Abruptly, her gaze was pulled to Noah, who’d brought the tractor to a halt and was standing over the steering wheel, waving at the ravens in an aggressive manner. The cawing ravens responded by dive-bombing his head, missing by feet. Noah’s anger spilled into the morning like an errant storm, dulling the brightness of the day. He reached down and brought up a shotgun, and to her horror, he aimed it at the ravens.
