FATAL FORTY-EIGHT: A Kate Huntington Mystery (The Kate Huntington Mysteries Book 7) (8 page)

~~~~~~~~

Kate sat back in her chair and took a deep breath. Tim had called a break and had gone to get them more coffee.

Almost lunchtime and she hadn’t had any breakfast, but her stomach knotted at the thought of what would happen to Sally if they didn’t find her. Kate’s mind groped for something to distract herself.

Tim’s rugged face popped up. They worked together so well, as if they’d known each other for years. He was such a contrast to his partner, SA Wallace.

Her cell phone rang. She grabbed it off the table without checking caller ID.

“Hey, thought I’d touch base. Y’all come up with anything new?”

For the smallest fraction of a second, she didn’t know who it was. Then the voice registered.

Duh, it’s your husband!
She was more tired than she’d thought.

“Not really,” she said. “Other than the guy may not be a full-blown psychopath. We think he got a little squeamish after the 2002 kill.” She had called him earlier with the information about the New Haven college student.

“How so?”

“If he was abused as a kid, and that’s extremely likely, he now feels the urge to re-enact that abuse, to try to take back his sense of power. But serial killers usually escalate. If this is the same guy who killed the New Haven student, he’s backpedaled instead. So maybe he’s not a full-blown psychopath and the anguish of the student triggered some empathy and remorse. But he still feels the urge to re-enact the abuse, so he kills his victims first, then tortures them postmortem.”

“Hmm, we’ve got a ten-year gap in victims though. How’s SSA Cornelius explain that?”

Irritation bubbled in Kate’s chest. She was the one who’d come up with the empathy theory, not Tim.

“He was probably killing during those ten years. He just hid his victims well. They’re no doubt still listed as missing persons. But then he wanted attention. Maybe wanted to know if anybody cared about his victims, since he felt that nobody cared about what was happening to him as a kid.”

“Hmm, makes sense. Hey, have you checked in at home lately? Is Maria coping okay with the rug rats, two and four-legged?”

Why do you assume I should be the one to check in at home?

Even as she had the thought, she knew she was being unfair. Skip was just asking a simple question.

“You there, darlin’?”

“Yeah. I called. Maria’s got things under control.”

“You okay?”

Kate took a deep breath. “Yes. No. I’m tired is all. Didn’t get much sleep last night.”

“We’ll find her, darlin’.”

Kate’s heart felt like lead in her chest. “I hope so.”

“Love you.”

“Love you, too.” She disconnected.

~~~~~~~~

Skip stood on the sidewalk, shaking his head at his cell phone. This was taking a toll on Kate.

Julie Wallace strode up to him. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing. Have you heard back from your tech gal yet?”

“Just a few minutes ago. I was in the middle of interviewing someone, so I told her we’d call her back.”

Skip hid a smile at the
we
.

Julie punched a number on her phone. “Jane, it’s SA Wallace. Wait, let me put you on speaker. I’m here with one of our civilian consultants.”

There was no sneer accompanying
civilian
this time.

She punched another button on the phone, then held it out between them.

“Okay, I’ve narrowed down those fifty-two renters I told you about,” a young woman’s voice said. “Twenty-one were couples or families. Nineteen were single women. Eight of the men were college-aged.”

Julie Wallace raised her eyebrows at that.

“If they’re from well-off families,” Skip said, “they can afford to rent around here, and Towson University’s not that far down York Road.”

She grimaced. “Great. Lots of potential victims.”

“We’re gonna stop him with
this
victim,” he said.

“So that leaves four older men,” Julie said into the phone.

“Well, two are in their early forties and are roommates. One’s a fifty-two-year-old, single guy, and the last one is a corporation.”

“Okay, I need the apartment addresses and the names of the owners or managers, and their phone numbers and addresses.”

“Sending them to your phone. That was just from one of the credit bureaus. I’ll check the others and get back to you. But first I have to finish some research for SSA Cornelius. You guys are really keeping me hopping.”

“Thanks, Jane.” Julie disconnected.

“She doesn’t sound all that upset about being kept hopping,” Skip said.

Julie gave him a small smile. “No, I think she’s enjoying herself. We start with the single, middle-aged guys.”

“Yeah. Then work backward to the company, and then the couples. There are some sick women out there who help their men do this kind of thing. But remember Judith’s call. First, we find out which of these apartments are on the second floor.”

“Let’s go back to your truck,” Julie said, “and make some calls.”

Skip stepped back and made an after-you gesture. “Ladies first,” he said, knowing it would irritate her.

She froze for a beat, then led the way down the block toward his SUV.

~~~~~~~~

12:00 noon, Saturday

Tim came through the conference room door, two steaming mugs in his hands. “Sorry that took so long. The pot was down to burnt dregs. I made some fresh.” He set one mug in front of her.

“Thanks,” Kate said. “Cop-shop coffee is bad enough without it having sat for hours.” She sniffed at the brew in her cup, then took a tentative sip. It was halfway decent. She took another slug of caffeine.

Tim sat down across from her. “I’ve never quite figured out why the coffee is so notoriously awful in police stations.”

“Somebody pointed out to me one time that it’s because the coffee maker’s in constant use and it never gets cleaned.”

Tim stared ruefully at his mug. “Yuck.”

Kate laughed out loud.

The phone on the table shrilled, making them both jump a little.

Tim hit the button to activate the speaker. “SSA Cornelius.”

“I have some stuff for you.” Jane’s voice, a bit breathless. “I looked into that 2002 New Haven case some more. The police didn’t take it seriously at first. Thought the kid had just run off. Then, after she was found, they assumed it was her ex-boyfriend. He had a shaky alibi, but no physical evidence linked him to the murder scene. So I guess the New Haven police were so focused on him that they didn’t look all that hard for similar cases.” A pause, faint clicks on a keyboard in the background. “I found four other unsolved cases, similar MO, scattered around the area. Going back to 1998, about a year apart. First one’s in Pittsburgh, then Hagerstown, Maryland, then Philadelphia and finally the suburbs of New York City in 2001.”

“Did you go back further?” Tim asked.

“Of course.” Jane’s voice was slightly offended. “Back to 1985. Nothing before the 1998 case.”

“How old were the victims?” Kate asked.

“Twenty-one to twenty-four.”

Kate winced at the thought of such young lives cut short.

She recalled something from a previous murder case she’d been involved in the year after Eddie died. The FBI had a violent crimes database to help find similar crimes around the country. “What about ViCAP? The New Haven police didn’t run it through there?”

“That’s where I got the connections to the 2002 case,” Jane said. “But the ViCAP database wasn’t completely available to all law enforcement agencies until 2008.”

“Thanks, Jane,” Tim said. “Send me the reports and crime scene photos for those cases, please.”

“Sure. Uh, don’t know if this is relevant,” Jane now sounded sad, “but the girl in 2002… Her mother committed suicide in 2012, on the ten-year anniversary of her daughter’s death.”

A vise closed around Kate’s chest. “Oh my God!” she whispered.

“Thanks,” Tim said again and disconnected. He blew out air and scrubbed a hand across his face. “So maybe not the same guy.”

Kate took a moment to compose herself. “Maybe, maybe not.” She got up and paced the length of the room and back, then turned to a bare spot on the whiteboard.

“Back to the drawing board,” Tim said.

Kate gave him a half smile as she picked up the marker. “No pun intended.” She wrote
Similar MO,
then under that
, 1998, Pittsburgh.
Below that she wrote
1999
. “Where was the second one?”

Tim consulted his notes. “Hagerstown, then Philly and New York.”

Kate wrote those down next to the subsequent years. Then she added
2002, New Haven
. She moved over on the board and wrote,
Spring 2012-2013.
Under that went
5 deaths in New Haven, remorse indicated, similar torture as 2002 victim but postmortem
.

She dropped the marker on the ledge and stepped back. “Five kills, then a ten-year gap. And five more kills but with some changes in MO. What the hell does all that mean?”

“Maybe two unsubs,” Tim said. “Second one’s a copy cat.”

~~~~~~~~

Sally had no idea what time it was. How long had she been awake? Four hours? Ten? Twelve? Probably more than four, but less than ten. Her body felt heavy. Her eyelids drooped.

Residual effects of the drugs he gave me?

The adrenaline roller coaster wasn’t helping either. She resisted the urge to close her eyes and rest. If she only had hours to live, she wasn’t willing to waste any of them.

Her efforts to wiggle out of the straightjacket had produced nothing but sweat. She panted against the gag. Panic twisted in her gut. She began to shake.

Get ahold of yourself, girl
, her mother’s voice echoed in her head.
No good thinkin’ ever came outta fear.

She tried to take a deep breath, and sucked in the gag instead. She coughed it out and tried the deep breath again, through her nose this time.

Her exhale was a shaky shudder.
Oh my God, Mama!

She sucked in more air through her nose, and caught a whiff of her own body odor. Her nostrils flared.

She had to find a way out of the straightjacket. But her tired body could take no more for now. She sank back onto the pillow, vowing to rest only for a moment.

CHAPTER NINE

1:00 p.m. Saturday

Tim Cornelius paced back and forth in front of the windows on one side of the conference room. He ran a hand over the top of his head. Hints of red in his hair glinted in the afternoon sun.

Kate shared his frustration. They’d rehashed the details of the case, with not much to show for it.

She glanced at her watch, calculating how much time they had left, how much time Sally had left. Thirty hours, or less, depending on when the bastard had started the clock.

Tim punched the open palm of one hand with his fist. “Damn, we’ve got to find her. And stop this guy.”

“Since he may have some capacity for remorse and empathy, maybe a media plea from Charles would get him to release Sally.”

“I doubt it.”

“What could it hurt?”

Tim sat down again in the chair next to hers. “The family of his next to the last victim did that, when we got down to the wire. He killed her anyway, and then the young man.”

Kate blew out air. “Let’s take a short break. Think about other things for a few minutes. Maybe if we come back to it fresh.”

“Maybe.”

“So Tim, tell me about yourself.” She tried to sound cheerful. “Are you married? Have any kids?”

“A daughter, fifteen. She lives with her mother. I see her as much as I can.” His expression said the divorce was still a raw wound.

“How long a–”

“Two years in January.”

Kate hadn’t experienced a divorce but she’d lost a spouse. She wondered which was worse. Death certainly cut deeper, but there was no sense of rejection or betrayal, just a gaping hole in your life and your heart.

“Do you get along okay?”

“Yeah. The divorce wasn’t all that adversarial. She just couldn’t take all this.” He waved a hand around the conference room. “She’s home worrying and trying to raise Lisa pretty much singlehandedly, while I have to drop everything and travel at a moment’s notice, to God knows where for God knows how long.”

He ran a hand through his hair again. “I offered to resign, but she said no, that I’d be miserable. Then she said it was probably too late anyway, that she’d had to harden her heart against the thought of losing me for so long that she’d stopped loving me.”

Kate could relate somewhat. Skip’s work wasn’t as dangerous as a law enforcement officer’s, but it was sometimes risky. It had taken her years to let go of the constant anxiety that something would happen to him, that he would die like Eddie had. Not that she didn’t still worry, but it wasn’t a constant companion anymore. She hadn’t hardened her heart, though. She’d just come to the conclusion that living in constant fear accomplished nothing. What would be, would be.

She patted Tim’s shoulder. “I meant to bring up a cheerful subject. Guess I failed.”

He gave her a small smile. “How about you? Any kids?”

She smiled back. “Two. Six and almost eight.”

“Who’s watching them today?”

“Their nanny. They’re starting to get too old for a nanny, but Maria’s been with us since right after Eddie died. She’s one of the family now.”

Talking about other things seemed to be working. Tim was perking up.

“I feel bad,” Kate added. “She’s usually off on the weekend. And we got a new puppy recently. Our cat, Peaches, is insanely jealous of him. She keeps attacking him when he’s sleeping, and then he thinks she wants to play.”

Tim’s face relaxed some more as she regaled him for several minutes with the antics of the animals.

When she paused for breath, he put his hand on her arm. Again, a warmth spread outward from it, up her arm to her chest and down to her fingers. They tingled.

“Kate, I, uh, I was wondering if you’d have some dinner with me?”

“What? It’s not dinnertime yet?”

“No, not tonight. I meant when all this is over with.”