So Simple, page 15
The damning evidence came when she looked into the FBI database. At sixteen years old, he had choked his foster mother unconscious. When police asked him why he had done this, he told them that he was tired of being treated like trash, and when she had attempted to take his phone away for kicking the family dog, he had seen red. The woman’s husband had to hit him over the head with a baseball bat to stop him from choking her to death.
Because of his youth, he had been tried as a juvenile and sentenced to two years in juvenile detention, and his record had been sealed by the court, so it hadn’t affected his employment. According to his records, he was a model inmate and gave correctional officers no trouble.
And according to his employment records, he had worked for both the Moorhead Animal Home and Fargo Rescue Shelter and been responsible for cleaning out the dogs’ enclosures. His latest performance review commended him as a hard worker but suggested he should “stop staring at female guests.”
He had an address, but when she looked it up, it gave her the location of a storage company rather than a residence. She left the shelter and called Michael, briefing her on what she’d found.
“Lovely,” he said. “Sounds like a peach. Do you want me to meet you at the storage company?”
“How far away are you?”
“Thirty minutes.”
She shook her head. “I’ll get there twenty minutes before you do. Head back to the precinct. I’ll call you when I have a real address for him.”
“Will do. Don’t do anything stupid, okay?”
“I’ll do my best,” she promised.
***
The storage facility was near the neighborhood where they had picked up Jon Evans. Like the rest of the area, it was dirty and rundown, with graffiti on the outer walls and layers of caked-on dirt on the building. Interestingly enough, it actually appeared fairly secure. The outer walls were covered in graffiti, but they were seven feet of brick topped with three feet of razor wire. The gate was welded steel that looked as strong as the gates of the penitentiary where they had visited Kenneth Langeveldt. Cameras rested every dozen yards or so, and the gate wouldn't open until Faith called the office via intercom and showed them her Bureau ID.
The inside of the storage facility was in slightly better shape than the outside. It was clean, at least, though the paint was faded and a few layers of dirt seemed permanently caked to the façade.
Security was just as tight, however. The doors were of thick plexiglass—possibly bulletproof—and there was another heavy steel bar gate before customers could get to the storage area.
The manager, a short, balding man who introduced himself as Kevin, met Faith in the lobby. “I would say it’s nice to meet you,” he said, “but I have a feeling I’m not going to enjoy our conversation very much.”
“Not many people do,” Faith said. “Should we talk here or in your office?”
He shrugged. “Doesn’t matter to me, but there’s a soft chair in the office if you want to sit.”
He led the way to a small room with a computer that looked just about as old and run down as the rest of the building and stacks of paperwork piled on every square inch of desk and cabinet space. Some of the paper was yellowed and cracking, and Faith wouldn't be surprised to find records dating back to the day the facility opened.
“I’m here to ask about a former employee of yours,” she said.
His eyes widened in surprise. “An employee. Wow. I thought for sure it was another one of my customers.”
“Another?”
“Yeah. You may have noticed we’re not in the best neighborhood. Company policy is not to ask questions of people, but I’ll bet you my very meager salary that plenty of the people who rent from us work on the wrong side of the law. You can’t smell anything from inside the stalls—good air filtration—but if you could, I bet you’d be here for more than just an ex-employee.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” she said, “but for today, I just need to ask you about Tommy Cowell.”
Kevin’s eyes widened again. “Oh,” he said. “Aw, dammit.”
Faith’s brow furrowed. “This doesn’t surprise you?”
He sighed and rubbed his eyes. “No, not really. Tommy was… well, he was a weird guy.”
“How so?”
“Just weird. Quiet, kept to himself, but stared. Like really stared. I don’t think I ever saw him blink. Customers used to complain he made them uncomfortable because he would just stare at them. Especially the women. Funny enough, there were no complaints of harassment. He just stared. I used to ask him if he thought any of them were pretty, and he would just say, ‘I suppose so.’ To tell you the truth, I don’t think he liked women. Not that it’s any of my business.”
“Why did you let him go?”
He sighed again. “I had to. The weird behavior finally went too far. I caught him staring at a client once behind her back, and he had the angriest stare you’d ever seen. I swear to God, it looked like he hated that girl.”
“Can you tell me the client’s name?”
“Oh no. It was over three years ago. I don’t even know if it’s someone who still rents from us. I just remember thinking, ‘It’s time. It’s too late for him.’ I really hate knowing I was right.”
“Did you ever report his behavior to the authorities?”
“No, he never did anything worse than stare. I used to talk to him, try to get him to go out and meet a nice girl, but he would just look at me like I was talking crazy. I didn’t think until later that he probably wasn’t into girls, but I don’t think he would have talked to anyone anyway. He was real strange, Tommy was. Hey, I didn’t ask you what he did yet.”
“At the moment, he’s only a person of interest,” Faith said, “but I’m investigating the murders of four local women.”
Kevin’s eyes popped open to the size of dinner plates. “Aw, Christ,” he said. “Man, I was really hoping it wasn’t that bad. I liked the kid, you know? I don’t know why. I guess I just feel like if he could have broken out of his shell, he would’ve been a real sweet guy. He just had some demons he couldn’t shake.”
“When was the last time you talked to him?”
"About six months ago. When I let him go, I let him use the business address for his personal mail. I know I'm not supposed to do that, but he didn't have anywhere else to go. I offered him a place to stay, but he turned me down. He looked really bad. Not like unhealthy, but his eyes." Kevin shook his head. "He was gone. When he worked for me, he was going, but when I saw him, he was gone. I tried to offer him a place to stay when he came by to pick up his mail six months ago, but he said he'd found a place. I thought maybe he was getting better."
He shook his head. “This world… you have to get lucky. You have to get real lucky. If you don’t, then you spend your entire life working hard just to stay above water. You don’t even get to dream. You just work and struggle and work and struggle until you get too tired of it and just let it take you. It’s hard enough if you have all your marbles, but if you’re missing a few like Tommy is, it’s damned near impossible.”
He sighed. “I’m really sorry to hear about him. I had a feeling when I saw him that he was going to end up in jail or a mental hospital someday. I just hoped I was wrong about that.”
“Do you have any idea where his current address is?”
“Well,” he said, “I don’t know. But I did get a piece of mail for him a while back that had a different address on it. It was just an ad for a catalog subscription, but I kept it because I thought it was odd. I guess it’s a good thing I did.”
He opened a drawer and pulled out a faded advertisement. “I thought it was strange because underneath the address, it had ‘return to sender—no such person at this address,’ but it looked an awful lot like Tommy’s handwriting.”
He handed the ad to Faith. A yellow sticker with the business’s address had been taped over most of the handwritten note, but she could still see, ‘at this address,’ in a shockingly neat script. Kevin must have noticed her surprise, because he said, “Yeah, he had really pretty handwriting. I used to tease him about it. Told him it was as pretty as a girls. Only time I ever saw him smile. Kid had a real nice smile.” He shook his head. “Damn. I really hoped he was going to be okay.”
“May I take this with me?” she asked.
“Be my guest. Just… do me a favor, don’t tell Tommy I helped you. I know I had to do it, but I don’t want him to know it was me.”
“I’ll keep your secret,” Faith promised.
On the way back to her car, she called Michael and asked him to meet her at the address. “I think this is our guy.”
“That’s what you said about the last one.”
“Well, here’s hoping there isn’t a next one.”
She gave him the information, then started toward the address. Her heart pounded, and next to her, Turk stared intently ahead.
She smiled at him and patted his shoulder. “We got him, boy.”
She didn’t know for sure that Tommy was their killer.
But she had a good feeling.
CHAPTER TWENTY TWO
The address at which no such person allegedly resided was located in a quiet neighborhood on the north side of the town. The yard was well-maintained, fastidiously maintained, in fact. The exterior of the house looked so clean as to appear freshly painted and ready for market. The driveway was spotless, utterly free of tire marks. Either this address was indeed empty, or the killer took great pains to make it appear respectable.
She parked across the street and called Michael. “All right. I’m here. How far out are you?”
“You’re gonna love this,” Michael replied. “A gas truck flipped over on the highway, and the entire place is blocked. It’s gonna take them at least two hours to clean everything up and open the road. I’ll… wait, what? Hold on one second, Faith.”
Faith frowned. “Is everything okay?”
“Aww, hell,” Michael said.
“What is it?” Faith said, instantly on alert.
“That was Trent on the other line,” Michael said. “The police just got a call from Westhaven Memorial Hospital. One of their nurses was out walking her dog on her lunch break, and she never came back to work. The charge nurse has called her number several times, but she keeps getting an error message telling her the line is disconnected.”
Shit. “Okay. Get here as soon as you can. Turk and I are going in.”
“Faith, don’t,” Michael protested. “This has almost never worked out for you.”
He wasn’t wrong. Faith had a well-earned reputation for leaping headlong into danger, sometimes recklessly.
But there could be an innocent woman in there, and if there was even a chance that she was still alive, Faith needed to find her.
“Sometimes it has,” she countered, “and I can’t just leave a woman to die.”
Michael sighed. “Goddammit. Well, Turk goes in first, okay? Don’t take this the wrong way, but if it comes to a fight, he’s got a better chance than you do.”
“Turk goes in first,” she agreed, “and I go in armed. I’ll be okay, Michael. This is what we do, remember?”
“Yeah, I remember. Please don’t be stupid, though. Goddammit, they better get this scene cleaned up quick.”
She hung up and nodded to Turk. “Let’s go catch a bad guy, boy.”
The two of them left the car and rushed to the house. The almost aggressive normalcy it displayed made it seem even more disturbing. When she reached the door, she knocked loudly and called. “Thomas Cowell? This is the FBI! Open up now!”
No response.
She called again. Still no response. She tested the door handle. Locked.
She sighed and steadied herself for whatever came next. She led Turk around the side of the house, listening for any sign of life from inside the house. The house was silent, but that only made Faith more uneasy.
She reached the back door, and when she tested that door, it opened. She pushed it open and quickly raised her weapon.
There was no one in the kitchen, but there were dishes in the sink and a box of cereal left on the counter, so someone definitely lived here.
“Thomas Cowell!” she called. “This is the FBI! Come out with your hands where I can see them! Do not make me come get you!”
There was no response, but Turk growled low in his throat and stared at the hallway. Faith took another steadying breath and said, “Okay, Turk. Nice and slow.”
Turk crept forward, ears pricked up, snout held high. He led Faith into the hallway and sniffed at each door in turn. When he came to the second door on the right, his ears perked up. He backed away and looked at Faith.
“Here?”
He dipped his head, and Faith nodded. She squared up in front of the door and called again, “Thomas Cowell? This is the FBI. If you’re in this room, you need to exit with your hands raised. If I come inside and see a weapon, I will shoot you. Do you understand?”
No answer.
“Thomas, I am dead serious. You make any attempt to harm me or anyone else present, and I will shoot you. Come out with your hands up now!”
Still no answer.
Faith took another deep breath and tried the handle of the door. It clicked open, and Faith threw the door open and rushed inside. Turk jumped ahead of her, growling, ready to fight anyone they came into contact with.
No one was in the room, but what Faith did find confirmed that Thomas Cowell was indeed their murderer. Torn bits of leash fabric were placed carefully throughout the room. In the center was a large card table with a map of Fargo, Moorhead and the surrounding areas laid out. Over a dozen photographs were tacked to the map. Faith saw to her horror that each photograph was of a young woman holding a dog. Four of those photographs belonged to the known victims.
It appeared that Thomas had been active for far longer than they thought.
Behind Faith, Turk whined. She turned to see him nudging something under the table. She ducked down to see a small chest. When she opened it, she saw dog tags piled inside. They were all carefully polished and oiled to a high shine. One of the tags near the top had the name Doris engraved on it with Amanda Milleson’s name and phone number underneath.
Kevin had grossly understated when he said that Tommy was “weird.” This was some grade-A psychotic stuff. She needed to find him fast.
Turk growled low in his throat again, and Faith looked over to see him staring at the door. She stood and saw a shadow coming down the hallway. She drew her weapon again and called. “Thomas Cowell?”
The shadow stopped. Faith steadied herself and called. “Keep coming to me. Slowly. With your hands where I can see them.”
The shadow turned and vanished as Tommy bolted for the door. Faith swore and sprinted after him, Turk hot on her heels. “Thomas!” she called. “Thomas, stop!”
She saw the open front door and ran toward it. When she entered the living room, she caught a brief glimpse of a tall, scarecrow-like figure to her right. She had just enough time to turn her head toward him before he caught her weapon with one hand. Turk dove for his ankle, but he sidestepped with far more grace than she would have thought possible from someone his size and kicked hard, sending Turk flying through the air.
“Turk!” she called out. Then she met Tommy’s eyes. The hate she saw in them was so powerful it stunned her. “You—” she began.
Then a fist crashed into the side of her face. She saw stars and felt her body go limp just before consciousness left her.
CHAPTER TWENTY THREE
The first thing Faith was aware of was the sound of Turk whining. She turned her head toward the noise and opened her eyes. Her vision swam, and her head pounded, and she groaned as a wave of nausea rushed through her. She was probably concussed. Her hands and ankles were bound, too.
But she was alive. Her vision focused, and she saw Turk inside a wire cage. He stood up and barked happily when he saw her. Faith rolled onto her back and looked around the room. There were no windows, and the air smelled musty. She guessed they were in a basement. There was an electric lamp in the middle of the ceiling, but it was switched off. The only light was provided by candles, several dozen of which lined various crevices and furniture tops and sometimes just the edges of the floor.
She heard a groan from the other side of the room and turned to see a woman who looked in her mid-thirties or so. She hung from the wall by a pair of iron manacles, and when she lifted her eyes and saw Faith staring at her, her eyes widened. Her mouth was taped, so she couldn’t speak, but she tried to cry out for Faith’s attention.
“I see you,” Faith said. “Don’t worry. I’ll get us out of here.”
She had absolutely no idea how she was going to keep that promise, but it seemed like the thing to say. The hair on the back of her neck prickled, and she sensed the arrival of their kidnapper an instant before the door to the basement opened. She saw light from above. It was still daylight. She probably hadn’t been out for very long.
Thomas Cowell walked down the short staircase to the room, arriving with a malevolent frown on his face. She got her first good look at him and was struck by how young he looked. Only twenty-two. That was so young to throw one's entire life away.
But it wasn’t just his life he had ruined. Faith’s face hardened, and she said, “Thomas, you are in all sorts of trouble right now.”
“Not as much as you, it looks like,” he replied.
His voice sounded as young as he looked. Faith couldn’t reconcile his youth with the violence he had shown himself capable of. “Thomas,” she said, “listen carefully. I have backup on their way to this location right now. At any minute, they’ll be here, and if they find any of us harmed, they’re going to be very rough with you. Do the smart thing, untie us, and allow me to arrest you now so you don’t get hurt.”
_preview.jpg)
