All The Devil's Creatures: A Jack McDermott Serial Killer Thriller, page 5
“He left us ONE clue, which he specifically used to pull me in. Other than that, he hasn’t given us anything.”
“He left the door to Meredith’s apartment open,” Morse said.
“Only because he wanted the body to be found sooner rather than later, or because he didn’t care when it was found. But he didn’t leave anything behind that we can track him with.”
“I still gotta get the crime lab down here.”
“It might be best if we weren’t here,” Valenti said delicately.
“Oh… right. And you gotta go see the coroner anyway…”
Jack looked in confusion from Morse to Valenti, as though he couldn’t quite figure out what was going on between them.
Morse pulled out his phone. “I’ll make a call and have her meet you at the morgue.”
“Thank you,” Valenti said.
As Morse walked off, Jack suddenly figured it out.
“You’re not supposed to be here, and he knows that,” Jack said to Valenti like You naughty girl!
“Let’s just say it will be better for all concerned if I’m not here when the crime scene unit arrives.”
“What about me?”
“Why, are you planning to drum up publicity for a book tour?” she asked sarcastically.
“No…”
“Then what do you care?”
Jack snorted. “For somebody who was concerned about evidence not being admissible in court, you sure do like playing fast and loose with some of the rules.”
“Only the ones that don’t matter.”
“Whether we’re here or not doesn’t matter?”
“He’ll put it in the report, but we don’t need a bunch of people asking why an FBI agent was here when the Bureau isn’t officially involved with the case. Morse doesn’t need it either.”
Jack shook his head. “Okay…”
Morse ended his call and walked back towards them.
“I called her and she’ll be waitin’. Her name’s Lucille Baptiste, she’s the county coroner. I’ll text you the address in just a minute.”
“Sounds good,” Valenti agreed.
Morse extended his hand towards Jack.
“Thanks for comin’ here… this was huge,” he said, gesturing towards the room with the scraps of newspaper.
Jack shook his hand. “I don’t think it’ll be much help, but you’re welcome all the same.”
“And thank you, Andrea,” Morse said.
“You’re welcome. We’ll see ourselves out.”
Once they were in the stairwell and out of earshot, Jack said, “He totally wants extracurricular activities.”
Valenti rolled her eyes. “I’m not dignifying that with a response.”
“I don’t need a response. I have eyes in my head.”
She ignored the conversational thread and asked, “Did you learn anything at all?”
“Only that my hunch – and the way he thinks of himself – are both correct.”
“Which means what?”
“That we’re dealing with a Great White shark.”
9
It was almost 6, and the light was fading fast as they reached their destination.
The Athens-Clarke County Morgue was a one-story, cement-block house painted a dull beige. It sat on a sparsely traveled country road, and the wooded property was surrounded by a chain-link fence with razor wire on top. There was an automated gate – more chain-link and razor wire – but it was open when they arrived.
Under a carport sat a silver van, the county’s official vehicle for transporting bodies. There was also a red Toyota Camry sitting out front in the gravel parking lot.
Valenti parked beside the Camry, then she and Jack made their way to the front door of the building. Before they even reached it, the front door opened and a heavyset Black woman in a white lab coat peered out.
“Ms. Baptiste?” Valenti asked.
“That’s me.”
“I’m Special Agent Andrea Valenti and this is – ”
The coroner started bouncing on the balls of her feet in excitement. “Jack McDermott! Oh my God, I love your books!”
He grinned. “Thank you. That makes one other person here besides me.”
Lucille Baptiste looked at Valenti with humorous contempt. “Not a fan?”
“Not really.”
“Well, you don’t know what you’re missin’. Y’all come on in.”
They entered the house. A small office up front held a couple of desks, two ancient computers, and half a dozen filing cabinets. The room smelled faintly of decay.
Then the woman led them back to a refrigerated room. The rear wall contained four metal doors in a square grid.
Baptiste opened one of the doors, pulled out a retractable platform, and unzipped the body bag it supported.
A pale face wreathed with blonde hair looked up at them. The corneas were milky and glazed over, and an ugly purple bruise covered the upper left side of her face.
“This is Meredith Housel. Poor girl,” Baptiste murmured. “Blunt force trauma to the temple with a rounded object – no sharp corners. Trachea was crushed, you can see the postmortem bruising from his fingers on her neck. Cause of death was strangulation, although the blow to the temple might have done her in if he’d just waited a few minutes.”
Jack glanced over at Valenti. The FBI agent looked ill as she gazed down at the corpse.
“Detective Morse said she was probably unconscious,” Jack said as he turned back to Baptiste. “That she didn’t fight back because you didn’t find any skin under her fingernails.”
“Mm-hm, Morse told you that ‘cause I told him,” the coroner said, sounding a bit miffed that the detective hadn’t given her credit. “She also had minor damage to the right posterior of the skull, probably from the fall. Nothing as serious as the primary blow, though.”
“What about the page from the book?”
“I found it lodged in the back of her throat. Reminded me of Silence Of The Lambs.”
“We think he was copy-catting it, yeah.”
Baptiste winced. “Ugh.”
Valenti – who had not said a word since they’d entered the building – turned around and bolted out of the room.
Baptiste’s eyes went wide. “She okay?”
“I don’t know,” Jack said as he headed for the door. “I’ll be back in a minute.”
The office area was deserted. He found Valenti outside in the deepening shadows of twilight.
Valenti was facing away from him, and her shoulders were moving slightly like she was sobbing – although if she was, it was silent.
“Valenti?” Jack said quietly.
When she didn’t answer, he reached out and touched her shoulder.
She jerked away from him like he’d stabbed her with a hot poker.
“I’m fine,” she said brusquely, still facing away from him. She appeared to be wiping tears from her face.
“You don’t have to be ‘fine.’ It’s okay – this is an incredibly messed-up situa– ”
“I said I’m fine,” she snapped, and brushed past him to go back inside the morgue.
Jack sighed and followed her.
10
It was nearly 6:30 PM and almost completely dark. The sun had long since dipped behind the buildings of downtown Atlanta, and the entire city was covered in shadows.
The killer stood in an alley outside an apartment building, waiting for his quarry.
He didn’t have to wait long.
A city bus stopped 30 feet away and several people got off.
One of them was Donald King, wearing a St. Laurent double-breasted pea coat against the late winter chill. He immediately headed for his apartment building’s front door.
The killer immediately stepped out from his hiding place.
Ironically, this would be even easier than with the girl in Athens.
And tonight he could take a bit more time.
11
Baptiste didn’t have much new information to impart.
Valenti was mostly silent throughout the rest of the briefing, although she did ask a few questions. Her eyes were red and she’d obviously been crying, but neither Baptiste nor Jack mentioned it.
When they were done, Baptiste zipped up the black body bag over Meredith Housel’s face.
Jack had the distinct impression of watching the dead girl sink into dark water… although the monster that had taken her life had already slipped beneath the surface and long disappeared.
He shivered at the thought.
He and Valenti thanked Baptiste and said their goodbyes, then walked out to the Accord, their shoes crunching in the gravel.
Valenti pulled out her keys… paused… and asked, “Would you mind driving?”
“Not at all,” Jack said, and came around to the driver’s side.
When Valenti handed over the keys, he noticed her hand was trembling the tiniest bit.
Once they were in the car, Valenti clipped her phone to the dashboard and entered ‘Georgia State University’ as the destination. Seconds later, Jack pulled out of the morgue’s gravel parking lot and onto the country road.
“Do you want to stop for something to eat before we leave Athens?” he asked.
“I’m not really hungry,” Valenti said dully.
“Okay. No problem.”
They drove in silence for several minutes before Jack tried to start up a conversation again. “You know, you never mentioned it specifically, and I just made assumptions… but what do you actually do in the FBI? Do you normally go after serial killers?”
“No. I’m in kidnapping.”
“Oh… was that your first time seeing a murder victim?”
“No, but it’s pretty rare.”
“So that was pretty rough for you back there.”
“It wasn’t exactly fun.”
“…right.”
There was another long silence as they drove along the country road.
It was Valenti who finally spoke. “I’d like to apologize for snapping at you back there. I know you were just trying to help.”
“No need to apologize. It’s all good.”
She stared out the window at the trees passing in the darkness. “It’s just… the Bureau’s very much a man’s world. There are women, yes, but it’s still an Old Boys’ Club in a lot of ways. And you can never let them see you cry. Because they already think of you as weaker, and it just gives them an excuse to not promote you… or overlook you… or whatever else they’re going to do anyway. It just gives them an excuse.”
“I’m not one of those guys,” Jack said gently.
“I know. Or, at least, you don’t strike me as being like them.”
“Good. I’m glad. I know we kind of got off on the wrong foot – ”
For the first time in a long while, Valenti looked at him – and gave him a rueful smile. “‘Kind of’?”
Jack chuckled. “Alright, we DEFINITELY got off on the wrong foot. But… that was a lot back there. And nobody should be expected to see something like that and take it in stride.”
“You did.”
“Did what?”
“Took it in stride.”
“Well… I’ve seen a lot.”
“You’ve…” She paused, then finally finished the sentence. “…done a lot.”
“That too,” Jack admitted.
“How did you cope? Afterwards?”
“I didn’t. Not for years. I basically drank myself into oblivion for most of my 20s. When I finally hit rock bottom, therapy helped. Talking about it helped.” He paused to think. “In the end, I think it was time, mostly. Time doesn’t really heal all wounds, but at least it dulls the pain.”
“So you get used to it?”
“You kind of grow numb to it. Like that part of you is… dead, almost. And I’m not sure that’s exactly the best thing. For me… for you… for anybody.”
Valenti stared morosely back out the window. After another long silence, she haltingly started to talk again. “I think I – ”
Suddenly her phone buzzed with an incoming call.
Jack glanced at the screen. Caller ID showed it was Morse.
Valenti reached over and hit the speakerphone icon. “Hey Scott.”
“Hey, Andrea – is Jack there?”
“Yup,” Jack answered.
“Well, you were right. No clues.”
“Well, you had to try – procedure, right?”
“Yeah. Did you find out anything from Lucille?”
“Not really,” Valenti said. “She basically just reiterated everything you said.”
“Jack? You get any other insights?” Morse asked hopefully.
“The killer’s even more tightly controlled than I thought.”
“Why do you say that?”
“He took Meredith Housel down with one blow. You told us that in the apartment, but it didn’t really register until I saw her body. I realized he must have practiced that move dozens, maybe hundreds of times. He couldn’t risk walking out of the building with blood spatter all over him in case somebody saw. So he’s methodical… intelligent… patient… and disciplined. All of which makes him extremely dangerous.”
“Great,” Morse said in a dejected tone of voice. “Well, look – I spoke to the Chief, and… well, let’s just say he was reluctant before, but I convinced him that I think it’d be a good thing if he heard what you told me. You findin’ the spot in the other building is largely what did it. I’d like you to brief him and the entire department on everything you told me. I know it’s a hassle, but is there any way you could come back to Athens tomorrow?”
Jack winced. “Um – I’m sorry, but no.”
“Well, it doesn’t have to be tomorrow – how about Wednesday?”
“No, I mean… I won’t be coming back.”
“…what?”
“I don’t get involved in these sorts of things anymore.”
Morse sounded incredulous. “Solving crimes?”
“I had a bad experience once. A really bad experience, and… I just… I can’t do that again.”
Valenti frowned at Jack. “He’s not asking you to ‘get involved’ – ”
“He absolutely is.”
“But you could help us catch this guy,” Morse said, sounding both incredulous and desperate.
“No, I don’t think I can. He’s so far out ahead of us on this one, it’s… look, you’re not going to catch him until he slips up or some random event screws him over – like somebody seeing him leave the scene of the crime. And I’d bet money he’s not going to slip up.”
“You talk like you think he’s going to do this again.”
“He’s ABSOLUTELY going to do this again.”
Morse became accusatory. “And you don’t even want to help us catch him? To STOP him before he kills another girl?”
“I’d like to – but I can’t.”
“If this is about money – ”
“It’s not about MONEY,” Jack almost shouted, then got control of his temper. “It’s just not a good idea for me to get involved. I don’t think I’d be much of an asset, anyway.”
“Wow. That’s… I can’t even believe I’m hearing this.”
When Valenti spoke to the phone, there was a hard edge to her voice. “Scott, let me call you back. I need to talk to McDermott for a minute.”
Jack sighed inwardly. He immediately knew how the rest of the car ride was going to play out.
“…uh… okay…”
“Bye,” Valenti said.
“Bye,” Morse said, then hung up.
Jack tried to sound lighter than he felt. “Well, I guess that nice moment we were having earlier is over, huh.”
“Why won’t you help?” Valenti demanded.
“You know why.”
“It was the FBI you were dealing with in South Dakota, not – ”
“It was law enforcement, period. Earlier at the apartment, you made the joke about ‘note the law in law enforcement’ – remember that?”
“It was a joke.”
“Doesn’t mean it’s not true.”
“Morse isn’t the Bureau.”
“No, he’s worse – he’s a small-town cop chasing a killer he doesn’t have a clue how to catch.”
“Which is why we need you.”
“‘We’? Since when did you join the case?”
She exhaled in exasperation. “You know what I meant.”
“No, I don’t.”
“I’m helping out unofficially.”
“Yeah – and why is that, exactly? I still don’t understand. You’ve taken a very personal interest in a case that has nothing to do with you, helping out a guy you say you never dated or slept with, at what looks like significant professional risk to yourself if you get found out by your boss. What’s up with that?”
Valenti exploded, the words rushing out of her like a flood. “My older sister disappeared when I was 16 and we never heard from her again. A witness said she got in a car with an older man, but the cops barely followed up on it. They said she probably ran off with him, and they hinted she might be a prostitute, which enraged my parents – but I think something happened to her. I think she was kidnapped, and I think whoever took her probably killed her. Every day I look at cold cases on ViCAP, hoping something will turn up on a missing girl from Indiana from 13 years ago, because I gave up a long time ago thinking she might ever call me, that I’d ever hear her voice on the phone telling me, ‘Don’t worry, I’m okay.’”
Her outburst finished, Valenti turned away and stared out the passenger window.
Jack was silent for a long moment before he answered. “I’m sorry. I can only imagine how hard that must have been on you and your family.”
Valenti looked back at him. “Don’t be ‘sorry’ – help us.”
“You know why I can’t.”
“I know why you won’t. But saying you ‘can’t’ is a cop-out.”
“Morse said his boss was reluctant to talk to me before today – did you catch that part?”
“I heard.”
“Do you know why?”
“That doesn’t – ”
“Because I’m a pop culture carnival barker, a ghoul who made some money on a family tragedy but didn’t even have the decency to get a P-H-D after my name.”
