The Kind to Kill, page 14
‘Print that, would you, Don?’ I said. Bogle nodded and headed to the computer at the nearest desk.
‘Based on interviews with the staff and patrons,’ Ameer went on, ‘we believe the two never made it inside the bar that night. Either he killed her straightaway, or they went someplace else for their date and ended up back at the parking lot. The area’s sparsely populated, and the bar backs up to a copse of trees and beyond that, the river. That means no witnesses, and no CCTV, either. This is as small-town as it gets.
‘We have very little information on Dool, which we’re assuming is an alias. The bar was hopping inside, but we’ve been unable to find a witness. The suspect’s profile pic is a logo for Save the River, a local environmental nonprofit. The mother never saw a pic of the perp either, but she assumed he was Caucasian, says white guys are Jess’s type. She also says that according to her daughter, Dool approached Greenleaf online prior to the homicide.’
Ameer and his team had determined that Dool’s Facebook profile was set up in late June. There was little to it, a shell of a typical page. ‘No telling why the vic agreed to Friend this guy in the first place,’ Ameer said, ‘but Jessica had more than two thousand Facebook contacts; suffice it to say, she wasn’t discerning. Maybe he used an unsolicited message to go fishing, and happened to get a bite. If that’s what happened, the message was later deleted. They didn’t interact much on Facebook at all, far as we can tell,’ he went on. ‘We found a few messages planning the date, but that’s it. And after that night, Dool never messaged her again.’
Across the room, Bogle was standing at the printer, staring at the photo in his hands.
‘Pass that around,’ I told him before taking the lead again. ‘There’s no clear connection between Jessica Greenleaf and Rebecca Hearst. The question is whether Rebecca knew Dool. We had our team search all her social media accounts for signs of unusual activity, but we’ll want to revisit her Facebook page. He could have been using a different name when he connected with her. Which brings us to the issue of a copycat.’
I shifted my weight where I stood at the head of the room. ‘Things that stand out as signs we’re dealing with an imitator,’ I said. ‘First, the names. Blake Bram’s known victims in New York were named Jess Lowenthal, Becca Wolkwitz and Lanie Miner, all of them between the ages of twenty-six and thirty-two. Now we’ve got a Rebecca and a Jessica here in Jefferson and St Lawrence Counties. If we’re dealing with a serial – and that’s still a big if – the names could be the reason we’ve got victims in A-Bay and Massena. If our perp needed someone with a particular name of a particular age to agree to a date, he had a pretty small pool of targets to choose from.’
The image of the crime scene had made its way around the room. Tim looked at it for nearly as long as Bogle had before handing it over. Though I knew what I would see, having spoken extensively with Ameer before the briefing, the image of Jessica Greenleaf’s body spread out next to a dumpster made my eyes sting.
‘The murder sites are similar to the New York crime scenes as well,’ I said. ‘The quarry where we found Rebecca’s body isn’t so different from the construction site in the East Village where we found Jess Lowenthal. Becca Wolkwitz, Bram’s first victim, was left in an alley behind a coffee shop, while Jessica Greenleaf was abandoned behind a bar. And then there’s the proximity of these killings to each other. The murder sites are a little over an hour apart, both along the river. Both were stabbings. And as Damon noted, Greenleaf’s mobile device was absent from the scene. And then there’s the knife.’
Last spring, in an attempt to piece together Bram’s recent past, Tim and I had driven down to Connecticut and interviewed a woman who once had the misfortune of becoming the object of my cousin’s affection. She barely managed to escape with her life after Bram pulled a knife on her in an apartment complex parking lot. The woman had referred to it as a pocketknife, which fit the description of the weapon he would later use on Becca, Lanie and Jess in New York. The weapon that matched the one used on Rebecca Hearst and Jessica Greenleaf upstate.
‘Talk to us about the LaFargeville perp,’ Henderson said when I paused to catch my breath. My lieutenant’s voice was hollow on the line. It was amazing how much skepticism could be conveyed by a few innocuous words.
‘We don’t have much on him,’ I confessed, which was embarrassing. Damon Ameer and his team were a long way from unearthing their guy’s home address, but I still worried it looked like I was asleep at the wheel. ‘The message on the tip line – “dead girls tell no tales” – was recorded using a voice-altering app. Those things are a dime a dozen in the app store, so there’s very little to work with there. What we do have is a pattern that appears to be similar to Bram’s. Bram was known for ensnaring his victims by way of a dating app. According to the vic’s mother, Ben Dool found Jessica through Facebook. Dool’s the prime suspect in the Greenleaf case. I think we need to consider him a suspect in Rebecca Hearst’s murder as well. Dool could be using different aliases, just like Blake Bram did.’
‘You mean Abraham Skilton,’ Henderson said.
I drew a breath through my nose, grateful my supervisor couldn’t see my face. Getting in good with the boss had been a struggle. I suppose I didn’t make the best first impression, kicking off my state police career with a suspension, but the mention of my cousin’s real name was a slight of the highest order. I didn’t expect Henderson to hold my hand through ordeal after horrible ordeal, especially given the negative impact those experiences had on our troop, but I’d rarely heard him sound so angry. The copycat theory was just one more reason for him to resent me. ‘Right, Skilton,’ I said. ‘AKA Bram. He’s dominated the news around here for months, as you all know. It sounds like we could be dealing with another charismatic predator who knows how to groom a woman online.’
‘How did he know Hearst would agree to come all the way upstate?’ asked Ameer.
‘I’ve seen Rebecca Hearst’s Facebook page,’ I said. We didn’t have her account password, and Godfrey Hearst wasn’t a Facebook user, so we were limited with what we could view, but some of her posts were public, and Bogle had pointed me to the most relevant ones. The images were carefully curated, and they told the story of how the woman spent her days. ‘Rebecca was pretty candid about her life. Anyone who was paying attention could glean some insight into her emotional state, including the fact that she wasn’t entirely happy in her marriage. Something else,’ I said. ‘Godfrey Hearst said it was Rebecca’s idea to come to A-Bay. She told her husband a friend recommended the Admiral Inn, but didn’t give a name. We’ve been throwing around the theory that Rebecca Hearst was meeting someone in A-Bay.’ Never would I have imagined she was meeting a predator on a killing spree.
‘So, where does that leave us?’ my supervisor asked.
‘There must be dozens of Jessicas in Jefferson County. So why this Jessica?’ I said. ‘Bogle, look into that, will you? Anything you can find that might link the two women.’
‘You got it, boss.’
‘We need to adopt a rough and ready approach to this one,’ I went on. ‘I’ve always been of the mind that crimes don’t crop up in groups without a reason.’ It didn’t matter if we were talking an uptick in graffiti or a series of assaults; I believed in taking a thirty-thousand-foot view of the local community. More burglaries than usual? Check to see if any known class C felons recently moved to town. Reports of a sexual assault? Find out if any known sex offenders were just released from Ogdensburg Correctional Facility. More often than not, we discover a link. But that link isn’t always obvious, which is why we talk to people, too. Members of the community who might notice an unfamiliar face.
‘What’s changed around there recently?’ asked Damon Ameer, his voice expectant. As my gaze traveled the room, I noticed Bogle jogging his knee. Watching me.
Changes. An unfamiliar face. If I took my own advice and assessed the community, there was only one perceptible change.
The arrival of Javier Barba and Estella Lopez.
TWENTY-SIX
‘Bait and switch, is that what you’re saying?’ asked Tim, his eyebrows tightly knit. ‘Estella Lopez and her brother show up in town claiming they’re here to punish you for your cousin’s crimes, and all the while Barba’s committing atrocities of his own?’
Tim, Bogle, Sol and I had been huddled around a table cluttered with Diet Coke cans and loot from the vending machine for almost an hour, expounding on the hypothesis and throwing around ideas to see what stuck. We were over-caffeinated and jumpy, and I was having a hell of a time quelling the tremors in my hands.
And yet, when I pictured Javier’s face, first red with anger, then stone cold as he told me he’d only come to town for vacation, I felt we might be getting somewhere.
‘It’s a possibility,’ Bogle said, clearing his throat. ‘Based on my research, the timetable fits. We know they were in the area at the time of the murder in Massena on July third, and also last weekend.’
But Tim wasn’t convinced.
‘We’ve got nothing concrete to tie either of them to Rebecca Hearst or Jessica Greenleaf. As for their movements, they came up here for Fourth of July and Pirate Days, just like hundreds of other vacationers. Nothing inherently strange about that. And there’s a lot that doesn’t make sense about their behavior,’ Tim said. ‘If Barba’s our man, why would he assault you in public, Shana? He and his sister walked right up to you and introduced themselves. Dumb move for a killer who’s trying to stay hidden.’
‘He fits the profile, though,’ Bogle replied. ‘He has a record, and trouble controlling his emotions. Maybe he snapped at the restaurant without intending to.’
‘And that face-off outside the Bean-In?’ Tim said. ‘Again, the behavior makes no sense if Barba’s trying to lay low, and if he killed those women, why wouldn’t he be?’
I thought back to my conversation with Estella at the party. ‘Estella said Javier made some bad choices. It’s possible confronting me wasn’t part of the plan.’
‘Anger management issues,’ Bogle put in. ‘That fits the profile, too.’
‘And the sister?’ asked Tim. ‘Where does she come in?’
I said, ‘She could be his cover. An excuse to come up here, in case he accidently called attention to himself.’
‘Well, whoever did this, I don’t like the timing,’ Tim said.
‘Meaning?’
‘It took a long time for us to make the connection between these murders and Bram,’ he said. ‘The perp had us on a wild goose chase looking for a bridge jumper for half the week. As for Greenleaf, the clues were there – her name, the similarity of the kill site to New York – but she wasn’t in our jurisdiction, so we couldn’t put it together until we found Hearst – all of which brings us to this weekend. Now Pirate Days is in full swing, and the killer leaves that creepy message on the tip line. It’s crowded in town, busy. Good time to take another victim if this is about finishing what Bram started.’
My breath caught in my throat. Tim was right: the killings did seem to lead up to this high-profile event, an event that brought hundreds of tourists to town in spite – or maybe because – of Blake Bram. And here was Ben Dool, teeth bared and waiting.
If we’re right, and he’s imitating Bram, he’ll kill again. That was the unspoken statement, the fact none of us could ignore. Bram killed three women in New York. If our hunch about a copycat was right, it meant our perpetrator could be plotting a third assault somewhere along the shores of the St Lawrence River.
It meant he wasn’t done.
TWENTY-SEVEN
Hands on his hips, chin tucked into his chest, Bruce Milton looked at me and Mac over spindly rimless glasses. Scenic View Park lived up to its name, but none of us were paying any mind to the river or Heart Island and beautiful Boldt Castle, built by a millionaire hotel magnate, dead ahead. There was something about the heat and the water and the mayor’s downturned mouth that felt familiar, and when it finally hit me, I almost laughed. Sheriff McIntyre and I were Hooper and police chief Brody, trying to convince a stubborn mayor to close the beaches of Amity Island on Fourth of July. In the movie, Hooper had called Jaws an eating machine. Well, our suspect was a killing machine – and if Mayor Milton didn’t heed our warning, someone else was going to die.
His gaze drifted to the nearby pavilion, where several dozen costumed kids were lining up for the children’s parade. ‘My grandbabies are over there,’ Milton said with a nod toward the shady gazebo. ‘It’s the little one’s first parade. She’s been practicing her pirate speak at home for a month, so I’d appreciate it if we could wrap this up, ladies.’
‘Due respect,’ I said, ‘I’m not sure you understand the gravity of the situation.’ How could that be? I’d been providing the mayor’s office with regular updates on our progress with the Hearst case, and receiving appropriately staid email replies. How terrible, excellent work, thanks for keeping us in the loop. ‘This is an active homicide investigation,’ I reminded him now, ‘and we believe our suspect may attempt to abduct a third woman over the course of the festival. The crowds, all these tourists … it isn’t safe.’
‘You believe,’ Milton repeated. ‘Now, what does that mean? Did this fella you’re after specifically say he would be here today?’
‘No,’ I said drily. ‘We came up with that all on our own.’ What the hell was this? Could Milton really be so dense? ‘We’re talking about two homicides within a month of each other. Rebecca Hearst was a tourist. Half the people out here are probably panicked as it is, and now our suspect has left a message on our tip line that we’re treating as a threat.’ I hadn’t revealed that we thought we could be facing off against a copycat, and I wasn’t about to tell him what that tip line message said. I didn’t take Bruce Milton for tactful, and ‘dead girls tell no tales’ was far too buzzy of a catchphrase for our mayor to keep a lid on.
‘So we’re going to make the people even more afraid by shutting the whole thing down?’ Milton said.
‘Come on, Bruce,’ Mac chided, ‘this is the state police asking. Don’t you think it would behoove you to listen?’ Before she moved to Watertown and was elected sheriff, McIntyre had held my same position leading a team of investigators with the BCI in A-Bay. She knew Bruce personally, had picnicked with his family. It was the reason I’d asked her along. The disappointment in her voice must have served as a reminder of their personal history, because Milton hung his head.
‘Ah, Mac, I’m sorry,’ he told her, ‘but it’s an awful big ask. I mean, cancel the reenactment and the parade? In two hours’ time, this park will flood with folks who’ve been waiting all year long for this event. Tomorrow afternoon, the streets will be jammed with visitors who have money to spend that we could really use right now.’ Here, he shot me a look. ‘The invasion and parade are the highlights of this whole darn thing. We’ve got a live drill and demonstration by the Brockville Infantry, band performances and skits and birds of prey. Chet and his committee have been planning it all for months, and the Chamber of Commerce spent a gosh darn fortune on advertising this year to make sure we have a good turnout.’
So I’ve heard. Milton cut me a look. It seemed Chet Bell wasn’t alone in blaming me for the town’s economic downturn.
‘Look,’ he said, ‘what happened to those girls, it’s a tragedy. But you know what they say, don’t you? Fear begets fear.’
‘And power begets power. I know that quote too,’ I said. ‘You have the power to protect these people, sir. All you have to do is make a call. Blame the heat if you want to. Whatever it takes.’
‘I can think of quite a few individuals who’d take issue with that,’ he said. ‘Starting with Chet.’
I thought about telling him Bell had concealed critical information about our case, and decided against it. It wouldn’t make any difference now, because Milton’s eyes were back on the gazebo.
‘They’re about to get started.’ Behind us, little voices squealed with excitement, tiny fists pumping at the heat-wiggly air. ‘If you ladies will excuse me, I’d really like to watch my grandbabies walk in the parade.’ With the tip of an imaginary hat, the mayor turned on his heel and marched off.
I looked to Mac, who was shaking her head. At a loss, I turned around and scanned the crowd for the Head Pirate. It had only been five days since I sat next to Deputy Sheriff Gorecki at the station, questioning Godfrey Hearst about his missing wife. Now, he was about to have his big moment leading the kids like a modern-day Pied Piper.
If only I had as much sway over this town as he did.
TWENTY-EIGHT
‘I need to talk to you,’ I told Tim back at the barracks. ‘It’s about Don.’
In truth, I needed to talk to Tim about a lot more than that, but the situation with Bogle took precedence. I’d instructed Bogle to wait for me in the car and had grabbed Tim on my way out the door. I wanted nothing more than to forget what Amos Barlowe had told me about Bogle’s drinking, but this case was getting more complicated by the minute, and I needed a sounding board.
‘What about him?’ Tim asked, looking genuinely confused.
‘Have you noticed any strange behavior lately? I’m going to level with you,’ I said. ‘His brother-in-law told me last night that Don has a drinking problem.’
Tim reeled back, the news like a blow. ‘A drinking problem? Seriously?’
‘So you haven’t seen any evidence of that? Because I haven’t either,’ I said, ‘but the guy was pretty convinced there was some day-drinking going on.’
Tim shook his head and said, ‘Damn.’
A lesser man would have pointed out this was far more egregious behavior than Tim’s own habit of being exceptionally compassionate, but there was nothing ‘less’ about Tim.
‘Apparently things are rocky between him and his wife,’ I went on. ‘Juliet.’
