October's Children: A Marlowe Gentry Thriller Page 5
“Always.” Marlowe nodded.
A hulk of a man in a Rosser County Sheriff’s Department uniform stood speaking to a group of what Marlowe guessed were local volunteers turned gawkers, this the most exciting thing to happen in their town in probably ever, even cursory involvement a coup to tell family and friends. The big deputy nodded to Marlowe as he pulled the SUV to a stop and got out. Standing near an ominous black hearse, the County Coroner waited to remove the bodies with a peevish look on his face. With the murders taking place less than twenty-four hours earlier and the cool air, any degradation of body tissue would be minimal. Perhaps, the coroner was not keen on Koop taking over his duties and himself relegated to transport.
Marlowe glanced to the house as a small woman stepped out the front door. He barely recognized her. In a uniform that seemed to swallow her whole, a wide-brimmed hat dipped over hollow eyes surrounded by dark circles, Amanda looked as deathly as the corpses waiting inside. When she noticed him walking toward her, gaunt cheeks lifted slightly, and she mustered a half-smile. She had lost weight since he last saw her. In college, Amanda ran marathons and played on the intermural softball team, her body always toned and supple. Now, she appeared too thin, and even a touch frail, he could not believe this the same fireplug who wrestled most of the boys into submission. She had cut her long, red hair into a boyish bob, and only the fierce will shining through bright green eyes recalled the woman he had known so well.
“Amanda.” He extended his arms to embrace her, but she stepped back and offered a hand.
“Marlowe. It’s good to see you again.” She pulled her hand away an instant later as though he might have something contagious.
He shook her hand, noticing the stiffness in her greeting. Keeping a professional appearance for those looking on perhaps, but it stung Marlowe all the same. Gary had told him about the drastic change in Amanda, but seeing it for himself made his heart ache for her. Tommy’s loss had taken a heavy toll. Marlowe could relate, to an extent. He came so close to losing Paige, not once, but twice. Seeing the haunting pain in Amanda’s eyes, a wave of gratitude filled him, but soon decayed to guilt and shame. Could he not be thankful to have his daughter alive and well and still feel sympathy for his friend’s loss? The two felt incompatible, sweet and sour mingling in a distasteful amalgamation. He shifted his eyes, fearful she might see something there best left hidden.
“Troy, keep everyone out.” Amanda waved a hand toward the door. “Marlowe, it’s all yours.”
He led the team inside and took a position near the kitchen counter, flanked by Spence and Lori.
“Koop.” Marlowe nodded toward the sofa.
Koop made a pass of the woman’s body, before stooping forward, face inches from the victim. “Fairly small entry wound. I’m guessing a .380. Gunpowder residue in the hair.” He nudged hair hardened with splattered blood away from the wound using a metal wand. After a few moments, he edged back and pushed his glasses along the ridge of a prominent nose. “Stippling on the scalp. A point blank shot.”
“No murder weapon found on site,” said Amanda. “We’re keeping an eye out for one with the search for the girls. We warned the volunteers not to touch it if they come across a gun ditched in the forest.”
After completing his examination of Mrs. Baldwin, Koop headed down the stairs, stepped over Mr. Baldwin, and scrutinized the corpse from the basement floor two steps below the body. He shone a small flashlight around the head and torso before moving back to the stairwell and continuing his observation from above.
“Broken neck and fractured ribs post-mortem. Stippling and powder burns at the sternum, another close range shot. The bullet entered beneath the chin and exited two inches behind the hairline at the forehead.” Koop straightened and massaged his lower back.
Marlowe nodded. “Spence, Lori, let’s take a look around.”
While Lori and Spence investigated the bedrooms, Marlowe remained in the basement. A metal workbench ran along the length of one wall with a tool rack mounted above it holding an assortment of wrenches, hammers, screwdrivers, etc. Rakes, shovels, and hoes leaned propped in a corner, a chainsaw on the floor between an old freezer and several buckets stack one atop the other. In an alcove adjacent to the stairs stood walled in shelving bare of any objects. Marlowe traced his finger along the shelves. No dust, clean as a whistle. The back wall, covered in a dark wood paneling, displayed a dozen blueprints for various household projects and repairs tacked onto its surface.
Lori and Spence waited when he returned to the living room. Koop still worried at his back, complaining, and receiving a flurry of ‘old man’ jibes from Spence.
“Find anything?” asked Marlowe.
“Something strange, at least to me. The girl’s bedroom. If I didn’t know it belonged to a little girl, I would have assumed it was a boy’s,” said Lori.
“Why’s that?”
“The clothes are more suited to a boy—blue jeans and pants, t-shirts and long-sleeved outdoor wear—no blouses or frilly clothes. I’ve never seen a young girl who didn’t have a closet full. No dresses. I would expect one or two for church and special occasions. The deputy pointed out no toys. You think the killer took clothes as well?”
“Hmm. Maybe they weren’t churchgoers. This is the sticks, more need for practical clothing than dresses, playing outdoors and the like. Maybe she was a tomboy.” Spence propped casually against the wall, a toothpick jutting from his lips.
Lori furled her brows. “If it is a serial, he might have a ritual. Taking toys and clothes to not only pacify the children, but also as keepsakes.”
“Fucker is playing house?” said Spence.
“It’s possible. It could also point to the killer’s history,” said Lori.
“What do you mean?” Spence pushed off the wall, his interest piqued.
“Recreating some event from his past. It might be an angle to narrow down suspects. He is likely white, in his thirties. We should look into cases of child abuse in the area. Early 80s,” said Lori.
“Good idea. Can’t hurt. Anything to give us a start.” Spence patted her on the shoulder.
Lori smiled, a flush of pink coloring her cheeks. Still acclimating to the team, and finding a comfort zone, she seemed to appreciate their votes of confidence and admiration for her skills.
“Here’s my initial take. Marlowe stepped behind and slightly to the left of Ms. Baldwin’s body. “Killer comes in, the wife is either already seated on the sofa, or he makes her sit. He stands about here. Puts the gun to her head and bam.” He held a finger near the head and mimed a shot. “Husband is downstairs. He hears the shot, comes barreling up, and runs into the killer at the top of the stairs, in the doorway. The gun went off against his chest, but the shot hit the chin, so it was pointed up the body toward his head, suggesting a struggle.” Marlowe turned to Amanda. “Am I missing anything?”
“No. Pretty much the way I had it pegged as well.”
“You’ve gone over the place for prints?” asked Marlowe.
“We have. Still going through them. So far, nothing but the family’s. We haven’t even found any prints from the Sorrel girls on anything in the house.” Amanda rubbed her shoulder and rocked her head on her neck.
“Missing toys and likely some clothes. Lori thinks it could be a ritual,” said Spence.
“That doesn’t sound good.” Amanda pressed against a wall, looking as if she might fall over at any moment.
“No, it isn’t. Not in the long term anyway. Short term, it might mean he plans on keeping them alive for a while,” said Marlowe.
“What we’re hoping, too,” said Amanda.
“Okay, let’s get out of here. Amanda, let the coroner know he can have the bodies now.” Marlowe pivoted to Koop. “Finish up anything you want to give another once over and hitch a ride back with one of the deputies. Once you make it to the morgue, give it a full work up. I don’t expect you’ll find much more, cause of death looks pretty obvious, but let’s cover all our
bases. The rest of us will meet up at the station. Amanda, we’ll need everything you have on the Sorrels, Baldwins, and the cases you believe are linked.”
“And fresh coffee,” said Spence.
Amanda’s glare suggested Spence’s humor would not be a big hit with her.
* * *
Carrolton, Alabama, the county seat and its largest town, boasted a population of just under eight thousand. Containing a Walmart, most of the fast food chains, and a host of mom and pop shops and stores, Carrolton was considered a big city by Rosser County standards. Marlowe swung through a McDonalds and ordered a half dozen Big Mac’s for the team before locating the sheriff’s department sandwiched between the county courthouse and Calvary Baptist Medical Center.
Mary Sims—dispatcher, operator, secretary, and doting grandmother to the officers—met them with a smile, and to Spence’s delight, the promise of a fresh pot of coffee. She guided them to a surprisingly spacious briefing room filled with school style desks, a large chalkboard and podium at one end. Amanda stepped to the board with chalk in hand. Marlowe noticed her hand tremble as she scratched Tommy Beacher, age five, killed October 12, 2013 on the board. Below her son’s name she wrote Sarah Harmon, age fifteen, missing October 4, 2016, and lastly, Emily and Natalie Sorrel, age six, Elle Baldwin, age six, missing October 21, 2017. She backed away, her eyes glued to the board, her face stone.
“What do you see?” Marlowe and his team, excluding Koop, sat in the front row with a dozen deputies seated behind them.
“If this is a ritual serial, the gap in time and the selection of victims is odd,” said Lori.
“How so?” asked Marlowe.
“With the children abducted in the same month, clothes and toys taken, it suggests ritual. Possibly the recreation of an event in the killer’s past. But in such cases, I would expect the children to be the same gender, and visually, the same age. Plus, an incident every year.”
“Have you looked into reports of children missing in October for 2014, 2015, and prior?” Marlowe asked Amanda.
She pivoted to the group. “Yes. None fitting the profile. Two missing from Colbert County, our neighbor to the east, and one from Parrish to the south. But in those cases no personal effects were taken. We haven’t found any missing children from Rosser County for those years although we’re looking at a few accidental deaths just to be on the safe side.”
“The time gap could mean our guy got caught. Spent a couple of years up the river,” said Spence.
Marlowe nodded. “Let’s check arrest records going back five years. See if any sex offenders, or others who might fit the bill, were incarcerated and released within our timeframe.”
“What about the gender and age discrepancy?” asked Lori.
Marlowe rotated in his desk, the thing a bit too tight for comfort. “Wayne Williams abducted and killed twenty-eight children, all African-American, but a wide range of ages, between six and sixteen, and both genders. He killed several adults as well.”
“Williams wasn’t a ritual serial, though. He was strictly an opportunity guy.” Lori tapped her pen against the desktop. “If this killer is sticking to a specific month, and taking items, I’m betting there’s a special event he wants to relive. Everything to do with that event would be exact and the same each time.”
“Let’s keep an open mind for now. All possibilities on the table.” Marlowe pointed to the board. “What can you tell us about the Harmon girl?”
Amanda cleared her throat. “Parents filed a missing person’s report, but felt certain she simply ran off. Apparently, she talked about it often. Friends confirmed it. The parents wanted her found for her safety more than fearing some pervert abducted her. They didn’t believe she could function on her own.”
“Problems at home?” asked Lori.
“Sarah had emotional and mental problems. Autistic, maybe. They had her in special ed classes at the high school. Her teachers said she was quiet and struggled with academics,” said Amanda.
“What about the parents?” Marlowe flipped through a dossier.
“Miranda, the mother, is a stay home mom and housewife. Buddy, the dad, is a good guy. Friend to the department. I’ve known him a long time. He played on the Alabama 1992 National Championship team, so he’s something of a celebrity around these parts. Did a couple of terms as mayor, deacon at First Baptist Church, and does a lot for the community.” Amanda jotted the names onto the board.
“Fifteen. Too young to drive. How do they think she left?” asked Spence.
“Hitchhiked. We picked her up once or twice thumbing it off Highway 231 near the edge of town.”
“Anyone see her hitchhiking around the time she disappeared? Did she tell any of her friends she planned on leaving?” asked Marlowe.
Amanda’s eyes hardened and her cheeks reddened. “We didn’t investigate it as an abduction. Honestly, we didn’t investigate much at all. Seemed clear-cut. I don’t have the manpower to chase every teen runaway around.”
Marlowe shook his head. “I understand. I’m not blaming you. Just want to get a full picture.”
Amanda averted her eyes and busied her hands with a file on the podium. He would need to tread lightly with her or risk stomping on her authority, and her pride. Technically, Marlowe was in charge, but no need to remind the county’s sheriff of the fact too often.
“Okay,” said Marlowe, standing. “I doubt we’d find anything on Tommy that Amanda hasn’t already uncovered. Not in the time we have. Let’s focus on the Sorrel/Baldwin girls and the Harmon girl. Spence, you and Lori have the Harmon case. Amanda and I will take the Sorrels/Baldwins.” Marlowe gazed across the room at the deputies. “I’d like some of you to examine arrest records. Also, look again at missing children. Spread a wide net, all databases, we don’t know exactly what we’re looking for so keep the parameters open. The rest, continue to head up the searches. Maybe we get lucky and find the girls, rendering the rest moot.”
The deputies filed out of the room, whispering to one another. Marlowe caught snatches. ‘Who does this guy think he is?’ ‘Freaking needle in a haystack.’ And most disturbing, ‘This is a waste of time. Those kids are probably dead already’. He bit his tongue, and when the last had left the room Marlowe took Amanda by the elbow.
“Stay on them. I know it seems like we’re pissing in the ocean, but we’ve found more with less,” said Marlowe.
“I will. They grumble, but they’re a good group.”
“Let me have a sec with Lori and Spence.”
Amanda did not seem pleased with the dismissal, but left the room without comment.
“This doesn’t add up.” Lori pointed to Tommy Beacher’s name on the board. “You said her son wasn’t abducted, but an accident. If that’s the case, we have two separate disappearances with little in common. My gut says they aren’t related.”
“I know. But on the outside chance they are, the Harmon case might lead us to someone.” said Marlowe.
“Wouldn’t our time be better spent with everyone working to find the girls?” asked Spence.
“I think we have the numbers to cover it. They did a shoddy job investigating the Harmon girl. Someone might have seen something, know something. It’s possible. There weren’t a lot of questions asked.” Marlowe raked his fingers through his hair. “Like I said, let’s keep an open mind. Talk to the parents, if you don’t think it’s a viable lead, we’ll let it go.”
“Sounds good,” said Spence.
Marlowe’s eyes narrowed on him.
“What?” Assuming he did something deserving of a scolding, Spence took a step back and put on his best ‘I didn’t do it’ expression.
“You shouldn’t be here. I allowed you to come under duress. Namely, your bitching.” Marlowe turned his attention to Lori. “You’re on point, and I’m holding you responsible. If Spence so much as walks faster than a stroll, I’ll send both of you back to Birmingham.”
“Hey, he’s a big boy. I’m not a babysitter,” said Lori.
“I’m fine,” said Spence.
“You’re a week out of stitches. I don’t want to hear it, from either of you. I mean it, Spence. No heavy lifting.” Marlowe tapped Spence on the chest.
“Okay, okay, I got it,” Spence backed away, rubbing his chest with faux hurt.
“Get some shut eye and see the Harmon’s in the morning,” said Marlowe.
“What are you going to do?” asked Spence.
“Check in with Koop and get some Zs myself. I have a feeling tomorrow will be a very long day.”
CHAPTER
6
Ice cracked and settled as vodka rained into the glass, setting Amanda’s teeth on edge. She’d need to curb sneaking swigs at work with Marlowe around. He’d likely be up her ass for the next few days. Amanda had not gone more than two hours without a hit from her flask in four years, and the prospect made her hands tremble. Her guys suspected…hell, knew, but none dared mention it, or attempt an intervention, fearing to find their heads on a pike. Though in truth, it was more likely sympathy and built up loyalty that kept them off her back. Marlowe, however, could report her. He wouldn’t. At least she did not think so. From what she heard, he went through his own period of drowning sorrows.
Amanda downed drink number one in gulps and filled number two before collapsing onto the sofa. She clicked on the television to CNN. Anthony Bourdain’s Parts Unknown showed an Asian man eating something mushy and brown that made her stomach churn. She muted the set and put her feet up on the coffee table, sending a stack of paper tumbling off one corner. Her entire living room lay strewn with newspapers and pages printed from the computer, three walls plastered in articles and flyers. Her deputies were chasing their tails searching arrest records and databases for missing children. Over the past four years, Amanda had collected every account from across the nation. Perhaps she should have told them, saved some work, but they already thought her obsessed and one-step away from a nervous breakdown, no need to add fuel to the fire.
Part of her now questioned bringing in Marlowe and his team. How he bullied her out of the way and took over today, relegating her to second fiddle in her own county, on her case. Yes, she needed his resources, and she knew going in the case would fall under SVCU’s jurisdiction, meaning Marlowe was now her boss, but it still stuck in her craw. No, something more bothered her. She loathed the pity in his eyes, the thing making her want to punch his lights out. She could handle it from anyone else. They did not understand. Not really. Their sympathy came from a distant place. One that said ‘Oh, so sorry, but thank god it’s not me’. Marlowe, on the other hand, had suffered a tragedy even more atrocious if she allowed the losses to compete, and he came out the other side. Just as Gary had. They looked at her and she heard their voices in her head - We dealt with it, why can’t you? Rage burned in her gut. She needed to lash out at something…someone.