Killing Season Page 8

  It was a gorgeous day outside—low sixties, crystalline air, and the bluest of skies that can only be seen in mountainous regions. And this was how Vicks chose to spend his Sunday.

  He said, “Let me get rid of—”

  “Don’t.”

  Ben said, “At least let me shut down my computer.”

  Ro’s hand was atop his. “Don’t do that either.” She took the mouse and scrolled down. More cases and more gruesome pictures. A moment later she heard a loud click. Her head spun around. Vicks had locked the door behind them.

  “I don’t want my mom coming in. It would upset her.”

  “Y’think?” She gawked at him and he looked away.

  He said, “If you feel uncomfortable being alone with—”

  “Stop it. I’m fine being alone with you, okay?”

  “Surprising . . . seeing as you haven’t talked to me for the last two weeks.”

  “I talk to you all the time.” But her defense sounded lame to her ears. She had been avoiding him, but not for the reasons he thought. She had wanted to talk to him, but she wanted him all to herself. She didn’t want Shannon or Chelsea seeing them together, asking questions. She especially didn’t want JD to be around. He was always quizzing her specifically about Vicks.

  Why do you talk to him? he would ask.

  Why not?

  ’Cause it’s weird. He’s weird. He’s not interested in you, he’s not interested in the world. He’s on his own planet. Let him be.

  His own planet. That was an understatement. Ro said, “It’s true. I was avoiding you. I get tired of people staring when we talk.”

  “I do have a phone and you do have my phone number.”

  She nodded. She looked again at the corkboard. “Ellen?”

  “Yes.”

  Looking at his dead sister made her eyes get wet. But the entire room was so filled with disgusting images it was hard to tell where the tears were coming from. She knew that some of Ben’s obsession had to do with survivor’s guilt, but this went so far beyond. She picked a file and read another case—fourteen-year-old girl strangled, burned to a crisp with gasoline, and then dumped in a rural road.

  “I’m not saying this to criticize you or pass judgment. That’s the truth.” She turned to him. “But why are you doing this to yourself?”

  “Keeps me busy.” His voice was a hush. “I don’t have a plethora of friends.”

  “No, that’s not it.” She managed to meet his eyes. “You don’t have friends because you choose to sequester yourself and concentrate on your sister’s murder. So I repeat. Why are you doing this to yourself?”

  “I dunno . . . really.”

  “Yes, you do. You do know. Why?”

  He exhaled forcefully. “Okay. I’ll tell you. But you’ve got to listen.”

  “Okay. I’m listening.”

  “Suppose . . . suppose you could find a cure for osteogenic sarcoma. It would be too late to save your sis—to save Gretchen—but you could prevent other teens from suffering what she went through. Wouldn’t you give it your all? Wouldn’t you work every single neuron of your brain to stop this disease from ever killing again?”

  “Of course.” She nodded. “I understand what you’re saying, Vicks, but I’m not a doctor. And even if I were a doctor, I’d never be smart enough or lucky enough—or both—to cure my sister’s disease. And even if I turned out to be a brilliant doctor, I couldn’t do anything about it now, right?”

  “Of course.”

  “The difference between your case and my case . . . is really the difference between you and me. I know I’m helpless. But you . . . you believe that you can do this better than the professionals.”

  He didn’t answer.

  “Am I right about this, Ben?”

  He said, “I understand what you’re saying and maybe there is a bit of truth in that. The real story is the professionals here are overworked and underpaid. Detective Shanks is a good guy. He’s worked the case for over two years and he really, really wants to solve this. A suspect would be a good start. His heart is in the right place. And I’ve been doing nothing but pestering him since my sister went missing. But he’s not getting anywhere. This newest arrest—Billy Ray Barnes—was sort of his last hope. I saw it, Ro. I saw the wind knocked out of his sails . . . the boat capsized, actually. He doesn’t have it in him anymore. Someone has to fight for Ellen.”

  “Who’s Billy Ray Barnes?”

  “A serial killer. The Albuquerque Demon.”

  “The guy they arrested several months ago.”

  “Yes. He’s responsible for at least four murders in the Albuquerque and southern New Mexico regions. Shanks was hoping that he was responsible for Ellen. We were all hoping he was the one, although I knew he wasn’t. I was right. None of the biological evidence matched.”

  “How did you know he wasn’t the one?”

  “That would take a while to explain. It’s a little bit of intuition and a lot of inconsistencies. And now this Demon thing has done nothing but obfuscate my sister’s case.”

  “Obfuscate . . .” She raised her eyebrows. “Sounds like an SAT word. And yes, I know what it means.”

  Ben explained, “One of the cases—practically the only one—that looks like it might connect to Ellen’s is a missing girl down in Albuquerque named Katie Doogan. She went missing about three months before my sister’s body was found.” He had to take a moment before he could continue. “I think they’re related. But Katie is still missing. Until her body is located, I can’t go any farther with her.”

  “And what do you propose to do? Go look for her body?”

  “I’ve already done that about a bajillion times. My parents connected with her parents, Margot and Alan, at one of the many candlelight vigils for Katie. Her older brother and I used to go looking in the woods for her every weekend for about six months. God, it was like reliving my sister . . .” He paused. “After Ellen’s remains were found, Margot and Alan came to the funeral. They are such good people.”

  Silence.

  Ben said, “It’s been a while since I’ve looked. Maybe I’ll try again over Thanksgiving. The problem is even if we found Katie and she still retained biological evidence like foreign DNA, it would take a while to process because the New Mexico state lab is jammed, working the Billy Ray Barnes case. What am I supposed to do, Ro? Wait until we get a lucky break? And how many other girls will be murdered in the meantime?”

  Ro didn’t answer, still staring at the morbid files strewn across his bed. Her mouth was dry. A small shudder traveled down her spine.

  When she had first arrived in New Mexico, she found out pretty quickly where the power was. Within a few weeks, she and JD were an item and that was exactly what she wanted. She liked JD. He was hot, he was built, he was smart, he was funny, and he had the kind of status that gave her status. With JD, she could be popular and respected. She made cheerleader when ordinarily that wouldn’t have happened. She had a good shot at being homecoming queen. She would have the best-looking date for the prom. The guy had it all. But the best thing he had going for him was his lack of seriousness. She was happy to date him, happy to be physical with him. She’d never do him, but she’d do enough that he’d be happy and he could brag to his friends. When they parted, it would be fine.

  So long, it’s been good to know ya.

  They’d probably never meet again, but if they did—like twenty years from now—JD would probably still be good-looking with a little paunch and a receding hairline. And she, of course, would still be hot. And it would make JD feel good to know she had been his girl a long time ago.

  That’s who she was: beautiful, competitive, phony, and a big user of people. She was always the one who demanded to be noticed.

  Look at me, look at me.

  And people did look at her, because she was gorgeous. It was Gretchen who was quiet and studious. Gretchen who won the academic awards. Gretchen was cute, but she wasn’t a beauty queen. Ro was smart, but she wasn’t b
rilliant. God had divided the assets fairly. Gretchen was always well respected. Ro was always well liked. Still no one ever said, if only I could be like Gretchen. But a lot of people said, if only I could be like Ro.

  Vicks wouldn’t do her any good in the popularity department. He was a step down from JD. Her friends would desert her because JD would mash her into the ground if she dumped him. It was JD who had the power, and without him, she couldn’t compete. But that really wasn’t important to her anymore. The problem wasn’t losing JD. The problem was being with Vicks. She didn’t want to become attached to him. With Vicks, it would be different because Vicks had passion. He cared.

  She had wanted a boyfriend whom she liked and a friend who cared. Unfortunately, that friend happened to be a boy whom she was developing feelings for. She didn’t want to care back. Caring was painful. Caring hurt. Caring meant when it was time to part, there would be tears and feelings and all that bad stuff.

  “. . . thinking?”

  “Pardon?” she said.

  Ben said, “I asked . . . what are you thinking?”

  “That you can’t solve the world’s problems.”

  “I’m not trying to do that. I’m limiting my rather poor resources and gray matter to my sister’s case. Yes, I’m crazy and obsessive, but I can’t help it. I need to find out who did this and then stop him from doing it again.”

  “Okay.” She picked up a file and put it down. She took in a deep breath and let it out. “Okay.” She made some room for herself on his bed. “Fill me in.”

  “No, no, no. I don’t need help. I just want you to understand that I’m not some weird ghoul with a fascination with death. It’s just Ellen’s death.”

  “I understand. You’re not a ghoul. But you do need help. At the very least, I’ll be a fresh pair of eyes.”

  “No. Absolutely unacceptable.”

  “Stop being paternalistic.” She gave him a weak smile. “See, I know big words too.” Another file showed some postmortem shots. This time the girl’s throat had been severed so badly Ro could see her backbone. She remained resolute. “Stop arguing. Fill me in.”

  “Look. Let me just shut down my computer. It’s a beautiful day. We’ll go for a walk—”

  “No,” Ro told him. “No, no, no. Just . . .” She patted the mattress next to where she sat. “Sit down next to me, Vicks. Get it all out. I want to know what you know.”

  “You don’t really want to be part of all this ugliness, Dorothy. It’s the stuff of nightmares.”

  “I’ve had plenty of nightmares. I’m not delicate. Even before I lost my sister, I wasn’t delicate. I was always conniving and political. I’m not arguing with you anymore, Vicks. Sit down and fill me in.”

  He sat down and then he spoke to her. Haltingly at first, then like an open sugar canister on the edge of a counter—one small nudge and everything just spilled out.

  Chapter 10

  “There’s a reason for so many files.”

  His pacing was driving Ro bonkers, but she didn’t say anything.

  “I have duplicates because I have them arranged in different ways depending on what I need,” Ben was saying. “From the date of the murder—earliest to latest—alphabetical order, region, and method. Whenever there are matching dots on the files, I think that the cases might be related. For instance, these three yellow dots on these three folders, I think there’s something that ties the cases together.”

  “Like what?”

  “Physical characteristics, age of the victim, the way the victim was murdered, if there was sexual activity, the time of day, the season, where the victim was found, if she was posed or not, how deep the grave was . . . My sister was found in a deep hole. It was just chance that I found . . . that she was found. An animal must have been digging around the area. Just enough to expose . . . her hand.”

  “You found her?” Ro asked.

  “On the anniversary of her abduction.” He stopped pacing, his eyes very far away.

  Twenty people had volunteered for the search, walking through the mountains in a grid pattern. The group split into two, and one group chose to explore the area near the river. Ben went with the river group at first, but a couple hours in, he strayed from the party, electing to look by himself.

  Twenty minutes later, something metallic glinted in the filtered sunlight: a small ring sitting on a finger. The hand was half skeletal but still retained some flesh. Ben’s breath shortened and his eyes became blurry. Something deep rose up in his throat. He threw up with such force that he hit a tree five feet away. After that, things became hazy. He remembered sitting on a rock, shivering even though it was in the seventies in town. By the river, it was cooler, shaded by the mountains, the tall cottonwoods, the sycamores, the aspens, and the pines. His shakes had nothing to do with the temperature.

  The mud and the cool soil along the water had preserved some of the body. More important, deep inside Ellen’s body, the riverbanks had preserved biological evidence. Surely an arrest would be imminent, Shanks said.

  Imminent had been going on three years.

  Ben whispered, “It was beyond horrible, but what made it even worse was the police. I was too stupid to realize it, but they were actually questioning me.”

  “Shanks?”

  “No. Shanks came in later. A guy named Chelly. When Shanks found out what was going on, he reamed the guy’s ass. Lucky for me, I don’t remember too much of that day. Not like the day Ellen was abducted. That day I remember very well.”

  Ro was trying to keep her train of thought. Ben’s attention was scattershot. He’d look around his room as if it were unfamiliar territory, and then he was back in reality. Normally, he was hyperfocused, the anti-ADD. She knew she was making him nervous. Finally, someone had outed his secret and he didn’t know whether to be relieved or mad.

  “So . . . like . . .” He started rooting through the cases laid out on his bed. He pulled up six files. “Okay . . . all these files have orange dots. I felt they weren’t related to Ellen, but they were related to each other. I put them together like . . . like a year ago for these two files.”

  “Are they related?” Ro asked.

  “Four of the six have been linked to the Albuquerque Demon. If I had anyone’s ear, I’d say that the police should be looking into these two victims as well.”

  “So call the police.”

  “I don’t know anyone in Albuquerque except maybe the primary on the Doogan case—Milton Ortiz. And I don’t know him that well. I have been questioned enough to know I don’t like it.”

  “Then call up Shanks.”

  “Still debating whether or not to do it.”

  “You don’t trust him?”

  “Yeah, I trust him. He knows I’m obsessive but he doesn’t know the extent of it. In my head, what I’m doing is totally normal. To anyone else, it is odd.”

  “Let me say something . . . just get it out, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  Ro said, “Everyone copes with things in a different way. If this is what you’ve got to do, then do it. I won’t pass judgment.”

  Ben nodded. “Did I tell you I loved you?”

  “No, but I just assumed it from the start.”

  Ben laughed, then grew serious. “Anyway, serial killers . . . a lot of them like to relive what they did.”

  “I know. I’ve seen a lot of bad TV.”

  “It is bad TV but it’s also true. I’m trying to figure out how they’d relive my sister’s murder in hopes that I can figure out patterns.”

  He tucked his hair behind his ears.

  “Sometimes I do step back. I suffer when I read about this stuff. Instead of feeling bad, I try to immerse myself in details so I don’t see the big picture.”

  “Like doctors working with cancer patients,” Ro said. “They give you these minute details of the progress of the treatment or the disease . . . when all you want to know is if she’s going to be okay.”

  “Right. Think of me as a forensic oncolog
ist.”

  “You know what an oncologist is?”

  “Not until you told me about your sister. When I looked up osteogenic sarcoma, I found out what an oncologist is.” He shrugged.

  Ro shrugged back. She picked up some files and began reading them to herself. Seeing her occupied, Ben went back to the computer.

  A half hour passed.

  Ro said, “You have so much organized information. Take these three burgundy files. You’ve got this girl, Janina Nuñez from Arizona, associated with Nicole Lafey from Louisiana and Nancy Jimenez from Las Cruces. Has anyone else ever put these three together?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “Vicks, this is a gold mine of data. Put it to good use. Think of the families.” When he didn’t answer, she said, “If you’re worried what the police will think, I’ll come with you. Nancy Drew and the Hardy boys.”

  “You nailed it. I don’t want to be the wiseass kid who shows up the professionals. Shanks is tolerant of me—very nice actually—but I don’t want to be an asshole.”

  “But you did get it right with the Demon.”

  “So did Albuquerque and state police.”

  “But they’ve only linked four. You have six.”

  “They’re still testing others. They may have a lot more links than I do.”

  Silence. “I’d like to meet him . . . Shanks.”

  “No way. I’m not bringing you into my psychopathology.”

  “You already have.”

  “That’s because you barged into my room.”

  “Vicks, I just keep thinking of all the families you could be helping.”

  “I’m not ready to talk to Shanks. I just don’t want to do it yet, okay?”

  “Fair enough. Let me see your sister’s file. I should have read that first.”

  “Okay.”

  Two hours later, Ro was done with Ellen’s file. She moved on and kept reading. “What’s with this folder, Vicks? You have two red dots on it.”

  Ben spoke as he scrolled down on his computer. “Julia Rehnquist. She has some points in common with my sister’s death.”

  “More than Katie Doogan?”