Travesty, p.7
Travesty, page 7
Once I take her out of the trunk, there’s no turning back, but even if she is found someday, the necktie killer will be blamed.
Matt slowed and peered out the passenger’s-side window. He opened the glove box and pulled out the flashlight. With a click, he illuminated what looked to be the overgrown road.
Yep, that’s it.
He’d found the spot. He inched forward, shifted into reverse, and backed all the way in. Matt wanted the open trunk to be hidden against the thick brush. He climbed out of the car, and an eerie feeling sent chills up his spine. Frogs croaked, and a light wind blew through the brush. The night was pitch-black.
I better check out the area with the flashlight first.
Matt disappeared into the thicket with only a beam of light guiding his way. He returned ten minutes later with mud-soaked shoes and dozens of mosquito bites, but the spot was perfect. Jenna would sink into the muck under the water’s surface, and the marsh grass and cattails would completely hide her from view.
With another quick scan of his surroundings, Matt placed the flashlight between his teeth, popped the trunk, and lifted Jenna out. The stench of decay filled his nose, making him gag again. With Jenna’s decomposing body in his arms, Matt turned around and headed for the marsh.
Chapter 18
“Good morning, people. I don’t know how many of you stay up late enough to watch the ten o’clock news, but the necktie killer struck again. A body was found on the outskirts of Lake Geneva yesterday afternoon. Cause of death was asphyxiation by tie. The scene was cordoned off a good distance from where the body was discovered, so the news stations didn’t get any information from Walworth County Sheriff’s Office until after dark when Forensics left the scene. Landry filled me in this morning on the things the press didn’t report.”
“Were any clues left behind?” I asked.
“Other than the tie and the clothing the man wore, no, but I guess it didn’t matter.”
“Meaning?” Clayton raised a curious brow.
“Meaning, the deputies who were on the scene recognized the guy right away. He’s a self-made millionaire who blogs for a living. According to what Landry was told, damn near every man in Lake Geneva envied him, and every available woman within twenty miles had dated him. The question is, what did the necktie killer have against him?”
Billings shook his head. “Chances are, the guy was nothing more than a random victim in a county the killer hadn’t hit yet. It’s unlikely the killer knew who the man was or that he was well-known in town. Was the vic stripped of everything that could identify him just like the women were?”
“I’m afraid so. If he wasn’t a celebrity in the area, he would have been just a John Doe unless he had prints on file.”
“What was the guy’s name?” My notepad was open to a clean page, and I began taking notes.
“Bill Crandon. His blog was called ‘In My Opinion,’ and it was published online twice a week.”
“Not the catchiest name for a blog, but it made him rich?” I asked.
“According to Walworth County deputies, it did.”
I shrugged. “Go figure.”
Jack continued. “I asked Landry what went down with the meeting he had yesterday with law enforcement from the other counties. They all agreed it would be wise to have composites drawn for all the victims if the sketch artist can work with what the coroner has for photographs. It’ll take a few days to get that done, and then all the news channels will have access to those drawings. If the tips that come in lead to homeless shelters, that would be the biggest break yet. They’d start a multicounty task force that would only work on the necktie killer’s case.”
“But Bill Crandon didn’t live in a homeless shelter. He was a millionaire from an exclusive neighborhood just outside Lake Geneva.” I set down my pen and frowned.
“And that’s even more alarming. The perp could be escalating to anyone and everyone. His taste for killing is getting stronger.”
“Where was his body found, anyway?” Billings asked.
Jack blew on his coffee. “He was discovered by Melanie Davis, a Realtor who actually tripped over him in tall weeds while she was showing a vacant property to potential buyers.”
“Jeez,” Adam said. “Guess she didn’t get that sale.”
Kate snapped her head toward Billings. “That was disgusting.”
“Sorry, just saying what everyone else was thinking.”
Jack diverted what was about to turn into an argument between Kate and Billings. “Anyway, now that Racine, Waukesha, Milwaukee, and Ozaukee Counties are working together on this and will likely reach out to Walworth County to get them in the loop, we can continue with our usual activities. As of now, we don’t have a dog in this fight.” Jack gave Kate a quick look and shushed what she was about to say. He pointed at her. “No policing the police. Behind these closed doors, we can say what we need to say without criticism from each other. We aren’t speaking to the press, who try to spin every story they hear into something sensational.” Jack rubbed his brow. “Everyone understand?”
We mumbled that we did.
“Good, regular hours like normal unless told otherwise. So what’s on the agenda for today?”
I spoke up first. “Johnny Richards is being detained for twenty-four hours.”
“Again?”
I nodded. “I’m going to pay a visit to his wife and try to talk some sense into her. She’s way overdue to file an order of protection against that jerk. She doesn’t press charges because she’s afraid to, and then he beats her again. It’s like a revolving door with those two. He’s home, then in jail, then home, then in jail. After that, I’m stuck at my desk all day doing paperwork.”
“Kate?”
“Billings and I are speaking at a domestic abuse meeting at one o’clock. Summer is the worst time of year for domestic abuse. Husbands kick back and enjoy one too many beers, then arguments get heated. Case in point”—Kate jerked her head toward the door—“Johnny Richards.”
Jack nodded at Clayton. “Chad, what’s on your plate?”
Clayton patted the stack of folders on his desk. “Catching up on paperwork.”
“Okay, appreciate normal while you can. You never know what’s around the corner.”
Chapter 19
The steamer trunk had to go away that day. Somehow, Matt would have to wedge it in the car’s trunk without being seen by his nosy neighbor, Tim, and haul it to the dump along with the blanket and plastic sheeting he’d forgotten to dispose of last night. He pounded his fist on the table, shaking the coffee cup next to his hand.
How could I be so stupid? I’ve made so many mistakes with Jenna.
Matt sucked in a deep breath and tried to rub away the oncoming headache.
But as far as Bill is concerned, that went about as good as it gets, and killing the others will too.
Matt tapped his phone to see what time the dump opened—eight o’clock. He had to think things through.
Damn it, I should have done everything last night. Now I’ll have to sign in and show that I’m a resident of the county. Maybe I should load the trunk, park the car down the street, and wait until tonight. I need to disinfect the garage again so that damn smell goes away.
Matt knew he had to address the problem with the trunk and garage odor before anything else. With all the neighbors’ trailers so close to his own, he had to eliminate that horrendous smell before taking on the three remaining people on his kill list. Once his plan of action made sense, he twisted the wand and slightly raised the blinds to see if Tim’s car was in his driveway—it was.
Shit. Tim will be watching every move I make. I’ll break that trunk down to nothing but boards. A stinky trunk in the dump just screams that a body has been inside. Tearing it down to individual boards is the smartest thing to do.
With his new plan in mind, Matt would go to the dump that day and dispose of everything. He’d break down the steamer trunk first, load the boards into a large construction bag, and toss it into the car’s trunk. If questioned by Tim, he would only appear to be cleaning the garage and getting rid of junk. He’d blame the odor on the dead dog if he had to.
He headed to the garage as quietly as possible and entered through the side door. With the garage window open on his trailer’s side, he’d get the job done with the privacy of the overhead door closed and the side door locked. Matt would put up with the odor—he had no other choice.
Chapter 20
I watched Jack through the wall of glass as he placed the receiver on the base. He appeared upset and ran his fingers through his hair, a habit I had grown used to seeing when he was trying to process information. I checked the time. I’d be leaving in a half hour to meet with the wife of Johnny Richards. My intention was to talk some sense into her before he hurt her badly—or worse. The man had a record of domestic battery and spent time now and then in our lockup, but he was always released to his wife so the abuse could begin again. I willed Jack to step out of his office and talk to us while everyone was still present. I was curious and wanted to know who he had been speaking to.
I cupped my hand against my mouth. “Psst.”
Kate turned her head. “What?”
“Shh.”
Kate rolled her eyes. “Just say it already. What’s up?”
I whispered again with my hand against my mouth. “Does Jack look upset? He was talking to somebody on the phone, hung up, and then raked his hair with his fingers.”
“Really? That’s a dead giveaway that something is definitely wrong.” Kate grinned, shrugged, and went back to work.
I growled at her lack of curiosity. Seconds later, Jack stood, crossed the threshold, and leaned against the doorframe facing us. I held my breath.
“Just a heads-up, everyone.”
We stopped what we had been doing and gave Jack our full attention.
“Landry just called me with an update from the Walworth County Sheriff’s Office. Apparently, the photos their forensic team took from the Lake Geneva murder were shared between the four counties this morning. Landry was the first to notice a drastic change in the killer’s signature.”
“Uh-oh, that’s not good,” Clayton said.
Jack scratched his cheek and let out a sigh. “That’s exactly the thoughts of everyone in law enforcement too. It appears that the tie around Bill Crandon’s neck was fashioned in a typical square knot instead of the killer’s signature Windsor knot. The public was never informed about the type of knot the killer uses. I’m sure everyone assumes the ties were knotted tight enough to strangle the victims and weren’t in any particular fashion. Ninety-nine percent of all people use a square knot for nearly everything that’s knotted.”
“And the killer strangles his victims and then forms a Windsor knot with the tie after the fact,” Kate said.
“So, are we thinking there’s a copycat killer out there too?” I raised my brows in disbelief.
“Unfortunately, that may be true. The multicounty task force is being set up today. Law enforcement doesn’t have the luxury of time anymore, especially if there are two killers out there.”
“But what if the killer is toying with us? He may be changing his MO and his signature just to confuse law enforcement. Bill Crandon wasn’t a down-on-his-luck homeless guy and—”
Jack interrupted Clayton. “That’s a theory and nothing more. There isn’t any proof of the homeless connection yet. It’ll take a day or two before the composite sketches are released to the press and a tip line between the four counties is set up. Walworth County is still on the fence about joining the task force for the simple reason that Bill’s murder didn’t fit the same mold as the others. They’ll let the other counties know before the day is through. That’s all I have. Our job will remain status quo until—”
Kate interrupted. “Please don’t say until a body is found in Washburn County.”
Jack cut his sentence short.
I held my face between my hands. “There we go—jinxed again.” I rose from my desk, slipped my blazer over my shoulder holster, and gathered my purse, notepad, and cell phone. “Catch you guys later. Hopefully I can talk Joyce into filing that order of protection. Wish me luck.” I got four thumbs-up gestures and several nods. I walked out hoping for the best.
The home belonging to Johnny and Joyce Richards was in a trailer park northeast of town, about four miles outside North Bend’s city limits. I had never been there before, and once I entered the run-down community of fifty or so mobile homes, my heart sank. Everything I’d ever seen on the news and portrayed on TV movies about the abusive, unemployed husband fit that setting to a T.
I drove the gravel lane slowly and craned my neck left and right as I passed each mobile home. The house numbers were bolted to a post beside the small parking pad to the right of each trailer.
There it is.
I squeezed the cruiser in next to the rust-eaten van that appeared to be a good twenty years old. I climbed out of the car just as a disgusting odor wafted past. With my hand shielding my eyes, I grimaced and took in the surroundings. A dumpster with garbage spilling out stood only fifty feet away. I continued on, took the five wooden steps up to the porch at the Richards home, and rang the bell. Seconds later, Joyce opened the door and welcomed me in. The home was in shambles. No surprise there. It fit the typical scenario.
“Have a seat, Detective Monroe.” Joyce threw a stack of entertainment magazines on the floor and pointed at the chair.
I took a seat and watched as she cleared a spot for herself across from me. Only thirty-two, Joyce looked to be in her late forties. The hard life she was living had taken its toll. Ashtrays spilling over with butts had tar caked in every groove. I glanced at the windows, and they all wore a yellow film. A healing wound under Joyce’s right eye was still visible, a hint of green around it.
I tipped my head her way. “Black eye?”
She reached up and touched her cheekbone. “Oh, that? I bumped into—”
“Joyce, cut the crap. We both know why Johnny is in jail. When are you going to wise up and kick his ass out? Or do you enjoy being his punching bag?”
“I don’t have a job.”
“And neither does he, yet cigarettes and beer are plentiful. You get state aid, don’t you?”
She nodded. “I have epilepsy and can’t work.”
“So you share your disability check with a man who’s too lazy to work and beats you? Where’s your self-esteem?”
“I’m afraid. An order of protection won’t keep him away.”
“Maybe not, but as soon as he violates that order, he’ll be locked up, and it won’t be for twenty-four hours.”
“What if he kills me before I get a call in to 911?”
That possibility was a real concern. Those situations happened more often than anyone wanted to admit.
“Can you stay with a relative or friend?”
“And risk their lives?”
I was afraid to say the words out loud in light of the murders going on in southeast Wisconsin, but I did, anyway. “Maybe you should consider staying in a homeless or women’s shelter. Let’s at least get the process started. What do you say? I have the paperwork with me.”
Joyce nodded. “Okay, I know it’s the right thing to do.”
A half hour later, I shook Joyce’s hand as I left and wished her luck. I would file the paperwork at the courthouse as soon as I got back to town.
“Excuse me.”
I turned to see a man walking in my direction. “Yes, can I help you?”
“Are you a cop?”
“I’m a detective with the sheriff’s office, why?”
“Got a minute?”
“You are?” I panned my surroundings. The neighborhood was quiet.
“The name is Tim Quarles. There’s something going on at my neighbor’s house.”
“Can you expound on that, Tim? Going on as in how?”
“His garage stinks to high heaven. He’s been skittish, and his wife is nowhere to be seen. He said she was sick, but that was several days ago. She’s the one that always walked the dog, Bandit. I confronted Matt about the smell yesterday morning, and he said the dog had died and he buried it behind the garage.”
“In this heat, anything dead can begin to decay rapidly, Mr. Quarles.”
“Right, but hear me out. So I smell this horrific odor and see some mangy dog digging furiously at the back of Matt’s garage. I banged on his door, and that’s when he said he buried the dog back there. He even dug it up, so he says, and put it in a garbage bag. He said he was taking it to the dump.”
“And?”
“And sure as shit, the dog was back today, digging up a storm at the same spot. This time I got a good look at it, though. It’s funny how a dead dog can come back to life. It was his own dog, Bandit, digging in that spot.”
“Is Mr.—what did you say his last name was?”
“Mellon, Matt Mellon. Come on over and take a whiff.”
I followed Mr. Quarles three trailers farther in on the right side of the street. He pointed out his own trailer and then the garage and trailer belonging to Matt Mellon. A strong odor was evident.
“Smell that?”
I pointed down the street. “Yes, but maybe the smell is coming from that overflowing dumpster.”
He waved away my comment. “No, ma’am. The dumpster is downwind of us. It’s coming from his garage. I’ll show you where the dog was digging.”
Tim led me around his own trailer to the back side of Matt’s garage. A freshly dug hole the size of a basketball was against the wall.
