Thirst for sin touch of.., p.13
Thirst for Sin (Touch of Evil Book 1), page 13
“The way the victim’s hair was brushed over her shoulders.”
Brook was pleased that he’d taken the time to study the comparisons.
She took a few more moments to study the area. There were remnants of a wooden cross and some frayed ribbon that someone had left behind as a memorial. It didn’t appear that anyone had been out here recently, and she highly doubted that the killer himself ever ventured out this far in the years since the murder. This was the past, and his gaze was drawn toward the future.
He’d brought an end to this particular story, and he’d already moved on to another…many more, in fact.
“Francis Walker didn’t murder Vicki Anderson,” Brook stated with conviction. She had to close her fingers into the palms of her hands to maintain any warmth. “You can see that now, right?”
“How confident are you that the killer is from Sutton?” Joe asked, purposefully not responding to her question.
He finished putting on his gloves and was currently staring at the worn wooden cross that had been left behind by some poor grieving soul who had once loved the victim very much. If Brook had to guess, Joe wasn’t even registering that the monument was there. He was no doubt envisioning what Vicki Anderson had looked like the night that her body had been found by the owner of the property.
“What’s to say that the killer didn’t spot her while driving through the neighborhood, abduct her from outside of her home, and then bring her out here to kill?”
“You already know the answer to that, but I’ll humor you anyway.” Brook adjusted the hood of her black raincoat. She hadn’t bothered with gloves, because chances were that the unsub was already aware of her presence. She wanted access to her weapon if she needed it without being hampered by thick leather. “A random stranger wouldn’t know how to get to this place. The unsub would have established some type of relationship with Vicki, which was the reason that she didn’t put up a fight outside of her home. She went with whomever it was willingly. She trusted him.”
“If the killer takes time to establish a relationship of some sort with the victims, wouldn’t you already have a description of him from their family or friends?” Joe inquired with a very valid question. She also had his full attention now. “I mean, one of the victims would have mentioned a new man being in their lives to someone, right?”
“I’m not so sure the connection between them would be important enough for her to mention it to those closest to her.” Brook had seen enough of the site, and it was time to head back into town. She had a long list of people who she would like to speak with this morning. The faster they got through the list, the quicker they’d be able to locate the unsub. “For him, maybe. For her? It might be someone she speaks with every morning at a café. It could be someone who jogs on the same path that he’d used while in an area, or it’s possible that he’s merely someone she speaks with on the phone for work. What she sees as harmless, he sees as something more.”
Joe fell into step beside her, and they strolled slowly toward the area that he’d parked his truck. Brook had planned for not only walking around the site, but also the trek to and from the vehicle.
Vicki Anderson had done so herself that fateful night, though the region had probably been full of growth back in the day. The trees would have had an abundance of leaves, the grass would have been maintained, and the structure off to the side wouldn’t have been so worn down. Brook could envision the property alive with lightning bugs, wildlife running here and there, and birds flying from branch to branch. Truthfully, the area reminded her of some sites in her hometown.
Brook had laced up her black boots tight across her ankles for extra support. While the boots were functional for hiking, they weren’t conducive to wearing for the remainder of the day. She considered herself lucky that she’d had the foresight to store her black flats in the leather briefcase that she’d stored in the back of Joe’s truck.
“No one in town has a job that allows for travel plans like you’re referring to,” Joe pointed out, unable to wrap his mind around the fact that a simple week was all it took to spark the unsub’s fantasies. “There are a lot of surrounding areas that could be home to this psychopath. I believe it’s a viable theory that you should at least consider.”
Joe might be willing to accept that Francis Walker wasn’t responsible for Vicki Anderson’s death, but he wasn’t at a point where he could fathom someone who he’d grown up with as being a cold-blooded killer.
“Technically speaking, the unsub would be labeled a sociopath in this case. He has established emotional ties with those in this community. A psychopath is unable to do so, although they are very good at faking it. I don’t see that in this situation.” Brook had considered the possibility that they were dealing with a psychopath, but her profile suggested otherwise based on the way he’d staged his victims. He had formed a bond with them while they were living, however misconstrued it might have been for him. “As for the unsub’s profession, it would be something that would allow him to travel across the tristate area. He hasn’t gone farther based on our findings, though. As I stated before, the trips wouldn’t be long. He connects quickly, and then he lets his fantasies play out while he’s home. He could then stalk them online, causing him to believe that he’s involved in their lives on a more intimate level.”
Joe remained quiet for the rest of the walk. He kindly opened the passenger side door for her, waiting patiently while she hoisted herself up and inside the cab using the side handle. She waited until he’d closed the door to push the hood of her raincoat off her hair. She’d taken time to secure the dark strands at the base of her neck. As for her muddy boots, it would be pointless to change out of them now, so she’d wait until they were back at the station.
It wasn’t long before Joe had settled in behind the steering wheel. He took his time removing the gloves that he’d technically just put on before setting them on top of the dashboard. She gazed over at him warily when he didn’t automatically take the keys out of his pocket.
Brook had personally reached out to some of the individuals on her list to speak with around six o’clock this morning. Two would be at the station in under an hour, and the other would be later in the day. Joe wouldn’t be pleased that she hadn’t included him, but he’d unknowingly forfeited that right the moment that Matt Henley had exposed the coverup for Benny Morgan’s son.
“Vicki Anderson was blonde, whereas Beth Lindsey had dark brown hair. Serial killers usually have a type,” Joe pointed out, still trying to make sense of where he’d gone wrong twenty years ago. He’d only had one murder and little evidence to go by. She had multiple murders, an in-depth profile, and a vast lab of technological advancement that hadn’t been available two decades ago. “What are the connections between the victims?”
“We’re not completely sure.” Brook had answered as matter-of-factly as she could, no longer needing to entice him along on this investigation. She wasn’t surprised in the least that his first question had basically been the first of many. His mind was working overtime and attempting to connect the dots. “You’re right that most victims are usually linked in some manner, whether that be their profession, the color of their hair, or the color of their eyes. The only connections between the victims in this case are that they are female. Period. No age requirements, no race requirements, nor specific body types. They have no correlation to one another, which means that we are left to sort through their lives with a fine-tooth comb in hopes of catching that one thread that could tie them all together.”
Joe pondered over her reply as he finally took the keys out of his pocket. She’d already anticipated his next question, though he took his time as he turned over the engine. It wasn’t long before he shifted the truck into gear, not even bothering to put the vehicle in reverse. He simply pressed his work boot onto the accelerator and drove in a wide circle until they were back on the road and headed into town.
“I’d like to see the other case files.”
“I can have that arranged.” Brook held her right hand in front of the vent. The air was warm enough to heat her skin, proof that they hadn’t been gone from the vehicle for too long. “I’d like to speak with Vicki Anderson’s parents later this morning. I’d also like to ask John Taylor, Luke Harris, and Sam Baker some questions this afternoon about that night.”
“I assume that Meg and Tasha are on that list of yours?”
Meg Beavin and Tasha Dahl had been Vicki Anderson’s best friends. Brook had read over their statements, but nothing they’d given at the time had aided in the investigation. They’d been emotionally distraught and in complete shock over their friend’s death. Add in living in such a close-knit community, and it was doubtful that either woman had ever gotten over such a tragedy.
They should count their blessings that they hadn’t been the ones to find their friend.
Brook did her best to push down the resentment that threatened to come forward, which was unusual. She’d handled dozens of cases where she’d had to interview family and friends who’d experienced survivor’s guilt. She prided herself on maintaining a professional distance. Unfortunately, being so close to her own brand of justice seemed to have her on a precipice.
As images of her own best friend’s body lying in the middle of a cornfield flashed through her mind, Brook purposefully took a deep breath and held it until she became refocused on the day ahead.
“Are you alright?”
“Yes,” Brook responded cursorily, letting her hand drop from the vent. She pulled her cell phone from the pocket of her raincoat. “I’m just going over the day’s events in my head. As for Meg and Tasha, I’ve already spoken to them this morning. They’ll be at the station shortly.”
“I could have helped you with those phone calls.”
“It was no problem. I was up early, anyway.”
The rain was coming down a bit harder than before, and Joe had turned the wipers onto the next speed to keep up with the relentless stream on the front windshield. Brook allowed the silence to become somewhat comfortable before giving the name of the person she was truly interested in speaking to later in the day.
She’d purposefully waited for the perfect time to monitor the sheriff’s reaction.
“There is another individual of interest who I’m meeting at three o’clock this afternoon. I’ve already taken care of the arrangements. Knowing how these small towns can be, I didn’t want there to be any conflict of interest on your part. I’m sure you can understand my position.”
The whitening of Joe’s knuckles on the steering wheel gave credence to Matt Henley’s personal observation all those years ago. She might find herself giving that exclusive interview, after all. Technically, she would pass the buck off to Frank, but Henley would still obtain an exclusive for his vlog.
“And who would that be?”
“Benjamin Morgan, Jr.,” Brook replied as she turned her attention to her phone. She’d gotten the reaction that she’d expected, so there was no real need to keep him in suspense. “As I already told you, I phoned him myself before meeting you at the station this morning. It’s best to keep your friendship with him separate from my investigation.”
“You’ve been busy. Look, I don’t know how you—”
“It doesn’t matter how I connected your friend to the investigation, but I am not going to ignore the facts of this case due to the involvement of the former sheriff. That’s not how the FBI does business.”
Would Benjamin Morgan, Jr. fit the profile of the unsub?
Was Carol Morgan even the biological mother of Benny Morgan’s son? If not, that alone was enough to have a closer look at the family.
Brook would have the answers to her questions shortly.
Hell, they might already be sitting in her inbox. She’d already requested a full background on everyone who she would be speaking with today. The software that she had at her disposal could give her the surface details, but hidden skeletons tended to take a bit more digging. Frank was already busy, but he’d promised to do what he could in that area.
There was one thing that she had wanted to mention to Joe in hopes of making this day easier on the two of them. It was looking more and more like it wouldn’t be long before she fit a suspect with her profile, and that meant calling in an agent from the Pittsburgh field office to help her make an arrest.
“In case you missed my point entirely, Sheriff O’Sullivan, now would be the perfect time to fill me in on what you left out regarding Benjamin Morgan, Jr.’s connection with the victim.”
Three to four weeks was all they had before the unsub struck again, and she wasn’t going to stand by and let the sheriff run interference and make this case drag on longer than necessary. Another woman’s life hung in the balance, and too many had already been forsaken.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Brooklyn Sloane
November 2021
Friday—8:52 am
“I appreciate you taking the time to come into the station to speak with me today,” Brook said as she finished jotting down the last note of her first interview. “There is one more question that I would like to ask you, and I’d like you to know that anything you say will remain confidential.”
Meg Beavin hadn’t aged well.
Her weathered skin was indicative of repeated exposure to too much sun over the years or her smoking habit had taken its toll. Both, if Brook had to hazard a guess. Not even her chipped nail polish could disguise the yellowish tint on the inside of her index finger. Her dirty blonde hair had been dyed too frequently, and the bags underneath her eyes indicated that she’d not only stayed out a bit too late last night, but she’d also had one too many drinks.
The woman shifted uncomfortably in the chair that Brook had set next to one of the empty desks in the far corner. She’d purposefully chosen the one that had been positioned near the restroom, which was the farthest away from Joe’s desk. The chair that Meg occupied also had the back of it facing in his direction. Brook didn’t want his appearance to influence the answers that she was soliciting from the townsfolk.
Joe was currently on the phone, and his agitation pointed to the former sheriff being on the other end of the line. There was no doubt word had already spread around town that she’d requested to speak with Benjamin Morgan, Jr.
Joe had come clean about Benny and his son. He’d explained how he believed such a detail would have muddied the waters and taken the warranted attention off Francis Walker. She figured that Joe was more worried about his reputation at the moment. There was no telling how the townsfolk would react to such a blatant coverup of a viable suspect. The resulting fallout would all depend on how well-liked Benny’s son was in town.
“What do you mean, confidential?” Meg asked cautiously, crossing her arms in a subconscious maneuver to protect herself. She hadn’t even bothered to take off her coat. Reliving the past wasn’t something that she’d been eager to do. “Everyone knows everything in this town. Francis Walker is the one who killed Vicki. I don’t know why you just don’t arrest him. It’s not like you’ll hear anyone say anything differently.”
“Tell me about Benjamin Morgan, Jr.”
Brook had purposefully chosen to go with an open-ended inquiry. She was likely to get more information than had she tried to narrow things down too quickly. To make it appear that the direction of the conversation was nothing more than a mere follow-up, Brook set the pen down and reached for her coffee.
She’d had just enough time to change out of her muddy boots and into her black pumps before Meg had pulled up in front of the station. Brook once again was glad that she’d worn a pair of dark jeans, although this time she’d accompanied them with a deep burgundy turtleneck underneath her black blazer. She’d wanted the extra layer for when they were at the site of Vicki Anderson’s murder, but her need for warmth inadvertently had an added benefit.
Joe kept the office slightly cooler than she would have been comfortable with back at the FBI offices. Maybe that was the reason why Meg hadn’t taken her coat off to hang on the row of metal hooks on the wall near the front entrance. By making it seem whatever answer Meg gave in the next few minutes wasn’t important enough to write down, the woman would almost certainly give more details on the subject than not.
“BJ?” Meg frowned, as if he wasn’t important. “BJ wasn’t even at the bonfire that night. He was older than we were, and he could have cared less about football.”
“Why?” Brook asked, taking a sip of her coffee. She’d already asked Meg if she would like anything to drink before they had taken their seats, but the woman had turned down the offer. “I would think the son of the sheriff would have thrived in that type of atmosphere.”
“You’re talking about sports, right??” Meg let out a light laugh, relaxing somewhat under the guise of mere conversation. “BJ wasn’t athletic in the least to the utter disappointment of his daddy. He still isn’t much of a man, to tell you the truth. Benny Sr. was captain of his football team back when my parents went to high school. A hometown hero. It was common knowledge that he tried to push BJ in that direction, but he was too busy…well, hanging with his friends.”
Brook noticed the break in Meg’s statement.
It was common for children of those in authority to rebel. Joe’s confession about BJ’s proclivities outside of school was about to be confirmed, though Brook couldn’t quite fathom that a town of this size had any gang relations to the big cities. Small towns such as Sutton tended to have small groups of rebels or malcontents’ binge-drinking, growing weed, and using or trafficking Class 1 substances. Nevertheless, heavier drugs had found their way into every corner of the country.
If BJ had been selling drugs to the high school crowd, which it was looking more and more like that was the case, that alone would discount him as the unsub. Nowhere in her profile did it suggest the unsub would do something to tarnish his reputation with those he was attempting to impress.
