My fingers drummed out the questions as my mind asked them. I checked my email. There was a message from my biker friend:
Hey, Babe,
Nothing here. Family's accounted for.
Try getting ahold of me one of these days for some fun.
I shivered at the last sentence, maybe.
So the bad guys weren't involved; I knew, of course, by then they wouldn't be. Well. Then. Ten or more decades of mutilations, multiple puncture wounds, rips and tears that mimicked animal attacks, lack of social, no. Lack of family ties for the victims. Except one. One girl didn't fit. Hart's.
I dug her case out. She'd gone missing for almost a week before they found her broken body in a park. Like everyone else, she was left in plain sight. I stared at the photos from her crime scene. I looked at the girl, left in a pile, her eyes staring. Geez! Effin gruesome! I looked at how her body was left. In a pile. There were three trees in the photos. Giant pines, like sentinels guarding her until she was taken home. Her face started taking on a familiarity from looking at her for so long.
The sound of someone trying to break down my door startled me. Shit. Mike. Had to be. Only cops knocked like that. Well, no point in ignoring him, he'd just keep beating the hell out of my door.
"Who is it?" I tried to sound chipper and inquisitive, rather than annoyed and resolved.
"Who the hell do you think it is? You have something that belongs to me!"
Somebody was really grouchy! I tried not to smile as I opened the door to find a very cold, very snow covered, very p.o'ed Detective Michael Timothy. He glowered at me and I just grinned as I opened the door and stepped aside.
"Wow, Mike, you came in a blizzard just to see me? How flattering!"
Mike's eyes glared into my soul. For a cop he could be scary as hell. Poor bad guys. I tried not to giggle. Giggling at the wrong time was a particular tic I hated.
"Why did you hijack the fax intended for me? I could arrest you."
"No you can't. I accidentally gave the wrong fax number! I was in such a state yesterday," I batted my eyelashes. Mike continued to look like Death in a Badge, "you know from standing in brains, I just grabbed the fax and came home."
My stomach did a couple of somersaults. Easy, tummy, no brains today. Another giggle escaped.
"Where's the fax, Amber? I want it right now!" He looked around and when he spotted the pictures and cases strewn all over he turned back to me with acid in his eyes. "This is not vandals or simple robberies, Amber, this is murder! This isn't a game, this isn't a fucking hobby!"
Mike had ahold of my arms, his cold fingers digging into my skin. The look in his eyes was something more than anger then, he looked scared or worried. Anger is always caused by another emotion and Mike was in pain. Damnit.
"You see the files," I shrugged out of his grip, "get a grip. Sit down. Have some coffee. I might even tell you what I've figured out."
21 December 2009
11 December 2009
Saturday: Part Two
Saturday brought a day of rest. That's what I believed. Honestly.
When I woke up, the blizzard said, "Good morning! If you had nuts, I'd freeze them off!"
I looked out my kitchen window wondering how in the hell the forecaster missed a blizzard. My coffee was warm in my cupped hands, so when I contemplated shoveling later, I hoped it didn't stop snowing for a very long time. I mean, hello, cold out! Montana could have some ruthless weather!
Though I didn't want to go out, my paper was still outside. I snagged the paper from the Trib box; I probably looked odd running out in my flannel pj bottoms, boots untied and overcoat. Didn't care. Weather like that always reminded me I needed to move the paper box closer to the house. Doubt the neighbors could see me anyway for all the blowing snow.
The front page was covered with the story from the parking garage:
Local Businessman Brutally Slain
read the headline. Brutally? Was there a word worse than 'brutally'? I continued reading: 'Local entrepeneur, Kirby Johnson, was found murdered Friday morning in the parking garage on the corner of 4th St and 1st Ave N. Detective Michael Timothy wouldn't give any details except that the horrific murder seemed to fit the pattern of the other three victims. Another officer on scene was quoted as saying, "This is total chaos and carnage. I can't believe someone could do this to someone else. If we don't get a lead soon, well, I don't know what'll happen. This is scary."
I'm not sure which officer got quoted but for his sake I hope Mike didn't either. The article continued on with warnings not to go alone, tell people where you planned to be, etc. Same warnings as for weather watches mostly. Except the extra blanket and food people were normally cautioned to bring.
I got another cup of coffee, turned my laptop on, grabbed my forest Hart sent and started reading through the fax again looking for thoughts and clues rather than just scanning over the information. Everything Hart told me was in the pages. The lack of ties to people, the atrocity in the dismemberment and the pattern of coming on abruptly and ending just as quickly. As I read through the extensive file, dredging through terrifying horrific photos I wondered at what type of copycats we were dealing with. I said we because like I mentioned before, mysteries were a hobby, sometimes dangerous, but usually nothing I couldn't handle.
The wind beat and howled against the house as the snow continued to pile in giant drifts outside. The radio made it clear that all roads were shut down except for emergency only. Darkened, freezing skies and bitter winds pushed the temperature well below zero and I turned the heat up, wondering if I ought to start a fire in the basement furnace as well.
My house was one of the first in Great Falls. Moved from its original location to the lot it stood on in the early 20's. It consisted of a partially finished basement; a small kitchen (as was the fashion of the time), dining room, den/office, and living room were on the main floor. A miniature bathroom and two bedrooms, as well as a makeshift gym room on made up the second floor. All in all it was a well built, older home. Though with its age and my lack of time to add new amenities, I tended to worry about heat. Unlike my neighbors, though, I had an advantage...the basement woodstove which, when lit, could keep the main floor toasty and if need be I'd just sleep on the sofa.
When I was reading through the fifth homicide in about the twentieth case in the file I noticed that all of the bodies had a mark on their torso above the navel. It matched none of the multitude of puncture wounds found on the dismembered parts. The mark tended to be two inches long, made by a blade rather than the ice pick type wounds everywhere else. The earliest cases didn't note too well so I didn't catch it right away. Some of the tears looked as if an animal were involved also. I learned that once in a while the police would make an arrest but the murders would continue or start up again if they'd stopped and the suspect would have to be released. To me that showed two things: the culprits weren't afraid of getting caught and they didn't want anyone else getting credit for their "work". Really sick and egotistical.
I tried to avoid the photographs of the bodies as much as I could but I still needed to see positions and placement of the bodies. The victims all stared back, the ones that still had eyes or whose skulls weren't crushed, they stared in post mortem terror. I knew, without a doubt, that these people would haunt my nightmares for a very long time.
I started wondering, though, how Hart put it all together. Other than the wounds, the tears and the dismemberment, how did he piece it together? The murders took place all over the country, some in Canada and Mexico also.
When I woke up, the blizzard said, "Good morning! If you had nuts, I'd freeze them off!"
I looked out my kitchen window wondering how in the hell the forecaster missed a blizzard. My coffee was warm in my cupped hands, so when I contemplated shoveling later, I hoped it didn't stop snowing for a very long time. I mean, hello, cold out! Montana could have some ruthless weather!
Though I didn't want to go out, my paper was still outside. I snagged the paper from the Trib box; I probably looked odd running out in my flannel pj bottoms, boots untied and overcoat. Didn't care. Weather like that always reminded me I needed to move the paper box closer to the house. Doubt the neighbors could see me anyway for all the blowing snow.
The front page was covered with the story from the parking garage:
Local Businessman Brutally Slain
read the headline. Brutally? Was there a word worse than 'brutally'? I continued reading: 'Local entrepeneur, Kirby Johnson, was found murdered Friday morning in the parking garage on the corner of 4th St and 1st Ave N. Detective Michael Timothy wouldn't give any details except that the horrific murder seemed to fit the pattern of the other three victims. Another officer on scene was quoted as saying, "This is total chaos and carnage. I can't believe someone could do this to someone else. If we don't get a lead soon, well, I don't know what'll happen. This is scary."
I'm not sure which officer got quoted but for his sake I hope Mike didn't either. The article continued on with warnings not to go alone, tell people where you planned to be, etc. Same warnings as for weather watches mostly. Except the extra blanket and food people were normally cautioned to bring.
I got another cup of coffee, turned my laptop on, grabbed my forest Hart sent and started reading through the fax again looking for thoughts and clues rather than just scanning over the information. Everything Hart told me was in the pages. The lack of ties to people, the atrocity in the dismemberment and the pattern of coming on abruptly and ending just as quickly. As I read through the extensive file, dredging through terrifying horrific photos I wondered at what type of copycats we were dealing with. I said we because like I mentioned before, mysteries were a hobby, sometimes dangerous, but usually nothing I couldn't handle.
The wind beat and howled against the house as the snow continued to pile in giant drifts outside. The radio made it clear that all roads were shut down except for emergency only. Darkened, freezing skies and bitter winds pushed the temperature well below zero and I turned the heat up, wondering if I ought to start a fire in the basement furnace as well.
My house was one of the first in Great Falls. Moved from its original location to the lot it stood on in the early 20's. It consisted of a partially finished basement; a small kitchen (as was the fashion of the time), dining room, den/office, and living room were on the main floor. A miniature bathroom and two bedrooms, as well as a makeshift gym room on made up the second floor. All in all it was a well built, older home. Though with its age and my lack of time to add new amenities, I tended to worry about heat. Unlike my neighbors, though, I had an advantage...the basement woodstove which, when lit, could keep the main floor toasty and if need be I'd just sleep on the sofa.
When I was reading through the fifth homicide in about the twentieth case in the file I noticed that all of the bodies had a mark on their torso above the navel. It matched none of the multitude of puncture wounds found on the dismembered parts. The mark tended to be two inches long, made by a blade rather than the ice pick type wounds everywhere else. The earliest cases didn't note too well so I didn't catch it right away. Some of the tears looked as if an animal were involved also. I learned that once in a while the police would make an arrest but the murders would continue or start up again if they'd stopped and the suspect would have to be released. To me that showed two things: the culprits weren't afraid of getting caught and they didn't want anyone else getting credit for their "work". Really sick and egotistical.
I tried to avoid the photographs of the bodies as much as I could but I still needed to see positions and placement of the bodies. The victims all stared back, the ones that still had eyes or whose skulls weren't crushed, they stared in post mortem terror. I knew, without a doubt, that these people would haunt my nightmares for a very long time.
I started wondering, though, how Hart put it all together. Other than the wounds, the tears and the dismemberment, how did he piece it together? The murders took place all over the country, some in Canada and Mexico also.
07 December 2009
Saturday: Part One
The news Friday night reminded me of how horrific Friday morning was. Detectives (Mike Timothy) were perplexed by the body's "placement" but due to other evidence were sure the death was related to the other three.
I listened to the news and sifted through the information Hart sent. Mike had already left about a dozen messages but luckily didn't show up. The case files showed patterns of homicides involving what Hart dubbed The Unwanted. All people that lived alone, no relatives really to speak of except the case Hart started with and random sprinklings throughout the century plus of brutal killings.
My nightmares were a stage of blood and darkness; the players included the Southern Belle, brain guy, arguing voices (intent on divulging information to A Descendent or leaving man to his demise. I blamed this on the heartburn), crying and a lot of sighs. May have been my own exasperation with Belle and the crying.
I listened to the news and sifted through the information Hart sent. Mike had already left about a dozen messages but luckily didn't show up. The case files showed patterns of homicides involving what Hart dubbed The Unwanted. All people that lived alone, no relatives really to speak of except the case Hart started with and random sprinklings throughout the century plus of brutal killings.
My nightmares were a stage of blood and darkness; the players included the Southern Belle, brain guy, arguing voices (intent on divulging information to A Descendent or leaving man to his demise. I blamed this on the heartburn), crying and a lot of sighs. May have been my own exasperation with Belle and the crying.
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