SIX

A Gift

“Ok, guys, I spent last night going over profiles of serial killers and then went to the FBI’s data base. The FBI said, and I quote, that serial killers usually aren’t loners, are gainfully employed, have families in many instances, and almost never come across as creepy.”

Sitting in the back of McGill’s with Rosie, Ben, and Gerry as my audience, I laid out what I’d researched about serial killers. To say I was creeped out was an understatement, but you couldn’t choose your subject matter in journalism; it picked you. The amount of information that could be obtained on the Internet about these monsters was staggering.

“I was under the impression that serial killers are almost always white males, but my research cleared up that point, the FBI said they span all racial groups.” I looked down at my notes and continued to summarize the FBI’s expert. “That the motivation behind serial killings is not always, or for the most part, even sexual in nature. Financial gain, attention seeking, or just for the thrill of the kill, just to name a few, are more likely. They operate within a comfort zone, have anchor points close to home. They very rarely travel the interstate unless they are so comfortable with their expertise they do it to avoid detection. Their IQ ranges from borderline to extremely smart. Most don’t consider themselves invincible, but as they get comfortable with killing, they become braver and braver. This usually makes their kills sloppy and helps lead to their detection. Some stop, replacing other activities for the thrill they receive from killing, i.e. auto erotica, masturbation, and cross-dressing. But, ultimately, they all have one thing in common: they are psychopaths. Psychopaths, according to the FBI, are persons with antisocial personality disorder, which manifests in aggression, perversion, and sometimes criminal and amoral behavior without empathy or remorse.”

“Jesus, Jenny. Are you sure you want to investigate this guy?”

“Oh, come on, Ben. This is fascinating although creepy stuff,” I defended.

“I’m with Ben, sugar. I’m not sure I’ll be able to sleep at night knowing all this.” Looking at Rosie’s wide eyes, then back at Ben and Gerry, I sat down hard on my chair.

“Guys, it was your idea to help me and now you want to throw in the towel?”

“I can’t think of anyone in our county that matches that description,” Gerry spit out.

“That’s what makes them so hard to catch. They blend in; they could be the loving father living next door.”

“Well, if that’s the case, we won’t be able to come up with any suspects. Not unless we put all of the men who live in the county on it,” Rosie countered.

“We can eliminate those over the age of fifty-five, and those under the age of twenty, for starters. The same goes for disabled.”

“Good to know we aren’t suspects,” Ben laughed.

“Ben, you’ve got arthritis in your hands. I doubt you’d have the hand strength to strangle a woman.”

“Why aren’t we putting women on the list?” Rosie asked, almost offended that I left our sex off the table.

“Because women tend to kill men, and these murders take place at close range. Muscle is needed to detain these women in order to strangle them.”

“Have you seen Janice Rutherford? Woman has arms like a man. Bet she could arm wrestle and win against most, except Jack.” I didn’t need to be thinking about how big Jack’s arms were right now, but that didn’t stop me from noticing the dreamy look Rosie had when she mentioned him. Ignoring this, I moved forward with our discussion.

“All right, Rosie, I’ll put Janice on the list. Happy?”

“How about we all make a list of the men we know in the county that fit the age range and physical strength? Then we can compare and come up with a master list,” Gerry suggested.

“I like that. And what about women who fit the victim profile? We need a list of all women with brown hair who live in the county as well,” Rosie threw in.

I looked at the three of them; then Ben stood up, walked over to the board, and picked up a marker, writing my name. Shit. Looking at my name, then not wanting to look at it, I grabbed my hair, and pulled it into a ponytail, trying to act like that didn’t freak me the hell out. The three of them stared at me for a moment, and, feeling self-conscious, I snapped my fingers and pointed to their papers. “Guys, names, please. I need to leave by four.”

***

Phones were ringing off the hook when I entered the station at 4:30. I grabbed the phone, punching line one, and wondered where the hell Debbie, our receptionist, was.

“Sheriff Gunnison.”

“Ah, good, just the man I wanted to talk to.” Sighing for patience at the sound of the Mayor of Gunnison’s voice, I steeled myself for what was next.

“Mayor Hall, what can I do for you?”

“Sheriff, we need to call a meeting to discuss the recent deaths in our county to ascertain that all is being done to catch this killer.” The sarcasm in his voice wasn’t lost on me. Mayor Hall’s son, Grady, worked as my Deputy, and it was known by all that he had high hopes for his son. He wanted Grady to be Sheriff, and the only problem with that was me, plus the fact that Grady was too young. But that didn’t stop him from pushing his agenda every chance he got. He needed me gone to accomplish that, and a serial killer avoiding police capture would be a perfect excuse for him.

“I can assure you all is being done to apprehend this killer, Mayor.”

“I’m not sure that’s true, Sheriff. I’m thinking your mind is elsewhere at a time when you should be giving this killer your full attention.”

“And where do you think my attention is, Mayor?”

“Well, if my eyes weren’t deceiving me, your attention was on Jennifer Stewart’s lips, instead of on a killer. Or was that not you I saw practically mauling the poor woman at lunch?”

My ire spiked. Mayor Hall had been five years ahead of me in school, class president and all-round prick. His wife of twenty years left him for another man five years ago, and he was always searching for the next first lady of Gunnison. The fact he knew Jennifer by name, when she’d only been here four months, caught my attention.

“I wasn’t aware the mayor or the council had jurisdiction over my lunch hour or my personal life, John.”

“No, that’s true, Jack, but if you’re too busy pursuing the new reporter to make time for this killer, I’m sure that we can find someone who will take the job more seriously.” I counted to ten to rein in my temper, but it didn’t work.

“John, let’s cut the crap. My department has handled this case by the book from the beginning. With a second murder, it’s clear to my staff and me that we have a serial or a copycat on our hands, whether the FBI can classify this or not. No one in my department is taking this lightly, and we are all putting in overtime on this case. So unless you and the council have information in regards to this killer, I don’t have time to waste being in a meeting when I should be spending it tracking down this asshole. As for the matter of my lunch hour and whom I spend it with? Don’t hold your breath waiting for that person to change anytime soon.”

“As always, it’s a pleasure to talk to you, Sheriff. I’ll be advising the council of our conversation, as well as letting them know you have more important pursuits at the moment.”

“You do that, John.” Slamming the phone down, I looked around for Debbie. Seeing Grady come from the interrogation room, I shouted at him:

“Grady, where the hell is Debbie?” His eyebrows rose at my tone; he looked at her desk, then back to me again.

“She had a doctor’s appointment at five, Jack. She can’t miss them with the baby due next month.”

“Christ, I forgot. Ignore me, Grady. Your Dad just phoned and I made the mistake of answering the phone.”

Grady, more his mother’s son than his father’s, worked hard and didn’t want a leg up because of his father, especially not since he couldn’t stand him any more than I did. The fact his dad had screwed everything with two legs before, during, and after his mother walked out on him, might have had something to do with his feelings. How a man like John Hall had produced a man like Grady proved you could overcome your environment.

I started to move towards my office when the phone started ringing again, so I grabbed it and answered.

“Sheriff’s department, Sheriff Gunnison speaking.”

“There’s a body of a woman off the jogging trail near 135 and the Gunnison River,” someone whispered on the phone. Feeling the hair on the back of my neck stand up, my gut told me I was talking to the killer.

“You put her there.”

“Perceptive, Sheriff.”

“Why don’t you stay with the body and I’ll come to you? You can give yourself up, and we’ll get you some help.”

“Sure, Sheriff, come on down. I’m feeling repentant right now. Come get me and help me stop.” The sarcasm was dripping from his words. I snapped my fingers at Grady and indicated I needed a pen and paper. He quickly handed them to me, and I wrote, Killer on the phone, body at 135 and Gunnison River crossing, find who is closest and get them there now. I’ll keep him on the line.

Handing the note back to Grady, he read it, nodded, and then headed to the dispatch office.

“Tell me why you’re doing this,” I barked.

“It’s a gift.”

“For who?”

“An angel with brown eyes.”

“You need to turn yourself in before any more mothers, daughters, or wives are gone, destroying more families.” I lowered my voice, hoping to humanize these women he hunted, putting a face to the bodies. I continued this tactic, trying to keep him on the line.

“Jamie Smith’s sister Julie collapsed at her funeral. They were so close she was inconsolable at the loss. Cindy Baker was one of seven children, the oldest of the girls, and the one they all turned to since their parents died. Her brothers and sister are destroyed by her death. You need to turn yourself in so we can help you stop.”

“Shut up, I know who they were. They were gifts. She’ll understand they were gifts.” His voice still in a whisper faltered, and an anguished cry rang out. Whoever this killer was, it bothered him, but not enough to stop.

“Whoever she is, she won’t want blood on her hands. You need to stop.” The line went dead with no warning. “Shit,” I mumbled and ran to the dispatch office.

“Phil is three miles away, he should be there any minute,” Grady relayed as I entered. Grabbing the handheld, I patched into Phil.

“Phil.”

“Wood here.”

“He just hung up. He could be close, so stay sharp.”

“Roger that, Jack.”

While we waited for Phil to call back, I looked over and saw Barry walk in, his face blank as he held my eyes. I gave him a chin lift, and he did the same, then I turned back to the radio and waited.

“Base, Jesus, base, Wood here. A female victim at Gunnison crossing. Jack, it's Shannon Davis.” My eyes closed for a moment, then I grabbed the radio.

“Do you see that sonofabitch? Wood, secure the area, check and see if that sonofabitch is still there.”

“Roger that, Jack, weapon drawn and searching perimeter.”

“Sonofabitch,” I roared, throwing the handheld on the desk. I pushed my hands through my hair and paced while waiting to hear back from Phil. Everyone was watching me, waiting for my lead, so I took a deep breath and moved past the knot in my gut.

“Grady, call the Coroner. Barry, head out to the scene and help secure it. I’m gonna head over to the school and see if Kyle is still there or got a ride home with friends.”

Grady left the office to call Drew, Barry headed out, and I waited to get confirmation that the scene was clear, and that my deputy was safe.

“Wood to base, scene is secure. No sign of unsub.”

“Barry’s on his way and so is the coroner. Hold tight. I’ll be there once I’ve contacted Shannon’s family and know Kyle is safe.”

“Roger that, Jack.”

Holding on to what little thread of patience I had left, I went to my office and closed the door. Shannon Davis and I had dated three years ago. She was newly divorced and had a cute kid. She needed a man who was there regular hours, and I didn’t fit that. We tried for a while, but we fought constantly about how much time my job required. So we ended things amicably, and she moved on to someone else. But I was fond of her and her kid, and always made a point of saying hello if I saw them out. Christ. Reaching for my keys, I thought about little Kyle Davis, and wished like hell I didn’t have to shatter his world.