Trapped (A Jenny Watkins Mystery Book 5) Page 16

  Jenny and Florence found themselves laughing as Zack retrieved the tennis ball himself, throwing it back in the direction he’d come from. The dog stayed by his side like glue, wagging his tail and bouncing all around, completely ignoring the ball. After a few more failed attempts at fetch, Zack eventually threw one of the dog bones; this time Baxter left Zack’s side to sniff out his reward. After gulping down the treat, Baxter ran excitedly back to Zack for another round.

  This went on a handful of times before Zack put the dog back on his lead. At that point Zack threw the bone in Baxter’s direction with a nice, high arc. Once again the dog let the treat bounce off his nose, eating it only after it had hit the ground. “See?” Jenny said to Florence. “Catching is not instinctual for a lab.”

  “Shhh,” Florence replied with a finger to her lips. “We don’t know that. I think Roy still needs to spend a good deal of the afternoon investigating it.”

  At that point Jenny’s phone rang. She pulled it out of her pocket and noticed it was Officer Howell calling. She answered with her nerves tingling.

  “Jenny,” he said instantly, “have you heard the news?”

  “No,” she replied, “what’s happening?”

  “It seems our psychopath friend has contacted the press.”

  Chapter 16

  “Oh my God,” Jenny said, turning her back to the window and walking to a more secluded part of the lobby. “What did he say?”

  “He wrote a letter to a television station in North Carolina, not far from where our latest victim was dropped off. He made a point of saying he isn’t done.”

  Jenny felt as if her blood had frozen in her veins. “He isn’t done?”

  “That’s what he said. He apparently sent this before we found the woman at the gas station. He stated in the letter that he was planning to release the blond because, as he put it, she didn’t do it for him. He apparently prefers women with dark hair. He didn’t find this blond woman to be worth his time.”

  “So it was postmarked before the blond was released?”

  “Yup. He obviously put it in the mail at least twelve hours before he let her go. That’s how we know it’s legit and not some jackass trying to get attention.”

  Jenny let out a deep sigh. “What else did the letter say?”

  “It taunted the police, essentially,” Howell confessed. “He laughed at us, mentioning how long it took us to figure out he even existed. He went on to say that it will be easy for him to keep going because he’s smarter than we are. He even gave us a hint, saying that he won’t be using the same dumping ground anymore so we can save the taxpayers some money and stop paying a cop to monitor the area.”

  “How did he know you were doing that? He must have driven by at some point.”

  “He must have,” Howell concluded, “and the cop may have even stopped him. But all he had to do was say he was going to visit a friend who lived back there, and the cop would have had to let him go. You need probable cause to search a vehicle, and driving down a road that passes a killer’s dumping ground is not it.

  “But there’s a chance the cop wouldn’t have even stopped him,” Howell continued. “The officer’s primary purpose for being there is to make sure the killer doesn’t come back to ditch more bodies. Cars driving through aren’t as much of a concern.”

  “What if the car had out-of-state tags?” Jenny posed. “Wouldn’t that be a bit suspicious?”

  “It would,” Howell agreed. “So we’re inclined to believe the killer is from Virginia, or at least has access to a vehicle with Virginia tags.”

  “Okay,” Jenny began as she formulated more thoughts in her head. “Where was the letter postmarked from?”

  “North Carolina,” Howell replied. “The same town where the woman was found.”

  “Does that tell you anything?”

  “Only that he travels a lot, which we knew already.”

  Jenny thought for a moment about the implications of the latest finding. “You know,” she confessed, “my grandmother got a funny feeling when we drove past the dump site last night. She was beckoned there while we were heading down route two-fifty-seven. She made me turn around so we could go to the actual site.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  “Yeah. She said that the spirits were upset—that something bad had happened.”

  “Christ,” Howell whispered under his breath. “That’s all we need.”

  “Has anyone new been reported missing?” Jenny posed.

  “No, not that I know of. But with his clientele, they don’t necessarily get reported missing. Their bodies just get found.”

  Jenny closed her eyes. “What about the letter itself? Did that give you any information, like fingerprints?”

  “It’s at the forensics lab right now, being analyzed. Something tells me, though, that this guy is smart enough not to leave any evidence behind. The sad thing is it’s going to take them a while to figure out that he’s left no trace. I’m sure the letter is littered with fingerprints—the people at the post office, the workers at the television station—who knows how many people have touched the damn thing. All of those people need to get eliminated from our suspect list, one by one, and that will take a long time.”

  “How about the wording? Did the verbiage give anything away?”

  “Not that we can tell. The letter has been made public; if you go online you should be able to read a copy of it for yourself. They’re hoping that somebody can recognize the style of writing or something—anything—so we can figure out who this jackass is. In fact, the reason I’m calling is because I’d like you to give it a read and see if it inspires anything in your psychic mind.”

  “I can do that, sure,” Jenny replied, “and I’ll get my grandmother to do the same.”

  Ingunn, Jenny and Zack crowded around the computer screen, reading the words that appeared before them.

  To the incompetent people who have the nerve to declare they serve and protect,

  Congratulations. You finally figured out I exist. Good for you. It’s only taken you five years.

  I suppose now you think you are closer to catching me. Perhaps you are under the impression that I’ll be inclined to stop. I promise that you are no closer to discovering my identity than you were a month ago, and I can assure you that I will not stop. I cannot stop. This is part of who I am. Just like the cheetah must hunt its prey, I must do the same. Your societal rules will not change me. I am a hunter.

  I must hunt.

  Now that you have found my disposal site, I suppose I must find another way to get rid of these girls when I am done with them. If you think I am stupid enough to bring another body to the same place, you clearly underestimate me. Do the taxpayers a favor and stop paying that officer to sit by the crime scene; it’s a colossal waste of money. You will not catch me that way.

  I will be leaving you a present, though. I have a blond right now, and I find she does nothing for me. I thought something different might be interesting, but she has proven to be a disappointment. I would receive no joy from watching her die, so I will return her and exchange her for a brunette. Few joys in life rival the exhilaration of seeing a dark-haired woman in captivity, at my mercy, begging for her life as I decide whether she’s deserving of another day. The urge to find such a woman is strong; I will need to take one soon. It’s hard to function normally when the desire within me reaches this level.

  You can go ahead and canvas your truck stops; there are plenty of other places to hunt. You can try to figure out where I’ll be, but I guarantee you will always be several paces behind. Remember, I know who you are, but you don’t know who I am. You call me the Highway Killer, but that is not me.

  I am the Hunter.

  Jenny winced as she finished the letter. “What a sicko,” she declared.

  Zack, who was still reading, posed, “Does that surprise you?”

  “No,” Jenny replied, “I suppose it doesn’t.”

  “He’s intelligent,” Ingunn said fla
tly. “Educated.”

  “Agreed,” Zack said as his eyes left the screen. “He seems quite articulate. But are you ladies getting any divine insight?”

  “Nothing new,” Ingunn declared, “but this confirms the feeling I got last night. He’s already struck again.”

  Jenny hung her head. “And apparently he’s not going for truck stop prostitutes anymore, which is great news for that community…but then who is he after now?”

  Zack referred to the article. “Look—it says more.” He scrolled down to reveal the police had issued some warnings for women all up and down the east coast. He read out loud, “Prostitutes should still be on high alert, refusing any food or drinks from potential customers. Young women in bars, especially brunettes, should never leave their drinks unattended. Since the perpetrator appears to use Roofies to subdue his victims, women may not be using their proper judgment if they agree to leave with this man; for this reason people should not allow a young woman to go home with anyone other than the person/people she came with.”

  “These warnings are all well and good,” Jenny noted, “but they won’t do any good if they came after he abducted his next victim.”

  Pointing to the screen, Zack continued, “They’ve put up the composite picture and described his car as a dark-colored sedan.”

  “It’s blue,” Ingunn announced emphatically.

  Jenny spoke much more softly, “With a T.” She rubbed her temples. “And personalized plates.”

  “It doesn’t say that in the article,” Zack explained.

  “It won’t,” Jenny replied sadly. “Those are our observations, not the blonde’s. Our information is just hearsay. The victim is the only one who can give eyewitness testimony.”

  “Okay then,” Zack said as he stood up straight, “now what?”

  Jenny glanced at Ingunn. “Do you have anything new to report?”

  “There is nothing new to report.”

  With a sigh Jenny conceded, “Then I guess we wait.”

  The paintbrush made its final strokes on the canvas. Feeling a sense of accomplishment, Jenny sat back in her chair and admired the image of the woman, looking at it for the first time as a complete picture as opposed to the sum of parts. She immediately felt a wave that caused her to close her eyes and relax her body, allowing herself to see the vision this painting had triggered.

  A breeze blew through her hair as she appeared outside, close to the building that was once Samuel’s home. She saw the woman from the painting walking in the distance, carrying a bucket. Although she was far away, Jenny could still hear the woman’s magical voice as she sang. The sound was soothing despite the fact that Jenny felt perfectly healthy; no matter how the listener was feeling, that voice could easily bring anyone within earshot to the next level.

  The image was brief, but something about it struck Jenny. Tapping her chin she considered the big picture, wondering if she’d just stumbled onto an answer to a question that hadn’t yet been asked.

  Getting up from her chair, she headed up the stairs, stopping at Roy and Florence’s room. She knocked gently, and after a short moment Florence opened the door with a smile. “Hello, Jenny,” she said. “What can I do for you?”

  “Well, I was actually hoping I could talk to your husband for a moment.”

  “Of course. Come on in,” Florence said graciously with a sweep of her arm. “He’s been quite busy this afternoon; he’s looking for answers to your dog question.” She flashed Jenny a knowing smile and a wink.

  Jenny acted pleasantly surprised. “Thanks, Mr. Roy. That’s so kind of you to do!”

  He looked away from his computer screen and greeted Jenny with a smile that rivaled his wife’s. “I’m still working on it, but I’m under the impression that some labs need to be taught to catch. Strangely enough, some labs need to be taught to retrieve. You would think that a dog with ‘retriever’ in his name would instinctively know how to bring things back, but it seems that isn’t always the case.”

  Jenny had to giggle. “It appears we may have one of those special cases with Baxter. When Zack threw the ball for him to fetch, Baxter just looked at him like he had no idea why Zack would do such a thing.”

  Roy let out a hearty laugh. “We had a special dog once. That dog couldn’t get out of its own way.”

  “I think that’s what we may have found in Baxter.” While Jenny was finding this conversation pleasant, she was eager to get to the matter at hand. “But the reason I knocked on your door was because I actually had a question for you about the Civil War era again. I hope I’m not bothering you too much with these questions.”

  “No, not at all.”

  Florence smiled. “He loves to talk about the Civil War.”

  “Well, this has more to do with plantation life than the war itself.”

  “That’s okay,” Roy said. “What is your question?”

  Jenny sighed as she contemplated how to ask this question without giving away her abilities. “It has to do with wells. I saw a picture of an old plantation, and it looked like there were two wells—one near the house and one far away. In the image a slave woman was walking with a bucket, but it looked like she was coming from the far well. Could that have been a separate water supply just for the slaves?”

  “Most likely,” Roy said. “Remember how young equal rights are; even in the twentieth century people were required to drink from separate water fountains. Back in the days of slavery they certainly wouldn’t have been drinking from the same well.”

  Excitement grew within Jenny as Roy’s words confirmed her theory. “So presumably the slaves would have had to use a well that was far away?”

  “I would assume.”

  Jenny continued, “According to what you told me before, one of the reasons people got deathly ill back then was because their water supply was too close to the outhouse…so is it possible that this segregation could have actually worked in the slaves’ favor, then? If their water supply was in an inconvenient spot, might it have been far enough away from contaminants to keep them healthy?”

  Roy frowned as he considered the notion. “It’s possible, I suppose, as long as the slaves’ well was far from the slaves’ outhouse.”

  Jenny could hardly contain her excitement. “Are those illnesses you described before contagious?”

  “You mean typhoid and cholera?”

  “Yes. Can you catch those from someone else?”

  “Not directly,” Roy informed her. “A person with one of those bacteria could potentially spread the disease by contaminating the water supply, but as far as catching the disease from casual contact or sneezing or something, no, they are not contagious.”

  Jenny clasped her hands and said with a genuine smile, “Thank you, Mr. Roy. You have no idea how helpful you are.”

  Once again he chuckled. “You’re welcome, young lady. Is there anything else I can help you with?”

  “Not right now,” Jenny said as she headed toward the door, “but that may change.”

  Jenny and Zack walked through the back yard with Baxter on his leash. “It looked like the Davies’ well was right about here,” Jenny said as she circled her hand over an area that was now part of the professionally-manicured lawn. Closing her eyes to recall the image from her mind, she moved closer to the shed and said, “And I assume the building that was in this vicinity was their outhouse.”

  Zack glanced back and forth between the two locations. “They do seem awfully close.” He curled his lip and shuddered.

  “They didn’t know,” Jenny said. “I’m sure a hundred years from now people are going to be disgusted by some of our practices, but we’re none the wiser.”

  “It’s still gross,” Zack noted.

  Ignoring his comment, she pointed off into the distance. “The other well was way over there, where it’s all overgrown now. And I didn’t even see another outhouse. Maybe the slaves’ latrine was very far away, which may have seemed awful at the time but was actually a blessing in disgui
se.”

  They walked with the dog in the direction of the old slaves’ well. “I wonder if there’s any evidence that the well ever existed,” Zack posed. “The Davies’ well looks like it got filled in and landscaped, but the area around the other well was allowed to just become natural. Maybe some of the original stones are still out there.”

  “That would be cool,” Jenny replied. “Maybe Jessica can clear the area away and people will enjoy seeing an original well…or at least what’s left of it.”

  A buzzing started within Jenny, causing her to close her eyes and submit to the feeling. She took a sudden right turn toward the trees, feeling drawn, although she didn’t know where. She entered the woods that aligned the property, trudging through the brush that littered the forest floor. Led by the pull, she eventually arrived at an inconspicuous location. Pointing toward the ground she said, “Here.”

  “What’s here?” Zack asked.

  Jenny looked at the earth and began to inspect for visible evidence. “I’m not sure,” she confessed, “but if I had to guess, I would say that we just found Samuel.”

  Chapter 17

  “For real?” Zack asked with wide eyes.

  “I don’t know,” Jenny replied. “There’s something here, and Samuel’s remains would be my best guess.” She looked around at the untamed vines and plants that covered the ground. “We’ll need some tools to find out for sure.”

  “There are some tools in Baxter’s shed. I can run and grab some. I’ll be right back.” Zack disappeared with the dog while Jenny stayed in place to mark the spot.

  She surveyed the desolate woods, feeling the loneliness. What a sad place for a child to spend over one-hundred-fifty years without his family. Jenny squatted down and touched the soil beneath the plants, compassionately whispering, “It was the best she could do, Samuel. Her heart was in the right place.” Feeling as if she was beginning to get choked up, Jenny stood and loudly said, “If you are here, we will move you to where you belong…with the rest of your family.” She looked around to see if there were any visible signs that Samuel may have heard her, but nothing happened. It wasn’t until Zack returned with the tools that she witnessed any commotion.