All the Pretty Faces (2 page)

“What do you make of it?” Dr. Wheeland asked. “She’s not wearing makeup. No lipstick or eye shadow either.”

Dane shifted, contemplating the ME’s observations. Wheeland had grown up in this area and worked intensive murder cases. “In his eyes, maybe mirrors symbolize vanity. So he stripped her bare of clothes and makeup to expose the real girl beneath.” Dane inhaled a strong odor, almost sweet. “Her skin smells like some kind of hospitalic soap, like he cleaned her before he dumped her body.”

The ME sniffed her hand. “You’re right. He probably wanted to wipe away DNA.”

“That’s possible.” Dane considered profiles of killers he’d studied. “Or maybe he thought she was dirty for some reason.”

“Think she was a hooker?”

Since he had no knowledge of the victim at this point, he had to consider every possibility—but it didn’t sit well with Dane.

The police had the nerve to question him about his sister’s sex life and wanted to know if she was promiscuous. Their theories had infuriated him.

“We’ll know once we ID her.” Dane studied her hands. “Look at her nails.”

They were short, neat, but not painted. The killer could have removed polish, but a prostitute would probably have had longer nails, even fake ones.

Dr. Wheeland turned her hand over to look beneath the nail beds. “If she fought back, she might have some epithelial under the nails. I’ll let you know.”

The ME lowered her hand, then examined the claw marks on her cheek. “Good Lord, look at this, Hamrick.”

“I saw.” Dane winced at the brutality. “He carved her face.”

Although small cut marks had been made beneath his sister’s eyes, they were superficial. These were deeper and resembled track marks down her cheek.

The difference could mean the murders were not related at all.

Despair threatened at the thought, but he fought it. He wouldn’t give up yet. This was just the beginning of his investigation.

Maybe, just maybe, he was onto something this time and he finally had a link.

“It gets even sicker.” Dr. Wheeland gestured toward the deep groove the killer had carved in the victim’s cheek. “He removed a sliver of bone.”

“What in the hell?” Dane noted the point where the unsub had snapped the bone in two. Why take a piece of bone?

Had the bastard kept it as a trophy?

Josie’s legs wobbled slightly as she climbed the steps to the podium to address the crowd who’d gathered outside the courthouse. More than a hundred locals were present, along with the press and strangers she didn’t recognize. Whispers and voices rumbled through the group as if they were eager to hear her talk about her book and the upcoming film.

Mona had helped her through her earlier panic attack, but the sight of various victims’ family members staring at her made her breathing grow pained again.

Sara Levinson, one of the Thorn Ripper victims’ mothers, didn’t look happy at all. Neither did Doyle Yonkers, the brother of another victim. Their scorching scowls reeked of disapproval.

The mayor tapped the mic and introduced her. A few boos mingled with the clapping.

Shaken by the animosity, she gripped the podium, then lifted her head to face the crowd. Didn’t these people understand that she wanted to honor the dead?

“Miss DuKane, we’re delighted to have you,” the mayor said. “We understand you suffered at the hands of the Bride Killer just as many of our locals did, and we’re glad you returned to share your book.”

Josie schooled her nerves, determined to maintain control. She’d fought too hard to recover to fall apart in front of these people. She wanted to be a role model, to prove that she refused to let fear keep her from living her life in hopes that others could do the same. She’d also insisted on being part of the production process to make sure the producers kept to the truth. The last thing the families needed was more pain.

“Your book
All the Little Liars
is based on the story of the mother-and-son serial killers Charlene and Billy Linder?” one of the reporters asked.

Josie nodded. “Yes. During the course of the police’s investigation into the Bride Killer murders that occurred two years ago, Special Agent Cal Coulter uncovered the truth about the Thorn Ripper case that took place thirty years prior to that, and the connection between the cases.”

“The mother taught the son to kill?” another reporter asked.

Josie hesitated over the question. “She definitely encouraged him to get rid of the young women he brought home because they didn’t measure up to her expectations. The family history of abuse played a key role.”

Another reporter piped up. “She killed three teenagers when she was young and then told her son about it?”

“Yes. Charlene Linder framed local football star Johnny Pike because he’d rejected her. At the time she was pregnant, and later delivered a son named Billy.” Josie paused, still processing the fact that her mother, Anna, had been in love with Johnny at the time, and that she’d given birth to Johnny’s baby.

Solving both cases had led to Johnny’s conviction being overturned, and now her mother and Johnny had finally married.

They’d also reconnected with the baby her mother had given up.

Mona had been Josie’s lifeline during therapy. When she’d shown Mona her journals and mentioned she was interested in criminology, Mona had encouraged her to take classes in criminology.

Coupled with her journalism classes, one of Josie’s instructors had suggested she use her own experience and write true crime stories. With her journals to go by, she had begun the next day and found writing as a reporter covering a story had helped her view the events that had happened with a different perspective. Understanding Linder’s background and the psychology behind his actions enabled her to realize that she wasn’t to blame.

“Billy Linder was the Bride Killer?” the reporter asked.

“Yes.” Josie’s voice broke. Billy’s name still had the power to make her heart flutter with panic. Irritation followed at having to recount details that these reporters should already know. Hadn’t they done their homework and read her book?

Although, the media fed on the gory and were probably playing her, hoping for a reaction. The public also thrived on the drama.

Doyle Yonkers waved a copy of her book in one hand. “This is the way you’re presenting the story.” He flipped the book over and read the back cover copy.

“Two decades ago, the town of Graveyard Falls was terrorized by the Thorn Ripper, a vicious and unforgiving killer who targeted young, beautiful girls. This merciless murderer tossed the girls from the top of the town’s beautiful waterfall, relishing their screams. The local sheriff arrested all-American high school senior Johnny Pike, sentencing the wholesome boy to a life of misery in prison. The killings stopped, but the town’s terror wasn’t over yet . . .

“Two years ago, three more brutal slayings tore apart the fragile peace in Graveyard Falls. This time, the victims were found savagely dressed in macabre wedding gowns. The Bride Killer showed no signs of stopping his rampage of terror . . .

“Josie DuKane bravely survived an attack by the Bride Killer, and this book details her harrowing tale. Not only did her instincts keep her alive, but they helped uncover the truth behind the Thorn Ripper and the Bride Killer, a twisted mother-son killing team now safely behind bars where they belong.

“Soon to be a major motion picture, this firsthand account of ruthless killing is a must-read . . .”

“Don’t you think this is sensationalism?” Sara Levinson shouted.

Josie swallowed hard. “I’m sorry it if appears that way, but marketing was in charge of the copy. The goal is for people to read the story and understand the truth.”

“He used a Taser?” one of the reporters interjected.

“Yes,” she said, grateful for the diversion, “Billy subdued them with a Taser, tied them up, and kept them at his house.”

She fought revulsion at the memory. God, she’d been so gullible.

She’d felt sorry for Billy that day at the church.

She hadn’t seen beneath the surface. Hadn’t seen that Taser coming . . .

He’d misread her compassion as a sign that she’d make the perfect wife for him. In his mind, that meant she’d obey him, cook for him, take care of his mother, and service him when he wanted.

The reporter moved closer to her. “Miss DuKane, you wrote that Mr. Linder was looking for a bride. Why was he obsessed with finding a wife?”

Getting into Billy’s mind-set had helped her cope before. It would help her now. She would just stick to the facts. “His mother’s illness triggered him to start killing. He wanted to marry before she died, because he was afraid of being alone. Once he subdued his victims, he took them to his house and forced them to pass tests proving they were worthy of being his wife.”

“What kind of tests?” one reporter asked.

Determined to maintain control, she clenched the podium to keep her hands from trembling. “I describe more about that in the book,” she said, grateful her voice didn’t falter. “Essentially, though, his tests consisted of basic chores like cooking and cleaning. Being . . . obedient.” She’d played into that, pretended she wanted to take care of him, offered to pour his mama tea, to make biscuits and gravy for them.

She couldn’t even think about a pan of gravy now without it turning her stomach.

She cleared her throat. “Billy’s mother, Charlene, was abused by her father, and she repeated the cycle by abusing her son. Billy’s bedtime stories consisted of tales about the teenagers she’d killed and left at the base of the waterfalls. She referred to the victims as
little liars
.”

Another reporter waved her hand. “Why did she call them that?”

Josie blinked as the flash of a camera nearly blinded her. The sky was darkening from the threatening storm, the trees shaking with its force. “Charlene was disturbed and didn’t fit in with the other teenagers. Her victims were popular cheerleaders who shunned her. According to her journals, she saw them as Goody Two-shoes who lied about being virgins. Apparently the three victims had made a pact to sleep with Johnny Pike, and she was jealous because he paid attention to them and not her.”

“The girls she killed bullied her, didn’t they?” another reporter shouted.

Josie bit her tongue. This was a touchy subject. She certainly didn’t want to imply that the teenage victims had done something to bring their deaths upon themselves. Their parents and loved ones didn’t want to hear the girls disparaged. “I wasn’t there, so it’s hard for me to say they bullied her. According to teachers, Charlene was quiet, withdrawn, an awkward girl who didn’t make friends easily. She was obviously affected by her father’s abuse.”

Sara Levinson crossed her arms. “So you’re saying she was a victim?”

Josie hesitated, surprised at Sara’s vehemence.

“She was a victim of abuse,” Josie said. “I’m not defending her actions, though, or the pain she inflicted on the families in this town. I’m simply explaining the circumstances.” She gave Sara a sympathetic look. “I completely understand how trauma like that can affect families. It’s not fair and nothing can change what happened, but maybe if we understand how and why Charlene and Billy resorted to such violence, we can accept it and move on.”

A male reporter in the shadows raised a hand to get her attention. He looked familiar, but she couldn’t place him. “Have you visited Billy in the psychiatric unit?” he asked.

Josie fought another shiver as she recalled walking down that long, cold hallway. A guard had escorted her into a large sterile-looking room with a table in the middle. Billy had shuffled in, handcuffed and shackled, his eyes vacant and glassy with drugs. When he’d sat down, he twisted his hands together, picking at his nails, which he’d bitten to the quick.

When he’d finally looked up at her, he’d asked if she’d brought his tools.

He wanted to open his taxidermy office again.

“Miss DuKane, you did visit him.” The reporter consulted his notes. “I spoke with the nursing staff and they confirmed it.”

So he had been baiting her. “Yes, I talked to him. He’s a very disturbed man.”

“That doesn’t justify the fact that he killed three of our local girls,” someone muttered.

“He should be put to death like they were,” another woman said.

Josie schooled her reaction. As much as Billy haunted her nightmares, she didn’t know if she believed he should be given the death penalty.

Although
she
would be dead if Mona and Cal hadn’t shown up. She’d failed Billy’s tests and tried to run. He’d caught her, tied her up, then said he had to kill her.

A raindrop fell and plopped against the podium, lightning zigzagging across the sky. More whispers and rumblings of protest echoed through the group.

Josie lifted a hand to signal them to let her speak. “I didn’t write this story to condone what Billy and his mother did or upset any one of you. Understanding what drove both of these individuals to commit these heinous crimes will hopefully help the victims and their families in their recovery. I also hope it raises awareness of the cycle of domestic abuse.” And maybe teenage bullying. Although the mothers of the teenage victims resented the suggestion that their children had treated Charlene unfairly.