Dreamscape (3 page)

Agent Collins studied Thorpe. He slowly nodded in agreement. “If it is as we suspect, we’ll set up a task force in Boston. The pattern seems to place the killer in an area between two or three kills. He’ll strike again.”

Thorpe’s eyebrows shot up. “How many has he been linked to?”

Agent Collins looked down at his notes. “At the moment I believe the best that I can give you is that he’s been doing it for a while. Special Agent Jackson Dunn is flying up in the morning from Florida. He’s heading up the task force. You can discuss the specifics with him.”

“Task force?” Cappelli asked, probably to remind them of his presence in the room. He’d so far offered nothing relevant to the case.

Agent Collins ignored Cappelli. His attention turned on Thorpe. “I believe he asked for Chief Thorpe specifically. Experience with another serial killer a few years back.”

Cappelli jumped in. “If you mean the Danucci’s case, it was a joint effort as it is now. It just happened to have occurred in his township.”

“Get off of it, Cappelli,” Morelli broke in, irritation clear in his voice. “At the time, we all thought the girl was abducted out of town—for that matter, out of state. Granted, all the evidence pointed to an abduction: the bike, the girl’s Red Sox hat found at her father’s gravesite, another similar case in New Hampshire. But it was Thorpe who discovered the killer was the neighbor.”

Agent Collins spoke directly to Cappelli. “You say you were involved in the case. I seemed to have overlooked your involvement. I don’t recall seeing your name in the reports.”

Now alone in his office, Thorpe sat back and laughed to himself. Cappelli squirmed. Couldn’t say he didn’t enjoy the picture. He rubbed his eyes, tired, and he had a lot more paper work to go over tonight. He picked up the original call report on the beach victim.

0135 Marsha Taylor called at one, frantic that her roommate, Annie Crandell, hadn’t returned from work. Tried her cell phone numerous times. No answer, like it had turned off or battery was dead. Asked if there were any accidents. Informed Ms. Taylor it was too early to report a missing person. Sent Morris to check down at the Chieftain where she worked.

Annie Crandell. 5’4”, 130 lbs, long brown hair, brown eyes, twenty-one, college student, working the summer down the Cape. Thorpe shook his head. Too young, way too young. His thoughts ran to his own daughter, not much younger. He couldn’t imagine what he’d do if his child lay in the morgue. His anger built at the loss of a life with so much hope and promise—a waste of a life. For some sick bastard to have tortured and killed her filled him with a resolve, a determination to find this homicidal maniac.

“Got a minute, Chief?” a voice interrupted his train of thought.

Thorpe looked up. “Come on in, Warren. What do you have?”

Warren walked in, Officer Carl Morris close behind. Morris’s eagerness shone in his eyes, a young recruit. Thorpe faintly remembered what it felt like to believe you could make a difference in the world, young and naïve, before reality crushed your dreams.

“Chief, I downloaded the pictures from the scene on the computer. You should be able to pull them up now,” Warren said. He handed Thorpe a folder.

Sitting behind his desk with pictures of his kids staring back at him, Thorpe accepted the folder. Piles of papers overflowed on the far side of his desk.

“Thanks, Warren. Now go home. You’ve done your time today. We’ll have another long day tomorrow,” Thorpe said. The day had worn on everyone. “Is this the list of the renters and owners of the beach homes surrounding Sea Gull?”

“Yeah, Chief Thorpe,” Officer Morris answered for Warren. “I’m just letting you know, I just got back from Chieftain’s. Talked to the manager, Troy Higgins. Didn’t get much, I don’t think. Could go interview the roommate again.”

For the first time today, Thorpe was amused. The kid wouldn’t let go, a bulldog. “That’s okay, Morris. Need you to get things in order tonight and take any other calls we get.”

“Hey, Chief,” Warren said. “I was thinking….”

Thorpe looked up from the report. He pushed his chair back to listen. Warren didn’t waste any time. He leaned his hands against the desk. Morris stood behind.

“Although we didn’t learn much from Troy Higgins...I know he said the girl, Annie Crandell, had left by herself and he thought he heard her say she was going out with her roommate, but he knew she definitely left alone.”

“When I talked with the roommate, she said they were planning on going out after her roommate got off work as a waitress down at Chieftain’s. The keys to her car were found by her door. Right?”

Thorpe shrugged. “As far as I know.”

“Wouldn’t it make sense that it might be someone who watched her from the restaurant? Abducting her without much of a struggle in a place where she wouldn’t have been surprised to see him.”

“Yeah, Warren, but that could be an old boyfriend, anybody she knew.”

Warren shook his head. “No, Chief. The roommate was very assertive that Annie didn’t have a boyfriend or mad ex. It’s not much, but might be an aspect to investigate.”

Thorpe sat silently for a moment. He saw the logic behind Warren’s reasoning. “Tomorrow, go down and go through customer receipts, interview her coworkers. We’ll be working around the FBI, just so you know.”

“Thanks, Chief. I’ll take Morris with me.” Warren straightened up. Leaving the office, he turned around. “Hope the pictures are what you were looking for. I took enough of them.”

“I’m sure they’re fine,” Thorpe said, dismissing the two.

Thorpe clicked on the computer to look over Warren’s pictures: the body, the beach chair, beach, houses, crowd. He flipped through them, paused, and went back. He stared at one in particular, the woman by the car. He closed in on her face. Where had he seen her? He knew he’d seen her before. Her name, it sounded familiar. It would bother him until he figured it out. He doubted he’d get much sleep tonight, not after viewing the body. Honestly, everything would bother him until he got some answers about the whole damn murder.

Chapter Two

Douglas Thorpe cradled the telephone in its console. Frustration weighed heavy on him, not to mention his nerves. For the last forty-five minutes, he’d been on the phone with Vincent McAdams, the town administrator, who wanted to know the exact status of the situation. The media hounded him, and he wanted answers to give to them.

“It’s peak season, Thorpe. And have you seen Babson’s article in the Ledger this morning?” McAdams began, but by no means ended. Thorpe didn’t have any time to respond. McAdams vented. Until Gail, his assistant, buzzed Thorpe that the FBI had arrived. The day kept getting better and better.

Thorpe ran a hand in his pants pocket and popped a Tums in his mouth. He’d lived off them the last few months. His visitor walked in his office, and Thorpe obligingly stood up to greet the special agent, caught momentarily by surprise at the agent’s youth. He’d expected someone much older. The kid looked like he’d just got out of the academy. The agent stood in front of Thorpe’s desk, self-assured and confident, smiling from ear to ear.

“You must be Chief Thorpe. Special Agent Jackson Dunn. Down on the Crandell case. Of course, you probably assumed as much.” Dunn extended his hand. A handsome guy, a light-skinned African-American, tall, Thorpe observed while he greeted the agent. Cocky came to mind, but at one time he’d been that way.

“Have a seat.” Thorpe motioned. “Understand you guys believe our murder is connected to a series of murders you’ve been investigating. Must have some kind of theory on our murder down here.”

“It’s why I’m here. Believe I’ve gone over all the paper work, the autopsy report.” Agent Dunn nodded. He pulled out a folder from his briefcase. “This is only preliminary. Don’t have any usual suspects?”

“We’ve found five questionable murders that have similarities,” said Dunn. “Two in Florida, Tampa and St. Petersburg, Myrtle Beach, South Carolina. Norfolk, Virginia, and now here in Lewiston, Massachusetts.”

“On what evidence can you connect these murders except for the fact they were found on a beach?” Thorpe challenged.

“Matter of fact we have quite a bit. No solid evidence against a suspect, but enough to connect the murders. A profiler stationed in Florida has put together his theory. Happens to be one of my old teachers, retired, Sam Caldwell. Knows his stuff. Worked closely with him on serial killers. Their mentality, basic criteria to classify their profile. The basics are usually the same, but most of the time each killer has his own signature.”

Thorpe broke in. “So you don’t have a question that this is a serial killer and they are all connected. Across all the country?”

Agent Dunn eyed Thorpe before he continued. “Nothing solid, only speculation, but these murders have occurred between four to five months apart, usually being doused in the ocean nude for a significant time. The killer doesn’t leave any forensic evidence. Water destroys any traces. There are no fluids from any evidence of sexual assault or rape, but the brutality of the attacks—stabbing, cutting, slashing of the bodies—it can’t be deciphered for certain if the victims had been raped. Each scene looked staged for effect. Each time trinkets were placed at the scene, probably a message, but we haven’t worked out what. Each victim was drained of their blood supply. Sound familiar?”

“Obviously you’re privileged to more information than I am. My only concern is the one I found on my beach.”

“Then you won’t mind if I continue. A special task force will be formed. I’d like you to get involved.” Jackson eased back into the chair. Thorpe sat up. He felt they’d begun a game of chess and he needed to weigh out his next move.

“I’ll hear you out, but I’m not exactly certain of what you’re hoping to accomplish here,” Thorpe said.

“Then I’ll tell you what I have,” Jackson said without taking his gaze from Thorpe. “Each victim was single, between eighteen and twenty-two. None of the victims seem connected, as in, knowing one another. Similarities in appearance: slender, attractive, intelligent girls. Unusual for a serial killer, normally they pick easy victims. These he had to work for.”

Thorpe sat without comment, trying to assess what Jackson had tried to bring about. He didn’t have to wait long.

“As you’re aware, there are all sorts of serial killers,” Jackson said directly at Thorpe. “It’s my understanding that you were responsible a while back for arresting Michael Richards.”

Thorpe slowly blew air out of his mouth, taken back for a moment. He stared at the agent. “I’m not exactly sure what that case has to do with this one.”

“Let’s just say I specialize in cases such as these. Special cases. Special circumstances. If I’ve done my homework, that case might not have been solved if not for you. The unit thought she’d been taken out of state.”

“The case happened seven years ago, to be exact. Different set of circumstances. Neighbor. Opportunist.”

“Yeah. Geographically stable serial killer. This new one we’re looking at now is, I believe, a thrill-seeking serial killer, killing for the sheer joy of doing so.” Jackson nodded.

“Look, Agent Dunn,” Thorpe said, his irritation growing.

“Please, call me Jackson.”

“You seem to have me at a disadvantage. You’re trying to make some point that’s getting lost on me. Understand my interest is in this case. I don’t like bodies being found on my beaches.”

“You’re an impatient man, Chief Thorpe. It’s important to understand what you’re dealing with first.”

“And that would be?” Thorpe countered.

“Power. The ultimate power in his view. The man we’re looking for seeks power. I believe this one’s entire focus is on total destruction of his victim. He either strangles them, or stabs them with a knife. He enjoys the feeling of his victims’ lives being drained away at his will.”

Thorpe studied Agent Dunn and quickly surmised the agent’s determination to make his point. “Go ahead.” Thorpe flipped his hand toward Jackson to carry on.

“The problem with this guy is by day he probably seems like an ordinary working soul. He hides behind a mask. He’s playing a game where he alone makes the rules and he has no intention of losing.”

“You know, Agent Dunn, that sounds all well and good, but what can I do to help catch this guy? That’s what I’m interested in. I don’t have time.”

Jackson’s face broke into a sly smile. “Okay, Chief Thorpe. I’d like to re-interview her coworkers, roommate, anyone that had contact with her. Look at it from a different angle. Not looking for someone with a grudge, someone that might have seemed interested in her. Like to get a look at the location. What did you think of the autopsy?”

The autopsy report sat in front of Thorpe. He picked it up. “Overkill comes to mind. The exact cause of death the pathologist listed was a gruesome slash to her throat, although out of the twenty-seven stab wounds, only three were considered fatal.”

Jackson read directly from the file. “The victim’s throat had been savagely cut. The brutal slash ended at the right side of the cervical vertebrae. The deepest thrust had been plunged through her heart, but the pathologist states he felt that was after her throat was cut. She’d ultimately lost most of her blood.”

“I believe from the looks of the body that the girl struggled. Bruising was found under both arm pits as if the killer held her down. She had numerous non-fatal stabs and scrapes; bruises on both knees,” Thorpe offered. He could deal with this guy when talking about facts. “I found it of interest that there had been no evidence under her nails. They’d been recently cut down to the quick.”