Eleven (5 page)

“Can you tell me why I said that?”

“What the OCD thing?”

“Yeah.”

My mind was fixated on Bingham’s threat housed in a few words,
set things right before you meet with punishment.

“Did you learn anything in there?” Jack stopped walking and faced me.

With the absence of our tapping shoes hitting the concrete flooring, the prison was silent. “I learned a lot.”

“You don’t have to whisper, Slingshot.”

I let out a deep breath.

“Hmm.” Jack tapped his pocket. He craved another cigarette. I wondered how he had lived as long as he had without developing lung cancer or emphysema. “I’m waiting.”

“He didn’t deny the murders. In fact, he toyed with the idea. He wasn’t disgusted by human remains or repulsed by the mention of removing intestines. He seemed intrigued by it.” I thought back to his words, to his permanent smile, and then how it had expanded. “He experienced pride when I mentioned a tenth body and asked who helped him out.” I took a deep breath and continued. “He didn’t like it when I said the intestines were removed after death.”

“Sounds like a confession to me.”

“But not the way he continued to play it. I know he did it, you know he did it, but until we can prove that there’s nothing we can do to him.”

“Well, then I guess it’s best that we get on proving it. We know he’s not going anywhere. What else did you get out of him?”

“He’s religious. He told me to—” I stopped there. Jack didn’t know about my extramarital affair, and I didn’t think it would please him to know it was with Paige.

Jack just watched me, his eyes saying,
continue
.

“He believes in confessing sin to be forgiven. He said that if the intestines were removed after death then the sinners would have been taught nothing.”

“So he believes he’s doing the Lord’s work. Zach could be on to something with the religious connotation. Did he confirm the identity of the female vic?” Jack paused a few seconds. “You didn’t push him.”

“I tried to get it out of him but ran out of time. You came in.”

Jack’s face tightened; a hand flexed on his forehead. “Hmm.”

“We’ll find out another way.”

“We’ll find out another way?” Jack mocked my words. He pointed back down the hallway. “You had the opportunity to find out in there. You don’t let opportunities go. It may be the last one you get.”

I took another deep breath. The threat issued by Bingham had receded to the background. My foremost concern now was keeping my job. “He’s religious. Based on his talk about sin, confessions and forgiveness, I would say he’s Catholic.”

Jack didn’t say anything but kept eye contact.

“He talked about people being sinners and needing to be punished. Maybe these people were from his church? He knew their secrets and made them pay for them?” I paused for a few seconds. “And why did you say OCD?”

“He tapped his index finger on the table eleven times. Two groups of five and one single.”

“Just like the cuts on the victims. Two groups of five, one final—” My words faded, and my stomach tossed as Bingham’s threat returned to the foreground.

CHAPTER 6

The prison warden could have been a basketball player; his height of about seven feet dwarfed both Jack and me. Maybe adding to the perception was the fact he was string-bean thin, possibly ten inches deep if he turned on the side. He wore a salmon dress shirt, which complimented his dark skin, with a navy tie to match his pants. His suit jacket hung over the back of the chair. He carried his authority confidently as if he were molded for his position. His name was Clarence Moore.

“Sit. Please.” Moore gestured toward two chairs opposite his desk. “I’ve pulled the records you requested.” He extended a folder labeled Lance Bingham to Jack, who passed it to me.

I opened it, and the first sheet inside was the visitor’s log. “He only had one visitor?”

“That’s right. Seems he wasn’t, ain’t, that popular.”

“Lori Carter, that’s Bingham’s sister, right?”

“Yes, sir. She only came once jus’ after Bingham was sentenced.”

Lori had been married to Travis Carter up until he went missing in ’86. She never remarried.

I looked at Jack. “She probably came to sort out his affairs. She was paying for the property up until she died last year.” I directed the next comment to the warden. “Was their interaction recorded?”

“Unfortunately not. It would violate his privacy rights.”

It seemed unfair a man of Bingham’s history would be worthy of any privacy. Of course at the time of his conviction no one had known about the bodies under his property. I flipped through the few sheets in the folder.

Moore continued. “Unless, it’s a lawyer or law enforcement, there’s always a guard in the room. Ya know jus’ to keep an eye on things. He might have heard somethin’, but he’s retired now.”

“We’ll need his name.” Jack crossed his one leg over the other.

“Of course.” Moore pulled a business card from the holder on the desk and scribbled a name on the back of it. “I wouldn’t normally give you his home number—”

“Violation of privacy,” Jack said.

“Exactly.” A hand gestured forward. “But given the circumstances.” His eyes added,
because the FBI is interested, I’ll make an exception.

“Does Bingham attend any of the religious services you offer here?”

“That should be in the file.”

I continued reading through it. When Bingham had been booked three years ago, he came in with a watch, a pocketknife, identification, and numerous wallet-sized photos. “The file mentions photos. Of what or who?”

Moore leaned forward. “We don’t catalog in that detail, but I can have it released to you with a warrant. Why are you guys interested in Bingham anyhow?”

Jack uncrossed his legs. “Let’s just say it involves more than dead cows.”

Moore sat back. “He killed someone?”

“We’re not at liberty to say.”

Moore studied Jack’s eyes. Seconds later, he picked up the water bottle on his desk and drained half of it. He roughly swallowed the last mouthful. “I’ll get you a copy of the photos.”

Jack continued. “What about access to the Internet? Most prisons allow their inmates computer time.”

“Yes, and we do. As you’ll notice in the file there, Bingham took advantage of this.”

“Every day about ten in the morning.” I traced a finger along the printout. “And in increments of thirty minutes each of those days.”

“That’s right.”

“And I assume no recorded history due to Bingham’s privacy rights.”

A smile spread on Moore’s lips. “That we are allowed to do. When inmates sign up for computer time, they have to sign a waiver. Included with this is authorization for us to monitor, track, and record their browsing history.”

“We’ll need a list of that,” Jack said.

“Of course.”

“What about Twitter, Facebook, and other social networking sites?” I asked.

“He did have a regular habit of logging onto Twitter.”

“Do you know what his log-on information was?”

Moore’s face contorted. “I thought it was in the file there. Uh, if I remember right he used the name The Redeemer.”

We were in with Warden Moore for about thirty minutes, but of everything that was said, the last two words he spoke stuck,
The Redeemer.
“This guy took it upon himself to exact vengeance and hold sinners accountable for their actions. Maybe he was a former priest?”

The SUV’s lights flashed as Jack pressed the key fob to unlock it. “What have we got in the file?”

I looked over at Jack from the passenger seat. “It tells us where Bingham was born, also when he moved to Salt Lick.”

“Things we knew already.”

“Sarasota, Florida.” I knew before that Bingham sprung from my hometown, but now to have witnessed his crimes, a chill ran through me.

“So he didn’t move here for the warmer weather?”

“And I find it strange there aren’t more addresses on file. Don’t most serial killers move around a lot?”

“Just because more places aren’t mentioned in a file doesn’t mean Bingham was stationary.”

“Guess that’s true. But those tunnels wouldn’t have made themselves, and even though we know he had help, I think it’s safe to say he was in Salt Lick as long as the record says.”

“Hmm.”

“Both parents were dead by the time he was twenty. His sister Lori would have been sixteen. Four years between them.” I read more from the file, still deriving facts we already knew. “Bingham worked as a farm hand. He was strong, used to manual labor.” I paused and connected eyes with Jack. “It explains how he’d have the strength for all that digging and how he could have overpowered his victims.”

“I don’t think he needed physical strength when it came to them.”

“You’re thinking he drugged them.”

“Possibly, but I also believe the guy is a master manipulator. Once we know more about the victims, we’ll have a better idea.”

I flipped a page in the report. “Bingham works out in the prison gym every day. It would explain why he’s in good shape.”

“We also know the guy is an obsessive compulsive, and he likes things a certain way. What does the file say about Bingham attending religious services?”

I shuffled through the sheets. “Every Sunday.”

“So he is religious. He also has narcissistic qualities. He convinced himself he was in control of our meeting by requesting that I leave.”

“I witnessed pride when I brought up the other killer. He loved the thought of controlling someone else.”

“But there’s still a lot more to fill in. We need to know what he’s twitted—”

“You mean tweeted.” My statement earned a glare.

“Find out who he’s in contact with.”

“Who follows him,” I corrected Jack. For some reason, those three words brought back Bingham’s threat. Jack must have sensed it.

“He’s behind bars, Slingshot.”

I took a deep breath, doing my best to make it undetectable to Jack. Maybe it wasn’t so much Bingham that I worried about as much as the killer who wasn’t behind bars.