Eleven (8 page)

“So you didn’t know of anyone who would have had an issue with him?”

She shook her head. “No, not at all. I knew he was married, but never met her. Kind of strange for ’round here.” Her brow creased, and her eyes narrowed. “Is it really missin’ persons you’re investigatin’?”

Jack dropped a ten-dollar bill on the counter and grabbed the subs. “Oh no, that’s the god darn truth.”

A gasp escaped Miller’s mouth, and a hand went to cover it. It slowly dropped. “Why I never.” She shot me a look as if I should apologize for Jack’s language.

“Thank you for your help, Mrs. Miller.”

It was raining when we got outside, and the air was thick with humidity. Jack cranked the AC in the SUV. It blew out warm air for about sixty seconds. “You didn’t trust me, Kid?”

Another car pulled into the lot. I watched as they parked beside us.

“I’ve been around a lot longer than you.” He put the SUV into gear.

“I know—”

“I was serving in the military when you were in diapers.”

“I know you could pretty much be my grand—” I left it there when Jack’s head snapped to face me.

“Don’t push it.”

I smiled and killed it with a bite of my sub. Maybe if I had my mouth full of food, I wouldn’t say anything to get into more trouble. I sneaked in a sideways glance and swore there was a hint of a smile on Jack’s lips. Maybe I had actually impressed him back there...just maybe.

CHAPTER 10

Rain hit the windshield as if a heavenly damn released and combined with the grit from the road it smeared with a chalky coating. Night had finally set in and had blanketed the county in blackness. No street lights or illumination from buildings compensated for the moon that lay buried in the sky behind a duvet of clouds.

After we had grabbed something to eat, I forwarded the pics to Jones, tagging the one of Kurt McCartney. He had texted back and said,
it won’t be today.

We followed up with Nadia to see how she was making out with tracking down the Twitter followers and gave her a new task of pulling the background on Kurt McCartney.

Jack and I found Jason Michaels, the retired prison security guard and paid him a visit. He didn’t remember the interaction between Bingham and his sister, but oddly recalled Lori Carter fidgeting a lot. And,
she wouldn’t look him in the eye
, he had said.

Jack and I met Paige and Zachery at Done Right BBQ, a restaurant that came highly recommended by the Sheriff. When we got there, it wasn’t any surprise where the man may have gained part of his paunch. Ribs and huge pieces of meat slathered with BBQ sauce cooked to perfection and served with a side of fries was the main feature of the menu. I didn’t think I was hungry until we pulled up to the place. The aromas saturated the air outside the restaurant.

We all ordered and updated each other on our findings from the day.

“There’re still a lot of people to visit, but we don’t seem to be getting anywhere.” Zachery stuck a french fry in his mouth. “Seems to me you guys were to come back and help us out with that.” He looked at me, and then to Jack. “Ah, you were trying to be nice, you don’t do door-to-door. I should know that.” He smiled.

Jack tapped his shirt pocket.

I pointed to a sign on the far wall. “No smoking.”

“Don’t you seem to know everything? Surprised you haven’t solved this thing yet.” Jack gave Zachery a crooked grin.

I chose to ignore the mockery. “If Travis Carter can be confirmed as the first victim we have a direct connection to Bingham.” I took a sip of beer as a detour from eating. The steak was delicious but a larger portion than I was used to, and it was sitting heavy on my stomach. Jack had ordered a plate of wings and had me wishing I had.

“And if Bingham knew about the abuse against his sister, which we assume he did based on what Ellie Carter told you,” Paige started. “Maybe he played the role of Redeemer, but instead of forgiving sins he extracted punishment for them.”

That mouthful of beer when down hard. Paige looked at me as if she knew I was thinking of Bingham’s words, c
onfess your sin and repent or be punished.

Her eyes remained fixed on mine. I took another swig of beer and signaled the waitress for another.

“Take it easy, Slingshot.” Jack tore off a piece of meat and washed it down with a glass of water.

“I’m just surprised you’re able to put down your smokes long enough to eat.” The words, intended to come out in a joking nature, carried an underlying seriousness. Everyone went quiet until Jack laughed.

“The kid thinks he’s a comedian.”

“Hey, I thought it was pretty funny.” Paige smiled.

“Well, you would.” Jack put another wing to his mouth.

The laughter died. More wasn’t being said.
Did everyone know about our past affair?

“So the Redeemer threatened you,” Zachery said. “Quite the excitement for your first day in the field.”

More glances were shared between Paige and me. It didn’t escape Zachery who was about to say something when the waitress came to the table and placed a refreshed beer in front of me.

“Actually, do you serve martinis here?” Jack wiped his fingers on a bunched-up napkin.

“Of course. We do have vodka in the county.” The waitress smiled, and Jack returned it.

“Great, I’ll take one.”

“Anyone else?

“I’ll take another water,” Zachery said. “Someone here has to be responsible.”

“It’s only because you drank so much yesterday,” I said, creating a fabrication. I ignored the fact I was told to take it easy while it was okay for Jack to order a stiff drink.

“Pending’s a smart ass, boss.”

“Hmm.”

With the waitress gone, it left us to face the reality of our day. I never had the illusion the world was a brilliant place free of evil, but being confronted with it to this degree made me appreciate what I did have—a happy marriage and a peaceful home life.

Jack’s cell rang. He checked the caller ID. “And here he said he wouldn’t have an answer for us today.” He answered, and less than a minute later hung up. “That was Jones.”

I leaned forward and turned to face Jack, who was on my right. “Cause of death?”

“He’ll start autopsies tomorrow and take a look for facial structure similarities to the pictures of the two men we’ve identified from Bingham’s photos—Carter and McCartney. But he does have something for us—”

“Kind of crazy that someone would put themselves in the place of God to decide guilt or innocence.” Paige interrupted Jack, and then took a sip of her drink.

“It wouldn’t be the first in mankind’s history,” Zachery said.

“I know that.” Her brows arched downward, and she pointed her fork at him as if threatening to stab him with it.

He held up both hands in surrender, and the waitress came back with Jack’s martini.

When she left, Zachery continued. “It’s referred to as the God complex. They believe they can accomplish more than is humanly possible and that they’re above everyone else. In fact, it’s not uncommon for serial killers to have an elevated opinion of self that motivates them to exact punishment, payment, or retribution for acts committed either directly against them or society in general.”

Paige looked at me, and it felt like she read my mind. I had enough of trying to justify multiple murders for one day. I drained back on my beer wishing that Jack hadn’t ordered a drink, and we could be getting out of here.

“So do you guys want to know the reason Jones called?” Jack wrapped his hand around the martini glass and sat back. “Or we can continue to jabber all night.” A subtle hint of a smile. “Remember the knife on the table in the—”

“Kill room,” I interjected. He glared at me for the interruption.

“It wasn’t a match to the wounds on the last victim.”

Paige straightened and leaned in toward the table. “The unsub we’re looking for didn’t kill with that knife?”

“Doesn’t look that way.”

“Then they still have it with them. It’s intended for use on the eleventh victim.” She mumbled the words. The implication in her eyes said I could be the next victim. It caused me to swallow deeply.

“We know that the unsub has intentions to kill again if they haven’t already.” Jack passed Paige and me a glance. “We have to stop them—”

“First we have to find them.” The obvious slipped from my lips.

Jack gave me a look I had a hard time interpreting. I summoned the waitress to get the bill, hoping to dismiss any awkwardness. Jack lifted his martini in a cheer gesture and drained the glass. As his arm came down, he was looking at me. “Alarm goes off at five, so you better be bright-eyed and bushy tailed.”

The Cave Run Lake Lodge where we were staying was a fifteen-minute drive from the restaurant. It was a two-story building with sixteen rooms. Sheriff Harris had gotten us in and called it a
blessed miracle
as most accommodations were already booked up with tourists. He also commented that the only saving fact was most preferred to stay in one of the numerous cabin resorts in the county.

My room was number eleven, and after today, I felt a twinge of superstition as I turned the key in the lock. I dropped my luggage bag on the bed and it didn’t make an impression. Placing my hands on the mattress, the bed was hard, but I was so tired I doubted it would matter.

When I had left yesterday afternoon, I had told Deb I wasn’t sure when I’d be home. She wished me luck, but I sensed insincerity in her tone of voice and body language. She had braced up against the doorframe as she normally would to wave goodbye. But as I had pulled out of the driveway, she never did.

I fished my personal cell from a pocket in the bag. Four missed calls and two messages. One was from my friend Randy who I hung out with back in Florida. Hearing him made me homesick. Debbie had called three times and only left one message consisting of two words,
call me.

I looked at the time on the alarm clock. Nine-thirty.

I dropped onto the bed and dialed home.

CHAPTER 11

Loud banging on the door startled me from sleep straight into a seated position. The clock read five-fifteen.

What the hell happened to the alarm? Shit!

I opened the door to Jack, who was dressed in black slacks with a silver shirt. He looked down, making me realize I was just in boxer shorts. “Rise and shine, Kid.”

“Just give me five minutes.”

“Hmm.”

I closed the door on him and hurried around the room trying to see if I could beat some sort of record for getting dressed. I went into the washroom and wiped a fingertip across my teeth. I needed to brush them, but I didn’t have time. I think I had gum.

Five minutes later, I opened the door to see the rest of the team assembled in the parking lot. They all had coffee cups in their hands. The sun hadn’t risen yet, and the lights mounted on the hotel cast the only illumination.

“Decided to return, after all, Pending?”

I stuck a piece of gum in my mouth, realizing the moment I drank coffee the refreshing effect would be compromised.
Oh well.

“Sleeping beauty must have slept good, boss.”

“There was a problem with my alarm.” I wanted to add a bit of flare to the statement, possibly add
knucklehead,
but I resisted the urge.

“Next time make sure there isn’t.” Jack headed to the driver’s seat. “I want us all back at the crime scene. I want us to study it, breathe it, and analyze it. Until some other people wake up, there’s not much else we can do.”

“Course, boss.” Zachery and Paige got into the other SUV and drove out before Jack even had the keys in the ignition of ours.

The day was going to be a scorcher, and the rain from the night before only seemed to intensify the humidity. All I wanted was the vehicle’s AC on.

Jack did up his seat belt and faced me. “There are a few things that bother me. One of them is tardiness.”

“My alarm—”

“I don’t want excuses.”

I buried my sour facial expression into the lip of the coffee cup and took a sip.

As we pulled into Bingham’s driveway, any hunger that had my stomach growling ceased. Instead, it churned thinking of what lay beneath the ground—the tunnels, the burial chambers, the victims who had been tortured and murdered—all of it had etched permanent residence into my memory.

Two deputies were in charge to watch the place. They waved us past while they stayed in their cruiser, likely comfortable in the car’s air conditioning.

We let ourselves in and headed to the cellar. My chest tightened thinking about going further down, but we stalled there to talk. I took a deep breath.

Jack had an unlit cigarette perched in his mouth, even though he had smoked one on the way over. “Now, I thought it would be best to immerse ourselves in Bingham’s and our unsub’s state of mind. What do we know about Bingham, The Redeemer, as he terms himself?” He turned to me.

The coffee hadn’t infused me with sufficient caffeine yet.

“Time to wipe the sleep out of the eyes, Pending.”

I disregarded Zachery and answered Jack. “We know that Bingham and his sister lost their father when he was twenty. The mother had died years before that.” Everyone watched me. “We know that he came to Salt Lick from Sarasota, Florida where he was born and grew up.”

“His family life seemed normal, straight forward. At least what can be discerned from a file,” Paige said. “Unusual for a psychopath.”

“What makes you conclude psychopath?” Jack turned to her.

“You’re kidding right?”

Jack’s sour expression disclosed he was serious. I remembered Jack had referred to Bingham as a psychopath yesterday. He must have wanted Paige to justify her conclusion.

“Besides the violent nature of the murders and his disconnect from society? Brandon, you said that he seemed proud someone was killing for him since he’s been in prison. He feels nothing for his victims.”

“Psychopaths are normally of above-average intelligence. The construction of the underground passageways, the fact they didn’t collapse or meet up, tells us Bingham is intelligent. The unsub likely is too,” Zachery said.

“He also exhibits psychopathic behavior including the art of manipulation.”

I looked at Jack. “He did make you leave the room. It could also explain how he was able to get his victims to come with him and go down the passageway. He lured them with false charm perhaps?”

Jack cast me a sideward glance and said, “He saw you as someone he could manipulate. You’re younger than me, obviously a new agent. Special Agent.” Jack mocked my words from yesterday when I had corrected Bingham. “He saw your pride yet tried to demean you.”

“I didn’t let him.”

“Psychopath,” Paige said with a smile, trying to ease the tension between Jack and me.

It seemed to have worked as Jack continued. “He wants to have control over everyone he comes across. He’s obsessive compulsive as evidenced by his fascination with the number eleven. OCD is a narcissistic trait, but he definitely exhibits characteristics of a psychopath. I got an email from Nadia last night that had more background info on Bingham. His mother was Robin Bingham and she married Lance’s father in forty-nine, a month after Lance was born. Now Bingham’s file doesn’t show any criminal activity prior to more recent events.”

“He likely just wasn’t caught before now.”

Jack nodded in agreement to Paige and opened the discussion to the rest of us. “What about other narcissistic characteristics he displays?”

“Bingham worked as a laborer for local farmers, helping out where he could. That aspect doesn’t sound like a narcissist,” I said.

Paige latched eyes with me. Her next words would contradict my sentiment. “Mr. Thompson, a neighbor who Bingham did work for, commented yesterday that Lance would talk about a day when he’d have his own farm. His words were,
then I won’t have to report to the likes of you
.” Paige’s eyes read of an apology.

“What about Twitter? He seeks contact, not necessarily a connection, with the outside world, but he doesn’t do so in order to learn what’s going on. He joins a social network where people can follow him, feed his ego, and make him feel important. That is a typical narcissist.”

Zachery’s eyes glazed over. “I know what he is. It makes perfect sense.”

“By all means, share it with us.” Jack pulled the cigarette from his mouth.

“He’s a malignant narcissist. They can demonstrate psychotic behavior and a schizoid personality. So Bingham’s really a concoction. His follower, the unsub, is likely submissive, easily manipulated. They likely idolize Bingham.”

“I’ve heard of malignant narcissism but isn’t it pretty hard to discern from regular narcissism?” Paige tested Zachery’s assessment.

“Yes, in fact, while you’ll find narcissistic personality disorder defined in
The Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders,
you will not find malignant narcissism. These people are simply diagnosed as having a narcissistic personality disorder. But with the other factors we’ve discussed, it seems like a plausible fit to Bingham. A schizoid person usually prefers to isolate themselves. It doesn’t seem like Bingham had any close friends, and he wasn’t involved with anyone. Many schizoids prefer to masturbate over dealing with the complications and social aspects of finding a partner.”

Paige’s face crunched up. “Prefer not to think about that part.”

Zachery shrugged a shoulder.

“Hmm.” Jack connected eyes with me before he turned and walked down the passageway. Zachery followed after him.

I wasn’t sure how to read his eyes. Was he disappointed in my contribution about Twitter and connections? Should I have said more? Maybe I would have if given the time.

Paige put a hand on my shoulder but shrunk back after making contact. “He was impressed by what you had to say.”

“He didn’t sound it.”

“If you’re looking for praise, and a good well done, you’ll never hear it.”

“I thought whenever he said
Hmm
, it was a bad thing.”

“It can be.” She smiled. “But you will get to recognize the difference.”

“If you say so.” I took a deep breath and headed underground. Melding with the suffocating effect of confined spaces was the flash nightmares of Bingham’s sick perma-smile.

In the main hub, Jack flicked his lighter and put it back in his pocket, more or less for something to do with his hands, I assumed. “Now the thing that’s been bothering me is why take out their intestines. They are enormous, and it would be messy.”

“The large intestine alone is about five feet long. That’s not even mentioning the small intestine that is the length of twenty feet or more depending on the person. The basic math is roughly ten times longer than a person’s height.”

All of us looked at Zachery.

“The large intestine contains a type of bacteria that can break down molecules the human body can’t break down itself.”

Paige’s face scrunched up. “I could have handled not hearing all of this.”

“Oh, that’s just the beginning—”

“End of it, if I have any say. Disgusting. Do you really think Bingham and his follower ate the intestines? Why not the heart, brain, or other organs? Why where the shit passes through?”

The coffee rose into the back of my throat. I swallowed quickly.

“Maybe he didn’t eat the intestines,” Zachery said. “But then why remove them, why the grinder, and why the freezer?”

None of us said anything. I focused on trying to breathe as my heart kept tapping as if preparing for a major heart palpitation. Paige crossed her arms, her eyes looking down a tunnel. Jack pulled out his lighter and flicked it again.

“And here’s another question,” Zachery said. “Where are they now?”