Faceless (23 page)

She nodded, but I wondered if she really was capable of understanding her role in the chain of events that had occurred. I made a mental note to ask Hope if I had miscalculated the conscience level or thought process that my fourteen-year-old actually was capable of. Maybe I had expected way too much of my daughter and now I was getting a reality check.

As I walked out of the room, I felt the soft touch of my husband’s hand on my back.

***

Monday morning

When Marty got to work the next morning, the first one he ran into was Detective Frank Robinson.

“Meeting in the break room. Who Done It Board is up and Jean’s in a foul mood and wants everyone in there ASAP.” A habitual gum-chewer, Frank pushed out a thin membrane of Bazooka and slowly turned it into a bubble that was just short of baseball size. With expertise and years of experience, he allowed it to pop without leaving any residue on any part of his face.

Walking into the room together, Marty nodded to Jean, who was deep in conversation with Chief Bergman.

Justin
was sitting on one of the desks, showing pictures of his son to the young rookie, Patricia Beck. It just blew Marty’s mind how Justin Thyme had changed from Casanova and confirmed bachelor to doting father and husband in such a short period of time. He would have bet that he himself would have walked down an aisle and started a family long before Justin took that stroll. Now, although he had surpassed Justin in the professional world, his friend was leaving him in the dust when it came to personal life achievements.

Marty grabbed a folded metal chair that was leaning up against a defunct steam radiator beneath a row of windows that were in desperate need of washing. Dusty streaks allowed a hazy sun to slip through the window, leaving shadows of Marty’s legs on the tile floor. A black chalkboard on wheels was standing behind a wooden podium. Across the board was a list of names, some with check marks next to it, some circled.

He could see the tension in Jean’s face.

He wasn’t sure how much the other occupants in the room knew about Bethany’s involvement in this case, but he wasn’t about to be the one to bring up the subject. If Jean wanted the other investigators and officers to know about it, it was clearly her decision to make, not his.

A few more men and women entered the room and grabbed chairs. The room was filled with chatter until they became aware of the police chief clearing his throat, trying to get their attention. Chief Bergman, at six foot five and two hundred and seventy-five pounds of pure, raw, power, towered over most of his men and women. It didn’t take long for the room to quiet down.

As soon as everyone was paying attention, he surrendered his position behind the podium to Jean, who had added a name on the board before turning back to her audience.

“I just want to thank everyone so far for putting in all the hours you have. I know you have been working above and beyond the call of duty, but obviously, we are not even close to catching this bastard. So let’s see what we have so far.” She turned her back toward her coworkers and faced the board.

“We have two victims, Jamie Camp and Kimberly Weston, both female, seventeen and sixteen years old, respectively, both from St. Mary’s High School. Both girls were very attractive and popular among their peers, but not very well liked. I have been getting reports from everyone that has interviewed the kids at the school that both girls have often been accused of being bullies, or for a lack of better word, bitches.”

It was the veteran Sully that threw out the “C” word loud enough for all to hear.

“Bitches’ is being kind, detective, from what I’ve been told,” he remarked as he broke off a piece of a chocolate bar and shoved it into his mouth.

Jean
rolled her eyes in frustration, but made sure everyone in the room knew exactly how she felt.

“I don’t care if they were neo-Nazis or puppy abusers. These girls had families that loved them. They were just kids, and they deserve justice. There is no one who deserves to die the way they did. There are two grieving mothers are out there today who will never be able kiss their daughters goodnight.”

She let that settle in before she went on by pointing to a group of four names on the board.

“The first victim, Jamie Camp, was found by four fellow students from St. Mary’s High School and one adult male who is not a student.”

She called out their names. “Tiffany Bennett, Lisa Padilla, Kate Hepburn, Dylan Silver, and the adult male, whose name is Cameron Knox.”

The last few names started tongues wagging. It was obvious that everyone now knew that the mayor’s stepdaughter and son were part of the equation. When she said Dylan’s name aloud, she thought she heard some chatter. For those in the dark and unaware of the most recent episode, she explained.

“Dylan Silver was at the scene, but was convinced to leave by his friends, so he wouldn’t be considered a suspect. Dylan Silver was intimate with both girls and had an argument with Jamie Camp a few minutes before she disappeared.” She waited until it got quiet before she continued.

“The second victim, who succumbed to her injuries yesterday, Kimberly Weston, was found by two people passing by who were relieving themselves on the side of the highway. These two men have been cleared and are not suspects in either homicide.”

She grabbed a bottle of water from the desk and took a sip, then continued.

“Jamie Camp was intentionally stung with bee venom, to which she was allergic. Kimberly Weston was given an injection that turned out to be a fatal dosage of insulin. She was not a diabetic. Both girls had their faces burned. The accelerant, determined to be lighter fluid, that caused Jamie’s facial burns was recovered at the scene. We have not found any substances that resulted in Kimberly’s burns at that crime scene. Both girls’ tops were removed, in what we believe may be some sort of calling card of the killer. There is no evidence of actual sexual assault.”

“So we do have a serial killer with a flaccid dick running around?” Sully blurted out. A few of the women moaned in annoyance and several of the men laughed nervously.

She ignored the remark but made sure she addressed the serial killer remark.

“It’s too early to make that kind of determination, Sullivan. Let’s hope that this is something specific to these two girls, and the killer is done.”

She reiterated. “We hope the killer is done. Just keep your eyes and ears open out there. Talk to the kids, listen to what they are saying. So far, we have nothing to prove that any one of these five people is responsible, but I am not crossing any of them off this board until I can positively eliminate any of them.”

Frank
Robinson
spoke up.

“What about this Cameron character? Do you think we should lean on him? I would be more than willing to do that,” the detective offered freely.

Jean
finally loosened up and gave a chuckle.

“Go for it, Frank, just don’t get his daddy the Mayor Paul Knox’s tail feathers up. I really don’t need that imbecile crawling up our asses.” She put down the bottle of water and placed the chalk on the top of the podium. It started to roll down, but she caught it before it fell off the edge. She placed it in an indentation on the stand so it would stay in place.

“Well that’s about it. Does anyone have questions?” She waited a few seconds, but no one had any.

“All right, that’s about it. Let’s get this son of a bitch.” She turned and started to walk toward Marty.

She grabbed his arm and quietly pulled him aside.

“We need to take a ride to St. Mary’s and see Father Murphy,” she said.

He looked down at her, confused.

Without looking up at him, she continued walking, her pace becoming more rapid and her stride wider. She wasn’t at all surprised when he got to the exit before her. He held the door open and she walked through. When they were both outside the building, she told him what she had learned.

“Father Murphy is a diabetic. He takes insulin daily.”

Marty didn’t ask for any explanation he just pulled out his car keys and held them up. She nodded compliance, knowing it meant he intended to drive.

Chapter Fifteen

The best thing about working with Marty is that he knows when to initiate conversation and when to let me sit and sulk.

I think Joe had given him plenty of tips on the best way to survive working with me when I was
on the cotton pony
, as Joe so often colorfully described my period. I guess Marty decided to take that advice to heart and apply it to my current situation. I might as well have been suffering from PMS or DMS or AMS (During Menstrual Syndrome or After Menstrual Syndrome), because I had been on an emotional roller coaster for days now.

I was overthinking everything, and my thoughts were becoming obsessive and repetitive about the events that had occurred with Bethany. My brain was on overdrive. I was rehashing what had been said and what I wished I would have said, and I was accomplishing nothing productive.

I knew that somehow I had to find a way to stick my personal issues somewhere out of reach so I could get back to the business of concentrating on the case. I was overcome with guilt and remorse and was feeling so inadequate now as a mother, and maybe even as a wife.

Had I let my family down? Why now, fourteen years after my daughter’s arrival into this world, did I suddenly feel like I didn’t know her? I never once had questioned my parenting skills with my son, who I thought was the much more complicated child. Cliff was a good, well-mannered boy, but he was a boy, and broken bones and gashes were a constant occurrence. Not once did he ever raise his voice or tell me that he hated me.

I was so engrossed in my own thoughts that I didn’t realize we had arrived at our destination when Marty pulled into the church’s parking lot.

“Hey, are you okay? Do you want to just chill here for a few minutes before we go in?” He had shut off the engine and turned, shifting his long legs sideways as he leaned his torso against the driver’s side door.

“No, I don’t think I am all right,” I told him, suddenly craving a cigarette, something I had given up several years ago. “I just don’t know what to make of it anymore. I feel like I woke up last week and everything around me is off somehow. Everyone I came in contact with looked the same, sounded the same, but they weren’t the same. It’s as if I’ve entered a totally different dimension. I feel like I am in an episode of
The
Twilight Zone
. A really bad episode.”

Marty’s fingers tapped the console as if he was playing an instrument. I noticed that he would do that when he took the time to carefully formulate his thoughts before speaking them aloud.

“You know, Jean, the world has changed so much, even since I was a teenager. The kids today don’t have the same coping skills that my dad’s generation or your generation or even my generation had. They have too many choices. My dad swears that the trouble with the world today is just that simple. Think about it: when he was a kid, he had no TV, just radio. So you didn’t have to decide between three hundred channels to watch. You had AM or FM radio. And what, maybe three or four stations? You had the choice between black and white film and color.

Today, you can watch a movie on Netflix or on your iPad or your computer, Windows or Mac, or your iPhone or your Android. You had Pepsi or Coke, not a zillion different flavors, and it was either a large or a small, not a zillion different sizes to choose from. You can’t just have water anymore, you have to decide if you want it to be flavored or enhanced with vitamins. You bought a Chevy or a Ford or a Dodge, now you have a million different styles and colors to choose from in just one vehicle.

“I don’t know how their brains function anymore, being bombarded with all the choices they have to make. When was the last time you walked into the electronics department of Wal-Mart and had to pick out a game as a gift? Xboxes and Wii’s and PlayStations. It’s hard enough to decide which product to buy, without having to choose a game to play on it. I think we would be all better off if we could roll back technology and go back to playing Monopoly or Chutes and Ladders, and get rid of all these electronic gadgets.”

He had a valuable argument there. Now we knew why the world was so screwed up; what we could do about it was another dilemma altogether.

I nodded and opened my door. He exited his side. I waited until he was on my side of the car before I responded.

“Right now, the only choice I’m concentrating on is which one of these suspects is a cold-blooded killer, and whether Father Murphy’s medical condition has any bearing on this case.”

“Well,” he said, as he took a long stride towards the building. He glanced down at his watch. “If memory serves me right, Father Murphy should be overseeing basketball practice in the gymnasium around this time of day. Let’s head toward the gym.”

“You know, Marty, it’s not just the insulin, there’s also the lighter fluid. I don’t know if you noticed, but Father Murphy partakes in the bad habit of smoking tobacco, and he uses a one of those old-style lighter fluid lighters to light those cigarettes.”

From the look on his face, I could tell he was greatly troubled by what I said.

He immediately stopped walking.

“Jean, you’re not actually contemplating the idea that Father Murphy is remotely responsible for the deaths of those girls. Please tell me that is not what you are insinuating here. There is no way. I’ve known the man for years. I was one of his students, he was a great teacher, a warm, caring guy. No, there is no way…” He shook his head in disgust.

“I don’t know what I am saying yet, Marty, I’m just putting two and two together. Father Murphy knows the victims. Father Murphy has access to insulin. Father Murphy has a cigarette lighter that uses the type of lighter fluid that was found at the scene, which was positively identified as the substance that caused the burns on Jamie Camp’s face.”

I knew what I said was troubling him, but it had to be considered.

“Right now, Marty, I just want to find out if he has an alibi for the night the girls were killed. I just want to rule him out. Then I want to have a long chat with each of the girls, and then I want to pick up Cameron Knox and have another talk with him.”

He started to walk again, shaking his head. “No way. There is no way that Father Murphy has anything to do with this. I am willing to bet my firstborn child on that. If I’m ever to have a firstborn.”

I had totally forgotten about the fact that he was planning to propose to Hope. I was just about to ask him how that worked out when we reached the building.

I could hear the echo of the basketballs pounding the gymnasium floor. We pushed through a pair of double heavy wooden doors and the smell of sweaty bodies permeated the air, assaulting my senses. I suddenly got a flashback of my son’s room before he left for college.

The Ping-Pong and other tables were folded up and placed off to the side, but thirty or so students of various sizes and ages were actively engaged in a vigorous game of basketball.

Off to the side was a female coach, giving instructions to a group of scantily dressed cheerleaders. Although a few heads turned when we entered the building, I was convinced that the girls were more interested in admiring my partner’s exceeding good looks than the fact that two strangers had just entered the room. The fact that two of their fellow students were recently murdered seemed to have little effect on the current population. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe I was way too cynical and I just wasn’t looking deep enough.

***

Father Murphy
was off to the side, near a small section of bleachers. He was talking with his hands to three tall boys resembling beanpoles in blue silk gym shorts. He was animatedly pointing to the goal zone when he noticed us. He threw us a smile and quickly finished his instructions before he walked over to us. He tried to make conversation, but the noise level became so intrusive he signaled for us to follow him. He led us to the same office that we had been in the other day. As soon as he shut the door behind us, the noise evaporated. It was obvious the room was soundproofed.

He looked relieved that he had a chance for some quiet, and it didn’t appear that he was worried about our visit. I took that as a good sign. Or maybe, he was just a real sociopath and a great actor to boot.

He walked around the desk, pulled out the chair, and practically fell into it. I hadn’t noticed it the other day, but I took note of the thin folds of skin and other signs of age that had recently taken up residence on Father Murphy’s face and hair. I don’t know whether it was the sudden recent events that took a toll on the still very handsome priest, or I had just never really studied him this closely.

“I heard about Kimberly’s passing, this is such a tragedy.” His hand rubbed his jaw and throat before it settled down on a stack of papers on his desk. “We were just making arrangements for Jamie’s services when we were notified. What’s going on, Jean? Is this insanity going to stop?”

“I don’t know, Father, I hope so. How are you feeling?” I asked, leaning back against the wall.

He looked up at me, slightly bewildered.

I explained. “I stopped by last evening on my way home. Father Thomas said you weren’t feeling well.”

“Oh it was nothing, Father Thomas tends to be a little dramatic. My blood sugar was a little high, so I turned in early.” He swiveled the chair around a 90-degree turn and I noticed a small refrigerator behind his desk. He leaned over and grabbed a bottle of water from a row on the top shelf.

I was able to see into the small refrigerator. There were three small shelves, and on one shelf, I saw several cardboard boxes. On the side of them were pharmaceutical labels. On one of the lower shelves, I thought I saw a small plastic bag with some words in big red letters that read CAUTION: MEDICAL WASTE and that it contained some loose hypodermic needles. On another shelf, there were more needles.

“Can I get you anything?” He held up the plastic bottle of water.

Marty said no and I just shook my head. I was about to ask him about his insulin when there was a knock at the door.

He looked apologetic as he called out, “Come in.”

Tiffany
Bennett
was flushed from physical exertion when she entered the room. Her freckled face was beet red and her hair was plastered to her face from sweat.

“I’m sorry, Father, but Ms. Nelson told me to come in and get a bottle of water and a couple of Band-Aids.” She lifted her left hand to show him a small stream of blood coming from a cut.

He nodded to her and she walked over to a small metal closet that contained some first aid materials and clean folded towels. After a little bit of shuffling things around, she seemed to find what she was looking for. She smiled meekly as she turned and was making her way out of the room when Father Murphy called out to her.

“Tiffany, could you tell your mother that I said thank you? I found the check that she left on my desk the other day, but with all that has been going on, I haven’t had a chance to thank her personally. Please tell her that I will give her a call and thank her myself. In the meantime, please tell her that I’m sorry I missed her, and thank her for the generous donation. It is very well appreciated.”

The girl stood there, staring at him for a moment as if she didn’t understand what he was talking about, but then nodded her head and turned to walk out.

I was blocking the door and I was close enough to smell her sweat.

“Tiffany, will you be going directly home after school today?” I asked.