A Guilty Mind (27 page)

 

Chapter Three

J
ULIA
M
ANNING LOOKED
over tortoiseshell readers and peered at the digital clock. After midnight again. She shifted in the worn leather chair, pulling her legs to her chest and resting her head on her knees. It would be another sleepless night. She had no one to coax her to bed, no one to pull her close during the night. She lifted her chin. Damn him.

Holed up in her office, she felt the emptiness of the large house echo throughout the halls. She'd carved out a workspace from the smallest room, barely larger than a closet, but she loved it anyway. Behind her, a wall of shelves overflowed with books and papers. Her collection of knickknacks and pictures from childhood hung on the walls and cluttered the battered desk. It was a mess, but it was hers.

“How can you stand it in here?” Jack had asked one day, leaning in the doorway. His eyes had swept across the room to the furniture crammed in corners and the stacks of old magazines. “Doesn't it make you claustrophobic?”

“No,” she'd answered honestly. It didn't and never had. Although the space was small, the window overlooking the backyard made it feel larger, and the light that shone through all day made it bright and warm. “It's comfortable.”

Jack had not seemed convinced. “When Marta comes next time, you should have her clean in here.” He'd waved a hand toward the junk spilling from the bookcase and said, “It smells.” He'd left quickly, as though the foul odor he'd detected might follow. At the time, she'd laughed. Curled up now, she was no longer amused. Then again, blame comes in all shapes and sizes. Laying it all on Jack would be too easy. She couldn't deny she'd begun to spend more time in her office. It hadn't happened all at once, but they had drifted away from each other. Still, she wasn't the one who'd brought other ­people into it.

Blinking back tears, she picked up the oversized manila envelope perched on the corner of her desk. It was heavy in her hands, thick with the background research she'd requested. A story of this magnitude came with expectations and a whopping amount of history. Julia rifled through her desk for an empty spiral notebook. She pushed up her glasses and studied the first several pages, photocopies of old newspaper articles.

Little Springs Gazette

November 8

Late yesterday, the body of a young woman was found at the edge of the Thompson River. Three hunters, guests of the Powhatan Lodge, discovered the woman's remains. The deceased has been identified as Cheryl Fornak, a sophomore at Blue Hill Chris­tian College.

Julia skimmed the remainder of the article. She picked up her tea, sipping the lukewarm liquid. “Cheryl Fornak,” she said out loud. She'd had a friend named Cheryl in college. They'd been close for a while, even sharing an apartment the first few months after graduation. They'd drifted apart when Cheryl got engaged and followed her fiancé to Texas. In her notebook, Julia wrote the number one, and next to it, the girl's name, her age, and the date of her murder. On a separate line, she wrote down the names of the police chief, the town, and the college.

She flipped through the next few pages. After the autopsy, the case had been classified as a rape and murder. Days and weeks had passed with little progress in the investigation when a second girl was found.

Little Springs Gazette

December 5

Early yesterday morning, the body of a second young woman was found nearly ten miles outside Little Springs. A truck driver headed to Blue Hill Chris­tian College spotted the woman, identified as Theresa Daniels, lying on the shoulder of 81 South. The police and a college spokesman confirmed that the young woman was a student at the school, a senior biology major. Authorities revealed that the death would be listed as a homicide. The autopsy is expected to begin as early as today.

It has been almost one month since the body of Blue Hill Chris­tian College sophomore Cheryl Fornak was discovered on the banks of the Thompson River. Dozens of students and local residents have been interviewed in connection with the case. However, the investigation has stalled, and the police have declined to name any suspects in Fornak's rape and murder. Police would not make a statement regarding any connection between the two deaths.

A spokesman for Blue Hill issued this statement, “We are stunned by both murders. Nothing like this has ever happened in the history of our school or in the history of this town. Our highest priority is to protect our students. In light of the second murder, we have instituted a curfew and all school buildings will be locked down by campus security at eleven
P.M
. each evening. Where it is possible, the faculty will reschedule evening classes.”

Manny Fulton, the mayor of Little Springs, attended a town meeting at the high school last night and addressed the murders. “Chief Hobson and the rest of the men are doing their best to find out what has happened to these young women. The best thing we can do is cooperate in any way possible and help them do their jobs so we can all sleep better at night.”

Julia shifted in her chair and finished her tea. Her notes were a jumble of names and dates. She drew a line connecting the names of the dead girls, adding the words, “one month.” Julia returned to the articles. A third young woman was found just before Christmas break that year.

Little Springs Gazette

December 7

Shocking the town and Blue Hill Chris­tian College, a third victim was found in the early hours of the morning by campus security. The body of Marilyn Trammel, a freshman, was spotted in a Dumpster behind the campus center. Onlookers who saw the naked body pulled from the trash bin reported seeing dark welts and dried blood. Police would not elaborate on the extent of her injuries, only indicating that the woman had probably been dead less than six hours. This murder comes forty-­eight hours after the discovery of the slain Theresa Daniels and a month after that of Cheryl Fornak. Although all three victims were students at Blue Hill, there does not appear to be a connection among the three women. They did not share classes, dormitories, or sororities. One source admits that police are stumped. When asked if each of the victims had been raped and how each was murdered, the police spokesman would not comment.

Michael Hudgins, dean of student affairs, announced the immediate cancellation of all classes and exams. “In light of recent events and the ongoing investigation, we are suspending exams until after winter break. Campus will officially close at five
P.M
. tomorrow, and all students are expected to vacate college housing.”

Julia tapped the notebook with her pen. Only two days between the second and third murders and the first body to be found on campus. The first two girls were found miles from Blue Hill. The third was clearly a departure. Was the killer growing bolder or more reckless?

Julia rifled through the next set of articles. Although there were no murders over the Christmas break, there was also no apparent progress in solving the first three cases. The lack of an arrest was bad for the town and worse for the college. Some students—­mostly girls—­had applied for deferrals, opting not to return for the spring semester. The town had invoked a curfew of ten
P.M
. and had brought in additional police from neighboring towns. Still, the killer remained at large.

Julia dropped the pages in her lap, thinking about the dead girls from Blue Hill. No doubt their parents thought they were sending their teenage daughters away to a safe place, a college with strong Chris­tian principles and no city crime, a place where they could grow up and get an education. But Cheryl Fornak, Theresa Daniels, and Marilyn Trammel didn't get to grow up. Head bowed, Julia continued to read. Within days of the students' return, another girl was found, and then another. Five college girls. All raped. All dead. Shivering in the air-­conditioning, Julia rubbed her arms.

In an unprecedented move, the college had announced the immediate suspension of the semester. She read the statement from old papers.

The safety of our young women and all of our students is at the forefront of this decision. We cannot, in good conscience, ask the students to remain on campus until this situation has been resolved.

The FBI had been brought in after the fourth murder, spearheading the interviews with every male student enrolled at the college. With a serial rapist and murderer on the loose, the Little Springs town council was forced to invoke “sunset” curfews. The media dubbed the murderer the Coed Killer, a name that stuck. Rumors of vendettas against the college and the town spread like wildfire. Fights broke out among locals as suspicions ran high. Businesses suffered and still, no suspects.

Julia circled the dates of all the murders. The timeline was curious. Had the killer had second thoughts after the first? Why the long gap and then increasingly smaller ones? Over the break, they'd stopped. Did that suggest the killer was also a student? After Christmas, he hadn't waited long to strike again and then again. After the semester was suspended, the murders appeared to stop. Then the police arrested Leo Spradlin.

Julia sifted through the stack of research for pictures of the victims. She placed the photos in a row. Five girls smiling at the camera, all young, all pretty. There was nothing obvious linking them, no common physical traits that she could see. According to the articles, they had different majors and different friends. Yet they'd all known Spradlin—­a one-­time student at the school—­a fact he'd never denied. She set the pictures aside and picked up Spradlin's mug shot. He was young, barely older than college-­age himself. Attractive, with dark hair, he had a strong chin and a straight nose. It wasn't hard to see how a young woman might have wanted to be alone with him. She squinted at the black and white photo that was more school portrait than mug shot. His hair was combed and he was neatly dressed. He looked directly into the camera. She held the picture closer, trying to read his expression, but saw nothing. No fear. No anger. No remorse.

Now he would be a free man. His impending release had already made a big splash across Virginia. It was a story that promised to get even bigger, fueling the death penalty debate and causing increased speculation about the governor's political agenda. The release was one thing, the aftermath another. If Spradlin wasn't the Coed Killer, who was? No newspaper could resist this story. The
Washington Herald
was no exception.

Julia turned the page in the notebook and wrote a list of questions. Rereading the short list, Julia hoped she knew what she was doing. She was not the first choice among the staff, and she knew it. Conroy was the star reporter at the paper, and he wouldn't miss this story for the world. But Jack owed her. If he wasn't going to be a great husband, the least he could do was help her rebuild the career she'd let slip from her grasp.

Now that she had the story, she had to do something with it. She picked up the picture of Spradlin again. He'd spent two decades in prison for crimes he didn't commit. Was he bitter? Angry? What would that do to a man? She shook her head, stacking the pages and sliding them back into the large envelope. Spradlin was going back to Little Springs after his release. His lawyers had announced he would hold a press conference the day of his homecoming. The town would be flooded with press, publicity-­seekers, and gawkers.

Julia knew a story like this attracted all kinds. She also knew most stories die after a few days. And that was precisely her strategy. She would attend the press conference like the others and position herself for an interview. But when the others were gone, scurrying after the next headline, she would stay. She was in it for the long haul. She was in it for the story of her life.

 

Chapter Four

T
HE NIGHT WRAPPED
around him like a soft blanket, comforting and soothing. He lay on top of the covers, his body still, letting the darkness seep into his thoughts, his dreams. During the day, he pushed it away, but at night, he embraced it. Eyes wide, he stared at the bare ceiling. After a while, he could see the girls again. He breathed in, nostrils flaring. The memories were all he had.

They'd fought like hell. In vain, of course, but back then, even he hadn't understood his strength or the depth of his needs. The first one, Cheryl, had been especially difficult. He thought most often of her. Swinging her arms and kicking her legs, she'd tried desperately to fight him off, but was the first to learn he was not to be underestimated. What she couldn't have known was that the fear in her eyes only fueled his desire. With each girl, his hunger grew. Their screams and their tears gave him a rush that made him forget everything but the ecstasy of the moment. When they closed their eyes to shut him out, he would jerk their heads, forcing them to watch, to see him as he really was. Since that first night, he'd fallen asleep replaying those beautiful images.

He smiled, his loins hot. It had been such a long fucking time, but now it would be different. The release was big news, and the homecoming was fast approaching. He'd been told there would be press, regional and national. A story of this magnitude was bound to stir controversy. He didn't give a shit. The words “guilt” and “innocence” were thrown around, but few understood how they worked, how closely they were intertwined. One could not exist without the other.

He closed his eyes, holding on to the image of Cheryl. He'd left her in the woods, buried under leaves and sticks, her white skin smeared with mud from the river, her blond hair spread out like a fan around her twisted head. Even dead, her eyes had looked back at him, round and gaping. Nothing could ever erase that beautiful picture. Nothing. And now he'd been given a gift. The Coed Killer would be back.

 

About the Author

K. L. MURPHY
was born in Key West, Florida, the eldest of four children in a military family. She has worked as a freelance writer for several regional publications in Virginia, and is the author of
A Guilty Mind
and
Stay of Execution
. She lives in Richmond, Virginia, with her husband, four children, and two very large, very hairy dogs. She is currently working on her next novel,
The Last Sin
. To learn more about the Detective Cancini Mystery series or future projects, visit
www.kellielarsenmurphy.com
.

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