Match Play (19 page)

L
ou and his team are notified about one female mutilation homicide that recently occurred, but it does not prove relevant to their investigation.

Phillips is able to decipher the scramble by Tuesday evening and the team is confident the killer will not be in Virginia. The scramble: “A Birdie Nests in the Swamp” gives evidence that the fifth hole will be played in Mobile, an area with swamps surrounding it.

The call comes in on Wednesday, May 1. The victim is a middle-aged woman who has been murdered and mutilated in her home in Irving. Schein, Cochran and Payne are in route.

Roger drives over the speed limit and Lou cautions him. “Slow down, Roger. She’s already dead.”

Payne is irritable and impatient and his tone doesn’t hide his emotions. “I know, sir. It’s just all the work and the waiting that we’ve done, and now we’re going to another crime scene and we’re still no closer to catching this guy.”

Dr. Cochran taps Lou on the shoulder and asks, “May I try to explain something to Roger?”

“You probably should, you’re the profiler.”

“Roger, these crimes are always this way, we don’t know the motive; the murders are not confined to one particular location, the victims don’t even correlate. Usually, serial killers keep to a type, but our guy has a different motive. Until we know that it is, we’re not going to be able to get ahead of him.”

Schein adds, “Believe me, we are all doing our jobs. It’s all we have until we have a motive.”

“There isn’t much to go on,” Dr. Cochran says. “Sometimes all you can do is to keep following the crimes until the killer becomes so bored he starts giving you revealing clues because he
wants
to get caught…or he is so confident he gets careless.”

“It’s just so damn crazy! How can he keep doing this?” Roger’s voice is rising.

“He’s a psychopath. It’s what they do,” she offers. “Who they are is not the critical element of the equation. As long as the person and the criteria he assigns represent the match, he is satisfied. The killer is prompted or provoked by the game, not by the women. They are just the props.”

“Why is he dismembering them and turning them into golf greens? What significance are the nipples?” Payne asks.

“Serial killers are usually severely abused as children. They are loners with a history of torturing, mutilating and killing. Starting with bugs, graduating to animals, then finally human victims. Very probably he moved to humans without even a hiccup in his conscience.”

The occupants of the car go silent while they consider Nancy’s profile.

“Here comes our exit, Roger. Take it south,” Schein points as his cell phone rings. “Schein here,” he says into the phone.

Mary Gibson is on the line and tells Lou the victim is the woman in the photographs.

“Look, Gibson, you tell them this is an FBI crime scene, and they all better damn well sit on their hands until we get there. The forensics team is about thirty minutes behind us and I do not want anything touched.” He pauses momentarily. “Then put him on and I’ll tell him.”

Lou spends a few minutes telling a detective what’s going to happen to him if he interferes with the crime scene and then hangs up. He lets out a heavy sigh. “It’s our victim, the fourth hole. Pick up the pace, Roger. There’s too much authority at the scene.”

They turn onto Ferngarden Street, crowded to suffocation, and are motioned by a patrolman to proceed through the jungle of cruisers and unmarked cars. They are met at the sidewalk by an Irving PD detective who immediately starts to mark his territory.

Agent Schein surveys the man and then dresses him down. “Look, we’re not going to get into a pissing contest here. This is the work of a serial killer who we’ve been following over two months. Our forensic people are on the way and they’re going to handle the crime scene. We’re lead on the case. And you will get out of our way right now.” The detective backs up. Lou continues, “And stay out of our way!”

Gibson meets the group and Lou asks for an update.

She checks her notebook and recites the details so far. “The next door neighbor hadn’t seen Mrs. Dorothy Duncan, occupant of the house, since Sunday morning and was concerned. She baked a coffee cake and brought it over. When no one answered and she saw that the car was in the carport, her concern escalated so she used her key and let herself in. She was greeted by the gruesome crime scene and called the police from her cell phone. She waited outside for the PD to arrive. She’s quite upset, in shock. She is hysterical about the victim’s dog that she didn’t see or hear.”

Gibson goes on, “Upon the routine search of the home, the police found the dog in the laundry room in the back of the house. Poor little thing had a makeshift muzzle made out of duct tape with just enough room to drink water but not to bark. Scratch marks on the door where she tried to get out.”

“The neighbor has the dog now after the police removed the tape.”

Lou rolls his eyes. “I don’t suppose they preserved the evidence?”

Gibson smiles and produces an evidence bag with the duct tape.

Dr. Cochran asks, “Was the dog visibly tortured?”

“Not that we could tell.”

“I’m very surprised,” says Dr. Cochran. “Normally the dog would have been killed, probably tortured first. Our killer has shown the first sign of compassion we’ve seen. Let’s examine the crime scene, and maybe we’ll find more deviation from previous scenes.”

When they enter the house and stand in the foyer, Schein thinks it is a nice little bungalow, very clean, well-furnished and appears comfortable. The crime scene in the living room is partially obscured by the plaster archway, and there the comfortable feeling vanishes.

The head and the torso are dramatically displayed and the number 4 pennant stands eerily still and upright, but looking very real in its miniature scale.

The head is especially heartrending. The victim’s lips are above the blood and he can see the entire face; she looks like someone who has been in mourning all her life. Schein balls his fists and wishes he has something to hit. He motions to Gibson and asks her where the dog was found.

Gibson points in the direction of the back hall.

Lou opens and closes the door to the laundry room and is accosted by the smell of dog urine and feces. He turns on the light and experiences a flicker of intuition. With his senses amplified he surveys the room in segments, careful to go over every inch. He sees the inside of the door where the dog must have been scratching to get out. He sees the dried urine and the piles of feces. He sees the empty water bowl. Then he sees a small piece of what appears to be latex against a foot of the washer.

Lou opens the door and calls for a tech. As soon as one arrives, he points with his pen, “Bag that! I’m hoping it’s part of our killer’s latex glove.” He continues to look around but finds nothing else of interest.

Nancy Cochran is signing some forms when Lou joins her in the living room. He asks, “Well, did you find any other deviations to the crime scene?”

Dr. Cochran nods. “My initial belief that the victim was suffocated is so far correct. Although we have not found a plastic bag or evidence she was smothered any other way, we’re confident that is the cause of death. Also, in examining the appendages, we found the right knee was shattered, possibly by a golf club. We’re taking her bag of clubs to the lab to test them, along with the 8 iron we found in the office.”

“Perhaps the killer didn’t have time to sedate the victim and had to subdue her by other means.”

“The substance in the cavities appears to be sugar. We found granules on the kitchen counter, and when we opened the cupboard we found a partial bag of sugar. We’ll know more at autopsy. How about you? Have you found anything out of the ordinary?”

“In the laundry room, where the dog was kept. I think it might be our first break. We bagged a piece of latex, might be his torn glove.” Lou almost smiles and Nancy gives him a thumbs up.

Lou stands in the open doorway looking out on the street and sees that the mass of law enforcement vehicles has thinned. This is always a sad moment for him at homicide crime scenes, that moment when he watches the corpse being rolled away, and everyone is busy loading their cars and the house is left empty with just the memory of violence.

Mobile, Alabama, Friday, May 17
The Fifth Hole

D
avid Steadman is trying to casually walk back to the clubhouse to retrieve his car. He has left Peggy Foster’s house with his trophies and is desperately trying to center himself without being conspicuous. He is a master of the vacant look, which he uses as a tool to avoid contact with others.

He can’t believe this afternoon’s circumstances progressed as quickly as they did. He looks back at the last twenty-four hours and reviews the details.

Peggy Foster had been another of those opportunities that one just couldn’t explain or pass up. She had volunteered that her husband was out of town, her children away at college, and she had even pointed out her house as they drove by on the fairway.

It had only taken a few more holes of play to drug her enough for her to excuse herself and David from the couple they were playing with. She had a headache and wanted to the clubhouse.

By the time they reached the clubhouse, she was nauseous. He dropped off his clubs and picked up the briefcase. He drove her to her house in her personal golf cart. The luck! The cart even had its own garage door.

He drove in, closed the door and played the fifth hole with a great deal of confidence and at a leisurely pace.

He was particularly pleased with the setup of the 17th hole at Heron Bay. The bathroom at Peggy Foster’s home had coincidently been laid out perfectly to duplicate it. He didn’t like that the observer had to be placed so she was looking away from the door, but it was more important that she see the match.

He liked her short hair because it made the dissection easier and the setup less messy. He found the washed out gray face of his victim observing the hole was a perfect metaphor, both for her and for him.

FBI, Heron Bay Country Club, Mobile, Alabama, Saturday, May 18

T
he houses are large and ostentatious, beautifully landscaped and most back up to a fairway on the course. The agents turn on NW 120th Drive, circling around to the left when they reach the house. The street is full of police vehicles, the sidewalk is thick with a group of crime scene gawkers held back by yellow tape and patrolmen. Agent Phillips is standing at the front door of the house arguing with someone in a suit.

Agent Lou Schein is out of the car almost before it stops. He speaks in an authoritative voice that is almost a yell as he holds his FBI identification in the air. Phillips turns, as does the man with whom he is arguing.

“I’m Special Agent Louis Schein and this is an FBI crime scene. Anyone with any questions or complaints, the line starts here!” He snaps his fingers, pointing over his shoulder.

Everyone, including the spectators, turn in his direction. Schein makes a direct line to the front door, unaware that a blonde woman in the crowd is taking his picture with a Polaroid camera.

When he reaches Agent Phillips, he says to the man in the suit, “I’m Lou Schein, who are you?”

“I’m Detective Brian Faulkner, Mobile PD…”

Schein interrupts. “Look, we’re tracking a serial killer and we believe this is his fifth victim. We’re asserting federal jurisdiction here. You’ve witnessed the scene, you have the information the Bureau supplied prior to the discovery. It must be apparent, even to you, that this is our guy. This is Dr. Nancy Cochran, Chief of Forensics. The Bureau’s CSU will be here momentarily and we’ll secure the scene. You’ll get a full report when we’re finished; no one in your department who has ‘need to know’ will be excluded. All right?” Schein turns to Phillips before the detective can respond. “What have we got inside, Bruce?”

With Phillips leading, Lou and Nancy enter the house, and Detective Faulkner follows.

The house is elegantly furnished, everything in its place, the kind of house that has seen the high end of social life. They follow Phillips down a hallway to what appears to be a guest bath.

Phillips fills them in. “The victim is Mrs. Peggy Foster, forty-four. Married, two kids. The body is in the bathroom, sir. It’s definitely our guy, but he’s done a few things differently.”

Lou turns to Nancy and says, “More deviation…” as he and Dr. Cochran enter the bathroom, leaving Phillips to occupy the detective.

Nancy, already putting on her gloves, focuses on the shower door leading into a marble shower. “The victim’s legs have not been removed, as in the killer’s previous scenes. Just from what I see here, this murder is atypical. I might be awhile.”

Lou steps back, puts his gloves on and surveys the bathroom. The severed head is sitting on the bathroom counter, supported by a large vase full of liquid discolored by the blood seeped into it after the head was placed. Lou can’t see her face, because it is directed toward the body.

Lou turns his attention back to the shower and the hanging torso. The arms and breasts have been removed. Schein thinks it peculiar that the shower basin is full of water. The pelvis is colored green as with previous victims, but this time the green extends up the thighs and onto the woman’s buttocks. The sand traps have been cut from the front of the pelvis and the buttocks and are filled with sugar. The legs are almost straight up the door in a V-shape, the lower legs are folded over the top of the door and securely taped to the inside. The feet are gone.

He steps closer and looks down at the torso. A pennant, identical to the others, except for the number 5, is standing upright from the vagina, and is motionless in the stillness of the bathroom.

Lou turns and looks at the two men standing in the doorway. His face is drawn and gray. He glances at the head of the victim, shakes his own, and moves toward the door, trying not to disturb Dr. Cochran who is talking into her recorder.

“It’s him,” Lou announces. “Get the CSU in here as soon as they arrive and let’s take it apart.” He kneels and picks up a Heron Bay scorecard with his gloved hand. The seventeenth hole is marked with a four, directly above it in the match play box; 3 up, four;four. He replaces the scorecard so the techs can bag and tag the evidence.

He writes some notes and without looking up, asks, “What about the family, Bruce?”

“The body was found by the cleaning lady. She was taken to the hospital in shock and with some sort of heart problem. The husband is a sales rep for a large company here in Mobile. We’ve contacted his office, and he’s been notified to return home from a business trip in Maryland. According to neighbors the two children are away at college. We’re trying to track them down, but we’ll let the father notify them when he gets here this evening.”

Lou steps out of the bathroom.

“There are a couple more things, sir.” Agent Phillips continues with Lou to the end of the hallway where they enter the family room. The patio door is wide open, a tee and 3 wood are lying on the carpet, flanked on each side by a breast. Near one is a page from a newspaper.

Schein knows it will be the standings from the tournament and a message will be blocked into the names of the players. “Don’t spend time looking for the 6 ball, Phillips. It’ll be too far out.”

Phillips nods in acknowledgment and adds, “Sir, the arms are in the master bathroom. Would you like me to show you the way?”

Lou answers, “No, Bruce, I’ll just go it on my own from here, but check your laptop in a second.” He squats over the newspaper and takes a picture with his phone. Anxious to get the scramble deciphered, he sends it to Phillips’ laptop.

Phillips gets it and tells Lou he’ll start on the scramble right away.

Lou walks the house room by room, taking notes, looking for anything peculiar or out of place. He is confounded by how this killer can manage to commit such bloody crimes and never leave a trace. Lou found blood at Emily Cho’s house, and the piece of glove at Dorothy Duncan’s house, but what good is DNA if he has nothing to match?

The forensic teams tore the sewer apart trying to recover the hand of the other victim in San Diego, but it was never found.

He is momentarily distracted by a family portrait hanging behind a couch; there will be no smiling faces here for some time to come. The victim is smiling in the portrait, a pleasant looking woman. He’s glad none of the family found her.

He stops at the bathroom door on his way back to the main part of the house. The techs are busy with the body; everything is being photographed and the collection of evidence is underway.

“Anything in the shower basin besides water?” Lou asks.

“Nothing apparent,” answers Nancy Cochran. “We took some samples of the water though and we’ll run it through the lab.”

Lou stares at Peggy Foster for a moment longer but decides to wait for all the evidence and the autopsy before trying to draw any conclusions. “Good enough. I’m going to the master bathroom. The arms and feet are in there.”

Lou and Nancy exchange a look of burdened disbelief, and Lou continues in silence with his inspection of the house.

The arms are lying adjacent to each other on the floor of the shower, palms up. There is a watch on the left wrist and her wedding ring is still on her finger. The feet are sitting nearby, placed as if someone has removed them like a pair of shoes. The shower is dry, as is the blood from the arms.

Schein flips up the lid on the clothes hamper and makes a note to tell Payne to follow up with the techs to make sure they take all the clothing for analysis.

He looks for the golf shoes. They aren’t in any of the rooms he has examined, so he moves on to the kitchen, finds the door to the garage and turns on the light. A personal golf cart is parked in one bay of the garage. The shoes are sitting on the floor beside it.

The rest of Mrs. Foster’s clubs are in the back of the cart. He sees drink cups in the holders and various pieces of paper scraps and wrappings in the compartments of the cart. Lou shouts out for Roger Payne, and he instructs the agent to insure they do a complete workup on the cart, including the lady’s shoes and the drink cups; also to remember the clothes hamper.

Schein returns to the family room to check on Phillip’s progress with the scramble.

Phillips says, “Just in time! I finished deciphering the scramble.” He turns his laptop toward Lou: A BOGEYMAN HIDES AT WALMART

Lou’s eyes go dark, and without expression he says, “The Match Play Killer has five weeks to stalk his next victim, and we have five weeks to catch him before he strikes again.”