Mindfield (Sideways Eight Book 1) (32 page)

Chapter 40

Then There Were Five

Annandale, VA - Murphy’s Townhouse

Thursday, 14 July - 6:18 AM

At the counter in his kitchen, Murphy anchored his hip on the barstool edge, gulping much needed coffee. A restless sleep the night before, he stared into the brew. He rubbed his eyes with one hand while the other kept a grip on the warm mug. After his visit with her last night, the guilt continued to lurk in his chest. The cell phone face down, he flipped it over, opened it with his thumbprint, and tapped on the photo album app.

He skimmed through the photos, stopping at his favorite. Three faces smiled at him. He pestered Charley a half a day to convince her to have dinner with him and his parents at their spacious stone estate. Murphy and his dad, Alex, positioned on each side of her, towering over her petite frame. Charley’s grip on his waist gave him hope.

Sarah, his mother, snapped the photograph after Alex spent most of the evening making Charley laugh. She had slaughtered him playing three rounds of chess. Alex joked with her he would have his vengeance. Each time his dad hugged her, Murphy detected she displayed no discomfort, nor did she resist Alex’s noble attentions.

His finger swept across the screen stopping at the image producing his distress. Sable hair teased her shoulders, her toothy smile, and dark brown eyes lit the screen. It had been a year since her life changed and he was the reason. Regret planted inside his soul, accepting responsibility was his only option.
What am I going to do with you?
Murphy grumbled and rubbed his eyes. So many times, he considered telling Charley, but the words balked in the back of his throat. Would she understand and accept the events that unfurled months before they met in Charlottesville?

Murphy stared into her eyes. “Diana, I’m so sorry.” The phone vibrated as the ringtone ‘Wicked Dream’ blared and reminded him to return to reality.

“Sean.”

“Good morning, Charley.”

“Lydia is dead.”

“Where?”

“Bennett Elementary School in Burke. Did you not get the notification?”

“No. Why is the name familiar?”

“That’s where Annabelle went to school.”

“Interesting. I’ll meet you there.”

Murphy tapped the icon to disconnect the call. He shook his head when the notification scanned across his screen. He frowned, too preoccupied with daydreaming to notice.

Burke, VA – Bennett Elementary School - 8:42 AM

As Murphy approached the school, Charley remained inside her Denali. He parked his Ford F-150 behind her. Hesitant for a moment, he left his truck. He tapped on the passenger window. “Hey, Char.” The locks clicked, he opened the door and slid into the seat.

Charley pointed at two large paper cups of coffee with the logo of the Java House printed on the side. “That’s for you.”

“Aww, thank you, honey.” He chuckled, selecting the one closest to him.

“You’re welcome, sweetheart.” She laughed, patting him on the leg. She looked away as she chewed on her fingers.

“You okay?”

“Peachy, how about you?” She reclined her head on the headrest, running her hands through her hair.

“Like a stomped on banana.”

She glared out the windshield. “Banana, huh?”

“Yeah, all mushy inside.”

“Will we tag this guy? Or will this continue until I retire?”

“We’ll get him, Char. Promise.”

“When, Sean? How many little girls have to die before we catch him?”

“I don’t know.”

As they sipped their coffee, buried deep in her mind, she rubbed the top of his hand. “I’m ready. Doobie’s waiting.”

Out of the SUV, they met Doobie at the crime scene. “Carmichael’s here.”

“Good,” Murphy said as they trekked across the red brick steps to the school. A huge, blue metal awning covered the entrance. To the right of the sprawling glass doors, attached to the wall, a school sign and the year it was established. Ten years ago, Lydia’s birth year.

His knees on the ground, Carmichael examined Lydia’s body. “Hey, guys. Lydia died about six hours ago. No abrasions, marks, or contusions, except around the right wrist, conducive to bindings. There’s no harm to the body. Helium, again, I’d guess. She’s clean and neat.”

“This is so bizarre.” Charley stood at Lydia’s feet. “He dumps her body on the steps of Annabelle’s school. It’s theorized he purchased Annabelle’s last meal of pizza from Floriano’s.”

Murphy circled the body. Afterwards, he stepped to the edge of the terrace to view the manicured school grounds. Large oak trees dotted along a stone sidewalk to the street. He pivoted towards the three of them. “The abduction site, Oakton, and the dump site are twelve miles apart, a twenty to thirty minute drive. This isn’t standard for serial killers.”

“I wouldn’t have predicted this.” Charley examined Lydia’s body before taking two steps back. “They’re territorial. They must have order, consistency. Not this one.”

“Want my opinion?” Doobie scooted to Lydia’s head.

“Yes,” she said.

“We’ve had a stakeout at the Floriano’s Pizza Parlor since Lydia was abducted. All the officers were in plain clothes and unmarked cars.”

His hands dug into his pockets, Murphy stepped towards them, stopping at the side of the body. “Unless the killer is a cop, how would he know?”

Doobie’s eyebrows rose. “We aren’t dismissing the possibility.”

With an adamant wave of her hand, Charley shook her head. “No way.”

“It happens, Char,” Doobie said.

“This person would have to be on the task force to know.”

“Not necessarily. Every morning the precincts are briefed.”

Charley released a frustrated sigh. “Great.” She stepped away, rubbing her eyes. “What actions are you taking regarding this theory?”

“First, I had to rule out who couldn’t have. Afterwards, I enlisted them as my splinter group to investigate the investigators. Not an easy task.”

“I hope you’re wrong,” Murphy said.

“We all do.”

“Who found the body?” Charley said.

“The principal Karl Warren. He’s in bad shape. Older man, not sure, but finding her may have caused a heart attack. He’s at the trauma center now.”

“Who found him?” Murphy said.

“His secretary, Barbara Foley, he was grabbing his chest and on his knees when she arrived this morning. She called an ambulance and the police.”

“It’s summer break, why were they here?”

“Contractors are remodeling the auditorium and the gymnasium. Don’t bother asking about cameras, disconnected while the construction is going on. Plus no children around.”

“I’m sensing a pattern involving security cameras.” Murphy sneered.

“Duh.”

Charley acknowledged his answer with a sarcastic smile. She dropped to her knees next to the victim, regarding their reflections in the oversized glass doors, the four of them captured in this moment of tragedy. Carmichael focused on the body as he held his lower lip tight to keep it from quivering.

Charley’s head jolted from the heat of the morning sun on her back as the humidity increased to an uncomfortable level. A bead of sweat trickled past her temple. She wiped it away before she placed a pair of exam gloves onto her hands. She peered over her shoulder at Murphy, giving him a nod.

Crouched on one knee, he joined her in the gloving ritual.

Carmichael gestured for them to proceed with their environmental analysis of the crime scene.

“Green flannel blanket,” Murphy said. “Handmade pillow and the flowers in her hands, five mock orange.”

Charley scrutinized the area. “Honeybees are swarming.”

“Mock orange produces boatloads of nectar.”

“The flower represents deceit. Nine white patchouli candles. These are unused. Means he didn’t spend time with Lydia. He brought her here, did his thing, and left.”

“He placed each candle in a holder. She’s wearing a green dress, gathered at the waist with a pilgrim’s collar. Same yellow bow in her hair.”

“Her socks are white, same shoes. The laces are the same shade as the dress.”

“Why didn’t he spend time with her?”

“He’s getting frustrated. Whatever his goal is, it’s not happening. He’ll go on a rampage, attempt another to ease his failure, or he’ll cave in and quit. I doubt the latter. They never quit.”

“He kept her the least amount of time, five days,” Doobie said. “Significant?”

“He’s escalating,” Charley said. “Unconventional. He likes order.”

“He’s a neat freak.”

Carmichael turned the body onto its side. “The dress is way too large. He used safety pins to draw it up in the back.”

“We’ve had dresses too large and small,” Murphy said. “He doesn’t know who the next victim will be. Otherwise he would choose the right size.”

“Or the order of the dresses is what’s important,” Charley said.

Officer Mendez approached the three of them. “Agent Dubuclet, we have something here.” Mendez handed Doobie the Halloween mask of Ariel, the Disney Princess from the movie ‘The Little Mermaid’.

“Where did you find this?” Charley stood.

Mendez pointed across the lawn. “Flower bed?”

“It didn’t appear to have been dropped,” Mendez said.

“Why do you say that?”

“It was face up in the petunias.”

Charley agreed. “Bag and tag, give it to Fleming.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Doobie handed the mask back to Mendez. “Guard this with your life. I want DNA and fingerprint tests done, like yesterday.” Mendez nodded in compliance.

“Two masks. Annabelle’s was handmade, and now this one. He’s sending a message, but I’m not sure what.”

“The clothing and the mask, they’re from the eighties,” Murphy said.

“You think he’s digging in someone’s attic?” Doobie said.

“How about a little sister who died when she was young?”

“There’d have to be a trigger for the killer to initiate his mission,” Charley said.

“All right, how about, he’s responsible for her death, not murder, accidental?”

“Guilt, loss, we speculated that months ago.”

“I remember. You said he had experienced great loss, and the guilt was overpowering.”

“He kills children because his sister died? Wouldn’t the response be reversed?” Carmichael said.

“Guilt is a terrible feeling each of us handles differently,” Charley said. “From pouring ourselves into work to clinical depression. It perpetuates obsessive-compulsion. He’s projecting, blaming the victim. He’s hostile.”

“Except for murder, he’s not exhibiting any signs of hostility. He cares for the girls. They’re clean. He doesn’t physically harm them,” Murphy said.

“The hostility isn’t against the girls, but someone associated with them. That’s how he does it. He lures them outside by showing them the mask. Being little girls, they were excited when they saw it. He tells them he has the dress in the car and offers to show it to them. Out the rear door exit they go and, bam, they’re gone.”

“All this stuff he does, what the hell does it mean?” Carmichael said.

“Serial killers are artists.” Charley stood in front of Murphy, tilted her chin, and locked his eyes with hers. “They create through destruction. They’re like little kids. They leave crumbs behind to be traced.”

Wrapped in her eyes, Murphy stood inches before her. “They want to be caught, but on their terms, hence the crumbs or clues.”

Their eyes remained tethered. “He hasn’t demanded credit. They like that. This one isn’t ready. He’s waiting for the perfect moment. What’s the point of doing this if there is no prize?”

Murphy leaned closer to her. “They’re grandiose, within themselves. On the street they are bypassed and nondescript.”

Charley gazed deeper into his eyes, refusing to falter. “Attention, they strive for it. They kill for it. They need it to survive. It’s a craving which can’t be satisfied.”

Charley and Murphy maintained eye contact, speaking in unison as if taking a vow. “They’re showboats. They grandstand. It’s what ignites them. It makes them special.”

“Oh, my gawd, pod people.” Doobie chuckled.

Murphy’s attention lagged. “Who? Where?”

Doobie flashed his finger back and forth between them. “You two, that’s who.”

Murphy and Charley shrugged, and said, “What?”

“This creep is a fucking asshole.” Carmichael pointed at Murphy and Charley. “The morgue, tomorrow afternoon.”

Charley nodded as she knelt next to Lydia. Murphy stooped by her side, draping his arm around her shoulders. Charley held Lydia’s hand in both of hers. She closed her eyes and lamented, “You spoke with your heart. You created with your spirit and now your soul wraps you in the peace you deserve.”