Sinnerman (2 page)

I pushed the shower curtain aside and lunged for my cell phone which had been ringing off and on in a consistent pattern for the past several minutes. Whoever it was really wanted to get a hold of me. I checked my phone and had two missed calls—one from Nick and the other from Maddie. They both seemed burdened by something, and Maddie was on her way over, but she wouldn’t say why.

I stepped out of the shower and dried off and walked into the living room. A news reel ran across the bottom of my television screen with information about a homicide. I grabbed the remote and jacked the volume up. The female reporter on the screen was situated in front of a grocery store in Kimball Junction. She wore an ill-fitted pastel suit and enough makeup to last her for the rest of the week. The look on her face was grave and told a story all its own.

“This is Kennedy Price reporting from KRD news,” she said. “In the early hours of the morning, a jogger discovered the body of a woman about ten feet from where I stand now. The police haven’t released many details, and no names have been made public, but what we can tell you is the victim was a female in her late twenties or early thirties, and it’s being reported that she had long, dark hair. Many of our viewers will remember the brutal, sadistic murders of several young women that took place right here in Park City a few short years ago. The killer, who went by the self-proclaimed name Sinnerman, was never caught, which leads us to wonder—”

She paused a moment and put her finger on the earpiece that was latched to the side of her ear and then continued.

“We’ve just received word that the victim’s name is Phoebe Summers. She was a married mother of two young girls and a long time Park City resident. From what we’ve just learned, she had the trademark letter S carved into her wrist with what police believe to be a knife. Unless it’s some kind of copycat killing, it appears the Sinnerman murders have started up again.”

A text popped up on my phone from Maddie:

Almost there, don’t turn on the TV, okay? I need to talk to you first.

It was too late for that.

The news anchor changed to a male with a glossy bald head, and the topic of murder was replaced with a segment on grilling steaks the right way which didn’t seem like an appropriate segue after they’d just terrified every brunette alive within an hour radius.

I switched the television off and sat down on the sofa. Lord Berkeley, A.K.A. Boo, woke from his slumber and scooted his furry white body next to me and propped his head up on my pant leg. I stroked him and thought about Gabby and how long I’d waited for this day to come.

A sound echoed from my front door with an accompanying noise like someone was slapping the palm of their hands against it—repeatedly.

“Sloane, you in there? Open up.”

I unlocked the door and yanked it back and was met with a flushed and tired Maddie, who clung to my door like she’d just sprinted in the 100 yard dash. Her blond hair was in its usual pigtails, and she wore a ribbed lavender tank top with a white one beneath it and a pair of jean shorts with the insides of the pockets sticking out the bottom. From the look of her, one would never guess she’d been alive for more than three-and-a-half decades.

“I saw the news,” I said.

She threw her arms around me and squeezed—hard.

“Are you alright? I’ve been worried about you all day.”

“I will be once I get more information about the woman who was murdered,” I said. “Did they bring her to you?”

She nodded.

“Have you examined her yet?” I said.

“They called me out to the scene when she was discovered.”

“So what do you think—is it him?” I said.

“We should talk about this when I have more information. My main concern right now is you and how you’re dealing with all of this.”

Maddie and I had known each other for almost twenty years and over that time I had learned to decipher a lot of things about her, including when she was keeping something from me.

“What aren’t you telling me?” I said. “You were the ME on this case the first time around, and I expect you are again, which means if anyone has first-hand knowledge, it’s you.”

“I want to ask you something!!—let’s say it turns out to be the same sick wacko who murdered your sister a few years ago, what are you going to do?”

“Whatever it takes, you know that,” I said. “You’ve known me long enough to realize that I won’t stop this time until he’s caught. And if you have any information that would help me succeed in that venture, I need to know what it is, so don’t hold out on me.”

We walked over to the couch and sat down. Maddie dug into her Chanel bag and pulled out a piece of gum and popped it into her mouth. Some people smoke to relieve tension, but not Maddie. Gum was her form of nicotine. She lounged back and propped her hands up behind her head and stared at the ceiling for a moment and then looked over at me and sighed.

“Alright, here’s what I know. The victim was female and around the same age that your sister was when she was taken, give or take a few years. And she was killed in a similar way—she had the same bruises in the shape of fingers on the sides of her neck and her hyoid bone was fractured.”

“What about the pressure he used, did it resemble what you found last time?”

She nodded.

“It’s the same,” she said. “He predominately uses his right hand to strangle his victims, and the fingerprints have the same inconsistency. The prints on one side of her neck are smaller and there are only three of them, like he only uses a few fingers from that side of his hand. It’s something I’ve never been able to figure out.”

“I always assumed he had some kind of deformity,” I said. “Did he umm—”

“Rape her?”

I nodded.

“No.”

The more she went on and on about the victim, the more it resembled the other killings.

“Bound?” I said.

“Yep—there were bruises on one of her wrists and both ankles.”

“What about the symbol on the wrist?” I said. “The news reported the deceased woman had knife wounds.”

“She had the same three slashes in the shape of an S.”

“Or more like a backwards Z after he carves his signature,” I said.

“And she had one gash by her upper thigh that spanned about three inches.”

“That’s one thing I’ve never understood. Why a single cut on the leg of one victim and several on another?” I said.

Maddie shrugged.

“There was one difference this time”, she said. “He didn’t sever all the fingers from one of her hands like he did in the first round of killings; the vic’s entire right hand was missing.”

“He’s becoming more aggressive,” I said.

“Or he’s a copycat.”

I shook my head.

“I don’t think so. My guess is that he’s bored with the fingers and needs an even bigger thrill. To slice their fingers off isn’t good enough anymore.”

Maddie leaned forward and took my hands in hers and rested them on her knee.

“You want to know something?” she said. “I’m proud of you.”

“For what?”

“I violated about a hundred traffic laws on my way here, and the whole time all I could think about was how I was going to break the news to you that this creep could be back, and then I get here and you’re calmer than I am.”

“I’ve had time to deal with it,” I said.

“Well, if it’s him, we’ll know soon enough.”

I leaned toward Maddie.

“Oh it’s him alright. He’s back—and he’s killing again.”

My front door rattled like a herd of elephants prepared for a stampede were pressed against it.

“What the hell?” Maddie said.

I stood and Maddie shot up from her position on the sofa and stepped in front of me.

“Allow me,” she said.

She walked to the door and glanced out the peephole.

“Solicitors?”

“Worse,” she said. “Reporters.”

“News travels fast.”

“How do you want to handle this?” she said.

I walked over to the door.

“If I don’t talk to them, they’ll just hound me until I do.”

She raised her pointer finger in front of my face and wagged it in a swirl pattern.

“Oh no you’re not,” she said.

“Maddie, I’m fine. I can deal with it.”

“So can I,” she said.

And with that she twisted the knob on the door and flung it open and then walked out and slammed it behind her. I pulled back the curtain in my front entrance and got ready for the show to begin.

“Listen up, people,” Maddie said. “Sloane won’t be giving any interviews today or any other day. And you all should be ashamed of yourselves for being here. She doesn’t deserve to have to relive what happened in the past so you all can have some silly little story for your five o’clock news or your paper. You’ve got ten seconds to back the hell off her property or I’ll call the cops. Your choice.”

The stunned crowd remained unmoved until Maddie began the countdown.

“Nine, eight, seven…”

A male reporter segregated himself from the pack and approached her. His pants were baggy and he was in serious need of a belt, and the t-shirt he wore looked like he’d used it for a napkin—multiple times. He sized her up and snickered and then turned his palm up and held it out like he was a traffic cop that had just initiated a halt in movement.

“Look lady, you can’t do nothin’, and we don’t have to leave,” he said. “If you don’t get out of the way, I’ll move you. We’ve got every right to be here so why don’t you turn your little rah rah buffalo stance around like a good little girl and go back into the house and get Miss Monroe for us, okay?”

He’d just made a big mistake and he didn’t even know it. Maddie yanked her cell phone out of her pocket and pressed some numbers and spoke loud enough for those who were brave enough to remain to hear.

“Chief Sheppard, this is Madison. I’m at Sloane’s and we’ve got a situation. A bunch of reporters have blocked her front entrance and she can’t get out. They have also taken to yelling obscenities since she won’t come out of her house, and I’m worried about her safety.”

The reporter’s forehead wrinkled in about five places and he shouted, “What the…you little liar!”

Maddie paid him no mind and continued.

“Thanks, I’ll expect them in ten,” she said, and then she ended the call and shoved her phone back in her pocket and gave the man the Maddie special—an icy stare with everything on it.

“What’s your name?” she said to him.

He failed to respond and instead, he backed out of the driveway in a brisk manner and turned toward the street.

“Your name,” she said, louder. “What is it!”

He pretended like he didn’t hear her and kept on truckin’. She reached in her pants pocket and pulled out a bill and hoisted it into the air.

“Twenty dollars for the person who gives me his name right here, right now.”

The remaining crowd scattered like there was a one hour clearance going on at Macy’s and within a matter of seconds most of the onlookers were gone, except for one. She wasn’t dressed like the other women in their uptight skirts, suit jackets and nude nylon stockings with colored pumps that looked like they’d been in their closets since the eighties. She wore a simple short-sleeved sweater and a pair of jeans and aimed her eyes toward the ground while she spoke.

“His name is Tim Wallace,” she said. “Will you tell Miss Monroe I’m sorry if I’ve upset her by being here?”

I opened the front door.

“What’s your name?” I said.

She looked up and over at me.

“Kelly Price.”

“How long have you been a reporter?”

“This is my first assignment. I don’t even have a list of questions like everyone else. I just wanted to talk to you. They already have the paper set to run tonight, but I was told if I could get a statement from you of any kind, they’d move things around somehow and put you on the front page. I just have to be back there within the hour.”

I motioned with my hand and she walked over to me.

“Come inside for a minute,” I said.

I glanced at Maddie, and she looked back and nodded and stayed in position. I couldn’t have asked for a better protector of the realm.

I closed the front door and turned to the reporter.

“Let’s sit for a minute,” I said.

She walked over and sat on the edge of the sofa, and I positioned myself in a chair across from her. Lord Berkeley scampered around the corner and, sensing there was an intruder in his midst, brandished a mouthful of clenched teeth.

The reporter folded her arms over her knees and leaned back on the couch.

“Your dog—is he umm, going to attack me?” she said.

I shook my head.

“He just wants you to know he’s aware of your presence.” I patted the corner of my chair with my hand. “Come here, Boo.”

He hopped up on the chair and rested his head on my thigh but didn’t take his eyes off the intruder.

“Who do you work for?” I said.

“The Park City Beat. They wanted me to write an article about your sister so I drove over to talk to you, but I had no idea so many people would be here.”

“That’s okay,” I said. “I’ll give you the article you want if you agree to print one thing for me.”

She smiled and reached into her shoulder bag and retrieved a pen and a pad of yellow-lined paper.

“Name it.”

“To be honest, I’m not interested in an article that rehashes what I went through a few years ago,” I said. “I want you to send a message to the killer for me.”

Her eyes widened like they’d been propped open with toothpicks.

“You can’t be serious.”

“I’ve never been so sure of anything in my life,” I said.

She bobbed her shoulders up and down.

“Alright then, what do you want to say—do you want to address him directly?”

I nodded.

“Tell him this: I’m coming for you, and this time, I won’t stop until the only life you have left is behind bars.”

Maddie had left and turned her post over to Nick who entered the house with a displeased look on his face.