The Christopher Killer (13 page)

“Okay, new question. Do you know anything about the difference between an organized and a disorganized killer?” he asked her.

“A little.” She gave the glider a kick so she could move, since she did her best thinking when she was in motion. In her mind she pictured her
Practical Homicide Investigation
book, the one that graphically showed forensic techniques as well as real homicide scenes. With its explicit black-and-white photos and detailed profiles, her
PHI
was the roughest and most useful of her resource materials. It was the book her mammaw had tried to throw away. Cameryn had fished it out from underneath a pizza box, and it still smelled like onions.

Squinting, she pictured the list. “I know disorganized killers are loners,” she recited. “They usually live close to the crime scene and, let me think…they’re night people, right? I mean, they like to go out at all hours, to bars and stuff. And, um, I think the book said they internalize their emotions, like hurt and anger. They tend to look different, too.” She stopped then, picturing Adam. That first time she’d picked him up he’d talked about visiting Hillside Cemetery and hanging out in the basement of the souvenir shop. No matter what the explanation, he
had
put up photographs of Rachel. Plus he was a loner, which by definition put him on the fringes of normal, which meant in at least a few ways he fit the disorganized profile.

“Anything else?” he asked.

Cameryn hesitated. “Disorganized killers are considered the weird ones in the neighborhood. They’re males. They’re not educated, they have no close personal friends, and are usually between the ages of seventeen and twenty-five.”

Justin smiled at her. “Bravo,” he said. “That’s very good. No wonder your pop hired you.”

But Cameryn waved the compliment away. It wasn’t hard to figure out the direction of this conversation. “So what you’re saying is that you think Adam’s the killer. You think he fits the profile of the disorganized offender. You think he’s a copycat who built a shrine to Rachel and when she rejected him he killed her and put a Christopher medal on her to throw the police off the trail.”

“I didn’t say that. Adam clammed right up when his dad arrived and demanded a lawyer—some high-powered woman from Durango. Don’t put words in my mouth, Cameryn. The reason I’m here has to do with these reports. Look.” He put the stem of the sunglasses between his teeth as he opened the manila envelope and murmured, “I had these documents faxed this morning and…Are you even listening to me?”

She wasn’t, at least not completely. Her thoughts worked quickly, one idea morphing into another, and she wanted to follow their lead. “Albany. One of the girls that was killed was from Albany.”

“I want to talk to you about the coroner’s report.”

“All right, all right, I’m listening.”

A voice drifted from the back door. “Yoo-hoo, Cameryn, are you getting too cold out there? I made some hot chocolate.” Mammaw stood by the kitchen door, her posture ramrod straight. She clutched two mugs, one in each hand.

“No thanks, Mammaw,” Cameryn called back. “We’re fine.”

Even from the distance she could tell her grandmother was giving Justin a hard look. “You’re sure, Cammie?”

“Positive. Thanks anyway.”

“All right. Come inside if you get too chilled.”

“We will. Bye, Mammaw.”

Justin pushed the glider and chewed the stem of his sunglasses. “Well, it doesn’t take a great detective to figure out she doesn’t like me,” he said as the screen door slammed shut.

“Nope. She doesn’t trust you. Neither does my dad. They both think you’re up to no good.”

He looked disappointed, but only for a moment. “Actually, I would have liked that hot chocolate,” he said, and dropped the sunglasses into his pocket. “Let’s get back to the case.”

Cameryn said, “By the way, just so you know, Dr. Jewel doesn’t think it’s Adam. He said so in his reading after you left. He said Rachel told him the killer is still in Silverton and will kill again.”

Justin put his foot down and stopped the glider, which caused Cameryn to rock forward. “Believe it or not, I think he’s right. It’s not Adam. I just don’t think he’s our guy.”

“Why do you say that?”

“A couple of things. First of all, I believe the perp’s an
organized
offender. Jacobs’s looking at Adam first and the killing scene second. That’s backwards. What do you remember about organized killers?”

“Um, they’re smart. They fit in well with society. They’re the type of people you want to be friends with, but they’re really self-centered. They’re almost always male, older than the disorganized killer. And I think they try to involve themselves with the police investigation.”

“Exactly!” Justin turned to face her. “That’s a completely different profile than Adam. Think about the crime scene. The killer used duct tape to bind Rachel’s hands, which shows the need for control, and control equals organized. And another thing—the perp had to think ahead to bring the duct tape, which shows planning, which again points to organized.”

“Rachel’s body was laid out carefully, with her hair combed and her feet positioned. Isn’t that the kind of stuff an organized killer does? And leaving the Christopher medal’s another organized thing to do,” she added excitedly, “because they like to ‘make a statement.’ Leaving the medal is a pretty big statement, don’t you think?”

Justin seemed impressed. “And I thought you were just interested in cutting people up.”

Cameryn smiled at this. “A forensic pathologist has to learn to read the clues off the body. If you don’t, you won’t be able to process it right. Like I said, I study.”

“Which brings me back to why I’m here,” he told her. “Organized, disorganized—that’ll only take us so far. I want to go with facts. Look at this partial tox screen.” He moved closer, and she could feel his arm against hers, could smell the scent of his soap. As his index finger ran down the front page until it hit a bright yellow line, she noticed that Justin chewed his fingernails. “Begin with Rachel’s blood work—there, on line twelve.”

Drowned in bright yellow ink were the typed words “Rohypnol (flunitrazepam).” She looked at him blankly. “I’m sorry, Justin. If I’m supposed to know what these are, I don’t.”

“Rohypnol is a benzodiazepine that is also known by the street names of roofies or R-2. You know, the date-rape drug?”

“What?”

“Rachel was drugged, Cammie. Someone jacked up her drink. You’re a waitress at the Grand—do you ever leave your own drink out on the counter while you’re working? Because the way I see it, the perp could have slipped a roofie into her drink and waited for her to close the restaurant. This is a fairly low level of drug—it would have made her woozy and maybe a little sick. In that state she probably would have walked right off with the guy.”

“Except servers aren’t allowed to drink on duty—at least where the customers can see. Sodas are in the back only.”

“Hmmm. Well, somehow the perp got it in her drink. And it gets even stranger.” Justin’s brow furrowed in concentration as he pulled more papers from inside the envelope. “What I’m going to tell you now is something that you can tell no one else.”

Cameryn raised her eyebrows. “Okay.”

“I’m serious, Cameryn. I could get in big trouble for showing you this. It’s information from the other Christopher cases. Law enforcement holds back certain things from the media to protect the integrity of the case if they go to trial. You can’t let this out to
anyone
.”

“I won’t.” Cameryn crossed her heart. “I swear.”

“These are the coroner reports from the other victims.” He pointed to the second page. “Look where I highlighted. It’s the same on all of them.”

The outdoor sounds—the creaking of the glider, the rustling of the trees—seemed to fade into silence as she read one brightly highlighted area, then another. She flipped through the other coroner reports.
Flunitrazepam, flunitrazepam, flunitrazepam—
each murdered girl had been given date-rape drugs.

“One of the other victims was a waitress like Rachel, another worked at a Seven-Eleven, and the third was a maid in a hotel. Four girls on low levels of date-rape drugs, guaranteed to make them compliant.”

Justin tapped the reports. “For once you’re not connecting the dots. The information on the roofies wasn’t released to the media. A copycat killer could place a Christopher medal on a victim, easy, but how would he know to use the drug? Rachel was another victim from the
same
serial killer.”

“So it’s not Adam,” Cameryn breathed.

“No. Jewel was right.”

Sounds came rushing back as Cameryn’s mind began to whirr again. It wasn’t Adam. The drug suggested a person with at least some city experience, and leaving the medal behind suggested a traveler…. She chewed theedge of her lip. “I know I’ve asked you this before, but Dr. Jewel knows a lot about the murder. Could it be him?”

“Again, I thought of that, but we checked him out just like all the other police did in all the other cases. Unless he can kill someone from a distance using nothing but psychic powers, he’s not our man. I checked all the airlines and he didn’t fly out of New Mexico, period. Ditto with buses, which don’t even run to Silverton. I checked every single car rental in New Mexico and the man didn’t rent a pogo stick. Just in case, I ran all the car rental
returns
during the time frame and got nada. Not to mention the witness who said he was there at the conference. Jewel’s clean.”

“Well, how can you explain the things he said about Rachel? He said he knew she dyed her hair. He said she had on hoop earrings with green beads. How could he have known all that?”

Justin paused. “He couldn’t have. I think he’s the real deal.”

But Cameryn was taking in something new, Justin’s dirt-covered license plate. Something registered in her mind. Something Dr. Jewel had said…

Her face must have changed, because Justin asked, “What’s wrong, Cammie? You look like you just saw a ghost.”

“I’m sorry, I’m just…tired. It’s been a hard day. I think maybe I should go in now.” She looked again at the mark on his neck, the bit of pink that stretched up his neck like a snake’s tail. And it felt like that very snake was coiling inside her, knotting her together.

His gaze followed hers. “You’re looking at the scratches? I was pruning trees for my landlady. I guess I’m not very good at it.” He flipped up the collar of his jacket.

“Yeah,” she said. “Well, my dad’s going to be here any second, so—”

“So you’re telling me I should go before I cause problems. No worries. I certainly don’t want to overstay my welcome.” He stood, and the glider did a crazy dance before Cameryn steadied it. The sun was behind Justin, wiping out his features as his frame cast a shadow over her. She looked up at him.

“You’re sure you’re all right?” he asked again.

She made herself smile. “Positive. Can I keep this map? The one that shows where the victims died?”

“Sure. I’ve got copies at the station. Okay, then. Well, I’ll just get on back to Sheriff Jacobs. Make sure you stay out of trouble.”

“I will,” she nodded. At that moment nothing made sense. She was a scientist, a skeptic, and yet there seemed to be proof that Jewel was real. Justin believed in him. So did Lyric. And in some ways Jewel seemed to meet the burden of proof that science demanded. Still, the idea of a psychic getting signs from the dead went against everything she believed in. Her mind reeled as she tried to separate the fact from the fantasy.

“You promise to stay out of trouble?” Justin pressed.

“I promise.”

“Good.”

She watched as he walked to the edge of her driveway. He gave her a tiny wave, touching his fingers to his forehead, then slid into the seat of his Subaru. She looked at the map, at the star on Albany, the place where Justin had been raised, and West Virginia, just a heartbeat away from the Blue Ridge Mountains where Justin admitted he’d traveled on his motorcycle. He’d been in the area where two of the murders had occurred. But that in itself meant nothing. Millions of people had connections like that. It was the piece that Jewel had divined that tied it all together.

Justin tapped his horn twice as he pulled away. His tires spun a small cloud of dirt that hung in the air, almost covering the New York license plate.

The plate, on Justin’s car, had an
M
in its center. It was blue. Exactly as Dr. Jewel had said.

JEWEL’S ASSISTANT STEPHANIE WAITED
in the lobby of the Grand, talking to the owner’s daughter in an animated conversation that Cameryn guessed had to do with ghosts. Stephanie had changed into a camel-colored pantsuit, a designer outfit that pinched her waist and flared over her small hips. Gone were the chopstick hairpins. In their place was a single gold bar, like a Mayan ingot, and diamonds that sparkled from her lobes. When she saw Cameryn, Stephanie quickly excused herself and hurried to where Cameryn stood. Cameryn had called from the road.

“You’re sure this is an emergency?” was Stephanie’s greeting.

“Yes. Like I said, I’m working the case.” Cameryn tried to sound calm, but she was afraid Stephanie would be able to read the hammering of her heart. Lifting her chin, she said, “It’s important I talk to Dr. Jewel.”

“Personally, I would have said no, but Dr. Jewel is soft-hearted. We can’t take too long, though. Tight schedule and all. Follow me.”

As Stephanie began to walk through the lobby toward the stairs, her tone became more conversational. “I was just hearing stories about the Grand—did you know there are three spirits that haunt this place?”

Cameryn glanced at the ceiling above. “Three ghosts?”

“Yes, three. That girl behind the counter?”

“Diane—”

“Diane told me she hears them at night, creaking doors and slamming drawers. I explained to her she’s got to call out to the spirits, really loud, and tell them, ‘You’re dead. You need to pass on to the light.’ Sometimes the spirits get confused and don’t know where they are. You’ve got to let them know it’s okay to move on to the next dimension. That happened to your friend Rachel.”

“It did?”

“When she came to Dr. Jewel he explained to her that she’d passed on. Rachel had been caught halfway between this world and the next. Poor child didn’t know where she was. Shall we?” she said, sweeping her arm up the staircase. Nervous, Cameryn followed.

The worn, flowered carpeting was so padded it muffled every step, and Cameryn had always thought the gilded handrail, curved and golden, would have been more suited to an opera house. The Grand was a time capsule of a building—nothing had been changed much since Wyatt Earp left his bullet hole over the bar. The second floor had an old-fashioned lobby filled with backless couches. Each had been upholstered in wine-colored velvet dimpled with buttons, set in polite lines against three of the four walls. The lounges were relics from a bygone era, a time when ladies received visitors in a neutral space because they would never allow an unrelated male to enter their rooms.

She took in the striped wallpaper laced with faded, yellowed roses, and the windows from the late 1800s, made of glass as thin as rice paper. Although she worked in the restaurant, Cameryn had rarely been in the hotel side of the building.

“Diane said one of the ghosts that haunts this place is a doctor,” Stephanie went on. “The lady who hanged herself in room thirty-three is still here, too. They found her in the closet with a belt around her neck and the word ‘good-bye’ written in lipstick on the vanity mirror. Jewel’s been trying to contact her but he thinks she’s already passed into the light.”

Cameryn fought the urge to turn and run. Was she really buying into this craziness? And yet there were so many facts that couldn’t be explained. No, she had to see it through, no matter where it led. They stopped at room 23. Rapping her knuckle gently on the door, Stephanie announced, “We’re here, Dr. Jewel. It’s Stephanie. I’ve brought Cameryn Mahoney.”

A moment later the door swung open and Dr. Jewel ushered them inside, saying, “Yes, please come in. I’m afraid I’m in a terrible rush so I don’t have much time. We’ll have to talk in here.” He wore the same tunic he had worn earlier, but now he wore ankle boots with zippers on the side. He flashed a smile, but his eyes seemed guarded.

“Cameryn’s here to talk about the Christopher Killer,” Stephanie said. “Her father’s the coroner, remember? She said she had some questions.”

“Ah, yes,” he said, nodding, “of course. Have a seat, Cameryn. I’m afraid the accommodations are not the best, but these old hotels have a lot more spiritual energy than a plain old Hyatt. Please,” he said, pointing to a small sofa, “sit.”

Cameryn dropped into the love seat while Stephanie perched on the end of the bed. Jewel sat on an uncomfortable-looking chair that creaked beneath his weight. The man looked different up close. The skin on Jewel’s face was much more sallow than it had appeared at a distance, and there were bags beneath his eyes that had been undetectable under the show’s blazing lights. His sleek hair, scrupulously brushed for the camera, now appeared rougher, less sculpted, tumbling forward toward his chin. But his smile was still broad and the teeth had their same, unnatural whiteness.

“So, refresh my mind. Your father’s the coroner, and the two of you worked on Rachel’s remains, correct?”

“Yes. I work with my father as his assistant. I’m assistant to the coroner.”

Dr. Jewel looked impressed. “That’s extraordinary for a girl your age. Before we get to your questions I’d like to ask you about the crime scene. I’m curious, you see, to compare my impressions with the actual facts. Sort of a psychic check-up, if you will, to see how accurate my reading was.”

“You already know it was accurate. You ‘saw’ Rachel’s body and the Christopher medal. We found her just like you said.”

“My accuracy troubles you. And there’s so much more, isn’t there?”

Cameryn could sense Jewel’s excitement as he asked this—from the way he leaned toward her, his elbows drilling his knees, his chin resting on the bridge of his fingers, it seemed as though he could hardly contain himself. In a flash she realized his desire to pump her for information was probably the reason he’d agreed to see her. But she knew how dangerous it was to give out details, especially when the killer was still free. Shaking her head, she answered, “I’m sorry, Dr. Jewel, but it’s like I said when you were taping the show—I can’t talk to you about the details of the case.”

Dr. Jewel bent forward cozily. “I won’t tell anyone,” he told her softly.

“I’m…I’m sorry.”

The smile deflated. They stared at each other in silence until finally he broke it by saying, “Well, maybe as you learn to trust me you’ll change your mind. You are a very guarded person, Cameryn. I understand you’ve always been a bit of a skeptic.”

Cocking her head, Cameryn asked, “And you know this how?”

“Because Rachel’s telling me right now.”

Cameryn blinked. Goose bumps pricked her flesh. “She’s here?”

“Yes. As well as another female presence.” Dr. Jewel straightened himself and leaned into the back of the chair. “The second one’s a little girl. She’s standing to the side of you, your left side, actually, and she’s got her hand on your shoulder. Does this make sense to you?”

Instinctively, Cameryn whipped her head to the left, but saw nothing more than an old-fashioned lamp shade with a beaded fringe.

“She’s a little dark-haired girl, probably no more than three years of age. She’s wearing some sort of pink jump-suit. Do you understand this?” He slid easily into his
Shadow of Death
banter. “I’m listening,” he said.

“I don’t know about any little girl.”

“Doesn’t matter—she seems to know you.”

Cameryn shrugged, feeling silly about the conversation. “I don’t know what to say. Maybe she’s a friend of Rachel’s. Maybe they met on the other side.”

Dr. Jewel smiled tolerantly. “That’s not it. But, seeing as I don’t have much time, why don’t you tell me why you are here. I’m listening.”

Why
was
she here? Sitting on the sofa, under the gaze of Stephanie and Dr. Jewel, Cameryn began to wonder at the stupidity of her plan. Even as she prepared to articulate her questions, she desperately wanted everything she was thinking to be wrong. The emotions fighting inside her were like waves, each one swelling up and replacing the tide that had come before: fear, condemnation, skepticism, doubt, attraction. The last emotion was the hardest for her to deal with, because Mammaw had been right: Cameryn hadn’t guarded her heart.

She pictured Justin with his blue-green eyes, the patient way he talked to her and his slow smile. It was impossible to plumb what being right would mean.

Out on the glider, when she’d talked with Justin, her thoughts seemed clear enough. One thing she hadn’t listed under characteristics of an organized killer was their choice of profession. Hadn’t the book said that organized offenders chose jobs that projected a “macho” image, like a police officer? The exact job Justin had.

The scratches teased her. They could have been caused by trimming branches, exactly as he claimed, but what if they were from Rachel? She pictured Rachel struggling, her fingernails clawing as she gasped for air, and the image made her shudder. At the autopsy they’d clipped Rachel’s nails and sent the little slivers to the lab. But the DNA results wouldn’t be back for weeks. In the meantime, what if Justin disappeared? Or worse, killed again?

And there was more: Justin lived in the East, where two of the murders had happened. Hadn’t he lived in Albany? And his trip to the Blue Ridge Mountains placed him close to Braxton, West Virginia. Worse still, a girl in Silverton died the week after he came to town. But it was the letter
M
that made all the pieces click together. Jewel had thrown that letter out at the reading, the very letter on Justin’s New York license plate.

The bigger part of her believed crime was solved by science, not mystics, and the science side of her laughed at her own naïveté. But hadn’t Jewel proven himself by knowing about Rachel’s dyed hair? And what about the hoop earrings? A real scientist followed the evidence, no matter what. If Dr. Jewel was genuine, she needed to follow the thread that led to Justin. No matter what the cost.

“Talk to me,” Jewel prompted.

“Um, you say Rachel’s here in this room?” Cameryn began. Her voice had a slight tremor, betraying her nervousness. She could feel her palms dampen with sweat, so she rubbed them against her knees as she watched Dr. Jewel watch her.

Sitting on the bed, Stephanie had crossed her legs; her foot, sheathed in a high-heel shoe, jiggled back and forth as though it had a life of its own. “I’m sorry,” she said, “but I’ve just got to ask the obvious. Why are you here, Cameryn? You don’t believe. Jewel has proven himself again and again, but still you doubt.” Her voice was impatient. “If he sees a little girl, you can count on a little girl here with some connection to you. If he says Rachel’s here, you can count on it. What’s it going to take for you to trust him?”

“I’m
trying,
okay?” Cameryn said. “This is all very new to me.”

Dr. Jewel stared at her, impassive. “Of course I understand your skepticism. It’s natural for a person raised in a rigid faith system. But believe this: I’m looking right at Rachel, at this very moment. She’s extending a teddy bear to you, which is her way of saying she gives you warmth and comfort from beyond.”

Cameryn pushed her hand toward Jewel as though she held up a stop sign. “Okay, ask her to tell me the name of her killer.”

Dr. Jewel rose from the chair. He went to the small wooden nightstand and picked up a glass already filled with water. A jar sat next to the water, and next to that sat a spoon, which he dipped into the jar labeled DMSO. After dumping the contents into the glass, he stirred the water vigorously. The cloud of white disappeared almost immediately. “For my stomach,” he apologized.

“Dr. Jewel is under too much stress,” Stephanie explained. “Speaking to the dead is hard work. No one appreciates the toll it takes on the man.”

“Now, to your question. I can’t give you a name. To put it simply, psychic energy isn’t as easy to read as, say, regular language we might speak.”

“People don’t understand about Dr. Jewel,” Stephanie said. “They think he just listens to the spirits while they talk in words. It’s not like that. The dead are trying to send impressions, and it can be like trying to read a newspaper underwater. Things get distorted. That’s why Dr. Jewel needs his cleansing period—”

“Cleansing period?” Cameryn asked.

“You don’t know much about his work, do you? Dr. Jewel goes away, by himself, with no human contact or food for twenty-four hours—not even water. During that time of deprivation he centers himself so he can hear the vibrations from the spirits. He had a cleansing period in Santa Fe before Rachel came to him. That’s why he could hear her so clearly.”

“Exactly,” agreed Jewel. He looked at Cameryn expectantly. Then, draining the glass, he wiped his lips with the back of his hand. “But even now I can read you, Cameryn. You’re wondering if the killer is someone from Silverton, aren’t you?” He set the glass down and then turned to her. “You’re afraid it’s someone you know, perhaps, someone you like. That thought is hard for you.”

Cameryn felt her heart jump as she formed the next question. “I want to ask you about the letter
M
. You mentioned that letter this morning and I…Can you…can you ask Rachel about that? Please, it’s very important.”

“She’s right here,” Jewel replied. “Ask her yourself.”

Cameryn shook her head. “Would you do it? Please?”

Sighing, Dr. Jewel said, “Very well. As I explained, Rachel has already heard the question. Spirits aren’t deaf, you know.” He squeezed his eyes shut, frowning for a moment in concentration. When he opened his eyes again, they had grown soft with appeal as he whispered, “I’m sorry, Rachel, I don’t understand.”

“What’s she saying?” Cameryn asked. Her nerves pulsated with energy.

“I can’t get her to acknowledge the letter
M
. She’s saying the little girl with her wants to come through. The little girl wants to speak to you, Cameryn.”

“I told you, I don’t know about any little girl! That’s not what I’m here for.”

“And I told you I can’t control what the spirits say. Rachel’s insisting on bringing the girl through.”

Cameryn’s eyes drifted once again to the nightstand, and as they did, something fell into place. A piece of information, one she’d forgotten she knew, now surfaced from her memory, like a fin breaking the surface of the water. And then there was a soft rapping on the door, and a female voice announced that the news crew was waiting downstairs in the main lobby. Instantly on her feet, Stephanie smoothed her hair and tugged her jacket while checking herself in the small vanity mirror.