The Devil's Water: Scenic City Murder Series #1 Read online

  He turned and headed into the den area. “Sorry.” He twisted the top off the water bottle and took a long gulp.

  “What are you doing now?” he asked.

  “I work part time at the college teaching profiling.”

  “Makes sense. I mean, you were a profiler for the FBI.”

  “Nah. There really isn’t such a thing as ‘profiler’. I worked as a special agent. That is, until I got canned.”

  “I take it you’re not drinking on the job anymore then.” Mclutcheon offered her a smile, hoping she wouldn’t take offense.

  “No.” she said plainly, motioning him to take a seat on the sofa.

  “What’s going on?”

  Mclutcheon took a deep breath and looked down at the carpet. He could feel Tasha’s gaze on him.

  “Looks like we have a serial killer. Maybe just a serial kidnapper. Macy Garcia’s abduction may have been botched.”

  Tasha stared at him for a moment. She was remembering something she’d seen on the news. “Oh yeah. Skopic must be desperate since he sent you to me.”

  “Look, Tasha. It was my idea. I just thought you might be able to help us out.” Mclutcheon said as he took another sip of water.

  “But you don’t believe it’s just a kidnapper.” She said as she watched him.

  “No. I’m afraid I don’t.”

  “He has left letters. The first, he wrote on a sheet of paper and left it on the vic’s pillow. It said ‘Mr. Mojo Risin’. The second letter he left again on the woman’s pillow. It said ‘The west is the best’. Then the third letter was Macy Garcia’s. It was part of the ‘From Hell’ letter written by Jack the Ripper.”

  “So he seems to like to borrow famous phrases. That and he’s a big Doors fan.” Tasha mused. “I think he’s definitely a little older. Probably mid thirties on into his forties, possibly. I doubt he’s any younger than that. Twenty somethings today don’t know songs like ‘L.A. Woman’ or ‘The End’.”

  “Right.” Mclutcheon replied.

  “I also think he meant to kill Macy. Perhaps he’s escalating.” Tasha added.

  “That’s what I’m afraid of which is why I’m here.”

  Tasha stared at Mclutcheon. “Why?”

  “Because I would like it if you would consult on this case.”

  Mclutcheon finished off the bottle of water he was drinking. “How about it?”

  “Geez, Clutch. I’m really busy with Criminal Justice class.”

  Mclutcheon stared at her with a semi smile on his face. She couldn’t help but laugh at herself. Tasha knew she’d been doing virtually nothing but getting by since she left the FBI.

  “Skopic ok with this?”

  “I already ran it by him. We need all the help we can get. He wants to get this case solved as much as I do.”

  Tasha let out a deep breath. “OK. Just one thing to ask you.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I don’t want to end up on the news.”

  “It’s a deal.”

  CHAPTER 4

  Daniel Mclutcheon was sitting in his office the next day stirring cream into a much needed cup of coffee. He was in the middle of taking his first sip when Ryan Skopic strolled through the door.

  “Hey. Just got off the phone with the ME. He’s sending his report over but he told me that it appears that Macy was raped and strangled.”

  “Shit.”

  “Yeah.” Skopic said and looked away for a moment. “The ME said she had a contusion underneath her left ear. Maybe the perp struck her with something.”

  “Makes me wonder about the other two vics. Carol Shipley and Monica Balzer haven’t turned up yet.” Mclutcheon said.

  “Yeah, and God knows who else this son of a bitch may have abducted. Anyway, the ME sent blood and body fluids to the lab. It’ll be a few days before we know anything more.”

  Mclutcheon sat back in his chair and took a deep breath. He exhaled in an audible sigh. “I’ll have to talk to Tasha about this.”

  “I’m just praying we’re doing the right thing by bringing her in on this.” Skopic replied. “I mean, I know you’ve known her since she was a kid. Her father was a great cop and you were good friends with him but she’s a wild card Dan.”

  “Look, I know she has a bit of a drinking problem.”

  “She’s an alcoholic, Dan.”

  “She’s a brilliant profiler. Coulda been one of the best if the bottle didn’t get to her. She’ll hold her own with this investigation.”

  “I hope you’re right.”

  “I’ve been sober for 20 years now. Go to meetings regularly. I don’t think she’s hit her bottom yet but maybe she’s about there. I hope so anyway.”

  “I hope you’re right.” Skopic repeated.

  Mclutcheon picked up the phone and dialed Tasha’s number just as Skopic left the office. Four rings and no one was picking up. Clutch wondered if she might be in class. Eight rings.

  “Hello?” a sleepy voice answered.

  “This is Clutch. We need to talk.”

  Tasha made a loud grunt and he knew she was stretching. “Okay. What’s up?”

  “The ME has finished his report. There’s some new information. I was going to bring over the notes the perp left to have you look at them and tell you what the ME found out.”

  “Let’s meet at Malone’s. I could use a bloody Mary.”

  “No Tasha. I don’t go to bars anymore, remember?”

  There was a long pause. “Alright then. I’ll settle for a smothered and covered at the Waffle House.”

  “Meet there in about twenty minutes?” Clutch asked as he glanced at his watch.

  “Make it more like 40. I need to run some water over my head and apply shampoo. Damn, what time is it anyway?”

  “10:05. I’ll be there at a quarter til.”

  He signed off with Tasha and went down to the evidence room to check out the notes. Maybe she would be able to see something in them that the cops had failed to see.

  Twenty minutes later he was on his way across town. The air was stifling and Clutch turned his air conditioner all the way on high. Even so, he could still feel sweat trickling down his right temple. He wondered about the other two women. He really hoped they hadn’t been left out somewhere in this heat. “When it’s hot, it’ll rot.” He said to himself and then tried to get the image of decomposing flesh out of his mind.

  Ten minutes later he saw the yellow building sitting on the side of the road. He pulled in and noted, to his satisfaction, that there weren’t many customers. The air conditioned restaurant was a welcome relief from the blistering heat outside. He slid into a booth and laid his evidence on the table. A few minutes later, a waitress who looked about 60 approached him.

  “You eatin’ alone, hon?”

  “No. My friend isn’t here yet.”

  “Well, would you care for a cup of coffee?”

  “That’s exactly what I need.” Mclutcheon smiled.

  “Be here in a second. It’s almost done brewing.”

  The waitress grinned back at him and Mclutcheon noticed that she was missing at least 3 teeth. She looked poor. Southern poor. He felt bad as he thought about the woman having to work slinging plates and being almost retirement age. In this economy people will do anything for a paycheck.

  Tasha Yoder strolled into the restaurant about 5 minutes later. She dropped down into the booth on the opposite side and grabbed the bagged evidence.

  “Is this what you wanted me to see?”

  “Yep.”

  Tasha opened the bag and took out the notes. She studied them for a full three minutes in silence. Finally, she looked back up at Mclutcheon who was taking a sip of coffee.

  “OK. Notice how hard he bore the pen to paper?”

  She held the note out for Mclutcheon to take a look.

  “Yeah. So?”

  “And notice how his sentences trail upward? I mean, he starts his sentence down low and each subsequent word goes up like he’s writing uphill or s
omething.”

  Mclutcheon took the note and saw what Tasha was talking about.

  “What does it mean?” he asked.

  “Bearing down on the paper like this indicates aggression.” She said.

  “Furthermore, writing uphill the way this perp does indicates possible mania. He may very well have been in a manic phase while perpetrating these crimes.”

  “Well, if he was in a manic phase, wouldn’t the crimes have been more disorganized?”

  Tasha took the other two notes and handed them back to Mclutcheon.

  “Not necessarily. I had a case one time when I was still with the FBI. This guy was manic but extremely organized. When we caught him, turned out he had been a professor at MIT. Needless to say, he was brilliant.”

  Tasha stopped talking long enough for the waitress to place her hash browns in front of her. She picked up a bottle of ketchup and liberally applied it to the fried potatoes.

  “In case you didn’t know, that’s not good news.” She added as she brought her fork up and took a big bite.

  “Why is that?”

  “Because” she said as she swallowed, “your perp could very well be a brilliant psychopath.”

  CHAPTER 5

  Carol Shipley was standing in the middle of a grassy field watching the black clouds begin to gather. It was late in the evening. A flash of lightning and she could see for miles out in front of her. The white farm house, which seemed so familiar, stood ahead in the distance. She began running to it. She knew she would be safe there. A large raindrop fell from the heavens and struck her on the nose. She had to run faster. A figure appeared on the front porch of the farm house and began calling to her.

  Faster Faster!

  White lightning, jagged across the sky and then a thunderous boom made Carol almost lose her balance and tumble.

  “Carol, get back here!” The figure on the porch was yelling just as the heavens opened up and poured down rain.

  She was almost there. Just a little more until she was on the porch. Her breath was heavy in her chest and she felt as if her lungs would explode when she reached the steps of the old farmhouse and took them two at a time.

  “Come here!” her grandmother said as she held out a towel to her granddaughter. “Get in this house Carrie! You like to scared me to death!”

  Carol obeyed and heard the screen door screech shut as her grandmother followed in behind her. “What in the world were you thinkin’ Carrie?” her grandmother was saying as she took the towel from Carol and dried her hair for her.

  Carol could hear the raindrops beating down on the tin roof. They sounded like hail pellets. “Now I want you to go in there and take off those wet clothes.” Her grandmother placed both of her hands on Carols’ shoulders and kissed her on the cheek. She motioned toward the bedroom.

  “Yes, mamaw.”

  Carol entered the dark bedroom and switched on the light. By the queen size bed, she saw a water bucket collecting drops falling from the ceiling.

  Drip, drip, drip.

  Carol walked over to the bucket and looked in. The water was accumulating fast. Perhaps a quarter of an inch of water had already fallen. She watched for a minute or two and turned back to the chest of drawers where her clothes were stored.

  Drip, drip, drip.

  “Mamaw!” she called as she pulled her dry shorts up to her waist.

  Drip.

  “Mamaw!” she called a little louder. No answer.

  She walked out of the bedroom and looked around. Another flash of lightning and the power went out.

  “Mamaw!”

  Suddenly, Carol knew she was all alone in the dark. Mamaw wasn’t coming to save her. Mamaw died in 1975.

  Drip, drip, drip.

  Carol opened her eyes to complete darkness. She must’ve screamed out because she could hear him laughing. He was taunting her. He liked to do that.

  She sat up and realized she was in the bathtub again. The water was still warm so she figured she couldn’t have been there long. Not like sometimes before.

  Drip.

  She placed her foot in under the faucet and felt a droplet hit her toe. She tried to lean up and touch the faucet but her head felt so heavy and her muscles were aching. Finally, she laid back and slid down in the water.

  He was laughing again. Carol looked around her but could see nothing. It was pitch black. She remembered his night vision goggles. He had worn them before as he was now.

  Carol knew she had been violated. It had happened over and over so much that somewhere along the way she lost count. Sometimes she wouldn’t even be conscious when he raped her. He always made sure, though, that she had the medicine. Once he gave her the medicine she would pass out and not remember anything.

  Drip.

  Now, she was back in an old familiar place. He always made her soak in the tub after he was done with her. Then he would take her back to her room and tie her up again. Carol tried to turn her head but the muscles in her neck ached so badly she couldn’t. The pitch black had scared her once upon a time but now it was more like an old trusted friend. At least the darkness was something she could count on.

  “Get up.” She heard him whisper in her ear. He had to have been just inches from her.

  Carol felt a cold calloused hand grab her by the bicep and give her a tug. Suddenly, she was on her feet standing in the water. He laughed again as she almost fell. She stood in the tub dripping for at least two minutes before she felt his hand on her shoulder pulling her toward him. She stepped out of the tub and heard the squeak of the bathroom door opening as he pushed her outside.

  It was still pitch black. Somewhere above her she could hear Janis Joplin singing about being busted flat in Baton Rouge. The music would go on and on. Day and night he played the music. Sometimes, Carol would scream begging for someone to help. Scream until she could taste blood in the back of her throat. No one ever came. Still, the music would play and play and play.

  Down the corridor Carol walked. She could feel his presence. He was right behind her. Carol counted off the twenty two steps to her room. She knew them all too well. She crawled up on the bed and felt his hands on her arms and legs. He secured them in cuffs which were tied to chains and fastened to the four corners of the bed. With that, he was gone. Carol heard the bedroom door open and shut. Then, she was once again left in the black empty space that had been her room for four weeks.

  CHAPTER 6

  Tasha Yoder was sitting at Malones drinking a gin and tonic and chatting up a potential date for the night. The guy was gorgeous. Black hair, a tan and about 6’3” inches tall. When he smiled, his teeth were pearly white. His name was Billy and Tasha figured that he was right around her age judging by the light wrinkles around his eyes. Billy was in the process of telling Tasha what he did for a living when her cell phone went off. She checked the number and knew it was Clutch. Damn.

  “Sorry, I have to take this.” Tasha said as she pressed the send button and turned her back to Billy.

  “Yeah.” She answered, perhaps a bit harshly.

  “Did I catch you at a bad time?”

  “Sorta. What’s up?”

  “The ME just called with results from Macy Garcia. No DNA. That’s the bad part.”

  “And?”

  “And they found a drug called Fentanyl in her system.”

  “What the hell is that?” she asked, turning briefly and seeing that Billy was still there.

  “It’s like morphine. At least somewhat. It’s more powerful and, when administered it can pretty much knock you out. I think this is how he incapacitates his victims.”

  “How long are its effects? I mean, how long would someone be out?” Tasha asked as she turned to see that Billy was talking to another lady sitting at the bar.

  “Anywhere from 30 to 60 minutes after an IV dose.” Clutch answered. “Look, either this guy has some sort of experience in the medical field or maybe he’s an addict. The ME said Fentanyl is very addictive. In large doses it can kill yo
u. Coming off it can kill you. This guy knows what he’s doing.”

  “I don’t think our guy is addicted. He’s been way too clever and his actions haven’t smacked of bad judgment or desperation the way an addicts would.” Tasha reasoned.

  “Well, Fentanyl is a schedule 2 drug, I looked it up. I think if he’s not just outright killing his vics, he’s poisoning them to death in order to do what he wants with them.” Mcclutcheon said. “Somewhere, Monica Balzer and Carol Shipley are dying and God only knows who else. We’ve got to get to them.”

  “I don’t think you need to worry about ‘who else’, Clutch.” Tasha interrupted.

  “Why?”

  “Because this perp is just starting. He’s getting a taste of it and he enjoys it but he’s still just starting out.”

  “How the hell do you know that?” Mclutcheon asked incredulously.

  “Because he’s taken women from the same apartment complex for one. For two, I’ve worked a hell of a lot of these cases.”

  Tasha reached for her pack of smokes with one hand and brought the gin and tonic up to her lips with the other. She took a long hard swallow. It still burned a little going down and she didn’t like that sensation. She knew she would drink until it didn’t burn anymore.

  “Well, what next?” Clutch asked.

  “We wait. That’s the only card we can play and he’ll strike soon enough. He’s made it very clear that he will kill his victims.”

  “I guess blood is in the water and the shark is circling.”

  “Yeah, something like that.” Tasha returned. She looked over her shoulder. Billy and the woman he had been talking to were gone. She took a deep draw off her cigarette and inhaled. She held up one finger and motioned the bartender before finishing off the last of her drink.

  “Listen, I’ll talk to you later. Okay?”

  Tasha signed off with Mclutcheon and took a sip of her fresh drink. She watched as a bank of smoke floated through the air. Almost everyone at the bar was smoking. She tried to ignore the fact that her eyes were so dry and irritated.