Steven James - Opening Moves

4 hours until the gloaming

Basque stepped through the doorway.

Caucasian. Late twenties or early thirties. Perceptive, turquoise eyes. Handsome. Dressed GQ -esque in a charcoal suit and tie. Six-two, athletic build, dark hair. A confident, endearing smile.

If he really was the “Maneater of the Midwest,” he was not all what you might envision when you pictured a cannibalistic murderer.

Or, well, maybe he was.

Even though it wasn’t by any means fair to make the comparison, with his good looks and charming smile, Basque reminded me of the quintessential psychopath Ted Bundy-the clean-cut, all-American, articulate, smiling, serial killing, homicidal maniac.

We greeted Basque and he led us to his office on the second floor.

After we’d all taken a seat, he let his gaze pass from me to Corsica and then back to me. He smiled. “Can I have my secretary bring you anything? Coffee? A glass of water?”

“No, thank you.” I still wasn’t really sure how to address the issue that this guy just happened to keep showing up in cities scattered throughout the Midwest right around the time women were disappearing or showing up dead.

But I didn’t have to try to figure out how to be polite because Corsica cut to the chase for me: “We’re investigating a series of homicides.”

“Homicides.”

“Yes.”

He waited for us to elaborate.

I said, “Do you know a woman named Juanita Worthy?”

He thought about it, shook his head. “I’m afraid not. Who is she?”

“A woman who was killed in Illinois.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

Corsica spoke up, “What about Marianne Lojeski?”

He shook his head again.

“Bruce Hendrich?”

He looked at us quizzically. “Honestly, I don’t know any of these people and I’m not entirely sure why you’re asking me if I do.”

I thought about bringing up the flight manifests, but as long as he was denying knowing any of the victims there might be a better approach. “Mr. Basque, would you be willing to share a copy of your schedule with us? Your days off? Your personal calendar?”

It would have been easy to miss.

It happened for only an instant, but it did happen.

His gaze flickered cold and an icy intensity fell across his eyes, one so stark and soulless that it actually sent a shiver through me, but then, in the time it takes to blink, he collected himself and offered us a smile that looked remarkably genuine. “Certainly. Now, tell me, why are you asking me this?” He raised an eyebrow, asked lightheartedly, “I’m not a suspect, am I?”

I let Corsica answer. She folded her hands, laid them gently on her lap, repeated the same words she’d told his boss earlier, “By no means. We’re simply pursuing every possible lead.”

“I see.”

I took a few minutes to ask about his business trips to Ohio and Illinois and if he knew anything about the Hayes or Westin kidnappings here in Milwaukee this week. He shook his head and told me that, no, he did not-other than what he’d heard on the news-but that he genuinely wished there was some way he could help.

He sounded like he meant it and he wasn’t in any hurry to get rid of us. He didn’t seem nervous or intimidated, was pleasant and cordial the whole time. And for some reason, even though I hated the idea of going with my gut or letting unfounded assumptions guide me around, the more personable and patient he was, the more I found myself thinking he was guilty.

Finally, when we had no more questions, he brought me a copy of his personal schedule and wished us well in our investigation, then gave me his card. “If there’s anything I can do for you, feel free to call. I’ll do whatever I can to help make sure you get this monster before he commits any more crimes.”

As soon as we were outside the building, Corsica said, “It’s him.”

I agree, I thought.

“I think we need a little more evidence before we can arrest him,” I said.

“Alright, then.” She opened up the car door. “Let’s go get it.”

Since leaving for the store, Joshua had decided to take only one of the children.

It would be easier to handle that way. And besides, the more he thought about the logistics of it, the more he realized there really was no compelling reason to take them both.

So.

The boy.

He would take the boy and leave the girl at the school to be picked up by her mother.

He paused as he walked down the children’s shoe aisle at Kohl’s.

He needed something to hold the proof he was sending the sergeant.

A shoebox would be just the right size.

He chose one and carried it to the checkout counter.

“Will this be all, sir?”

“Yes. Just that one pair.”

He paid for the shoes and went to the school to get the boy.

Corsica read me Basque’s work records as I drove back to HQ.

According to his personal schedule, the time he took off corresponded with twelve of the disappearances and both of the homicides.

I don’t like to jump to conclusions, but I’m not stupid. This guy was looking really good for these crimes. Almost too good.

Prove it wrong; don’t assume.

We radioed ahead to the team to have them dig up everything they could on Richard Devin Basque.

“I want it waiting for me when we arrive,” I said.

Inside the department again, the task force reconvened.

Before we launched into examining the background information on Basque, Ralph, who’d just returned from Fort Atkinson, filled us in on Browning.

“I’ll make this quick,” he said, “’cause I know we gotta get to Basque: Browning denied knowing anything about Griffin’s involvement. Might have been telling the truth, but when I took a careful look at his employment record, I saw-well, guess where he used to work?” He didn’t wait for a reply. “Horicon. At the time of Mindy Wells’s death. He was the officer assigned to signing items into and out of the evidence room.”

Just thinking about Mindy’s death cut into me, and the fact that a police officer might have known something about her killer and done nothing about it, leaving him free to kill again, cut into me even more.

“He’s being questioned about it by the DA as we speak. Oh, and this might be a bit of good news. Sergeant Carver and his team over in Fort Atkinson found a journal hidden beneath a loose board in the kitchen of that farmhouse near the landfill.” Ralph held up two fingers. “Jenna and Mindy, that’s it, the only two homicides written about in the journal.”

“Griffin told me there were others,” I said. “That there are always others.”

“Bragging?” Ellen suggested. “Narcissism? According to what you told us, it fits right in with his personality.”

I hoped she was right. It sounded strange to say in reference to the death of anyone, but if those were the only two girls whom he’d killed, that would at least be one thing to be thankful for.

In either case I was confident that the Fort Atkinson PD wouldn’t let this thing rest until they’d found out the true extent of Griffin’s crimes.

We turned our attention to Basque.

“Alright,” I said to the team. “Tell me everything we know about him.”

We went through the peripheral stuff first-where he’d lived, worked, gone to school, all in the Greater Milwaukee area. He had an off-the-charts IQ. He was single, never married, no known children. He had a gym membership downtown, paid his taxes on time, donated regularly to three different charities.

Thorne shook his head. “This guy’s something else. A perfect record, not even a parking ticket.”

“And he’s never lived in the Franklin Heights area?” I said, trying to tie all the investigative threads together.