Erica Spindler - Dead Run

“No kidding. That one’s a little off.”

Val’s gaze sharpened. “Go on.”

“Said the church called her.” He cocked an eyebrow, and Carla nodded. “Her words. Said she ran past the church, then stopped up at the corner of Fleming Street. Said it was as if someone had called her name. Said she’d felt like the church had called her.”

“She actually heard a voice calling?”

“Not an actual voice. A voice in her head. A compulsion.” At her boss’s expression she lifted a shoulder. “I’m only telling you what she told me. Anyway, she was pretty rattled. Kept saying she could have saved the kid if she had only come sooner.”

“Had she been drinking? Using?”

“She looked straight. Pupils responded to light. Her balance and speech seemed fine.”

He let out a frustrated-sounding breath. “Great. Our first to the scene hears voices. The press’ll love that.”

“My feeling is she’ll recant that bit about the church in the morning.”

“Don’t be too certain of that,” Val muttered. “Anything else?”

“Yeah. Ms. Ames knew the victim.”

“Excuse me?”

“ Tara was a client of hers. Recommended by Pastor Collins. Is this one small town, or what?”

He narrowed his eyes. “Or what is right.”

“I don’t follow.”

“Pastor Collins and Elizabeth Ames, two of the people at the scene tonight, had a relationship with the victim. Elizabeth Ames was first to the scene.”

“You think it might be something?”

“Don’t know. At this point, I’m not eliminating anything.” Val glanced toward the garden entrance, then back at her. “Isn’t that door locked at night?”

She nodded. “Ever since those kids vandalized the statuary.”

“So, how did the victim…and her killer get in?”

“I didn’t think to ask that question.”

“Well, ask it.” He glanced toward the parking lot. “The evidence guys are here. Charlie’s been called?”

“I think so,” she responded, rubbing her arms. “I’ll double-check to be sure.”

“Good. And make sure Dr. Dan up in Marathon got word. I want the autopsy results ASAP.”

She nodded and glanced sideways at the evidence guy heading their way. “Anything else?”

“I want to know everything about this girl-who her friends were, who she was dating. I want you to talk to her teachers, neighbors, everybody.” He shifted his attention to the other officers. “Hello, boys. Body’s in the garden.”

He watched them a moment, then turned back to her, expression grim. “I want to know how she spent her last twenty-four hours, who she talked with, where she went, what she ate. Everything. Got all that?”

She nodded and closed her notebook. “What about the press?”

“We’ll hold them off as long as possible. I’d love to have a suspect before the story breaks. I talked to Chief Reid on my way over here, he agrees.”

“What about her next of kin?”

“I’ll do it.” He glanced at his watch and she sensed him trying to gauge how long he could avoid making that visit. “I’m going to hang around, make sure everything’s done to the letter. Then I’ll…take care of it.”

Saturday, November 10

8:00 a.m.

Rick tapped on Val’s open door. His friend glanced up. From the other man’s haggard appearance, he had gotten about as much sleep as Rick had: zero.

Instead of grabbing a couple hours shut-eye the night before, Rick had paced, unable to rest. He had recognized the killer’s style. The markings on Tara ’s torso and limbs. The positioning of her body. But he hadn’t been able to place where he recognized them from.

Not at first, anyway.

“We’ve got a problem,” Rick said, striding into his friend’s office.

Val passed a hand across his face, weary. “I’m not going to argue with you about that. I just got off back-to-back phone calls from the mayor, the head of the tourist commission and three reporters, one with the Miami Herald.”

“Count on them continuing.” Rick dropped a sheaf of computer printouts on his friend’s desk. “Take a look at this.”

“What is it?”

“Some stuff I got off the Internet last night.” He rubbed his aching eyes, scratchy from no sleep and hours staring at his computer screen. “Remember a string of serial killings in Miami a dozen or more years back? The New Testament Murders?” Val shook his head. “How about the name Gavin Taft?”

“Refresh my memory.”

“Just before I started with the Miami-Dade force, young women began turning up murdered. Their throats had been slit, their limbs and torsos carved up. The media dubbed them the New Testament Murders because of the crucifixion-style positioning of the victims and because a religious scholar claimed the ‘writings’ on the bodies represented Scripture passages from the New Testament.

“For years, the investigation yielded nothing. Until Taft, a twenty-four-year-old construction worker was stopped for a routine traffic violation and the officer recognized blood on Taft’s arms and hands.”

Val nodded. “Okay, it’s all coming back now. But wasn’t Taft convicted?”

“Yup. At this very moment, he’s sitting on death row, awaiting an appeal.”

“An appeal, of course.” Val scowled. “Same as the rest of the sick bastards on death row.”

“No, here’s the sick part. On the Internet I discovered a Gavin Taft fan club and several chat rooms devoted to a discussion of this monster’s kills.” He motioned the printout. “It’s all there.”

While his friend skimmed the documents, Rick paced, thoughts racing. Several of the chat-room police buffs believed that Taft hadn’t worked alone, that he’d had an accomplice. Still others speculated that Taft was innocent and that the real New Testament Killer roamed free.

“Dear Jesus,” Val murmured, lifting his gaze to Rick’s. “What do you think we’ve got here? A copycat?”

“Don’t know, could be. The similarities between Tara ’s murder and Taft’s killings are too great to ignore.”

“If not a copycat-”

“Could be Taft had an accomplice, just like some of those folks in the chat room speculate.”

Val looked skeptical. “So, what’s this accomplice been doing the past four years?”

“Maybe operating in a different part of the country. Maybe serving time for unrelated crimes.”

“Next you’re going to suggest that Taft’s not even the guy. That the wrong man was charged, tried and convicted.”

“It happens.”

“Not this time. They had physical evidence, Rick. DNA matches directly linking him to several of the murders.”

“But not all. And no murder weapon, no trophies.”

Val returned his gaze to the printouts. He thumbed through them, stopped on one and read. A moment later he looked back up. “I hear what you’re saying, but no way Taft’s not the guy.”

Rick met his friend’s gaze evenly. “Maybe an accomplice-”

Carla appeared at the door. She looked at Rick, then away. “You have a minute, Val?”

He waved her into the room. “Rick’s made a rather startling find, come take a look.”

She crossed to the desk, movements hesitant. Val handed her the papers. He shifted his attention back to Rick. “I appreciate you bringing me this. I’ll be in touch.”

Rick ignored his friend’s obvious attempt to get rid of him and sat back in his chair. “What’s next?”

“For you, going home and getting some sleep.”

“I can live with that.” Rick smiled. “What’s next for you?”

“Butt out, my friend.”

“The ME’s report in yet?”

“Goodbye, Rick.”

He narrowed his eyes. “I’m involved. I was there last night.”