Kathy Reichs - Break No Bones

Aikman searched and put up posters asking anyone with information to call her, the Charleston police, or the sheriff's office. Aikman says her son suffers from schizophrenia and was taking medication at the time of his disappearance. She fears he may have been kidnapped.

"I'm afraid he's somewhere being held against his will," said Aikman.

Lonnie Aikman is 5'8" and weighs 160 pounds. He has green eyes and brown hair.

The piece ran in the Moultrie News on March 14. Cruikshank had circled Aikman's age, the date of his disappearance, and the word "schizophrenia."

I checked several clippings. Similar information had been circled in each.

So Cruikshank was collecting stories on missing persons. These didn't appear to be client-initiated investigations. The files contained no checks. No reports. Why the interest?

Two of Cruikshank's files contained only handwritten notes. One was labeled Helms, Willie, the other Montague, Unique. Their placement in the carton suggested they'd been created shortly before Cruikshank's death. Why? Who were Willie Helms and Unique Montague?

Frustrated, I began a spreadsheet and went back through the folders, pulling out unsolved missing persons cases.

Ethridge, Parker, white male, 58, 5 feet 7 inches, 135 pounds, gray hair, blue eyes. Last seen March 2002.

Moon, Rosemarie, black female, 28, 5 feet 3 inches, 105 pounds, red hair, brown eyes. Last seen November 2002. Known drug user and sex trade worker.

Watley, Ruby Anne, black female, 39, 5 feet 5 inches, 140 pounds, black shoulder-length hair, brown eyes. Last seen July 2003. Known drug user and sex trade worker.

Poe, Harmon, 39, white male, 5 feet 11 inches, 155 pounds, brown hair, brown eyes. Last seen April 2004. Known drug user.

Snype, Daniel, 27, black male, 5 feet 5 inches, 120 pounds, blond shoulder-length hair, brown eyes. Last seen June 2004. Known drug user and sex trade worker.

Aikman, Lonnie, white male, 34, 5 feet 8 inches, 160 pounds, green eyes, brown hair. Last seen spring 2004. Schizophrenic.

The Dewees case matched none of the profiles. I added it to the spreadsheet.

CCC-2006020277, white male, 35-50, 5 feet 10 inches to 6 foot 1 inch, blond hair. Fractured C-6 vertebra. Nicks on twelfth rib, twelfth thoracic vertebra, and upper lumbar vertebrae. Buried on Dewees.

Winborne had written his article in March. Did Aikman's disappearance explain Winborne's behavior on Dewees? Did the reporter think we'd stumbled across Lonnie?

Cruikshank had clipped Winborne's story on or after March 14. Was Aikman's the last file he opened?

And why the Helms and Montague files? What was contained in the coded comments?

I was trying to make sense of my notes when Pete arrived.

"It is I, the great bearer of pizza," his voice boomed from the foyer.

I heard keys hit a tabletop, then Pete appeared in the doorway. He was in chinos and what looked disturbingly like a bowling shirt. A Hornets cap completed the ensemble.

Boyd shot over and circled the great bearer's ankles, nose sniffing the grease-stained box in his hands.

"I bought a large on the chance that you were here and hungry. Why are you working without lights?"

I'd been so intent on my spreadsheet I hadn't noticed the room dim. My watch now said eight twenty.

"Why is it dark so early?"

"There's a kick-ass storm moving in. The whole island's battening down hatches. Do we have hatches? Are they battened?"

I noticed Pete's cap. "Bad news, Pete. The Hornets moved to New Orleans."

"I like the colors." Pete took the cap off and admired the logo.

"Purple and turquoise?"

"Not turquoise, you boor. Teal. Hues chosen by Alexander Julian and envied all across the league."

"Designer hues or not, the team left Charlotte."

Tossing the cap to a sideboard, Pete tipped his head at the files stacked beside me. "What are you doing?"

A tickle from my lower centers. Heads-up !

What? Heads-up to what?

"Ground control to Tempe."

I snapped back.

"What are you doing?" Pete repeated.

"Going through Cruikshank's cases."

"Cruikshank's PC, I assume. Any luck with it?"

I shook my head. "Can't fathom a password. Where have you been all day?"

"Trapped in fiduciary hell. What's brown and black and looks good on accountants?"

Knowing it was a mistake, I raised both palms.

"Doberman pinschers."

"That's lame."

"But true. These guys must choose accounting because they lack the charisma to be undertakers."

"Did you quiz Herron about Helene Flynn?"

"The good reverend felt we should start with the books."

My brows drifted upward.

"Don't give me that look. Buck hired me to trace his money. In the process I was to learn what I could about the daughter."

"Did you tell Herron that Cruikshank is dead?"

"Yes."

"His reaction?"

"Shock, sadness, and a heartfelt wish for a peaceful rest. Find anything in the files?"

"Maybe."

We moved to the porch. The breeze was spinning the ceiling fan without aid of electricity.

I set out plates and napkins. Pete divvied up pizza. As we ate, I explained what I'd learned.

"A C on the tab means the case was closed."

" Now we're getting somewhere."

"That's what I told Boyd."

Boyd's ears shot forward. His nose never left the table edge.

"A lot of Cruikshank's recent files contained nothing but clippings on missing persons. I made a spreadsheet and started looking for patterns. What are these things?" I pointed to small black globs on my pizza.

"Dried currants. And?"

"Since 2002, Cruikshank opened jackets on two women and four men reported missing in the Charleston area. No checks or reports. He also had a couple that held nothing but notes."

"So he wasn't actually hired to look for those people."

"That's my take."

Pete gave the idea some thought. "Could the Dewees guy be one of Cruikshank's MPs?"

"He's not really a match for any of them."

"Who are they?"

"One male is black, three are white. Their ages range from twenty-seven to fifty-eight. One guy works in the sex trade. Two are drug users. One is schizophrenic. The women are black, twenty-eight and thirty-nine. Both are prostitutes and drug users."

"Think it could be some kind of serial killer, maybe a predator grabbing hookers and druggies? Fringe people no one will miss?"

"I don't know the exact date Aikman went missing. Or the Dewees man. But eight months elapsed between the disappearances of Ethridge and Moon, another eight between Moon and Watley. Then it's nine months until Poe. Two months later, it's Snype. If it's a serial, the progression is atypical."

"Aren't serial killers typically atypical?" Pete helped himself to more pizza.

"These profiles are all over the map. Men, women. Black, white. Ages range from twenty-seven to fifty-eight."

"Not restricted to teenage street boys? Or coeds with long, center-parted hair?"

"You're a profiler now?" Acknowledging Pete's references to victim types preferred by John Gacy and Ted Bundy.

"A mere savant. And bearer of pizza."

"Whose idea was the currants?" I asked.

"Arturo's."

For a few moments we listened to waves pound the shore. I broke the silence.

"The article on Lonnie Aikman was written by Homer Winborne. It appeared in the Moultrie News on March fourteenth. So we know Cruikshank was alive then."

"Winborne's the guy who showed up at your site?"

I nodded.

"Did you call him?"

"I will."

"Any word from Monsieur-"

"No." I took another slice, plucked currants, and set them on my plate.

"A bit gastronomically rigid," Pete said.