Allison Brennan: The Kill

“It’s Friday, people cut out early, but the boss usually stays until six. I can check if you want; the last person who leaves sets the alarm.”

“It was on when you came in?”

“Yes. I can print out a report.”

Zack knew he was getting into the area where he might need a warrant, but the kid had offered him the reports-Tim Paul was here to witness that, so he decided to let him.

“Great, get me the report.”

The kid sighed, obviously relaxing, and his fingers whizzed over the keyboard. A couple of minutes later, the printer kicked into life and Reggie spun around, pulling a page as it came out.

He explained it to Zack. “This shows that employee 109-that’s Marge, this is her desk-entered and turned off the alarm at 7:04 this morning. And here-see, Mr. Swanson set the alarm at 4:45, but he didn’t leave.”

“How can you tell?”

“He only turned on the outside doors. Full alarm is both internal and external sensors. He left at 6:10 and set full alarms. And this is me, employee 116, coming in at 9:40 tonight.”

“What does the company do?” Zack looked around, couldn’t see a business name.

“Refurbish printers. We buy them on the cheap from governments, schools, whatever, in big blocks, clean them up, replace worn or broken parts, then sell them to a wholesaler.”

“And your job?”

“I’m the IT Department. I make sure everyone’s computers are working, the network, run reports, things like that.”

Everything Reggie said made sense. He was just the unlucky guy to come across a dead body.

“Did you see anyone? On foot or in a car? Did you see a vehicle, either moving or parked?”

Reggie shook his head. “This place is dead at night.” He reddened. “Uh, I didn’t mean anything by that.”

“I know.” Damn. The body couldn’t have been here more than a couple of hours.

There was a lot of work to be done. It was Friday; few people would be working tomorrow. They’d have to track down the owners over the weekend, see what they could learn about schedules, anyone who was working after six tonight. It would be much better to interview people tomorrow, but there was no way they could track down the hundred or so employees who worked on this side of the industrial park over the weekend. Any leads one of them might have would be cold by Monday.

Swanson, Reggie’s boss, would be the first, though. Then the buildings closest to where the body was dumped.

“Thanks for your time, Reggie. I’m going to ask that you hang out here a little while longer. The crime techs might have some questions for you once they inspect the scene.”

“Yes, sir.”

Why did everyone under thirty call him sir? “Thanks for your help.”

The crime scene, about forty feet from the main door of the printer refurbishing business, now glowed with light, the fog casting a ghostly shimmer. The crime techs had arrived. Zack noted Doug Cohn, the head of the unit, had come out himself.

He approached Cohn as the tech directed his team of three to check the perimeter of the lights first. Fifty and almost completely bald, Cohn had a youthful face and calm disposition. “Thanks for taking it yourself,” Zack told him.

Cohn shrugged it off. “Sleep’s overrated.” He paused. “I heard it’s the missing kid.”

“No positive ID yet, but yeah, it’s her.” Zack swallowed thickly. Jenny Benedict had been missing for three days, abducted late Tuesday afternoon while playing with friends in a neighborhood park.

Zack knew where he would be going when he left the scene. It was one stop he didn’t want to make, but couldn’t avoid.

“Witness?”

“A computer tech almost literally stumbled across the body while riding his bike.”

“At night?”

“Running backup reports or something.”

“What do you think?”

“Of the witness? He had nothing to do with it. But I had him stick around. He swears he didn’t touch her, but I thought you should check him out.”

“Will do as soon as I’m done with her.” Cohn frowned as he pulled on gloves, knelt next to the tarp, and lifted it. “Sweet Jesus.”

Under the lighting, the girl’s skin looked far whiter than it should, the deep red stab wounds attesting to her death. Cohn’s assistant took photographs, then Cohn inspected the body.

“She’s been dead at least twelve hours, I’m guessing even longer. Maybe as long as twenty. We can probably get a more precise time frame from the autopsy. Appears that she bled to death, looks like one went directly into her heart chamber. Gil can give you an exact accounting of the wounds.” Gil Sparks was the coroner.

Cohn lifted her skirt. She wore no panties. “External evidence of sexual assault.”

He turned her head to the side. “What’s this?” he said, almost to himself.

“What?” Against his will, Zack leaned closer.

“It appears that a section of her hair has been cut. A good inch, right up against the scalp, with scissors.”

“He took her hair?” Zack’s gut clenched. Sick bastard. And sick bastards didn’t stop with one victim.

“Looks like it, unless her parents have something else to say. Maybe she cut it herself, or a friend did it… “ Cohn’s voice trailed off. He didn’t believe what he was saying any more than Zack did.

“Shit,” Zack said, rubbing a hand over his face. He was about to ask another question when Cohn mumbled, “What’s this?”

“What?” Zack asked, thankful that Cohn had closed the girl’s eyes. Rest in peace .

“See these marks?”

Cohn was pointing to the girl’s forearm. At first, Zack couldn’t see anything. Then a few small dots, like odd-shaped commas, became evident under the light. “I have no idea what made these marks,” Cohn said. “I’ll talk to Gil about it. There’s at least a dozen small punctures, but they were definitely made postmortem. Perhaps from something used to transport her, but I’m only guessing.”

At least it was something that could tie the killer to his victim.

“Anything else you can tell me before I go see her parents?”

“Only what you’re thinking.”

Serial killer . One victim, and already Zack feared the worst. But it was the manner of display, the stab wounds, and the missing hair that told him the killer would strike again. “I hope we’re wrong.”

“We’re not.”

Zack walked away from the scene, leaving the victim in Doug Cohn’s sensitive and capable hands.

Nine-year-old Jenny Benedict had been missing for three days and her mother had feared her ex-husband had taken her. They’d found Paul Benedict yesterday, working in a steel mill in Pennsylvania, unaware that his daughter was even missing. He’d been avoiding his wife’s calls because he was late on his child support.

Zack called for a counselor to meet him at the Benedict house. A kid was dead. He thought it couldn’t get worse.

He was wrong.

Three weeks later another blonde girl went missing, and Zack knew for certain he had a serial killer on his hands.

Freedom. At last. His idiot lawyer, Miles Bledsoe, actually did what he said he was going to do, and Brian was now a free man.

Brian Harrison Hall-shit, he hated his middle name, but that’s what the dumb-asses in the press repeated in every article about him. And the judge at his sentencing.

Brian Harrison Hall, you’ve been found guilty by a jury of your peers and are sentenced to death in the electric chair, pursuant to … some stupid law.

He thought he’d never feel as good as he did three months after he was locked up. Because three months after he went in, the California court ruled the death penalty unconstitutional. Fucking cruel and unusual punishment . Damn straight. Especially since he was innocent.