Debra Webb - A Deeper Grave

Bobbie considered the couple posed in their bed. Heather was average height and had a slim build, but her husband was tall and likely weighed a good one-seventy-five or -eighty. The killer had to be strong enough to handle getting the bodies down to the basement, and then back up to the bedroom again. Otherwise they had two killers on their hands.

“Each vic,” Devine continued, “was disemboweled through a horizontal incision to the abdomen.” He tugged the waistband of Parker’s boxers down just enough to show a neat row of sutures. “All the organs were removed, including the lungs and heart. After the killer was finished, the incisions were closed, the bodies washed, dressed and placed as you see them now.” He gestured to the woman. “Hers is the same.”

A year ago Bobbie’s first inclination would have been to wonder what kind of sick animal would do something like this. Now she knew the answer all too well, so instead she asked, “Were the victims conscious during this procedure?”

“Don’t know yet. If so, there’s no indication of a struggle. The arterial spray patterns suggest their hearts were still beating at the time the primary incisions were made.”

Jesus Christ. “What tools did he use to do his work? Were they here already or did he bring them with him?” Her voice was steady when she spoke though her heart pounded a little faster. Cops weren’t expected to be immune to this kind of horror, but Bobbie’s actions were still under the microscope. She couldn’t afford the slightest outward indication of being shaken. “Are the organs still here?”

There had to be one hell of a mess in the garage.

“Whatever he used, he took it with him. I found a couple of steak knives in the kitchen but nothing that would do this with any efficiency.” Devine glanced at the victims as if he hated to discuss what was downstairs in front of the couple, and then he looked Bobbie straight in the eye. “The organs are here. He—whoever did this—took a bite out of each of the hearts.”

Bobbie surveyed the Parkers once more. Something about the MO felt familiar. Hadn’t she read about a similar case maybe eleven or twelve years ago? “We’ll need impressions made from the bite marks if possible.”

“Dr. Carroll mentioned that already,” Devine said.

“Seppuku.” The word rolled off the tip of Bobbie’s tongue as the old headlines flashed through her mind.

She had been in college—a sophomore if she remembered correctly. A serial killer had disemboweled his victims in a manner similar to the technique used in the Japanese samurai honor code ritual. The gruesome ceremonial death was carried out against those who, in his opinion, had shamed themselves. The killer had chosen victims from the local headlines—in Chicago maybe—who were suspected of gross wrongdoing. Bobbie vaguely recalled one had been a hedge-fund manager who stole from his clients—not unlike Nigel Parker. Another had been a teacher accused of having sex with two of her students—one of whom committed suicide during the trial.

“Wait.” Devine touched his forehead as if he’d experienced an epiphany, as well. “I remember that case. But the Seppuku Killer executed himself—” he shrugged “—ten or so years ago. He fell on his sword right in front of the detectives who’d cornered him.”

“His only shame was in being caught.” More of the details from those gruesome murders filtered into Bobbie’s thoughts. Like these, his victims had been posed in their homes or offices. She turned to her partner. “We should have a look at that case. I think he was active in the Chicago area. This may be a copycat.”

“I’ll make a call to Chicago PD.”

“Excuse me, Detectives.”

Bobbie’s gaze shot to the door where a uniform—Officer Leslie Elliott—waited. The younger woman looked pale despite her mahogany complexion. “You found something?”

“Officer Elliott,” Devine offered before she could answer, “was following up on the Parker children’s whereabouts.”

Elliott nodded. “The boy didn’t show up at his friend’s last night. They haven’t heard from him since yesterday afternoon. We just called the six contacts in the girl’s phone and not one of them has seen or heard from her since around ten last night.”

A new rush of cold slid through Bobbie’s veins. “Where’s the housekeeper?”

“She’s on the back deck,” Devine said. “She didn’t want to stay in the house.”

“Talk to her again,” Bobbie told her partner. “Since we can’t confirm the kids are okay we need to issue Amber Alerts. The killer may have taken one or both.” As Devine hurried from the room, Bobbie glanced at the other woman. “Good work, Elliott. Why don’t you show me to the garage?”

The officer’s shoulders squared and she nodded. “This way.”

Downstairs in the family room Devine had ushered the housekeeper back inside and the two were now seated on the sofa. Face crumpled in pain, Mrs. Snodgrass glanced at Bobbie as she and Elliott moved through the room. Bobbie wished she could provide some reassurance about the children, but at this point there was no way to know what to expect.

Best-case scenario the two had run away and hidden somewhere. Worst case...the killer had taken them.

A short hall at the bottom of the second set of stairs led past the laundry room–bathroom combo and a small den before exiting into the garage. As soon as Bobbie opened the door to the garage the stench of blood and feces had her holding her breath. In the two-car garage a refrigerator, its door ajar exposing the soft drinks and beer inside, stood in the storage area to the left of the steps. The paneled walls had been painted white long ago, age making them appear more off-white. One overhead light, a two-bulb fluorescent, flickered lending an eerie feel to the space.

A Mercedes SUV and BMW sedan were shoehorned side by side. Bobbie walked around the short wall that separated the parking area from the storage space. The first thing she spotted was the arterial spray on the dingy white wall. Streams of blood ran all the way down to the floor like crimson tears. Dr. Lisa Carroll, the coroner, was crouched near a large pool of blood.

“Be careful of the glass.” Carroll pointed to the fridge. “A beer bottle was dropped there. We haven’t gathered up the pieces yet.”

Bobbie glanced at the shattered brown glass. “I guess our perp got thirsty.”

“I imagine he did,” Carroll agreed. “This definitely took some time.”

Carroll and Bobbie had attended Booker T. Washington High School together. They’d never actually been friends, but Bobbie was happy to hear the younger woman had accepted the position left open by the retiring coroner last month. It was a part-time job and most of the doctors in the area didn’t want to steal the time out of their busy schedules. Carroll was hardly more than five foot two and probably didn’t weight a hundred pounds soaking wet. Back in school she’d been a wallflower and pretty much stayed to herself. Hard work and relentless determination had won her numerous scholarships. Bobbie wondered why a woman so focused and driven had chosen to be a general practitioner rather than a surgeon or some other specialist.

Carroll exhaled a big breath. “Well, everything appears to be here.”

Bobbie surveyed the pile of organs stacked in the center of the blood. Partial shoes prints were visible near the edge of the wide coagulating puddle. Before she could ask, Officer Elliott said, “The evidence tech took photos of the shoe prints, but they’re smudged.” She pointed to where the prints abruptly disappeared about two feet from the pool of blood and other bodily fluids. “Detective Devine and I concluded that the killer probably took off his clothes right there.”