Cheryl Bradshaw - Sinnerman

“This is why I didn’t want to tell you,” Maddie said.

“He can say whatever he likes. It just incites me to find him all the more. I’m ready to take a look at the bodies.”

We walked into the next room and my eyes focused in on one thing, and that was all it took—I was distracted. I picked up one of the silver tools from Maddie’s mess of a tray and suddenly had the urge to rearrange everything. I took the three shortest ones and placed them on the left and continued to sort by size until a hand reached in and slapped me on the wrist.

“Check your OCD at the door,” Maddie said. “You’re in my lab now, and I don’t need you making a mess of my tools.”

“Do you see how you have them arranged on here? I don’t know how you find anything.”

Maddie grabbed a random tool and angled it at me.

“Everything’s just the way I like it, so back off sister.”

“What have you found out so far?”

Maddie walked over to both women and stood between them.

“This one here with the S carved into her wrist went first and fast. He choked her out and then strangled her. I didn’t find any signs of a struggle, and she had no lacerations anywhere else on her body. It was like he picked her up, sedated and killed her in a hurry and then moved on to the next one.”

She turned to the second victim and said, “This one wasn’t so lucky.”

“I’m afraid to ask.”

“He took more time with her, and she was killed in a style similar to the other women. She had three lacerations on her left leg, and see this impression right under her upper arm?”

I nodded.

“It’s the shape and size of a thumb print, and it looks like he pressed it into her for some reason—hard.”

Maddie looked at both girls.

“There is one difference between these women and the others. Their hair is lighter than all the other vic’s.”

“That’s the first thing I noticed,” I said. “Maybe it was quantity and not quality he was after this time.”

“Both girls have been identified, and it turns out they knew each other. They were best friends.”

CHAPTER 51

Sam Reids hovered over his shelves and admired the recent additions to his trophies on the second row. There was something about the hands that mesmerized him more than the fingers he’d collected, and every now and then he swore they actually swayed in their liquid coffins and waved at him.

He wondered what Sloane thought of the note he left at the crime scene and if she cringed when she saw it. By now the anger and denial he had over the five finger discount she’d done on his notebook had subsided and was replaced with a sense of relief and acceptance—something he never thought possible. He arched his back and folded his arms and imagined Sloane in a quiet room with nothing but his words to keep her company. Now she would understand him like no one ever had, and their relationship would be forever changed.

Sam’s favorite song blared through the speakers of his Bose iPod dock. He hummed the soft melody and leaned back and allowed himself to return to a previous time in his life, where he found himself alone in a stark white room with Laurel. He was five and she was—well, significantly older. How much so Sam didn’t know at the time. He just knew she looked like a mom, even though she didn’t act like one. Laurel knelt down next to him and her soft hair fell in his face. It smelled like he’d dipped his hand in a jar of honey.

“What’s this song called, Mommy?” Sam said.

“Sinnerman.”

Sam didn’t know what that meant.

“Who’s the singer?”

“Nina Simone.”

He liked the name Nina but didn’t care much for Simone.

“Why does he have two first names?”

“Not he silly, she.”

Sam thought Nina didn’t sound like a woman at all. Her voice was low and rough, like a man’s.

“What’s it about?” he said.

Laurel knelt down and extended her right hand and pulled her fingers back toward herself. “Come here,” she said to Sam. “You want to hear a story?”

Sam nodded. Laurel never told him stories. It made him feel special. He walked over and knelt by her side.

“When Nina Simone was little, she used to go to church with her mamma, who was a Methodist,” Laurel said.

“What’s a Messosist?”

Laurel placed a finger in the middle of Sam’s lips. “Shhh,” she said. “Do you want to hear the story or not?”

He nodded.

“Well then, shush now.”

Laurel continued.

“Nina’s mamma was a minister at that church, and they used to sing this song to help sway people into confessing their sins.”

Sam was confused. He didn’t know what confess meant, but he knew if he asked, he might never hear the rest of the story.

“When Nina grew up, she became a famous singer, and she remembered this song and decided to sing it for the whole world to hear. Do you want to know what I think the song means?”

Sam nodded and pulled closer to his mother and clung to her every word.

“There was a man and his name was Sinnerman, and he spent his life running around doing bad things until one day he woke up and realized what he’d done and he was ashamed. He didn’t like who he was anymore and all he wanted to do was to run and hide. So he went out and tried to find a place where he could shield himself from the rest of the world, and he looked for someone to take him in. Only, no one wanted him. They’d all heard about this man called Sinnerman, and they thought he was up to no good. So they shut him out, and with no place to go, he sought out the Lord. But the Lord had seen all the things Sinnerman had done and he told him he couldn’t stay. He said there was only one place for him, and he pointed Sinnerman in the direction that he must go.”

“Where?”

“He was sent to live with the devil.”

The song ended and Sam snapped back to life. He didn’t like to think about Laurel or the life he used to have. His past had wasted away and any emotions he had corroded along with it. Whether he lived or died mattered little to him now. He preferred life, of course, but he also knew one day it would all come to an end, and if that was what needed to happen—so be it.

A female voice from the other room cried out in terror, and Sam rose from his chair and looked at the clock on the wall. The drugs had worn off. He didn’t like it when they talked. It made them seem so real, so human. He preferred them quiet. He grabbed a knife from the counter, walked to the room she was in and closed the door behind him.

CHAPTER 52

Agent Luciana and the chief sat on the corner of Kearns and Main in a parking lot of a place that used to be hailed the best restaurant in town.

“Where’s Giovanni?” Agent Luciana said when I drove up.

“Busy,” I said. “What have you found out?”

“The handwriting in the notebook is a match to the Sinnerman letters,” the chief said. “Almost exact even though I assume he wrote those journal entries years ago, but he hasn’t changed much over the years.”

“You’re sure?”

Agent Luciana nodded. “Without a doubt.”

“And the prints?”

The chief shook his head.

“We only found yours.”

“How’s that possible?”

He shrugged his shoulders and said, “Don’t know, but it had been wiped down.”

“Now what?” I said. “Am I the only one who feels like we take two steps forward and three steps back?”

“We’ve come a long way since I arrived,” Agent Luciana said. “We’re close, I can feel it. Pops and grandma are on their way in for questioning, and I’ve got my team on standby. Once they’re out of the house, we’ll sweep the whole thing.”