The next morning, we gathered in the briefing room. Royce wanted Vice to sit in on our meeting and give us the profile of a cult member who used animals in their rituals. They had dealt with the likes of them plenty in the past, and I knew Jacob Kenney was well-known to them. What we didn’t know was if they’d ever heard of Dylan Marx and if we were even on track in thinking those types might be responsible for Valerie’s death.
From what we’d learned, many people who killed animals did it for pleasure. They were the sickos to watch out for. Psychologists had often noted that over time, animal killers progressed into people killers. That much I knew from watching TV documentaries. We were also told that people who took part in sacrificial killings did it only for the ritual, not for the pleasure it gave them.
Royce begged to differ. “Killing is killing, and I’m sure they took some sick pleasure in it. I’m not buying the whole religious-rights-and-beliefs they spew. They’re into black magic and weird shit, and I wouldn’t be surprised if some of them went beyond that. They cite how animals were religiously sacrificed over centuries, but in my opinion, those crazies just enjoy it.”
“Maybe so, Raleigh, but to jump from animal to human sacrifice seems like a stretch,” Sergeant Richardson said.
I took my turn. “I know your department is acquainted with Jacob Kenney, but has a Dylan Marx ever come across your radar?”
Richardson scratched his cheek and looked from one detective to the next. “Anybody?”
They shook their heads and shrugged.
“Not familiar with the name, sir,” Detective Denning said.
Richardson returned his focus to Royce. “Doesn’t look like we know him, Raleigh.”
“Okay. His name came up in the interviews.”
“We’ll definitely check him out for past involvement, though.”
“Appreciate it, Ron.” Royce tipped his wrist. “I guess that’s all we have, then. This murder case is going nowhere fast.”
An officer knocked on the half-opened door then stepped into the room. “Excuse me, but I have something urgent to tell Sergeant Royce.”
Royce pointed his chin at the officer. “Go ahead. You can say whatever it is in front of the group.”
“Sir, a call came in from a groundskeeper who was checking on the abandoned Sullivan School on the south side of Savannah.”
“I’m familiar with the place. Go on.”
“He saw a car parked behind the last building and went to investigate. A woman was in the driver’s seat with her head against the wheel. He assumed she was sleeping and pounded on the window, but she didn’t move. He called 911, and Patrol arrived and did the same thing. Finally, they broke the passenger window, unlocked the doors, and went around to the driver’s side.” The officer stared at his feet.
Royce frowned. “Continue, Officer Lewis. What was wrong with her?”
“Her entire chest cavity was empty, Sergeant.”
Royce leapt from his chair, and we followed suit. Shouting and cursing ran rampant. The sergeant swirled his finger above his head. “Text me her name and address.” Royce pointed at our homicide unit. “Let’s go.”
We took the stairs two at a time to our ground floor and out the door to the parking lot. I dove in behind the wheel, Royce sat shotgun, and Rue jumped in the back. In the second cruiser, Lawrence and Bentley took up the rear. During the drive, Royce spent most of his time making calls to Tapper and Forensics. After hanging up, he looked over his shoulder at Devon.
“See who LeAnn Morrison is. That’s the name of the woman the car is registered to.”
“On it, Boss.”
We reached Sullivan School in ten minutes and drove past the buildings until we saw the parked squad cars. The discovery couldn’t have been more than a half hour old. Crime scene tape was going up at the driveway entrance, and we were told that a patrol officer had the groundskeeper waiting in his car to talk to us.
After screeching to a stop, we rushed to the woman’s vehicle and dipped under the tape that had already secured a twenty-foot perimeter around it. Both the driver and passenger doors were open, and safety glass covered the ground and interior on the passenger side. The body had been leaned back against the driver’s seat. The officers admitted they’d lifted the woman’s head and sat her upright before they realized what they were looking at. From that moment on, they hadn’t touched anything related to the car or the victim.
“Officer Bardon and I immediately backed away from the vehicle once we realized what her condition was, sir,” Officer Lorey told Royce after being asked who the first responders were.
“Tell us every single detail from the second you arrived.” Royce held up his finger. “Has anyone checked out the groundskeeper yet?”
Bardon responded. “No, sir. We needed to secure the scene and make the call to Homicide first.”
Royce called out to Bentley. “You and Lawrence go interview that groundskeeper and do a background check on him as soon as you learn his name.”
I watched as Royce yelled out orders. My mind was spinning with uncertainty. Either that woman was here already for whatever reason, possibly to buy drugs, and was opportunistically killed, or she was murdered and gutted somewhere else and the killer drove her vehicle to that spot. First, we needed to know without any doubt that she was indeed LeAnn Morrison, then we would try to make sense of how she got there.
After gloving up, I leaned into the car to look for her purse and phone. We needed to establish her identity.
Royce yelled out again. “Rue, get SVU on the line and have them patch you through to Missing Persons! Find out if a LeAnn Morrison has been reported missing.”
I got down on my knees and did everything in my power to avoid looking at the woman, but I couldn’t help myself. Her skin was a sickly whitish blue—nearly gray—and the blouse covering her hollow torso had turned black with hours-old blood. I shook my head, looked away, and jammed my arm under the passenger seat. No purse or phone. I looked in the glove box and console and found the same—nothing. I checked the back seat then the trunk. Nothing to identify the woman was there. The only place left was under the driver’s seat or in her pockets, but I couldn’t go there yet. Forensics and Tapper would go first. It would be a good hour before we had clearance to examine more. I had an idea that could speed things up and headed for Royce.
“Boss, I didn’t see anything inside the car that could identify the woman as LeAnn, and of course we can’t search her body yet.”
Royce cursed. “Or what’s left of it.”
I agreed and continued with my idea. “I could go to the home on record for this vehicle, see if anyone is there, and ask for LeAnn by name.” I grimaced. “It would be best to take a picture of her face for identification’s sake.”
Royce paced. “Yeah, the family will find out sooner or later anyway if that’s her.” He looked around. “Where’s Rue? He was supposed to see if she was reported missing.”
I shielded my eyes and scanned the area. “Here he comes.”
Rue approached us and said no one had reported a LeAnn Morrison missing.
“Well, shit. This lady is somebody. She isn’t dressed like a vagrant, and from what we can tell, she doesn’t look homeless. Her nails are manicured and polished.” Royce jerked his head toward our cruiser. “There’s time before we’ll know anything, so go ahead and pay the homeowner a visit. Rue, you go along too.”
“You got it, sir.”
Back in our cruiser, we headed to the address on record. Once there, I parked, and we walked to the front door of a middle-class home in a middle-class neighborhood. I rang the bell, and we waited. With the garage door closed, it was impossible to know whether anyone was home. There wasn’t a car parked directly in front along the curb either.
Minutes passed, and nobody came to the door.
“Now what?” Rue asked.
I pointed across the street, where a woman was gardening. “Let’s go see what she knows.”
We approached the woman and caught her attention by calling out to her. I didn’t want to come up from behind and startle her. “Excuse us, ma’am.”
She looked over her shoulder, stood, then removed her gardening gloves. “Yes, may I help you?”
“I sure hope so.” I showed her my badge then pointed at the house we’d just left. “Do the Morrisons live there?”
“Yes, Mark and LeAnn.”
“Have you seen either of them this morning?”
“I imagine LeAnn already went to work, and I believe Mark is away on business. Is there something I can help you with?”
Her comment about the husband being gone could explain why nobody had reported LeAnn missing. “Can you describe LeAnn to us?”
“That’s an odd question, and you can call me Joyce.”
“Thank you, Joyce.” I waited.
“Well, LeAnn is around forty, I guess, although I’ve never asked her age. She’s pretty and has shoulder-length brown hair.”
So far, Joyce’s description was matching the woman in the car.
“What would you say she weighs?”
“Um, around one hundred twenty pounds. You know, average weight.”
“Do you have Mark’s phone number, Joyce?” Rue asked.
“No, sorry, but if you want to talk to LeAnn, I know where she works.”
“Great, and where’s that?”
“At Flapjack’s. It’s the pancake house across the street from the new mall. She works there until noon, then later in the day, she works part-time at one of the shoe stores inside the mall.”
“So she works morning hours at Flapjack’s and goes to the mall later?” I confirmed.
“Yep. Not every day, of course, but probably four days a week. She works until the mall closes at night.”
“Thank you for the help. We’ll head over to Flapjack’s right now.”
We left before she could ask questions. Until the woman in the car was identified, we couldn’t assume she was LeAnn or announce it to anyone other than her husband.
Flapjack’s was three miles southeast of the Morrison house, only a couple of minutes away. We arrived to a full restaurant—nine thirty was prime breakfast time. The young lady behind the hostess stand said there was a fifteen-minute wait.
Leaning in closer so the people around us didn’t overhear, I told the hostess we were detectives and needed to speak with the manager right away. I also asked if LeAnn had shown up for work that morning.
Her headshake was all the answer I needed.
“I’ll get the manager. Give me a minute, please.”
Rue and I stepped out of line and watched for someone to come down the hallway. Less than a minute later, a man and the hostess walked in our direction. She pointed at us then returned to the hostess stand. The man approached Rue and me and introduced himself as David Conn.
“May we talk somewhere privately?” I asked as I looked at the crowded entryway. “It’s kind of loud out here.”
“Sure thing. We’ll talk in my office. Right this way.”