The nighttime church bells rang out eleven times before the medical examiner and his assistant took Bella’s body away. To no one’s surprise, Tapper’s assessment was the same in all cases. The victims had died of an overdose of something that shut down their respiratory system—essentially suffocating them. After he’d arrived on scene, he agreed with the opioid theory I presented earlier based on the small pupils, sweating, and agitation that slowed the breathing to the point of asphyxiation. But there was more, he’d said. An opioid overdose didn’t explain the zombielike stiff-legged walk. He promised to give us more tomorrow after comparing the victims with each other.
There was nothing else we could do that night. We already knew the victims weren’t acquainted, and they didn’t have any hobbies in common. Their ages were all over the map, as were their occupations and marital status, or lack thereof. I saw a huge brainstorming session in our future.
After returning to the precinct, Renz and I said our good nights to Mitch and Devon. They were going back inside to review the latest updates with the night crew, whose shift had begun hours earlier.
We climbed into our rental and headed for our hotel, where I was about to suggest a glass of wine before turning in. It was late, and as much as my brain was still on overdrive, I needed something to help me relax. Renz agreed that a drink sounded like a good idea.
After passing off our car to the valet parking attendant, we entered 45 Bistro, where we each had two glasses of Malbec and shared a charcuterie board. It was exactly what we needed to hold us over until morning. At that time of night, the only restaurants open anyway were fast-food joints that were several miles away. I wasn’t interested in wasting that much time on an average burger and fries. The wine and the assortment of meats, cheeses, spreads, olives, breads, nuts, fruits, and crackers were delicious and hit the spot.
It was after midnight by the time Renz and I parted ways at our rooms, and we agreed to meet for breakfast downstairs at seven the next morning. I was hopeful that the wine I’d had would help me get the sleep I needed, and after a hot shower, I slipped on my pajamas, fluffed my pillow, and quickly dozed off.
I must have slept soundly since my eyes didn’t crack open at all until my phone’s alarm buzzed. A quick rinse to fully wake up and a cup of coffee were all I needed to feel alert and raring to go. I dressed, pulled my hair back in a ponytail to fight the humidity frizzies, and headed downstairs, where Renz was reading the morning newspaper as he sat outside the restaurant’s entrance. He looked up and turned the front page toward me.
“Nice headlines, huh?”
The bold print on the front page read, “Nobody is Safe in Savannah—Police Stumped.”
“Crap. That isn’t going to increase the community’s confidence in the police force.” The article, which I would read later, looked to be a full page long. The crew from the Daily Sentinel had been working overtime, and the editor himself likely felt the need to exploit Sunny’s death. I doubted that Joe Francis was involved since he’d given us his word that he would hold back the article and videos that he and Sunny had filmed. I let out an annoyed groan. “Now what?”
“Now we eat breakfast, buy a paper to read later, and head to the precinct. I’m hoping that as soon as possible, we can squelch the backlash the PD is going to be bombarded with, especially if that article is naming names and describing scenes. People are going to be fearful for their lives and outraged when they see Bella listed as one of the victims.”
We sat down to a wonderful breakfast, although my tastebuds weren’t in it. As much as I wanted to enjoy the food, all I could think about was our killer and why he was doing it. Nothing about the deaths made sense, and it wouldn’t until we found out who the killer was. They always had an agenda, and that agenda always made perfect sense to them.
We reached the precinct by eight o’clock and checked in with the desk sergeant, who said Royce, the detectives, and a handful of officers were in the large conference room down the hallway. Renz and I thanked her and headed that way.
I was surprised to find the room crowded with fourteen people in various ranks of law enforcement. Two seats alongside Sergeant Royce sat empty, apparently for Renz and me. A whiteboard was already set up, and next to it stood a cork board with photos and stats for the four victims.
It was time to buckle down, put together a profile based on reasons for committing murder that would seem logical to the killer, and hopefully narrow down the type of suspect we were looking for. We had to go over the things we knew for sure to get the ball rolling, but first, with notepads in front of us, Sarge made an important call to the medical examiner’s office. We listened as the phone rang.
“Tapper Lowe, Chatham County Medical Examiner speaking.”
“Tapper, it’s Royce, and I have the FBI agents, detectives, and a slew of officers here with me. We have you on Speakerphone if you have time to talk.”
“I do, and I just received the call about Sunny Montag’s tox report and the results from the DNA under her fingernails. The lab is also sending hard copies of both, but they knew hearing the results ASAP was imperative.”
I sat on pins and needles as Tapper began.
“The lab says the DNA was her own.”
I let out an involuntary groan. I was right about the women scratching their own necks, and chances were that the DNA under Bella’s nails was her own too.
Tapper continued, “Sunny was heavily overdosed with K2 and Fentanyl, definitely a deadly mixture when combined in high quantities. A pinch of Fentanyl grains is all it takes to kill an adult human being, as I’m sure you know, and that explains the sudden deaths. The victims were totally doped up, but the Fentanyl is what killed them. They all died of suffocation due to the Fentanyl shutting down their respiratory system.”
“And that explains the agitation, sweating, and scratches on their skin,” I said.
“You hit the nail on the head with that theory last night, Agent Monroe. I suspected it, but I can’t write the cause of death on any death report until I have absolute proof, and I’m sure the other tox reports will come back the same way.”
Royce thanked Tapper and said we would be in touch later since Renz and I wanted to view the bodies ourselves. Sarge ended the call, and our brainstorming session began.
Renz started by addressing Royce. “Is Fentanyl a big problem in Savannah?”
“It’s getting worse every day, but I’ve never heard of K2 laced with it. The killer has to be using the liquid version of K2 and mixing the Fentanyl into it.”
“And having the victims ingest it? How can the killer do that on the fly or know what victim would willingly drink it?”
“That’s something we need to find out,” Mitch said. “We’ll start digging into Fentanyl arrests over the last year or two, do the same with K2, and see if there are any new players on the block.”
I shook my head. “But still, a dealer wouldn’t normally kill their customer, so I’d say we can safely rule out the victims as being addicts.” I pointed at the whiteboard. “Let’s write down each victim’s occupation or background and see where that takes us. From what I can tell, the killer wanted to show the effects that drugs have on people, but he also used specific drugs to give the public enough time to see the symptoms and witness the victim’s actual death. He’s counting on the shock factor, and that alone would be traumatic for anyone to see, especially everyday citizens and tourists.”
Renz huffed. “Especially tourists. I bet they’d cancel their vacation and hit the road for home in no time.”
I rattled my fingers on the table. “And maybe that’s exactly what the killer wants. What if the murders aren’t drug related, and the drugs are only used as a means to an end?”
“Like for show? So people on the street can see those victims die firsthand? That’s as morbid as it comes,” Devon said.
I felt like I was on a roll, so I stepped up to the whiteboard and began to write. “It is, and it would definitely make an impact on the community. Every victim came from a different walk of life, and each one was somewhat in the public eye. Sunny was a newspaper reporter, and she was working on the K2 story. Then there was the PI who found out his client’s husband wasn’t cheating but buying drugs instead, the internet blogger who wrote about Savannah and the wonderful restaurants, hotels, and tourism here, and finally, Bella, the pillar of society who died right in front of Savannah’s most notable restaurant. I’m willing to bet there’s a good chance that James Morey even wrote a tourism article for the Olde Pink House.”
Royce slapped his hands together. “I think we’re making progress, people. Somebody wants to hurt the revenue tourism brings into the city, and they’re doing it by scaring tourists half to death. That’s why all the victims died in high-traffic tourist spots. Now, we need to find out who that person is and his or her reason for doing it. They’re literally showing people that nobody is safe in Savannah.”
Mitch brought up the issue of the media. “Somebody is already trying to spread panic through the city. The headlines put us in a bad light, but hell, it’s only been thirty-six hours since the first death.”
Sarge agreed. “True, but the killer wants to get the biggest bang for his buck by sensationalizing the deaths and making them fodder for the newspaper rumor mill. Pretty soon, all the news channels will be airing video footage and still shots from the cell phone cameras of every bystander.”
With that image in my head, I squeezed my temples. “That in itself will kill Savannah’s tourism in a heartbeat.”
“And that’s why we need to nip this murderer’s rampage in the bud as quickly as possible,” Sarge said. “Prentice and Bloom, start looking for arrests made due to drug-related deaths in the last year, or deaths caused by tourists. Cannon and Rue, take care of the Fentanyl research you were going to do. Agents Monroe and DeLeon, you said you were going to review the footage that the cameraman sent you?”
“That’s correct,” Renz said.
“Good. Everyone else, hit the streets, talk to your informants, go back to every scene and scour the ground again, then speak to the regulars in the area. Also, find out where Mr. Crenshaw and Mr. Morey were earlier yesterday, where they went, and talk to everyone they knew. Start with Mrs. Morey and then hit both of their neighborhoods.”
“You got it, Boss,” Devon said.
I walked out with the group and headed to the lunchroom. Renz and I would begin the slow process of going through the videos that Joe had sent. Hopefully, we would find something that could be considered a clue. There was also the off chance that the killer had been watching them make the recordings. After getting two cups of coffee, I returned to the conference room, where Renz had already set up the first recording from last week.
“Here you go. I figured we’d get more accomplished over coffee.”
“Thanks, Jade, and I’m ready whenever you are.”
I took a seat at Renz’s side, and with a blank sheet of paper in front of me, I planned to write down anything and everything that could be considered a clue or that we could check on later.
“If I recall the order, it was three days of Sunny reporting in the worst neighborhoods, and then the last two days, she reported from the tourist hot spots.”
“Yep,” Renz said. “Let’s keep our eyes peeled for anything on the videos that could carry over from the bad neighborhoods into the tourist areas.”
The first recording began, and we saw Sunny standing along the curb on a street of weather-worn, unkempt houses. She knelt and pointed out the drug debris lying openly on the street’s edge.
As the video rolled, she began her piece. “We have heroin needles in plain sight that can poke the neighborhood kids. Every kind of drug packaging is lying here too.” With a gloved hand, Sunny picked up Spice wrappers that resembled colorful tea bags. Empty containers of all shapes and sizes, which had likely held cocaine, were there too. She picked up small glass vials and held them toward the camera. “These are probably from liquid Spice. K2 comes in several forms—liquid to be vaped or a synthetic cannabinoid whose chemical compound changes all the time and is applied to a plant-based material.” She looked into the camera as Joe zoomed in. “People, there was a huge K2 bust several years back, but it’s flourishing again right under law enforcement’s noses. Spice is a dangerous drug, and nobody knows what it is other than the mad scientists who spray the unknown chemical onto a dried plant base.”
I paused the footage while I thought. “You know, Sarge is probably right in his assumption about the liquid K2 being mixed with Fentanyl. The proof is right in front of us with Sunny showing the glass vials along the curb.”
“Unfortunately, that’s a fact,” Renz said. “Okay, look hard and long at everything around Sunny. Better yet, take a picture so we have a still shot of her and her surroundings. We’ll compare every still shot to the next to see if anything stands out.”
I stared at the computer screen and took in everything—the people on their porches and on the sidewalks as well as the cars in driveways, along the curb, or passing by. I snapped several pictures, and we moved on to the footage from the next day. We followed the same process with each video, giving them all careful attention, then took still shots. After we’d viewed all five days of footage, I printed every still shot and placed them in front of us on the conference room table. We studied picture one and compared it to picture two. No connection. We then compared picture one to picture three. Nothing. Then we compared two to three. Still nothing.
I groaned in aggravation. “Maybe nobody paid attention to her at all. Think about it, Renz. What drug dealer or user would want to show up on her news feature anyway? Remember how those guys headed for the house the second we started walking toward them?”
“Yeah, you do have a point. Let’s move on to the tourist area videos, then. Getting this done will be one more thing we can check off our to-do list.”
We watched the first video, which took place in front of Olde Harbour Inn. According to the time and date stamp on the footage, it was shot just after sunrise on Thursday. Sunny went through the same information that was on the previous videos and showed the discarded drug waste along the street. I took still shots again. The last video took place in front of Colonial Park Cemetery, with more drug paraphernalia lying at the edge of the street, and again, it was filmed at daybreak. According to Joe, the last video would have been shot in front of Forsyth Park on Sunday, but by then, Sunny was gone.
I had a sudden epiphany. “Holy shit!”
“What?”
“Think about those last locations, Renz. Olde Harbour Inn is right next to Morrell Park. The Colonial Park Cemetery was where Sunny died, and although they didn’t get the chance to film there, Forsyth Park would have been next.”
“Yeah, so what are you getting at?”
“So, there’s either a person outside the camera’s range who followed them, a car in each video that’s the same, or there’s somebody that Joe told their schedule to, and he doesn’t realize that person is the killer.”
Renz held up his hands. “Whoa! You’re getting way ahead of me. What exactly do you mean?”
“It makes perfect sense.” I flipped through the pictures as I frantically looked at each one for the same car or person that I hadn’t noticed before. I jabbed a blue car that partially showed up in each photograph. “There! What if that’s the same car in each picture?”
“First, we have to know for sure that the car isn’t Sunny’s blue Accord.”
“Right. I forgot her car was blue. What about Joe? We’d have to make sure he doesn’t have a blue car. Also, he’d know what vehicle they took for the shoots. I’d venture to say they’d take his since all his equipment would be in it.”
“True. Let me give him a quick call while you get us two waters.”
“You bet.” I speed walked to the lunchroom, bought two waters, and got back just as Renz hung up. “Well?”
He rubbed his chin and grinned. “You may be onto something, Jade. Joe said he has a silver van, and that’s what they took every time they went out.”
“Okay. So now we’ll have to figure out if the blue car we partially see in every picture is actually the same one in all.”
“Email the pictures to Tech. They should be able to tell.”
“Great idea. I’ll do that right now.” After I’d taken care of that and sent a short note explaining why I sent the images, I sat down, guzzled my water, and racked my brain. “So, if the killer knew what Sunny was going to report on, and if he followed them to every location, he must have gotten the idea to kill people in those hot spots because Sunny was reporting from there.”
Renz stood and paced the room. “So essentially a double whammy. Get the idea from the reporter of where the drug and tourist hot spots are, and then kill people there later when the tourists are flocking to the area?”
“Exactly.”
“He’s got an axe to grind with somebody, and he’s deliberately doing it publicly. I’m leaning toward what you said earlier.”
“What did I say? You know I never shut up.”
Renz laughed. “You said tourism is what he’s after, and killing people publicly with drugs is his method of doing it.”
“That’s right, and we need to gather everyone back here as soon as possible.”