We completed the background checks on the rest of the fourteen people who were residing in temporary lodging near both parks, and they all came up clean. Our focus would remain on Leah Standish. I sent a text to Chuck Donahue, thinking a text was less intrusive than calling him at nine o’clock in the evening. I asked if the name Leah Standish had ever come up during the murder investigation in Charlotte. I knew it was a long shot, but it was worth sending a text to find out.
A response came back right away. His wife must have been busy at the moment since his eyes were clearly on his phone. He said the name didn’t sound familiar, but he would fire off a message to his partner and ask him. I was grateful to have Chuck ready and willing to help in any way he could and texted him my thanks. With my phone back in my pocket, I signed off for the night. The second shift crew was more than capable of handling anything that could possibly go wrong that evening. As I walked the hallway past Lutz’s office, I saw his light was still on. I rapped on the door, and when he called out for me to come in, I entered.
“Still working, Boss?”
He leaned back and stretched. “Just wrapping up the day, and then I’m heading home. Looks like you’ve finally decided to call it a night.”
“Yep. Just wondering how Patrol’s surveillance is going on Leah Standish.” I tipped my wrist and checked the time. “Maybe too early?”
“Yeah, dead quiet, excuse the pun. Tillson said Leah hasn’t left her apartment since she got home from work.”
“No surprise there since their preferred MO is to prowl around late at night.” I knuckled the doorframe. “Okay, see you in the morning.”
“Yep, and thanks. I’ve got quite the team.”
It was nine thirty by the time I settled in at home. Bandit got the first half hour of my time, and we sat comfortably on the couch together, my laptop in front of me and the pup curled up at my feet. I logged on to the dating website I’d joined the previous night and saw three messages. I had to decide whether to pay to play or delete the account and save my dating efforts for another time. I was able to read the messages and see who’d contacted me, but I couldn’t respond unless I plugged in my credit card information. Since I hadn’t dated anyone in years—many years—I was hesitant. My college buddies and work friends filled that bonding void when I had free time, and with Bandit as my constant companion, I was still on the fence about dating. I would read the messages, check out the profiles, and decide tomorrow. My life wasn’t bad, and in that moment, I just wanted to watch the ten o’clock news, have another beer, then hit the sheets.
Later, as I lay in bed and felt myself dozing off, the vibration of my phone perked me up. I swatted the nightstand to feel for its familiar shape and grabbed it. I squinted at the screen, trying to see if it was a call or a text. An orange number lit up on the text thumbnail. A message had come in, and I didn’t have to talk to anyone. I was thankful—I needed sleep.
I slipped on my reading glasses and took a look. The text, from Chuck, said nobody had ever come across the name Leah Standish as a person of interest in the Charlotte murders. I fired off a response and thanked him for checking into it, then I set the phone on the nightstand and closed my eyes. I felt myself relax, and the next thing I heard was the annoying buzz of the phone alarm.
No way. I just went to sleep, damn it.
I rolled over, looked at the transom window above the blinds, and saw that daylight had shown up and was peeking in. Groaning my displeasure, I felt like I hadn’t slept more than a few hours, but coffee would fix that—maybe even an espresso. I trudged down the hallway to brew a strong cup to drink while my shower water heated. An excited Bandit waited at the patio door to go outside, and I watched as he walked the fence line, sniffing the plant life like he did every morning. When the coffee was ready, I poured a cup and thought about work. Maybe that day would be different and we would put an end to the crimes committed by our mystery killer. I would know more after roll call, when we got our updates.
At the precinct, I entered the building and headed for the cafeteria before going to the bull pen. I knew I would find half of our squad in there, anyway. Looking around, I saw Henry and Frank staring at the few choices left in the vending machine. I asked if they’d heard anything about last night’s surveillance, and they said they hadn’t. Two hallways later, as both men chewed on their muffins, we arrived in the roll call room and joined the rest of our department. We chatted with each other while waiting for Lutz to appear. Five, then ten minutes passed, and people began to shift in their seats as they stared at the door.
“Where the hell is he?” Frank asked.
“I don’t know, but he’s usually the first person here. I’ll go check his office.”
I excused myself and walked out. Out of eyesight of the rest, I stepped up my pace in the hallway. Something was wrong, and I intended to find out what it was. Lutz was normally prompt when conducting roll call. Seconds later, I reached the commander’s office to see him and Abrams involved in an intense discussion. I raised my fist to knock, but Bob waved me in.
“Jesse, I don’t have time to conduct roll call, so I need you to take care of that for me. Nothing else, just roll call. Send everyone back to the bull pen afterward.”
“You got it, sir.” I turned around without asking questions. I had been instructed to conduct a task. Questions had their time and place, and this wasn’t it.
Twenty minutes later, a bull pen jammed with detectives and officers—some leaning against the wall—awaited Lutz’s arrival. More than one set of footsteps sounded in the back hallway, telling me Abrams was likely joining Lutz for an important update, and the churning in my gut told me it wasn’t anything good.
“Okay, boys and girls, I need everyone’s attention.” Lutz reached out, grabbed a bottle of water as he passed my desk, and didn’t miss a beat. He stood with Abrams at his side near the back table, then he stuck a fist in front of his mouth and cleared his throat. He cracked open the bottle and took a gulp. “It’s come to our attention through a 911 call we received fifteen minutes ago that another body was discovered, this one in the parking lot of the East Chicago Humane Society.”
“What the—”
Lutz raised his hand. “Hold up, Frank. Just let me get through this update, and then there’ll be time for questions afterward. The unidentified nude and fingerless man was discovered inside a light-blue Sienna. We were told there’s a lot of blood, but until Don gets there to inspect the body, we don’t know the cause of death.”
“Son of a bitch!” Frank yelled out. “We know the name of the woman who rented that vehicle, so why aren’t we picking her up?”
“Okay, okay, take it down a notch, Mills,” Lutz said sternly. “We have an APB out for a Janet St. James. The driver’s license and address provided on said license are fake. We’ve made the necessary calls, and that address is just a reroute from a digital mailbox provider. It’s highly unlikely that the woman is from Grants Pass, Oregon, or that her name really is Janet St. James. Forensics and Don are en route to the Humane Society. Hopefully, they can pick up some viable prints that are in the system.” Lutz nodded to the group. “Okay, let’s hear the questions.”
I began before Frank took over the entire question-and-answer session. “It isn’t a question, but there must be some relevance to the dump site since the other two bodies were found in parks.”
“Maybe they’re erring on the side of caution,” Henry said.
“How is killing, transporting, and dumping a dead body the least bit cautious?” Frank asked.
Abrams spoke up. “I would venture to say they know we’re patrolling the park system. Hell, they may even have a police scanner for all we know.”
“Who found the man?” Kip asked.
Lutz took over. “The receptionist is always the first to arrive. She opens up the building and begins feeding the animals. When she pulled in, she noticed the vehicle in the parking lot, which immediately raised a red flag with her. She said she was apprehensive to approach, but by the time she was within ten feet of the van, she could see the man wasn’t wearing a shirt, and blood covered his chest and back. She ran inside the building, locked the door behind her, and called 911.”
Abrams added more. “Our patrol units arrived within four minutes and secured the vehicle. They had to break a window to open the doors because they were locked.”
“Meaning the perp has the key and probably that man’s vehicle.”
Lutz nodded. “Most likely. Forensics will go through the Sienna from top to bottom and look for anything of evidentiary value.”
Tony asked the next question. “You mentioned the signature removal of fingertips, but what about the broken teeth?”
“Don’t know yet. His mouth was closed according to my officers,” Abrams said.
Frank stared at me with raised brows as I jotted down everything I could think of in that moment. I needed to know why the killer chose the Humane Society—or as we called it as kids, the dog pound—as the place to leave the latest victim. Was the man a dog, meaning a dirtbag toward women, or was he in the doghouse for some reason? But that would indicate they knew him, meaning it wasn’t a random killing. The more I thought about it, the more baffling it became. Why would the killers flip the script and take the chance of leaving evidence in the vehicle Janet St. James drove off in two weeks earlier? None of it made sense unless, like Lutz said, everything about the mysterious Janet St. James was fiction.
“Jesse, I want you, Frank, Henry, and Shawn to head to the scene and start looking for cameras a mile out in every direction. They had to have a vehicle to drive away in, and it was likely the victim’s. It’s probably our only chance to find out who that man is unless we can get his face on the news.”
Frank grumbled. “That hasn’t helped with the first victim yet.”
Henry grabbed his jacket off the chairback. “Let’s go, guys.”
Lutz continued. “Tony and Kip, scour the grounds at the facility and then start knocking on doors. It isn’t a residential neighborhood, but we still need to know if anyone saw anything throughout the night. It’s worth a shot.”
When we arrived, the scene was already secured. Officers stationed at the entrance let only employees through to care for the animals. Business was closed to the public until the parking lot and perimeter of the property were cleared and released back to the Humane Society.
We parked outside the yellow tape then dipped under it. The Sienna was a hundred feet in front of us, and Don, already there, was looking at the deceased.
“What have we got, Don?” I asked as we stood back five feet.
He looked over his shoulder at us. “Morning, guys. Guess we’re getting an early start today.”
I shaded my eyes as I tried to see past him. “Looks that way. Same MO as the others?”
“Yes and no,” Don said. “We have the missing fingertips. No broken teeth, because the man wore dentures, but they’re gone, and it looks like two large stab wounds were inflicted on him. One to the chest and the other to the back of the neck. Either one would have killed him, so it doesn’t really matter which came first. They were within seconds of each other.”
I rubbed my neck as I thought.
Drain cleaner killed John Doe, multiple blows to the head killed victim number two, and now this guy has been stabbed.
“Weapons of opportunity?” Henry asked.
Don shrugged. “Or the killers just like mixing it up.”
“Did you get the tox report back on the second victim?” I asked.
Don nodded. “Came in just before I left work yesterday. No drain cleaner in his system, but alcohol did show up in his urine.”
“Over the legal limit?”
“Too much time has passed to be that precise. He may have had three or four drinks prior to being killed. Alcohol dissipates in blood within six hours but is detectible in urine for up to twenty-four hours. My guess would be possibly. Maybe that’s how the killers are able to overpower their victims.”
“Interesting.” I pulled out my notepad and wrote that down. The killer or killers might have had drinks with the victims, made sure they were drunk or well on their way, then overpowered them or coaxed them to their place to kill them. That took me back to the California politician who was murdered after announcing his engagement to another man. Was it that type of hate crime, or was it a crime committed by a woman who coaxed the victim to her place with the intention of killing him? Still, I would consider that a hate crime too—a hatred for men in general. “Come on, guys. Let’s start pounding the pavement and look for cameras. You know the drill. Start close and work our way out.” Our forensic team showed up, and I walked over to talk to them. “Mike, Danny. Staying busy, huh?”
Mike nodded. “Damn straight. Same as the others?”
“Pretty much. Kip and Tony will be here any minute to walk the grounds and then start knock and talks. We’re heading out to look for cameras in the area. Keep us posted and make sure that vehicle is taken to the evidence garage.”
“Sure thing, Jesse.”
I called out to Don before we left. “We’re going to be out in the neighborhood, so give Lutz the updates when you have them.”
Don waved then stuck his head back in the van’s door.
Luckily, because we were in a predominantly commercial neighborhood, finding cameras wasn’t nearly as tough as it was in residential areas. The ones on the streets surrounding the animal shelter should give us the answers we needed. We each took a street that ran parallel to the shelter and began walking the block. I found a camera immediately—my lucky day, as I’d hoped. Mounted above a corner door, it could possibly catch a portion of the intersection in both directions. I entered the accounting office and asked to speak to the person who owned or managed the company. I assumed the first individual who spoke up was that person, and it was. A friendly-looking woman said she was the senior employee and asked what she could help me with. I showed her my badge and said we needed to see the footage from the camera above the door.
“I’m sorry, Detective, but we don’t own the building. We just lease the space. You’d have to contact the owner about the camera, but I believe the footage is stored off-site since we don’t have any equipment within our office space.”
I thanked her and got the contact information for the building’s owner and called him as soon as I stepped outside. Robert Dolan answered on the second ring and gave me the name and address of the company that stored the surveillance footage and said it was on a weeklong loop. It recorded over itself every Sunday night beginning at 11:59 p.m. He told me the only reason there was a camera at all was that they’d had a break-in at the accountant’s office last year. He didn’t want the firm to move out since they were good tenants, so he had the camera installed.
“Is there a chance you could call the storage company and give the okay for me to view last night’s footage?”
“Sure, but you know they’ll need to see your credentials.”
“Of course, and it’s mandatory on our part, anyway.” I thanked him, said I was on my way, then hung up and called Frank. “Having any luck?”
“I’m looking at the footage from last night at a deli on the street west and parallel to the animal shelter. Haven’t seen that Sienna, though.”
“Okay, watch it until eight this morning. If you don’t see the van, we’ll know they didn’t come from the north or south on that street. I’m heading to a video storage facility that has the footage from the accounting office near the driveway to the animal shelter. I think it’s our best bet. Tell the guys to keep looking on the surrounding streets and I should be back by midmorning.”
“Roger that.”
I programmed the address into my phone and checked how long it would take to get there. Because morning rush hour was over, it looked like I would arrive in just under a half hour. I set the GPS and took off.
I chuckled when I stepped out of my cruiser and read the sign for Backup Plan Storage in a suite of office buildings—a catchy name, I had to admit. I walked the hallway to Suite 19, where the facility that stored cloud and video data was located. When I walked through the glass door, the buzzer sounded. At the counter, I introduced myself, which appeared to ring a bell with the receptionist, Marilyn. She said Robert Dolan had called, explained that I was on my way, and told them what I needed. She asked to see my badge, which I showed her, then she escorted me to the second room on the right, about halfway down a long hallway.
“We already queued up the footage from last night for you. All you have to do is press Play, and use the forward and backward buttons to advance, slow down, or reverse the footage.”
“Great. Very efficient and sounds simple enough. Appreciate it.”
Marilyn smiled and said to give her a shout if I needed anything else. With that, she walked out, closed the door, and left me to it.