Never Again, page 12
For once, she wouldn't feel jealous at all if Kerry managed to get the breakthrough that May was sure was waiting ahead.
She couldn't wait to see an angry Kerry let loose on her uncooperative suspect. May hoped that her furious sister was going to be able to force the truth from this violent and secretive man.
CHAPTER TWENTY THREE
With bated breath, May watched from the observation room at the Fairshore police department, as Kerry marched inside, with Adams close behind, ready to confront Phil Jones.
May felt overwhelmingly anxious that this case should be solved, and the killer caught. She'd done her part and now it was up to the FBI to take it further.
With Kerry in her worst mood ever, doing the interrogation, May felt confident that they had the best possible person in place to get results.
She thought that it was a ninety percent certainty that they were right about him. The evidence would corroborate his guilt, hopefully. Finding a weapon was an important step. More important would be finding traces of blood and DNA on the edge of that stick, or in the car. And equally important would be the in-person testimony from the interrogation.
Owen huddled beside her, peering through the window.
"I wonder how she'll handle this," he whispered.
"Aggressively, I suspect," May whispered back.
Kerry looked as pissed as May had ever seen her, as she faced up to Phil Jones.
"Mr. Jones," she said firmly. "I'm FBI Agent Moore and I'm here to question you."
"Yes, officer?" Phil snapped, leaning back in his chair. He, too, looked pissed, resentful, and uncooperative. He was most definitely an antisocial person, May thought. He almost didn’t seem to be able to cope around people.
May saw Kerry look briefly annoyed that she had been addressed as officer after she had specifically told him she was an FBI agent. Kerry was picky like that, and more so when she was angry for other reasons.
"You know why you're here," Kerry said, glowering at him as she sat down.
"I'm here because you're falsely accusing me," he retorted.
"Well, certain evidence has been brought to light," Kerry said. "Evidence that points to your involvement in some of the murders that have been taking place in this county."
He stared at her, sullenly uncooperative, as she continued.
"When our local law enforcement approached you to ascertain more facts, you chose to run. To run! Not exactly the actions of an innocent man, I am sure you will agree. And you subsequently attacked deputy Lovell with an oar."
"He pushed me out of the boat!" Phil argued.
"You attacked him first," Kerry insisted.
"Because I was scared," Phil replied, his voice quavering.
"That we'd find out what you'd done?"
"No, no. I'm scared of the police in general. I don't like people. Only plants."
“Explain yourself?” Kerry challenged him. There was something in her eye that clearly triggered Phil enough for words to burst out of him.
“I'm not a people person. I'm a plant person. I don't talk to any of the customers. You ask the manager. I'm only allowed to work in areas when the customers are not there. Everyone knows, I'm good with plants but not with people."
May knew that his words were confirming what she’d already guessed - that they were dealing with a highly antisocial man here, who was not by any means normal in his interactions.
And that added to his potential guilt because the killer was surely not a normal person.
"Did you know Rosemary Pharr?" Kerry asked.
"Rosemary?" Was that a flash of recognition in his eyes, May wondered. "No, I never knew her."
"Did you ever visit the mall where she worked?"
"No. Why are you asking me these questions?"
“Because you had perfume samples from that department store in your car. If you didn’t visit the mall, how did you get them? She was handing them out, the afternoon before she died.”
There was a short silence in the room. Phil now looked pale.
"Where were you yesterday afternoon?" Adams asked. “Can you account for your movements?”
"I - I was out and about. I had a few things to do. Some plants to buy. I was driving around."
"Do you have a record of where and when you stopped off?" Kerry said.
"I don't have the times. I can - I can tell you where I went. I – I might have gone past the mall." Now he was looking hunted.
May felt a surge of triumph at this small, but surely significant admission. Bit by bit, she was sure, Kerry would erode this man’s defenses.
Kerry tapped her fingers on the desk. "If you like plants so much and not people, how did you end up with a stack of perfume samples in the back of your car? Because clearly you didn't get those from a plant. You got them from a person. Do you remember which person?" She stared at him closely.
Phil swallowed. "I don't remember."
"You expect me to believe that you don't remember where you got a wad of perfume samples from?" Kerry asked, her voice dripping with scorn.
"There are - there are certain smells I like," he explained. "I like to surround myself with those smells. I collect samples. You see, I hate cheap perfumes. The smells trigger me and I end up losing my temper. It calms me to be around perfumes that smell good, that have that – like – that quality blend of aromatics.”
May felt extremely impressed that Kerry was getting Phil to talk so much. He was opening up under her relentless interrogation, and revealing personal details and complexities. She hoped it wouldn’t be long before Kerry got to the truth. Losing his temper over smells felt like a significant admission.
“So that’s why you take samples?”
“Yes. I was looking to take some home. You see, there are some perfumes that I can't afford because they're too expensive. Really expensive.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes. That’s so. I have – I have mood problems, I know I do. I use it in the house. On the couch, on my pillow. Perfume stabilizes my mood, but I can’t afford it. I mean, you think I’m a bad person. But I work hard for a low wage. I work six days a week, eleven hours a day. Long hours. You can look at my bank statements. My car costs money, and gas, because I live out of town. And I donate to a dog shelter. I’m not bad. But this woman was handing out samples, and I saw that there were a few of the ones I like. The really good ones. So I took them. She let me have a few. I don’t even remember the woman who gave them to me. I wasn’t interested in her at all. I dot the perfumes around the house. The samples are tiny, they don’t go far, but that’s what I do."
May blinked. Kerry sure had gotten this witness to say a lot. Okay, so not much of it was relevant, but at least he was talking.
Kerry didn't even seem to be listening. She'd linked her hands behind her head, and although May couldn't see her face, she was sure her sister was rolling her eyes.
"You seem to have a lot of time available for talking," she said in a hard voice. "I, however, don't. I need to get information from you. And so far, it has not been forthcoming. So let's try another angle. Your movements yesterday. Tell me about them. I need to know where you were, and when."
As Kerry spoke, May had a strange sensation, a flash of insight in her mind, nothing more than a flicker.
Was she missing something, she wondered. What had just happened there? She felt as if her brain was trying to tell her something, but she wasn't quite able to pick up the message.
“You don’t believe me. But I can tell you now. I have a good nose. I can pick up some perfumes, not all. I can tell right now you’re wearing Chanel no. 5. It’s a very nice perfume. Quality.”
Kerry raised her eyebrows, looking more impressed than May thought she wanted to.
“Your partner here, I think he’s wearing Brut deodorant.”
Adams recoiled, looking shocked.
“You see, I know my scents. I know my smells. But I don’t know enough. There are people at the perfume counter with better noses than me, and they can literally tell you what any perfume is. But I know what I need to. Bad perfume offends me. And I might have spent more time at the mall than I should, because I was trying to get more samples. But I can’t tell you that for sure. Because it could get me into trouble with work.”
Again, May had that stab of insight and again, she missed it. She gasped, as it came and went, too fast for her to get it.
Owen turned to her, looking concerned. "You okay? Leg cramping?" he asked.
"No," May explained. "My brain keeps prodding me, but every time I try to think why, I don't get it."
Owen nodded. "I hate when that happens. There must be a reason. Do you think it was something that was being said in the interrogation? Not that there's been much said," he added doubtfully.
"It must have sparked my thoughts."
"Was it about the mall?" Owen questioned. "About the samples?"
And then, May got it. She breathed out with a big, worried sigh.
"It's the perfume. Owen, Rosemary was doused in it. I mean, it was really, really strong. And very distinctive.”
“Yes. To smell it so strongly, he must have done that,” Owen said.
“I was so sure about this suspect, Phil Jones, but suddenly I’m not so sure anymore, because I’m thinking he really can’t afford perfume. He begs for samples, but the samples are so tiny that he could not have drenched the victims’ clothing with perfume in the way we’ve been seeing. That was probably a whole bottle poured onto the jacket, to saturate it that way and cause such a big stain.”
“Definitely not a sample size,” Owen agreed.
“And he lives far out of town, and works long hours. How would he stalk his victims so effectively? I am starting to feel something is wrong here, that the killer is someone who has more time to plan. And more money.”
“You could be right,” Owen agreed. He sounded reluctant to be stepping away from this strong suspect, but May thought he saw her point. “You could be right. But all that means so far is that instead of one suspect, we have none again. How can we get more information on who he is?”
May’s mind raced ahead, thinking about what she’d just learned about perfumes, and the people who had good noses and were able to identify them.
“What if the perfume is this killer’s signature?” May suggested, as her brain finally pieced together the faint pattern she was starting to see. “What if he hasn’t used it on just one victim, but on all of them? And what if it’s the same perfume? It smelled so distinctive. Perhaps it has significance for him. Perhaps it smells strongly of flowers, or something else that draws him to it. Surely there must be a chance that if this theory is right, and we can learn more about the perfume, it might help us identify him? I mean, we have the time right now. We’re not doing anything else. We could at least explore the idea, while Kerry is busy.”
She stared at him, feeling anxious about what he might say.
“Yes,” Owen said. “I do think it’s worth it. That guy was accurate, and if we know the perfume, it might get us further. If we go and speak to Andy Baker, we might be able to find out if it’s been used on other victims, and whether it’s his signature. And then we can see if there’s a way to identify it.”
CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR
May hurried through to the back office, where Sheriff Jack was still busy speaking to two of the FBI. He turned as soon as he saw her approach.
"Jack, we've had an idea. It involves perfume, and the killer’s possible use of it as a signature. Could we follow it up? I know we’ve got a seemingly strong suspect in custody but there are details that are making me unsure,” May said.
Jack nodded. "You go right ahead. Whatever we can do, whatever leads we can follow, we must. If you feel unsure, there’s a reason for it. Just keep me in the loop, May. I have media literally camping on our doorstep."
May could see that was true. Because when she went out of the police department, she and Owen had to walk all the way down the road to reach her car. May got three photographs taken along the way, even though she turned her head toward Owen as they passed.
At least the walk gave them a chance to do some breathless planning.
"How are we going to work this?" May asked.
"We need to go to the pathologists’ offices, and we need to ask Andy Baker if we can identify any other traces of perfume from the earlier bodies,” May said.
It was creepy in the extreme. She didn’t know if it would even be possible. But Owen seemed to have embraced her theory.
"That perfume smell was really, really strong. It has to mean something."
"Really?" May said, impressed by his insight at such a time.
"Yes. It flashed across my mind. But then, with everything else that was happening, it flashed right out again. Same as happened with you, I guess."
"So we definitely need to explore that, then. Let's see if it gets us anywhere," May said, climbing into the car. “I guess that the next most recent body, Lily Gregory, would be the one we need to look at first. He killed her two weeks ago. Perhaps Andy can find some traces or signs of perfume on her clothing. If so, we know we’re right, and then we have to see if we can figure out what it is.”
"I have a feeling it might get us somewhere, faster than Kerry is going to get," Owen said wryly as he got in the passenger side.
May and Owen sped to the pathologists’ office, and as they drove, May felt determined that this trip would lead to answers, and that they would be able to get what they needed from Andy Baker and his team. The more she thought about it, the more convinced she was that perfume, and perhaps one specific perfume, played a role in the killings.
It was part of the ritual or part of his signature. And it might give them the break they needed to trace this cunning and elusive man.
*
Twenty minutes later, May parked the car outside the forensic offices, and they both climbed hurriedly out. The morning was bathed in sunshine. From far away across the valley, she heard church bells ringing. It was a normal, everyday Sunday - except it wasn't, because they were on a hunt for the most important clue yet. The one that might lead them to the killer.
With her own fragile theory, Andy Baker’s expertise, and the power of the FBI to help them, she hoped it would be possible.
May hurried into the building.
She wasn't surprised to see that it was a hive of activity, busier than she'd ever seen it. She recognized a couple of the local forensics experts, and saw a few others whose faces she didn't know at all, and who must be a part of the FBI contingent.
She walked up to the reception desk. The receptionist looked harassed with all this activity as she turned to May and Owen.
“Morning, deputies. How can I help you?” she asked.
"Is Andy Baker available?" May said.
"He's in laboratory five, examining one of the older remains with the FBI," the receptionist told her solemnly, her usually good natured face creased in a frown.
"Could you call him?"
"Sure," she said, sounding apologetic, as if the stress of the situation and all the people around, had made her forget her job for a moment. She picked up the phone and dialed.
"Is Dr. Baker in there? Deputy Moore and Lovell are here to see him." She replaced the phone. "He'll be with you now," she said.
May waited, listening to the murmur of voices and the trill of phones, the tread of feet and the distinctive noise of gurneys being wheeled into the postmortem rooms.
And then, from the bustling rooms beyond, Andy Baker hurried out. He was dressed in PPE, with a mask on, and had clearly come straight from an examination. His eyebrows raised when he saw them there.
"May, Owen. How can I help?"
May stepped forward. Suddenly, at this critical moment, nerves surged inside her. This was so desperately important. What if they didn't get what they needed? What if they couldn't? They needed a tangible link before they pursued this theory further, otherwise it would be no more than a useless dead end. They had to know if they were taking the right path, with this creative and unusual line of thinking.
"We need to find something from Lily Gregory's remains," she said. "Do you know if we would be able to examine her clothing? We think the killer might be using perfume as a signature, pouring it onto the victims before he kills them. We need to confirm that theory and then, if it’s correct, we need to try and work out which perfume it is."
Now Andy's brows rose even higher.
"A scent used as a signature?" he asked, sounding surprised.
May nodded, feeling unsure all over again.
"Let's go and have a look. Her clothing has all been removed and itemized, and it's in plastic, in the refrigerated storage. We can take it out and see. With the older bodies, as you know, we usually apply something on our mask while we work, to make the smell bearable. Eucalyptus oil is my product of choice. But it does mean I wouldn’t have picked up a hint of perfume when I packed the clothing away.”
Quickly, May and Owen tugged on the gloves and head covers they needed to ensure that this sterile environment was not contaminated. May quickly put foot covers over her shoes.
They then followed Andy Baker down the passage, far along it, all the way to the end, where a white-painted door that led to the storage room, was firmly closed. Andy swiped a card to open it.
The lock buzzed, and clicked open. He swung the door wide and walked inside. May followed him, and Owen walked in and closed the door again.
They were in an enormous, brightly lit room that was very cold. May guessed that when storing clothing and possessions that had been on a corpse, cold was needed. Her breath steamed in the air and her skin prickled into goose bumps.
Andy's feet sounded loud in the silent room as he trod across the polished floor, looking at the labeled steel doors of the evidence lockers.
"Here we are," he said. He pulled open a drawer. Inside was a plastic bag, which had garments in it, neatly labeled.
May knew this would be a testing job. Carrying the bag over to a steel table, Andy unfolded the garments carefully.
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