No Chance, page 5
Valerie handed him another evidence bag, and Charlie then pulled something from the crooked limb.
“The same strands?” Valerie asked.
“It looks like it,” he said. “But we’ll only know after forensics checks it out.” He placed the strand in the other evidence bag and then dropped down from the tree.
“Can someone tell me what the hell is going on?” Carter asked, frustrated.
“Look over here,” Charlie said, pointing at the ground beneath the tree. “There’s a depression. Something heavy fell from the tree. And then there are what look like rope strands.”
“Our killer hung the victim first,” Valerie said grimly. “Then, after cutting her down or removing the rope, she fell onto the ground. He then moved the body to the cabin of the tractor and cut her after tying her to the steering wheel.”
“I don’t think she was dead, though,” Will offered.
“Neither do I,” Valerie agreed.
“Why?” asked Carter.
“Because,” Will continued, “there was a lot of blood inside that cabin. Blood tends to pool at the lowest point of the body after death, but it looks to me like the heart was still beating, that’s why there is spatter on the windows and steering wheel.”
“We might have something to add to the profile then,” Valerie thought out loud. “Let’s say our killer hung the victim first so that she lost consciousness but didn’t die.”
“Then he moved her to the tractor and killed her?” Carter asked, taking the hat from his head, revealing scruffy, black hair, and wiping his brow.
“Exactly,” said Valerie.
“Sick bastard,” Carter grumbled.
“Sick, yes,” Will agreed. “But it reveals something about the killer’s mind.”
“Yes,” said Valerie. “The killer may have some lingering empathy.”
“Empathy!?” Carter now sounded angry. “He butchered that woman!”
“You’re saying that from the perspective of someone who thinks like a normal, caring human being,” Charlie said. “But in our line of work, we’re dealing with people with crossed wires.”
“Crossed wires, indeed,” Will said.
“Sheriff Carter,” Valerie said, softly, “I know this is all new to you and difficult, but by figuring out how the killer feels, and how those feelings lead to him picking victims, it gives us a way to start to predict his movements. And if we can predict, we can catch him out.”
The sheriff sighed. “I hate all this. Kerry County is usually so peaceful. The most I have to deal with is Gina and Mac arguing over whose cattle ate whose grain. But this … What makes someone do something like that?”
Valerie liked the sheriff more and more as she spoke with him. He was a man who cared. And she knew the world needed more of that.
“We need to check the other victim autopsies,” Valerie said. “If they were strangled or hung first, then we can definitively say we have a serial killer on our hands. And if he’s doing it this way, it’s for a reason. Probably because he can’t face killing when someone is able to feel pain.”
“In the killer’s sick mind,” Will added, “this is some sort of kindness.”
Valerie suspected that Will was right, but she didn’t want to put all of their eggs in one basket.
“Sheriff Carter, do you know if it’s the same pathologist who is carrying out the autopsy on the third victim?” she asked.
“You mean, the same for all three victims?” Sheriff Carter asked, before answering himself. “Yeah. Larry Birkin. Eighty-six years old. A bit of a legend in these parts, but he’s a little bit of an acquired taste.”
“Can you take me to him?” Valerie asked. “Let’s see if we can get things moving and see what his conclusions are on all three bodies.”
“Sure, you wanna take my car?” the sheriff offered. “The roads are a little bumpy out this way.”
“I think I can handle it,” Valerie said, wryly.
“I didn’t mean …” the sheriff rubbed the back of his head nervously. “It’s just that I have four-wheel drive, and the quickest route is a little off road, so to speak.”
“We all travel together as a team, anyway,” she said. “Is there room for all of us?”
“Can I suggest something?” Charlie asked.
“Go for it, Charlie.”
“Maybe Will and I should hang back here. I still think we should check out this Mac farmstead owner. The one Gina said she had some problems with.”
“That’s a dead end,” Carter said confidently. “Mac is almost as old as these hills. He’s not going to be out killing anyone. Even though he is a stubborn old mule.”
“Yes, that might be the case,” Will agreed, “but a man who has seen it all in these parts might have his ear to the ground and know something. Or he might also have people working for him. Who is to say it couldn’t be someone on his farm?”
“Besides,” Charlie added, “someone is going to have to question him to see if the victim did indeed work there like Gina said.”
“Okay, fair enough,” Valerie said. “It makes sense to cover as much ground as we can considering we only have forty-eight hours to make a breakthrough.”
“Forty-eight hours?” the sheriff said, surprised.
“It’s a long story,” Will said, looking up at the hills around them, mournfully. “But Valerie is right, things will move quicker if we cover different lines of inquiry.”
“Okay,” said Valerie. “Sheriff Carter, lead the way, we’ll go to the pathologist. Will, Charlie, you two question this Mac guy. And try not to lose Will in these hills, Charlie.”
“Scout’s honor,” Charlie said.
“Okay, let’s move,” Valerie said sternly.
She felt a knot in her stomach. She hated this part of the job, but it had to be done. Valerie was about to see the victims' lifeless bodies, to look into their glassy eyes and see only a vacant, empty abyss. It was time she familiarized herself with the killer's twisted brutality. Only then could she piece together the mind of the man who had done such terrible things.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Will felt unnerved as he stood facing Mac Gleeson’s farmstead. The afternoon sun bathed his face. The hills were cold. Pockets of frost could be seen forming in the shaded parts. And yet the sun was up there, bright and blazing.
There was no heat in that place. Only wind, hardship, and toil.
Charlie got out of the car and fixed his gun in its holster beneath his coat.
“Do you think you’ll need that?” Will asked.
“A black man and a city-based academic roaming the rugged hills off the beaten track?” Charlie said sardonically. “Some of these old farmers can get a little nervous with folks like us around.”
“That seems a tad judgmental,” Will said as the two approached a large, three-story farmhouse that was immaculately maintained.
“Don’t get me wrong,” Charlie said. “Some of these people will be salt of the Earth, but you never can be too careful, Will. I’ve learned that in my life. You should … How would you put it? Take heed of my words.”
Charlie was right about one thing. Will felt strangely isolated in those hills. There was a bleakness to the winter on a farm. It felt to Will like the world was holding its breath, waiting for winter’s worst before spring followed.
Will considered the farmhouse as they approached. Far better kept than Gina’s farmhouse, he thought. Either Mac is a stickler for perfection, or he likes to keep a façade. The house is unhealthily clean. I think I can even smell bleach from out here.
Charlie stepped onto the first of four stairs outside the house. But the second he did so, a voice spoke from behind the front screen door.
“That’s far enough,” the voice said. “I got a gun on ya. So don’t think about any funny business.”
Charlie gave Will a look of: See, I told you.
“We’re not here to cause any trouble,” Charlie said loudly. “We’re investigators with the FBI. There’s been a murder at the next farmstead.”
“Oh, is that a fact?” the gruff voice said.
The screen door opened to reveal an elderly man with patchy, white stubble and a grubby, flannel shirt.
He takes care of his home but not himself, Will thought. Interesting.
“If you’ll allow me to show my ID …” Charlie began saying.
But another voice joined them from the corner of the house. “Nothin’ fast,” a man in his twenties with blond hair and tanned skin said with a shotgun in his hand.
Will felt the nerves bubbling up from inside. No matter how many cases he'd been on now, he still hadn't gotten used to the danger. He doubted he ever would.
“We really mean no harm,” Will said. “We are with the Federal government, and there may be a killer on the loose.”
“And what’s that got to do with Mr. Gleeson?” the man with the shotgun said.
“I’m afraid you may know one of the victims,” Charlie said.
The elderly man now stepped out of the house and onto the wooden porch. “I hope it wasn’t Maggie … I ain’t seen her today.”
The old man turned to the other with the shotgun; they looked at each other anxiously.
“She was supposed to be here,” the younger of the two said. “I tried phonin', but she wouldn’t pick up.”
“This lady ... Maggie,” Charlie asked. “Did she have a tattoo on her wrist? One that said Post Tenebrus Lux?”
There was a silence. As if in answer to Charlie’s question, an icy howl of wind blew past. Will pulled his collar up against the biting cold, looking around nervously at the barren hills. He felt like they were staring back.
“God dammit!” the young man said, dejected. He lowered his gun.
Charlie took the chance and now showed his ID. “I’m Agent Carlson, this is Doctor Will Cooper. I’m very sorry for your loss, but if you could help us, we’d like to discuss what happened to Maggie with you.”
“I think out here will be far enough,” the old man said. “I’m Mac Gleeson, take a seat.”
He waved his hand at a bench on the wooden porch as he grabbed a winter coat from the doorway of the house and then sank into an old wicker chair outside.
“Harry, put that thing away,” he then said to the younger man, pointing at the lowered shotgun in his hand. “Yer liable to take somebody’s eye out with it.”
Charlie and Will stepped up onto the porch and sat on the bench. Will had the feeling that Mac Gleeson was a man used to having things his way. He’d point; you’d sit. Not a healthy disposition to have over people, but an effective one at times when in a position of power.
Will looked across from his position on the porch. A large field, flat and impeccably manicured, sat on the opposite side of a dirt track. On it, several horses roamed, kept from the wilderness surrounding them by large wooden fences.
“Those animals really are magnificent,” Will said to Mac.
“I guess,” Mac said. “People like pretty things. I like money. When those stallions are ready, they’ll make me a good income.”
“The victim ... Maggie,” Charlie began.
"Macmillan. Maggie Macmillan," the younger man said from the corner of the porch behind them.
"As I was saying,” Mac continued, ignoring Charlie, and looking at Will. “Most things that will bring in money take time. That takes patience. It takes a steady hand. I like to think that we give the animals and the workers that here.”
“Mr. Gleeson,” Charlie said sternly.
The old man sighed, then turned, and gave Charlie a look.
Will couldn’t be certain why the old man seemed to take a dislike to Charlie. But he thought prejudice was a possibility.
“Which one of you am I talking to?” Mac grumbled. “Which one do I need to keep my eye on? Speak plainly, speak straight. I'd rather deal with one rather than two. That's true of business, and it's true of this if that Maggie girl has been killed.”
“Agent Carlson here is one of the best agents in the country at tracking down killers,” Will said, holding back his desire to chastise the old man. That would have been a sure way to make him close up. Sometimes grinning and bearing bad behavior was the only way to get access to someone's thoughts.
The old man raised an eyebrow. “So, you just along for the ride, are ya?”
“I bring my own set of skills to the team,” Will explained, “but they tend to be theoretical. Agent Carlson’s expertise in the field helps us decide whether those theories are worth anything in practice.”
Charlie gave Will a nod as if to say, "it’s okay, let’s try and keep this calm".
“Mr. Gleeson,” Charlie began again. “You mentioned a farmhand who works with you, Maggie? Do you believe the tattoo that I mentioned on the victim’s wrist is hers?”
“I’d say so,” Mac said. "Ya don't see many tats like that. Sad to hear it about her, but some people play with fire. When you do, you get burned.”
“Did she work here for long?” Charlie continued.
“Oh, a couple of years, maybe more.”
“It would seem that you're not all that upset that someone you knew for years has been brutally murdered,” Will said, eyeing the man suspiciously.
“She’d been warned,” he said. "But you know what the young are like. They never listen. The ones who do are the ones who get old. The ones who don’t, they normally come to a bad end. Maggie didn't listen. And now it looks like she won't be hearin' nothin' no more.”
“What is it about Maggie that you find objectionable?” Charlie asked.
“Mr. Gleeson doesn’t mean anything by it,” a voice said from behind. There was the young man who had been standing there with a shotgun when they first arrived.
“Harry, is it?” Charlie said, looking over his shoulder at him.
The man nodded.
“Harry,” the old man interrupted, “don’t you be botherin' the FBI here with your problems.”
Will looked at Mac and saw the open-eyed gaze that he gave Harry. It was one that was cold and commanding. But Charlie clearly wasn’t going to let the young man slip back into quiet repose if he had something important to say.
“We may have to question some who work here as well as yourself Mr. Gleeson,” Charlie said. "The more information we can get, the quicker we can catch the murderer.
"And stop him from killing anyone else," Will added. He was trying to appeal to the old man's sense of duty to his common man, if he had such a thing.
The old man slammed his fist onto his knee. “Can't a man have his business without being interrupted? What is it with all of these problems?”
Will sensed an opening. “Mr. Gleeson,” Will said. “What sort of problems have you been having?”
“Damn animals gettin' spooked, Lance Nielsen running off somewhere, and now this. Feels like with every week that passes, strange things are happening in these hills. Nothin' like I've ever known, and I've been here for decades.”
“Sometimes a bad run of luck is connected, other times it's random,” Charlie said. "Does Maggie have any family out here?"
"Not that I know of," Mac answered. "She didn't have much of a past. And I didn't ask. That's the way I like it. I just gave her a job, and that was it."
“Do you have any idea who may have hurt Maggie?”
“Sure,” the old man said gleefully. “I just mentioned his name. Lance Nielsen.”
“Boss, I don't think Lance would ...” the young man said before being cut off.
“Damn your eyes, Harry. Shut your mouth. Let me deal with this.” There was a moment of silence and the deathly stare from Mr. Gleeson again. Harry’s eyes then bowed with his head as if not wanting to meet the stare any longer than necessary.
“Sorry, Mr. Gleeson,” Harry said sheepishly.
“Who is Lance Nielsen?” Will asked.
“A farmhand who worked with me for a while. About a month ago, we had a disagreement, and I kicked him out," Mac said. "But I have seen him. He's still lurkin' around, I'm sure of it.”
“Still lurking around?” Charlie said.
Mac Gleeson looked to the silhouettes of the hills around them. Will felt a cold, creeping unease fingering its way up the back of his neck in response. Something was prowling the hills of Kerry County.
“I've seen Lance up on those ridges,” Mac said. “God knows what he’s doing. But I'll tell you, it ain’t good. The boy was into strange sorts of things.”
“Like what?” Charlie asked.
“Witchy stuff, ya know?” Mac said. "Devil stuff. I saw him with a book filled with old pentagrams and other things. Then one of our pigs got cut up."
"Slaughtered?" Will asked.
"Yeah, and not by a butcher. Like a sacrifice." Mac shuffled uncomfortably in his seat.
"As soon as we found the sow," Harry said from behind. "Mr. Gleeson fired Lance. He grabbed his things and headed out into the hills."
"Animal murder, a key first step," Will said to Charlie.
"Did you know for certain that it was Lance who killed the pig?" Charlie asked.
"Who else could it have been?" asked Mac. "The boy was reading bad things. And then he acted it out."
"When did you last see him?" Charlie said.
"A day ago," answered Harry. "I saw him up near one of the feeding troughs. He was hanging around. But the thing is ..."
"Hold yer tongue," Mac snapped. "I think that's enough."
"If there's more, you need to tell us," Charlie explained.
"You fellas have everythin' you need," he said. "Now go find Lance and stop botherin' me."
Mac stood up and then walked back inside.
It was obvious that there was more going on at the Gleeson farm than met the eye. Will knew that they needed to press forward and see if it related to the case. He stood up and saw Harry still standing there.
"Can you show us where you last saw Lance?" Will asked.
"He's busy!" Gleeson shouted from inside, clearly still listening.
"If you follow the trail up that hill," Harry said nervously, "you'll reach a patch of trees. There's a trough underneath it. That's where I saw him."
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