No Chance, page 8
Valerie sighed.
“Do you not see anything that’ll help?” Sheriff Carter asked.
“It’s my job to build a profile,” Valerie explained, regret in her voice. “That’s what I’m trained to do. I look at the bodies. Then I build a mental simulation of sorts of the killer. A way to understand how the killer thinks, what his history is, and what his next move might be. But there’s nothing here that tells me much. Normally killers have a type; this one does not. It’s not the first time I’ve faced that, but there’s almost no other residual evidence left at the scenes. I have a really bad feeling.”
“What is it?” Sheriff Carter asked.
“We’re not going to know more until another body turns up.”
“We can’t let that happen,” Sheriff Carter said.
The care the sheriff had for his community was clear, but Valerie could say nothing to comfort him. Solving any case involved some sort of happenstance, some aspect of luck. Valerie hated to admit that in the face of all her training, but nonetheless, it was true. Sometimes they had to just catch a break. However, it seemed that throughout the winter hills of Kerry County, luck had abandoned them.
A knock came at the door of the morgue, and Valerie almost jumped at the sound.
“I wish people would leave me alone,” Larry Birkin grumbled under his breath. “What is it, Malcolm?”
The door opened, and the sheepish, pale, young figure of a man, who was clearly an assistant at the coroner’s office, stepped in timidly. Valerie hated the idea of how overbearing Larry Birkin must have been to his colleagues and subordinates to make one act so afraid.
“Well, spit it out,” the old coroner said when the silence grew too much.
“There’s a call for Agent Law,” the man said. “An Agent Charlie Carlson?”
Valerie looked at Sheriff Carter with hope.
And in the sheriff’s eyes, Valerie could see that they were filled with the same inclination.
They left the old man and the morgue behind, and Valerie was led into another small office, this time not Larry Birkin’s.
The nervous young man said, “you can use my phone here, he should be on the line transferred from the front desk.” Then he left as if he wanted to be anywhere else but there.
“I hope this is something useful,” Sheriff Carter said quietly.
“So do I,” Valerie sighed, picking up the receiver and speaking into it. “Charlie?”
The phone line buzzed. “Val, I’ve been trying to reach you.”
“I think the cell phone reception around here is patchy at best, Charlie, and we were in the most cramped morgue I’ve ever seen, surrounded by all that metal. Apologies. How did you get on with the other farm?”
“Well,” Charlie said with concern in his voice. “Will has a broken arm.”
“A broken arm?” Valerie repeated with surprise. “What the hell happened?”
“Val,” Charlie then said. “I think we’ve got him. I think we’ve caught the killer.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Valerie thought Carter’s driving left a little to be desired. The sheriff’s lights flashed on the winding road as they headed out towards Turnberry Town where the Sheriff Department’s HQ was to be found.
The sheriff was driving faster than he needed to, but he was like a man possessed.
“Easy, Glen,” Valerie said. “I’d like to still have my head on my shoulders when we question the suspect.”
“Sorry,” he said, easing off on the gas. “I just want this to be over.”
Valerie felt the weight of it pressing down on her new colleague. It was a reminder to her that everyone has their pressures. Theirs overlapped, but a sheriff was someone the community looked to for protection. Sheriff Carter had been lost the last few days, unable to offer that shield because the killer was one step ahead of him.
Valerie had studied the texts Charlie had sent to her phone, and she was keen to question Lance Nielsen face to face.
The quiet streets of Turnberry had been kissed by a thin veneer of icy rain. The roads reflected up at the swirling clouds above and, for a moment, Valerie couldn’t tell which was the real world—the one in which she traveled, or the reflection beneath their feet.
“We’re here,” Sheriff Carter said, pulling into a half empty parking lot. Valerie saw several police cars in bays, and it was only then that she got a true taste of the sedate world in Kerry County.
A large store selling everything from clothes to novelty Christmas decorations was, at three stories high, a whole one story taller than the HQ for Kerry County’s Sheriff Department sitting next to it.
She didn’t comment on this, but Valerie felt sickened by the world’s priorities. If more infrastructure was in place up and down the country, she felt some serial killers wouldn’t get a chance at a second, third, or fourth victim.
The car stopped and Sheriff Carter turned to Valerie.
“Agent Law … Valerie,” he said. “I want you to know that I have complete faith in you and your team.”
“I sense there’s a ‘but’ coming,” she replied, picking up her bag from the car floor.
Carter sighed. “Yeah, there is. People expect me to be at the forefront of this,” he said. “They look to me, and I have to make them feel like they’re in safe hands.”
“You want to take point on the interview?” Valerie asked, surprised.
“Oh, God no!” he laughed. “You’re the expert, but if you don’t mind, I know people will feel more at ease in the community if I’m at least involved. And believe me, I’m not saying this to get my face in the paper or to climb any career ladder. To tell you the truth, I reckon I’ll quit the Sheriff’s Department after this.”
“And go into politics?”
“No,” he said, looking embarrassed. “Now, don’t laugh, but I love building furniture. I want to work with my hands and actually make something. I think I’ve had enough … of this.”
“Don’t worry,” Valerie said softly. “We’ll end this soon, Glen.”
She had never asked to use his first name, but it just sort of felt right.
They left the car, stepped into the biting cold air, and then headed into the sheriff department.
***
Charlie looked like he was on guard to Valerie, standing as he was in front of the interview room door, his arms crossed. He nodded as soon as he saw Valerie and Sheriff Carter walking towards him.
“Where’s Will?” Valerie asked, concerned.
“We’re going to need to do this one without him,” Charlie said. “The perp, Lance Nielsen, attacked Will with a hammer. His left arm is broken. He’s still at the hospital. I would have stayed with him, but we’re against the clock here, and he was adamant that for Jackson’s sake, we grill Nielsen as quickly as possible.”
“I don’t like the idea of Will being on his own,” Valerie sighed.
“I’m sure he’ll be fine,” Carter said, encouragingly. “He seems like an incredibly intelligent man.”
“Intelligent, yes,” Valerie said. “But genius sometimes comes at a price.”
“Yeah,” Charlie said, letting out a low laugh. “Will is one of my closest friends these days, but he once got lost in his own museum.”
“Museum?” Carter asked. “I thought he was a psych guy?”
“He’s got enough degrees to fill a thermometer,” Charlie said. “But we sure will miss him here today. The second-best profiler in the world … Just lucky we still have number one.”
Valerie laughed. “Don’t listen to him, Sheriff Carter, his birthday is coming up, and he’s just trying to get a better gift out of me.” Valerie looked at the door behind her partner. “Is he in there?”
“Yeah,” said Charlie. “I think he’s the guy.”
“Let’s hope so,” Valerie said. “Has he lawyered up?”
“Nope,” Charlie said. “He says he doesn’t need one.”
“Okay, let’s do this,” she said, opening the door.
Inside, she saw a man sitting in handcuffs. He was thin with sharp features, and his eyes were piercing. He didn’t avert them. He didn’t look at something else in the room. He stared at Valerie, his face blank.
This was a man with supreme confidence.
“I’m Agent Law with the FBI,” Valerie said. “And this is …”
“Yeah, I know him,” he said, nodding to Sheriff Carter. “I’ve seen you at the Gleeson farm, haven’t I?”
“Maybe,” Carter replied, sitting down on a chair opposite the man. Valerie and Charlie followed suit. “I don’t remember seeing you there.”
The man didn’t answer that.
“Sheriff Carter seems to be an astute fellow, Mr. Nielsen,” Valerie continued. “If he can’t remember seeing you at the farm, and you saw him, could it be that you watched from a distance?”
“I always watch from a distance,” the man grinned. “Life is safer that way.”
“You didn’t keep your distance with Will Cooper today,” Charlie said. “I’m betting you didn’t keep your distance with Maggie, either.”
“Maybe, maybe not,” he answered. “Can I have a cigarette?”
“There’s no smoking in here,” the sheriff said, coolly
Lance Nielsen shook his head silently.
“Do you like watching people from a distance, Mr. Nielsen?” Valerie asked.
“Sometimes, but let me guess, you’re going to try to say I’m a predatory type?”
“Well, are you?” Sheriff Carter asked straight up.
“No!”
This was the first emotional outburst Valerie had seen from the man. His brow had furrowed, and he momentarily had let the mask slip.
He’s emotional and impulsive, she thought. I’ll use it.
“Why are you so defensive?” she asked.
“I’m not, but I’m also no idiot,” he replied. “The world always hates people like me. They mean to make me a sicko when all I want is to be left alone.”
“People like you?” Valerie sensed a persecution complex. This was quite common in the serial killer literature. A man with crippling feelings of inadequacy and persecution, aroused, and empowered by acts of murder.
“You wouldn’t understand,” he said, rolling his eyes.
Valerie thought to the texts Charlie had sent her on her way over. Lance Nielsen had been seen by several people down on the Gleeson farm, wandering around the hills.
“Where are you living right now, Mr. Nielsen?” Valerie asked.
“I am nowhere, and I am everywhere.”
A sense of grandeur and flourish, Valerie thought. Another common trait among killers.
“Mac Gleeson said you were into things of a ‘witchy’ kind,” Charlie interjected. “He thought you were up in those hills doing something satanic. Were you?”
Lance Nielsen let out a thin laugh. “That old man lives in the surroundings of nature’s awe, and he cannot see what’s right in front of him.”
“And what is that?” Sheriff Carter said, grimly.
The suspect leaned forward in his chair, and the fluorescent light above cast jagged shadows on his face.
“That nature is God itself,” he whispered. “He thinks so conventionally, the second he sees someone using a pagan symbol, he thinks it means the devil or something evil.”
“Do you practice paganism?” Valerie asked.
“Of a kind, yes,” Nielsen answered. “And that old fart kicked me out of the farm for it. You’re telling me, if I’d hung a cross on my wall instead of a wreath of hay, he’d have chucked me out? Hell no. He’d probably have invited me to ask his granddaughter out. All because I’d have been a ‘good, God-fearing boy’.”
“What does this have to do with anything?” Sheriff Carter snapped. “Take a look at this.”
He pulled out some photographs of Maggie, the farmhand’s, butchered body tied to the inside of the tractor cab.
“Look what you did!” Carter went on. “Is this your God? Is this what your religion teaches you? Hell, I’m an atheist, and I know damn fine well that to kill is a sin no matter which way you look at it. Life is precious, Nielsen, and you cut this woman’s down like it was nothing.”
Valerie had initially been annoyed at the sheriff for losing his composure so suddenly, but his confrontation with the pictures had revealed something. Valerie saw it only for an instant, but Lance Nielsen’s composure slipped at the sight of Maggie’s dead body. His bottom lip quivered ever so slightly before the blank expression returned to his face.
What was that? Valerie thought. Regret? Or …
“Mr. Nielsen … Lance,” Valerie said, softening her voice. “If these pictures upset you, I can remove them.”
“I ... I ... In God's name forgive me ..." the man whispered.
Valerie looked at Charlie, but she could see in her partner’s eyes that he believed Lance was the killer. She was no longer sure of that. Valerie slowly slid the pictures away from Lance and leaned in a little closer. She knew she was treading on dangerous ground, but something inside her told her that this man was not what he seemed.
“Tell me about Maggie,” Valerie said softly. “What kind of person was she? What did you think of her?”
Lance sighed heavily and looked away from the table, his eyes distant and unfocused. He paused for a few moments before speaking again and then his emotions finally got the better of him.
The words flowed out of him like a torrent.
“Maggie was … different,” he began slowly. “She wasn't like other people. She had an innocence about her that could never be marred by anyone or anything, no matter how hard they tried to take it away from her. Everyone who knew Maggie loved her; she had a way of making people feel seen and understood without saying anything at all. I never met someone so full of life and yet so gentle at the same time. I felt like I could open up to her in ways I've never been able to with anyone else before."
Valerie's brow furrowed as she processed these words coming out of Lance's mouth. Something was very wrong here. The more he talked, the more Valerie looked into his eyes, the more convinced she was that he was no killer.
"Were you romantically involved?" Valerie pushed.
Lance looked around the room and bowed his head.
"It's okay," Valerie said gently. "The more you tell us, the more we can help."
Charlie let out a loud sigh making his disapproval of the soft approach clear. But Valerie had to follow her gut. "Tell us, Lance, did you love Maggie?" Valerie said.
Lance sighed and looked away for a moment before he spoke again.
"She was so full of life and energy; I could feel the force of nature emanating from her every time she entered a room. We talked often, sometimes about the farm and other times about things more personal to us both: our beliefs, our hopes for the future. When we were together, it felt like the world just stopped turning and we were in some sort of perfect harmony with one another."
"Did she share your religious views?"
"Not exactly," he said. "But she was sympathetic to them. She believed there was something in nature too."
"Something in nature?" Sheriff Carter repeated, his voice full of frustration.
"That the natural world is filled with spirit, that's about all I'll say."
"When did you last see Maggie alive?" Charlie interjected.
"Three nights ago," he said. "She was trying to persuade Mac Gleeson to let me stay on the farm until I found somewhere. I'd been living in the hills in a bush craft camp I'd set up. Weeks of it. Hunting. Sitting by the fire. I greatly enjoyed it, but the cold was getting to me, and Maggie was worried the weather was turning for the worst."
"She thought you'd freeze ..." Carter mused out loud. "How could you kill a woman who cared so deeply about you? And what about the other victims, dammit!?"
"I never killed anyone!" Lance said angrily. "Life is sacred!"
"It didn't seem so sacred when you hit Will with a hammer on the arm," Charlie agreed. "Seemed like the actions of a violent individual."
Lance hung his head in shame. "I'm sorry for that," he said mournfully. "It was wrong of me, and I'm deeply ashamed. But it's not an excuse for what I did. I have a problem with anger, one that I've been struggling with since childhood. It overwhelms me at times, no matter how hard I try to control it. It's ... it's one of the reasons I want to live away from people."
He looked up at the three of them then, his eyes filled with guilt and sorrow. "And when your friend Will said that Maggie had died … I couldn't handle it. I wanted to be alone, and I guess I lashed out with my grief. I ... I was scared too. It thought you were going to pin it on me. And I was right."
"We don't have to pin it on you," Charlie said. "We know it was you. But why the other victims?"
"I swear, I haven't killed anyone."
"Where were you on the 6th and 3rd of this month?" Valerie asked.
Lance paused for a moment before he answered, "I was visiting my father in a small town called Fremont. He lives there, and I wanted to ask him for money. We talked, but he refused, so I spent the night at his place. He will verify that I was there on the 6th."
Sheriff Carter sighed. "Fremont is on the other side of those hills back at Mac Gleeson's place. But it's a six-hour hike at least."
"One of the other victims was more than fifty miles away," Valerie explained. "There's no way he was hiking that kind of distance."
Valerie turned to Lance.
"Thank you for your time, Mr. Nielsen," she said, turning to the suspect.
"I'm free to go?" he said, hopefully.
"Hell no!" Charlie said. "We'll check your alibi out. Even if you aren't the murderer, you'll be in custody for assaulting an FBI consultant with a deadly weapon."
Lance Nielsen bowed his head and looked down at his hands.
Valerie, Charlie, and Sheriff Carter stepped out into the corridor.
"I think he's telling the truth," Valerie said. "He showed too much emotional connection to Maggie to be the killer."
Sheriff Carter nodded. "We'll see if his alibi checks out first," he said. "But I'm inclined to agree with you; this doesn't feel like a cold-blooded murderer."
_preview.jpg)
