Copycat Murders

[DRayVan]

Chapter 01: Nothing Exciting Ever Happens Here—Right?

Wednesday, March 7, 2021, 5:33 a.m.

A cold northwest March wind blew, bringing thick layers of puffy gray clouds, and a dreary blackness settled over Clearfield, Iowa. The chance of rain ticked up by the hour. Except for the illumination of street lamps, security lights, and storefronts, the town had closed down for the night. Only the growling of stray dogs scrapping over food morsels broke the silence along Officer Jack Carter’s route.

Carter, a twenty-four-year-old rookie police officer, drove the patrol car along his assigned course, the last spin around town, before going off duty. Bone-weary and struggling to stay awake, he pressed his two-way comm’s button.

“Code ten-thirty-five, Joey.”

“Ten minutes later than the last time you checked,” Joey’s crackling voice answered. “You bored, Jack?”

“Ever hear of anyone dying of boredom, Joey? Well... Tonight’s gonna be yer first one.”

Carter’s receiver crackled.

“You never know who’s scanning this frequency, Jack, so be careful what you say.”

“Ten-four, Joey,” Carter said, settling back and proceeding along Seventh to Packard.

He whistled his favorite tune while checking one side of the street, then the other. Carter turned on the wipers when a light drizzle began to fall, but they left streaks on the windshield, making it difficult to see much. He rounded the street corner near the loading dock of Abe’s Fine Furniture and Antiques. The store’s lone security lamp cast sharp shadows on an assortment of trash bins, boxes, and scattered debris that cluttered the adjacent alleyway.

When he approached, his vehicle’s lights illuminated a body lying near a trash bin. Carter slammed on the brakes! He grabbed a flashlight and hopped out of the car.

“Oh, my God!” he said, rushing toward the body.

A young woman tried to raise her arm, but it plopped back onto the pavement. Carter knelt beside her and swept the hair from the woman’s eyes.

“Who did this to ya, ma’am?”

The woman’s body shivered, and her teeth chattered. She tried to speak. “I-I-I don’t—”

He took off his coat, put it over the woman, and squeezed his Titan comm-unit. “HQ... HQ! Code two, Joey! Code three!”

“Ten-four, Jack. What ya got?”

“A code two-forty-five. Maybe, a code two-sixty-one! No... A code... Screw the codes, Joey.”

“Just tell me what ya got, Jack.”

“Woman down. Multiple stab wounds... Send EMS. I need some help here, Joey. Pronto! Like yesterday, man!”

“Calm down, Jack. Where are you?”

“I am calm, goddammit! I’m at Abe’s on Packard near Seventh. Need that EMS ASAP.” Carter turned to the woman. “You’ll be okay, ma’am. Just hang on. Help’s a-comin’.” He yelled into the comm unit. “Where the hell is that EMS, Joey? Ya sendin’ that friggin’ help yet?”

*** End Chapter ***

[DRayVan]

Chapter 2: New Police Chief Met With Closed-Ranks

Dawn tried to break through the low-lying dark clouds. The drizzle had stopped but left a heavy layer of moisture covering everything. The police had erected portable floodlights to illuminate the crime scene and a ten-by-ten tent to protect the woman’s body. While two police officers searched the area for evidence, another stretched yellow “Crime Scene” tape across the alleyway’s entrance and exit.

A late-model sedan rolled to a stop, and Sergeant Chip Reed, a forty-five-year-old, medium-height, pot-bellied man, exited the vehicle and strolled toward the tent. Officer John Cook, a twenty-seven-year-old, lanky man, lifted the yellow tape and handed him a tall coffee. “Black. Two sugars.”

Reed took the coffee container. “Why is it always in the middle of the night?”

“How’s that, Sarge?”

Reed yawned, rubbed his chin-stubble, and downed a big gulp of coffee. “Forget it... Just tired. What we got?” He gulped another mouthful while he listened.

“Female. Mid-twenties. Multiple stab wounds. Possible rape.”

Reed wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve. “****!”

Behind them, a BMW 330i screeched to a halt. Cook and Reed turned toward the sound and watched Police Chief William Clarke, a thirty-five-year-old, tall, muscular man wearing a brand-new uniform, exit his car. When he saw Reed and Cook, Clarke approached them.

Reed shook his head and spat on the ground.

“Ain’t that the new chief?” asked Cook.

“Yeah, and he probably won’t know dick about police work.”

“How’s that, Sarge?”

“Political appointees don’t need no experience for the job, that’s how.”

Clarke lifted the tape and approached the men. “Morning... Sergeant Reed, isn’t it? And Officer... Cook?” He extended his hand.

But Reed took a gulp of coffee instead and asked, “Ever been to a murder scene?”

Clarke put his hands on his hips. “Well, I—”

“That’ll be a big, fat ‘No,’” said Reed.

Clarke partway lifted his hand in protest. “But I was—”

“Don’t you have a new office to settle in?” asked Reed.

Clarke shook his head no. “I could be of some—”

“Better if the professionals handle this,” said Reed.

Clarke semi-bowed and extended his hand toward the tent. “Then lead the way, Sergeant.”

Reed glanced at Cook and grinned. When the men reached the tent, Reed and Cook tossed their coffee cups aside. Cook held the tent flap open while Clarke and then Reed stepped inside.

“Wait outside, Johnny,” said Reed. “It’ll be pretty tight in there.”

Cook frowned and dropped the flap behind them.

*** End Chapter ***

[DRayVan]

Chapter 03: A Grim Murder Scene

LED lamps cast a harsh, bluish light on the grim scene inside the tent. It was tight quarters with Clarke, Reed, a technician collecting samples, another technician photographing everything from every angle, the medical examiner, and the body.

Doctor Mary Robbins, a forty-two-year-old, petite, blonde-haired woman, wearing a baby-blue “bunny suit,” gloves, mask, and goggles, knelt, examining the body. When she heard the men enter, she turned to give them the once-over. Her voice, although muffled, had the bearing of a drill sergeant. “Suit up, guys. Masks on. Keep your hands in your pockets or wear gloves. I don’t want your DNA muckin’ up my body.”

A technician handed each of them a suit, a mask, and a pair of gloves. Clarke started to dress.

“Good morning to you, too, Mary,” Reed said.

Robbins shot Reed a dagger look.

“Whatcha got?” Reed asked while he suited up.

“Jennifer Wilson. Female. Twenty-six. Five-foot eight and a half. Brunette. Brown eyes. She wears glasses, but none were found. Stabbed seven times. Died between 5:28 and 5:45.”

Clarke glanced at Reed. “She’s good. She’s damn good.”

Robbins and Reed exchanged looks. Reed stifled a chuckle.

“Well...,” Robbins said. “Not really... I found her driver’s license. Officer Carter called in at 5:28, and she was dead when EMS arrived at 5:45. Elementary, Watson. Quite elementary.”

“Oh.” Clarke’s mask hid the blood rushing to his cheeks.

“Was she raped?” Reed asked.

“You’d think so with her skirt hiked up, and her panties pulled down, but I have my doubts. Once I get her on the slab, I’ll--”

“Call me,” Reed said. “I’ll be there.”

“Won’t be until the afternoon.”

“No matter what the time, call me... Please, Mary.”

While Reed and Robbins talked, as quickly as the blood had rushed to his cheeks, it now rapidly drained from his face, and spots danced in his vision, so Clarke promptly exited the tent.

“Who was that?” asked Robbins.

“New police chief. William Clarke.”

“Queasy? Not a good sign for a policeman.”

“I told him to move into his new office and let me and Johnny handle this, but he insisted. Now, look at him.”

“How’d he get the appointment?” Robbins asked.

“Mayor’s friend’s son. Where does he find them?”

Robbins cocked her head toward Reed. “Thought the mayor might appoint—”

“Me? Not a chance with what I know about him. Besides, there’s no love lost between us.” Reed turned to leave. “Call me when you’re ready.”

*** End Chapter ***

[DRayVan]

Chapter 04: Remembering His Wife’s Murder

Clarke leaned against the building and took off his mask, hood, and gloves. He hyperventilated, and sweat beaded on his brow. Overwhelmed by a flood of memories, he was instantly transported, as if in a trance, back to that terrible day three years ago.

Gerardo Springs, Colorado. Saturday, July 18, 1998, 10:09 p.m.

It was rainy, dark, and breezy. Several police cars were parked in the driveway and in the street at Lieutenant William and Susan Clarke’s residence. Their lights were flashing, and policemen were coming and going, searching the grounds, the house, the garage.

An EMS ambulance arrived at the curb. Two EMS technicians unloaded a stretcher and took it inside the house while neighbors gathered to watch the commotion. Newspaper reporters and cameramen assembled behind the “Crime Scene” tape and shouted to policemen as they walked by. But no one would stop and talk to them.

While the EMS technicians exited the house, carrying a body on the stretcher, a car screeched to a halt near the EMS vehicle. Lieutenant William Clarke threw open his car door and rushed toward the stretcher. But Charley Gilman, a burly police detective, grabbed him in a bear hug and restrained him.

“Let go of me, Charley. I gotta see her.”

Gilman tightened his grip on Clarke.

“No, you don’t, Bill. You can’t. Not like this.”

“Was it him?” Clarke asked, struggling against Gilman’s grip. “At least tell if it was him.”

Gilman nodded. “Yeah... Looks like it was.”

Clarke relaxed his efforts to free himself.

“Her ears, Charley? What about her ears... And her hair? Tell me, Charley. For God’s sake, tell me!”

*** End Chapter ***

[DRayVan]

Chapter 05: The Crime’s Details

Police Chief Clarke snapped out of his trance when he heard Sergeant Reed’s approaching footsteps. He quickly wiped the sweat off his upper lip and turned to greet him.

“Told you to go.” When Reed noticed Clarke’s pale coloration and sweaty brow, he asked, “You okay?”

Clarke took a deep breath and exhaled. “Don’t like confined spaces.”

“Grab a coffee,” Reed said. “And finish moving in.”

Clarke tried to mount a half-hearted protest. “Sergeant—”

“Me and Johnny got this,” Reed said, walking away. He gestured for Officer Cook to join him.

Clarke removed his “bunny suit” and jammed it into the disposal bin. He got in his car and watched Reed and Cook converse near the tent, occasionally glancing his way. He slammed the steering wheel with his palms and muttered,

“Damn. Damn. Damn!”

After depressing the start button, he backed up and sped away.

Reed and Cook walked toward the patrol car parked nearby. Its driver’s door was open, and Officer Jack Carter sat on the seat with his feet on the ground. He was softly weeping.

“How’s it going, kid?” Reed asked.

Carter tried to suppress his crying.

“I’m sorry, Sarge.” He sniffed back a wad of mucus and swallowed. “Cops don’t cry, but I can’t stop.”

“I cry sometimes.”

“Don’t **** me, Sarge. Yer just sayin’ that.”

Reed smiled. “Causes my mascara to run when I do.”

“Okay, Sarge, I can see what yer doin’,” Carter said with a nervous chuckle. “What ya wanna know?”

“Whatcha hear? Whatcha see?” Cook asked.

“Not much. Was cruising my route. Usual boring crap. Rounded Seventh onto Packard. When I approached Abe’s, I saw her and stopped to investigate. Called it in right away.”

“She say anything?” Reed asked.

“Started to but passed out. Then she died without saying anything.”

“See anyone?”

Carter shook his head.

“Nope. Just me and the vic.”

“Sounds? Smells?”

“Just the usual sounds and... And... And ****ty smells.” Carter broke down and cried again, but soon regained his composure. “Sorry, Sarge.”

Reed put his hand on Carter’s shoulder. “You did okay, kid. Take some time off—”

Carter raised his hand in protest.

“But, Sarge—”

“You didn’t let me finish... And get some rest. First one’s always the worst.”

“I’m all right, Sarge.”

“And... And you’ll meet with the department shrink on Monday.”

Carter protested again.

“But, Sarge—”

“No buts, Jack, departmental rules.” Reed turned to Cook. “You, Miller, and Coleman. Bang on some doors. Find me a witness.”

“In this neighborhood?” Cook asked.

“Humor me, Johnny.”

*** End Chapter ***

[DRayVan]

Chapter 06: Unpopular New Police Chief Stirs the Pot

The Clearfield Police Department’s lean organizational structure included a Chief (appointed by the mayor), a Sergeant, a Corporal, and seven Officers. Its main entrance opened into a small lobby through double doors on the City Administration building’s left side. An overhead skylight added natural light to the artificial fluorescent blue cast on everything. Two faux-leather chairs sat on the left side, a rack of literature hung on the right side, and a nearly dead floor plant sat inside the entrance. Doors on the left and right of the duty desk led to the offices, storage, and interview rooms.

Police Corporal Sam Baker’s duties included taking calls and registering inquiries or complaints from behind a walk-up counter with a plexiglass barrier. A tall, stout, twenty-eight-year-old police officer, he spent more time talking than working.

“Yes... See you after my shift ends... Hangers... Okay... At six,” Baker said, cupping his hand around the telephone receiver.

Police Chief Clarke strong-armed the front door and approached the duty desk.

“Gotta go,” Baker said, hanging up. “Mornin’. Ya must be the new chief. Welcome to—”

Clarke blew past Baker.

“Tell Officer Cook I want to see him.”

“He ain’t here, Chief.”

Clarke stopped and pivoted toward Baker. “I know he ain’t here. When he returns.”

“Okey-dokey, Chief.”

“Can’t you at least sound professional, Corporal?”

Then Clarke turned, stormed through the left door, and slammed it behind him.

Baker’s jaw dropped, and he blinked several times.

###

An hour later, Police Sergeant Reed and Police Officer Cook entered the station.

“Anything worth reporting, Sam?” Reed asked.

“New chief’s here, and he wants to see ya, Johnny.”

“Why me?” Cook asked.

“What for?” Reed asked.

Baker shook his head. “Don’t know... Nearly bit my head off when he came in, so I didn’t ask... Better hurry, Johnny. He don’t strike me as the kind who likes to wait.”

###

Clarke gazed out the soiled window of his ten-by-twelve-foot office to the dumpster across the parking lot. The dust-covered curtains and Venetian blinds reeked of neglect, as did the dingy walls, which outlined the missing plaques, pictures, and diplomas that once adorned one wall. Worn filing cabinets and a chipped bookcase obscured another. An old desk and chair sat opposite the door in front of the window, with two faux-leather chairs facing the desk.

Cook knocked on Clarke’s door.

Clarke swiveled around. “Come in.”

Cook opened the door a crack and stuck his head in.

“You wanted to see me, Chief?”

Clarke motioned with his hand.

“Come in. Come in. Close it and sit down.”

Cook took a chair and sat, stiff-backed, muscles tense.

“I do anything wrong?”

Clarke shook his head.

“No. No. Relax before you pass out, John. Or do they call you, Johnny?”

“Johnny.”

Cook took a deep breath, exhaled, and matched the chair’s contours. The corners of his mouth curled up in a forced smile.

“Well, Johnny. Three years ago, in Gerardo Springs, Colorado, a serial killer murdered several young women. I need you to research those cases and bring whatever you find directly to me.”

Cook sat straight in the chair.

“Sarge usually sees—”

“Directly to me. And you’re to tell no one. Understand?”

Cook’s brow furrowed, but he nodded, got up, and left.

###

Reed waited for Cook nearby. He grabbed Cook by his uniform’s sleeve and led him to the conference room.

“Well... What’d he want?”

“I’ll do better next time.”

“What the hell you talking about, Johnny?”

“It’s nothing, Sarge. Just forget it.”

Cook turned and left the room.

Reed kicked a nearby trash can on his way out. He mumbled to himself.

“Who the hell does he think he is, disrupting my station, my people?”

*** End Chapter ***

[DRayVan]

Chapter 07: The Autopsy Details

Thursday, March 8, 2001, 8:05 a.m.

Police Sergeant Reed drove to the Medical Examiner’s office and parked. While he was exiting his vehicle, Police Chief Clarke arrived and parked next to him. Reed waited for him to catch up.

“You up for this, Chief? It can get pretty gory.”

“I’ve seen all seven Chainsaw Massacre movies, Sergeant. I should be able to handle this,” Clarke said with a chuckle.

Reed just looked at Clarke, speechless.

“Sorry,” Clarke said. “A lousy attempt at humor. Let’s do this.”

“Suit yourself.”

Clarke and Reed entered the ME’s office complex together. Clarke followed Reed through the maze of corridors to the autopsy lab.

###

The lab was awash with medical equipment. Overhead lights were trained on Jennifer Wilson’s nude corpse, which had been cut open from pubis to clavicle. Doctor Mary Robbins leaned over the body, examining and sampling the internal organs, while a technician held a specimen container nearby.

Reed depressed the intercom, and it buzzed. Robbins looked up. Reed waved to her. Robbins, wearing full garb (a surgical gown, mask, face shield, and gloves), didn’t have to speak. Her body language spoke volumes.

Yet she blurted, “Go away. Can’t you see I’m busy?”

Then she resumed probing Wilson’s innards.

“Find anything that’ll help us?” Reed asked.

Robbins looked up again.

“You still there, Chip?”

“Come on, Mary. Tell us what you found, and we’ll leave you alone.”

Robbins straightened, removed her gloves and mask, and pitched them on the floor. She set her face shield aside.

“All right... Viewing platform in ten. Gotta potty first.”

She pivoted and exited the lab.

“Is she always this pleasant?” Clarke asked, scratching his head.

“Yeah. And I like ‘em feisty. That’s why I married her.”

“You? Her? Married?”

Reed nodded.

“Didn’t last long, though, but what a woman while it did.”

Robbins, Clarke, and Reed converged on the viewing platform.

“I’ll make this quick,” Robbins said. “There’s no evidence she was raped. She was stabbed seven times. Twice in her belly, three times in her chest, twice in her right arm... But she wasn’t stabbed in the alleyway.”

“What you mean?” Reed asked.

“I mean, she was stabbed somewhere else and dumped in the alleyway.”

“You sure about her being moved?”

“Considering the number of stab wounds, there wasn’t enough blood at the dumpsite. And I doubt she died from the stabbings. None of the wounds were that deep.”

“What killed her, then?” Clarke asked.

“Blunt-force trauma to the skull from behind. She never knew what hit her.”

“But she was alive when Officer Carter found her,” Clarke said.

“A huge intracranial hematoma was forming on her brain. Most victims wouldn’t have survived as long as she did. It was just a matter of time... What surprised me is that she revived those few minutes when Officer Carter found her.”

“Anything else?” Clarke asked.

“Her ears are missing.”

“What? The killer cut off her ears?” Reed asked.

“That’s what I loved about you, Honeybunch. You do catch on eventually.”

“And her pubic hair?” Clarke asked.

“What?” Robbins asked.

“Pubic hair. Anything strange about her pubic hair?”

“She had none. Smooth as a cue ball. Brazilian wax recently, I’d guess. Why you want—”

“No reason,” Clarke said.

“Anything that’ll tell us where the assault took place? Or who did it?” Reed asked.

“Whoever did this took great pains to hide evidence.”

“Then we got bupkis,” Reed said.

“Like I said, Honeybunch, you eventually catch on.”

*** End Chapter ***

[DRayVan]

Chapter 08: A Witness to the Murder... Maybe.

Police Corporal Baker sat at the duty desk, arguing with Jim Morgan, a short, roly-poly, twenty-two-year-old reporter for The Progress, with a camera slung over his shoulder and a notepad stuck in his coat pocket. Morgan stood near the plexiglass while he pumped Baker for information.

Baker rolled his chair back.

“Go away, Jimbo. You ain’t gettin’ no statements from me.”

Morgan moved closer to the plexiglass opening.

“Come on, Sam. What gives on the Jenny Wilson murder?”

“Jenny, not Jennifer? So, you know her, Jimbo?” Baker said, leaning forward.

“Don’t go putting words in my mouth, Sam,” Morgan Said, shaking his head. “I’m just tryin’ ta get a story. That’s all.”

“Well... So far, there ain’t no story other than she’s dead. You’ll just have to wait for the official report like the other reporters.”

Morgan leaned in closer, face pressed against the barrier.

Baker rapped his knuckles on the plexiglass. “Hey. Don’t smear my window!”

Morgan ignored him and almost whispered.

“Please, Sam. I need this one bad. Real bad. I’d be willin’—”

“What we talkin’?” Baker asked, leaning closer.

Morgan looked both ways to ensure they were alone.

“Twice the usual.”

“Make it three,” Baker said, leaning back in his chair.

Morgan staggered backward.

“No way, Sam!”

Baker gestured to Morgan, and as Morgan stepped to the window.

“How bad ya want it?”

Before Morgan could answer, Police Sergeant Reed opened the front door and entered the station, disrupting the deal-making. Baker sat upright abruptly, and Morgan quickly stepped to one side.

“Uh... Sergeant Reed,” Baker said.

“Sam.”

“Hi, Chip,” Morgan said.

“Jim.”

“Uh... Where’s Chief Clarke?” Morgan asked.

“You two look like I just caught you with your hands in the cookie jar. What’s going on?”

Baker shook his head. “Nuthin’, Sarge. Nuthin’ at all... Got a visitor waitin’ fer ya and the chief.”

“Who is he?”

“He’s a she. Uh... It’s a woman.”

Reed put his hand on the door to the back offices.

“What’s her name, for God’s sake? I ain’t got all day.”

“Oh... Uh, it’s Lilly White.”

“I’m in no mood for one of your jokes, Sam,” Reed said, turning to Baker.

“Honest, Sarge...” Baker shook his head and then nodded. “That’s the name she gave.”

Police Chief Clarke pushed open the front door and entered.

Reed returned to the window.

“Well... Where is she?”

“Interview room three.”

“Interview room three? Who we talking about?” Clarke asked, joining Reed at the window.

“A woman... An old woman,” Baker said.

“Is she a suspect?”

Reed shook his head.

“Visitor.”

Clarke nodded and started for his office.

“You can handle this, Sergeant.”

“Chief... She asked to see ya,” Baker said. “And... And Sergeant Reed... Both of y’all.”

Clarke stopped and pivoted.

“Where’s room...?”

Reed rolled his eyes.

“Follow me.”

*** End Chapter ***