Copycat Murders

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 ***

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 ***

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 ***

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 ***