Chapter 33
Jane met Christian at the animal shelter the next morning. Lassie lived up to her namesake, a friendly and beautifully groomed collie without a scratch on her.
Christian appeared fine, mussed as usual, wearing cutoff shorts and an old Supersonics tee-shirt. Jane gave him a twenty for his help.
His eyes lit up, and he smiled. “Sure thing, boss. Just let me know if you need anything else.”
“I need you to be careful. Try to steer clear of him, okay? You see him, go the other way. I mean it, Christian.”
He saluted her then raced out the door.
Jane sighed.
The woman behind the counter laughed. “Kids.”
Just as Jane got back in her car, she received the call she’d been expecting.
“Agent Cannon? This is Officer Delco. You asked us to do a health and welfare check on Mrs. Huffman? Well, we found her and her entire family dead. Posed around the table in some kind of sick display.”
“Would you please verify the address for me?”
After the officer repeated the same address Diego had texted her early that morning, Jane answered, “Thank you. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
“See you.”
Jane hung up and called Ray.
“The address?” he asked without preamble.
“Whole family. Same MO. I’ll text it to you. I’m headed that way.”
“Meet you there.”
Jane texted him the address and called SSA Grimshaw on the way. She filled in her boss on what had happened and what ties it might have to their killer.
“Good. Keep me updated. I have to brief the ASAC on a few cases. I’ll be sure to add this one to the report.”
Grimshaw gave her a few more items to make note of, including a message from a Tactical Specialist she’d never heard of.
“He asked for me?”
“Yep.”
Jane frowned. “I’ve been using TS Teri Chapman on the social media on this case.”
“Well, maybe Chapman handed it off. Anyway, when you get a chance, you should call. You don’t know what info they might have come across. I’ll text it to you.”
Grimshaw signed off and sent the phone number.
Jane called it, still a good ten minutes out from Kirkland thanks to the traffic. The number just rang. She got through to an automated response stating the phone number and to leave a message.
“This is Agent Cannon. I’m returning your message. Please call me back.” She rattled off her number then hung up.
The traffic felt as if it moved at a crawl, so that by the time she finally wound up at the victims’ home, it felt as if an eternity had passed.
She pulled in right before Ray and waited for him to join her.
“Traffic,” he growled.
They both flashed badges to the officers at the home and, donning booties and gloves, entered. Forensic technicians continued to process the scene.
“Is Officer Delco here?” Jane asked one of the officers.
“She was with Detective Marcone in the dining room.”
“Thanks.”
Jane sought the pair, not surprised at what she saw when she entered the dining room.
“Not again,” Ray muttered.
Officer Delco spotted her and gave forensics a wide pass. “Agent Cannon?”
Jane nodded. “Thanks for calling.”
A tall, slender man with thinning hair followed. He looked closer to Ray’s age. “Detective Anthony Marcone.”
“Agent Jane Cannon.” Jane nodded to him.
“Detective Ray Ryan.” Ray shook the man’s hand. “This makes four.”
“Damn.” Marcone rubbed the back of his head. “I’m glad we’re turning this over to you guys. We’ve got enough on our plate.”
“I hear that.” Ray sighed. “I was hoping maybe our guy would get bored. Apparently not.”
Officer Delco cringed when one of the techs mentioned blood spatter. “Nothing’s been moved. We’ve kept the scene for you, Agent Cannon. Detective Marcone? I’m going to head out. I’m due for court early this afternoon.”
“Thanks for containing the scene. Good job, Officer Delco.”
Delco nodded and left.
Jane blinked at what she saw at the table. “Is that…?”
“Yeah. Body parts, it’s what’s for dinner,” Marcone said with disgust. “I don’t know what you guys are investigating, but I don’t envy you.”
“Well, the severed limbs are a new one.” Ray shook his head. “I’m guessing the family was killed Monday.”
Detective Marcone motioned to the lead forensics tech, who overhead Ray as he neared and answered, “Yes. They’ve all been dead for close to forty-eight hours. The limbs belong to the man we found sitting in the kitchen by himself.”
“Did you happen to ID him?”
“Yes. His wallet was in his pants pocket.”
“Let me guess,” Jane said. “Louis Miller.”
“That’s the guy.”
She and Ray moved into the kitchen to see Louis Miller sitting at the kitchen table by himself, an expression of horror on his face. Blood had seeped into the cushion and floor under him, his arms missing at the shoulders, his legs cut off at the knees.
On the plate in front of him, set prettily beside a napkin folded into a triangle, upon which a fork and spoon had been placed, lay a familiar looking notebook.
“Is it okay to look at it?” she asked the ME.
“Yes. We’ve already photographed everything. We’re still processing, obviously. But the notebook is good.”
She opened it to see it mostly intact, a few pages missing. Jane handed it to Ray. “This is the notebook I found at the Strands’ house. It’s missing a few pages.”
“And now it’s back. This is definitely our guy.”
“Yes.” She studied Louis, curious that he’d been taken and killed but kept away from the family. “The killer wanted him for information. He had to use Louis’s sister and her family for leverage. So why leave the notebook behind?”
“He wants you to know it’s him.” Ray handed back the book and crouched to study Louis’s torso. “Brutal. That had to hurt. See all the small incisions? Under the eyes, behind the ears? Tiny stinging cuts.”
“The killer had fun with him. But he didn’t kill Louis’s other family. The senator and his wife are just fine.”
“None of them were related by blood. Maybe the killer doesn’t consider them family.”
“Maybe.” Jane left Ray to enter the dining room again.
The children didn’t have any wounds except the ones meant to kill.
“Quick deaths for the children. Positioned neatly with their parents. The father went fast, knife to the jugular. The mother a little bit slower, probably to toy with Louis. But the killer didn’t linger here. The family served its purpose.”
She noted the dog bowl on the floor by the children’s small feet.
The sense of loss crept over her until it felt suffocating.
So she did what she did best and tucked it all away, emotionless, so she could better hunt this predator and stop him from hurting anyone else.
Jane focused on what she could see, on the minute details that would tell a more complete story.
Why leave the notebook for them to find? The killer wasn’t stupid. He must have known Jane would be hunting him and that she’d recognize his work. The connection between Louis Miller and Rhonda Huffman, his sister, hadn’t been difficult to find.
She paged through the notebook while keeping out of the way of the techs.
There, after several blank pages, she discovered what she’d been looking for.
Scrawled in blood that would no doubt match Louis Miller’s hand. A name.
August Kaminski.