Chapter 10
“You still at it, Chief?”
Ben Willard glanced up from the mound of reports on his desk.
He didn’t bother manufacturing a smile for his old friend.
They knew each other well enough and had been friends long enough that social protocols weren’t necessary.
“Looks like I will be for a while yet.” He leaned back and his chair squeaked.
He motioned for the mayor to come on in. “Have a seat, Fritz.”
Fritz Patterson settled into the only clutter-free spot in the office, an extra chair that one of Ben’s deputies had rolled in for working with him on these damned reports.
Between the evidence and interview reports, the faxes and photographs, not to mention old case files, that danged chair was the only space save for scattered sections of the floor that wasn’t used as a holding place.
“Anything new from other agencies?” Fritz asked.
Ben had expected that question. He’d answered that same one ten or twelve times today.
He shook his head. “We’re still comparing MOs with homicides all over the country.
So far we’ve got nothing.” The process had been a waste of time.
His gut clenched. As prepared as he’d thought he was, he hadn’t been anywhere near ready for this.
This was far worse than he’d ever expected to see in his little town.
Fritz nodded thoughtfully. “Nothing new on the search for the Appleton girl?”
Ben shook his head. “We’ve interviewed all her friends a second, some a third, time.
Her family. The FBI has her name and face plastered all over the internet and on billboards.
And nothing. It’s like she just vanished into the mist. The grandparents offered a reward today, so we can hope that’ll help.
” Even as he made the statement, his mind whirled with all that could go wrong, and yet nothing about any of this was right to begin with.
His gut twisted. God help him. There was no way to make it right.
“Can’t hurt,” Fritz agreed. “So far we seem to have been successful in keeping that one detail from the homicide scene out of the media.” Fritz tugged at his tie. The man had worn one every day of his adult life. Didn’t seem to matter to him that no one else bothered.
“So far.” Ben was terrified that the single detail they had saved from the beginning of the investigation might get leaked. That was the one piece of evidence with the potential to end this nightmare. The only part that made the killing personal.
Images from the murder scene zoomed into horrifyingly vivid focus before his mind’s eye.
God help me. How could anyone in his town be capable of such things?
“Conner’s going to bring the Newton woman over to meet with you in the morning, I hear,” Fritz commented.
The chief pushed aside the agonizing thoughts and images.
He had heard about her visit with Deputy Brighton.
The way his deputy had gone on, it was clear Ms. Newton was already up to her usual theatrics.
Sarah Newton was a loose cannon. He didn’t need that right now.
This case didn’t need that right now. What he needed, what the folks of Youngstown needed, was for everything to fall into place so this nightmare would end.
He redirected his attention to the conversation. “She giving him any grief?”
Fritz shrugged. “Not so much. Conner says she has her own methods, and he’s doing all he can to cooperate with her wishes. If he gets in over his head, he’ll let me know. I think she gave your deputy more trouble than she’s giving him.”
Ben shifted in his chair, earning another squeak of protest. If he was lucky, Conner would keep that woman under control. That was all Ben could hope for at this point. Unless he got lucky and the news he had to pass along now helped her to see that she wasn’t needed here.
Get on with it. This part had to be done. Beating around the bush wasn’t going to change this vital step. Ben wasn’t looking forward to what he had to do. Had put it off a good two hours already. But it had to be done.
Only two people besides the killer knew this part.
Ben and Carl Saxon, the medical examiner.
Ben had ordered him to keep this quiet until they had more information.
A couple of hours ago Carl had called with what he’d learned.
Another pivotal step in reaching the end of this nightmare.
It was time for Ben to share that information with Youngstown’s mayor.
Ben pushed to his feet, stepped to the door and closed it. What he was about to say to his old friend was something he didn’t dare let out, not even among his own deputies. Not until he’d run it by the FBI . . . not until the time was right.
“I’m relatively certain we’re alone, Ben,” Fritz offered, obviously puzzled at the covert behavior. “The only light on in the whole building is yours. I let myself in.” He patted the ring of keys on his belt. “We can speak freely.”
Fritz would understand when he’d heard what Ben had to say.
Dropping into his chair once more, Ben studied his lifelong friend before saying what would change everything for him as well as the citizens of Youngstown.
“You’re making me more than a little nervous.”
Ben dragged in a heavy breath. “This is not like twenty years ago, Fritz. For more reasons than we already knew.”
The mayor’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”
Those two young women had been murdered in a manner every bit as heinous as Valerie Gerard.
Ben had made the initial discovery at the chapel that cold January morning two decades ago.
But he’d never told anyone. Not a single soul.
Not even Fritz. If he had, how on earth would he have explained going out to the chapel at that hour of the morning?
If he’d known then . . .
Guilt congealed in his gut. But then, there were some things he couldn’t make himself regret.
He’d told William Boggus, the chief at the time, that he’d gotten an anonymous tip on his ham radio at home. Back then there hadn’t been any way to trace that kind of thing. At least none a small village like Youngstown knew about.
Not unlike the morning he and Conner had trekked up to that chapel, and what Ben found had shaken him to the core. For months afterward he couldn’t close his eyes without seeing that horrific scene. Those poor girls . . .
“Ben.”
Fritz’s urgent tone snapped him back to the present. “Sorry. I was thinking about . . . last time.”
“What’s going on, Ben?” Worry furrowed his friend’s brow. “You said yourself that sometimes a killer changes his MO.”
“We can only stretch that theory so far. This is . . . more personal. When Carl Saxon performed the autopsy on Valerie Gerard, he found something . . .”
Fritz sat up a little straighter. “Why am I only hearing about this now? The autopsy was concluded yesterday.”
Ben nodded as a new layer of guilt descended. “Just hear me out, Fritz.” He should have told Fritz earlier, should have gotten this part over with. “There was a foreign object lodged in her throat.”
“Good Lord, man. What sort of object?”
“At first Carl wasn’t sure.” Ben heaved a weary sigh. “I asked him not to divulge this information to anyone until he could determine exactly what we had.”
Fritz gestured for him to get to the point.
“The object was round, like a large coin. There appeared to have been a cloth necklace attached to it. The medal was inscribed, but the acid in the esophagus had made it difficult to make out. I wanted the state forensics lab to try and salvage the inscription if possible. The tech from the lab made the call a couple of hours ago.” Ben felt sick at the thought of what had been crammed in that poor girl’s throat before her mouth was sewn shut like a rag doll’s.
No telling how long after that before she surrendered to death. Long minutes of merciless suffering.
How could . . . ? Jesus, he didn’t want to think about how anyone could do that. To go that far . . .
Ben cleared his throat. “It’s a ten-year-old medal from a spelling bee. The year was engraved on the damned thing.”
Fritz sat forward, his face arranged in bewilderment. “Did you say a medal?”
“Yeah.” Ben scrubbed a hand over his face and met his friend’s expectant gaze. “There’s more.”
Fritz Patterson had been Youngstown’s mayor for five years.
He’d done great things. Most considered him the best and the most popular mayor in the village’s history.
Before seeking political office, he had served as the principal at Youngstown High School.
He loved this community. Loved the kids.
This next part was going to be especially hard for him to accept.
Ben regretted being the one who had to tell him, but it was essential.
“The medal was presented by a fourth-grade teacher from Youngstown Elementary.”
Realization of exactly what that meant sent a kaleidoscope of emotions across the other man’s face.
Fritz shook his head. “That can’t be right.”
“I’ve considered this six ways to Sunday, Fritz, and it comes out the same every time.”
The mayor’s gaze locked with the chief’s.
“The killer is one of our own.”