Chapter 10
Ten
The next morning, as Michael sat at the head of the conference room table and listened to the monotone recitation of the known facts of the case, his stomach turned with disgust. He had read the reports, seen the horrific photos, and memorized the victims’ chilling accounts, but to hear it all again with the added suspicion that the man they were hunting could also be responsible for the death of his own son .
. . It was almost more than Michael could stand.
“Penetrated multiple times,” the detective from Smithfield was saying.
“Our victim is still hospitalized, recovering from the three rounds with him she remembers, and possibly more after she mercifully lost consciousness. She also suffered from exposure after spending a night naked and bound in the woods.”
“The woods seem to be a possible signature, like the notes,” Federal Agent Nathan Barclay commented.
The others nodded in agreement. Michael struggled to maintain his professional composure as rage threatened to consume him. Every one of these victims was someone’s little girl, just as Sam had been his little boy.
“How’s it possible this guy hasn’t left a shred of DNA behind?” Federal Agent Jeff DiNardo asked.
“He had our girl gargle something she said smelled like Windex,” the detective from Cranston said. “That took care of the DNA in her mouth.”
“Ours, too,” Matt Collins said.
“Each girl also reported he used two condoms at a time, except for the oral sessions.”
“Jesus, what’s the point?” Barclay muttered.
“What do you mean by that?” Michael asked, annoyed by the agent’s cavalier tone.
“I don’t know what you think of condoms, but most guys hate them because you can’t feel a damned thing through one of them, let alone two,” Barclay said.
“So you’re suggesting he’s not looking for sexual satisfaction?” Matt asked.
Barclay shrugged. “Maybe our guy has a perfectly satisfactory sex life at home and this is all about torture, plain and simple.”
Michael wanted to say there was nothing plain or simple about it. And if his years of law enforcement had taught him anything, rape was never about sexual gratification.
“Let’s keep our minds open to the possibility our perp might not be a loner, but a family guy with a wife and two-point-five kids at home,” Barclay said.
“What else do we know about him?” DiNardo asked.
“He’s big,” Matt said. “The lab report on the partial footprint found at the Holbrooks—where one of the notes was discovered—indicate it was made by a work boot that was at least a size fourteen.”
“And we’ve ruled out the home owner as bigfoot?” Barclay asked.
Matt nodded. “Steve Holbrook wears a ten-and-a-half, and his son, who hasn’t been home in more than a month, wears an eleven.”
“Most shoe stores carry up to what?” Barclay asked. “Size thirteen?”
“That’s right,” Matt said. “I’m a fourteen. I special order most of my shoes from Gleason’s. I could check with them to get a list of other local residents who special order larger sizes and see if any of them have a tread that matches the print.”
“Good,” Barclay said.
“Um, we also know his feet aren’t the only thing that’s big.” Matt’s face flushed with embarrassment. “An average-sized . . . man . . . doesn’t do the kind of damage this guy did to these girls. They all reported he was extremely well endowed.”
“Big feet, big dick,” DiNardo commented.
Michael glared at him.
“Sorry,” DiNardo said under his breath.
“There are a few other common elements,” Matt said. “We already mentioned they were all cheerleaders, but they also walked to and from school, which is how he managed to nab them.”
“We’ve concluded it would take a tremendous amount of time, patience, and planning to identify the cheerleaders at four schools in two different states and then to find one at each school who was vulnerable,” the detective from Danielson, Connecticut, said.
“You read my mind, Detective,” Barclay said. “Our guy has either a flexible schedule or a seasonable job where he has downtime in the winter.”
“The attack in our town happened in late spring,” the detective from Smithfield said.
“He could’ve planned it earlier,” DiNardo said.
“We need to put out a bulletin to all high schools in Rhode Island, Connecticut, and Massachusetts, warning them a serial rapist is targeting cheerleaders who walk to and from school,” Barclay said to the administrative assistant he had brought with him.
She nodded as she typed notes on a laptop.
“You might want to add colleges, universities, community colleges, and technical schools to your distribution list,” the Pawtucket police chief interjected. “Our carjacking victim—a former high school cheerleader—was a freshman at Rhode Island College.”
Barclay accepted the suggestion with a gesture to his assistant. “Let’s talk about tie-ins. You’ve mentioned the carjacking, which had the cheerleader factor as well as the absence of DNA.”
“Right,” the Pawtucket chief confirmed. “Except for some reason he went a step further in this case and murdered the victims.”
“That was also his only known sex crime against a man,” Matt added.
“Give us the details on that one,” DiNardo requested.
“The guy was twenty-one, she was nineteen. They had been dating about a year. On July 6, 1995, they stopped at a convenience store on Broad Street. He left the car running and went in to buy a soda. Security cameras showed him in the store alone, so we assume while he was inside, the perp got into the back seat and pulled a weapon on the girl. The car was found ten miles away in a wooded area.”
“Again with the woods,” Barclay commented. To his assistant, he said, “Make a note to mention wooded areas in the warning memo.”
“The victims were found in the car, arranged in a sexual position,” the Pawtucket chief continued.
“They were strangled, naked, bound, and bloody. Like the other victims, they’d been raped multiple times and ways, and autopsies showed their injuries were consistent with those of the recent victims. The lack of hair and fibers in the car led us to suspect the attacks took place outside the car.
We compared the time from the convenience store camera with the time of death to determine he had them for five or six hours before he killed them. ”
He let the impact of that settle in the room before he added, “Ten frustrating years later, we haven’t had a single suspect.”
After fifteen years of looking for a guy in a road, Michael could sympathize with his colleague’s disappointment.
“So let’s recap,” Barclay said, attempting to bring the two-hour meeting to a close.
“We have four recent aggravated sexual assaults and a series of notes found in Granville at the graves of deceased cheerleaders, at a memorial where six cheerleaders and athletes were killed in a car accident, and another found at a former Granville cheerleader’s parents’ house.
In addition, we have a carjacking where several elements match the current spree.
Without the lack of DNA, I’d say the carjacking victim being an ex-cheerleader was a coincidence.
I’m also bothered by the fact they were murdered, but I’m not ruling out a connection. ”
“When you add the same kind of sex and no DNA,” DiNardo said with a shrug, “it sounds like the same guy to me.”
“For now, we’ll operate under the assumption it’s connected,” Barclay decided.
“Anything else?” When no one answered, he said, “You’ve all done an excellent job thus far.
I want to reiterate that we’re here to help, not step on toes.
So let’s meet here again the day after tomorrow at nine a.m. to regroup.
In the meantime, I’ll be holding a press conference at noon to warn the public.
I don’t want to mention the possible connection to the carjacking yet.
There’s no sense getting the hopes of the victims’ families up until we know more. Thanks very much, everyone.”
The others engaged in animated conversation while they gathered up their files and belongings. As they moved toward the door, Michael said, “Wait.”
“Chief Westbury?” Agent Barclay said. “What is it?”
Michael made eye contact with Matt across the room. Matt’s expression urged caution. But if there was a chance, even the slightest chance . . . “There might be something else.”
“I’m listening,” Barclay said.
“In the interest of full disclosure, I should mention that the accident site where one of the notes was found . . .”
“What about it?” DiNardo asked.
“The younger of my two sons was killed in that accident.”
“I’m sorry,” Barclay said soberly.
“Me, too,” DiNardo added.
“Thank you,” Michael said. “About a month before the accident, my older son was coming home late one night and had to swerve to avoid hitting a man who was standing in the road at the exact place where the accident later happened.” In a rush of words, Michael laid out his theory.
When he was done, he waited breathlessly for their reaction.
“I ran a search for unsolved cases from 1990 and 2000,” Matt interjected.
“Nothing jumped out from 1990, but in 2000, two high school cheerleaders—one in Providence and another in Cumberland—reported attempted abductions on their way home from school. They were able to get away—one kicked him where he lives, and the other said he bolted when a car approached them.”
“No description of the perp?” Barclay asked.
Matt shook his head. “All the girls who’ve been attacked said he grabbed them from behind and wore a face mask during the actual assaults.
They did say he was big, though. So if Chief Westbury is right about the five-year pattern, our perp tried twice but failed in 2000.
I also checked all the in-between years since 1995 but found nothing else that stood out as possibly connected. ”
Michael glanced at Matt, hoping his eyes conveyed his appreciation for his deputy’s support.
Barclay stood with his hands on his hips as he contemplated Michael.