The Quiet Bones Page 4

  “Nice work,” said Reilly. “You did all of this yesterday?”

  “Yes, sir,” said Jaid. “Now, I know that in a serial killer case, it’s not necessarily likely that the killer is personally connected to the victim, but considering that there isn’t actually another body, it’s not really a serial killer case yet, is it? At any rate, eliminating the usual suspects like the boyfriend and the father, that’s got to be the first step, right?”

  “Right,” said Reilly. “That’s smart, Jaid.”

  “I don’t suppose you’d let me ride along for your interrogations?” she said. “The janitor… when I talked to him on the phone, I got a gut feeling. He just seemed really nervous.”

  “You can’t read too much into that,” said Wren’s voice from the doorway to the bullpen. The bullpen was a big room in headquarters where the uniformed officers that worked with the task force did paperwork and research.

  Jaid looked up. “Oh, hello, Miss Delacroix. Nice to see you this morning. I really admired the work you did to arrest Major Hill. Very impressive.”

  Wren lifted her chin, surveying the woman. “Uh, thanks.”

  “I know that people get nervous talking to the police,” said Jaid. “I would never say that we arrest that janitor on a feeling alone. But I don’t think that looking more closely into him is a bad move. He does have access to the right kind of gun, after all.”

  “True,” said Wren. “We will look into him, Officer Jaid. Thanks.”

  “Tell you what,” said Reilly to Jaid. “If we bring the janitor in for questioning, if it gets that far, I’ll be sure to loop you in, Jaid. For now, though, I don’t feel like I could spare you from here. You’re doing great work.”

  “Thank you,” said Jaid.

  “Really, we’re kind of hampered by the fact that we don’t get people in here for longer than a week or two,” said Reilly. “So, I appreciate your digging in, going the extra mile.”

  Jaid beamed at him.

  Wren cleared her throat.

  Reilly turned to her. “What?”

  “Angela said you came in, but you didn’t get coffee for me.”

  “Well, it was early,” said Reilly. “I didn’t want you to have cold coffee.”

  Wren considered this.

  Reilly crossed the room to her. “That personal stuff from yesterday… I didn’t sleep well.” He’d started to work on looking for proof of Janessa’s affair, but realized he’d need resources he could only access back at work, and then he’d had a crisis of conscience about using taxpayer dollars to dig into his ex-wife’s affairs. Then he’d fallen asleep and had dreams about Janessa in bed with another man, which had bothered him more than he thought they would.

  He’d woken up and tried to go back to sleep, tried to reason himself out of it. It was a dream. He couldn’t help having dreams. He didn’t care about her moving on. He really didn’t.

  He didn’t think he did.

  He’d just come to work to try to get it out of his head, and he hadn’t given much thought to the tradition he had with Wren of always getting her coffee. He went into the hallway, motioning with his head for her to follow him.

  She did. When they were out of earshot of the bullpen, she said, “Look, this isn’t about, um, Hawk, is it?”

  He shook his head. “No. It’s not about anything.” He looked her over. “Listen, did you hear Maliah and I having a conversation yesterday evening, because whatever she said, it’s all her, it’s not me. I’m not thinking about… you know…”

  She furrowed her brow. “I didn’t hear anything.”

  “Oh, good,” he said. “Never mind.”

  “You gonna tell me about this personal thing?”

  He stopped at the door to her office. “It’s just my ex-wife. It’s nothing.”

  She raised her eyebrows.

  Reilly wondered how his life had gotten this complicated. Not for the first time, he wished he’d never gotten involved with Maliah in the first place. And the coffee thing with Wren…

  He decided to stop thinking about that. “Okay, so the uniforms have dug up some suspects who have access to a gun. We can dig in a little there, and if we get lucky, maybe we find some evidence, we get a warrant, bring in that gun, and they test it against the bullet, and boom. We’re done.”

  “Sounds blissful,” said Wren.

  “Yeah, probably too easy.” He chuckled. “Where are you on that profile?”

  She gave him a satisfied grin. “Actually, I might have had a breakthrough.”

  “Really? Do tell.”

  “Well, maybe you were right about beauty sleep. I don’t know. I’m sorry you slept badly, but I slept like a baby, and when I woke up, I had a thought.” She lifted her fingers into a peace sign.

  “Hippies?” he said.

  “Two,” she said. “Come on, Reilly.”

  “Two killers,” he said.

  “Think about it,” she said. “There’s a disorganized killer and another killer whose cleaning up and doing the videos and covering the trail. Maybe there’s dual motivations there.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, I don’t know,” she said. “Like, sometimes, with serial killing teams, there might be a dynamic. Like, if it’s a woman and a man in a romantic relationship, she might help him get the victims so that he can rape them. It’s a sort of sadistic sexual game between the two of them. Maybe he’s motivated sexually, and she’s motivated to clean up the evidence.”

  “You think a woman’s involved?”

  “I’m just throwing things out. I’m going to go do some research, see what I can put together. But what do you think?”

  “I think the idea of two killers makes sense,” he said. “It even helps explain the video. Maybe one of the killers left to go film and upload it while the other was cleaning the scene.”

  “Could be,” she said, nodding.

  “All right,” he said. “This research you were thinking of doing, can you do it on the road?”

  “Um, why?”

  “I think we should try to talk to some of the people who had access to the gun,” said Reilly.

  “Sure,” she said. “We can do that. I’ll be ready in ten minutes.”

  * * *

  Wren hunched over her phone, scrolling through search results on the internet. “I feel like the fact that the sexual molestation is happening post mortem with an object is pointing away from the male/female serial killer team.”

  “Why’s that?” Reilly asked from the driver’s side of the car as they sped towards Lingandale High School.

  “I don’t know. There could be various reasons for the perpetrator not using his own body to penetrate her. It’s quite probable that he couldn’t. He maybe wants to rape her, but then faces impotence when faced with the body. It would fit with a typical disorganized killer. If that’s the case, he’s not the sort of the man whose capable of forming a relationship with a woman. He’s probably frustrated about his lack of sexual prowess and he’s translated that into a need to dominate the victims to punish them for not wanting him.”

  “Okay,” said Reilly.

  “But there could be another reason. It could simply be about dominance plain and simple. The woman isn’t worthy of him actually having intercourse with her. He’s defiling her to further humiliate and destroy her. Either way, we’re talking about a man who’s probably not in a relationship with a woman.”

  “Makes sense,” Reilly said. “So, it’s two men?”

  “Yes,” she said. “I don’t think it’s two men in a sexual relationship, because then I think the victim would be male.”

  “Right,” said Reilly. “With you.”

  “So, these are probably friends. What I can’t figure out is how it’s all working out. Typically, in a relationship like this, you’d have a sort of alpha and beta thing going on, where one of the men would be the aggressor. He’d have more pronounced violent tendencies, and the other would be more of a follower. Like the Springson sch
ool shooting. Hampton was the psychopath. He took the lead. He manipulated Kemper, who was suicidal and malleable. Same kind of thing here. But in this case, it seems more likely that the alpha killer is the organized killer, and the beta is the one with the violent tendencies. One guy is killing and one’s covering it up.”

  “What if… there’s only one killer, but he has someone looking out for him that he went to help him clean it up? What if it’s like a parent-child relationship?”

  She sank back in her seat. “Oh, wow, I didn’t think of that. That could be. So, in that case, the killer killed the girl, panicked, called the other killer, who came in and cleaned the scene and uploaded the video?”

  “No, that doesn’t work,” he said. “Because, if I’m going to clean the scene, why not get rid of the body? Why upload a video that draws even more attention to it? Why claim it’s going to happen again?”

  “You’re right, that doesn’t work after all,” she said. “This is going to drive me crazy until we figure it out.”

  “Keep digging,” he said. “If we really need two profiles, that makes everything more difficult. Take your time.”

  She scoffed. “Right, right. I’m going to put money down that you’ll be asking me if I have a profile before the end of the day.”

  “No, I’m gonna back off,” he said. “I don’t want to put pressure on you. I think that’s a bad call.”

  “I’ll believe that when I see it,” she said.

  * * *

  “This really isn’t something I was prepared for,” said the principal of Lingandale High School, Ned Faberton. “I’ve given a lot of thought to what we’d do if we had a shooter during school hours, but this?” He shook his head.

  Reilly nodded sympathetically. “It’s really a horrible thing.”

  “Just a waste,” said Ned. “She was a young girl. She had her whole life ahead of her. And the way they found her…” He made a face, looking both disgusted and horrified.

  Wren scrutinized the man. She wished she had a profile. If she had a profile, she could evaluate whether this guy fit into it or not. The truth was, she wasn’t really trained in investigating murder cases. That wasn’t the job of the FBI, that was the job of the police. As an FBI profiler, what she would have done was to scrutinize case files, look at crime scene photos, and decide what kind of person had committed the crime. She wouldn’t have been out here in the field, interviewing people.

  She lived and died by the profile, but it eluded her in this case. This case didn’t make sense to her.

  If she was looking for two killers, it was all the more confusing. Could the principal have been involved?

  “Well, I guess you got a call from someone at the task force?” Reilly was saying.

  “Asking me about guns I owned,” said the principal. “Yes, but I told them that I haven’t even gotten my guns out of their safe in over a year at this point. Before I became a high school principal, I had time for hobbies, like going out and shooting my guns once in a while. Hell, I even did a little hunting sometimes. But, um, well, now, I spend every waking moment in this place. There’s always something going on. Do you have any idea how many sports teams and clubs and musical groups we have here?”

  “No,” said Wren.

  “I don’t either,” said Ned. “And I’m the principal. It’s a lot. I don’t make it to half of the things associated with the school, but I try my best to make it to what I can. It’s good for the kids to see me out. And I don’t want to only be at the football games. I want to be at the school musical too. And at the cheerleading competition. And the debate club events. It’s… well, I do my best.”

  “You’re a busy man,” said Reilly. “That’s probably good for you. What we’re really trying to do, Mr. Faberton, is eliminate anyone we can. So, where were you the morning of the murder?”

  “Well, I was here,” said Ned. “I was the person who made the 911 call. But it was Jim Suede, who’s a coach and a P.E. teacher, who found her. He called me, and we called the police.”

  “Earlier than that,” said Reilly. “Around 4:00 in the morning.”

  “I was getting out of bed and getting into the shower,” said Ned.

  “Anyone can confirm?”

  “Well, my wife woke up briefly when my alarm went off,” he said. “She usually does. Oh, and I stopped to get gas on my way in to work. I have the receipt for that. I keep them to itemize for taxes, you know. I can get a copy of that made for you.”

  “Great,” said Reilly.

  The principal folded his arms over his chest. “So, you’re saying I’m a suspect, then? But what reason would I possibly have to do this?”

  “In these sorts of killings, reasons aren’t so straightforward,” said Reilly.

  * * *

  Reilly and Wren walked down the hallways of the school to look for the janitor, a James Thorn.

  “The principal couldn’t have done the video,” said Wren. “He was reporting the murder while it was being uploaded.”

  “And if it were only one killer, that would be enough to eliminate him,” said Reilly.

  “Damn it. This theory of mine makes everything more complicated.”

  “Yeah, but if it’s the right theory, that’s all that matters,” said Reilly. “We don’t want to waste time going after the wrong sort of person.”

  Wren pointed. “Didn’t he say that the janitor was working on a spill in the teacher’s lounge?”

  “Right,” said Reilly.

  Wren pushed open a door marked, Faculty Lounge.

  A man was inside, pushing a mop around on the floor. The lounge had a big table, flanked by ten chairs. There was a microwave and a sink and a refrigerator on the far wall.

  “James Thorn?” said Reilly.

  The janitor looked up. “Uh, yeah? That’s me.”

  Reilly crossed to him, holding out his hand. “I’m Detective Caius Reilly. This is my associate, Wren Delacroix. We were wondering if we could ask you a few questions.”

  James leaned on his mop. “This is about that dead girl, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, it is,” said Reilly.

  “I thought so,” said James. “That other lady called me and asked questions about guns. The thing is, I don’t even own any guns. It’s my brother who has that handgun, and you can ask him. I never borrowed it from him or nothing. So, I told her that, but she said that someone would probably be in here to ask me questions.”

  “It’s just routine,” said Reilly.

  “Yeah.” James licked his lips. “Look, she was a real nice girl, Bristol. I used to see her in the mornings, because I’d be coming in to start my shift, and she’d be coming back from her run. She went into the girls’ locker room and took a shower every day. I always had to wait to go in there and mop. I didn’t mind or anything. She was real nice.”

  “Wait, you saw her every day?” said Wren.

  “Yeah,” said James.

  “Where were you the day of the murder?” said Reilly.

  “Same as always, I was here, getting ready to start my shift,” said James. “But Bristol never showed, and so I started doing my cleaning early. I figured she was sick or something. That had happened before.”

  “Did anyone see you mopping?” said Wren.

  “Well, no, ma’am. I don’t tend to see anyone here that early. No one except Bristol. If she wasn’t there, no one would have seen me.”

  “So, what you’re saying is that you don’t have an alibi,” said Reilly gently.

  “I didn’t kill her,” said James. “I’d never do something like that. She was real nice. Pretty. Sweet. I mean, who would do something like that? You’d have to be really, really messed up. I heard they shoved something in her. A handle or something?”

  “Could have been like that mop handle,” said Reilly softly.

  James dropped the mop like it burned him. “No! I would never do something like that.” He shook his head. “You gotta believe me. Look, you call my brother, you ask him about that g
un. Please.”

  * * *

  “He’s completely guileless,” said Wren, “but then… you know, I got the same kind of impression about Major.”

  “Right,” said Reilly.

  “I don’t think he’s the kind of guy who would be making videos and putting them on YouTube,” said Wren, “but it’s possible that he compulsively committed the crime. Can we get a warrant to look at the mop and broom handles, see if the wooden splinters match what was found in the victim’s body?”

  “Shouldn’t be a problem,” said Reilly. “I’ll get one of the uniforms to start on the paperwork when we get back.”

  “It’s a shame we couldn’t talk to that teacher,” said Wren. “You think it means anything that he was out sick today?”

  “Not necessarily,” said Reilly, “but it could.”

  “And the boyfriend,” said Wren. “He wasn’t there either.”

  “Because he’s grieving,” said Reilly. “Which, you know, it’s fresh.”

  “I do feel like this is a crime that might have been committed by someone young, by a teenager,” said Wren. “But a guy killing his girlfriend? That doesn’t quite feel right.” She looked out the window at the scenery streaming past. “You’re dying to ask me about the profiles.”

  “I am not,” he said, smiling. “I said no pressure. I meant it.”

  “Liar,” she said.

  He chuckled. “Well, you getting anywhere with that?”

  “Trust me, when I get somewhere, you’ll know.”

  “Ooh, sorry. Didn’t mean to get under your skin, Delacroix.”

  “I hate you,” she said, but she was laughing.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  As it turned out, Janessa hadn’t changed the passwords for her credit cards. Reilly’d had access to them when they were married, even though they were in her name, because he’d paid them off. She worked part time but Reilly tended to handle most of the bills. She did pay for the groceries out of her own pocket, and some things for Timmy too, but otherwise, it was all him.

  It would have been pretty cheeky of her to put receipts for hotels and things on those credit cards, but he went through them anyway.

  Then he found he could log onto her email as well. She hadn’t changed passwords on that either. Janessa was one of those people who used the same password for everything. If he could log into one thing, he could log on everywhere.