Killing Ways Read online

  ‘That was suitably grim,’ said Ren.

  ‘Your sofa, on the other hand, was not,’ said Everett, stretching out his legs, standing up, and walking around the living room. ‘You promised high-end coffee, remember.’

  ‘A promise I am following through on,’ Ren called from the kitchen. ‘God, though, this apartment depresses me. And this micro-kitchen. I love cooking, and I don’t even cook here. Most of my kitchen stuff’s all packed away in boxes in Annie’s attic. I’ve got all their crappy utensils, blunt knives, shady-looking forks. It’s like the whole place is designed to guide you to the microwave so you can stand – alone – and watch your meal-for-one perform a tragic pirouette.’

  ‘You are not alone tonight,’ said Robbie.

  ‘This morning,’ said Everett. ‘Need us to come in there and make the kitchen feel like it’s hopping?’

  ‘You just concentrate on squeezing yourselves around that table, leaving enough room for me and my expansive mind.’

  She came in and set the tray down at the center of the table.

  ‘I hate glass tables,’ said Ren. ‘I need a tablecloth. But I’m not a big fan of tablecloths either. Actually, that’s wrong – it’s the pressure of keeping them clean that bothers me. I love tablecloths.’ She put a coffee mug in front of each of them.

  ‘No cookies?’ said Everett, forlorn.

  ‘Much as I’d love to soften the blow of mutilated genitals, I have nothing,’ said Ren.

  ‘Toast even?’ said Robbie.

  ‘I have arugula,’ said Ren. ‘And an angry inch of parmesan.’

  ‘Mind if I order in?’ said Robbie.

  Inward narrowing of eyes. You are replacing sex with food, Robbie Truax. Jesus … does anyone not have an issue with food?

  ‘You order whatever you like,’ said Ren. ‘As I deliver an apology for the bare cupboards.’

  ‘Ren has been following the jalapeño popper diet,’ said Everett. ‘You go from bar to bar—’

  Robbie looked unimpressed with Everett’s insider knowledge. He picked up his phone and began ordering breakfast from an all-night diner.

  ‘And dessert is the olive at the bottom of the Dirty Martini,’ said Ren, helping Everett out.

  A silence fell.

  Stephanie. Hope. Donna.

  Rape, murder, mutilation.

  ‘So,’ said Ren, ‘what the fuck is going on? These three women look remarkably similar … at least Donna did the day he picked her up. So, is he killing the same woman over and over – an ex-girlfriend, an ex-wife, a sister, his mother—’

  ‘Someone who didn’t return his affection,’ said Robbie.

  ‘Women in general?’ said Everett. He paused. ‘That happen to be blonde and skinny …’ He laughed. ‘Sorry, maybe I’m too tired for this. This will be going to Quantico for profiling, though, right?’

  ‘Yup,’ said Ren.

  ‘That’ll take weeks,’ said Robbie.

  ‘Well, it’s not like we’re going to sit around and wait for it to guide us,’ said Everett.

  ‘I swear to God,’ said Ren, ‘if I see another profile that says male, aged between twenty-two and thirty-two …’

  Dr Gaston welcomed Ren and Everett to the autopsy suite at seven a.m.

  ‘First off,’ he said, ‘as we saw, her junk was dunked – her entire body was washed down with bleach. The acid was evidence of super-caution at work, because the bleach should have done the trick. Using acid on the genital area as well seems like a pretty good indicator that she was raped, or why would he bother?’

  I’m still at ‘junk was dunked’. Did I hear that?

  ‘Sorry – run through all that again?’ said Ren.

  Gaston raised his eyebrows, but complied.

  ‘He may not have raped her,’ said Ren. ‘It might have been all about the mutilation.’

  ‘Well, that’s for your investigative minds to work out,’ said Gaston. ‘I was just throwing in my two cents.’

  Please don’t.

  ‘Cause of death was sharp-force trauma – her femoral artery was severed. Manner of death – exsanguination, which is why we know she wasn’t killed at the scene. There was no blood. I don’t need to tell you this would have been bloody.’

  He began examining the external surface of the body. Ren became mesmerized by Donna Darisse’s feet. They were scratched, bruised, and sparkling in the light.

  ‘Is that glass?’ said Ren.

  ‘Yes,’ said Gaston. He used his forceps to pluck out the shards – clear, green and blue – then drop them into a stainless-steel dish.

  ‘Just in the soles of her feet, nowhere else,’ said Ren. ‘I’m presuming she walked on it—’

  ‘As opposed to the killer using forceps to carefully push the pieces in …’ He looked up and winked.

  Oh, fuck off, Gaston.

  ‘She walked across glass for him, yes,’ said Gaston. ‘Or ran. They’re in quite deep.’

  ‘Did you see any glass at the scene?’ said Ren.

  ‘No – not to my naked eyes.’

  He managed to make that sound sleazy.

  ‘And what caused the abrasions?’ said Ren.

  ‘Probably running on a concrete surface,’ said Gaston.

  ‘So she could have run away from him,’ said Ren.

  ‘Not far – or fast – enough,’ said Gaston. ‘Then the particular damage to her heels that you can see here could have happened if she was raped – if she was lying on rough ground, kicking out, trying to get purchase … she also has abrasions on her knees, which would be consistent with her having been raped from behind.’

  ‘God, and he put her boots back on.’ Jesus.

  Feet. Feet. Feet.

  Something is clawing at me.

  14

  That afternoon, Gary stood at the top of the conference room in front of the Safe Streets squad, twenty DPD detectives, Cliff James, and Douglas County Undersheriff, Cole Rodeal.

  ‘How’s the arm?’ said Ren, as she walked by.

  ‘It’s healing,’ said Rodeal. ‘Another two weeks, the cast is gone.’

  ‘OK,’ said Gary, eyeballing Ren into silence. ‘SA Ren Bryce called this and will be case agent. Everything is to go through Ren. She will be coordinating the investigation with – on the DPD side – Glenn Buddy.’

  ‘Easy to remember cuz they rhyme – Ren and Glenn!’ said one of the DPD detectives.

  Larry Someone. Dimwit.

  Ren was walking to the top of the room. ‘Sadly not everything we need to remember on this case will rhyme, so I hope that doesn’t make things too difficult for you.’ She delivered it deadpan. Then smiled as she turned to face everyone.

  Nervous laughter.

  ‘OK,’ said Ren, ‘we have – as far as we know – three brutally violated victims of what we believe is the same killer. In chronological order the victims are: Stephanie Wingerter, Hope Coulson, and Donna Darisse—’

  ‘Can you explain to us why you were linking them?’ said another one of the DPD detectives. Ren searched for the voice.

  Unkempt, lazy-looking fuck. Sorry.

  ‘To break this down very clearly,’ said Ren, ‘the victims are of a similar physical type: petite, and blonde. In Donna Darisse’s case it was a wig, but the killer wasn’t to know that when he saw her. All three victims were either raped with a foreign object and/or sexually mutilated. Stephanie Wingerter was bound at the wrists with rope, Donna Darisse, with cable ties. The same two victims were prostitutes. Knives were used both on Stephanie Wingerter and Donna Darisse; manner of death was exsanguination. Hope Coulson was strangled, as evidenced by the broken hyoid bone. Post-mortem, he has inflicted burns on bodies both by setting the body alight in conjunction with an accelerant, and by using acid.’

  ‘And do we know for definite they were all raped?’ said the detective.

  ‘Because of decomposition in the case of Stephanie Wingerter, and because of the acid on Donna Darisse’s genitals, no,’ said Ren. ‘But Hope Coulson was violently raped
with a foreign object. And, like I said, all three women were clearly sexually mutilated. The UNSUB could well be in the system, so he knows we have his DNA. Therefore he doesn’t want us to have any more of it. So, we have to ask the question – is the mutilation part of the thrill for our UNSUB or is it simply to destroy evidence? Also, what was the reason behind the rape with a foreign object? Did he try to rape initially, but then couldn’t sustain an erection, so resorted to whatever object was closest? I don’t know. And where were they killed if not where the bodies were found?’

  She paused.

  ‘Weirdly, Donna Darisse had glass embedded in the soles of her feet, and Stephanie Wingerter’s feet were burned. I haven’t come across feet being targeted before, but there’s always a first time.’

  ‘Maybe the killer gets a kick out of making them walk over surfaces that will cause pain?’ said Rodeal.

  ‘Maybe,’ said Ren.

  ‘Are you absolutely sure it’s just one killer?’ said the detective who asked the first question.

  Yes!!!! ‘I have a problem dealing in absolutes,’ said Ren. LOL. ‘But, yes – I believe it’s one killer. And in my opinion, this UNSUB doesn’t want to get caught. However, despite himself, he has clearly created a series of crimes that are linkable.’

  ‘What’s his motive?’ said Rodeal.

  ‘I think he has more than one,’ said Ren. ‘Yes, it’s a sexual thrill, yes, it’s a power thing, but I think there’s more. We’ve sent details to our profiling unit in Quantico, and they will be back to us within two weeks with a profile.’

  ‘It takes that long?’ said another DPD detective.

  Ren searched the room until she found the questioner. ‘Is this your first case involving the use of a profiler?’ You little shit.

  ‘No, ma’am.’

  ‘Then, I don’t really need to answer that.’ Do I?

  Silence.

  ‘I’m ready,’ said Ren, ‘with your help, to find this monster. I do not want him to be caught because he has a broken fucking taillight. He will not be stumbled upon because of a routine traffic stop. This is not routine: there is a psychopath out there raping, killing, and mutilating innocent women. He will not win. I will not let him win. And, I know, neither will you. We are going to find him. We will stop him.

  ‘At the end of this briefing, I will be assigning different tasks to each of you. I want you all to do what you’re assigned to do, to focus intently on the task at hand, but to also have a three-sixty view of the entire investigation. I need you all to cross-reference things, to read everything in detail, and to sharpen your ability to make connections. There is now a copy of the preliminary autopsy findings for Donna Darisse on the table by the door, along with the autopsy reports of the other two victims.

  ‘On the subject of the media, I do not want one breach. Is that as clear as it sounds to me? This is not going public right now. We will be agreeing on what we’re releasing to the media. Our UNSUB will be brought to justice. There will be no compromises. I do not want the lives of the women of Denver, our investigation, or the resulting court case to be fucked up because the wrong thing appears in the newspaper, because someone in this room, or someone they know, releases information for money or to get a fucking kick out of seeing it in print or because they have a better plan than mine to catch the killer. If misleading information enters the public domain, someone could be killed. By me.’ She smiled. ‘I’m not fucking kidding.’

  She put her hands on her hips.

  I can’t believe I just put my hands on my hips.

  ‘For those of you who don’t know me,’ said Ren, ‘I don’t like repeating myself. In fact, I hate it. And I would find it very strange to have to repeat myself to adults who have reached a certain age, made it through college, through police academy, Quantico, wherever. So if you’re in a conference with me, you need to listen the fuck up to everyone who speaks. Please – ask all the questions in the world – I have no problem with that, but I don’t want to hear the same question asked twice. I mean, go ahead, by all means, but—’ She shrugged.

  Gary was giving her a shut-the-fuck-up look.

  ‘So, that’s it,’ said Ren. ‘Good luck. Come to me with any issues, big or small.’

  Gary called her into his office after the conference.

  ‘“Come to me with any issues, big or small”,’ he said. ‘Do you think you made that easy for them?’

  ‘Uh: yes,’ said Ren. ‘Why?’

  ‘You’re coming off arrogant.’

  What?! ‘I’m not arrogant.’

  ‘You’re coming across that way.’

  ‘Who says that?’ said Ren.

  ‘Me,’ said Gary. ‘But I doubt I’m alone.’

  ‘I’m sorry, but I always think people are pussies if they can’t handle being expected to live up to a certain standard. I don’t mean standard, but fucking do your job is what I mean. Do your job, don’t be stupid, don’t talk to the media. Hardly traumatizing … this is serious shit, Gary. I’m not having people coming in here like lazy assholes, half-listening, checked out, just thinking about what time their wife is going to put supper on the table. Women are dying.’

  ‘Yet it’s OK for you to go out and party every night …’

  Oh, fuck off, Gary. ‘I’m working, minimum, fifteen hours a day on this. I haven’t been late once. What I do with the remaining nine hours of my day – two of which, I’m likely to spend working out – then what can I say?’

  ‘So, you’re surviving on how many hours’ sleep?’

  Jesus CHRIST ALMIGHTY. ‘I’m more than surviving.’ I’m fucking thriving. ‘I love how you talk like you get ten hours’ sleep a night.’

  ‘It’s not the same for me.’

  I want to punch you.

  Gary checked his computer. ‘Do you have an appoi—’

  Appointment! Yay! Let’s top this the fuck off with that! ‘Yes, tomorrow. I do.’

  ‘And … did you get a chance to call Karen?’

  Even better! Let’s top this the fuck off with your wife!

  ‘Not yet, Gary. But I will.’

  I can think of two stronger candidates for therapy right now.

  Gary stared at his screen, then glared at Ren with barely contained rage. ‘Well, here it is, as expected – an email from Briar’s lawyer: stay the fuck away from my client.’ He sat back in his seat. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, introducing your case agent …’

  This is a fucking AK-47 of a conversation …

  15

  That night, Ren worked her way up to calling Karen Dettling.

  Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.

  Karen picked up.

  ‘Hi, it’s Ren.’

  Silence. ‘Hi.’ Terse.

  Ooh. ‘I’m calling to put your mind at rest about me and Gary.’

  Silence. ‘This isn’t a conversation for the phone, Ren. I’d like to meet you face to face for this.’

  Noooo. ‘No problem,’ said Ren, ‘but I want you to know that there’s nothing going on between me and Gary.’

  ‘We’ll talk,’ said Karen. ‘I’ll come to your apartment, if that’s OK. I don’t want Claire to hear this.’

  ‘Of course,’ said Ren. She looked down at the list of dates and times. Now I have to learn this off. Great. ‘Can you give me an hour? I just have to finish something off.’ Like a tall tale.

  Karen Dettling arrived beautifully made-up, carefully put together, looking far saner than when she had come to the office.

  Conscious of not looking like the crazed wife. You don’t need to do that for me.

  Ren left her to settle on the sofa while she made tea.

  ‘It’s just, he’s been so strange …’ said Karen when Ren brought out the tray, and sat down.

  ‘If it’s any consolation,’ said Ren, ‘he’s been strange at work, but that’s because I think this is about work. There have been a lot of staff upheavals: Colin Grabien resigned in such murky circumstances—’

  ‘What happened with Colin
Grabien really got to Gary,’ said Karen. ‘You wouldn’t believe how badly he took that. Colin was part of the original Safe Streets team, he was this hotshot IT genius financials guy who Gary felt very proud to have hired. Colin could do no wrong, professionally …’

  She trailed off, but Ren knew what she was intimating, and what she was too discreet to say: Colin Grabien was, basically, an asshole who had a problem with the world. And in the end, with Ren in particular; she had found out he shafted the other candidate in order to get his job. She kept it from Gary, but she made sure Colin knew, and made sure he did the right thing by resigning. Gary had a hard time committing to a replacement. Until Everett came along.

  ‘And,’ said Ren, ‘after Colin, Cliff requested a transfer, so Gary had to find someone to fill that spot. And, you know me – I’ve caused him problems. Karen, I’m well aware of my shortcomings, and I would venture Gary has spoken about me at home …’

  Karen nodded.

  ‘I just can’t imagine him ever talking about me in a way that would suggest he has any kind of feelings toward me other than frustration …’

  Karen started laughing.

  ‘Personally, I think I am Gary’s worst nightmare,’ said Ren. ‘Like, he would actively avoid me on a personal level.’

  Karen was now crying and laughing at the same time.

  ‘I understand more than anyone that a series of different things can lead to what feels like a logical, concrete conclusion,’ said Ren. ‘I mean, a champagne cork in a bag … that’s not great. I’d have a hard time with that.’

  ‘And if Ben had a hot colleague he was away with that same night … who is known for drinking champagne …’ She smiled.

  Ugh. You’re such a nice person. You feel like a fool and I’m complicit in that. And I would be devastated if someone did that to me.

  Karen sighed. ‘I’m an idiot. I’m so sorry. This is not about you. I just … I’m at my wit’s end.’

  ‘You’re not an idiot,’ said Ren. Not at all. ‘Your husband’s been withdrawn, you found this random cork … any woman would be freaked out.’

  ‘Thanks,’ said Karen. ‘I don’t want this to be an issue between us. Is it too late for that? You know Claire adores you, and part of me was just so mad at the idea that you could be in our home with all that going on. I probably shouldn’t be saying any of this. Claire is only seventeen … part of me was panicking that … this would be an example I’d be setting for her, that she’d think she should sit back and tolerate a cheating husband.’ She let out a breath. ‘I don’t know what to think …’