footprints and kept the area blocked off,” he explained. “The killer cut the padlock on the gate, prob’ly just used some bolt cutters. From there he followed that path straight to where he broke through the ice.”
“Yeah,” I shrugged, “I guess I’m still missing something.”
“Okay, pretend the hole’s not there,” he instructed. “Now tell me which end of the pool is the deep end.”
“Shouldn’t it be right there? Farthest from the gate?” I asked. “Isn’t that an insurance thing?”
“Exactly,” Deckert replied with a nod. “But there’re two gates, and they just kept the one at the deep end padlocked all the time rather than replace it with regular fencing. If you look at the tracks, that’s the one he came through, and the deep end is actually right there where the hole is. So, since you can’t really tell which gate is the proper entrance just by lookin’ at ‘em, that tells me our killer somehow knew right where to go.”
The moment he finished, the realization struck me full in the face. If the tracks and the hole weren’t there, the landscape would be nothing more than unspoiled snow. The symmetrical hollow of the pool’s perimeter gave no clue as to which end was which. The shallow end of the pool was closest to the main entrance, and it was also the more secluded of the two by virtue of an evergreen hedgerow. But the killer wanted to be sure the victim drowned as opposed to just death by exposure. He had purposely gone to the deep end to ensure this… And he knew exactly where the deep end was. I mutely chastised myself for missing such an obvious fact.
“Good point,” Ben whistled. “He couldn’t have known which end it was unless he’d been to this pool before. Not with all this snow.”
“That’s what I’m thinkin’.” Carl nodded.
“Well I doubt if he lives here,” I offered. “This subdivision is primarily condos, and the few houses we passed look way too modern to have the kind of basement I saw when I was channeling Kendra Miller.”
“Yeah,” Deckert nodded as he spoke. “Besides, as reckless as he’s been he’s probably too smart to do it in his own back yard. He’s been spread out all over the place so far.”
“So what’s the plan for recoverin’ the body?” Ben queried.
“Well, as soon as the CSU is finished with the tracks and such, they’re talkin’ about sendin’ a diver in. It’s either that or drain the damn thing, so they got the local muni’s fire department on standby. I think they’re pretty much waitin’ on the coroner to make the final decision,” Carl answered then shook his head. “Damn! This SOB has gotta have some freakin’ balls. I mean the hotel, the park, now this.”
“Tell me about it. He hung number three off her own friggin’ balcony,” Ben added. “Right out in plain sight.”
“Yeah, I heard,” Deckert acknowledged. “Also heard about that whole chopper thing with Street. Sheesh, ‘Ghoul Squad.’ No offense, but I’m glad I missed that one.”
“Don’t worry,” Ben spat sarcastically. “Your dues to that club are paid in full. I’m sure they’ll have ya’ listed on the membership rolls soon enough.”
“Freakin’ wonderful. Mona’ll love that,” Deckert muttered then paused and clucked his tongue thoughtfully. “So you think maybe this screwball is an exhibitionist or something?”
“Maybe. He hasn’t been hidin’ his work, that’s for sure.”
“I don’t think that’s it,” I volunteered. “He’s making the murders public executions for a deeper reason. I don’t believe he’s doing it for the thrill. Like I told you originally, he most likely views himself as divine or chosen. He sees himself as the hand of God. That’s why he’s picking these venues. They’re his town square, in a sense. He wants everyone to see the penalty for heresy in order to teach them a lesson.”
“Puttin’ the fear of God into ‘em, so to speak,” Ben grunted.
“Exactly.”
“Still,” Deckert objected, “he can’t keep going around killing out in the open like this and there not eventually be a witness. Even with the cover of darkness, he’s gotta know someone is gonna see him.”
“Obviously he’s willing to take that risk in the name of ridding the world of that which he views as evil,” I stated matter-of-factly.
Deckert repeated a paraphrased version of his earlier comment, “Like I said, the wacko’s got some balls.”
In the near distance, we could hear the voice of a uniformed officer as he announced to the waiting evidence technicians, “Meat wagon’s here.”
The three of us watched mutely as the head of the crime scene unit filled in the bedraggled county coroner. After a brief exchange, he nodded his head, visibly agreeing with the officer in charge. Shortly thereafter a member of the condo complex’s maintenance staff that had been standing by was put to the task of clearing as much snow as he could from around the hole.
“Do ya’ know if the command post was able ta’ get ahold of everyone yet?” Ben shifted the direction of the conversation momentarily while we waited.
“Yeah, they did.” Carl nodded. “All accounted for. Whoever’s down there, she’s not a member of that group.”
“Hmmmmph,” Ben grunted thoughtfully. “That’s odd.”
“What do you mean odd?” I asked.
“Well, this wingnut had established a pattern by goin’ after the women in this particular coven. It’s just a rule of thumb on serial killers-they tend ta’ stick to an established pattern. So why all of a sudden did he decide ta’ pick someone outside of that target group?”
“Do you think he might know that the members of Starr’s coven are being watched?” I offered.
“I s’pose it’s possible. ‘Specially if he was stalkin’ ‘em or somethin’, but there’re eight more women on that list. That’s a lot of stalkin’ for one guy ta’ do in a short period of time. Plus we’ve been tryin’ ta’ keep the protection low profile on the chance we could pop ‘im tryin’ to nab one of ‘em,” he replied, all the while shaking his head. “Now we go back to the drawin’ board. How’d he pick this one? How does she fit in to the pattern?”
“Both of you have said she,” I commented. “What makes you think this victim is female?”
“Well, he’s only killed women so far,” Ben, answered.
“Storm is right.” Agent Mandalay’s voice filtered in from behind our small huddle. “That’s another rule of thumb. Serial killers don’t typically cross gender lines. Normally it’s one or the other but not both. Hello again. Sorry I’m late.”
We had apparently been so engrossed in our conversation that we had not noticed her arrival, and until now she had elected to remain silent. She was much less conspicuous after having traded her party dress and overcoat for blue jeans and a dark, hooded parka; although, her face still bore the cosmetic accentuation of a more than average make over. Even so, her somber expression matched the grim edge of her voice.
“Connie,” Deckert greeted her as only he could.
“Hi, Carl,” she replied then turned to me and continued, “I’d say odds are the killer is misogynistic. Also the general public commonly associates Witches with being female, not male.”
“I can understand that theory to an extent, and I’m not trying to second guess you by any means,” I admitted, “but this guy isn’t a typical serial killer. I don’t believe he’s doing this on a lark, or even because of a hatred of women. He has a specific agenda, and it includes anyone accused of WitchCraft, regardless of their gender.”
“Is this something you saw in one of your visions?” she questioned.
“No. Just a feeling.”
“Well, I’ve learned better than to doubt one of your feelings, Rowan,” she conceded solemnly. “But male or female, we still have a fourth victim on our hands.”
“This is true,” I agreed.
Carl captured our attention with a lethargic gesture, and he volunteered in a sober tone, “Looks like they’re gettin’ ready to go after the body.”
His voice was both preceded and followed by a muffled thudding noise that emanated from across the pool area. Under the supervision of the head CSU technician, a maintenance worker was laboring to fracture the layer of ice and widen the entry point for the diver. A second pair of thuds resulted in a sharp cracking sound as the frozen strata splintered. Another of the technicians struggled with a shepherd’s hook to fish the broken chunks of solidified water out of the way.
A crowd had been gathering out beyond the barrier tape and was still gaining mass as more gawkers straggled in. Die-hard thrill seekers that even the weather couldn’t deter from a feeding frenzy of morbid curiosity.
